‘But why choose the school, surely the risk of getting caught must be enormous?’
‘That’s a good question and one I can’t answer. Maybe instead of a deterrent, the risk of being discovered by a cohort of pre-pubescent boys added to the excitement. Who knows! I can also confirm that she was pregnant but only just. So early that she might not have even known.’
Gaby stared across at Owen as if sharing a secret.
Oh, she knew all right and, if she knew, who else did?
Chapter 35
Gaby
Wednesday 13 May, 6.55 p.m. St Asaph Police Station
Nearly twelve hours had passed since Tracy’s body had been discovered and they were no nearer to finding the motive.
It was now heading for seven, well past the usual time for normal hard-working people to be sitting in the comfort of their own lounge and yet here she was still at her desk with her head in her hands. They had a killer on the loose and the public on high alert. Women were being advised not to walk home alone. Parents, who in the normal course of events were happy for their children to go home by bus, were cluttering the roads, making policing the area ten-times more difficult. And Henry Sherlock was on the war path. Normally the most mild-mannered of gentlemen, he was obviously on the receiving end of a great deal of criticism and the only way he could head it off was by diverting it downwards, which meant into the lap of his detective sergeant.
Gaby shifted back in her black swivel chair, having sent Owen home to his long-suffering wife, who’d decided one night back at her parents was one night too long. Her desk was clear for once, apart from her open laptop, but even that couldn’t interest her. Cradling her temples between her fingers, she felt an emptiness crowd her insides. The emptiness of failure. The emptiness of defeat. She saw the future rolling out in front of her. A dead case. Two little boys who wouldn’t be able to move on with their lives. The small communities of Llandudno and Beddgelert forever living under the shadow of both Nikki and Tracy’s murders. She’d cry if she had the energy or inclination for tears. If she thought they’d do any good, she’d open the floodgates, but tears were the very last thing she needed. Top of the list was a carb-filled meal and perhaps a single glass of wine to aid the next part of the plan – a minimum of six hours’ uninterrupted sleep. She closed her eyes briefly, the thought of pasta dragging her straight back to her mama’s kitchen and her second favourite dish – sun-dried tomato and basil-drenched fettuccini. What she wouldn’t give for a bowl right now instead of the ready meal she’d probably have to settle for.
‘Falling asleep on the job, Detective. Whatever next!’
She snapped her eyes open to find herself staring up at Rusty, a couple of take-outs in his hands.
‘If you’d had the week I’ve had, Dr, so would you.’ She was as much in the mood for Rusty as she was her ready meal. In fact, she’d forgo both the meal and long soak in the bath for an evening without one snipe from a man she admired hugely but who she seemed destined to clash with each time they met. ‘You’re a little out of your way, aren’t you, unless you’re in need of a lift?’
He handed her a mug before settling in the chair opposite, peeling back the lid and taking a long sip. ‘Sadly, it’s only decaf. A little late in the day for caffeine even by my standards. And as for being out of my way I thought now was as good a time as any to start improving our relationship.’
They sipped in silence for a moment while Gaby tried to frame a response but she couldn’t think of one solitary sentence that would suffice. She could always start talking about work but the one thing she’d learnt over the last few weeks was his dislike of what he termed badgering. He’d tell her only when he had something useful and not a second before. At least the silence was comfortable unlike many other silences spent in his company. However, taking a last mouthful, the coffee granular and bitter right at the end, reminded her about their relationship: satisfactory only up to a point. He’d turn on her, making her feel both inadequate and inexperienced – she had no need for someone to reinforce those sentiments. She’d been trying to overcome them most of her life.
‘That was nice. Why is it that women always have to natter, do you suppose?’ He stood and stretched, his fingers reaching up to the ceiling.
All she did was raise her eyebrows. If he wanted her silence, then so be it.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ he said, his expression turning nasty.
‘You can’t have it both ways, Dr.’ She shut the lid of her computer, unplugging it from the charger before popping it into its soft leather case, all the time aware that he was staring at her. Well, bully for him. She knew what she looked like, her customary plait coming apart at the seams, her face devoid of the trace of make-up she’d applied earlier. ‘Either you want me to be silent or you don’t.’
‘Harrumph.’ He withdrew a folded manila envelope from his pocket, placing it on the desk between them. ‘I had thought that you’d like to go through my findings this evening instead of tomorrow but if that’s not the case?’
‘That’s not fair,’ she said, rounding on him. ‘You know I—’
‘We’re not still in the schoolyard, Gabriella,’ he interrupted, picking up her empty cup and walking over to the bin. ‘When did fairness have any place in a police station? Between these walls would be the very last place I’d look for any objectivity. For instance, I’d like to bet that you have both husbands on top of the list of potential suspects – am I right?’
‘Well, that’s because in most cases such as this—’
‘But not all.’
‘I know that,’ she replied, trying to control her temper. If it wasn’t for him having the results of the investigation, she’d storm out, leaving him to pull the door closed behind him. Instead she waved a hand in the direction of the only other chair in the room. ‘Rusty, we can sit here and argue all night, or we can go through your findings objectively in the hope that both of us will manage to get home in time for the ten o’clock news.’
He stared back and, with that look, time suspended for a fraction only to jump forward along with her heart. Dropping her gaze, she shoved the envelope in his direction. Up until now she hadn’t given any quarter to Amy’s suggestion that Dr Rusty Mulholland liked her. In fact, she was convinced the opposite was true. She bit down on her lip. Now certainly wasn’t the time to allow such thoughts take root in her mind – she’d step through that particular door when she’d reached the privacy of her lounge and not a moment before.
Instead of addressing the sudden tension in the room, she decided to keep to the reason for his visit, although why he hadn’t picked up the phone was beyond her suddenly limited reasoning powers.
‘I’m hoping you’re here to solve both murders for the Welsh constabulary,’ she finally said, her expression guarded.
‘Hardly. I’ve come up with some interesting observations, only that.’ He withdrew two sheets of tightly typed paper and, handing her one, continued to speak. ‘These are what I view to be the main key points. I’ve logged the complete findings on the database.’
Gaby started reading, the room and the man fading as she took in his fact-filled findings. Two murders both by the same hand, a right-handed man of above average height due to the trajectory of the blade. She winced when she read about the blood loss and the nigh impossible task of isolating pertinent clues from such a site as a sports shed, her wince quickly turning into a frown when she read about the foetus, only six weeks old – a little girl.
‘Ah, I see you’re reaching the end.’
‘What? Sorry.’ She lifted her head in time to catch the tail end of a sympathetic look on his face. ‘What’s this about blood groups?’ she said, in an effort to keep the conversation between the narrow professional boundaries she’d set herself. She couldn’t take sympathy, not from him.
He stretched across the desk, pointing at the graph on the bottom. ‘It’s simple enough. The mother’s blood group was B, the foetus was O. Which means the father ha
d to have a blood type of either B or O. I’ve sent tissue samples off for DNA analysis but, as you know, that takes time. I also had a quick look at the electronic patient record, and it seems that Barry Price has had blood saved for group and cross matching in the past.’ He raised his head, his face expressionless. ‘He was AB and therefore not the father.’
Gaby’s mouth dropped open. That poor man. To lose his wife knowing full well that she’d been having an affair. She hadn’t liked him, but no man deserved that. She suddenly wished DI Tipping was there to advise her as to how to handle such news. Was she meant to break it to the husband? What would his reaction be?
‘Thank you, I think,’ she finally managed, pushing all thoughts out of her mind except the immediate wish to pack up and go home. ‘So, when do you think we’ll have the DNA to match against on the system?’
‘I’ve rushed it through this end so hopefully days instead of weeks. You do realise that if the DNA from the foetus matches that of the saliva found on de Bertrand’s bottom sheet it will confirm what I think we’re all probably suspecting – that it was the same man?’
She nodded, pushing herself back from her chair. ‘Thank you for this,’ she said, focusing again on the report. ‘Lots to think about on the way home.’
‘About that.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘Have I eaten?’ she repeated, not quite believing her ears.
‘Yes, it’s a simple enough question, Gabriella. I thought that, as we both have to eat … that we could catch a bite together. It would be as good a time as any to continue working on our, er, relationship issues.’
Colour flooded her cheeks. What relationship issues? As far as she was concerned the only relationship they had was a working one and that didn’t include dinner. She ground her teeth, trying to control the storm of feeling bubbling under her diaphragm. Amy would have a field day if she ever got to hear about this, which made her determined never to tell her.
She picked up her mobile from the desk and, slipping it into her bag, turned to grab her jacket from the back of her chair, her fingers fumbling to push the buttons through the holes.
‘No.’
He was standing by the open door, his hand on the handle, presumably waiting for her to follow. Now he stilled, his expression blank.
‘Excuse me?’
‘I said no. No, I haven’t eaten and no, I don’t want to have a meal with you. Clear enough?’
‘Perfectly. Am I allowed to ask why?’
‘You can ask but I have no intention of answering. I don’t have to explain myself to a man that, most days, can barely look me in the face and as for being civil … I know I was wrong to discuss you with a colleague but I’ve apologised for that. I’m sorry but it’s how I feel. We’re just not suited to anything other than a working relationship and that doesn’t include dinner.’
She stood, glaring across the room, all her frustration of the last few days spilling out. She’d always had a vicious temper and, growing up with two brothers, she’d learnt from an early age to fight her own battles. But over the years, she’d also learnt that being conciliatory made for better outcomes – now she rarely flipped.
Without a word, she watched as he turned on his heel and stormed through the door, his head held high. Waiting a minute, she picked up her bag and followed, a little part of her unsettled at his lack of response. She’d expected an angry retort or even excuses for his behaviour but the numbing silence made her, for once, doubt her own judgement. She flexed her shoulders, angry for even thinking it. He was a rude arrogant git – maybe he’d be nicer to her in future and, if he wasn’t, so be it.
The house had never felt darker, or more unwelcoming. Gaby pulled into the drive, regretting that she hadn’t replaced the bulb in the outside light. If she’d had the foresight she’d have left a lamp burning in the lounge window like sailors’ wives of old. But Gaby had no partner, no mate to share the burden of her existence. She was alone and, after her run in with Rusty, that wasn’t something that was likely to change.
She slammed the car door shut, the noise echoing in the darkness, but she didn’t care. She was past caring. Her life was shit with a capital S and she had neither the knowledge nor inclination to change it. Walking up the path to the front door, she remained focused, her key in her hand. This was Rhos-on-Sea, for God’s sake – one of the calmest, quietest parts of Wales, and yet she felt her heart pound in her chest at the thought of a murderer on the loose. Okay, so she wasn’t a redhead but then Nikki hadn’t been one either.
Opening the door, she slipped off her shoes before bending to gather the post from the mat. Walking into the lounge, she headed for the three-bar electric fire and switched it on before making her way into the kitchen and where her ready meal was waiting. Pulling open the fridge, she ignored the pre-packaged dinner, instead withdrawing the screw-top bottle of white wine and pouring herself a large glass. There was a time when food was paramount but after the day she’d had, she was quite happy to manage with wine and crisps. She grabbed a couple of bags of Mini Cheddars, almost in an act of defiance. After all, with no man to please, what did it matter that her diet was about to go off the rails. For once, the weight police could go to hell.
She settled on the sofa, her mobile beside her, the mail now on her lap. Bill. Bill. Junk mail. Card from her grandmother. She took a deep sip of her wine, allowing the flavours to explode against her tongue as she studied the front of the card before flipping it over and reading the scrawl on the back. A trip to Modena was long overdue and, there and then, she promised herself to visit at the first opportunity – whenever that might be.
The knock on the door had her almost jumping out of her skin let alone the sofa and, heading into the hall, the first thing she did was secure the chain.
‘Surprise!’
‘Next time, Amy, a little more warning and a lot less surprise would be perfect,’ she grumbled, the sight of the bottle of champagne Tim was holding doing little to calm her heart that was currently trying its hand at tap dancing. ‘You do know there’s a killer on the loose …’
‘I did try and tell her, but you know Amy.’
‘Yes, indeed. Come in then, if you must but I’m going to feel no compunction booting you out after drinking your champers. Mini Cheddar, anyone?’ she added, a wicked gleam in her eye as she headed back into the kitchen for more glasses.
‘So, what’s the celebration this time? she said over her shoulder, stuffing more bags of crisps under her arm before handing out glasses and watching as Tim popped the cork.
‘There doesn’t need to be a reason, not with Tim’s ready supply of cheap booze.’
Gaby laughed, before turning to Tim. ‘So, how’s the restaurant?’ She took a sip of her drink, relishing the first-class bubbles on her tongue instead of the prosecco she was used to.
‘Well, at least I have meat! We’re using a different butcher for a couple of days until Barry gets himself sorted.’
She eyed him over the rim of her glass, choosing her words. ‘So, you’ll use him again then?’
‘No reason not to and, if the rumours are true about his wife, he’ll need all the business he can get. I’m not one for kicking a man when he’s down.’
‘I didn’t think you would be. So, people are sympathetic towards him?’
‘Absolutely. He’s going to get more housewives turning up at his door with casseroles than he has freezer room for.’
‘Enough about work, already,’ Amy interrupted, placing her empty glass down on the table. ‘I’m starving. Have you eaten? Perhaps we could order a take-out?’
‘You’re the second person to ask me if I’ve eaten,’ Gaby said, the words slipping out despite her earlier determination.
‘Oh? Do tell? A new man?’
‘Hardly. Just Dr Mulholland having a brain freeze. I told him pretty much where he could stuff his meal.’
‘You didn’t, and after that email you sent him too! Gaby Darin, you’re the pits.
That poor man …’
‘Poor man, my foot. I thought you said he was loaded?’
‘I wasn’t referring to his financial state.’ Amy shook her head, her lips twisting.
Gaby glanced across at Tim and where he was pressed up beside Amy on the sofa. Perhaps a couple of hours in good company was what she needed to get her grey cells firing because sitting by herself wasn’t getting her anywhere.
‘Right then. Chinese or Indian?’
Chapter 36
Gaby
Thursday 14 May, 8.40 a.m. St Asaph Police Station
When Amy had suggested a curry, Gaby hadn’t expected her to send Tim around the corner to pick up another bottle of champagne. The early night she’d been planning had ended with her crawling between the sheets in the small hours.
The morning came too quickly and, with the first hint of daylight peeking through the curtains, she fumbled for paracetamol before heading into the bathroom. There was no thought of an early morning jog just as the thought of breakfast, in any of its forms, turned her stomach. She didn’t even have it in her to attack the pile of empty cartons littering the kitchen, something that would have caused the biggest argument if she’d still been living with her parents.
Windows down in the car, despite the early morning drizzle, blew away some of her hangover, leaving behind a banging headache and a stomach that didn’t quite feel as if it belonged to her. But she’d felt worse. She’d be able to function as a serving member of the police force if she was allowed spend the first hour or so hiding away with black coffee served with a water chaser.
‘Morning, ma’am, the DCI would like a word. He’s in his office,’ the desk sergeant said, as soon as she walked into the building.
Damping down the expletive on her lips all she said was, ‘Thanks, Clancy. Tell him I’ll be up after I’ve dropped off my things.’
She made the mistake of pulling out her compact from her bag before leaving the office. The sight that greeted her was better than she deserved after the amount of alcohol they’d consumed. At least Tim had a job where he didn’t have to do much before midday, but she spared a thought for Amy and how her day was going. She’d know soon enough as she’d arranged to meet her around at Barry Price’s house at ten. Pinching her cheeks added a little colour, as did a slash of lipstick. The dark shadows under her eyes were another thing but Sherlock wasn’t the most discerning of individuals.
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