Darkest Night

by Jenny O'Brien

  ‘Dr, we have to be clear here. A man’s future might depend on it. So apart from the expulsion of his son, is there anything else that would lead you to conclude that Mr Stevens could be the man we’re looking for? I take it you do mean Mr Casper Stevens?’

  He paused a moment, as if considering her words, before giving a sharp nod. ‘There’s nothing else that I can think of. Up until that last meeting I have to say I liked him as a man.’

  Chapter 37

  Nikki

  Five months ago, Llandudno

  Nikki backed into the nearest doorway, the sight of the thronging masses lining the streets of Llandudno worse than her worst nightmare. So many people. Couples. Lovers. Parents with children. Everyone had someone except her, her gaze resting on the two elderly women walking in tandem ahead. Her father couldn’t wait to get rid of her and as for her mother … She turned on her heel and headed for the pier and away from the crowds, unwilling to spend even a second thinking about her beloved mother.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been here. They’d used to come as a family before her father had decided that his perfect little life wasn’t perfect at all. They’d stayed in one of the cheap B&Bs that interspersed the posh hotels, their pastel frontages trying to cling onto a way of life that had long since passed.

  Pulling on the straps of her rucksack, her back beginning to ache, she wondered yet again at the madness that had possessed her to return. It had been foolish to try and reclaim that small slice of happiness that was her life before her parents’ separation and eventual divorce – before university and, finally, before Paul.

  She sank down on one of the green benches that dotted the promenade, drawn to the pebble beach and blue-green sea beyond. Thinking about Paul de Bertrand, even after a span of nearly ten years, still caused a wrenching ache of regret and shame that wouldn’t leave, despite the passage of time. She could still remember, as if it was yesterday, the look of reproach and, yes, it must be said, disappointment etched on his face at the sight of her dressed up like Christine. She sighed. How stupid she’d been. How naive to think that a man like him would switch his love to someone like her, even with dyed-red hair and a sexy frock. And the irony of it was, when the realisation had hit that she’d lost the man she’d never really had, it had been too late to turn back the clock. She’d blown her degree and had ended up, if not quite jobless and homeless then nearly so. She’d found employment working in a small provincial library on minimum wage. It wasn’t much of a life but she’d managed.

  The sea drew her like a magnet. She’d always loved water, even as a child. There was something about the way the waves edged up over the shore that fascinated her more than the cool green of a forest glade or the highest mountain peak. Not that she was a swimmer. Her mother had never been bothered enough to sign her up for the weekly lessons at the local sports centre and, when she’d been of an age to learn independently, her scars had always been the barrier that she could never overcome. But not now. Now the fact that she’d never learnt, made coming here, surrounded by the faded memories of her one pure happy time, the next step in her crock of a life. Oh, she’d have probably been content to muddle along until retirement if the library hadn’t had its funding withdrawn – when that final door closed so had her willingness to continue. She was too old and set in her ways to start again, which is what she’d have had to do. Another library in another town when she barely had enough energy to get out of bed in the morning. No. This way was easier and best all round.

  She stood and, slipping her rucksack off her shoulders, left it on the bench before walking across the prom to the sea beyond, her body shaking with nerves. Taking a blade to her skin was easy in comparison to what she was about to do. There’d be no sense of relief. No sense of control. But with nowhere to go and no one to turn to, it was …

  ‘Hold on a minute. You’ve forgotten your bag.’

  The words flew over her head, not one of them making a mark on her tortured mind. It was only the shocked sound of her name on someone’s lips that pulled her out of the dark place that was already calling to her.

  ‘Nikki. Nikki Jones. It is you.’

  Even then she could have shaken her head and pleaded ignorance. After all, her future was planned, her life set in stone – the date of her death already carved. But she didn’t. She recognised that voice for what it was. The voice of the woman who’d stolen her perfect future only to discard it along with the trash.

  Her body turned away from the sea, a new future erasing the misery of the past, one thought uppermost.

  Revenge.

  Chapter 38

  Gaby

  Thursday 14 May, 11.00 a.m. Oswestry

  ‘Well, what did you think of that?’ Gaby said, following Owen to the car.

  ‘I’m not sure if I’m honest.’ He opened the passenger door for her before walking around to the driver’s side. ‘Stevens didn’t look the type but then who does? And there’s Tracy remember. I can sort of get him sleeping with Christine but I’m at a loss as to the rest of it. Have you considered too how he’d have the wherewithal to stab like that? Would pharmacists have the in-depth anatomy training that Rusty thinks was needed?’

  ‘No, possibly not.’ Gaby slammed the car door behind her and reached for her seatbelt. ‘You do realise what this means,’ she added, turning to stare back across at the house before twisting in her seat and meeting Owen’s gaze. ‘Ronan doesn’t fit the bill. He’s too young for a start. All the reports indicate a man and he’s little more than a boy. But what parent wouldn’t do everything in their power to protect their child …’ Gaby’s voice tailed off, her mind sweeping back to the image of Casper Stevens, standing beside the mantelpiece. ‘He’s a husband and father, for God’s sake!’

  ‘Just like Tracy was a wife and mother.’ Owen placed his phone and keys in the cubby hole. ‘Which he’d have known all too well living next door to her.’

  ‘I can’t believe that he’d—’

  ‘We don’t actually know if he did anything, and we won’t until we bring him in for questioning,’ Owen said, starting the car. ‘Do you want me to phone for a squad car to pick him up?’

  ‘No.’ Gaby massaged her temple, trying to dispel the image of Stevens the last time she’d seen him. He was probably the last man she’d ever suspect of something like this. Where was her copper instinct if she was proved wrong? ‘Before we do anything, I’d like to run a background check to see if he has any priors or any skeletons in his cupboard.’

  Reaching for her mobile, she started tapping the keys only for it to come to life in her hand.

  ‘Darin speaking.’

  She stilled, her breath caught in the back of her throat, her eyes fixed on the view up ahead. After a moment she ended the call, the phone dropped in her lap, her face now paper-white.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘That was Malachy. We’re going to have to scratch our plans for the moment,’ she said, turning to face him, her habitual bland expression nowhere to be seen. ‘That neighbour of Barry Price’s …’

  ‘Deborah Miles?’

  ‘Yes. She went to drop a pie off to Barry for his lunch. When she didn’t get an answer, she decided to peer through the windows. She knew, you see, that we’d visited earlier.’ Gaby managed a smile of sorts, a smile that never got past her lips. ‘The benefit of nosy neighbours.’ Her voice broke, all trace of her smile dispersed by grief. ‘She found him hanging from the ceiling.’

  Chapter 39

  Gaby

  Thursday 14 May, 2.10 p.m. Llan Clwyd Hospital

  Who’d be a copper? No one who actually knew what the job entailed, that was for sure.

  Under normal circumstances it took a little over an hour to get from Oswestry to Llan Clwyd Hospital, but Owen managed it in thirty-five minutes, give or take. And each one of those minutes was agony for Gabriella Darin. What could she have done differently, if anything, to prevent another tragedy? The question was swiftly followed by thou
ghts of those poor boys and what they were about to face.

  Hanging wasn’t a nice way to commit suicide, if ever the term nice could be assigned to such an act. But it was still one of the most common forms, despite the horror that awaited the poor unsuspecting individual left to find the swinging feet and engorged face. She spared more than a few thoughts for Deborah Miles, a strong woman if ever there was one. But strength and tenacity wouldn’t get her very far where hanging was concerned. Gaby had only had the misfortune to come across one such act while in uniform, but she could still remember the nightmares that ensued.

  The car had barely squealed to a stop outside the hospital before Gaby wrenched open the door and raced to reception, feeling her trousers pull against her thighs as she ran up the steps.

  Slamming her warrant card down, she examined the youngster decked out in his spanking brand new porter’s uniform and suddenly decided to moderate both her tone and her words. Just because she was having a shit day didn’t mean she had to ruin his. Instead of asking to be put through to the morgue she decided to say, ‘If you could check your records for a Barry Price, please?’ A small smile was the most she could manage.

  Picking up her card, she resisted the temptation of tapping the edge against the top of the desk while she watched him log into the system and search their databanks, the seconds crawling into what seemed like minutes while he waited for the hospital computer to load. It was routine for ambulances to bring all victims in via the emergency department, whatever their state. She knew she was clutching at straws.

  ‘Just arrived in ICU, which is …’

  ‘I know where it is. Thank you,’ she added as an afterthought, already heading for the lift, Owen by her side.

  ‘I thought you said he’d—?’

  ‘Obviously not!’

  Intensive Care. How many times had she visited departments such as this one? How many pastel-coloured walls had she propped herself against, waiting for the harried nurses to let them in? How many smashed faces and broken bodies had she borne witness to? Far too many.

  ‘So, how long do you think they’ll keep us hanging around then.’ Owen’s words planted the first genuine smile on her lips in what felt like ages.

  Humour, the copper’s safety valve. Often macabre. Rarely in good taste. But as essential as breathing. The only problem was, after the few days she’d been having, humour was the very last thing she was up for. Blinking, she tried to think up a pithy response, but she couldn’t seem to drag her mind away from the futility of it all. What man would do that and leave two little boys to face the world alone. A desperate one.

  ‘Ha, very funny, not.’ Her mouth faded back to the resident thin compressed line. ‘As you very well know, the longer it takes, the better the outcome. Bagging and tagging only takes seconds. The rest—’ she waved her hand towards the door ‘—the rest can take a lifetime of rehabilitation and recovery.’

  Gaby reached up almost unconsciously to her neck, the skin butter-soft under her fingers, thanks to the nightly slap of whatever cream was on special in Asda, her mind delving through what she knew about hanging. She frowned because it didn’t amount to much. She couldn’t remember a case of murder by hanging and, as soon as suicide was determined by the pathologist, her team were pulled off the case. Now she realised just how lax she’d been, and her frown deepened. She could remember there was more than one type, but her brain seemed frozen on the execution hangings depicted in the spaghetti westerns her dad and brothers used to gorge on.

  The door pushed open and a tall black man, dressed in faded blue scrubs, strolled out, his hands tucked in his pockets. Her first thought was based on his looks: the breadth of his shoulders, the angular cut of his cheekbones. Her second was guilt. She was old enough but obviously not wise enough if her first thought was lust. Folding her arms, she took a step back but not before indicating with a tilt of her head for Owen to lead.

  ‘I’m DC Bates and this is DS Darin – what can you tell us about him, Dr er—?’

  ‘McCrea.’ He walked across to the powder blue chairs and took a seat, gesturing for them to follow. ‘Barry Price is one lucky son-of-a-bitch. If the neighbour had been a few seconds later or a few inches shorter we wouldn’t have been able to do anything. As it is, there’s still only a 50/50 chance that he’ll make it,’ he said, rubbing his hand over the dark stubble breaking out on his chin. ‘He’d strung himself up to the light fitting with one of his wife’s scarves, kicking the chair away probably only moments before the neighbour looked in through the window. She had the sense to pull out her phone and call the emergency services while she ran through the door and gathered the full weight of his body on her shoulders.’

  He relaxed his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, his face etched with tiredness.

  ‘When will we be able to speak to him?’ Gaby asked, almost reluctant to disturb him in his moment of peace.

  His eyes flew open, his look direct. ‘Not for a while, I’m afraid. We had to pop a tube down his throat to help him breathe so the best I can say is that he’s unconscious but stable. Also, we’ve yet to eliminate the possibility of a spinal fracture or even spinal cord damage and that’s not even thinking about any brain damage that might have resulted from the hypoxia, or reduced oxygen supply.’ He stood, his gaze wandering over to Owen briefly before returning to Gaby. ‘Well, if that’s all? I’m on call tonight and I was hoping for a couple of hours’ rest.’ He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘One more thing,’ Gaby said, her thoughts now with Deborah Miles. ‘What about the neighbour? I thought she’d still be here?’

  ‘She is, Detective.’ He lifted his hand and pointed at the signage pinned to the wall. ‘She’s being patched up in the Emergency Department. That’s one plucky lady, saving a life that didn’t want to be saved.’

  ‘She’s all right, is she?’

  ‘If you can call a fractured eye socket and jaw all right. For a man in the throes of death, he certainly had one hell of a kick on him. The psychiatric team are going to have a field day trying to sort him out.’ He headed along the corridor only to pause at the shrill sound of his bleeper, his stroll turning into a sprint, presumably all thought of sleep forgotten.

  Gaby watched him before pulling a face and turning back to Owen.

  ‘The poor man. And we think we have it bad.’ She dragged her phone out of her pocket searching for a number. ‘Owen, don’t judge me but I’m going to ask Paul de Bertrand to get in touch with Christine. The gutter press are going to be all over this. It’s up to them if they want to avoid unwanted media intrusion but I do think they should be given the opportunity. I don’t think we’ve ever been so wrong about a case. I’m still not sure how Stevens fits in but the one thing I do know is that those two are innocent of any wrongdoing.’ She smiled briefly. ‘And, after, I’m going to head down to check on how Mrs Miles is, it’s the very least we can do. While I’m there, if you can round up Amy. Someone is going to have to break the news to Barry’s family and I’d prefer if it wasn’t me.’

  Chapter 40

  Gaby

  Thursday 14 May, 3.15 p.m. Llan Clwyd Hospital

  ‘Right, where is Amy going to meet us?’

  ‘She’s not.’

  Gaby stopped outside the hospital entrance. There was just something in Owen’s tone that alerted her to the fact that something was wrong. Very wrong.

  ‘What do you mean she’s not?’ she said, staring up at him, her cheeks pale.

  ‘Amy didn’t show for work today.’

  ‘What? She’s off sick? That’s unlike her.’

  ‘She hasn’t rung in sick – she just failed to show.’

  She looked at him, her mouth slightly open before turning on her heel. ‘Owen, you call the boys’ grandparents, don’t say anything about Barry, just check they’re picking them up from school and taking them back to their place.’

  They reached the car and, settling in her seat, she pulled out her mobile.

 
‘Hi Tim, it’s Gaby. I’m trying to contact Amy.’ After barely a moment, she laid her phone across her lap and stretched for her seatbelt with unsteady fingers. ‘He hasn’t seen her since first thing this morning. She was going to drop into the chemist for some paracetamol on her way to work.’

  ‘Which chemist?’ he snapped.

  ‘Which chemist do you think! The one she always uses next to Coast Café in Rhos-on-Sea. It’s the nearest to Tim’s. Oh God, she’s been missing now for six hours and no one realised – how can that even happen?’

  Gaby felt the blood drain to her feet appalled that she hadn’t realised sooner that something was wrong, very wrong. It was so out of character for Amy to be late for anything and she’d at least have phoned to let her know she’d been detained. She clenched and unclenched her hands feeling powerless. They’d find Amy if it was the last thing they did – but it might be too late.

  Owen started the engine and screeched out of the car park. ‘Where to first?’

  ‘Head for the chemist but I’m sending a car over – we’re still a good half hour away.’

  They didn’t speak. There was nothing to say. As coppers they expected the worst, not because they were pessimists, not a bit of it. Coppers had to be optimists otherwise they wouldn’t last five minutes in the job. The truth was that most missing people turned up alive. Either an accident had befallen them, or they’d simply had a change of plan. But Amy wasn’t most people. Amy was a highly intuitive professional who rarely made a wrong judgement call. If something had happened, she’d have done everything in her power to let the station know. Out of the office, she always had her phone glued to her hand. Only last week they’d joked that she kept it under her pillow during sex just in case she missed something. So, she was either incapacitated or unable to access her mobile. Both scenarios struck dread in Gaby’s heart.