Killer Princesses: Gripping and gritty, a twisty and tantalising thriller...

by Jennifer R Hollis

  One by one, the officers arrested the them. They were helped into the cars in handcuffs, as Jack, Tricia and Jade looked on from the front garden. Jack tried to keep his demeanour light, but Okafor spotted the stern glances he gave his sons. He was sure he detected some non-verbal orders to keep their mouths closed.

  Once the police cars and half the convoy had driven away, Okafor stepped out of his car.

  “Vincent, isn’t it?” called Jack. He stood confidently, still smiling, with his arms firmly around Tricia and Jade’s shoulders. Okafor ignored him as he authorised the Search Team to proceed.

  “Once we’ve cleared up this little misunderstanding, Vincent, we could try and get along.” Jack heckled from the side-lines. “We’ll have you and the wife over for dinner. Vivienne, right?”

  A shiver ran down Okafor’s spine, and he tried not to let it show.

  The search continued throughout the afternoon, and a healthy haul of evidence bags left the house. Okafor enjoyed the souring of Jack’s expression, as the team discovered more and more hiding places.

  Jack paced around the garden many times and made a few hushed calls away from police ears. Jade had disappeared, leaving Tricia sitting alone and miserable on the wall.

  Okafor terminated the search at around 5 pm. He felt incredibly tired; the earlier adrenaline had evaporated. He only needed to return to the station to check in on the questioning of the Dimont boys and congratulate the team, then an early evening beckoned. In the distance, the first fireworks of the evening whizzed and banged for bonfire night.

  “Sir,” said DS Harris, as she approached him with a concerned look.

  “Yes, Joanne?” he replied as he rubbed his eyes.

  “Sir, I’ve received a voicemail from Debbie Gomez. Her colleague, Dawn Smith, didn’t turn up for work today.”

  “Hardly a police matter,” replied Okafor with a roll of his eyes. He stifled a yawn as he signed some paperwork from the search.

  “Dawn’s not had a day off in fifteen years, apparently, and she didn’t phone anyone to say she’d be absent. Sir, Debbie sounded pretty concerned. She was whispering and crying. Here, listen.”

  Okafor reluctantly leant towards Joanne’s phone.

  “Joanne, DS Harris. It’s Debbie here, Debbie Gomez from the Melwood supermarket. My friend Dawn didn’t come to work today. I know that it sounds silly, to call you, but she’s never been off before. And if she was sick, I know she’d call in. Her phone is off, I’m worried about her, and I don’t know what to do. Please call me when you get this.”

  Okafor sighed. Now that he’d heard it, he felt obliged to at least check up on Dawn, if only for peace of mind.

  “You have an address?” he sighed.

  “Yes, sir. It’s in Melwood, en-route back to the station.”

  They drove at the rear of the convoy out of New Grange, then peeled off when they reached Melwood High Street. They took the back streets to Dawn’s house and pulled up outside the semi-detached house. There was a car parked in the drive and the curtains were open, but the lights were off despite the falling dusk.

  Perhaps, thought Okafor ominously, Debbie Gomez had a good reason to be concerned. They approached the front door and knocked twice without response. There was no sound or movement from behind the door. Okafor shrugged, and DS Harris gritted her teeth.

  “There’s something not right,” she muttered, and Okafor nodded in agreement.

  “There’s not enough here to justify forced entry, though,” he said, moving his hand down towards the plastic door handle. To his surprise, he was able to push it down, and the unlocked door clicked open.

  “Dawn,” he shouted. “Ms Smith, it’s the police, are you here?”

  The house remained silent. Okafor reached a hand inside the door and switched on a light. It illuminated a hallway lined with old pictures and peeling wallpaper. Everything was neat apart from a collection of odd shoes, scattered on the floor. It looked like someone had kicked or tripped over them.

  Okafor picked up his radio, gave the operator the address and requested back-up on standby. He wiped the sweat from his palms and stepped inside the house, followed by DS Harris. A rotten, acrid smell reached his nostrils as he stepped over the shoes towards the living room and kitchen. His hand moved instinctively towards the weapon concealed in his belt.

  He heard a creak to his right and saw DS Harris creeping up the stairs, her jaw clenched.

  “Dawn,” she called tentatively.

  Okafor swept the living room, as a cry from the upstairs broke the eerie silence. He immediately retraced his steps to the hallway and ran up the stairs.

  DS Harris stood on the landing outside the door to the main bedroom. Her face shone with sweat, and she was as white as a sheet. The smell was pungent now, permeating the air and making Okafor feel as nauseous as DS Harris looked. Joanne didn’t need to say it; Okafor already knew what was behind the bedroom door.

  “She’s d-dead, sir,” she stuttered.

  Okafor stepped forward, reached towards her arm, and urged her gently away from the door.

  “Her wrists, they’re b-both cut, and there’s a knife in her h-hand. So much b-blood.” She swayed on the spot and clutched the railing.

  “Come on, Joanne, we need to preserve the scene,” instructed Okafor. It wasn’t Okafor’s first dead body, but it may well have been his sergeant’s. He supported DS Harris back down the stairs and picked up his radio.

  “Cancel back-up, we need forensics here now.”

  Police Media Statement: Tuesday 6 November 2018, 07:00

  DCI Vincent Okafor

  At 17.45 on Monday 5th November, the body of a woman, Dawn Smith, 49, was discovered by police officers at her home in Melwood. Next of kin have been informed.

  Ms Smith worked at the same supermarket in Melwood as both Janice Locke and Caitlin Murphy. However, Ms Smith’s death is not currently being treated as suspicious or linked to those crimes.

  We will not be taking any further questions until the forensic examination and coroner’s reports have been completed in full.

  18: Liar

  Tuesday 6th November 2018 - Gillian

  Gillian’s hands shook as she put down her house phone. Her breath quickened as she stumbled into the nearest seat in her living room. The call was from Vincent Okafor, to inform her that he’d found another member of her team, Dawn Smith, dead at her home in Melwood. She rubbed her temples as she grasped at the details from the conversation.

  Okafor had said ‘not suspicious,’ and that it looked as though Dawn had taken her own life. Then, he had suggested that Gillian speak to the Store Manager, Steve. Okafor had already informed him and recommended that they announce the news to the staff before they read about it in the media.

  It was a good suggestion, thought Gillian, yet she remained frozen on the sofa. She stared into a mirror, as a crushing feeling descended on her. Her chest was tight, her stomach felt like lead, and her thoughts raced.

  What would people think and say? Three deaths in three months, all from the same team within the same supermarket. Would anyone honestly believe that Dawn had killed herself?

  “Gill,” said Kevin, nervously, from the living room doorway. “Did someone call?”

  “Yes, it was the police,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on the floor.

  “And?”

  “It’s Dawn,” she replied, turning to face her husband, who’d raised his eyebrows. “They found her yesterday evening. Suicide, they think,” she added, as she brushed some dust from the sofa armrest.

  Kevin exhaled and shuffled forward, moving his hand towards Gillian’s shoulder. Before he could make contact, she shrugged.

  “Not now, Kevin,” she snapped. “I have things to do. Okafor said I should call Steve. He’ll have to make the announcement. But I’ll need to be there as soon as possible.”

  Kevin withdrew his hand and nodded. Gillian shuffled up the stairs, in a daze but with a sense of purpose.

  In the p
rivacy of her bedroom, she picked up her mobile phone and dialled Steve’s number.

  “Gillian,” he answered straight away. “You’ve spoken to Okafor?”

  “Yes,” she replied with a sigh, “it’s terrible, terrible news.”

  “I’m sorry Gill, I’m not sure if you and Dawn were close?”

  “I suppose we’d known each other a long time,” replied Gillian, as the crushing feeling returned to her chest.

  “And so soon, after, you know...”

  “Quite, yes. But Okafor said he doesn’t think they’re linked. They’re not treating it as suspicious.”

  “Well, not yet,” sighed Steve, and Gillian’s heartbeat began to speed up again. “Anyway, what are we going to do about the staff, your team?”

  “Okafor was right,” replied Gillian. “You should announce it this morning to anyone on shift, before the media coverage. Renee and Marie are working this morning, and I could call Debbie and Karen and get them to pop in for it. They can cascade the news.”

  “OK, good idea, but, Gill,” he paused, “can you do it, the announcement?”

  Gillian froze again. It was the very last thing she wanted to do, and her face flushed red at the thought of it. But then again, she had been Dawn’s boss; people would expect her to break the news.

  “Steve, I really don’t…”

  “Please, Gill, I barely knew the woman, and you’ve done loads of speeches, you’re good at this stuff,” he pleaded.

  Gillian closed her eyes and sighed.

  “Fine, fine, let’s do it together at 8.20 am. Before the store opens.”

  “See you then, Gill, and thank you.”

  Gillian’s hands shook again as she created a new group message: herself, Renee Marie, Debbie and Karen.

  Please come to the store for 8.20 am – I’m making an urgent announcement.

  As she got ready, she heard her phone vibrating. She expected the messages were all coming from the new group. She could just imagine the speculation and questions. She didn’t bother to check the messages, let alone respond. They’d all have to turn up and hear the news along with everyone else.

  She took a fresh, ironed uniform from her wardrobe; it felt baggier than usual. She removed her hair curlers, did her best to cover her pale, blotchy skin and dry lips with make-up. The stresses of the last three months had undeniably taken their toll on her. She glared at the impatient clock, which told her she only had moments left before she had to go.

  “Take it step by step,” she muttered to the mirror. “You’re a leader, you’ve made a hundred speeches before, it’s not another murder, it’s suicide.”

  She breathed deeply, then willed herself to the front door. She glanced into the study; Kevin was sitting at his desk, looking down at his phone and typing.

  “Kevin, I’m leaving now. Everything OK?”

  “Yes,” he jumped and dropped his phone on the floor. “Good luck, you know, making the announcement.”

  “How do you know I’m doing it instead of Steve?” she queried, her eyes narrowed.

  “Oh, um...”

  His eyes darted around the room, landing on the phone on the floor in front of him.

  “I didn’t, I just thought, you know, you’re her manager,” he mumbled.

  “Liar,” muttered Gillian, as she left the house. As she closed the door, she noticed that some of her plant pots had fallen over, and that soil had spread onto the driveway. She picked up a broom and swept until it looked perfect again. For about ten seconds, it made her feel much better. But then she remembered all her other stresses, and that time was ticking by impatiently.

  Thirty minutes later, she sat in the store canteen. How could she get up and speak to all these people, when her muscles felt so tense and her breath was caught in her throat?

  At 8.20 am, Steve knocked on a table to get everyone’s attention, his face solemn. Silence fell, and dozens of pairs of eyes swivelled in her direction, in anticipation of the news.

  In front of her, Debbie and Karen sat close together, looks of concern on their faces. Marie stood towards the back, with Renee perched on a table next to her. So, she’s well enough to come and hear the announcement, thought Gillian, dryly. She took a deep breath.

  “Good morning,” she paused, her breath caught in her throat. “I-I’m afraid we have some terrible, terrible news to share with you this morning. Yesterday, our colleague Dawn was found at her home, and she had passed away.”

  There was a collective gasp; hands flew up to mouths and eyes darted around the room. The colour drained from Debbie’s face; her hand twitched and grabbed Karen’s arm.

  “Now,” said Gillian, though it was almost inaudible over the din of noise. “Now, this is not being treated as suspicious,” she shouted, and silence fell again.

  “What do you mean, not suspicious?” cried Edith from the middle of the canteen. “It’s only been three months since Janice and Caitlin. And Dawn wasn’t ill, was she?”

  There was a murmur of agreement around the room. Gillian’s head throbbed with pressure, and she struggled to catch her breath. Steve stood up.

  “Everyone!” he shouted. “I know this is a shock, but you have to listen to Gillian, to the whole announcement.”

  “Not suspicious,” Gillian spluttered, as everyone fell silent again, “because the signs, the investigation, the evidence points to suicide. It wasn’t a murder, it was suicide.”

  There was an audible gasp again, followed by silence. In the front row, Karen had her arm around Debbie, who whispered, “no, no, no,” over and over again.

  “This may well be in the news today. I ask that you tell as many of your other colleagues as you can,” said Steve, who had now stood up at his table.

  “We’ll share funeral details and contribution arrangements when we know them. But for now, the show must go on. The store opens in three minutes.”

  “I’d like a quick word with my supervisor team,” shouted Gillian, as the room descended into smaller chats. She leaned down towards Debbie and Karen.

  “I’m going to speak to Renee and Marie first because they have to open up. Wait here.”

  She sat down with Renee and Marie at a table towards the back of the canteen. They were both silent, for a change, and Gillian felt less tense. It was like she’d awoken from a bad dream and was becoming herself again; in control.

  “I understand this might be quite a shock,” commented Gillian, as she tried to make eye contact with the two women in front of her. Marie stared down at her lap; Renee raised her head.

  “Uh, just a bit, Gillian, yeah. I mean, what happened? How did she do it? Did you know she was depressed?”

  “No, of course I didn’t,” replied Gillian, ignoring the rest of Renee’s morbid questioning.

  “Now, we don’t have long because you have a department to open, but as you can imagine, this is going to be a tough time for us. Christmas is coming, and we’re already short-staffed.”

  “Jade wants more hours,” mumbled Marie, coming out of her daze.

  “I’ll sort out the staffing, thank you,” replied Gillian, and she held her hand up to prevent further interruption from Renee.

  “It is important, now more than ever, that you set an example to the team: no fights, no gossiping, no bitching. You’re going to get along with everyone, including Debbie and Karen. And you are going to reassure people that this isn’t related to Janice and Caitlin. If you don’t, there will soon be two more full-time vacancies for Jade to cover. Do I make myself clear?”

  The corners of Renee’s mouth twitched, but she nodded and left without further comment.

  Gillian turned her attention to Debbie and Karen. Debbie whispered and gesticulated frantically at Karen, who shook her head in return. As Gillian approached them, they both fell silent.

  “Debbie, Karen,” sighed Gillian as she sat down next to them. “If there had been any more time, Steve and I would have told you separately.”

  Neither of them responded.
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br />   “I know you were the closest to her, Debbie,” offered Gillian, as she leant forward over the table. “Did she say anything to you, in the week or so before she died?”

  Karen looked at Debbie nervously.

  “No,” replied Debbie as she wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

  “I spoke to her on inspection day, of course, but only about the usual stuff. And then I sent her a few messages this week, but she didn’t reply. During the riots, I asked if she was OK, and she said yes. Then she doesn’t show up for work. Now, this…” Debbie trailed off into tears again.

  “It is just terrible, really terrible,” repeated Gillian. “But we must all pull together now and set an example for the team. Renee and Marie have agreed to reassure others that this isn’t linked to Janice and Caitlin. We all need to try and move on.”

  Karen nodded, but Debbie’s head remained fixed in place, tears dropping from her eyes.

  “I’ll take her home,” said Karen, putting her arm back around her friend. “We need a bit of time for the news to sink in, you know.”

  Gillian watched as Karen supported Debbie out of the canteen, exchanging meaningful looks with each other. Something compelled Gillian to stand up again and follow them. She wondered what they were saying now, and before she’d arrived at their table.

  She closed the door to the canteen softly behind her and crept towards the locker area. Debbie and Karen were there, putting their coats on. She stopped around the corner of the lockers, hoping to hear a few words of their conversation.

  “Gillian is right,” hissed Karen. “We all need to move on with our own lives. It’s awful, but people kill themselves all the time. She was lonely and miserable. You knew that.”

  “She’s always been lonely and miserable,” retorted Debbie. “But recently, she was onto something, and now she’s dead.”

  “She killed herself, Debbie. And if she didn’t, isn’t the fact she’s dead reason enough for you to stop nosing around?”

  Gillian couldn’t help agreeing with Karen’s point, and Debbie didn’t seem to have a counterargument, either.