No Safe Home: the gripping new crime thriller everybody is talking about

by Tara Lyons

  “You’re not close then?”

  “My parents had a rocky marriage and split when I was a teenager. My father returned to his family home in Jamaica and we never heard from him again. He never met Maggie.” Hamilton paused, pushing away the outdated image of his father. “My mother? Now, she’s a different story… she’s amazing.”

  “Do you see her often?” Fraser asked.

  “As much as possible, when you work in a demanding job like we do,” he laughed. “She was born in London, grew up near here, and worked in St Thomas’s Hospital for as long as I can remember. But when she retired, she moved to the Lake District, so I don’t see her as often as I’d like to.”

  “What a lovely area of the country. You should make the time.”

  “She runs this quaint little tea room on the shore of Lake Windermere.” Hamilton smiled and nodded. “Elizabeth and I will visit soon.”

  He felt at ease with his colleague, but then a lifetime of memories vied for his attention and his jaw tightened as the lump rose in his throat.

  “Can I ask, what made you join the murder investigations team?” Fraser finally broke the silence.

  “After Maggie’s funeral, I was so angry I handed my notice in. My DCI at the time insisted I take compassionate leave, that we’d re-evaluate my decision at a later date. The grief threw Elizabeth and I together and, surprisingly, we grew stronger as husband and wife. In time, we found a way of waking up each morning, getting dressed and having breakfast without one of us falling apart. I turned my self-hatred into determination. I promised I’d do everything I could to stop miscreants walking these streets and help give their victims a voice… bring them justice. And no, Paige Everett is not the first teenage fatality since Maggie passed away, and sadly I know she won’t be the last. But, everything about that crime scene… her Facebook on the laptop, the drug remnants on the desk, even her angelic pose on the bed. I could have been at home, in my daughter’s room five years ago. It won’t happen again.”

  “You don’t have to explain to me, boss. I’m sorry you had to relive it, but it has shown me a different side to you. I don’t know, maybe I understand you better and… well, thanks for that.” She beamed the most genuine smile Hamilton had witnessed from a colleague. “You know it’s been scientifically proven that sharing secrets with the people you work with is vital, especially if you’re prone to volatile situations.”

  Hamilton laughed, her teasing infectious. “Well, maybe we’ll have to get Clarke to join us, and you can both share your deepest and darkest secrets with the group.”

  “Hmm… no thanks, maybe not such a great idea after all. Heaven knows what that man is keeping buried. But feel free to reveal more about yourself, boss. I don’t know anything about your wife.”

  “Don’t push it, Fraser,” he replied austerely, but couldn’t hide the curve of his lip. “It’s almost eight, let’s get to the office. We finally have someone joining us today.”

  Hamilton took a note from his wallet and dropped it onto the table, signalling farewell to the waitress as they left the café.

  “What’s all that in there?” Hamilton pointed to the clear carrier-bag Fraser held.

  She lifted it up for examination. He clearly spied the pint of milk, instant coffee and teabags. “Supplies for the office, because it’s obvious no one else is going to replenish.”

  He nodded his head and grunted, only smirking once she had walked ahead of him. Normal service resumed, he thought, and hoped the new addition to the team wouldn’t rock the now stable boat.

  In the office, Hamilton identified the new sergeant immediately; as the only one wearing a T-Shirt and jeans combo, it wasn’t hard. The man was much younger than he had expected, possibly late twenties, with a full head of dark hair and a short, lighter-coloured beard. He marched over, interrupting the punchline to Clarke’s joke, and held out his hand.

  “I’m DI Denis Hamilton, you must be Sergeant…”

  The young man’s cheeks flushed. “No, sir, I’m PC Robbie O’Connor. I’ve been transferred to help with your investigation.”

  “By whom?”

  “DCI Allen made the request, sir.”

  Hamilton noted O’Connor’s Irish accent and wondered if there was a family connection between the chief and new recruit. He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  “I mean he didn’t personally request me,” O’Connor continued, “but I’d heard there was a chance to work in London and I jumped at the opportunity.”

  “Where have you come from?”

  “Welwyn, sir. I’ve been there three years but I’m looking to move to the city.”

  “This isn’t a permanent position, lad. I’m waiting for a new sergeant to join the team. You’re only here to cover compassionate leave.”

  O’Connor smiled, his white teeth shining as bright as his hazel eyes. “Understood loud and clear, sir. I’m just pleased to be part of the team, for however long that may be.”

  Hamilton wasn’t impressed with the excited puppy-dog in front of him, but he could understand the lad’s feelings. It was a big step for an aspiring sergeant and he had faith that O’Connor’s request wouldn’t have been granted if he didn’t meet the standard.

  “Okay, well we’re going to have to throw you straight in at the deep end. I hope you’re prepared for that, O’Connor.”

  “Of course, sir, one hundred per cent. And please, call me Rocky.” Hamilton frowned, waiting for an explanation. “Well, what with the initials and the fact I do a bit of sparring in my spare time, this nickname was inevitable when I started my training in Hendon. Being called O’Connor by a colleague now seems a bit alien.”

  Hamilton wanted to remind the lad he wasn’t a colleague, but a superior. Reminiscing over his time in uniform, the banter everyone shared and his own nickname of Ham, gratefully left behind, he nodded in agreement. As long as O’Connor was professional and efficient, he could be called whatever he wanted.

  “Fine, Rocky, you’ll be office-based with Fraser, for now at least. Get up to speed on our bedroom killer and then take your orders from her,” Hamilton commanded. “We’re in the process of trying to find a link between the two women.”

  “Boss, I’ve requested the victims’ phone and bank records so we can cross-reference them,” Fraser cut in. “Both their laptops are being delivered to me today, if they’re not already in the building that is.”

  “Interesting, they could prove extremely useful.”

  “Well, I got to thinking, with the technology out there today, no one is truly a recluse. It’s hard to stay anonymous during real-life support meetings and groups. But online…”

  “You can be whoever you want and still find a wealth of help,” Rocky finished Fraser’s sentence.

  “Exactly!”

  Hamilton rubbed his hands together. “Well, it sounds like you two are on the same page already, great stuff. Fraser, utilise Rocky to get that side of the investigation moving along faster. An update from me about Tony Jones – husband of our second victim, Emma – he couldn’t be located at his last known address, so hasn’t been told about the murder yet. Clarke, we’re going to head to his place of work and see if he’s there.”

  “Find anything more about the restraining order, gov?” his partner asked.

  “It was actually a non-molestation induction order Emma Jones had against him.”

  “So, we’re talking the aggressive, possibly violent type of husband and father,” Clarke replied. “Fraser, it might be worth seeing if our first victim had any connection to this Tony Jones. It’s not unheard of for men to have secret wives and families.”

  “Really, just five miles apart?” Fraser questioned.

  Clarke shrugged and replied mockingly, “Limits travel expenses.”

  “Actually, I think the idea may have legs,” Hamilton said, for once agreeing with his partner’s unfaithful way of thinking. “Consider all the possibilities and look into them. We’re heading over to Camden now. Text me if you
find out anything further on Jones in the next half an hour.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “We would have been better off getting the tube,” Clarke exclaimed as he manoeuvred the car through the busy Camden High Street.

  “You’d be on your own then, partner,” Hamilton replied.

  The thought of travelling on the London Underground, after so many years of driving, made his skin crawl. While it gave the opportunity to span huge distances of the city, without consideration for parking, the thought of standing nose-to-nose with a stranger filled Hamilton with dread. His arse pressed against the thigh of some man whose coffee-stained breath could warm his neck was out of the question. He’d choose the bustling roads of the city every time.

  The pair had no choice but to park on a side street and walk five minutes back into the heart of Camden and over the lock. Despite the wet weather, shoppers were out in force for the famous market stalls, and pungent wafts of meats and spices filled their nostrils. He wasn’t one to eat on the job, but Hamilton couldn’t help but contemplate the thought of buying a kebab roll afterwards.

  “This is the pub,” Clarke said, and held the door open for him.

  Hamilton marched through, staggered at the size of the crowd so soon after breakfast, and asked for Tony Jones.

  “Who the bloody hell are you?” was the response given by a bald, six-foot man with the tattoo of a skull on his neck.

  He knew they’d found their man and reached for his warrant card, unconcerned by those around him. “DI Hamilton and DS Clarke, we need a word please, sir.”

  Tony Jones flared his nostrils and clenched his jaw. Hamilton, ready to give chase, was surprised when the man lowered the empty pint glass to the counter and threw his head towards the side door. The pair followed Tony into a narrow corridor, allowing the noise of the pub to be sucked away through the vacuum of the door.

  “What’s this about? I ain’t done nothing,” Tony barked, as he stepped into an empty office.

  “Take a seat please, sir. I’m afraid we have some bad news.”

  The man listened to Hamilton’s instruction and sat silently while he imparted the painful information about Emma and Kyle Jones’s murders. Tony appeared void of emotion, merely staring at the floor while running his forefinger over his thumb. Hamilton waited a few moments more, expecting a reaction.

  “Mr Jones, is there someone you’d like us to call for you?”

  “No, I… my…” he choked, and cleared his throat. “There’s no one. Just… I can’t fucking believe this.”

  Tony stood, walked to the other side of the office and rested his palms flat against the wall, hanging his head between them. Hamilton frowned at his partner, thinking it strange for the man to adopt a position they’d normally use to search a suspect.

  “Where’s the manager?” Hamilton asked, deciding to change tactics.

  “He’s out. Running errands.”

  “And you have permission to use his office?”

  Tony spun around and frowned. “Yeah, he’s a mate. Is that a problem?”

  “I guess that’s how you got this job. Must be difficult to catch a break when you have a criminal record.”

  “Are you for real? You’ve just fucking told me my wife and kid are dead, and you’re giving me this shit!”

  “Mr Jones, we know about the non-molestation order your wife had out against you.”

  “What, so I must have killed her? Screw you.”

  Hamilton watched closely as the man balled his hands into fists and aimlessly paced the room, his thoughts obviously elsewhere.

  “When’s the last time you saw your wife and son, Mr Jones?”

  He relaxed his fists, rubbing one over his head. “I don’t know, months ago, maybe. We’d split up. Her and Kyle lived somewhere else…”

  “Then why the injunction order?”

  “I don’t know. She said I was following her, scaring her and the kid. I flaming wasn’t.”

  “Mr Jones, there would have been proof to her claim.”

  Tony stopped walking and perched himself on the office table. “Okay, maybe when she first left I was fuming, but I only wanted to make her come back to me. I’d hang around places I thought she’d be, you know, the supermarket or hairdresser’s or play centre. She took it all wrong, said I was stalking her.”

  Without the post-mortem results, Hamilton took a risk with the next question, using Audrey’s unconfirmed estimation for the time of death. “Mr Jones, where were you two nights ago, in the early hours of the morning?”

  “Probably here. You can check the rota, but I pretty much work every night shift because I live upstairs. Like I said, manager’s a buddy.”

  “Explains why we couldn’t find you earlier to inform you. Can anyone confirm they physically saw you?”

  “Yeah, the bloody manager, he lives here too,” Tony snapped. “Don’t know if he’ll be back tonight mind you.”

  “That’s fine, we’ll make sure your alibi is corroborated. What about your wife’s family, we haven’t been able to contact anyone else?”

  “Nah, and you won’t, I’m all she had really. Father ran away before she was born and her mother died last year. I’m telling you, it was as soon as that woman pegged it, Emma was hell-bent on leaving me. Was probably the old bag’s dying wish.”

  “Did your wife have any enemies that you know of?” Hamilton continued, noting the frustrated tap of the man’s right foot.

  “How the hell would I know? I’ve been trying to get my life back on track after all the things she accused me of. I told you, I hadn’t seen them and had no idea where they were living.”

  “Well, we will need to speak to you again at some stage, Mr Jones. So, you are not permitted to leave the area. Thank you for your time and sorry for your loss.”

  With his closing words, Tony finally met Hamilton’s stare. “Will I have to see them, you know all cut up and open?”

  “Your wife and son were discovered by a friend and have been formally identified. However, as next of kin, we will ask the pathologist to contact you directly, and you will be entitled to see them both, Mr Jones.”

  “A friend? What fucking friend? Did she have another fella?”

  “It was Lynn Bairden.”

  “That bitch knew where they lived… and I didn’t?”

  For the first time since meeting the man, Tony’s eyes glistened for just a second before he roughly rubbed the tears away. Hamilton couldn’t determine if it was due to the devastating news or the begrudging relationship, but he was adamant he would find out everything he could about Tony Jones.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Katy threw her head back and laughed at Frankie’s transformer impersonation. Without understanding how, her son brought the sunshine out on a grey, cloudy day. Outside, the unseasonal rain had finally taken a break, leaving a light breeze and a glimmer of sunshine. The net curtains blew into the room and she drank in the fresh air. Craig had granted Katy’s request for the weekend off work, and she was looking forward to spending some quality time with Frankie. Pushing her anxieties to the pit of her stomach, or at least ignoring them for a while, she was more determined than ever to enjoy herself. She wanted to abandon her fear and feel emancipated.

  “Please come with us,” Alexina had begged, before she, Lily and Nancy travelled to Sutton to visit their family. “My mother’s garden is huge, the kids will love it, and I really don’t think you should be here alone.”

  Grateful for Alexina’s consideration, she decided against it. If Katy were to have any success making their new house a home, it needed to feel safe without running away at every hurdle. However, being the insistent type that she was, Alexina had given Katy a spare key to her flat, just in case.

  Katy left her son to his robotic dance moves while she quickly loaded the washing machine. Checking each pocket of her jeans, she pulled out Matthew’s card, and her stomach involuntarily flipped. Her fingertips roved over his name, and she wondered if she’d have the
nerve to call him, or at least send him a text message. She shook her head, placed the card on the counter, and continued with her chores. There was just one more thing Katy needed to do.

  “Frankie, I’ll be ready shortly.”

  “Oh, Mummmmm! I thought we were going out,” he called back.

  “Give me twenty minutes and then I promise we can go into town for some ice-cream.”

  When no reply came, Katy seized the opportunity and switched on the laptop. At five years-old, her son had no concept of time – there was no telling if he’d give her ten minutes or an hour before the nagging began again. A quick glance at her inbox showed a few emails from Friends Online and her mind briefly wandered to Steven.

  “Mummmmm,” Frankie yelled from the living room, “that’s been twenty minutes.”

  “More like two, darling. Watch one more Charlie and Lola and I’ll be ready.”

  “Okay. I’m timing you.”

  Katy swiftly pulled opened another tab and entered a variety of keywords in the search bar. It was disappointingly difficult to purchase the products she’d had in mind, due to the strict laws in the UK. After some research, she discovered the legal alternative to the US Pepper Spray was a gel spray criminal identifier, which omitted a red gel and stained the attacker for at least a week. Fascinated by the self-defence spray, Katy ordered a twin-pack and a mini personal alarm. Just clicking the confirm button on the Amazon checkout filled her with a sense of power she hadn’t embraced for many years.

  Frankie, her small ball of energy, hopped from foot-to-foot at the front door as she slipped into her trainers. The stroll into town was peaceful, watching her son skipping a few paces ahead of her as she gazed around the empty streets, the large houses and surrounding greenery. Katy finally felt free, and erased the memory of Brad confronting her on the street. For once, her husband had listened and backed off, and she refused to spend any more time worrying about him.

  She thought back to her old life, and London city, where the crowds of people fought for space on the pavements. They’d barge into each other, their attention focused on their mobiles, rather than the people they passed every day, and yet it was these mindless people and their gossiping nature that Katy worried about. While working at the salon, she’d heard too many tales about strangers and the dramas unfolding in their lives. The thought of becoming the centre of that hearsay, and receiving pity from clients and colleagues, made her feel violently sick.