The Blissfully Dead

by Louise Voss

  ‘Who – MissTargetHeart?’ Kai was puzzled. Rose Sharp, a.k.a. MissTargetHeart, was in a mortuary somewhere, so it was hard to believe that she could have done anything recently to incur the wrath of Jade – hard to believe, but not impossible. Jade was very easily offended, as he well knew.

  ‘No, you twat, YOLOSWAG. How dare she?’

  ‘What’s she said?’

  Jade stabbed impatiently at her screen with a long fingernail – each of her gel nails was decorated with a different OnTarget logo.

  ‘YOLOSWAG – 5 minutes ago – 11,987 times?!’

  ‘What’s she on about, bae?’

  Jade jumped off the bed and paced around the room, furious. ‘Who does she fucking think she is? She’s just jealous, innit, that she didn’t do it, and now I’m getting all the props and she thinks she can have a pop at me? She’s got another think coming.’

  ‘The tweets?’ Kai asked nervously.

  ‘Yeah, the tweets!’

  Jade was inordinately proud of the fact that the OnTarget website had recently featured her in an article about how she’d tweeted Shawn Barrett 11,897 times in an attempt to get him to follow her back. It called her ‘Shawn’s Biggest Fan?’ She’d printed out the article and it was sellotaped to the wall next to a life-size poster of Shawn:

  Of course, we’re all massive Targeters here, but there’s someone out there who’s dedicated weeks to repeatedly spamming Shawn Barrett with almost 12,000 tweets. Now, that’s slightly excessive, but the girl behind the tweets, Jade, insists she has a very good reason for doing so. And that reason is that she’s truly, madly, deeply in love with him.

  According to BuzzFeed, Jade began tweeting Shawn telling him how her day was going, but she thought that was ‘useless’, so instead decided to write ‘Before I met you @ShawnBarrett I never knew what it was like to be able to look at someone and smile for no reason, follow me, ily.’

  She told the website: ‘I only tweet Shawn, I don’t need anything but his follow.’ Unfortunately for Jade, Shawn Barrett is still yet to follow her on Twitter, but we’re sure she won’t stop there.

  ‘I love them more than my own life, but Shawn is the one who I love the most,’ Jade told BuzzFeed. ‘I actually love him more than I love my boyfriend.’

  Kai scowled at the last sentence, as he did every time he looked at the printout or Jade mentioned it – which was about as many times as she’d tweeted Shawn. But he never let Jade see him scowl.

  ‘Haters gonna hate, babe, she’s totally jealous.’

  Why, Kai thought, couldn’t he have thick blond hair and a strong jaw like Shawn’s? Perhaps Jade would be nicer to him if he didn’t have spots on his forehead, skinny legs and wiry black hair that looked like pubes. Secretly he hated Shawn Barrett with a passion and, with his limited imagination, spent a great deal of time planning all sorts of lurid misfortunes for him, preferably humiliating and public ones. Jade was so fit, with her unbelievable boobs and long blonde hair, that he did seriously worry whether all her millions of tweets would eventually attract Shawn’s attention – and then what chance did he, Kai, have? Jade wouldn’t give him a second look.

  Now, though, Jade rolled onto her side on the bed and twined her arms around his neck. He breathed in her scent – Friendship perfume, hairspray and the sickly smell of her thick brown foundation. She had a tidemark on her jaw contrasting with the white skin of her neck and throat.

  ‘Yeah, but what are we gonna do about it?’ she whispered, her words tickling his ear. ‘YOLOSWAG has, like, really upset me.’ She flapped her fingers in front of her eyes – the gesture that meant she was trying to hold back tears.

  Kai couldn’t bear the prospect of Jade crying. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hugged her tightly. ‘I’ll do whatever you want, bae. I mean it. Whatever you want.’

  She nuzzled into his neck and he felt her cheeks curve up into a sly smile.

  ‘People who dare diss me don’t deserve—’ She sniffed.

  ‘To live?’ Kai asked.

  She guided his hands to her boobs and Kai thought, just like the last little bitch who dared to mess with Jade, that he’d died and gone to heaven.

  Chapter 9

  Day 3 – Patrick

  DCI Suzanne Laughland stuck her head through the door of her partitioned office and called across to him. ‘A word, please, Pat?’

  Heads bent over desks immediately popped up in curiosity, reminding Patrick of meerkats – meerkats in cheap nylon shirts and poorly fitting jackets. Why did so many of his colleagues dress like teenage cashiers in a building society? He pondered this conundrum as he wove around the rows of desks towards Suzanne’s office, mostly to try to quash the tiny lift of excitement he felt whenever she spoke his name.

  Patrick could see through the open slats of the blinds that there was someone else sitting in with her, but couldn’t tell who it was until he was almost at her desk. Then he swore softly, although it came as no surprise. Sitting with his back to the door, cleaning under his fingernails with an unfolded paper clip, was Adrian Winkler.

  He nodded curtly at them both and Suzanne gestured for him to take a seat next to Winkler. Unfortunately, because her office was quite small, they ended up sitting next to one another opposite Suzanne as if they were naughty schoolboys receiving a telling-off from the Head for fighting. Pat made a conscious effort to relax. He sat back in his seat and tried to stretch out his legs, but the walls of the solid desk were in the way, so he couldn’t. Winkler noticed and smirked. Then he shifted in his chair slightly so that he turned his body away from Patrick, cold-shouldering him.

  He’s a cock, thought Pat. Don’t let him make you act like one too.

  ‘Good afternoon, Patrick. Adrian and I were just discussing Hamlet’s autopsy findings, specifically the new development regarding the cuts on the body of Nancy Marr matching those on Rose Sharp’s. Have you had a chance to read up on the Nancy Marr case yet?’

  ‘Not in detail, I’m afraid,’ Patrick said.

  Winkler tutted and Patrick glared at him.

  ‘I’ve been going over the interviews Carmella and I did with the Travel Inn personnel, and Rose Sharp’s parents. As I’m sure you appreciate, that’s a lot of material to get through.’ He managed to stop himself adding ‘I’ve been here since 6 a.m.’, because it would sound like a defensive whine. ‘Has Hamlet confirmed that it could have been the same knife?’

  Suzanne nodded. ‘He just rang Adrian to say that he’s sure it was the same kind—’

  She was going to continue, but Winkler jumped in and interrupted. Patrick was childishly glad to see an expression of irritation flicker across Suzanne’s features.

  ‘So we need to figure out what could possibly be the link between an eighty-three-year-old widow in Wimbledon and a fifteen-year-old boy-band fan in Kingston. If indeed there is one. Just because it’s the same sort of knife doesn’t mean it’s the same perp. Lots of lowlifes will have the same sort of knife.’

  He wondered, why was it that everything coming out of Winkler’s mouth made Pat want to punch him?

  Suzanne put a hand up before Patrick could respond. ‘Pat, Adrian is already up to speed with Rose Sharp’s murder. So I want you two to sit down together and work through the similarities, see if there’s any other connection. You can jointly head up the operation.’

  Both men gaped at her.

  ‘You’re kidding,’ Patrick managed, furious with himself that he was unable to prevent his voice momentarily turning into an adolescent squeak. He was furious with her too. She knew there was no love lost between him and Winkler – what was she thinking?

  Adrian had gathered himself and was now nodding sagely, as if him being involved with the case would give it the only possible chance of getting solved. Patrick jumped to his feet.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I have to object. As Adrian here so rightly says’ – at this
he bared his teeth in a fake grin to indicate that he was being sarcastic rather than deferential – ‘any old scumbag could be carrying a knife like that used on both of these victims. It’s worth investigating, of course, but surely it won’t mean both of us have to run the case?’

  ‘That’s as may be, regarding the knife,’ said Suzanne. ‘But you know we’re low on numbers at the moment, what with Connolly still on sick leave and Regan retiring, and Adrian never got a perp for the Marr case, so if you work together you could end up killing two birds with one stone. I’m relying on you both to put aside any personal differences. You’re big boys, so don’t behave like kids in the playground. Sit down, Patrick.’

  Chastened, Patrick thought how ironic it was for her to say that, after his earlier image of them in front of the Head. She was right, though. At all costs, he must not allow himself to sink to Winkler’s level. They were professionals, with a job to do.

  He believed his face would confirm this, but instead Suzanne looked concerned. She turned to Winkler. ‘That’s all for now, Adrian. I just want a quick word with Patrick.’

  Winkler left the office without a backwards glance at Pat. Suzanne took a sip of her coffee and grimaced.

  ‘What’s the problem, Suzanne?’

  ‘This coffee is not only disgusting, it’s stone cold.’

  ‘I didn’t mean with the coffee. You look worried.’

  Suzanne leaned towards him over the desk, as if she wanted to take his hand. ‘Yes. Well, I have to say, I am quite worried. I know you and Adrian don’t particularly see eye to eye’ – Patrick just about managed to prevent a snort – ‘but I need you two to pull together on this one. Unless . . . and forgive me, Pat, but I know things are tough for you at the moment, what with getting ready to move back home . . . and I’m trusting you here to be honest with me – would you like to take a bit of leave, get yourself settled again and have some time with Gill and Bonnie? It can’t be easy juggling all those logistics, let alone the emotions, alongside a high-pressure case like this . . . I could let Winkler lead the investigation.’

  ‘No way!’ Patrick leapt to his feet again. He was livid. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, Patrick, you’re like a bloody jack-in-a-box! This is precisely why I’m worried about you! It’s just not like you to be so sensitive. You can handle Winkler. He’s an arse and we all know it.’

  Patrick couldn’t resist a grin. He knew she would never have said that to anybody else in the station. He saluted her in sardonic acquiescence and took his seat again, glad that Suzanne had twisted the blinds closed when he’d first come in, so that the rest of the open-plan office hadn’t been privy to him jumping up and down like a maniac.

  ‘You’re right. And not just about the bit where you said Winkler’s an arse. I’m sorry, Suzanne. Not that it’s any excuse, but I had a toddler sleeping on my head all night, so I’m not exactly raring to go today. But I swear to you I’m going to crack this investigation, and although it would be so much easier to do it without Winkler’s opinions, you’re the boss. If you think it’s the right thing to do, then I will work with him, and I promise I will do my utmost not to let him rile me. Bonnie and I are moving back in tomorrow, so that’s absolutely going to help – Gill will be able to take over the childcare full-time since she’s not going back to work for another few months at least – and Bonnie will be back in her own room again. Plus, I won’t be living with my folks anymore. It will all be a massive improvement.’

  ‘Good man,’ said Suzanne, and for a moment their eyes met. ‘If you’re sure you can take the pressure.’

  Patrick laughed drily. ‘I handled it during the Child Catcher operation, didn’t I? And that was even more of a nightmare, domestically.’

  ‘True. OK. Don’t let me down.’ She swivelled in her chair to face her computer screen, indicating that the meeting was over. Patrick caught the faintest whiff of her scent as she turned.

  As he left the office, he caught sight of Winkler at his desk, smirking at him. He marched straight past him, unable to face him at the moment, and headed over to Carmella.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, loudly enough for Winkler to hear, wanting to make him paranoid about what Suzanne had said and not caring if he was being childish. ‘Let’s go. We’ve got two murders to solve now.’

  Chapter 10

  Day 3 – Patrick

  Patrick and Carmella sat in the McDonald’s round the corner from the Travel Inn, a pair of steaming coffees between them. Patrick had resisted the urge to buy a Big Mac and Carmella had surveyed the menu as if it listed a variety of poisons. Just across from them a toddler was munching chicken dippers and rattling the toy from her Happy Meal. So far, Bonnie was barely aware that McDonald’s existed, but he knew this place drew children like a mermaid luring sailors to the rocks. It wouldn’t be long, he suspected, before he was feeding her chicken McNuggets and fries.

  The manager hadn’t recognised Rose from the photograph they’d shown him, nor did any of the almost exclusively teenage staff, though their eyes had widened and a whisper of excitement had whipped through the restaurant. The girl who was murdered! They all so desperately wanted to recognise her, to have something to tell their friends. But it looked like the burger Rose had enjoyed as her last meal had come from somewhere else.

  ‘Going round every fast-food place in Kingston,’ Carmella said, wincing at her coffee. ‘We should have given this job to Gareth. He’d love it.’

  ‘Maybe I will,’ Patrick said. ‘Or Winkler.’

  ‘Uh-uh. He doesn’t eat junk food, does he? Only the finest organic produce passes his lips.’

  Hearing this made Patrick reconsider ordering that Big Mac.

  They walked round to the Travel Inn, dodging puddles and warily eyeing the sky, with its battalion of black rain clouds. Before leaving the station, Patrick had spoken to the senior SOCO on the investigation, Marie Branson, who had confirmed what he already knew. The killer had left no DNA at the scene – no stray hairs, blood or semen. No fingerprints. All the hotel staff had been interviewed, CCTV tapes had been reviewed, including those from the streets surrounding the hotel, and the names of all the guests had been run through the system. Nobody had seen anything. The cameras had captured nothing. And no-one who’d been staying in the hotel had anything more on their record than a parking ticket or some other minor misdemeanour.

  Somebody must have seen the murderer entering or leaving the hotel. He wasn’t a phantom. The problem was that nobody who’d seen him would know they had been looking at a killer. After all, he wouldn’t have been cackling and carrying a knife dripping with blood. That was the thing about murderers: they usually look just like everyone else.

  Heidi Shillingham, the hotel manager, was waiting for them in the same conference room where they’d interviewed the cleaner a couple of days before. Heidi had grey smudges under her eyes and Lennon noticed her bite down on a yawn as she greeted them.

  ‘Ms Shillingham,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, call me Miss, please,’ she replied with a tired smile. ‘I can’t be doing with any of that feminist nonsense. In fact, call me Heidi.’

  Carmella raised an eyebrow.

  Patrick said, ‘We want to talk to you about room 365. Specifically, how the perpetrator and the victim got inside. We don’t know which one of them entered the room first, or if they arrived together. But we need to know how they got in.’

  Heidi nodded. ‘OK. Well, all of our rooms are controlled with these key cards.’ She produced a white credit-card-sized key, the type Patrick had seen and used many times before. ‘It’s pretty standard. The magnetic strip on the back controls which room you can access. When a guest checks in, we give them a key card and set it to their room using the central computer system.’

  ‘I understand all that. What if someone kept their key after they checked out? Could they come back the next day, or a week lat
er, and use it again?’

  As Patrick predicted, Heidi shook her head. ‘No. The card – or, rather, the link between the card and the room – is cancelled when the guest checks out. Then the next time the card is used, it will almost certainly be set to a different room.’

  ‘Had anyone reported losing a key on the day in question?’ Carmella asked.

  ‘Yes, I checked this. One person. But that was room 218. The system clearly shows that no cards were set to room 365 last Wednesday.’

  ‘What about master keys?’ Patrick asked. ‘Staff always seem to be able to get into any room. Like the cleaners. I guess they have a master key to all the rooms?’

  ‘Only for the rooms they are cleaning.’

  ‘So only Mosope Adeyemi had a key for room 365 that day?’

  ‘Yes. And the day before too. The day of the . . . unfortunate incident.’

  That’s one way of putting it, Patrick thought. ‘And what about you, Ms – Miss – Shillingham, er, Heidi?’ He was gratified to see Carmella’s lips twitch at the same time that Heidi pursed hers. ‘Do you have a master key to all the rooms?’

  She hesitated. ‘Yes, I do. Several of the staff have them. But they are on our person all the time we’re in the hotel, and they’re deactivated when we go off shift.’

  Patrick drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Have you ever had any issues with people accessing rooms that they shouldn’t? Any thefts? Guests going into the wrong room?’

  Heidi squirmed in her seat. ‘No . . . Well, sometimes staff accidentally allocate a room twice, so we’ve had incidents of guests walking into a room that’s already occupied. Which can be highly embarrassing.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘And there was one incident . . . But not at this hotel.’ The way her eyes jumped around the room made it clear that Heidi was worried about getting into trouble.

  ‘Go on.’