The fact that Alex was dealing came as no surprise to Angie. It seemed to run in the family – she knew that his father, Thierry, had a history of low-level drug convictions.
‘Did Tash ever smoke weed with him?’
Sarah shook her head vehemently, a bit too quickly. ‘No, not Tash. She wasn’t into that.’
Angie didn’t believe her, but decided to leave it. This couldn’t be the reason why Sarah’s mother had marched her into the police station – there must be something else, something more pertinent to Tash’s death.
‘Sarah, do you know if Alex was tattooing people at college?’
The girl’s eyes widened. ‘Tattooing people? No, I never heard that.’
There’d been enough beating around the bush.
‘Sarah, do you think Alex was involved, in any way at all, in what happened to Tash?’
Sarah tugged harder at the sleeve of her cardigan and chewed on her bottom lip.
‘No, of course I don’t think that. But . . .’
‘Yes?’
The girl took a deep breath. ‘Tash told me that Alex had hit her.’
Pay dirt.
‘When did she tell you this?’
‘A couple of weeks back. About a week before she was attacked.’
‘Did she tell you why?’
And when? Did it happen more than once? How often? How badly? Angie had so many questions but she needed to take it slowly – she didn’t want her witness to take fright.
‘It was after a party. Alex was drunk. Everyone was drunk – it was the end-of-year party, at the end of last term.’
‘What happened?’
‘There was this guy, he was interested in Tash. It was a boy from her tutorial group – he’d been messaging her and stuff. She’d said she wasn’t interested, but at the party, he came on to her pretty heavily.’
‘And?’
‘She was drunk and she wanted to dance. Alex had gone outside with some of his mates for a smoke, so she danced with this guy instead. When Alex came in and saw her dancing with someone else, he went ballistic.’
‘Did you see him hit her? Did he do it in front of everyone?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘No, it didn’t happen right then. It was afterwards, outside the house where the party was. He was still angry and when she said it was his fault for disappearing, he hit her. Not hard, not hard at all. But it shocked her. I think it made her start to think about breaking up with him.’
‘But she didn’t?’
‘No . . . he was really sorry in the morning. He bought her flowers, promised he’d cut down on his drinking. They made up and everything was fine.’
‘Did it happen again?’
‘She never told me if it did. But I know they were arguing the night Tash was attacked.’ She stopped and grimaced. ‘I mean, I don’t think Alex was the one that attacked her. But you need to know everything, right?’
‘That’s right,’ said Angie. ‘We know they argued that evening and Tash left the club. Were you there when that happened?’
‘No, I just heard about it from a friend.’
‘Okay. What you’ve told me has been really useful. Thank you for coming in, Sarah. If we need to talk to you again, we’ll get in touch and if you think of anything else that might help us, I’m always here.’
She gave Sarah her card, which the girl passed straight to her mother.
‘Thank you for bringing her in, Mrs Collins,’ said Angie, standing up.
Sarah’s mother got up and put out her hand.
‘We just want to do all we can to help. It’s awful what happened to Tash, and Kath’s in absolute pieces about it.’
Angie wondered what the sarge would make of this. It would certainly add fuel to his fire.
20
Thursday, 17 August 2017
Sally Ann
Sally Ann Granger was knackered. She hated her work – after-hours cleaning at the aquarium wasn’t her idea of a dream job. Maybe it wouldn’t be for long, once she got her YouTube channel sorted. The roar and vibration of the floor cleaner made her head ache, so she switched off, wiping sweat from her forehead with a clammy hand. Why did they have to keep it so damn hot in here?
And dark.
The lights in the fish tanks were lowered now the visitors had gone home. All she could see were shadowy outlines drifting back and forth, accompanied by the incessant bubbling that kept the tanks aerated. She leaned her arms and then her cheek on the cold glass of the nearest tank, jumping back when a piranha suddenly loomed up to her with its malevolent, sideways stare. Tiny, sharp teeth protruded from its open mouth and Sally Ann pulled away, feeling slightly sick.
She needed company. Maybe she could persuade Alex to come over. Of course, it was strictly against the rules, but so what? They had a laugh and it made the time pass quicker. And after what happened to Tash, he could probably do with that.
She sent a text, but he didn’t reply. Disgruntled, she turned the floor cleaner on again and slowly made her way down the Victorian gothic arcade that formed the backbone of the building. On either side, the silent fish tanks reflected blue and green light onto the floor – and all that glass still to be polished. Halfway down, she needed to unplug the cleaner and move the cable to a different socket. She sighed as she battled to get the plug out of the wall.
A sharp, metallic click somewhere beyond the arcade made her turn. She took a deep breath. The place was full of odd mechanical noises – there were scores of pumps, generators and fans keeping the conditions in the tanks just right. She hated being alone in the building after hours. Of course, she wasn’t alone. It was her and a thousand sea creatures. Not to mention the snakes. There was a giant anaconda . . . She shuddered. Her biggest fear was being alone here if it escaped. She’d read the information card about it squeezing donkeys to death. She glanced around nervously before continuing with her work.
At the end of the gallery, when she turned the polisher off, she heard another sound. An electric shriek, a high-pitched grinding. It made her jump. She thought she was here alone – she could have sworn she saw Roddy, the maintenance engineer, leaving before she started work. But maybe he’d come back to do something.
The electric whine started and stopped again.
She peered down the passage to the Seahorse Kingdom. She thought that was where the sound had come from.
‘Roddy? Is that you?’
Nothing but the soft burbling of the tanks.
There was no one around the seahorse area, so she plugged the floor polisher into a new socket and carried on. She made her way up the long corridor towards the ocean pool, humming tunelessly under the roar of the cleaner. Reaching the steps at the end, she turned around and made her way back, still polishing, still humming.
A flicker of light around the corner caught her eye but she ignored it. The movement of the water in the tanks constantly caused the light to shimmer and flicker. She should be used to that. But she still felt a little jumpy as she coiled up the electric flex and pushed the polisher back in the direction of the tropical lagoon. This and the harbour section would complete the public areas, but then she still had to do the back area of the aquarium which was staff only. Her heart sank at the thought. She’d be here for at least another hour.
She heard a footfall on the tiled floor. Maybe Roddy was here after all.
‘Roddy?’
There was no answer but she heard the footsteps again. They came from beyond the harbour area. She started cleaning the viewing platform around the tropical lagoon. Huge fish loomed up against the glass, adding to her sense of unease with their cold, dead stares as they slipped silently along the side of the tank.
With the sound of the polisher roaring in her ears, she didn’t notice the man approaching her until he was nearly upon her. His reflection in the glass made her loo
k round with a gasp. The shock of seeing someone looming out of the darkness made her stumble against the machine. She snapped it off. The man wasn’t Roddy.
He was holding something in his hand. In the dim light, she could only see a silhouette. A gun?
‘Hello? What . . .’
His other arm snaked out towards her and his fist slammed into her cheekbone. An explosion of pain in her head made her reel and she dropped to her knees, bones cracking against the tiled floor, her mouth flooding, sick with fear. She passed out.
It was pain that brought her back again. Pain in her head, dark, vast and throbbing. And pain in her left hand, sharp and burning. The rest of her body hardly registered – she seemed to be made up of just two pinpoints of intense agony.
Remember to breathe.
She gasped and, with the slight movement, the pain in her head splintered into shards. Her eyes were closed, and she was lying on her back somewhere. What was happening? It was difficult to think in the abstract when it was taking all her resources to draw a breath. She filtered information from the physical sensations. She was lying on a cold, hard floor, but she wasn’t sure where. Still by the tropical lagoon or in the Victorian arcade? Virtually no light filtered through her eyelids. She listened for the gentle slapping and gurgling of the aquariums but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t concentrate.
She was leaning to the right, with her right arm trapped underneath her body. She couldn’t even feel her right hand. She tried to shift enough to free it and realised she was anchored by her left leg. Held in place, someone holding her down by the ankle, and beyond it, nothing but a fresh burning sensation. Pain seared through her foot, making her scream. She thrashed about, desperately trying to pull her leg away as the pain intensified.
She opened her eyes. They felt gritty and her vision was blurred. A dark shadow moved in the periphery of her view. Then a blinding light shone straight into her face. Terrified, she closed her eyes again, her cry of panic ringing in her ears.
The electrical screeching she’d heard earlier started up again, only this time it was right by her. It roared for a second or two, then stopped. Someone pulled her right arm free from under her and she rolled heavily on the hard surface.
Beyond the harsh glare of the light, she could hear someone breathing heavily. She should try to get up, try to run away from him. What did he want with her?
The bright light blinded her again and fear gripped her. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even find her voice to scream.
The light came closer.
Sally Ann gasped.
‘No . . .’ After a single word, her voice faltered, stifled in a constricted throat.
Abruptly she realised what the man had been holding. Her brain had matched the shape to the noise. Panic swept through her, loosening her bladder and stealing her breath. She felt she was going to suffocate, like she was fighting a weight of water crushing her chest.
Her right hand was held flat against the floor. The screeching sounded louder than ever. She screamed but it did nothing to blot out the sudden flare of pain in the palm of her hand or the feel of being spattered by her own blood like hot, stinking rain.
21
Friday, 18 August 2017
Francis
Francis lay with his eyes closed, elbows resting on the edges of the roll top bath, fingers steepled in front of him. The water had gone cold – goosebumps peppered his arms – but he was unable to move. A single tear rolled down his cheek and plopped onto his chest, merging into the larger body of water. He hated himself.
It was all fucked up.
A picture of his mother, dead in her hospital bed, floated behind his eyelids. He pushed it away brutally, trying to replace it with a living image.
She died on her own. You were supposed to be there with her.
He would never forgive himself for stepping out of the room to take that call.
Since when had work become so important? More important than his mother. His sister. In the moment of realisation that their mother had died, Robin had turned to Jered Stapleton for comfort. It should have been him. But that wasn’t fair. She had a right to a social life, more than a social life even, if she wanted. His cock softly butted against his thigh in the chill water and he glanced down at it ruefully. What about his life beyond work? Nothing since that ill-judged . . . thing, whatever it was, with Marni Mullins the previous year. But what did he have to offer somebody else?
His mobile vibrated on the stool next to the bath. He plunged his head under the water, willing it to go away, then emerged immediately amid a shower of droplets, determined not to miss a message from his sister.
It wasn’t Robin. He saw it was from Rory and did his best to look away. But the word ‘attack’ sprang from the screen.
Francis grabbed a towel, thoughts of his sister forgotten.
‘You shouldn’t be here, boss,’ said his deputy, as they met on the steps down to the aquarium entrance. ‘I only texted to keep you in the loop – I wasn’t expecting you to come in.’
The first responders had already taped off the aquarium forecourt with crime scene tape, and a gaggle of nosy tourists had gathered, craning their necks over the balustrade on Madeira Drive to see what was going on, disappointed that they weren’t going to get the aquarium tour they’d booked.
‘I can’t sit around doing nothing, Rory,’ said Francis. ‘Just makes it worse.’
Rory looked as if he was about to say something further on the subject, so Francis ran down the steps and ducked under the tape. He didn’t need to hear homilies from a man who made no bones about wanting his job.
Rory tossed a half-smoked cigarette into the gutter and followed him down.
‘What d’you know about this?’ said Francis, as Rory caught up.
‘Young girl, a cleaner here, attacked while she was working last night,’ said Rory, as they went through the doors. ‘The manager found her when he opened up this morning. She’s been taken to the County – they’re about to operate.’
‘Anyone talk to her yet?’
‘Uh-uh.’ Rory shook his head. ‘The registrar called John Street as soon as she came in. It’s an emergency situation – they won’t hold off operating on her for us. She was stabbed in the gut, apparently. Lost a lot of blood. Might be touch and go.’
They showed their warrant cards to the manager of the centre. He was tall and blond, wearing shorts and a polo shirt with the aquarium logo. He sported a windsurfer’s tan on his arms and legs, though his face looked ashen. He pointed them in the direction of the Victorian arcade, but obviously didn’t have the stomach to go back in there himself.
The smell of blood and urine were by no means the worst thing about the crime scene, but when they invaded his nostrils, Francis momentarily winced. He could remember childhood visits to the aquarium, how much he’d loved it – the warm, soupy air that enveloped you as you went inside, the bright flashes of colour as tropical fish darted through twisted coral, and the vicarious thrill of looking a shark – albeit a small one – in the eye. Now, he knew he’d never want to visit an aquarium again.
The far end of the arcade was a study in blood spatter. Arcs of it swept across the flat surfaces of the glass, tiny globules clinging to their own reflections and larger drops that clumped into rivulets running to the floor. The stains looked darker on the sandstone pillars in the centre of the arcade – the droplets seemed to leach right into the porous stone. Near to the octagonal pool at the heart of the concourse was a slick of congealed blood, black and sticky, the edges smeared. The sharp, sweet smell of iron and plasma hung in the air. Not far away, a commercial floor polisher stood abandoned and speckled red. On one of the tanks a bloody handprint was being photographed by a SOCO in a white suit, bending awkwardly to get the best shot without treading in a smudge of blood on the floor near his feet.
‘Jesus,�
�� hissed Rory through clamped teeth. ‘You say the victim of this is still alive?’
‘Just.’
Francis wondered if the perp had left any footprints or finger marks or if they all belonged to the centre manager and the paramedics who’d treated the girl. As they weren’t suited up, Rory and Francis couldn’t venture further into the area to investigate. Rose Lewis came over to them.
‘Find anything?’ said Francis.
‘Apart from haemoglobin?’ She shook her head. ‘No.’
‘All this blood from the same woman, or could there have been another victim?’
‘Looks likely to be from the one victim, given the spatter patterns and the progression across the floor – but we’ll have to run DNA tests to find out for sure.’
‘And no sign of a weapon?’ said Rory.
‘Nothing so far.’
They went back to talk to the manager. He filled them in on the girl’s name, Sally Ann Granger, and told them she’d been working at the centre as a cleaner for the last three months.
‘She’s a nice girl,’ he said, with a slight tremor in his voice. ‘I can’t think why anybody would want to do this to her.’
‘Any idea how the attacker gained access to the building?’ said Francis.
The manager shook his head. ‘No signs of a break-in and because Sally Ann was in here cleaning, the alarm wasn’t active.’
‘Could she have let someone in?’ said Rory.
The man shrugged. ‘She could – but she wasn’t meant to.’
There wasn’t much more to be gained by hanging around at the scene, so they left it to the SOCOs and headed to the hospital. Tanika Parry hurried towards them as they came into the A&E reception area. Her hair was dishevelled and there was blood on her scrubs.
‘You saw Sally Ann Granger?’ said Francis.
She nodded. ‘She’s in theatre now.’
‘How bad is it?’ said Rory.
‘Frankly, she was lucky she was found when she was,’ she said. ‘She was bleeding profusely from a stab wound in her side, and from wounds to her hands and feet.’
Her Last Breath: The new crime thriller from the international bestseller (Sullivan and Mullins) Page 11