by M K Farrar
“You said to the police officer earlier that you didn’t see or hear anything unusual last night or early this morning.”
“That’s right. I didn’t.”
Erica glanced behind her, across the courtyard to where the body had been discovered. “So, you’re saying that someone was killed over there, and not only did you not see anything, but you didn’t even find the body the following morning?”
Admittedly, the courtyard was large, and it was a fair distance to the other side, plus it had been dark, but if he’d covered the grounds properly, surely he would have come across the body.
“That’s right,” he said, but she felt as though he was deliberately avoiding her eye.
“Aren’t you supposed to do rounds of the campus?” Shawn asked. “That’s what it says on the university website—twenty-four-hour security.”
He stared down at his feet. “I didn’t do the rounds,” he muttered.
Erica narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t do the rounds? Why not?”
He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I’d appreciate it if this doesn’t reach my boss. I really need this job.”
“It’s not our position to interfere with other people’s work, Mr Ward. We simply want to find out what happened to Adam Humphries.”
He shook his head. “I let him down. I’m supposed to be here to protect the students and I failed.”
She didn’t have time to listen to his lamenting. He could beat himself up on his own time. “Just tell me what happened.”
“I was asleep.”
Erica cocked an eyebrow. “Asleep?”
He nodded and sighed again. “I know how bad that sounds, but I really couldn’t help it. My missus has just had a baby—I mean we’ve just had a baby—and she cries constantly. My wife is up all night with her because I’m here, and then when I get back first thing, she hands the baby over for me to look after so she can get some kip.” He threw up both hands. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t begrudge her some sleep. We’re both barely scraping by on a handful of hours each. But then I came in last night, and I swear I just meant to sit down for ten minutes, and I must have dropped off in the chair. The next thing I know, it’s almost morning and Professor Young is yelling for help.”
“So, you hear Professor Young shouting... what do you do next?”
“I jumped out of my seat and ran across the courtyard, and that’s when I saw the body.”
“What did you think had happened?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. There was blood everywhere. I guess, at first, I thought Professor Young must have been involved, ’cause it was all over his hands and clothes, but at that point I thought it was an accident of some kind. I don’t know, maybe something fell off the roof of the adjacent building and hit the poor guy or something.”
Erica nodded encouragingly. “And then what did you do?”
“I called the police, but they told me the professor had already called it in.”
“Paul Young called the police and then he called for help?”
Doug Ward twisted his lips. “I guess that’s right.”
Would that normally be how someone would react? Wouldn’t they call for help first, just out of instinct, and then phone nine-nine-nine? But perhaps the professor was more methodical than that. He wasn’t someone who panicked. If that was the case, was he also someone who would leave a body to be found and simply hope it would still be there, undisturbed in the morning? How would he have known the security guard was asleep? It was one hell of a risk to take.
“How well do you know Professor Young?” she asked, using the title Paul Young was known by at the university rather than his official one of Doctor.
He shrugged. “Not well. Enough to say hello to in passing, but that’s about it. I mean, we’re hardly even colleagues, really. I always get the feeling the faculty staff look down on the rest of us. We’re not all well-educated like they are.”
“Did you know each other well enough for him to have known you had a baby?”
“Yeah, I think he did. He called over congratulations one time, not long after she was born.”
“And would he have known you were working that night?”
“It would have been easy enough to find out.” He jerked his thumb to the wall behind him. “The rota is right over there. We make sure it’s kept somewhere visible, so the students know who to ask if they have a problem.”
“Thank you. That’s very helpful.”
Worry creased his features. “Will it come up, about me being asleep, I mean?”
“If it doesn’t help the case in any way, then no, it won’t get mentioned again. But if it means either putting a man behind bars who deserves to be there, or preventing an innocent person from being convicted of a murder they didn’t commit, then yes, I’m afraid it will be brought up again.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“We’re also going to need access to all of the CCTV footage from right across campus.”
“The copper from this morning asked for that as well. I thought the other security officer sent it over, but I guess maybe he forgot. It’s been a bit mad here today, with everything going on.”
She slid her card onto the desk. “If you could get that across to me ASAP, it would be appreciated.”
“Sure, will do.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr Ward.”
“That’s okay. I hope you catch whoever did it.”
“We will.” Erica wished she could feel as confident as she sounded.
Chapter Ten
By the time they’d finished with the security guard, it was getting late.
She dropped Shawn off at the station and collected her own car then drove to her sister’s to pick up Poppy. She needed to catch a few hours of sleep before they started again tomorrow.
She pulled up outside Natasha’s house. A couple of the lights were still on downstairs, but all the bedroom lights were off. She checked the time. It was almost ten.
Her sister had really stepped up since Chris had died. A part of Erica had always thought Natasha could be selfish at times, but she couldn’t complain for one second about what Natasha had done for her little family lately. If it wasn’t for Natasha, there was no way Erica would have been able to continue to work, and that would have broken Erica’s heart all over again.
She rapped lightly at the door, not wanting to make too much noise in case she woke the children. She was aware of how late it was, but that was often how things were in her position.
Natasha opened the door and stepped back, allowing Erica to slip through the gap, into the entrance hall.
“Hi.” She kept her voice at a whisper. “How is everything?”
Natasha already knew that by ‘everything’ Erica meant Poppy. “Fine. Sound asleep. She must be going through a growth spurt ’cause she ate two croissants and some fruit before bed, and then rounded it off with a glass of milk.”
“You really must start letting me give you some money for food.”
Natasha flapped a hand at her. “Don’t be silly. I’m already feeding my three. One more doesn’t make any difference. Besides, Poppy normally eats like a bird compared to Claudia and Ethan.”
Claudia and Ethan were Natasha’s two older children. At eight and ten respectively, everyone had thought Natasha was done with having kids, but then she popped out baby Harper, who was almost two, and not much of a baby anymore.
“Okay, but as long as you’re sure. Don’t hesitate to say something if you change your mind. It’s not a problem, I promise.”
Money had been tighter for all of them, not only because of the loss of Chris’s income—though he’d had a small life insurance policy that had paid out—but because of the extra cost of their dad’s care. They still hadn’t managed to sell Frank’s house, and she knew that was partly down to her. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to go down there and sort through all of her dad’s belongings. It was a horrible job to have to do, and she knew there would b
e plenty of their mum’s things still in the house, too. It was hard enough thinking of selling it, without having to get rid of the majority of their parents’ stuff as well. They’d talked about renting the house out instead, but doing that simply wouldn’t bring in enough income to cover the cost of the care.
Erica left her sister and crept upstairs. They’d gone through this routine often enough, so Natasha didn’t need to show her where to go. She already knew her daughter would be on the foldout bed in Harper’s room, tucked in beside Harper’s cot bed.
She crept into the toddler’s room.
Sure enough, her daughter was sound asleep, her head tilted back, and her mouth open—catching flies. A smile tweaked Erica’s lips, her heart swelling with love for her daughter. She found herself biting down on the smile, and the love was replaced with guilt. Maybe it was stupid, but she hated that she got to experience all these little moments when Chris didn’t. If it wasn’t for her and her job, he would be here, not her.
She’d been going to therapy for bereavement, and the name of what she was experiencing jumped into her head. Survivor’s guilt. That she had lived, and he hadn’t, felt intrinsically wrong.
She crouched and reached out to brush Poppy’s hair away from her face. The girl stirred, her mouth closing, her face twisting to one side.
“Hi, sweetie-pie,” Erica said softly. “It’s time to go home, okay?”
Luckily, Poppy was one of those children who could sleep anywhere. When she’d been a toddler, Erica and Chris used to joke that they could take her asleep from the sofa, put her in the car, push her around the whole supermarket, and take her home and put her back on the sofa again, still asleep, and she wouldn’t have any clue she’d ever been anywhere. Of course, Poppy would realise she’d been moved now, since she would wake up in a different house, but she’d grown used to this routine. It was amazing how quickly children adapted. Then, tomorrow morning, after they ate breakfast together, Erica would take Poppy into breakfast club at school. If she was lucky and could get away, she’d pick her up from school again, or at least after school club, but more than likely, she wouldn’t see her again until late that night.
Erica scooped Poppy into her arms. Poppy slung her hand around Erica’s neck and muttered something unintelligible.
“We’ll be home soon, sweetheart. I’m taking you out to the car.”
She carried her down the stairs where Natasha waited. Her sister hooked a bag of Poppy’s belongings off one of Erica’s hands.
“Thank you,” she whispered, heading to the door.
Natasha simply smiled and saw them out, closing the door behind them as they left.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, she dropped Poppy off at breakfast club at the earliest time allowed and then stopped in at her father’s care home.
Gibbs had called a briefing for nine a.m., so she was cutting it fine, but she knew it was going to be another busy day. If she didn’t snatch these tiny opportunities, she’d never see her dad or her daughter.
She entered the care home and drew up short, her heart lurching. A young man stood hunched over a bucket, a mop in his hand.
For a second, she was propelled back to a time when Nicholas Bailey had worked here, and she grew dizzy with fear. A couple of blinks brought her back around, and though she realised it wasn’t Bailey, her heart continued to pound.
She took a moment to compose herself.
Erica had always considered herself a compassionate person.
She genuinely cared about what happened to people and believed that was part of what made her good at her job. She’d come across so many decent coppers who hadn’t been able to deal with all the darkness they dealt with in their day-to-day lives, and it left a stain on their souls and a crust around their hearts. The result was a broken homelife, often a fondness for the bottle, so she’d always tried to see things from all points of view.
Her compassion had vanished when it came to Nicholas Bailey, however. The man who’d murdered her husband, who’d thrown him beneath a train right in front of her.
She’d stood up in court and testified against him.
The defence had made the argument that he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions. They painted a picture of a young man suffering from mental illness caused by the relentless abuse of his alcoholic mother, the control of his brother, and how he’d been let down by his school and the council and everyone else around him.
Erica had listened, unmoved. The only emotion she experienced was a cold, sharp rage.
She’d managed to make it through the summer, though she’d felt as though she’d slept-walked through much of it. If she hadn’t had so many people who relied on her, she wasn’t sure she’d have made it. But Poppy needed her, and Erica had forced herself to be strong for her little girl. Her dad also needed her, though she’d struggled with going back to Willow Glade Care Home. Even though she’d known it was impossible, this moment of thinking she’d seen Nicholas Bailey was far from being the first time. She often thought she caught sight of him standing in the doorway of the dayroom, or out of the corner of her eye.
The kind voice of the care home manager broke through to her. “Everything all right, Erica? You’ve gone quite pale.”
She blinked and forced a smile. “Yes, of course. I’m fine.”
Monica glanced over at the cleaner, and understanding dawned across her features. “Sorry... Stupid of me. It must still be so strange for you.”
Erica didn’t consider herself to be someone who was easily spooked, but in this place she saw ghosts everywhere. She’d considered moving her dad to a different home, but her common sense kicked in almost as soon as the thought had entered her head. Frank was settled here now and was doing much better. The weeks and months before he’d come to Willow Glade had been incredibly hard on all of them—including Frank himself—and even through the recent heartache, she hadn’t forgotten that period of time. Besides, she’d be moving him for purely selfish reasons. Frank had no idea who Nicholas Bailey was, or what he had done, or that he’d worked in the care home. There were some days where he didn’t even remember that Chris was dead, and that hurt her even more than when he mistook her for her sister, or asked after their mum. She almost envied him his ability to live in a world where none of this had ever happened, and Chris—when he remembered who Chris was—was still alive and well.
Erica passed the cleaner to go into the dayroom. She spotted Frank sitting in a high-backed chair near the French doors that opened out into the garden.
She leaned in and kissed his cheek, his stubble spiky against her skin.
“How are you feeling today, Dad?”
He blinked up at her. “Good as can be expected, I suppose. I’ve been telling the gardener how he can get rid of those dandelions in the lawn before winter. They’re going to take over if he’s not careful.”
“I hope he listens to you. You know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course I do, Erica.
She smiled, pleased he knew who she was today.
Frank Haswell had been a respected detective himself many years ago, before the dementia had made it impossible for him to do his job. It had been heartbreaking to see everything break down, especially his initial frustrations about why he was suddenly forgetting simple things he’d done all his life, like where he’d parked his car, or how to turn on a washing machine. Of course, it had quickly affected his work, and what had at first seemed like an almost deliberate attempt at bad police work had soon revealed itself to be something even worse than that. Then had come the anger and frustration.
The unadulterated fear she’d seen in her father’s eyes had reminded her of the same fear she’d seen in parents’ eyes upon hearing something terrible had happened to their child. Next to Chris being murdered, it had been the worst time in her life. To see him going downhill like that and being utterly helpless to do anything about it. He’d been given medication that was supposed to slow down the progress of the illness, but
there was nothing to reverse the damage that had already been done, the parts of his brain that had already died and stolen a part of who he’d been at the same time. It was such a cruel disease, and there were times when she’d believed cancer would have been kinder.
“I can’t stay for long. I’ve got a big case on, but I wanted to pop in and make sure you were okay.”
“I’m all right. Didn’t sleep well, though. Couldn’t seem to get comfortable.”
She hadn’t slept well herself—she never did when she was in the middle of an important case. Her mind refused to shut off, flipping and turning each piece of garnered information over at every angle, making sure she hadn’t missed something.
She patted the back of his hand. “As long as you’re all right, that’s all that matters. Is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?”
“No, I have everything I need.”
His words warmed her heart. She was glad he was content, at least. “That’s good. I’ll try to bring Poppy next time I come, okay? She misses you.” He didn’t respond, so she hurried on. “You remember Poppy, my daughter.”
Frank rolled his eyes. “I know that, Erica. Sometimes you talk like you think I’ve lost my marbles.”
She suppressed a smile. “I don’t think that, Dad. I don’t think that at all.”
Chapter Eleven
Erica made it to the briefing just as Gibbs was doing the roll call.
“And DI Swift,” he tacked onto the end, so that everyone in the room turned to her.
She gave a tight smile in response.
“As of this morning,” Gibbs continued, “we have no suspects in this case. Dr Paul Young discovered the body, but so far, he has no motive, that we have so far been able to find, and his wife says he was home with her, though they do both sleep in separate rooms. I’m not giving up on the possibility that he slipped out, met Adam Humphries, murdered him, and then returned the following morning to cover his own tracks by making sure his prints and DNA were all over the scene. Did anyone speak with his neighbours to see if they noticed his movements?”