‘So,’ Jack said, rubbing his knees as he unfurled himself from his crouched position, ‘we’ll transfer the young man to the QMC and see what is going on. I must say, Hannah; I don’t like the look of this. I do not like it at all.’
26
I paid for a tea and thanked the owner of the coffee shop for allowing us to commandeer his space. He nodded continually as he spoke, enthusiastic about helping out the police, especially when it involved a death. Yet again I envisaged a tall story that someone could go home and tell their family. But if that’s what it took for people to help us, then that’s what it took. Many more people were a lot less willing to help out and would rather spit in our faces than give us the time of day.
I placed my drink on the table and seated myself next to the man who was already there nursing a hot chocolate.
‘Thank you so much for talking to us. For stopping and giving us your time.’
He looked up. Strong lines etched on his face deepened as he smiled at me. ‘My pleasure, young lady.’
I smiled back at him. ‘I’m always happy to be called young.’
‘Ah, you’re a babe in arms, girl. It’s when you get to my age, you know what real age is and you wish you could do it all again. It disappears so fast.’ He sighed. ‘Just look at that youngster today. Not a chance to live his life before it’s gone. Make sure you enjoy yours, won’t you?’
I put my hand on top of his, where it was resting on top of the table. His skin felt thin, papery to the touch. I feared I could tear it if I wasn’t gentle enough. ‘I certainly will, Mr Cleaver.’ Martin had told me his name before I came over to see him. He was eighty-two years old and looked every day of it. I hoped he’d lived it, that the lines and tiredness had been hard earned. I took my hand away.
‘What can you tell me about this morning?’
His eyes held a deep sadness. ‘I can’t tell you anything I’m afraid. I was sitting on the lower deck, I’m too old to get up those winding stairs, you see. But I see the young lad every day. Same bus every morning, without fail. I hear people tut as he gets on. I know why, the way he looks, but he’s young. He can do what he wants while he’s young.’ He paused and looked hard at me. ‘They tut at you when you’re old as well, you know.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ And I was. Why were people so frustrated with our elderly? Did they not expect to age? And had they forgotten what it was like to be young? Both ends of our lifespan seemed to annoy the average person living life in between.
‘He’d not been up there long when I heard a commotion. I have my hearing aid in and it’s bloody good. There were people shouting. I heard the word druggie. I knew they’d be shouting at him. I like to people watch and at this time of day there really aren’t any druggies getting on the bus. I felt for him but I couldn’t do anything because I can’t get up those stairs. And then someone screamed. And all hell broke loose.’
He stopped speaking then. Looked down into his hot chocolate. I waited for him in case he had anything else to add.
‘Then the bus driver tutted.’ Mr Cleaver shook his head slow, his eyes holding a deep sadness. ‘He tutted and all the while the boy was up there needing his help, dying.’ He looked at me, white ringed pensioner eyes taking me in. ‘And who knew if someone had done something, if he could have survived.’
27
Finlay McDonnell. Sixteen years of age. Mum, Dad, one older brother, three younger sisters. In his last year at school and wanting to stay on to do his A levels in Chemistry, Physics and Maths and then go on to university. Not one person had seen anything. They didn’t even want to have seen the boy. Though with the way he was dressed and his body adornments I knew damn well they had not only seen him, they had gawked at him, from a safe distance. I wondered how quickly someone had got up from their seat to help him or if he had died alone and scared. The thought made my blood boil.
‘How many names are there, Martin?’
He flipped open his pocket book, thumbed through a few pages and read down the list he’d made. I could see him counting in his head, his lips moving silently in sync with his mind. ‘Thirteen.’
‘An eight a.m. bus and only thirteen people on it? I suppose we’re lucky that thirteen people were nosy enough to stick around.’ I sighed. ‘I’m being disingenuous; I know there were some good people there. I talked to a couple. Tell us what the overall picture is from witnesses.’
‘It’s not a lot really. The lad was on the bus. Staring out the window with his earphones in, when all of a sudden he threw up in his lap and it was over.’
‘Anyone know him? See him with anyone before he threw up in his lap?’
‘A couple of people recognised him as travelling on the same bus daily. Said he kept to himself and though he might look weird,’ Martin looked at me quickly, ‘their words,’
‘You’re okay. Go on.’
‘Though he might look weird, he was actually just a quiet lad who didn’t bother anyone and it was a really awful thing to have happened.’
‘And as far as anyone being with him?’
‘No. He’s always alone.’
‘So what happened?’
‘Beats me, boss. I think it’s one Jack’s going to answer for us.’
‘Any initial thoughts from the Crime Scene Unit, Aaron?’
‘They’ve seized the bus—’
Martin started to laugh, deep from his belly and I couldn’t help but smile with him. Aaron frowned at the interruption. I clenched my teeth to stop myself from laughing with Martin. I could see Ross’s shoulders shuddering as he listened in from his desk.
‘They’ve seized the bus—’
‘Oh my God, that’s classic.’
‘Martin, do you want to know about CSU or not?’ Aaron asked him.
I stopped smiling.
‘Yes. Sorry, Aaron.’
Aaron told us about the seizure and examination that the CSU were going to do of the bus that Finlay had been found on. I’m sure the bus company would be calling very soon about that one. I might refer the call through to the Crime Scene Unit to deal with.
‘Guys, we need to find a connection between McDonnell and Lianne Beers. Jack is already getting an uneasy feeling about this and that’s before he has any results back. You’ve got the signed medical consent forms we obtained from Sean and Janine Beers to check their medical records as well.’ I started running through a list of actions on my fingers, starting with my thumb.
‘We need to visit the school and speak to all his classmates to see if Finlay was using any drugs or medications his parents weren’t aware of, or if he was in real trouble with anyone.’
Another finger. ‘We need to speak to his teachers with the same questions because they’ll see it from a different perspective.’
Middle finger. ‘Our thirteen witnesses need interviewing properly in an interview suite, because in quiet surroundings with a correct interview model, they could and probably will, remember things they haven’t yet said. You never know, someone of investigative importance could have been close by. Someone who wanted to see Finlay die on that bus.’
Ring finger. I was getting incredulous looks now. The amount of work that needed doing was long and time consuming and we didn’t have the staff. I knew this but it didn’t mean we could get away with doing half a job.
‘Ma’am?’ It was Martin.
‘Yes?’
‘Can you confirm you want us to start all this before the PM results are in?’
‘Actually, Martin, you jumped in, as my next action is to attend the PM. I know it’s a lot of work when the results aren’t in, but if Jack is already saying he’s not happy and we have a dead child, I think it’s safe to say we’re more than likely going to have a suspicious death than a death by natural causes and I’d rather get out in front of it than be trying to catch it up.’
‘Yeah, okay. I’ll do the PM if you want?’
‘Sounds good, thank you.’
‘I’m going to need ever
yone to work through the weekend as well, as with any other murder investigation. Though this is tentative at the minute, it doesn’t feel right. We can’t just knock off and go and relax for a couple of days when we have two bodies in the morgue and two families wanting to know what happened.’
Aaron and Martin nodded.
‘Also,’ I looked back at Martin, ‘the enquiries I had you doing on the Beers, where did you get to with them?’
‘Nowhere. As in, there was nothing we can really pick up. Yeah, they got divorced but there were no recorded domestics. Neighbours haven’t heard anything out of the ordinary. She kept to herself. As far as jobs, there’s nothing that would give the ex or his wife access to drugs of any description. I came up cold, I’m afraid.’
I nodded slowly as I took it in.
‘Okay. Ross, are you ready for court? Can you give us a dig out today with the list of enquiries we’ve now got running over the weekend?’
He looked up in surprise. ‘Er, yes Ma’am, I’ll finish off these few bits and pieces and I’m all yours.’
‘Great. I need a link between the two cases, everyone. It’ll help nail it all down. Find me that link please.’
I stalked out of the incident room and headed straight for the Ladies. One of the stalls was occupied so I went into the other one. I didn’t need to go, but I wanted the space to myself. Once I heard the outer door close I opened my stall door, washed my hands and scooped up cold water into my hands and then over my face, feeling my shoulders relax. I had to keep going, to show the team I was back and okay, and importantly, to show Grey and Walker I was still capable of leading them.
The mirror in front of me reflected back a pasty face with dark shadows smudged under each eye. It was to be expected. None of us were fully up to speed yet. How could we be? The pain in my upper arm nagged where the knife had sliced into me. I held onto my arm as the dragging pain deepened and dropped down to my elbows and rested on the counter. I could do this. I could.
My team were relying on me and I wouldn’t let them down again.
28
The room was small and narrow, but was carpeted and furnished with a couple of two seater sofas and an armchair. The walls were papered with tiny floral patterned wallpaper. It was a room that was trying to lend itself to being a place of comfort. There was nothing comfortable about being stood in there, the four of us together, too close with no escape. Aaron was pushing his back up hard against the furthest wall. He didn’t want to be here but if he were needed he would be within arm’s reach. The McDonnells were staring wide eyed at the vast window filling the long wall in front of us where a pair of dark blue curtains obscured their view. Their hands clung together, each taking from the other. Hoping, I expected, that we were somehow wrong and that this would confirm that for them and to us. Hope that their youngest son was not in fact dead. Hope that they had their lives to walk back home to.
I touched Miriam McDonnell gently on her arm. It quivered beneath my hand. ‘Are you ready?’
She jumped, forgetting I was there, in this room. Her face looked upwards to her husband. He nodded, his eyes still holding that vacant stare. I pushed the intercom button on the wall and simply said, ‘Okay.’ The curtains on the other side of the glass started to roll back, parting from the centre. A small sound escaped from Mrs McDonnell’s lips, her husband put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, his other hand keeping a tight grip of hers. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Aaron push his shoulders further up the wall in an attempt to become invisible. The opening provided by the curtains showed a body covered by a clean white sheet. Eventually they were fully open and the face of the young boy was there for the couple to see. Mrs McDonnell threw herself at the glass. Both her hands open palmed as though pushing to get through.
‘Nooooooooo.’ Her knees started to buckle but her hands clung onto the glass.
‘No. No. No. Please. No,’ she begged.
My eyes welled and I swallowed hard, trying to stay professional.
Mr McDonnell, still close to his wife, had one hand covering his mouth now. Both of them as close to the glass partition as they could be. ‘My baby boy. My poor baby boy.’ She turned to me. ‘I want to go to him. Please. Let me go to him.’
I swallowed again before I spoke. ‘I’m sorry. We need to do a post-mortem on Finlay because we don’t know the cause of his death and in case there is any possibility that this is suspicious then we need to keep him away from anyone for the moment. But as soon as it has been done, then you can come back and spend as long as you need to with him.’
She turned back to the glass partition and a heart-wrenching wail sliced through the room.
29
2015
Her heart was failing. That’s what the doctor had told her. He sat there in numbed silence. The chair hard, beneath him. He could remember that. The feel of the kitchen chair.
Solid. Unforgiving.
They hadn’t even taken her into the living room. She had stayed in the kitchen with them and explained the medical terms to them once Connie had calmed and soothed her. All he had done was sit his behind on the hard wooden chair. A voice somewhere inside his head, screaming at him to move. To speak. To hug. To love. But he sat there. Listening to his beautiful daughter explain how weak her heart muscle was. That it had been a problem for some time but she had put off seeing the doctor, thinking she was just burning the candle at both ends and needed to get some rest, but when that hadn’t worked, she had gone to see her GP.
Her eyes dried. Her voice levelled. She stared off into a corner of the room as she spoke. Focusing on a point just past Connie, whose hands were wringing. Her gentle soft white hands were wrapping and clawing at themselves as she tried to remain strong for her child. He could see it from his distant point.
He viewed the surreal scene in that kitchen. His kitchen. His daughter, his child, his very soul, and it was in the process of being ripped out of him, slowly but surely, piece by tiny piece.
He saw blood. Connie’s hand. She had scratched herself in her effort to remain still and strong. The blood sat there, vivid red against her pale skin. A streak of life. Just breaking the surface.
Emma talked on. For now she was being prescribed a drug. Diji-something. It wasn’t going in. His mind was deserting him.
She wanted to come home.
Of course he wanted this. This was her home and always would be. If that was the only thing he could do, then it was hers. No question. But it felt so ineffectual, in the grand scheme of what she was going through, saying she could return to the home that was already hers didn’t feel enough.
He wanted to do something of substance for her.
He wanted to do what he’d do when she was little and protect her from the world. Protect her from what she was facing. He wanted to rub the scrape better and stop it hurting, put some magic cream on the cut, turn the light on when a nightmare invaded the dark, but none of that applied here and all he had was a home, her home and he could continue to be her father.
And he’d do that with everything he had in him.
30
Grey’s office door was closed. His PA was outside. I couldn’t for the life of me remember her name but I liked her. She always had a smile and a bag of sweets on her desk.
‘Has he gone out?’
‘Oh no, he’s in, he asked that you go straight through.’
She proffered the bag from the desk at me. I peered inside and saw Murray Mints.
I smiled. ‘I’d better not, thank you. Can you imagine if I took one and was busy sucking on it while trying to talk to him? I wouldn’t be able to speak!’
‘Why do you think I eat them? It stops me interrupting him when he’s speaking to me.’ She winked. I couldn’t help but smile again. Such a stressful day but I was smiling again.
‘Here,’ she picked one out and held it up, ‘take it for later. You never know when it might come in useful.’
‘Thank you,’ I whispered to his adorable PA
as I moved past her into his office.
She smiled in response and put her head back down.
Grey’s office was neat and sparse. Grey was neat and sparse. Saturday morning and I was sitting in front of him, having come into work because the job demanded that extra push of senior investigating officers. We didn’t have set hours. If a case was running, then we were running as well. With no extra pay. It was just the way it was. However, lower-ranking officers who came in were on overtime when a murder was being investigated. At the minute we didn’t know what we had, but it was suspicious so we were all working.
There was too much to do. Too much of a coincidence. Even if it didn’t turn out to be murder, people were dying. We couldn’t speak to the school this weekend, but we could interview the witnesses from the bus and we could access Finlay’s friends while they were out of school and their parents were off work. Better for them that they had parents around to support them at this time.
I waited for Grey to finish the email he was typing out, the concentration making his face frown. He was a man I rarely saw smile. At his level of command there was a lot more paperwork and meetings, more log keepings and oversight. It was a reason I didn’t want to go for promotion again. I would rather get my hands dirty and get out of the building with my team and get involved. Shuffling papers suited Grey. I couldn’t imagine him meeting members of the public in times of crisis. He’d be one step ahead wondering what papers needed filling in and wouldn’t have his full focus on the person he was speaking with. Pretty much like he was with his colleagues.
The DI Hannah Robbins Series: Books 1 - 3 (Boxset) (Detective Hannah Robbins Crime Series) Page 28