by Amy Cross
“I'm not the only one with kids,” I reply, stepping closer and looking down at her hollowed-out sockets. “It's hard on everyone. It's hard on the whole town. News is starting to spread. I see it in people's eyes when they look at me. They want me to tell them that their kids are going to be safe.”
“But if -”
“What was the cause of death?”
“It's been difficult to narrow that down,” he explains. “So far, I believe the assault happened first, and then the injuries to her face. I also believe that she was alive for most of that, and that the eventual cause of death was most likely blood loss. Obviously that's a preliminary declaration, and I'll be able to be a little more certain in the morning. If you wanted me to reassure you that the poor girl didn't suffer much, then I'm afraid I can't do that. In fact, I don't have very much comfort to offer at all.”
“What about her ears?”
“Wax.”
I turn to him.
“Hot wax,” he continues. “It seems that boiling wax was poured into both ear canals.”
“Why the hell would anyone do that?”
“I'm sure it would be a very effective way of ensuring she couldn't hear anything,” he explains. “By the time she died, she most likely couldn't see, couldn't hear -”
“And couldn't talk,” I point out, looking back down at her bloodied mouth.
“She was effectively locked inside her own body,” he continues, “with no way out. She'd only have been able to feel what was being done to her. Hands on her flesh. Blades. The touch of her attacker, or attackers plural. In fact, I might be wrong, but something about this whole scenario suggests to me that it was the work of more than one person. The sheer brutality is shocking and hints at a lone, depraved mind, but then there are thick bruises around her wrists and ankles, consistent with her having been held down. I think you should consider the possibility that the killer had help.”
“So she was...”
My voice trails off, and for a moment I can't help trying to imagine what it must have been like for poor little Maureen 'Mo' Garvey in her final hours. While the people of Railham were going about their usual business, this innocent girl was being tortured and murdered just a couple of miles away. I've always prided myself on keeping this town safe, especially for the children, and now this murder has made a mockery of everything I stand for. I wouldn't be surprised if the townsfolk want my badge when they learn the gruesome details about how Mo died.
“Uh, boss?”
Hearing a knock at the door, I turn to see that Deputy Harry Bischoff has come through. He keeps his eyes fixed on me, and it's clear that he's trying very hard to keep from looking directly at the dead girl.
“Uh, we've got a situation,” he continues cautiously. “I think you need to come through to the main office right now.”
***
“And we will never bow down to the evil in this world,” Mayor Lenny Johnson continues as he makes his way between the desks in the main office, watched by the deputies. “Do you know why that is?”
He turns to them, red-faced and serious, but nobody answers.
“Because this is Railham,” he adds, poking the nearest desk with a finger and then slamming his fist down as if to underscore that point, “and we do things differently here. When cruelty enters our town, we cast it out. When wickedness moves through our streets, we show strength and unity. And when tragedy strikes, do you know what we do?”
Again he waits, and again nobody says a word. So far, his attempts to inspire my team don't seem to be working too well, although frankly I'm pretty sure they'd all rather be getting on with their work instead of listening to his well-intentioned but ultimately time-wasting speech.
“We stand firm!” he roars, jabbing the desk again before glancing this way and spotting me. “Speaking of which, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to get to the true purpose of my visit here today. I want you all to know, I want the whole town to know, that I have absolute faith in Sheriff Michael Blaine.”
He holds a hand out toward me, as if to welcome me to join him at the center of attention. This whole display is so theatrical, I want to cringe. More importantly, I want to get everyone back to work.
“In our hour of need,” Lenny continues, “when one of our own dear children has been slain, Sheriff Michael Blaine will lead us through the darkness and back to the light! Please, give your esteemed leader a round of applause!”
A smattering of applause breaks out, until Lenny starts clapping loudly, which in turn spurs the others to varying degrees. As Lenny gestures for me to join him, I wander over, although thankfully the applause is already dying down and everyone seems to be getting back to work. Frankly, I think we're all embarrassed.
“I thought I should come over and show some support,” Lenny says as he shakes my hand. His grip is so strong, it's almost as if he's trying to break my fingers. “These are tough times, Sheriff Blaine, tough times indeed. I wanted people to know that my belief in you has not wavered one iota. I have absolute confidence that you're going to track down this son of a -”
He catches himself just in time.
“I spoke to Tom Milford,” he continues, lowering his voice and putting an arm around my shoulder. “He filled me in on some of the gruesome details. I'm not a naive man, Michael. I know people are gonna find out what was done to that poor girl, but that doesn't mean we have to make a big song and dance about revealing it all. We have to think about the girl's parents, but I can deal with that side of things. I'm a people person, it's one of my skills. What I need you to do, Michael, is to catch whoever did this. I wouldn't be surprised if it's some random drifter from out of town, someone who just passed through, but I'll defer to your better judgment on that matter.”
“We can't exclude any possibilities yet,” I tell him.
“Of course we can't.” He pats me on the chest, and again he uses considerable force, as if he's really trying to give me a good shake. “This has to be a one-off. If anyone else gets hurt, or worse, then people are gonna lose faith in you real fast. I'm sure you understand the importance of hitting the ground running with your investigation. You've got to put this animal behind bars, and you've got to do it fast. Well, either that or pop him between the eyes. Frankly, I think people would be perfectly happy if you have to use maximum force. I'm sure you catch my drift.”
“Actually, I -”
“I'd recommend checking to see if any drifters came through town,” he adds, keeping his arm around my shoulder and turning me around, leading me toward the door to my office. “I guess that's a tough ask, huh? Still, it'd be worth checking to see if anyone noticed any unusual faces in the area, especially up in the area near Valder's Wood.”
“Why Valder's Wood?” I ask.
“Well that's where the poor girl was found, isn't it?”
“Sure, but -”
“Time is of the essence,” he adds. “These perverts always run when they've finished their disgusting work, don't they? I mean, I've gotta admit, I reckon your chances are low, but the people of Railham are gonna need to see that you're at work. This whole situation could really undermine your credibility, but take some advice from me and turn the damn thing around, make it work for you. It's at times like these that people look for a strong leader, and I know you've got that in you. I know it, Michael. Deep down.” He leans closer. “You can come out of this tragedy stronger, Michael. Much stronger.”
He pats me on the chest again, before turning back to look across the office, where everyone is already back at work.
“Now listen up!” he yells, causing them all to stop what they're doing, which once again seems counterproductive. “I want you all to know that I'll be spending a lot of time here at the station over the next few days. I'm gonna roll my sleeves up and do whatever I can to help, but that doesn't mean I've lost faith in Sheriff Blaine. It simply means that I want to do my bit as a citizen of this fair town, and that I want to help find whoever killed that poor little g
irl. Now how about you raise your voices and let me hear your commitment, huh? Tell me, ladies and gentlemen, are we going to find this killer?”
“Yes,” a couple of voices suggest timidly.
“I can't hear you!” he roars, cupping a hand around his ear.
“Yes!” a few more voices manage this time.
“I still can't hear you!”
“Yes!”
“That's still not loud enough!”
As he continues to insist on some kind of cheer, I take a step back and head into my office. Lenny's grandstanding style probably has certain advantages, but so far he seems to be disrupting my team more than he's helping them. Spotting Doctor Milford's latest file on my desk, I pick it up and start flicking through the preliminary autopsy report. Somewhere in here, there has to be a clue that'll help me figure out who killed Mo Garvey.
Unfortunately, deep down, I've got a gut feeling that the killer might be someone from Railham. Someone who already knew Mo, and who knew exactly where to take her. Someone who ever now is still out there somewhere, wearing a polite face and pretending to be just like the rest of us.
Chapter Seven
Alex Roberts
Today
“Are you sure you'll be okay here by yourself while I pop into town?” Brad asks on our first morning in the house, as he makes his way toward the car. “You don't wanna come with me, maybe grab a coffee?”
“There's way too much work to do here,” I point out, already getting to work cleaning the porch step. For a moment, my attention is drawn to the sight of a man in a suit leaving the next house along. I watch him get into his car, and then I turn to Brad again. “You have fun, though. Try not to get lost.”
“But you'll be okay here alone, right? I mean -”
He stops as soon as I turn to him.
“Ignore me,” he adds, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I'm doing it again, aren't I? I'm acting like you're a fragile little thing that's gonna wilt in the Railham sun.”
“A little,” I reply with a smile. “Have fun. I'll be right here when you get back, and this entire porch will be so clean, you'll need sunglasses just to look at it. Plus, someone has to wait in for the guy to come and fix the window. I'm not going to let some asshole with a brick scare me away from my own home. Cowards only come out at night.” I pause, before stepping closer and kissing him on the cheek. “And thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being so understanding. For being patient. And most of all, for moving to this little town with me. I know it's a big change of pace.”
As he drives away, I focus on really getting to work. The morning is bright and sunny, so I figured I should get started out here on the porch and save the inside chores for when the weather turns. Down on my hands and knees, scrubbing hard, I have headphones on and music playing, so I don't realize I have company until several minutes later when I spot a shadow edging into my field of vision. Turning, I'm startled to see a middle-aged woman standing behind me with a nervous smile, holding a pot plant.
“Hi,” I say cautiously as I take my headphones off. “Are you...”
“You must be the new neighbors!” she replies enthusiastically, holding the plant out toward me. “My name is fuchsia! I mean, this is a fuchsia, it's for you! Kind of a housewarming gift. And my name's Diane.”
“Hi Diane,” I reply, getting to my feet and taking the plant. “Wow, thank you so much. You really didn't have to do that!”
“Oh, it's kind of a tradition,” she explains, as I start to realize that her pink and purple outfit matches the colors of the fuchsia. “I always take a plant to everyone who moves into the street. It's my little way of introducing myself and being welcoming, and of course I breed fuchsias as a kind of hobby so I always have plenty to pass around. I'm known for it, really. They're such colorful plants and...”
Her voice trails off for a moment, and I can't help noticing that she's looking past me now, toward the house's front door.
“It's very kind of you,” I say, setting the plant down on one of the steps. “I've never looked after a fuchsia before, so I'll have to check online and find out what to do. This is my first time with a garden, so I'm a little green. Or rather, I'm not green-fingered, but I'm going to change that. The back garden's huge, so I've really got my work cut out for me but...”
Now it's my turn to fall silent as I realize that she's so busy staring at the front door, she doesn't even seem to have heard me talking. She must know about the history of the house, and I guess I should 'casually' slip my name into the conversation at some point, so that she realizes I'm the daughter of the much-hated Michael Blaine. Then again, as far as I know, she might be the one who put a brick through our window, even if she doesn't really look like the type.
“I'm sorry?” she says suddenly, turning to me with a forced smile. “Oh, ignore me. It's just so nice to have somebody living in this old place again. I didn't even see a sign outside, I didn't know it had been sold at all.”
“Oh, well actually -”
“But I think it's wonderful, just wonderful! To be honest, I never much liked living next door to an empty house. It wasn't the house itself that bothered me, it was just the fact that it was standing here with nobody living inside. I mean, houses are meant to be lived in, aren't they? An empty house is a sad house, or at least it is in my book. And it already looks like you're really opening the place up!”
“I'm trying to be more -”
“I'm sure you know the history of this particular house,” she continues, interrupting me yet again. “Such a sad story, and honestly it cast a pall over the entire street for a while. I mean, how could it not? When something so dreadful happens, it can't just get swept away and forgotten. A lot of people thought the house should have been pulled down, and I can see that point of view, but I suppose enough time has passed and now you're here and the house can have a fresh start. I saw your husband leaving just now. Or at least, I assume you're married. Is it just the two of you?”
“Brad and I got married last -”
“It's so good that you were willing to take this house on. I'm so glad somebody finally saw past the nasty history of the place.”
“We -”
“You do know there was a terrible tragedy here, don't you?”
“I -”
“Michael Blaine was his name. A lovely man, honestly, until the end, but something went wrong up here.” She taps the side of her head. “I still remember the night I heard the screams. I was living here all the way back then, you know. I was right next door to that poor family. The wife's name was Louisa and there was a little girl too, her name was -”
“Alex,” I reply.
“Yes, Alexandra. So you do know the story. That's good. I always think people should be fully aware of things like that. Not that I believe in ghosts or anything so awful, but houses can retain a kind of energy, can't they? And after what happened here, I'm sure there could be some rather difficult energy in this place. Not that you should let yourself be worried, though. I saw some vans out here the other week, it looked like you've had the place re-decorated. That's a wonderful start. That poor Louisa Blaine woman and her daughter, they endured so much in this house. When I think about it, I just want to cry!”
I wait, but finally it seems as if she's stopped talking.
“Actually,” I say finally, “Louisa Blaine is my mother.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but then she hesitates and I can see a hint of concern in her eyes.
“Well,” she stammers, “then are you... I mean, I thought she only had one...”
Her voice trails off.
“Alexandra,” I continue, stepping toward her and holding out a hand. “Everyone calls me Alex.”
“So you're the...”
“I am. Although it's Alex Roberts now. I got married a couple of years ago. Blaine was my maiden name.”
She pauses, before slowly and very cautiously shaking my hand. She looks me up and
down, as if she can't quite believe that I'm here. The change in her demeanor is very apparent.
“The house stayed in my family and came to me,” I explain, “and I finally decided that it was time to move back here. I know that might seem like a strange decision, but I was sick of running from my past. I guess I'm hoping that by running toward it, I might come to terms with what happened a little better.”
I wait for her to stay something, but she seems utterly shell-shocked.
“It's okay,” I add. “I don't mind talking about it. I mean, I don't like talking about it, but I don't mind either. I just... I'm sorry, I guess I'm rambling, aren't I?”
I force a smile, hoping to make this whole awkward situation feel a little better, although I think that might be a hopeless cause.
“Oh, you must think I'm awful,” she says suddenly, putting her hands over her mouth as if she's horrified by her own reaction. “I came blundering in here with that fuchsia, and I just went spouting on and on about the whole thing, and I never once stopped to consider the possibility that... Well, I mean, it just never occurred to me in a million years that anyone would ever come back to a house after... Well, I mean, after what Louisa and Alexandra Blaine went through. Well, what you went through.”
“It's fine.”
“I was going to invite you and your husband to dinner,” she adds, “but I imagine that now you can't wait to see the back of me.”
“Actually, dinner would be lovely,” I tell her, as I see that she's once again looking past me, as if she's curious about the house. In fact, curiosity is almost seeping from her every pore. “But maybe you'd like to come to us instead,” I add. “How about at the weekend?”
“Come to...”
She turns to me, and I can see the uncertainty in her expression.
“Come to you?” she stammers finally, as if it's the most shocking suggestion in the world. Or the most enticing. “You mean... in there?”
“It was just a suggestion,” I continue. “If you'd prefer, we could come to you instead. I just thought that maybe you'd like to see inside the house. Plus, we've got all our stuff coming later today, and by Friday night we should be all settled in and sorted. We're kind of new to the whole house-owning thing, and we'd really love to try holding a small dinner party. You could be our guinea pigs.”