by Tara Lyons
‘Anything suspicious?’
Dixon turned down her mouth and shook her head. ‘He sounded genuinely shocked over the phone, said he got on well with Henry Kane. The couple started working for him a year ago, managing the bar and renting the apartment upstairs. Said he’d even met up with them socially a few times. His record is clean, a legit businessman, owns a few wine bars dotted around the capital but doesn’t manage any of them. He lives in Surbiton with his wife.’
‘Okay, head over to The Empress anyway and have a chat with him. Find out just how social he was with them. Perhaps he had a thing for the wife and wanted Henry out of the way.’
‘Surely he would have at least staged a robbery to throw us off his scent,’ Dixon replied.
Hamilton shrugged with a wry smile. ‘Hey, if we’re offered amateur criminals, take it happily, because Lord knows it doesn’t happen every bloody day. Sometimes the most obvious answer is the one staring us in the face.’
Dixon nodded while Hamilton stood up and the pair left his office to join the rest of the team in the incident room — just as Fraser ended a call.
‘Boss, that was Audrey Gibson,’ she informed him. ‘Said she has something of interest for you and that you should phone or pop in to see her as soon as you have a chance.’
‘I’ll scoot over to the mortuary now. Rocky … you join me.’
He also decided Dixon would visit The Empress alone — there were officers and the FLO at the scene to question the wine bar owner with her — while Clarke and Fraser stayed behind to continue with the CCTV viewing.
Hamilton waited until they were in the car and pulling away from the station before he asked Rocky what he’d uncovered so far. Rocky sighed heavily, causing Hamilton to take his attention off the road for a few seconds — focusing on the sergeant as he turned in his seat. It was then that Hamilton noticed the lack of brightness in the lad’s hazel eyes, and the dark circles beneath them.
‘Well … spit it out,’ he said.
‘Johnny Tanner — Fraser’s childhood friend and drug-addict — has been located.’
‘That’s a good thing, now we can—’
‘No, it’s not good,’ Rocky interrupted, and Hamilton piped down to hear him explain. ‘I found Johnny in The Wellness Rehabilitation Centre in Fraser’s hometown of Kent. He didn’t send her those rotting flowers … they were hand delivered.’
‘And he was in rehab at the time?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about the incident on Stratford High Street?’
‘He was in rehab then, too,’ Rocky continued. ‘In another attempt to kick the drug habit, Johnny tried to take his own life about four months ago. He’s on suicide watch and receiving daily therapy and care. It wasn’t him.’
Hamilton drove over the roundabout while drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘What if you’ve found the wrong Johnny Tanner?’
‘I haven’t. It’s him. I saw a photograph at Fraser’s house and I visited The Wellness Centre over the weekend … I didn’t speak to Johnny, just a member of staff.’
Hamilton raised his eyebrows as they pulled into the mortuary car park. He’d been unaware of just how far Rocky had taken this after-hours investigation and was impressed with his forward-thinking. He parked the car and sat back with a sigh.
‘Okay, so Fraser has assumed Johnny sent the maggot-infested flowers because she disowned him, and what happened in Stratford was just someone helping our suspect get away while she gave chase …’ Hamilton summarised.
‘Yes.’
He turned to face Rocky. ‘But we now know different. While these could be unrelated incidents, we can’t ignore the fact that we don’t have the answers for them, and we can’t leave our colleague, and our friend, in the dark.’
‘Remember her cat went missing?’ Rocky remarked. ‘Well, what if it hasn’t gone missing at all, but this same man who struck her from behind and sent the flowers also took her cat?’
‘The facts you’re putting together point to a possible stalker, you do realise that, don’t you?’
Rocky turned away, facing forwards out of the window and silently watched the hospital staff enter and exit the building. He just nodded as an answer to Hamilton’s question.
‘Then even more reason we have a duty of care to inform Fraser what you’ve found.’
‘I know,’ the sergeant said as he hung his head. ‘She’ll be disappointed that I betrayed her trust though, guv.’
Hamilton inhaled deeply and slowly released the puff of hot air. ‘Probably … but in the long run, it’s the right thing to do.’
‘Nothing’s even happened … I mean, those flowers were delivered weeks ago.’ Rocky lifted his head, a look of childish hope etched on his face.
‘Exactly, so no harm telling Fraser because it’s probably all blown over now. We’ll do it together once we’ve closed this case. How about that?’
Rocky agreed, and although the hope had been squashed, the sergeant still seemed a fraction more positive than he first did, Hamilton felt. They both exited the car, heading towards the mortuary entrance of the hospital in silence. Hamilton wasn’t sure what he believed; whether Rocky had blown everything out of proportion or if indeed Fraser was being followed by the man in the CCTV image. But what he did know was that she was the type of woman who would not appreciate being kept in the dark, and that was something he could rectify.
Hamilton sped up, the sharp wind whipping against his skin, and pulled the scarf higher around his cheeks. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what Audrey thinks will interest us.’
3
Eighteen years ago
* * *
She sat in her room, snuggled up in the single bed with her new duvet — covered with an image of her favourite boyband, Five — pulled up as far as it could go while still allowing both arms to rest on top to hold her book. Half way through Romeo and Juliet — reading for pleasure, not yet on her school syllabus — it was quickly becoming one of her all-time favourite books, and she had quite a few, because she had fallen in love with the idea of love. She was infatuated with how, despite being teenagers, both Romeo and Juliet knew they belonged together.
No one will ever love me like that.
Not with the gap in the middle of her two front teeth, her lank hair which was neither brown nor blonde. It was that ridiculous colour everyone referred to as “mousy” — a word no one in their second year of high school wanted to be referred to as — and it couldn’t be styled thanks to its lifelessness. She hated the endless number of freckles on her face and neck and arms, which seemed to have multiplied like rabbits over the summer holidays. She had what her mother continually referred to as “puppy fat”, which her mother also said was “totally normal with all the hormones flying around.”
The summer holidays had not only brought with it extra freckles and her thirteenth birthday, but also her first period. She wondered if her mate T — who was tall and slim with a headful of bouncy curls as bright as the sun — has started her period. T had no “puppy fat” and Devon, the coolest boy in school, always wanted to talk to her.
He never wants to talk to me.
She heard the light creak of the floorboard outside her room and ducked down to a lying position, throwing the book under the duvet as she did. Her mother had told her to go to sleep hours ago, but she’d been busy secretly scribbling in her diary about the joke Devon had made in class that day before picking up a book to read. The house had gone quiet about an hour previously, and she knew that meant they had all gone to bed. So she’d switched the light on, thinking she would be safe to finish the book.
As her bedroom door slowly opened, she realised she’d been busted, that her mother must have spotted the glimmer of light under the door while passing. So she was surprised to actually see the figure of a man peering into her room.
‘Everything okay?’ she asked.
He placed his finger over his lips as he stepped inside the room and gently closed th
e door behind him. Too gently. He sat down at the end of the bed, his weight pulling the duvet tight over her feet, and smiled.
‘Is Mum okay?’ she asked, frowning as to why he had come into her room at this time of night. He never had before.
‘She’s fine,’ he whispered. ‘Actually, she’s asleep, so we better keep it down.’
‘Oh.’
He smiled again and then looked around her room, stroking the duvet as he did. He focused on its image for a few moments and then asked if she liked Five.
‘Yeah, of course, you know they’re my favourite.’
‘I love their song … you know, that one about in the dark, I’ll show you my love. It’s always playing on the radio,’ he said and moved closer, his voice still a soft hush.
‘Yes, “When the Lights Go Out.” I love it too. I know all the words.’
‘I bet you fancy one of them, too, don’t you?’
She felt her cheeks flush with heat.
‘Come on, tell me which one it is.’
She giggled. ‘I think Scott Robinson is really cute.’
‘No way. My friend knows Scott … yeah, he’s a Londoner, isn’t he? I’m sure if I ask my mate, he’d arrange for you to meet him.’
‘Seriously? That would be amazing … I mean, wow, really? Could you really do that?’
He smiled. ‘I’ve got the connections, and for you … well, for you I’d do anything.’
She squealed and sat up in the bed, but he placed his finger over her lips and reminded her that her mother was sleeping. Apparently, she had a migraine, and it would be unfair to wake her at such a late hour, he had added.
He moved closer again, this time so much so that she had to move her hand away so he didn’t sit on it or so it didn’t end up on his thigh. She swallowed hard.
‘Your mum told me what happened to you this summer … you’re a woman now, you know? You’d need to be careful … meeting pop stars and hanging around with boys at school.’
Her eyes widened. ‘My mum told you that? I thought it was just between us… I mean, it’s girl stuff.’
‘I know, sweetie, but she tells me everything. She trusts me and so should you. I’d keep your secrets … if you wanted me to, of course.’
But Mum said that would be our secret — girls together. Yes, it means I’m becoming a woman, she also said that, but that it was my decision who I told. I haven’t even told my friends yet.
He lightly stroked her face with the tips of his fingers, dragging her thoughts away from her mother. Opening and closing her mouth again, she wanted to tell him to stop, but the word wouldn’t come. She focused on the creases of the duvet cover, Scott Robinson now looking disfigured with the folds in his face, anything to not look at him.
‘I bet you’re surprised your mum told me, aren’t you?’ he asked.
She looked at him and nodded.
‘It’s because she loves me. She told me I’m the best thing that has ever happened to her. Also, mummies do lie, sweetie. Your mum doesn’t want you to grow up and have all the fun, she probably told you that you didn’t have to tell anyone that you had your first period, if you didn’t want to. But I see it … I see the woman you’re blossoming into.’
His hand trailed down her neck, his fingers resting on her collarbone, his palm on her chest. She gasped but didn’t have the chance to say anything before his lips briefly touched hers.
‘I don’t want … no … don’t,’ she mumbled and pulled back her head.
He followed her movement. With their faces still just inches apart, she could smell his warm breath mixed with a hint of stale beer. The hand on her chest felt heavier, as if he were pushing her to lie back down, and his free hand pulled back her Five boyband duvet.
‘I’ll show you I can keep your secrets,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you the woman you’ve become.’
4
Audrey Gibson was in her office when Hamilton and Rocky arrived. She greeted them with a smile and jumped into conversation immediately. Hamilton couldn’t decide if this was purely down to a chatty nature or if it were more the desperate need to speak. The prospect of spending most of your day with the dead would certainly entice as much conversation as possible with the living, he thought.
‘We could have done this over the phone,’ she said, ‘but I’m glad you’re here. Please, both of you take a seat. It’s rare I have the time to chat to you in here.’
While Audrey rooted through her files and folders, the two men did as they were instructed — each pulling a chair from the large table. Hamilton watched as the red-headed woman hummed unwittingly to herself until she found what she was looking for, then she struck her index finger in the air and took a seat herself.
‘Yes, so, Mr Kane,’ she said, thumbing through a folder. ‘As we said, cause of death was the blow to the back of the head. However, during the post-mortem, I discovered quite a few wounds.’
‘He was tortured?’ Hamilton asked.
She smiled and shook her head. ‘No, forgive me. What I mean is much older wounds … healing wounds.’
‘Such as?’
Audrey cast an eye over her files and filled her lungs. ‘Bruising on the left thigh, ribs two to five on his left side were also broken, as well as what look like burn marks on his right forearm. All at different stages of the healing process.’
‘So, Mr Kane could have been in a fight recently and sustained these injuries?’ Rocky asked, peering up from his notebook.
‘Hmmm, it would have been more like a few fights,’ Audrey replied. ‘As I said, they’re at different stages, so the broken ribs for example probably happened well over a month ago, but the burn marks — which appear to be from something like a cigarette or a cigar — are much more recent.’
Hamilton leant forward, pressing his fingers into a steeple and balancing his chin on them as he listened to Audrey and Rocky volley their thoughts back and forth across the table. Something bugged him — an itch he couldn’t reach at the corner of his mind; something begging to be remembered.
‘I could give Clarke a call, guv,’ Rocky said, disturbing his thoughts. ‘Limit the amount of CCTV he’s looking at … although, of course, a fight might not necessarily have happened at the wine bar. Perhaps the wife could shed more light on the brawl.’
‘Yes …’ Hamilton agreed and stood. ‘Is that all?’
‘For now, yes, Inspector,’ Audrey said, and brushed her hair away from her face.
Hamilton thanked her and left the room, instructing Rocky to call Clarke, requesting he study a specific time frame of the CCTV — his own assumptions now coming to the fore — and then to contact Dixon and inform her of their imminent arrival.
London’s streets were crowded — no longer due to the police cordon — just a few hours later. Greek Street and the surrounding Soho area was filled with commuters, tourists, shoppers and theatre-goers out in droves. The city was used to it.
Dixon stood outside The Empress wine bar, her jet-black hair now pulled back in a clip, rubbing her gloved hands together and hopping from foot to foot in the cold.
‘Got the information you needed, boss?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I think so. Who’s upstairs?’
‘The family liaison officer was already here when I arrived — Susan … something, I can’t remember. And Joseph Wilde just showed up, he’s talking to Mrs Kane now. She gave me a list of employees, so uniform are in the process of tracking them down to interview.’
Hamilton nodded and brushed past Dixon, motioning with his head that she and Rocky should follow him up the stairs. He wasn’t surprised to find Mrs Kane still sitting in the exact spot he had left her in at the kitchen table. Though her husband’s body had been removed, the sight of his blood on the carpet would be upsetting. He briefly cast his eyes over Joseph Wilde, a heavy-set man — double the size of Mr Kane — with a head full of dark hair, peppered grey at the temples, and wearing dark-rimmed glasses. The man sat opposite Mrs Kane, gripping the woman's hand as it
rested on the table.
‘Maureen, hello. I’m Detective Inspector Hamilton. I spoke with you this morning.’
‘I remember,’ she mumbled, and watched as he sat next to her — face and eyes as swollen, and yet still as beautiful, as before.
‘I had a few more questions I’d like to ask you.’ He took her silence as permission to continue and explained about the wounds found on her husband.
The woman turned down her mouth. ‘Henry didn’t tell me about any fights.’
‘And you didn’t ask?’
‘What do you mean?’
Hamilton folded his arms. ‘Surely you would have noticed the bruising on his thigh, and Mr Kane would have been in some discomfort for a while … I mean, you wouldn’t have even been able to hug him without him crying out in pain, I’m sure.’
The woman licked her dry lips and sighed. ‘We … hadn’t been intimate for a while … So, no, I wouldn’t have noticed.’
‘Was the lack of affection due to problems in your marriage?’ Hamilton probed, noticing the twitch along Mrs Kane’s jawline.
‘No.’ She frowned and looked across to Joseph who smiled and rubbed his thumb across her hand. She pulled her hand away and reached for the packet of cigarettes on the table. Tears sprung from her eyes but she said nothing.
‘I’d been wondering if those were yours,’ Hamilton said, and then sighed loudly. ‘You see, when I discovered Mr Kane had burn marks along his forearm, I thought of that packet of fags I’d seen in here earlier, but couldn’t remember if I’d actually seen you smoking.’
‘It was self-defence,’ Mrs Kane suddenly screamed, her eyes wide as she scanned the room. ‘He dragged me home from Susie’s house … said I wasn’t allowed any friends … said he was going to kill me.’ She wiped the tears now gushing down her face and chucked the cigarette in the ashtray. ‘I have bruises too … he hit me all the time. For years. I finally found the strength to fight back this morning, after hours of him bullying me and not letting me sleep. I just lost it and hit back. I kicked him in the ribs and reached for the statue after he punched me.’