Prima Facie

by Netta Newbound

  "Thanks, Calvin. And a cup of coffee wouldn't go amiss."

  "Yes, boss."

  Adam ate the sandwich while picking through the notes on his desk. One was from Amanda.

  He returned her call and she answered breathlessly.

  "Hi, babe. You okay?" he asked.

  "I'm fine."

  "You should have called my mobile. I've not been in the office all morning."

  "I don't like to disturb you when you're working—you could be in the middle of cracking a case and the phone rings."

  "Well, tough. I don't want to come back from an interview and find I've missed the birth of my son."

  "Of course I'd call you then, and who says we're having a boy?"

  "Me and Jakey need another boy to balance everything out."

  She giggled. "Whatever. Anyway, I wondered how you got on at the doctors."

  "He gave me some painkillers and at least I'm able to walk properly again. Calvin and Frances think it's hilarious, but they’re worried I'm annoyed with them, so I'll wind them up a while longer."

  Calvin appeared in the doorway with a cup of coffee and a pile of papers.

  Adam indicated he place it on the desk and gave him the thumbs up.

  "Meanie."

  "Hey, you. You're supposed to be on my side."

  She laughed. "I am! But don't be too hard on them. Is that all the doctor did? Give you painkillers?"

  "He examined me, and made another appointment for next week. He said if it’s no better he’ll arrange a scan. No doubt the swelling will have gone by then."

  "Let's hope. Oh, and can you spare me an hour or so tomorrow lunchtime? I want to test drive that SUV I've had my eye on. Once the baby arrives, we won't fit everyone in the car."

  "Yeah, that should be fine. Just remind me in the morning. I've got a lot going on at the moment."

  "Okay, I'll let you go. Love you."

  "Love you too. See you later."

  He hung up and read through the information Calvin had compiled on Miles Muldoon. He was thirty-two-years-old, born in Maidenhead, in Berkshire. His parents emigrated to Australia when he was four-years-old. He came back, aged twenty, and got a job in London with BP Global as a trading and business intern, leaving his parents and three younger sisters in Perth.

  He stayed in that job for twelve months before getting in through the back door of a large publishing company as admin assistant. He managed to step up the ladder quite quickly from assistant editor, to sub editor, and became a section editor within four years.

  At twenty-six, he moved to Pinevale Publishing as Editor, specialising in fiction, non-fiction and memoirs.

  Adam dropped his pen and rubbed his face with both hands. It didn't make sense. Something made this guy go off his rocker and jeopardise such an impressive career he'd clearly worked his socks off for.

  He switched on his PC and brought up the company website. In the Meet the Team tab, there was Julia Rothwell, the commissioning editor and company director. The photograph of Julia showed a woman in her thirties, but there was no telling how long ago the image was taken.

  Below her were two acquisitions editors, Miles and a woman in her sixties called Muriel Grey.

  Sally Kemp was listed in the next column of copy editors, along with two other women, Nigella Monks and Carol Griffiths.

  Lana Davis didn't get a mention.

  Turning back to the paperwork, the phone history showed Muldoon’s last call was to Sally Kemp at 8.15 pm Tuesday night, and lasted three minutes. This confirmed Sally's version of events, and Adam couldn't help but think if not for her dad's cancer, things could have turned out much worse for her last night.

  Adam hadn't heard of her dad. He'd been Chief Constable long before Adam moved down from Manchester. He punched the name into the search engine, Sir Charles David Kemp, and a whole host of information was instantly available. It seemed he had been in the position for thirteen years and in the force for over forty. He was even knighted by the queen in 2008 for services to policing. He retired four years ago aged sixty-one.

  Adam sighed. All that and now the poor man is dying of cancer at sixty-five.

  He got up and headed into the main office.

  Frances glanced up from her desk and smiled at him.

  "Calvin, did anybody check the airports to see if Muldoon left the country? He may have scarpered back to Australia, which would explain leaving his car and phone at the hotel."

  "Good point. I'm onto it, boss."

  "Any luck in finding a next-of-kin for Michael Curtis?"

  "Nothing yet. His parents and sister are dead. Apparently there's a niece somewhere but no luck yet." Calvin turned back to his computer screen.

  Frances hung up the phone and jumped to her feet. "We've had confirmation of Muldoon’s fingerprints all over the place, which isn't surprising considering he lived there up until last week. However, the crowbar used to break in the dining room window is also covered in his prints."

  "Bingo. Let's get a warrant to search the hotel room and his car."

  Chapter 6

  The hotel room and phone gave them nothing at all, although several overseas numbers were found which would save Calvin a lot of time in his search for Muldoon’s parents.

  Adam didn't hold out much hope for the car after their earlier inspection, but he went with Frances to check it out.

  Frances unlocked the top-of-the-range Audi with the key fob as they approached it. Adam opened the driver's door while Frances walked around to the passenger side. As he slid into the seat, the throbbing in his privates started up again, and he quickly pushed the chair back a few inches.

  "Is it bad again?" Frances asked, sliding in beside him.

  Unsure if she was taking the piss again, he didn't reply giving her a dirty look instead.

  The owner’s manual and service history books were the only items in the glove box. Two CDs, Adele and Ed Sheeran, were in the centre console and apart from the local Audi dealer's business card in the sun visor, the vehicle was clean.

  "Get on the phone to Jimmy. We need his team down here to sweep for blood. There's bound to be some if he used this after the murder."

  "Will do, boss." Frances got out and checked the boot.

  He swung his legs out and held his breath as the throbbing ache returned with a vengeance.

  "Oh, my God!" Frances said.

  "What is it?" He raced to her side, his pain forgotten.

  A single plastic bag sat in the totally clean boot.

  Frances positioned it for him to peer inside at the blood-soaked grey clothing.

  He whistled as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled the station. "Calvin, it appears we've found the clothing the killer used. We need to upscale the search right away. It seems Miles Muldoon is definitely our man."

  *

  Adam was exhausted by the time he arrived home. He wanted a beer, his dinner, a bath and bed in that order. As he turned the key in the lock, he realised it wasn't going to happen.

  Emma, Amanda's five-year-old daughter, stood in the hallway, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her usually pretty little face had turned bright red.

  "Hey, hey, hey! What's going on?" he said.

  "I don't like sausages and Mummy said I've got to eat them or go to bed," she sobbed.

  "Come here." He held his arms out and she ran to him, and wrapped her arms and legs around him as he picked her up.

  Amanda appeared in the kitchen doorway. "She's got a mood on her. This is the third temper tantrum since coming home from school. She even hit Jacob with a book earlier."

  He tried to look at Emma's face, but she'd buried it in his neck. "Is that true, Em?"

  She gave her head several quick shakes.

  "Emma?" he said, sternly.

  "Well, Jacob put his dirty fingers on my book and I told him to stop but he wouldn't."

  "So, was it kind to hit him with it?" He bent to kiss his wife and stroked her rapidly growing baby bump.

&
nbsp; "No," she whined.

  "Where is Jacob now?"

  "Eating his dinner." She pointed to the kitchen-dining room.

  "How about we go in to see him, and you can apologise?"

  "He didn't say sorry to me for touching my book."

  "But he's only three. He doesn't understand. You're his big sister and should be caring for him, not hitting him with books."

  She made a humph sound and shook her head again. She looked at him and his heart broke at the sight of her huge tear-filled eyes.

  "Are you sorry for hurting your little brother?"

  She nodded.

  "How about we go and tell him. And maybe you could eat some of your dinner to make Mummy happy too. Okay, squirt?"

  She nodded again.

  Once Emma was all smiles, happily munching on sausages with Jacob, he left them to it.

  Amanda had her back to them at the kitchen sink, and he could tell by her whole demeanour she was unhappy. He put his hands on her hips and slowly turned her to face him.

  "Thanks, love," she said, putting her arms around him and holding him close—or as close as she could with a massive bump in the way.

  He kissed her on the head. "Are you alright, Mand? You're looking a bit down in the mouth."

  "I've just had one of those days. How about you?"

  "I'll tell you right after you fill me in about yours." He lifted her chin up and looked into her eyes.

  "You saw Emma. She's been like that since coming home from school. On top of that, Mary decided to go off with one of her mates without letting me know, so, as you can imagine, I was beside myself. Thankfully, the girl's mum thought to give me a call, or else I'd have been calling your lot out. She's due home soon, and I'll be having a serious chat with her."

  "That's not like Mary. She knows you'll worry, especially with everything..."

  Mary was Amanda's niece. That was the official explanation anyway. In truth, she was Amanda's daughter who'd been given up at birth. Andrew, Amanda's fugitive brother, had kidnapped the child from her adopted waste-of-space, druggy parents.

  Amanda pulled away as she always did if she thought he might mention her brother. She checked in the oven. "Chicken casserole for dinner?"

  "Sounds lovely, but I would have made do with sausages. You don't need to make two meals every day, you know. No wonder you're tired out."

  "You need a proper meal after the hours you work, and that little madam..." she pointed at Emma, "...would throw it back at me if I tried to feed her casserole."

  "Right, you." He twirled her around on the spot and faced her to the door. "You go and put your feet up. I'm in charge now."

  "No, but I..."

  He placed a finger on her lips. "No arguments. Get yourself on the sofa. I can dish up the dinner and afterwards, I’ll sort out their bath, and bedtime stories."

  "I couldn't possibly let you do that." She reached for the oven gloves.

  He got to them first and pointed at the door. "Go!"

  "Go, Mummy," Emma said.

  "Go!" Jacob copied her, laughing.

  "See? You've been told." He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head towards the door.

  As she walked away, he flicked her bottom with the oven gloves. She caught them and threw them back at him. "Watch it, you." She smiled.

  So much for a quiet night, he thought. He popped a couple of painkillers in his mouth and swallowed them down with a glass of water, then filled the kettle.

  "How's it going in there?" he asked. "Have you finished your sausages yet?"

  The room was large, the kitchen area was separated with a breakfast bar and the dining area held a dining set as well as a small sofa. Kids’ toys were piled all around the room.

  "Ye-es," they said, giggling.

  "Who wants yoghurt?"

  "Me, me, me," they chanted.

  He set about cleaning tomato sauce from Jacob's hands, face and every surface in arms’ reach of him. "Flipping heck, Jacob, how did you manage to get it everywhere?"

  "Everywhere," Jacob said, holding his hands up to him for inspection.

  Adam laughed and ruffled the boy's fine blond hair.

  He got two pots of strawberry yoghurt from the fridge and two spoons. "Come on, you two. Eat up and then its bath time."

  He made Amanda a cup of her favourite herbal tea and carried it through to the lounge.

  She was curled up on the sofa, sleeping soundly.

  He smiled as he placed the cup beside her on the coffee table and stroked a finger along her face. He went back to the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

  An hour later, the kids had been bathed, changed, and read to. They insisted on giving their mum a kiss before going to bed.

  He popped his head into the lounge and Amanda opened her eyes.

  "Oh, hello," she said. "Is everything alright?"

  "Wonderful. Kids are all ready for bed. Can I send them in to say goodnight?"

  "Of course." She struggled into a sitting position.

  "Come on, you two, quick kiss, then bed. Mummy's worn out."

  The giggling children ran in and pounced on Amanda who kissed and tickled them.

  "Okay, you little tinkers. Say goodnight to Mummy."

  Chapter 7

  I wait in the back alley until all the lights go out. Then I reach over the gate and unfasten the bolt.

  A dog in the house next door begins barking continually. Quickly closing the gate, I press myself up against the brick wall of the tiny back yard.

  "Shut up, you bloody nuisance," the dog's owner yells.

  I creep to the kitchen window that I'd forced open earlier when the house was empty. Pulling it, I'm relieved when it opens.

  A deep rumbling growl comes from next door followed by the dog scratching and whining to be let out.

  Needing to move fast, I jump up and pull myself through the open window, step onto the kitchen sink and down onto the tiled floor.

  The kitchen seems different in the dark. Bigger and more cluttered somehow. I wait for my eyes to adjust before I head for the door.

  My movements are slow and careful. One wrong move and the whole thing will go tits up.

  My feet tap lightly on the wooden floorboards, and I pause in relief as I reach the carpeted stairs.

  Keeping my feet close to the edge, I climb one step at a time, reach the top and take a moment to assess the lay of the land.

  Both bedroom doors are closed, but the bathroom door is open allowing a glow from the streetlight to illuminate my way.

  I almost jump out of my skin as I step onto the landing and the floorboards creek. My pulse quickens and I wait to see if anybody has heard.

  Two more silent steps and I'm standing outside the first bedroom door.

  Fingers on the handle, I relish the thrill of adrenalin coursing through my veins.

  I turn the handle and gentle snores reach my ears as I push the door slowly inwards. The sickly scent she always wears assaults my nostrils causing my stomach to clench.

  A moment of weakness almost has me tearing out of the place. But the thought of her lying there, sleeping soundly when my life had turned seven shades of shit, spurs me on.

  I close the door and stand above the bed, yet her snores never falter or lose momentum. How fortunate for her when I've not managed a wink of sleep in days.

  The room is softly lit by the salt lamp she always recommends to anybody who will listen. And for once, I agree as I'm soothed by the pale pink glow.

  My fingers slide easily around the handle of the hunting knife in my pocket. I shudder and take a deep breath in anticipation of her reaction.

  Goosebumps cover my entire body causing delicious ripples of pleasure, and I smile savouring the moment.

  My breath escapes in short pants reminding me of that moment just before an intense orgasm—that point of no return, and I almost cry out in sheer ecstasy.

  When I grab her face, it surprises even me.

  Her eyes open, slowly at first. Then
, with a sharp intake of breath against my gloved hand, the terror reaches her eyes and she begins to squirm.

  I wish I could stretch this part out, but the presence of her dad across the landing gives me no choice.

  The knife cuts through her flesh with ease.

  She blinks. Once. Twice. Three times and I feel her body sag.

  A crimson stain spreads around her leaving a beautiful pattern in its wake.

  I watch trying to take in every last detail, needing to etch it to my memory so I can recall it at will.

  I would like to take photographs, but I'm not that stupid. Physical evidence is a no-no.

  I lose all track of time. Her once beautiful face first turning grey, then purple and waxy and her lips now have a strange white tinge.

  I force myself to my feet and wipe the knife and my gloved hands on the bottom of the pale blue bedspread.

  With one final glance back at the body, I step out onto the landing.

  I still have work to do.

  ***

  Adam rolled over as Amanda climbed into bed. "What time is it?" he asked.

  "Shhh. Go back to sleep."

  "Shit, it's still the middle of the night. Are you feeling alright?"

  "I'm fine. Just bloody uncomfortable," she said.

  He pulled her head down onto his chest. "Do you want me to sing to you?"

  She chuckled. "No, thanks. Can you even sing?"

  "Yes, I can sing. Cheeky bugger."

  "Well, I've never heard you."

  "You have. I'm always singing in the car," he said.

  "Oh, is that what you call it?"

  It was his turn to laugh. "Get to sleep, woman. I've got a lot on tomorrow."

  "Stop talking to me, and I will."

  He shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  He listened as her steady breathing turned to gentle snores when she fell asleep. But, wide awake himself, he glanced at the clock again—4.08am.

  He eased out from underneath Amanda placing her head gently on the pillow. He went for a pee before heading down the stairs.

  Amanda worried him. So used to keeping her problems inside, she often struggled to confide in him if something bothered her.