by Helen Phifer
Twelve
Morgan had held Bronte’s hand the whole way here while the paramedics had worked on her. Relieved now they’d reached the hospital, it had been some journey as the ambulance had sped through the narrow, rural roads of Cumbria to the entrance of the RLI in a busy city. Jumping out, she stepped to one side as the paramedics unloaded the girl and rushed her through the double doors into resus. She followed them through, unsure whether she’d be allowed in the room or not. The receptionist pointed to a small room to the side which said ‘Police’.
She nodded and stepped inside. There were a couple of chairs and a small table with some yellowed magazines on it, along with two empty plastic coffee cups. All in all, it was a bit grim. Sitting down, she wondered what to do. Not having been in a situation like this before, it wasn’t long before the door opened and one of the paramedics who’d been working on Bronte walked in. They hadn’t had time for introductions earlier at the house, but he looked to be around ten years older than her, with a shaved head and stubble that reminded her of Jason Statham.
‘They’re working on her. She needs a CT scan but they have to stabilise her first. Then she’ll be going to intensive care if she doesn’t need surgery to relieve any swelling on the brain.’
‘Thank you, do you think she’ll come around anytime soon?’
He shook his head. ‘Not my call to make, but it’s possible she won’t. Did you see the side of her head?’
‘Yep, it’s a mess.’ She swallowed the lump which had formed in the back of her throat as she relived the shock of finding Bronte alive in that dark, foul-smelling cellar.
He reached out his hand. ‘I’m Luke, and you are?’
‘Morgan.’
‘Thanks for helping us out and driving the van. Are you okay, can I get you anything, a coffee?’
She smiled. ‘I’m good, thanks for asking. It was a bit of a shock finding them all like that. It’s so sad.’
‘I’ve been doing this for nearly ten years and I’ve never seen anything like this.’ He sat down and smiled at her. ‘How long have you been in the job?’
‘Just over six months, I’ve only been out on independent patrol for two days. Yesterday I went to a suicide at the same property where I discovered the bodies today.’
Luke let out a whistle. ‘Crap, talk about being thrown in at the deep end.’
A laugh erupted from her lips and she felt better, lighter. He joined in; she knew one of the absolute necessities of working in jobs like theirs was the ability to make light of the most terrible situations. It kept you sane and smiling when really you wanted to scream and shout.
His radio crackled as the ambulance control room asked if they were clear to attend another job. He told them negative.
‘I’d best go clean out the van ready for our next customer. Thanks again, Morgan, hope I see you around sometime.’
‘You’re welcome and yes, that would be great.’ Passing him the keys, she pulled out a card with her contact details on. ‘If you’re ever at a loose end you could call me. Anytime.’
Grinning, he pocketed the card.
As the door closed behind him, she wondered what had just happened. She’d never given her number or blatantly asked someone to call her. Of course, the fact that he was older had a lot to do with it. She’d always had a bit of a crush on older men.
Finally the door to the small waiting room opened and a nurse hurried towards her.
‘You can come through, she’s stable for now.’
‘Is she awake?’
She caught the eye roll the nurse gave her as she led her into resus and realised that was a stupid question.
A woman wearing a pink stethoscope crossed the room towards her.
‘Doctor Andreas; are you the one who brought her in?’
‘Yes, I’m the officer who found her. Is she awake, or likely to be anytime soon?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. She slipped into a coma on the way here. Her head injury is severe and she scored three on the GCS which is the lowest you can get.’
‘GCS?’
‘Glasgow Coma Scale, it’s what we use to assess the severity of a brain injury. Three is the lowest, chances of survival are generally small, I’m afraid.’
‘But there is a chance?’
‘There’s always a chance; she’s young. We’re sending her for a CT scan so we’ll know more then, but there’s no point in you waiting here. It could be days, possibly weeks before she regains consciousness or, I’m sorry to say, if she does.’
‘I’ll leave my details at the desk. Could you put on her file that if she does wake up police will need to speak to her immediately? And Doctor… would it have made a difference if I had found her yesterday?’
Doctor Andreas smiled at her kindly. ‘Impossible to say, but perhaps not; her head trauma is severe. We can add the details to the file though, and we can set up a safe word so you can check on her progress without going through the hassle of trying to explain to everyone why you want to know.’
Morgan asked the control room to get the DS to contact her. A few seconds later her radio was ringing.
‘Sarge, the hospital suggested a safe word. Is it okay to proceed?’
‘Yes, absolutely. How is she?’
‘Serious, she slipped into a coma on the way here.’
‘Tell them we’ll use the word campervan.’
She frowned, not sure why, but not wanting to question him. ‘Okay, thanks.’ She passed the information on to Doctor Andreas.
‘Make sure you tell the receptionist to add it on her file.’
The doctor turned around. Two porters had arrived to take the bed in which Bronte lay down to the X-ray department. Morgan stepped out of the way and watched as the doctor, nurse and two porters expertly pushed the bed and equipment attached to it along the corridor. She left her contact details, that of the duty sergeant’s office back at the station, and a number for DS Matthews with the receptionist.
Walking outside, she suddenly realised she was stranded in Lancaster with no van or car to get back to the station. Unclipping her radio, she took it off her body armour and scrolled through the menu to find the list of recent calls, dialling the one the DS had rung her from.
‘Go ahead.’
‘Sarge, it’s Morgan. Is there more I can do here?’
‘Actually, I need you to stay with her until CSI get to you. We need to take her clothes and samples for forensic analysis.’
She felt her face turn red.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’
‘It’s okay, you’re not supposed to know all this stuff on day two. I’ve called the late shift CSI in early to come straight to you. As soon as I’m not needed at the scene, I’ll also be coming to talk to the doctors, so you can grab a lift back with whoever is finished first.’
‘Thank you.’
She ended the call, turned around and walked back through the automatic doors in search of the X-ray department.
Thirteen
Ben watched Declan from the bottom step of the basement stairs, giving him room to work. He’d taken samples, body temperature, room temperature and bagged both victims’ hands up. Not touching the faces, he turned to Ben.
‘Can I remove these cloths?’
Ben nodded. ‘Yes, they’ve been photographed. CSI will bag them up. I just wanted you to see them in situ before they were removed. What do you think?’
Declan didn’t answer. The light in the cellar wasn’t that good. He was crouched next to Saul Potter’s face; with one hand he shone a torch onto it while with the other he lifted the corner of the material to take a look underneath. He let out a long, low whistle.
‘What a mess; it’s overkill and I’m leaning towards it also being personal. Whoever did this meant business, they wanted him out of action and fast.’
While Ben pondered this, Wendy came down, clutching an assortment of both plastic and brown paper evidence bags and crossed towards Declan, holding a plastic one open for him to dr
op the cloth in. He did and she sealed it shut, then placed it into a brown bag, sealing that, too.
‘I’m thinking they were killed down here, so whoever our killer is managed to lure them down somehow. Not sure how they managed to kill all three without there being a fight though. He’s a pretty big guy; how do you take him out when you’re threatening his family?’
Ben nodded. ‘Maybe by threatening his family the killer had complete control, either that or they were drugged. Any signs at all of them being attacked upstairs and moved down here, Wendy?’
‘I’ve made a quick check of the house, where I found a bucket under the kitchen sink with some white cotton cloths inside that I’ve bagged up to send off; they look similar to the ones on the victims’ faces. There are no signs to suggest a break-in. Whoever did this must have known the family or at least they trusted them enough to let them inside.’
Ben was rubbing his hand across his stubble. ‘Whoever did this must have been covered in blood. Can you take a close look at the sinks, bathrooms for any forensics? They had to have cleaned themselves up before leaving. Unless you think there is a chance he could have killed his wife, made it look like a suicide, managed to get his daughters down here, killed them then himself?’
Declan looked at the compression on the side of Saul’s skull. ‘It’s a significant injury; it would be difficult to do that to yourself, and also would need a heavy weapon, like a wooden bat or club. Did you find anything like that near to his body, Wendy?’
‘No.’
‘There’s your answer, Ben, that’s a no. You’re looking for something heavy enough to do this amount of damage. It will be bloodstained, hair, skin should be visible on the end of it, and some other person has clearly taken it with them. Although, can you help me roll the bodies? You never know, they could be lying on it.’
Ben knelt down and between them they rolled Saul onto his side, but there wasn’t anything underneath him. They did the same with Beatrix.
‘Well there’s your answer: whoever killed them knows enough about forensics to take the weapon with them.’
Ben’s mind was working overtime. Olivia was the obvious suspect. Could she have killed her family then hanged herself, wracked with guilt? There were so many possibilities and the only person who could tell them exactly what had happened was Bronte, who had slipped into a coma.
They gently rolled Beatrix onto her back and Ben felt his heart tear a little at the terrible way this young girl had had her life taken away from her. He stood up, the creaking sound from his knees echoing around the room. He felt much older than his forty-five years this morning.
Declan began to put the samples he’d taken into his case then snapped it shut.
‘I’m happy for the bodies to be moved to the mortuary now, unless you need to keep them in situ a little longer.’
Ben wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Wendy had called in a crime scene manager from headquarters to come and assess the scene. He decided to leave them where they were until this had been done. There was no rush: better to have triple-checked the scene for every shred of evidence than to rush it.
‘Wendy, I’m going through to the RLI to speak to the doctors about the surviving victim. You don’t need me, do you?’
She shook her head. ‘Nah, I’ll ring if I find anything you need to know about.’
He went upstairs and outside, not realising how clammy and smelly it had been in the cellar until he inhaled deeply and took fresh air into his lungs.
The DCI was still on his phone, but had managed to get suited and booted.
He crossed the driveway towards him as he ended his call.
‘Sir, I’m going to the hospital to see the victim. There’s not much we can do at the moment until the crime scene manager has been to assess the scene.’
Tom nodded. ‘I’ll go take a look, but happy to go with your instructions. Should we all meet back at the station for a briefing at’ – he lifted his wrist to check the time – ‘four. Will that give you enough time to get back from Lancaster?’
‘Plenty. Boss, it’s pretty bad down there.’
Ben knew Tom didn’t have the strongest of stomachs when it came to messy crime scenes.
‘I believe so, but I’d better take a look. Thanks.’
He left him walking at a snail’s pace towards the front door of the house, a small smile playing across his lips. Everyone had their weaknesses: Wendy disliked insects, Tom wasn’t good with blood, and from the scene earlier, he guessed neither was Morgan. He only hoped Tom made it out into the fresh air before he puked or passed out.
Stripping off his protective clothing, Ben bagged it up and placed it in the back of the van for Wendy to take back to the station with her. Amy had come outside already and was leaning against the side of the house, smoking. He walked over to her.
‘I thought you’d packed it in?’
‘So did I until I had to look at that. Jesus, who would do that?’
‘I guess that’s where we come in. I’m going to Lancaster to visit the surviving victim. Can you stay here and make sure everything is taken care of? Let me know if you need me, and I’ll come straight back.’
‘I can, although I don’t really want to have to spend any time alone down there with them. It’s sad, and creepy.’
‘It’s not a Netflix horror movie, Amy, they’re definitely dead and not about to get up and chase you.’
‘I know that, I’m just saying.’
He laughed. ‘Lunch is on me.’
‘Cheers, Sarge, but surprisingly my appetite has vanished.’
‘Well, when it returns, I’ll buy your refs. I won’t be long, it’s just a formality really since she’s slipped into a coma. I just want to see what the doctors have to say about her condition.’
‘Fine, is your new protégé there still?’
He looked to see if she was taking the piss; she wasn’t laughing.
‘Yes, and I reckon she’s stranded. She drove the ambulance while the crew worked on the vic.’
‘All right, go rescue her, but then you’d better get your arse back here and rescue me.’
‘Yes, boss.’ He emphasised the ‘boss’ and this time she did laugh.
Fourteen
Greg Barker saw the dark blue BMW parked in his ‘Reserved for Mayor’ space and felt his blood pressure begin to rise. That self-serving arsehole, Jamie Stone, thought he ran the whole town; he actually thought the whole parish council revolved around him. Well, it bloody didn’t. Jamie was nothing; all he ever did was attend meetings and talk about himself and his ideas. Ideas which most of the time were completely irrelevant to what the meeting had been called for. Just because Stone was obsessed with bringing in more modern recreational amenities to the town, everyone thought he was God’s gift. Why the hell did Rydal Falls and the surrounding villages need a skate park? It was unheard of; was there any point encouraging local children to try and break their necks when the nearest hospital was at least a thirty-minute drive? He didn’t think so. He’d like to take a skateboard and shove it up Jamie Stone’s arse.
He got out of the car and slammed the door, bending to check his reflection in the wing mirror. His thick head of freshly trimmed grey hair made him look much younger than his seventy years. There were a few more lines around his brown eyes and forehead than he liked, but for a pensioner he was fitter than most twenty-year-olds thanks to his eight-mile runs and fell walking. He was in pretty good shape and age was just a number, it didn’t mean anything.
‘Afternoon, Mayor, glad you could make it.’
Greg turned and saw the man himself striding towards him, holding a large box, and felt his fists clench.
‘Jamie. Look, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for some time now.’ He pointed at the parking space.
‘You after a new car, mate? It’s about time you upgraded and got yourself a decent ride.’
Greg had dreamt about being mayor for a long time and now that he was, it was nothing li
ke what he’d expected. He’d pictured people being in awe of him, bowing down to him and grovelling. Imagined local business owners falling over their own feet to get in favour with him, bending over backwards to get his approval. Admittedly some people did all of that, but most of them didn’t, especially Jamie, and it irked him more than he’d like to say.
He stared at the much shorter man standing in front of him. What he lacked in stature, though, he more than made up for in confidence. As Greg stared at him, he imagined drawing back his fist and punching him square in the nose. How satisfying it would be listening to the cartilage crunch.
‘Why would I need a new car? This is a classic Aston Martin DB4. I doubt very much you could ever afford to buy the tyres.’
‘Look I can’t stand around chatting, sorry. I have to get back to the office. Apparently they’ve found bodies at a house on Easdale Road and I need to get someone out there as soon as possible.’
Opening the boot of his car with his key fob, he threw the box inside, pressed a button for it to glide shut and climbed in. Sticking his head out of the window, he shouted: ‘Soon as I have a spare ten minutes I’ll take you out for a spin. You can have a test drive and see what you think.’
Greg lifted his hand, stepping out of the way as Jamie began reversing towards him.
‘I’d rather chop both my legs off and shove hot pins in my eyes.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah, that would be great.’
He watched as Jamie roared into the distance, driving way too fast. Another example of how bloody selfish the man was. Part of him wanted to return to his car and move it into the reserved parking space, but the other didn’t want anyone to know how much it bothered him, in case they all started to park there on purpose to annoy him. After a moment’s debate, he continued on into the town hall.
Inside the building, which functioned as a magistrate’s court, council chambers and a women’s centre, he made his way upstairs to his office. Wondering what had happened on Easdale Road, he went into his office, closing the door behind him, and sat down behind the large mahogany desk. The chair was old and comfortable, if a little creaky. The oak-panelled walls had various portraits of the previous mayors along the walls. It looked more like a rogue’s gallery to Greg. Despite the ornate gold frames surrounding them, they looked a right bunch.