by Helen Phifer
She ended the call and looked at them both. ‘Jesus, what a way to start your day. Police and ambulance are on their way.’
Laura sat next to Mr Riley; there was nothing any of them could do now except wait for help to arrive.
Thirty-Seven
Morgan had brewed a cup of tea before bed and used some of the mixed herbs that Ettie had given her. She’d still woken at 04.25 a.m., but felt unusually rested, almost like she could go back to sleep. Before she’d left for work, she’d been tempted to bag some up and ask Wendy to take a look at them. Sniffing the bag, it hadn’t smelt like cannabis, but she didn’t want to turn up to work high.
She took her large latte and bagel into the small office which was now hers and flicked all the lights on. Today she would hopefully get to grips with this case. Sipping her coffee, she began to read through the case notes. The list of possible suspects was small to say the least. A small, black MG sports car had been seen leaving the O’Briens’ house earlier on the day of the murders. Police enquiries had been unable to trace it or the owner. As she read down the list of witness statements, her eyes fixed on the name Stanley Brookes – gardener. Underneath it was a comment that his alibi had been corroborated, and she released the breath she’d been holding. As horrible as he was, she couldn’t see him as a killer. What would he have to gain from killing the people who bothered to employ him? There was no motive; it wouldn’t make sense.
Her finger stopped on the last name on the list; she knew that name, not the person, but she’d heard of him. Gregory Barker was the local mayor. He’d known the O’Briens quite well according to this, and she was sure his name had also come up in connection with the Potters. He must be the Gary or Greg that Harrison had told her about. He was definitely someone she wanted to talk to. Typing his name into the intelligence system, she waited to see if there were any hits. He was on there but only as a victim of a burglary. Scribbling down his address, she decided to catch him early.
Grabbing her coffee and bag, she headed out of the door.
‘Morgan, are you busy?’
Turning, she saw Ben and Amy walking out of the CID office, both wearing coats.
‘Just off out to do some enquiries.’
‘Can they wait? They’ve found a body at the Cumbrian News offices.’
She nodded and followed them out to the car park, getting in the back seat of the unmarked car.
Amy got into the driver’s seat.
‘How many bodies can we have in a week, boss? This is getting out of hand.’
Ben was staring out of the window. ‘The world’s gone mad. At this rate we’re going to put tourists off coming here for life.’
Morgan didn’t speak. She wasn’t sure if she had quite expected to be exposed to so many dead people in one go. In some ways it was what she’d always dreamed of, yet it was quite unsettling. Seeing people who’d been murdered in reality was a lot more shocking than it ever looked on the Netflix documentaries she binge-watched on her days off.
They reached the main street, which had been cordoned off at each end with police tape, a PCSO guarding the entrance. Amy parked up and they got out. When they were suited and ready to assess the scene, they signed themselves into the scene guard book the PCSO was holding. Morgan hadn’t known whether she was to go in or not and had hung back. Ben, who’d been talking on his phone the whole time, ducked under the tape. Realising she wasn’t with them, he pointed to the boot of the car and she realised he was telling her to put protective clothing on.
As she dressed, she could hear loud sobs coming from the post office doorway. Turning to look, she saw a woman watching them and crying into a tissue. Dan was standing next to her, but she realised that he wasn’t paying the sobbing woman any attention because he was too busy glaring at her. Trying not to, but unable to control it, her cheeks flushed red. How had they gone from colleagues to him hating her this much? As much as she disliked him, she didn’t hate him, but there was no mistaking the anger etched across his face.
Turning away from him, she signed herself into the scene and followed Ben’s footsteps. The whole street was eerily quiet considering it was mid-morning and usually a bustling hive of activity. There were plenty of people pretending not to be watching from shop doorways and windows when in reality they were.
Ben and Amy were already at the entrance to the building which housed the Cumbrian News. The door was ajar. Parked outside, on the double-yellow lines, was the blue BMW that had been parked outside the Potters’ drive the other day. Morgan crossed towards it, looking inside to see if the keys were still in the ignition. She didn’t think that the three of them needed to go in there. For some strange reason her pulse was racing, yet she had no idea why and wondered if it was the fear of the unknown. Of not knowing what she was going to find behind that door. Neither Ben nor Amy stepped through the door, just peered into the gap in turn.
She heard a whistle and turned to see Ben waving her over. Her feet betraying her feelings, she trudged towards the steps where he was waiting for her at a snail’s pace. If he noticed her reluctance he didn’t comment.
‘Did you just whistle at me like I was a dog?’
‘No, sorry. Absolutely not, I was trying to catch your attention.’
She smiled at him and his shoulders relaxed, making her feel mean and wonder if he always felt this tense around her. Maybe she needed to give him a break and not be so feisty around him. He was really a nice guy and had enough of his own problems without her adding to them.
‘Take a look, but don’t step inside because CSI will have our backsides if we go in before they do.’
She paused before forcing herself to squeeze in the gap between him and Amy. Her eyes locked on the bloodied mess on the tiled floor in front of her. Blood, there was so much blood. It filtered into her nose and she made the mistake of inhaling the bitter, coppery scent, which hit the back of her throat so hard she could taste it. A loud gagging noise came out of her mouth as it filled with a rush of hot water and she cupped a hand over it. She felt a hand on her arm, dragging her backwards. Almost falling down the two steps, somehow, she managed to keep her balance and was pulled away from the entrance to the crime scene. Back towards the cordon, where a grinning PCSO was holding the tape up for her. She was surprised at Ben being so rough, then realised she could still see him standing on the top step.
When she was beside the car they’d arrived in, Amy opened the driver’s door and for the second time this week gently pushed her inside.
‘First rules of murder: you must never, ever puke in the crime scene or surrounding areas. No matter how bad it is you hold it in.’
Morgan stared at her, horrified. ‘Sorry, I—’
‘You don’t need to apologise, we’ve all been there and done that. Some affect you worse than others. It happens, for me it’s kids. Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I hate the smell of blood. It didn’t smell that bad at the Potters’.’
‘The heating is on in that hallway, it’s stifling, and it also speeds up the smell of decay and bodily fluids.’
‘Ben’s going to think I’m so childish.’
Amy crouched down. ‘No, he’s not. He’ll be relieved you didn’t offload your breakfast all over his feet. Anyway, I don’t know what it is about you, but he seems to have a bit of a soft spot for you which is literally unheard of. He’s usually a grumpy, miserable bastard but I have the utmost respect for him as my boss, so if he likes you then I like you. You’re okay, Morgan. To be fair I think you’ve done amazing this week, considering you should only be out herding sheep back into fields, giving tourists directions and dealing with the odd road traffic accident. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Why don’t you wait here for a bit? At least until CSI have been; trust me, you don’t want to piss Wendy off. When you feel okay you can start to speak to the shopkeepers either side, see if they have any CCTV or saw anything. You know the drill.’
She nodded, grateful for the chance to compose herself and not
totally blow it.
‘Thanks, Amy, I will.’
Amy began to walk back towards Ben, paused then turned back.
‘Hey, don’t tell anyone I was nice to you. It will ruin my image.’
She winked at her and Morgan smiled.
A couple of minutes and she’d be good to go. Inhaling the air inside the car, she noticed it smelt of stale curry. It was still lingering from someone’s takeaway the night before, but it was a whole lot fresher than inside that doorway.
Thirty-Eight
Morgan walked across to the post office, where she assumed it was the owners standing outside watching everything.
‘Hi, can I have a word?’
The guy nodded. His face was devoid of colour and he was nursing a mug of tea. He had a wedding ring on his ring finger. A woman standing behind him with a matching mug and ring smiled at her.
‘I’m Susan Riley. This is awful, what’s the world coming to? Although he was a bit of a pain in the arse, wasn’t he, Mick?’
Mick nodded once more.
‘Who?’
‘Jamie Stone, the guy that ran the paper. Wouldn’t wish that on him, though, wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’
‘Did you see anything? Do you have CCTV?’
They shook their heads in unison. ‘No, we keep saying we should get some.’
‘Did you know the Potters?’
‘Yes, we did. Lovely family, such a terrible shame. Olivia used to come in a couple of times a week. She usually had parcels to return.’
Morgan wondered if she was doing the right thing and decided that yes, she was. They needed answers and as much information as possible. If she was going against protocol then it was for a good reason.
‘Did you ever hear about Olivia having an affair?’
Mick, who still hadn’t spoken, shook his head again. Susan pointed to the shop. Turning, she walked inside and Morgan followed. The door closed behind her. It was dark inside and she had to blink a couple of times so her eyes adjusted to the gloom.
‘I don’t want to say anything in front of Mick; he’s upset about Saul. Used to drink with him in the pub now and again. I did see her a couple of times with another man, not in the village; it’s too small for that.’
‘Where then?’
‘There’s a little pub a few miles away, The Grain, do you know it?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I go there twice a month to meet a couple of my friends on a Friday for a bite to eat and glass of fizz. I saw them together, leaving, as I parked, then again a couple of weeks later. This time they were arguing as I went in. She looked pretty mad at him. Nothing to do with me. I went inside.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Greg Barker, our esteemed mayor. He’s a creep if you ask me. He was like a dog on heat. I have no idea what she saw in him. Saul was far better looking and much nicer.’
‘Thank you.’
She walked out of the shop with a renewed passion to go and speak to Greg Barker about the O’Briens. She couldn’t speak to him about the Potters, though, that wasn’t her place. Ben would do that; but she had to speak to him first, because once he was brought in for questioning she had a feeling he wouldn’t tell them anything. But it was certainly interesting to know that this man now had connections to both dead families.
Ben was busy on his phone, CSI were processing the scene and she felt a little like a spare part. She crossed to where Ben was leaning on the bonnet of the CSI van and waited for him to end his call.
‘Boss, no one saw anything. The only CCTV is on the Co-op on the corner, but staff don’t know how to access it. The manager is in at twelve and will sort it out then. What should I do now?’
‘Please can you go to the hospital? I need you to speak to Harrison Wright; check he’s okay and see why he did that yesterday. You could also check in on Bronte. That was Declan on the phone. He fast-tracked the toxicology samples and there’s been a hit. All three of them had traces of GHB in their blood.’
She nodded. She’d heard of GHB; it was a date-rape drug and could knock a person out with only a few drops. Which would explain how the killer managed to take out an entire family without a fight.
‘If they were drugged then it had to be someone who knew them or had access to their food or drink.’
‘Yes, which is why I want you to speak to Harrison. It’s the kind of drug used by partygoers trying to chase a high. If he’s well enough to be discharged, can you ask him if he can come in to the station. Tell him it’s just a friendly chat with me; there’s a couple of things I forgot to ask about the family. Is that okay?’
The relief flooding through her entire body at the thought of escaping this scene was palpable.
‘Yes, of course it is.’
‘Good, whatever you do try not to make him feel as if he’s under suspicion for anything. We have no concrete evidence, it’s all circumstantial.’
He passed her the car keys.
‘Thanks, I won’t.’
Then he walked away and she was relieved he hadn’t asked if she was okay and had finished freaking out, because the way she felt she’d probably burst into tears of embarrassment and feel even more of a fool than she already did.
She had a nightmare trying to find a parking space outside the hospital. The car parks were full and the on-street parking was mainly for blue badge holders. On her fourth attempt a car’s reverse lights came on and she stopped to let it out, waving thank you enthusiastically at them even though they couldn’t see her. As she walked into the main part of the hospital she realised she had no idea which ward Harrison would be on, so she went to the desk and showed her warrant card explaining she needed to speak to him. The receptionist eyed her up and down, and Morgan realised that she looked different; in the picture she was wearing full uniform. Today she was wearing a pair of black linen trousers and a white shirt.
‘Hang on, why do you need to see him?’
‘It’s more of a welfare check. I found him yesterday when he attempted suicide. I wanted to see if he was okay and have a chat about an investigation he’s helping me with.’
The receptionist raised an eyebrow and Morgan smiled. She knew it sounded crazy, but what was she supposed to say?
‘Harrison Wright, yeah?’
She nodded.
‘Second floor, Ward 12, you’d better clear it with the ward manager before you go walking straight in there.’
‘Thank you, I will.’
Morgan walked along the long corridor to the bank of lifts, knowing she should really take the stairs but couldn’t be bothered. She felt drained. It seemed like hours ago since she’d had her breakfast; her stomach was grumbling. She might see if Harrison wanted to go to the canteen again; the cake was pretty good for a hospital. More corridors that stretched on forever and she finally found the one which said ‘Ward 12’. There was a cluster of nurses all wearing different coloured uniforms standing around for handover. A man typing on a computer smiled at her.
‘Can I help you?’
‘Yes, I’m Police Officer Morgan Brookes. I wanted to check in on Harrison Wright. See how he is.’
He didn’t bother asking for ID. He smiled at her. ‘Bay eight, right at the bottom of this corridor.’
‘Thank you.’
She walked towards the bay. Inside there were ten beds but only one was occupied by an elderly man. She looked around and saw the bed near to where she was standing had crumpled sheets, and on the whiteboard above it said ‘Harrison Wright’. Morgan took a seat in the chair; he must have gone to the bathroom.
The old man looked at her.
‘Can you take me home, miss?’
‘I can’t, sorry.’
He nodded. ‘No one can, this place is keeping me against my will. He had the right idea.’
‘Who did?’
‘Young chap in that bed. He got up and walked out.’
Morgan stood up. ‘Do you know how long ago that was?’
He shrugged. ‘A co
uple of days ago.’
‘Thank you.’
She hurried back to the desk.
‘He’s not there; the man by the window said he’d left.’
The nurse who’d been looking after him turned around. ‘He was there last time I looked. Don’t take too much notice of Frank; he gets a bit confused. I’ll check the bathrooms.’
Two of them hurried off to check the bathrooms, while Morgan dashed back to see if his clothes were still in the locker next to the bed. It was empty.
She pulled out her phone and dialled Ben’s number.
‘He’s gone.’
‘Who, the kid? Where’s he gone?’
‘It looks as if he’s walked out. His clothes are missing.’
‘Shit. I’ll get someone to go and do an address check. Please can you go and talk to Bronte’s doctor? I’ll ask Lancs if they can send officers to check the bus and train stations. He’ll be on foot; he can’t have got too far.’
The line went dead.
Morgan turned to the nurses. ‘We’ll put a missing person’s report on the system. Can someone phone up 101 and give them the details, please?’
Then she left them to it, making her way to the intensive care unit.
Thirty-Nine
The intensive care unit was still busy; there were no free beds. The officer had been removed from Bronte’s bedside, and Morgan could understand why. She was on a secure ward; access was only given by the nurses and visitors were restricted. She was in full view of the nurses’ station and it seemed a waste of resources to have an officer here full time. She approached the desk in the middle of the room. The nurses here were busy, all working on patients, and she waited until one was free to speak to her.
Kimberley, the nurse from the other day, waved at her, leaving Bronte to come and see her.
‘How is she?’
‘Holding her own; she was taken off the ventilator and is breathing unaided, which is great. There’s been some involuntary movements of her fingers and toes.’