No Safe Home

by Tara Lyons

  “We are confident Scarlett and Noah Mitchell, and Emma and Kyle Jones were murdered by the same person within the last two months,” DCI Allen’s voice boomed into the microphone. A moment of stillness took hold of the room. “Both women were in their thirties and single parents living in the Islington and Pimlico areas of London. We are appealing to anyone who knew these women, or may have seen and spoken to them since June. DNA evidence has been recovered from both crime scenes, therefore we’re confident we can eliminate suspects.”

  A murmur spread through the crowd, the journalists impatient as their urge to ask questions increased. DCI Allen raised his hand, regaining control of the room.

  “You have all been given a photograph of Katy and Frankie Royal,” the chief continued. “The woman in the photo now has short, blonde hair and was seen last night leaving Queen Elizabeth hospital in Welwyn, in a dark Toyota car. If anyone has any information regarding this, we would like them to get in touch. It is crucial we find them.”

  “Why?” a voice yelled from the front row. “How are they connected to the murders?”

  “Katy is a single mother who was attacked in her home. We believe it could be the same man and –”

  “What’s the connection between London and Welwyn?” the journalist interrupted the chief, and Hamilton spied a flash of anger in his superior’s eyes.

  “At this stage, we haven’t confirmed a connection.” Allen raised his hand again, refusing another interruption. “However, I can tell you, as of six months ago, Katy lived and worked in London, and we are investigating all possible avenues. It is of the utmost urgency we find these two missing people. We have supplied you with images of all the victims, and we would appreciate your assistance in catching this criminal, before he attacks another vulnerable mother and child in their home. Thank you for your time.”

  Hamilton overheard further opinions and expressions shared as the press conference came to a close. Journalists were never pleased when they weren’t given a chance to grill the man in charge. He wondered if any of them had considered jobs in the Metropolitan Police, as so many of their valid questions were often left unanswered. He slipped out of the small room, pulling at his shirt collar as he escaped to the front entrance. Once outside, the night sky greeted him and he inhaled the cold air. It wasn’t long before Allen escaped too.

  “Walking back to the station, Denis?” the chief asked.

  “Yes, sir, most of us will be working into the night with this case. I think the team are going to order a pizza or two.”

  As the pair walked along the Strand, with Trafalgar Square on the horizon, Hamilton was suddenly very grateful for the short distance and brisk walk.

  “How are things, Denis? The Everett case… and the possible effect it could have on you, it was an oversight on my behalf. I apologise.”

  “That’s all been dealt with, sir… there’s no need to bring it up again. I’m fully aware that working in the division I do, that death is a part of my everyday life. If I crumbled at the sight of every dead body that reminded me of Maggie… Well, I wouldn’t be a very useful detective inspector, now would I?”

  “No, you’re quite right. How is Elizabeth?”

  “Good, thanks. She’s looking forward to seeing you and Mrs Allen at this year’s Christmas dinner.”

  “Oh, don’t mention the C-word, Denis. It’s far too early in the year to even think of that. I also wanted to let you know I’ve had an update about Dixon, the sergeant you’re waiting for. Well, I’m pleased to say she’ll be joining the team next week. She’s MIT, but transferring from Kingston.”

  Hamilton nodded as they turned onto Agar Street and climbed the steps to Charing Cross Police Station entrance. He let his hand linger on the door handle.

  “Have you spoken to Les Wedlock, sir?”

  Allen sighed. “Yes. It’s not looking good with his mother’s condition, I’m afraid. The stroke has meant she needs around the clock care. He’s staying in Kent for the time being, might even request a transfer to the local station there.”

  “I spoke to him last night as well, but I hadn’t realised it could be a permanent move for him.”

  “Well, not to worry, we’ll look into how it affects your team and what can be done to minimise any further disruption. You must understand though, I can’t make any promises on that front, Denis.”

  The chief tipped his head towards the door, signalling the end of their conversation. Hamilton opened it and let Allen pass. Standing back, he watched the chief walk away and join another colleague. In this profession, change was inevitable; colleagues moved from one division to the next, and from one investigation to another on a regular basis. Although he was never one to get emotionally attached to people, he had to admit to a touch of melancholy at the thought of losing two respected team members in as many weeks.

  Hamilton shoved his hands into his coat pockets as he took the stairs up to the incident room. His fingers wrapped around the thin piece of card he’d placed there earlier and his eyes widened in disbelief. Springing into action, he bolted up the remaining steps two at a time, overtly cursing his forgetfulness and barging past a young uniformed officer. With the business card squeezed inside his fist, Hamilton worried his absentmindedness may have delayed a vital piece of information being uncovered.

  Fraser and Rocky had returned from Welwyn. She was busy updating the evidence board when Hamilton interrupted her as she wrote a question mark next to the name Matthew.

  “I need you to look into this company, and find out if our victims are connected to it in any way, Fraser,” he said, handing her the business card. “I picked it up at the hairdresser’s and I remember seeing one clipped to the fridge in Scarlett Mitchell’s apartment too. It could be a coincidence, but there seems to be a few too many of those in this case and I don’t want to overlook it.”

  “Of course, boss,” she replied. “And, speaking of coincidences, I don’t think you’re going to like this…”

  “Go on.”

  “Rocky and I had a brief look through the internet history on Katy Royal’s computer, she too visited a few chat rooms and online friendship sites. But, unless the man is using different information, profile picture and name… I can’t find anyone linking the women together.”

  “That can’t be a coincidence,” Rocky said. “Two murders and one attempted murder victim all chatting to men online, and you’re saying not one of them is our guy?”

  “Well, no…. but I can’t find one person all three have been in contact with.”

  Hamilton frowned. “Listen, online dating or friendship, or whatever it’s called, is not my cup of tea. However, I’m sure the majority of the population have, at some point in the decade or so, had a conversation with someone online. The number of people I’ve heard of who meet up and are now married… So, yes, while they can undoubtedly pose a threat, it’s just not uncommon for people to be engaging in these types of relationships.”

  “I’m not,” Fraser and Rocky chimed together.

  Clarke laughed, and pointed between his colleagues. “Getting divorced, and single for how many years now?”

  Fraser rolled her eyes and smirked. Hamilton guessed she’d rather give Clarke the finger, but she remained professional, as always. She broke away from the group, busy examining the business card and tapping away at the computer. Hamilton joined Rocky who had two laptops opened on the desk.

  “Is this Katy Royal’s?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. I’m just having another look through her search history. From her recent purchases, it looks like she was preparing to protect herself from someone.”

  “Are there any personal photos on there?”

  Rocky’s hands moved quickly over the cursor, clicking buttons and searching folders, but found nothing. The officer switched his attention to the mobile phone in a clear bag.

  “Luckily, the phone doesn’t have a passcode on it, sir,” Rocky said. “There’s no photos on the laptop, but here, there’s qui
te a few on this.”

  Hamilton accepted Katy’s mobile phone and thumbed through a variety of photographs of the Royal family. His eyes roamed over the thumbnails, flicking back and forth over a couple before he hesitated.

  “Damn it,” he yelled, and peered at his watch. “The hairdresser’s will be closed now.”

  “Sorry, sir?”

  “The manager… this is not how she described Brad Royal. I didn’t pick up on it because, well, everyone changes their appearance over the years.” Hamilton punched the table. “Rocky, see if you can get an address for Noelle Knight, the owner of Styled Up. Then, I want you to get yourself round there and show her these photographs, confirm if he’s the man she regularly saw Katy Royal with. If it’s not, I want a full description of him and the car he drove.”

  “Didn’t she say Brad was bald?” Clarke asked

  “Exactly. Except I can’t find one picture of Katy’s husband on this phone without a full head of blonde hair. And there’s hundreds of images stored here.”

  “So, perhaps that night in The Tavern wasn’t the first time Katy met this Matthew guy?”

  Hamilton folded his arms, cupping his chin between his thumb and forefinger and examined the evidence board. He wondered, as vile as Brad Royal had appeared, if perhaps Katy had fled the city because she’d been involved with another man.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Hamilton sat in his office, drumming his fingers on the mahogany desk. Relying on members of the public wasn’t always easy and Lindsay, the woman who’d answered his last telephone call, was the epitome of unhelpfulness. In twenty minutes or so, she told him, a senior member of staff would return his call. It had only been four minutes since he’d hung up, but the frustration spread from his temples and shattered the back of his head.

  To calm his hands, Hamilton picked up his mobile phone and sent an apologetic text message to his wife. Apart from that one emotional morning, they had barely spoken during the past week. Rushing past each other as Elizabeth left for the school where she was headmistress, or tiptoeing into bed because she was already asleep. She never moaned when he explained he wouldn’t be home for dinner, or that he couldn’t be entirely certain what time he’d return. Elizabeth had grown accustomed to leaving a plate of food for her husband in the fridge.

  With calls coming in from the earlier press conference and Hamilton waiting for information, he knew it could be an all-nighter at the station. Within minutes his wife had replied: No problem, Den! I love you xx

  “Boss!” Fraser interrupted. “I’ve found something.”

  Hamilton smiled briefly, ditched his phone and followed the sergeant into the incident room. There were reams of paperwork scattered over her desk, and Rocky still hadn’t returned.

  “I went back through the financial information we had,” Fraser said, her hands lingering over highlighted sheets. “Emma Jones had an account with the company and frequently paid them via PayPal. Now, there’s no paper trail from Scarlett Mitchell, so I’m assuming she used cash.”

  “And Katy Royal?”

  “Nearly every day during the week while she was living in London, but no activity with them since she moved.”

  “Right, I’m waiting for the manager to call me ba–” His phone shrilled in the distance and he took flight, only realising it was his mobile ringing once inside the office.

  “Rocky, what have you got?”

  “I’m on my way back to the station now, sir, but I thought you’d want to know ASAP. Noelle Knight confirmed Brad Royal is not the man she saw with Katy. Appearance wise, she couldn’t tell me anything new, but said he may have had a tattoo on his arm; again, vague with details.”

  “Good. Okay, see you shortly.”

  Ending one call, Hamilton switched his focus to the office phone which had started ringing. He yanked the receiver and introduced himself.

  “Hello, I’m Sebastian Harvey. I’m the owner of Embassy Taxis.”

  “Thank you for calling me back, Mr Harvey.” Hamilton perched on the desk.

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “I hope not. I’m looking for information. We’re confident two of our victims were customers of your company.”

  “I’m sure I can get you any information you require. Our records are all online, with most customers now choosing cashless payments through our app, it’s a useful way of storing all their personal information.”

  “Would you still have the details of the journeys they took, and the driver?”

  “It would depend on the time frame you’re looking at. For a variety of reasons, we’re obligated to clear our history and some information. Years worth of London routes would be too much to keep.”

  “The last twelve months.”

  “Possibly, yes. My company is three years old, but the trend of paying for your taxi via PayPal or Apple Pay has only escalated in the last year or so. I would have to look into it for you, if you can give me their names?”

  “No, I won’t give you sensitive information over the phone, Mr Harvey. What I will do is send a colleague of mine over to you immediately.”

  Mr Harvey informed Hamilton he was working from home, but had all the equipment and information needed there to hand. He wrote a note with the man’s address on and stood up, signalling for Clarke from the office doorway.

  “Before I go, do you have a driver named Matthew?”

  Mr Harvey paused on the line for a few moments, as Clarke took the piece of paper from his boss. Hamilton nodded towards Rocky as he entered the incident room, and mouthed to his partner to take the young officer with him.

  “I have no employee called Matthew,” the man finally answered.

  “Matt?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, thank you for returning my call. I’m sending two detectives out to you, they’ll be with you shortly.”

  “There’s just one thing playing on my mind… and it’s such a coincidence that you called me really.”

  Hamilton rolled his eyes at yet another unfavourable C-word rearing its ugly head, but nevertheless, encouraged the man to continue.

  “Well, I watched this evening’s news, and it could be nothing, but…” Mr Harvey paused. “I do have one driver who works for me. He’s worked full-time, mainly on the day shift, for over three years. Then about three months ago, he reduced his shifts, wanting to work on some sort of freelance capacity. Strange really, as he’d been all about routine in his life previous to that.”

  “Why do you think that’s connected to our case?”

  “Because he said he’d found a job in Welwyn… and he drives a navy Toyota Arius. I mean, I was going to call –”

  “I need his name!” Hamilton demanded.

  His heartbeat drummed faster the more Mr Harvey spoke. After he’d ordered the man to give his colleagues all the necessary details for that particular driver, Hamilton ended the call and marched back into the incident room. He requested the help of the remaining officers in the room and updated them, along with Fraser, about the conversation he’d just had with Mr Harvey.

  “I want everything we can find on this Pete Campbell. Find out if he’s on our systems, where he lives, and what this other job is in Welwyn. And I want an image of him too, the salon manager may recognise him.”

  The detectives scribbled notes while Hamilton made his instructions clear. He wasn’t in the habit of pulling on extra resources without initial approval, but this investigation needed it. Hoping DCI Allen was still in the building, he left the busy team while he went in search of the chief to update him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The flick of the light switch had been a tease. No sooner had Katy identified Matthew’s figure, the room was cloaked in darkness once again. His scent wafted up her nostrils as he crept closer. Leather boots crunched under his every step. He slipped his large hands under her arms and pulled her up and, in one swift movement, yanked her feet off the ground and carried her from the room. With her arms still tied behind her bac
k, he pinned her in place against his body. Katy wept.

  “Shh, now. Don’t fight this any longer,” he whispered, his hot breath burning tracks down her cheek as he nuzzled into her hair.

  She rested her head on his broad chest, her body still and calm, but inside she was screaming. Katy’s attention dashed in every direction, demanding escape plans and fight tactics and secret stealth manoeuvres she’d seen so many actresses conquer in films. Nothing came but a blanket of empty thoughts. She felt her body give up as he lowered her down onto the bed. She squeezed her eyes shut, images of Matthew’s limp body fastened with rope to the armchair in the next room came to her now.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  Katy obeyed his demand. His eyes bore down onto her as he stood at the foot of the bed. She couldn’t pull herself from his gaze to look around, but she knew exactly where she was. The room was exactly how she’d left it six months before. The sound of her own heavy breathing filled her ears until they ached. The pain in her arms she ignored.

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  He sighed, and sat next to her on the bed. She lifted her head to follow him, but the strain was too much and it flopped back.

  “After all this time… how can you still not understand?” he said.

  Katy stared at the ceiling, her arms numb and legs too weak to kick out. She gazed to either side of her, but there was nothing to help.

  “I… I don’t know…”

  He spun around, kneeling on the floor beside her and grabbed her face. “Look at me.”

  “I am.” Tears strolled down her face. “Pete… I see you. But… why?”

  “You don’t see me,” he spat. “All these years!” He pushed her face away, stood up and paced the floor. “I’ve looked after you, watched over you. And just when I thought you were ready to let me back into your life, you ran away from me again.”