by Matt Brolly
In the late afternoon there was a much different feel to the place. The playground was swamped with screaming toddlers, and hyperactive juniors running around in unpredictable patterns. Amy took a seat on one of the benches, trying not to feel conspicuous, and searched through the paper.
She was surprised to find the story buried halfway in the newspaper. Sally’s death was only given a few lines and there was no mention of her name. She was just a body that had been found near the rocks on the road out of Weston. As Amy closed the paper, it occurred to her that Sally might not have had any identification with her. She didn’t know that much about the woman beyond the stories of her life that she’d discussed at the ceremonies. Like so many of them, she was an orphan of sorts. Her mother had died when Sally was a young child and her biological father had wanted nothing to do with her. Aside from that, Amy knew very little about her. She didn’t know where she lived, the only time she’d seen her out of the group sessions was the day she’d seen her in Weston with Jay. She wasn’t sure why the thought of Sally being unidentified traumatised her so. She was at peace now, and those who were important to her – Jay and the rest of the group – knew she’d moved to a better place. Yet, it felt wrong for her to go that way, as a nameless body. Somehow, Amy would have to let the authorities know her real identity.
The feel of flesh over her eyes banished the thought. ‘Megan,’ she said, smelling the faint aroma of her friend’s perfume.
‘What a guess,’ said Megan, taking her hands away.
The manic happiness Amy had sensed over the phone was even more evident. Megan’s face was ablaze, the joy visible in her wide eyes and wider smile, even in the vibrancy of her skin. Megan’s hands were moving, seemingly of their own accord, and instead of speaking she flung her arms around Amy.
‘What is it?’ asked Amy, sharing Megan’s joy.
Megan held on a bit longer before pulling back. When she did so there were tears in her eyes. ‘It’s so wonderful, Amy, I can’t believe it.’
‘Are you going to make me squeeze the information from you?’ Amy was smiling but a nagging feeling had crept into her stomach as she’d realised the one thing that could make her friend this happy.
‘He came to see me today. Jay,’ said Megan, as if the very thought was impossible.
‘That’s great,’ said Amy, her stomach now tight.
‘He wants to see me tomorrow. I think I’m going to be next.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
On Monday morning, Louise drove to the Kalimera in a daze. Sleeping at home hadn’t been any better than staying at her parents’. Her mind had been in a constant swirl, oscillating between the suicide case and her concern over Emily and Paul. Her fears had fed into her dreams; the bodies she’d discovered being replaced by haunting images of Emily and Paul, and her mother and father.
Sunday had been another day of CCTV checking and double-checking. The work was slow and painful and it was all too easy to miss something. Simon Coulson had volunteered his services again and run his facial-recognition software on the files they’d received from the Grand Pier but they were no nearer to spotting Sally than they had been when they started.
Louise was grateful that Tracey had agreed to meet so early. She was waiting for her at the Kalimera, chatting away to Georgina as if they were long-lost friends. ‘What time do you call this?’ said Tracey, wiping the tangled weave of her dark hair from her cheek.
It was so good to see her friend’s welcoming face. That smile had got her through some tough times and already her positivity was rubbing off on Louise.
‘Here,’ said Georgina, placing a freshly brewed Americano on the counter.
‘Thank you,’ said Louise, surprised by the gesture. ‘You haven’t told her anything, have you?’ she asked Tracey, when they were sitting alone by the window.
‘What do you take me for?’ said Tracey, feigning hurt. ‘Just like old times, eh?’
Tracey had been seconded to Weston for a few weeks last year. In that short time she’d made the place her own. She had an easy way with people that Louise envied. Her absence had been felt when she’d returned to Portishead, but Louise doubted anyone would feel the same way about her if she ever left. ‘We might have a vacancy now if you fancy it?’
‘You may be right. I think Finch likes young Mr Farrell.’
The conversation stalled at Finch’s name. He was Tracey’s boss but it still struck a nerve hearing his name out loud. He hadn’t sent Louise a text since the day she’d seen him at HQ but he’d been on her mind. ‘Thanks for coming over, especially so early.’
‘I thought I’d catch a bit of the sunshine on my day off. Though typically the weather is like this,’ said Tracey, pointing to the grey sky.
‘It’s good to see you, anyway.’
‘You too,’ said Tracey, holding her coffee cup up. ‘Cheers.’
They talked for a time about Bristol and Farrell’s introduction into MIT. ‘I haven’t told him yet about Paul and Emily,’ said Tracey, bringing the conversation around to the reason for her being there.
‘I appreciate that. I trust him. I think,’ said Louise, after a little thought. ‘Obviously the less people who know the better at the moment.’
‘No one in Weston knows?’
‘Not yet.’
Tracey frowned. ‘We could escalate it. If you’re really worried.’
Louise’s coffee was bitter and still a little too hot. ‘I’m worried but I don’t think that’s enough to escalate it. It’s my parents I feel for. My guess is that Paul is just being a dick, proving to us that he can do what he wants and that he can look after Emily.’
‘Some way of proving that.’
‘He doesn’t think straight any more, that’s part of the problem. I just wish I hadn’t been so stupid. Emily had said she was going on holiday. I should have known he would plan something like this.’
‘Don’t do that.’
‘What?’
‘Blame yourself. That is exactly what he wants you to do. He’s the one being irresponsible. Dangerously so.’
Tracey was right. Her brother had done some stupid things in his time but this was a new low. And things could get worse. If he didn’t contact them soon then she would be forced to take it further. Parental responsibility or not, this was not the way to raise his daughter and if it became official then trouble would be heading his way. ‘You’re right. He’s going to be in for a hell of a time when he gets back,’ she said.
Tracey offered to come to the station to help with the CCTV images but Louise refused. ‘Enjoy your day off,’ she told her before agreeing to meet her for dinner later if time allowed.
Despite meeting Tracey for coffee, she was still the first one into the office. She put on the coffee machine before checking the incident room was set up. As the coffee brewed, she looked through the incident book, checking the additions from yesterday. A new entry had been listed with the contents recovered from Sally’s caravan. Louise clicked on the link and was about to run through it when a booming Scottish voice made her jump. ‘Louise, my office now.’
Louise poured a coffee before heading to DCI Robertson’s office. ‘I didn’t know you were in, sir,’ she said, sitting down.
Robertson stared at her with stoic intensity. ‘Anything you’d like to tell me?’ he asked, a printout in front of him.
Louise couldn’t recall him being this serious in a long time. ‘Sir?’
Robertson shoved the papers towards her. ‘Can you tell me what the hell I’m looking at?’
Before her was a roster of names and numbers. It was a list of overtime accumulated over the weekend. Louise lowered her eyes. Despite being the senior investigating officer on the case, she should have received permission from Robertson for any unauthorised overtime. Her first thought was to justify her mistake by blaming the speed of the investigation and the fact that she hadn’t seen Robertson since Friday, but that would have been an error. She’d made a mistake – a significant
one judging by the surprisingly high numbers on the sheet – and had to take responsibility. Unfortunately, she knew a simple sorry wouldn’t suffice.
‘I’ve fucked up.’
‘Too damn right you have. I have to justify these figures and from what I can tell there is little or no justification for all these wasted man hours.’
Robertson appeared to be biting his hand, and Louise swallowed the inappropriate laugh building in her throat. ‘How long do you intend going on with all this?’ he said, gesturing to the outer office.
‘We’ve only gone back four days,’ said Louise.
‘Only four days? What exactly is it you’re hoping to find?’
There was little she could say to ease the situation. Louise had been asking herself that same question non-stop over the weekend. The truth was they still knew very little about Sally. Like Victoria and Claire, Sally had lived her life as if invisible. ‘I know it’s not much to go on but if we get an image of her at the pier with someone, we might be able to get some answers. Maybe stop it happening to another woman.’
Robertson frowned. In his gruff way, he’d always been supportive to Louise since she’d moved to Weston. He rarely interfered in her work, respecting the experience she brought with her. ‘You haven’t done yourself any favours here, Louise. There’s already a lot of noise about this investigation, and an increased wage bill will only make things that much harder for you,’ he said.
‘Noise?’
‘Don’t be flippant, you know what I mean. Three suicides in seven weeks. Three almost identical notes. There’s concern this is going to get worse and when I’m asked what we’re doing, I don’t like to say we’re staring at computer screens all day, pissing money up the wall.’
‘But isn’t that modern police work, sir?’
Robertson scratched the back of his head. She couldn’t tell if the look on his face was a grin or a grimace. ‘This is the last day of overtime.’
‘How about a replacement for Farrell?’
‘Sure, I’ll just magic up a new CID officer for you,’ said Robertson, with his Glaswegian slur.
‘We could get him back?’
‘Don’t push it, Inspector. Now, if there isn’t anything else?’
Louise slumped back to her desk. She was grateful the rest of the team had yet to arrive. In conversation with Robertson, she’d half tried to play the mistake off, but in reality it was a devastating error, one that someone of her experience should never have made. She had to concede that her constant worry about Paul and Emily had seeped into her work. For Louise, that was unacceptable. However traumatic her personal life had been in the past, she’d always been able to remain focused at work. She’d had no option. Given her history with Finch, and her effective demotion to Weston, she was always being watched. A slip like this could cost her everything, and now she would have the added burden of Robertson on her case.
She started to question herself. The CCTV footage was a long shot. Even if they did pinpoint the time Sally had visited the pier, chances were it wouldn’t tell them much. Either way, her conversation with Robertson had struck a chord. It reiterated how isolated Claire, Victoria, and now Sally, had been in Weston. In the summer especially, the illusion that everyone was having a great time was hard to get past. Yet these three women had lived a life of obscurity with no family or friends, at least none that were evident. It made Louise question her own complaints about her place in the town. She had family and friends nearby and the occasional pangs of loneliness were nothing in comparison to what the three dead women had experienced.
Louise watched the rest of the team filter into work, checking for signs that they knew about her mistake. It was only when Thomas stopped by her desk that she realised she was acting paranoid. Despite having worked all weekend, he was looking good. Freshly shaven, there was a lightness to his eyes that she hadn’t seen in a long time. ‘We back in front of those screens again, boss?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Louise, as certain as she could be that there was no double meaning to his question. ‘And stop calling me “boss”.’
‘I only do it to make you look good, boss.’
‘I don’t need your help on that account. Today is the last day though. Robbo is pulling the plug so let’s find something?’
‘Cracking idea,’ said Thomas, walking off to the incident room.
Trying to forget her earlier error, Louise pulled up an inventory of belongings gathered from Sally’s caravan. One particular article – listed as ‘a green cuddly toy’ – caught her attention. She couldn’t recall seeing such an item at the caravan so she uploaded the image on to her screen. She zoomed in on the image of a very cheap-looking dinosaur toy.
She hadn’t seen it at Sally’s caravan but she was sure she’d seen the toy somewhere before.
Leaving Thomas in charge, she drove to the town centre, parking in the Sovereign Centre. The small precinct was busy and she had to park on the top level. It seemed the cloudy skies had encouraged the holidaymakers to leave the beach behind. They covered the pier like ants and when Louise reached the far end, the noise of people combined with the constant electronic trill of the machines made her want to turn back.
She persevered, battling her way through the hordes of tourists until she reached the token-exchange shop. A group of giggling teenage girls holding lines of tokens from the machines were looking at the shelves of tat on offer, working out what they could get.
And on the lower shelf, Louise found what she was looking for: the green dinosaur, identical to the one recovered from Sally’s caravan, available for a mere five hundred tokens.
She snapped the image on her phone and waited for the giggling teenagers to disperse before speaking to the young man behind the counter. He didn’t look out of his teens, but his neck was covered in a number of intertwined tattoos. A spike stuck out from his eyebrow, and his left ear had a flesh tunnel that extended his earlobe. His look, and her unavoidable response to it, made her feel old. She couldn’t understand why he would do it to himself and could tell by the way he looked at her that he had little concern as to her thoughts on his appearance.
To save time she showed him her warrant card. The teen’s response was so non-committal it was laughable. ‘Do you keep a record of the gifts you give away?’
The young man took some time to weigh up the question. ‘They’re registered on the till,’ he said finally, his voice a surprisingly deep baritone.
‘Would you be able to get me a list of when a specific product was purchased?’
‘What do you mean?’ he said.
‘Is your operation manager, Stephan Daly, in?’ said Louise, growing impatient. The teen shrugged and Louise leant across the counter. ‘I suggest you find out,’ she said, causing the boy to back away and bump his head on the shelf behind him.
It took another forty minutes for Louise to get what she wanted, a printout of every exchange of the green dinosaur in the last month. Although surprised by the number – forty-eight people had somehow thought it prudent to get the toy – she was impressed with the printout that listed the exact day and time of exchanges.
She scanned the images on to her file and sent them to Thomas. By the time she returned to the station, they already had a match for Sally.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Thomas played her the two-minute footage of Sally at the shop counter the second Louise returned to the station. Sally appeared as excited as a child as she looked at the goods on offer. But her excitement wasn’t what interested Louise. It was the person with her.
‘We’re focusing on the images from that day, going through them now,’ said Thomas, as Louise watched the video again.
The image was surprisingly good quality and Louise was able to focus on Sally’s companion and get a decent image of the man. ‘This is who we’re after,’ she said.
‘I’ve already sent it to Coulson. He’s making it a priority,’ said Thomas.
Louise looked again at Sally’
s companion. He was much taller, and leaner, than Sally. He had classic good looks – dark hair, large doleful eyes, and full lips that formed into a smile as Sally chose the silly green dinosaur. But when Sally wasn’t looking at him the smile vanished. Its replacement was a concentrated detachment. Louise had seen the same look on impatient parents after they’d humoured their child over something that didn’t really interest them. Only with this man the change was more profound. In Sally’s gaze, his body shape changed. His shoulders relaxed as his smile seemed to filter through him. But out of her eye line his body tensed, his back straightened as his face went blank. ‘You seeing this?’ said Louise, as she replayed the video for Thomas.
‘He doesn’t look that pleased to be there,’ said Thomas.
Louise let the video play out. Sally grabbed her toy and the pair walked out of frame. ‘And she doesn’t look like someone who wants to end her life,’ said Louise. ‘I realise this is an oversimplification,’ she added, as Thomas went to speak.
‘No, I was thinking the same thing. This is only two days before she took her life. I guess there’s no guessing her mental state at this point but something happened to trigger her actions.’
‘Such as?’
‘He dumped her? That’s if they were seeing each other.’
Louise had been thinking the same thing. It was depressing to think that the smiling woman in the video would take her own life because of this man but it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. ‘That wouldn’t explain why Claire and Victoria took their lives. Why they all had the same lines on their suicide notes.’
One of the uniformed officers had located further footage of the pair. This time they were hand in hand, walking back along the pier, Sally holding the dinosaur to her chest with her free hand. ‘This is our sole priority for the moment,’ she told the assembled team. ‘I want to know who this man is and I want to speak to him as soon as humanly possible.’