by Helen Phifer
‘Thank you all for joining me. This is a difficult one. You are probably all aware by now that the body found at flat 13C, Church Street is that of one Stanley Brookes, who also happens to be Morgan’s father.’
Heads were nodding and low murmurs went around the room.
‘The pathologist confirmed it was homicide by ligature strangulation; whoever killed Stan knew him. Of this we are certain. He opened the door and turned his back on his killer to lead them into his flat. There is also a striking similarity between the rope and manner of death to Gabby Stevens’s murder. At this moment, we can’t rule out the same killer. The rope is being sent off for comparison to the rope used to bind Gabby. So top list of priorities is house-to-house and CCTV enquiries. I want every house, flat and shop knocked on. I don’t care if the shops are empty, if you can see a camera then find out who owns the shop and go speak to them. There’s a taxi rank further down the street. They have CCTV. Ask them to check with any of their drivers if they have dashcam footage. See if they were parked up, picked up or dropped anyone off at the flats. Time of death is estimated between four and six a.m., so focus on those times. I want our resident drug dealer from flat A spoken to; bring her in if she’s uncooperative. I want to know who called at her address last night, so we can speak to them. They may be potential witnesses and not know anything about it.’
Tom nodded in agreement with all of Ben’s comments. ‘What about Morgan? Someone needs to go speak to her and get a statement, list of his friends, associates et cetera.’
Ben replied. ‘I will do that. Amy will take the statement.’
‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Well, she’s a member of our team. We work with her. We’re all probably a little bit too close to her for this to be done ethically. I think it might be better to bring someone in from Barrow or HQ to deal with Morgan.’
Ben had to stop his jaw from dropping to his chest. He felt completely floored and betrayed by what Tom had just suggested. Was he accusing him of not being professional? He didn’t say this in front of a room full of his team and management.
‘Whatever you think, sir.’
‘It’s the right thing to do. We don’t want any accusations further down the line of not carrying out this investigation in a professional manner. The last thing we all want is for someone to involve PSD and have to suffer one of their nasty internal investigations.’
Ben had never felt so angry in his life. He knew Tom was right. This could be construed the wrong way, but Morgan was one of them. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She needed to know her team had her back and gave a shit. What was she going to think when some stranger from another station turned up to start questioning her? And where did that leave Gabby Stevens’s murder? They were hoping the killer was going to make contact with Morgan so they could trace his phone and locate him. He looked down at the large notebook in front of him. Picking it up, he stood up.
‘Right, well. If you can get on with the tasks you’ve been given for now.’
Tom was watching him. ‘What about a search team?’
‘Erm, we have the murder weapon. It was still around Stan’s neck when we found him. I don’t think…’
‘Send them in anyway. For all we know, Stan could have been a master criminal with a drug stash the county lines gangs would be proud of. We have no motive up to now. It ticks another box that we checked every investigative avenue.’
Tom’s phone rang and he excused himself, leaving the room. Ben watched him go. He needed fresh air. He felt as if he was suffocating. He followed him, wondering if he should argue about bringing someone in to speak to Morgan and realised he couldn’t because Tom was right. He also knew he needed to see Morgan and at least explain what was happening in person.
As he walked out of the station he heard Amy shouting to him.
‘Ben, where are you going? Do you need me to come with you?’
‘No, I’ll be back soon. Hold the fort.’
He was going home.
THIRTY-FIVE
Morgan woke in a daze as the front door slammed downstairs.
‘Morgan?’ Ben’s voice shouted in the hallway.
‘Upstairs.’ Her voice came out as a croak.
His footsteps as he ran up the steps echoed and she sat up on the bed. Even though she was fully dressed she felt awkward.
‘Sorry, did I wake you?’
‘I drifted off.’
‘Where do I start?’
‘What do you mean?’
Ben no longer had a tie around his neck, the top three buttons on his shirt were undone and he looked visibly upset. He came and sat down on the bed next to her.
‘Start at the point where I was sent home.’
‘I had to; you know that.’
She nodded.
‘This is really difficult for me too.’
She studied his face and realised if she felt like a mess, Ben looked as if he’d aged five years since this morning. She smiled. ‘Sorry, I know it is.’
‘Well, I’m so sorry to say that Declan confirmed Stan was murdered; time of death between four and six this morning.’
Morgan bowed her head and whispered: ‘I was awake, you know I’m always awake at that time. Why didn’t I feel something or realise something was wrong?’
‘Unless you’re a psychic you’re not supposed to. I never knew when Cindy died. I was at work; I didn’t feel a wave of sadness or get a cold shiver. Her face didn’t magically appear in front of me saying goodbye. That stuff happens in the movies or in books, not in real life.’
‘I should have been there. If I’d gone to stop with Stan instead of coming here, I could have stopped this from happening.’
‘How? How could you have stopped this, Morgan? For a start there’s barely room for Stan in that tiny flat, never mind you. If you had been there then we might be dealing with two bodies, and I couldn’t… I wouldn’t know what to do if that had been the case.’
She sensed the frustration in his voice but pushed it away. ‘I suppose you want a statement?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, but I can’t take it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Tom insisted someone from another station deals with you. He said it’s too personal for us to be professional about.’
She felt hot tears prick at the corner of her eyes and lifted her finger to wipe them away. A burning sensation in her chest and stomach made her realise she was getting angry.
‘What’s that supposed to mean? Am I under suspicion? Does he think I killed Stan?’
Ben reached out for her hand and she shrugged him away. Standing up, she paced towards the window.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. No one thinks that. What motive would you have? It doesn’t make any sense.’
Turning she looked at him. ‘Well, for a start I’m always awake at that time in the morning. I’ve had a rocky relationship with him over the past five years.’
‘But you were turning things around. I saw how proud you were of him. And how proud he was of you.’
Her head shook from side to side. ‘Stan has no enemies that I’m aware of. He has no money, nothing of value to steal. He may have been an alcoholic but he never touched drugs. He has very few friends that I know of, probably a few old drinking buddies around his age. So where does that leave me?’
Ben stood up. ‘A grieving daughter. Tom asked me to tell you that you have to take some time off; he’s given you compassionate leave.’
‘Fine, but I’d rather be in work doing something useful, and it stinks that you aren’t allowed to discuss it with me or take my statement.’ She began to grab what few belongings she had, stuffing them into her overnight bag.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I think it’s pretty obvious. You might not think I have anything to do with this, but Tom does. If you can’t take my statement then I can’t be here. It looks odd and it puts you in a difficult situation.�
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The rage was so hot inside her chest, she felt as if she was going to explode into a ball of flames.
‘I don’t want you to go, Morgan. What about the messages from Gabby Stevens’s killer?’
‘What about them? I don’t care, Ben. I have to go home. I can’t stay here; it’s too difficult for the both of us. I like being on my own. I’ll be fine. The mood I’m in, if he knocks on my door, I’ll rip his bloody head off. Tell them to come to my apartment to interview me or take a statement, whatever it is. I’ll be there; I have nowhere else to go and nothing to hide from anyone.’
The anguished look in his eyes shook her to the core, but she couldn’t stay here. She needed to go home where she could think straight. He might not realise it but she wouldn’t let Ben get himself into any trouble because of her.
Throwing the bag over her arm, she ran down the stairs and let herself out of the front door, turning around to place the spare key on the small hall table. She didn’t slam the door. She was furious but not with Ben, just with everyone else.
She reached Singleton Park Road and the entrance to the large, converted house where her apartment was. Despite what had happened in the past, she did love it here. Grabbing her bag, she let herself in and threw it on the floor in the hall. It was good to be back in her own space; it was hers and she could walk around here naked if she wanted without worrying about Ben walking in on her. A wave of sadness so strong hit her that she felt a crushing sensation in her chest and collapsed on wobbly legs onto her armchair. As she stared out at the gardens, she took in deep breaths to calm her mind. She hadn’t done anything wrong. What did it matter who came and took her statement? She hadn’t murdered Stan. The only thing she was guilty of was being a rubbish daughter and as far as she knew that wasn’t an arrestable offence.
THIRTY-SIX
He felt euphoric, there was no other word for it. Everything was working out wonderfully. The police were chasing their tails whilst he was running rings around them in ways even he hadn’t thought was possible. It was all coming together nicely, and it gave him a little breathing room. He was still torn: he liked the woman from the college but he was no fool and appreciated the danger this one posed. He asked himself two questions: was it worth it and did he want to risk it? As he lathered the foam all over his face, he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. Yes, she was worth it, but no, he was unsure about the risk. It depended upon how the policewoman handled her father’s sudden demise and what risks she herself would be willing to take to catch him. Would this throw her so far over the edge there would be no coming back from it? Another question, so many questions, his mind was super busy. He shaved carefully, then rinsed his face, running his hand over his chin and cheeks, making sure they were smooth. Appearances were everything: scruffy wasn’t his style. He enjoyed wearing expensive clothes that fit well; looking good made him happy. Almost as happy as the last week when all his long thought-out plans had come to fruition; this was going to be hard to beat. Especially as the police had no idea what was going on. He’d given them a lot more credit than they deserved. He thought about G’s phone in the lead-lined box under the seat in his car. It was tempting to message: maybe he could send his condolences, or was he being far too assertive for his own good?
He wasn’t worried about the CCTV from the pub. All it showed was him having a friendly chat with a man he barely knew whilst ordering a pint. There was no crime against that. He’d joined his friends and spent a couple of hours playing pool. By the time he left, the man had been long gone, leaving his untouched drinks on the bar. That took some bottle. He had no idea how long Stan had been sitting staring at those glasses but he hadn’t taken a sip from them.
He absent-mindedly picked up the coin he’d taken from Stan’s bedside table. He knew a little about coin collecting. This was quite a rare one, and he wondered if Stan had known that. He tucked it into his trouser pocket – it was his now. A little good luck medallion. If he didn’t get a move on he was going to be late. He didn’t want to miss E coming out of class. He had to time this exactly right to get the most from it.
THIRTY-SEVEN
The doorbell rang and Morgan stood up. She’d waited hours for this and wanted it over and done with. Slipping her feet into the battered pink Converse she kept by the front door for going outside, she went to open the communal door. She didn’t recognise the man and woman standing in front of her, but she did recognise the bright blue lanyards with Cumbria Constabulary printed across them.
‘Morgan Brookes?’
She nodded.
‘I’m DS Shannon Watts and this is DC Tim Burdon, can we come in?’
She opened the door and let them follow her into her apartment; there were three plastic wrapped bar stools at the breakfast bar and she had purposely moved one to the opposite side. She pointed to the blush pink and gold chairs she’d treated herself to from TK Maxx on payday.
‘Take a seat. Would you like a drink?’
They shook their heads.
‘No, thank you. Maybe you should make yourself a tea. I’m sure you’ll be aware that we will be handling the investigation into your father’s murder.’
She sat down. She drank coffee at work and when she needed a clear head. She didn’t want a cup of tea. Ben or Amy would have known this. It was so unfair that she had to deal with two complete strangers. She wanted this to be over with and for her to be back at work, where she could keep busy and help to find who did this to Stan.
‘I’m good, thanks and yes, I understand.’
‘We’re both terribly sorry for your loss. It must have been an awful shock for you.’ Tim’s voice was soft and soothing, and she liked him instantly.
‘It is, it was.’
‘We know how hard this is for you. Are you sure you don’t want someone here with you? What about a friend or colleague, someone you trust? It can’t be nice for you being alone with all this going on.’
Dare she tell them her friends were her colleagues? She didn’t have a particular friend she could call upon in a time of need. She was well aware that she would be under suspicion for Stan’s murder: how could she not be? They always looked to close family members and friends first. She didn’t want them to think she was strange and a loner; it would only add more fuel to their fire. She could see their profile of the killer on the whiteboard in their office: single, mid-twenties, bit of a loner, no real friends, driven, selfish, killer, angry daughter.
‘She’s on her way but lives in Lancaster.’ The little white lie left her lips without a second thought.
‘Good, that’s great. You should have some company. There’s a lot to take in. Should we cut to the chase, ask our questions and then get your statement down?’ Shannon asked, and Morgan liked that. She appreciated it.
‘Yes, please.’
‘There’s a lot going on here. It’s been a busy week for you. I’ll tell you what we know and you can fill in the blanks.’
Morgan wondered if Ben had told them where she spent last night. She didn’t want to bring him in to this on a personal level.
‘Ben Matthews said that you spent the night at his house, in the spare room, because he was worried for your safety after you received a number of text messages from Gabby Stevens’s phone, a recent murder victim.’
‘I did; it was Amy’s idea. DC Amy Smith. I didn’t want to put him to any trouble, but they thought it was best.’
Tim was reading something off a notepad. ‘I’m inclined to agree. Why have you come back here then on your own? Do you think this is the safest place for you to be at the moment, Morgan?’
‘I didn’t want to be a nuisance and, anyway, I wanted to be here. It was nice of him to offer but you know you get used to sleeping in your own bed, and I prefer to cry alone.’
‘Basically, we need to know what your relationship with Stan was like, who his friends were, that kind of thing. You know the score. So do you want to talk us through your relationship and how things were with your fa
ther? We’ll take notes.’
Shannon smiled at her. ‘This must be so awful for you. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling.’
Morgan inhaled and closed her eyes. ‘The last six weeks, Stan and I had been getting on great. He was really trying to clean himself up. He’d even been attending AA meetings at the community centre; he was like a different man.’
‘What about before then?’
‘We didn’t have a good relationship, not since my mum died, five years ago. We drifted apart; Stan buried his grief in the bottle. I didn’t like him much, or I should say I didn’t like who he’d become, but we still spoke on the odd occasion we saw each other. I didn’t hate him so much that I’d want to strangle him, if that’s what you want to know.’
It was Tim who looked up from his notepad. ‘We’re not here to accuse you of killing him, Morgan, we just need the facts. Do you know who his friends were? Who his AA sponsor was, that kind of thing?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t. Like I say, we’ve only been on proper speaking terms for six weeks. His mobile should have contact details of anyone he might be friends with. I don’t think he used a computer; he didn’t use social media. I know he used to drink in The Golden Ball; they might be able to help you with his friends. Apart from that, I don’t think I can tell you much else about his life.’
‘That’s the pub Gabby Stevens worked in, right? Do you think that she and Stan could have had some connection? What about these messages that you received from Gabby Stevens’s missing phone? Do you know why her killer would want to contact you?’
‘No, I don’t and I can’t imagine how Stan could have a connection to Gabby. I mean he will have known who she was, if she served him regularly in the pub, but that’s it. He’s never mentioned her to me. Whoever it is sent four messages, and I told the team about them all. The high-tech unit have cloned my phone and downloaded all the evidence. I haven’t had any further messages.’