by Helen Phifer
‘I’ll be okay. He’s probably hiding up a tree out by the lake. It’s hard to believe it; I can’t believe he is my brother and that Gary Marks is my birth father. It’s so much to take in.’ Her entire body juddered with repulsion.
‘I know. I went back to see him today. Declan had phoned to tell me there was evidence taken from Stan that he sent off and the results were back.’
‘That fast?’
‘The guy in the lab has a bit of a thing for him, so he rushed it through extra fast. Declan wanted to help us find Stan’s killer. Only, it came back as a close match for you. I couldn’t believe it. He agreed to sit on the evidence for a day while I tried to figure out the connection.’
Morgan was swirling with emotion, surprise, anger, but the predominant one of all was a deep respect and a warm fuzzy feeling of love for Declan and Ben. They had both put themselves at risk of losing everything for her and she wouldn’t forget that ever.
‘It also was a family match to Marks, and I realised that you were his daughter and that there was another child too. So I went to speak to him.’
She looked at Ben, so thankful that she had his friendship. It made her feel better knowing she had him, Declan, Amy and Ettie in her life and on her team. ‘What did he say?’
‘Not much, just that he thought his daughter wouldn’t be clever enough to do this or strong enough. Then he lost his shit and got dragged out. He obviously has no idea how clever or strong you are, or how stubborn. I’m glad you’re on my side, Morgan. You fight for the good guys.’
She laughed. ‘Good, I’m glad he has no idea about me. He can go rot in hell and take Dan with him.’
The car turned into the drive of Morgan’s apartment. There was a blue Mini parked there.
‘I met your new neighbour, by the way; she seems very nice and a little forward.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She asked me round for a meal. I didn’t know what to say. Obviously, I was flattered; you know, at my age I’m not going to say I’m not. I don’t get many, if any, offers.’ He started laughing, and she elbowed him in the ribs.
‘Ouch, anyway, I said no.’
‘Why? She’s lovely. You can say yes to whoever you want.’
‘Oh, she is lovely, there’s no denying that, but…’
‘But what?’
He stopped the car and turned to look at her. ‘She doesn’t strike me as a warrior-type woman, and I’ve realised how much I like those.’
‘What does that even mean?’
A deep red blush crept along his neck, rising up his cheeks. He turned away. Ben’s radio beeped and his name was called over the airwaves at the same time as his phone began to ring, and he shook his head. ‘Ah, sorry, Morgan.’
‘Don’t apologise for doing your job, Ben. Now answer them. I’m going in for a bath because I look and smell terrible. When you’re done, I’ll be here waiting for you to come and tell me you caught the bad guy so I can sleep tonight.’
She got out of the car and left him there, open-mouthed. She didn’t turn around but shouted: ‘Answer your damn phone.’
Grinning, she let herself into her apartment and closed the door. Upstairs, the cute sausage dog was barking frantically. She ignored it and went to the bathroom to survey the damage and run herself a bath.
Stripping off the white paper suit, she went into the bedroom where the full-length mirror was. Dressed in her underwear, she stared at the multiple scratches and grazes. There were dark circles of bluish bruises forming on her arms and knees. Leaning forward, she began to pick the dried leaves and twigs out of her hair, a smile on her face the whole time. The dog was still barking; it must be locked in the bedroom above her, because it was scratching at the door and polished wooden floorboards like crazy. She’d never heard it make this much noise before and wondered if Emily was okay. She might be diabetic or have epilepsy and the dog might be trying to get help for her. Morgan’s foot was hovering over the tub full of lavender-scented bath salts, but she didn’t put it in. Cursing her overactive imagination, she grabbed her dressing gown off the back of the bathroom door, pulled the door to and ran upstairs to knock on Emily’s door.
The dog went into overdrive, but she couldn’t hear any other movement from inside the flat. Pressing her ear to the door to listen, she then tried the door handle. It was locked. She opened the letterbox and shouted: ‘Emily, is everything okay?’
The dog’s yipping was constant now, and she had the sinking feeling that everything was not okay. Crap, what did she do now? It was probably innocent; she might have gone out and the stupid dog got itself inadvertently shut in the bedroom. She turned to go and phone the police. She was on the stairs when the door opened a little. That was weird. She went back and pushed it open slightly.
‘Emily, what’s going on?’
Heaviness settled across her shoulders, pressing down on her. She wished Ben was still here for moral support. She didn’t want to go inside, but what if Emily needed first aid? She’d sworn an oath to save life and limb when she joined the police. A voice inside her head whispered: yes, but that is when you are at work, dressed in your uniform with handcuffs and a taser to defend yourself. It didn’t mean when you’re knackered and only wearing a dressing gown. The dog was still barking, yipping, and if nothing else, she could let it out of the bedroom and throw it a bone or something to shut it up, so she could have a bath in peace.
Pushing the door open, she stepped inside. The dog was whimpering now.
‘Hey, dog, I’m coming, give it a rest.’
A scream so loud it made her physically jump off the floor came from the bathroom.
‘Help, he’s going to kill me. Help, help.’
She knew then that, somehow, he was here. He’d come here; the fear inside her was crippling. She had nothing to defend herself with, no phone and she was tired of this bullshit. She didn’t answer Emily, trying to listen and figure out where he was. If he’d opened the door to let her in, he was close. He wasn’t in the bedroom or the bathroom because both doors were shut, with Emily in one and the dog in the other. Every beat of her heart intensified as it pumped the blood around her body. Her eyes fell on the closet a few feet behind her. She would have to run past it to get out of the front door. It was just big enough for a man to hide in. She could see the open-plan kitchen and lounge and wondered if she could make it to the knife drawer in time, but then realised she didn’t even know which was the knife drawer because this wasn’t her home. Time seemed to have slowed down as she saw the closet handle begin to turn.
She pushed herself forwards, towards the kitchen, as the door slammed open. Sunlight through the large picture window in the lounge glinted off the huge knife he was holding. Still she ran, looking for something, anything, to use to protect herself. There was a bottle of Dettol disinfectant on the kitchen counter with its lid off. She reached out for it; grabbing it, she turned as he ran at her and prayed it would hit him in the eyes as she shook the contents in the direction of his face. It splashed in his face and he shouted, but he didn’t let go of the knife. She was cornered. Still he kept coming closer, the knife wavering in the air as he rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.
‘Did you think I was going to let you get away so easy, Morgan? I like to finish what I started.’
Morgan grabbed the nearest thing to her, which was the kettle, as he lunged towards her. Memories burst through the black fog in her mind and she was there, standing on the stairs, a small child still rubbing sleep from her eyes as she wondered what the shouting had been and come down the stairs. She’d watched as her father had plunged a knife into her mother and saw the bright red blood as it sprayed everywhere, helpless to do anything and so scared. But she wasn’t three now and she would not let him kill her.
Dan lifted the knife, about to sink it into her neck, and there was a loud thud as he dropped it to the floor. Morgan watched it as it clattered on the tiles. She kicked it away from him with her foot, and realised
Emily was standing behind him with the remains of a broken glass vase. Dan was sinking to his knees and, determined not to let him get away a second time, she lifted the kettle high and smacked him across the side of the head where she’d hit him earlier with the branch. His eyes fluttered and he dropped to the floor. She bent to pick up the knife; this time she’d check he was out cold before she left him.
Emily was screaming at the top of her voice, but at least she was alive to do that.
‘Morgan.’ She heard Ben’s voice and footsteps running up the stairs. He ran into the apartment to see Emily screaming with tears running down her face and Morgan standing over Dan’s crumpled body, a knife in one hand, a copper kettle in the other. She heard him asking for backup on the radio, then watched as he pulled a pair of cuffs from his pocket and knelt down. He cuffed Dan’s limp arms.
He looked up at Morgan. ‘Are you hurt?’
She shook her head. Standing, he took hold of her hand and pulled the knife from it.
‘Let go, Morgan. It’s okay, you’re safe, he’s not going anywhere.’
She released the grip on the handle of the knife and let him take it from her.
‘Is he dead? Is the fucker dead?’ Emily sobbed.
‘No, he’s unconscious but breathing. You’re both safe now, patrols will be here soon and take him away.’
Emily ran to let her dog out of the bedroom. Scooping him up into her arms, she squeezed him tight. Then she walked across to Morgan whose feet were rooted in the same place. Emily kicked Dan in the ribs, then stepped over him and hugged Morgan in the strangest hug ever. The poor dog was squashed against the pair of them, but it didn’t seem to mind. Morgan hugged her back and whispered: ‘Thank you.’
Emily let her go. ‘No, thank you. Jesus, he seemed so nice, and then he tried to strangle me. That’s the thanks I got for trying to sort his face out. I didn’t think I was doing that bad of a job. I mean, I’m no nurse, but I was gentle.’
Ben laughed somewhere behind them, and Morgan felt a smile begin to spread across her face, thawing the frozen expression she’d been wearing.
She turned to Ben. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. You left your phone in the car. I brought it back and your flat was empty. I heard the commotion up here and came up to find this.’
FIFTY-EIGHT
In minutes, Emily’s flat was filled with officers. Realising she was only wearing her dressing gown spurred Morgan into life. She whispered to Ben: ‘I’m going back downstairs; you know where to find me. I’m not giving any statements until I’ve had my bath.’
‘Did he hurt you?’
‘Not this time.’
She stepped over Dan’s body and walked out of the front door. Passing two paramedics on the way up the stairs, she recognised Luke, who seemed to come to all the jobs she needed medical help with. He looked at her scratched face and asked: ‘Are you okay, Morgan? Do you want me to check you over?’
‘I’m fine, Luke, thanks. These are just scratches.’
He nodded. ‘This place is like a disaster magnet; I’d consider moving somewhere a little less exciting if I were you.’
She laughed. ‘Yes, it’s seen some crazy stuff, but I still like it here.’
‘Take care, Morgan.’
And then he was walking through the door to Emily’s, and she ran down the stairs.
She felt numb inside, but also free. Locking the door behind her, she checked her closet, just to be sure there was no one hiding inside it. Then she grabbed her iPad, poured herself a gin-sized glass of wine and took herself into the bathroom, which smelt divine. The expensive bubble bath disguised the awful smell which was emanating from her of soil, dried blood and sweat. At least she had something to tell Isaac when she went for her appointment. She wondered whether the nightmares and insomnia would go away now she knew who she was, but there was still a lot to process. It might take some time to come to terms with the life she’d never known and the consequences of that awful day. She couldn’t help feeling sad for Dan; she had got lucky with Stan and Sylvia, and she wondered if he would have still turned out the same if they’d stayed together and never been split up. She didn’t know, that would be for someone a lot more qualified than her to determine. At least things could only get better from now though. She wanted to get to know Ettie better. She realised she’d left her jars of Ettie’s special tea in Dan’s car, which would probably have been seized as evidence. Hopefully, she wouldn’t need it now, but it gave her the perfect excuse to go back and see her. She was the only person in her new family that she wanted anything to do with.
Putting her playlist on, she blasted Aretha Franklin, took a huge mouthful of wine and stepped into the bath. Her aching body melted into the water, and she lay back amongst the bubbles, sipping her wine and singing, ‘R.E.S.P.E.C.T.’
Closing her eyes, she let Aretha take over the singing and smiled to herself. She’d stick with being a detective; singing wasn’t one of her better traits, but finding killers certainly was.
EPILOGUE
Gary Marks lay on top of his bunk, fully dressed, his feet crossed and his hands behind his head. A lot of information had come his way the last forty-eight hours and he was still trying to process it all. He hadn’t thought about his kids since the early days of his arrest, when he’d realised he’d lost them and the life he could have had, if only he had walked out of the door that day like Janet had asked him to. He hadn’t ever felt particularly guilty for killing her, but he had wondered if he’d screwed little Skye up for the rest of her life. Although if he had, she had put it to good use. To think she’d been the detective sent to interview him and hadn’t known the bad guy in front of her was the same one who probably haunted her dreams. It hadn’t been hard to see the resemblance to Janet, even her mannerisms and the way she stared at him with the same feisty expression Janet had that fateful day. They were looking for a killer who shared the same DNA as him, which meant it could only be Taylor or Skye. Was she that bold to kill people and pretend to be the one hunting them? If she was he’d be surprised and more than a little bit proud.
His cell door was opened, the metal grinding against the concrete floor as it was pushed inwards. The guard set his tray on the small table. Gary nodded but didn’t get up. He wasn’t too excited about a bowl of porridge with solid lumps in and some burnt toast. He was confined to his room after his little outburst with the copper who had come back to see him, desperate for some snippet of information that would help him catch his killer. There was a folded newspaper on the tray; at least they’d forgotten to take that privilege away. He got up slowly, there was no need to rush, nothing to rush for, and took the few steps to grab the paper. The headlines screamed at him and he felt the wind knocked from him as he sat heavily back onto the hard mattress.
COP ARRESTED FOR BRUTAL KILLINGS
His eyes fixed on the headline; he was speechless. Little Skye was more screwed up than he’d given her credit for. Looking down at the photograph, he realised that this wasn’t the woman who’d been to see him, though, it was a man, with a large gash on his head as he was led in handcuffs from the entrance to a very nice Georgian house. Taylor, this was Taylor then. He studied the photograph for any sign of Skye. She wasn’t on it, but the guy leading Taylor out to the waiting cop van was the same one who had been here. Was that the reason he was cooped up in this metal box unable to go for his hour’s exercise in the yard? He nodded his head; this was a mess. Both his kids had joined the police and both of them were connected to that copper and not in a good way. He read the article, amazed and a little in shock. He wasn’t sure what to think or do, not that there was much he could do about it. Then he stared at the guy walking his son out to the van: Ben Matthews. ‘You, my friend, are screwing with the wrong family,’ he whispered to his picture. He wondered if Taylor would get sent here, or if they’d decide he needed a secure mental facility. It would be pretty cool if he did come here; he could finally get to know him.
&nb
sp; Removing the front page of the newspaper, he folded it into a small square then tucked it inside the Speak Spanish in Four Weeks book on his shelf. It had been there for four years and the most he’d learnt was buenos días. He nibbled some of the burnt toast, folded the paper back in half and left it all on the tray. He had some serious thinking to do. He’d neglected his family for far too long. It was time he stood up to the mark and showed them what he was made of; he’d start with that smarmy bastard Matthews first. All he had to do was to plot how, and that shouldn’t be too hard. He was a model prisoner until that little blip the other day. If he behaved well, all he had to do was to bide his time and when the chance came along, take it.
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DETECTIVE LUCY HARWIN BOOK 1
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Lizzy pulled the covers over her head. Then she realised what was being dragged behind the person with the torch. She rammed her fist into her mouth to stop herself from screaming…
After a previous case ended in a tragic double murder, Detective Lucy Harwin, has been on enforced absence from the force. But when the body of an elderly man is discovered in an abandoned hospital, she is plunged straight back into a case that will test her to breaking point.
For decades, The Moore housed the forgotten children of Northern coastal town, Brooklyn Bay. But ever since a scandal forced its closure, the abandoned building has been left untouched.
Together with her partner, Detective Mattie Jackson, Lucy begins to unearth its terrible history, and soon finds herself on the trail of a killer ruthlessly fixated on avenging the crimes of the past.
As Lucy begins to close in on the killer, a woman is found murdered on her own doorstep. With the attacks escalating, and those closest to her now a target, can Lucy protect them and herself before it’s too late?