by Maggie James
‘Ignore them,’ Ryan whispers against her ear. ‘They’re busybodies, only happy when gossiping. Don’t give them another thought.’ He increases his stride, hurrying Lori away.
In her pocket, her mobile rings. She almost doesn’t respond, fearing it’s Aiden again, but when she pulls out her phone, she sees it’s Dana. Her mother’s voice is panicked, desperate. ‘Can you come home, please? DC Campbell has arrived with the autopsy findings. I need you here.’
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs Golden,’ Campbell says. ‘No easy way to break the news, I’m afraid. Our preliminary investigation shows your daughter was raped by her assailant.’
‘Oh, my God.’ Dana’s hand flies to her mouth, stifling a sob. Fraser smashes his fist into his palm, fury flushing his face red before he collapses onto the sofa, his hands covering his face. Ice pools in Lori’s stomach. The news comes as no surprise, though. Inevitable, really, seeing as Jessie’s body was naked from the waist down, her knickers missing. But suspecting rape and hearing it confirmed are very different things. Such horror serves to double the agony of her sister’s death, something she’s not thought possible.
‘My little girl,’ Fraser moans. ‘My sweet Jessie.’ Lori sinks beside him, and his arm reaches out, blindly, to pull her close.
A tortured sound emerges from Dana’s throat. Lori raises her head to look at her mother. A ray of pale October sunshine strikes Dana’s face, heightening its pallor. Since being informed of her daughter’s murder, she has barely eaten or slept. Dark smudges of exhaustion haunt her eyes. Her hair is bag-lady wild and unwashed. She’s forty-two but looks ten years older, a transformation that’s happened in the last two days. If it weren’t for Lori, coaxing her with sandwiches, bringing her cups of tea, she’d not have eaten or drunk anything.
‘I want . . .’ Dana pauses, clearly gathering her strength, before addressing DC Campbell. ‘I want the bastard who did this to be caught, and quickly.’ Her voice is a growl, one laced with menace. Her fists are clenched in her lap. Lori’s relieved to hear the fury in her mother’s words. The other Dana, frightened, silent Dana, scared her. At times she’s wondered whether her mother will survive Jessie’s loss or crumple like a shot stag under the strain.
‘She was sixteen years old. Bright, funny, kind, everything you’d want in a child. So loving too. Yet someone stole that from her.’ Dana shakes her head. ‘I never thought I’d pray for the death of another human being. Now, though, I wish we had capital punishment in the UK. So that when you catch whoever did this to my daughter, he’d pay with his life.’
‘I’d hang the bastard myself,’ Fraser grinds out.
So would I, Lori silently agrees.
Later, closeted in her room, she lies on her bed, one hand stroking Oreo, soothed by his purrs. More accusations reverberate through the floor, especially when the voices are raised, as they often are. Lightfoot and Baldwin are here again. Fraser Golden’s voice, as strong and heavy as the man himself, penetrates the floorboards particularly well. He’s clearly enraged by what he views as police incompetence.
Earlier she spotted more journalists, along with a couple of photographers, across the street. A man was knocking on the neighbours’ doors, glancing towards the Golden house all the while. Another press hound touting for a story, no doubt. At the time, Lori ducked from view and wrenched the curtains closed. A surge of loathing rose in her; how dare they exploit her family’s grief so blatantly?
The ring of her mobile startles her. Aiden again. He phoned last night, and twice this morning; Lori’s ignored him so far, but she can’t do so forever. She swipes her finger across the screen, accepting the call.
‘How are you holding up?’ His voice is calmer this time, more what she’d expect from a concerned friend. They chat briefly, but when she tries, gently, to end the conversation, Aiden persists.
‘Have the police got any leads?’ he asks.
‘Not that they’ve told us. Look, Aiden, this isn’t a good time—’
It’s as if he’s not heard her. ‘God, what I’d do to her killer, given half a chance. The bastard.’ A hitch in his words as he speaks. At times she glimpses the strange depth of emotion she’d noticed the last time they’d talked. Are those tears in his voice again?
‘What about you?’ he continues. ‘Any suspicions who might have done this awful thing?’
His reaction is disturbing her. Still reeling from her own grief, she can’t deal with him right now. ‘I have to go,’ she informs him, her tone curt. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’
Aiden’s questions have made her think. As have the comments from the women in the park. Isn’t it often someone in the family? Suspicions are running riot in her head.
Take Jake Hamilton, for example. The man swears he was at home all night, alone, watching television. He claims he never heard Jessie leave. Says Spencer went out around seven thirty, although father and son didn’t exchange words. Jake’s furtive behaviour concerning his car keys, along with his shifty eyes when he talks about that night, tells Lori he’s lying. It wouldn’t be surprising, would it, if Jake Hamilton had fancied himself a slice of Jessie Golden? All sweet sixteen, temptation on a plate, with her caramel-coloured hair, soft blue eyes and blossoming curves. Was that what happened? Did Jake pursue Jessie behind Dana’s back? Might her sister, missing her father, desperate for a male role model, have succumbed to his grooming? Could he have been her secret older man?
A possibility, Lori thinks, but not a convincing one. Jake isn’t bad-looking, sure, but he’s in his mid-forties, his hair turning grey. Unlikely that a sixteen-year-old would be interested in him. Whoever Jessie’s boyfriend was, odds are it wasn’t Jake Hamilton.
Lori can’t forget how he used to stare at her sister, though, the way his eyes often swept over her body. One evening she even tackled Jessie about her concerns, only to be met with scorn.
‘No way, Lori. How can you suggest such a thing? He loves Mum, remember.’ At the time, Lori backed off, defeated by Jessie’s belief in happy-ever-afters. She wasn’t convinced, however.
A different possibility sneaks into her mind. Did Jake entice Jessie on some trumped-up pretext to 26 The Elms, then rape and strangle her? A more likely explanation, she decides, than him seducing her sister.
Lori considers who else merits suspicion. It’s not out of the question for Spencer Hamilton to be Jessie’s mystery boyfriend; he’s bisexual, after all, not exclusively gay. Seven years older too. They’re not blood relatives, so there’s no reason they shouldn’t have dated, but Lori can’t see any scenario in which Dana, given her dislike of him, would approve of them seeing each other. A good reason to keep their relationship secret.
Say that’s what happened. How did it culminate in her death, though? Did events spiral out of control, leading to Jessie’s murder? Did Spencer then set fire to the house to cover his tracks?
Lori shakes her head. Hard to peg the guy she’s laughed and goofed around with as a killer. She tries to remember. Has she ever noticed Spencer ogling Jessie? No. Never have there been any hints from Spencer that he’d like to touch Jessie’s breasts, stroke her flat stomach, push himself between her slim legs.
Then there’s her sister’s haiku. What were the words? So handsome, he is. Lori’s hard-pressed to believe Jessie, or anyone, would describe Spencer’s irregular features in such glowing terms.
No. She can’t accept that he’d hurt Jessie. She won’t.
Is she deceiving herself, though? She reminds herself she doesn’t know him that well. If he’s so innocent, where the hell is he?
At that moment, her mobile rings. Ryan. ‘Thank God it’s you,’ she says.
‘How are things, sweetheart?’ His tone is warm, caring, an invitation. She allows herself to sink into its velvet comfort.
‘Not good,’ she admits. ‘I’m just about holding myself together.’
‘Any developments? Have the police said anything?’
‘DC Campbell gave us the autopsy
report.’ Lori stifles a sob. ‘She said Jessie was raped. I can’t bear to think of it. It’s too vile.’
‘God, babe.’ Shock in Ryan’s voice. ‘Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. That’s awful. I wish there was more I could say. Did the police mention anything else?’
‘They didn’t find any alcohol or drugs in Jessie’s system. The police are looking into DNA evidence found on her body, although she wouldn’t say more than that. We’ve all given saliva samples. Except for Spencer, of course. It doesn’t help that he’s not returned yet. The police need to rule him out as Jessie’s killer.’
‘You’ve no idea where he is?’
‘No. I’ve called, left messages, but there’s no sign of him.’
‘He’s not staying with a mate?’
‘Probably. The thing is, since he’s got clean from drugs, he doesn’t have many friends. We know he’s tight with someone called Vinnie, but not the guy’s last name or where he lives. Jake’s been driving around, looking for him, but his chances of success are slim.’
‘You think the police have Spencer on their radar?’
‘Yes. Oh, they haven’t said so, but it’s clear he’s in their sights.’
‘What about you?’ Ryan is clearly weighing up his words before he speaks. ‘Do you suspect he killed your sister?’
Lori drags in a breath. ‘No. He’s not the type.’
‘Can you be sure of that?’
‘I guess not,’ Lori’s forced to admit. ‘I’ve not known him that long. I’ve been doing some thinking, though.’ She runs through her suspicions about Jake. ‘I can’t help picturing how he used to stare at Jessie,’ she finishes.
Ryan blows out a breath. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time that kind of thing’s happened. God, Lori, I hope you’re wrong. I can’t imagine what it’ll do to your mum otherwise.’
Lori shudders. She’s had the same thought.
‘Have you considered mentioning your suspicions to the police?’ Ryan continues.
She’s taken aback. He has a point; should she tell DC Campbell about Jake’s weird behaviour with his keys? His thinly veiled interest in Jessie? ‘Maybe I should. I need to think it through first, though.’
A ping from her mobile. She glances at the screen. Another text from Aiden. She sighs.
‘What’s up, sweetheart?’
‘Nothing.’ She’s reluctant to get into a discussion of Mr Persistent with Ryan; the two have never even met. She needs to offload, though. ‘Just a message from Aiden. He’s being a bit weird. Won’t leave me alone.’
‘Oh, Lori.’ A sigh. ‘You don’t need that, not with all you’re going through. Listen, why don’t you come round? So I can take care of you?’
An offer made in heaven. ‘I’ll drive over straight away,’ Lori says.
Wrapped in her thoughts, she’s unprepared for the journalist who’s waiting to pounce as she leaves the house. This time it’s a woman, not Mr Cheap Suit, who accosts her. ‘Ms Golden? May I ask for a minute of your time, please?’ Lori feels hunted, despite the overdone politeness. And the request is ridiculous. If Lori caves in, this journalistic hyena will trap her for a lot longer than a moment.
‘Why can’t you people leave my family alone?’ she snaps. The pressure cooker inside her head bubbles and hisses, almost ready to explode.
Chapter 5
ARSON
‘Thanks for this.’ Lori melts into Ryan’s arms after she arrives, tears hovering in her voice.
‘It’s a madhouse at home,’ she tells him. ‘Mum’s like a zombie. I have to coax her to eat or drink anything, and she can’t mess with her health like that, not with her kidney issues. Dad’s there most of the time, demanding to know why the police haven’t arrested Jessie’s killer yet. The tension between him and Jake makes everything worse.’
‘Come inside,’ Ryan says, his eyes warm, empathetic, as he guides her into the living room. She drinks in his dark good looks, the cornflower blue of his eyes, the way his mouth quirks at one corner. Six feet two and a hot serving of gorgeous, although she’s here for comfort, not sex. They sit on the sofa, Ryan holding her tightly. ‘Let it out, sweetheart,’ he whispers into her hair. ‘Don’t hold anything back.’ She doesn’t. Lori releases her grief, sobbing all the while; she talks about Jessie as a baby, a toddler, a teenager. How, despite the six-year age gap, the Golden sisters have always been close.
‘You’re a tight-knit family?’ Ryan asks.
‘Yes. Even after Mum kicked Dad out.’
‘Was he unfaithful?’
‘Like you wouldn’t believe. He was a careful cheat, so she didn’t realise he’d been playing away from home. When she found out, the rows were awful. Dad loved us . . .’ The thought Jessie more than me slithers, unwanted, into her brain. ‘But monogamy doesn’t suit some people. Mum, me and Jessie, though – we’ve always been rock solid.’
She pulls away, fumbling in her jacket pocket for a tissue. Now she’s allowed the grief to surface, it seems there’s no bottling it back up again. Her face must be red, mottled, ugly from the crying, but she doesn’t care.
He draws her close once more, the scent of his aftershave soft in her nostrils, his stubble rasping her cheek. With Ryan, she’s hopeful she’s found the kind of man her father will never be. Stable, reliable and faithful. And his job as manager of a building supplies company means he doesn’t travel extensively like Fraser Golden does. She’s beyond grateful she has this man in her life, right when she needs him so badly.
‘Your family’s pretty tight-knit as well, right?’ she asks. He’s mentioned visiting his parents in London as often as he can. How he longed for brothers and sisters but ended up an only child.
‘Tighter than a rat’s arse, the Brooks.’ Ryan laughs. ‘But enough about me. Tonight is about you. So what’s the story with this Aiden guy? You said he’s acting a bit weird?’
Lori nods. ‘He won’t leave me alone. Keeps calling, texting, asking about the investigation. It’s a bit hard to deal with, if I’m honest.’
‘How long have you known him? Not long, right?’
‘A couple of months. Why?’
‘His behaviour certainly sounds weird.’ Ryan pauses. ‘Ever wonder whether he’s got an ulterior motive?’
She’s shocked. ‘Are you suggesting Aiden was involved in Jessie’s death? No way. He’s a friend. Besides, he never even met her.’
He looks contrite. ‘Sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to upset you. It was just an idea, that’s all. From what you say, though, it seems whoever killed your sister was careless. Left trace evidence behind. So, with any luck, the DNA tests will tell the truth soon enough. You know what I find strange?’
‘What?’
‘The bastard who did this had already raped and strangled her. Why bother setting a fire?’
‘To hide his tracks, I guess.’
‘Maybe there’s another reason.’
‘Like what?’
‘Could be Jessie’s killer is this arsonist who’s been plaguing Bristol. Wasn’t there another blaze in St George yesterday, at an abandoned warehouse? Perhaps he’s shifting up a gear, adding rape and murder to his list of criminal offences. Some people get off on setting fires, remember.’
‘Weird.’ Lori shudders at the thought.
‘Or maybe you’re right. The killer lit the fire hoping it would destroy the evidence, along with her body.’
‘That makes no sense, though. The blaze started and spread throughout the ground floor, meaning it never reached Jessie. Why not set fire to the basement instead?’
Ryan sighs. ‘No idea. Who knows how murderers think?’ He pulls back to look at her. His eyes hold desire, but she can’t go there, not now.
He says the words anyway. ‘Come to bed. I’ll make you forget all this, at least for a while.’
She shakes her head. ‘I should get home. Mum needs me. You understand, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’ He grimaces. ‘I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.’
‘It
’s OK.’ As she gets up, reaches for her jacket, he stands up too, his hand touching her arm.
‘Keep me posted,’ he says, his voice urgent. ‘Call me the minute you get any news. And remember, I’m here for you, whenever you need me. You know that, right?’
Sunday dawns without Lori having managed to get much sleep. She gets up early to watch breakfast television, some dreadful compulsion driving her, although she realises her obsession isn’t healthy. Jessie’s murder remains headline news. The newscast shows the house in which she died, 26 The Elms, soot surrounding the windows, darkening the white of the walls. Crime scene tape stretches behind the reporter, a thirty-something woman with red hair pulled into a tight ponytail.
‘Speculation is mounting that whoever killed Jessica Golden may also be the arsonist who has been setting fires across Bristol in recent months. With me is Miriam Tucker, a forensic psychologist who works alongside Avon and Somerset police. Ms Tucker, is it possible the same man is involved?’
Miriam Tucker pulls in a breath, clearly ill at ease with the camera and microphone. ‘It could be, yes. Pyromaniacs can progress to rape and murder. Individuals convicted of arson as teenagers or during early adult life often commit more serious felonies later. In my opinion, because Jessie Golden’s body was found in a burning building, the person responsible for the arson attacks in Bristol may also be guilty of killing her.’
Lori switches off the television. No more watching the news, she admonishes herself. She’s lonely, though, in need of company – anything to divert her from her dark thoughts. Dana is still in bed, however, and Celine is away in London. No way can she talk to Jake, given her earlier speculation about him; besides, he’s out searching for Spencer again. As for Ryan, she’s reluctant to pile more angst onto her boyfriend, despite the fact he’s been a rock so far. Instead, she types a hasty message to Aiden, asking if she can come round mid-morning.
A minute later, her mobile pings with his reply. One word: Yes.
When Aiden opens the door, he pulls her into a fierce hug. ‘God, Lori,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry. Wish that didn’t sound like such a cliché. How are you holding up?’ He draws back to stare at her, and she sees his eyes are shiny with tears. The sight touches, yet puzzles, her. While she welcomes the support he seems eager to give, his reaction seems over the top. Unbidden, unwanted, Ryan’s words sneak into her mind. Ever wonder whether he’s got an ulterior motive?