She came home from town one Saturday with the tragus piercing; to him it was just the bobbly bit at the front of her ear that should not be pierced. He ranted at her. Towering, using his height to full advantage to show his rage at what she had done to her body, how she had mutilated herself. He was livid. She was perfect. Flawless. Born pure and clean and she had taken a choice to do this to herself. This didn’t matter to Emma. She stood mute. Listening to him, her father. Watching until he burnt himself out with his tirade. Refusing to provide the information of where she’d had it done. She also refused to take it out and he wasn’t going to do it forcibly for fear of injuring her, causing even more permanent damage. So they stood at an impasse. He couldn’t believe how stubborn and rigid she was.
It continued like this and he thought he had lost her. His only beloved child. Lost to the jungle that was teenage hormones and peers and environment. Parenting had never been so hard. Sleepless nights and dirty nappies had nothing on these years. He just wanted his Em back. The sweet Em. The Em who loved and adored him. The Em who had a future and who wanted that future. Not the Em who didn’t care what the world held as long as it was with her mates in Stapleford.
This Em didn’t care if she had a future of any kind or not … and it broke his heart.
18
Ross saw the activity happening around him. Like a hive of bees humming in his ears. Excitement he hadn’t heard in a while. A slow, but steady and constant hum – not the normal drone of a working office with voices talking, fingers tapping on keyboards and drinks being slurped at desks – a higher level buzz that meant something was in the air was holding interest. The day-to-day goings on were virtually abandoned as they hummed about the office spreading words of doom from another person’s life. Ross couldn’t stand it. The excitement and glee were horrific. Jobs in here only meant another person, another family was ruined and it wasn’t just what you saw at the immediate scene. These people had extended family. They had friends and work colleagues. They had book groups or sports activity groups. The ripple effect of someone, one person, being savagely taken, was felt wide and far and Ross understood that, he felt it.
Working in an office like this turned you into a person whose vision was skewed. It became warped to society and societal values in general, but also narrowed. Sharpened to a point. A darted implement with only one target. To solve the crime, gather the evidence, do it forensically and securely and pass it to the CPS for a decision on prosecution. That’s as far as this office, this job could take you.
Ross knew he had become that person. That dedicated detective. The love of the job had driven him forward every day. He’d always woken before his alarm, eager to get into the office. Always on top of his work, waiting for the next job to come in, for the next thrill of being involved in such an important investigation as a murder; methodically chasing down the leads to catch the killer. That sweet moment when you had them in your sights, when you knew who they were and you zoned in on them and they didn’t know you were coming. So, so sweet.
And working within the team, he adored them. They took him in and immediately made him feel at home. He thrived. He had loved it.
But what about the people? Actual people involved or not involved at all but affected beyond all imagination by the incident. Justice is all well and good, but what about the people left behind?
Ross started to feel sick to his stomach with the heightened noise around him. He clenched his teeth, the muscle in his jawline twitching with the pressure. His fingers hovered over his keyboard. He had work to do, final bits for the trial, but he couldn’t think straight. He just couldn’t. He pushed back hard on his chair as he stood and stalked out of the incident room. Fists clenched at his side.
Martin leaned back in his own chair and watched Ross leave.
19
So far, our team was still small, meaning we had the space to move and do what we needed to here. More space than we’d had at Central police station, but it felt as though we were rattling around an abandoned house. There were desks with empty chairs and unused computer terminals. The building was newer and not falling to bits like it was at Central, but I’d loved that place. I’d felt comfortable and we’d been torn out of it just when we needed to stay. Not long after Sally’s death, when we needed to keep our working lives looking like a version of normal, but we’d had to adjust.
And now we had a suspicious death to look at. We had a cause of death, but we didn’t know much else, so Walker hadn’t drafted any more staff in. The briefing was succinct as I provided the facts, as we knew them.
‘Lianne Beers died from digoxin toxicity. At this point we don’t know if it was suicide, accident or murder.’ Blank faces stared back at me. Working with the unknown for something that could turn out to be an accident wasn’t what they thought of as a conducive day’s work. ‘For now we need to be looking into Lianne’s life. Her family, her friends, and we need to look closely at her ex-husband Sean and his new wife. Aaron and I will speak with them, today if we can. He seems to have the most to gain if this does turn out to be a murder. We’ll ask both him and his wife about illness and if they’re taking any medication; if so, what? We’ll see if they’ll sign medical consent forms while we’re there. I need you to find out what he does for a living. Who does he have contact with that could get hold of digoxin? Find out how easy it is to get hold of if it’s not prescribed.’ Aaron’s head was down, his pen moving rapidly over his major incident notebook.
‘Look at his new wife. Check PNC for both of them. Where does she work?’ I paused, as a thought came to me. ‘Also check both addresses – Lianne’s and Sean’s – for reported domestic incidents, see if there were any acrimonious issues that Sean isn’t telling us about. Even if attending cops got the bums’ rush while there, maybe it was a neighbour who called it in, if so, the details will be in the log. Canvass both sets of neighbours.’ I paused again, looking at the team. Team. It wasn’t a word that really fit us at the minute. We were running short staffed and Ross was still doing last-minute paperwork for his trial. He was great at doing the legwork that needed doing, always eager to get out of the office and get things done. He’d been enthusiastic for the job since joining the unit. I knew I could pull him in for a few small enquiries if he thought he had the time. He’d help out if he could.
Then I had Martin, the oldest and most experienced DC who was calm and got on with whatever needed doing, which left Aaron and me. Okay, so basically unless we had Ross, there was Martin, Aaron and me to do the legwork. I hoped this turned out to be accident or suicide. I faced Martin. ‘If I can leave you to do the intelligence enquiries when Aaron and I go, give Ross a shout if you really need a dig out, Okay?’
‘No worries, boss.’ He leaned back in his chair; his shirt buttons straining over his stomach. Not a lot fazed him.
‘Don’t get too comfortable yet though, first we have to go and do a search of Lianne’s address with the CSIs to see if we can find the source of the digoxin.’
The house was a two-bedroomed semi on a narrow idyllic-looking back road in Bramcote. It was clean and tidy, considering a young child had lived here. There was a box in the corner of the living room that was stacked with children’s toys and a bookshelf that was home to adult novels of eclectic taste; romance, crime, fantasy and non-fiction, which were all filed on the higher shelves, and children’s books on the bottom two shelves. The open plan layout into the kitchen showed items as they had been left. The stool on the floor and half unpacked shopping on the worktop. No one had been in to clean up and the stench of the excreted bodily fluids was strong, the green stomach contents now dried hard on the tiles. Lianne obviously had no one close to come in and take care of things for her. I’d sort something out when I got back into the office. I didn’t want Megan to come here, to collect her clothes or books and toys and walk into this.
The CSIs filed in, all suited up, as we were, but carrying boxes containing evidence gathering kits to collect various sam
ples, including food, drinks, medicines and anything else a search would throw up that may have been a mode of contamination. Jack hadn’t found any injection sites so it was likely that Lianne had ingested the digoxin. But if it had been in the home, why hadn’t it killed Megan? So what had Lianne had access to that Megan hadn’t? If we had a killer on our hands, would they have known that only Lianne would die or were they careless in whether a young child was caught up in their long distance killing? I was just grateful that local cops had gained access to the house and had found her, rather than her daughter finding her that way. It was hard enough for a child to lose a parent without having to process seeing their body contorted in agony on the floor as Lianne’s had been. How long would that image take to dissipate – if ever? And what kind of life-limiting effect would it have had on her?
We also needed to look through Lianne’s life with a fine-tooth comb so her computer and phone would be coming with us, as well as diaries, calendars, notebooks, anything that could give us a clue as to where she had been and who she had been with in recent weeks. Now we knew what had killed her, we would also be looking closely at Sean. He had gained full custody of his daughter with the death of his ex-wife. His family was now complete and argument free.
20
2012
Prom night was one of the proudest nights of his life, though he didn’t quite understand what it was. Some fancy and very expensive idea that seemed to have come over from America. Em had insisted on the whole lot if she was not to be laughed out of the event. Dress, clutch bag, shoes, necklace, hairdresser appointment for some fancy hair-do, fake tan appointment at the beauticians. All this on top of that very expensive dress. It was just a dress for heaven’s sake.
She had turned things around a lot and had worked hard for her exams. They had not seen signs of her drinking. There had been a marked change in attitude towards them as well. That couldn’t-care-less had vanished and instead a head-down-and-study attitude replaced it. Friends who both he and Connie had been uncomfortable with drifted off and more studious and level-headed girls were coming around and hitting the books before going out and doing normal teenaged girl things. Activities that didn’t include drinking on the streets and causing them both huge amounts of stress.
But still. This wasn’t Emma’s wedding day. It was her Prom. She was sixteen years old and it felt as though they were preparing her for marriage. She had behaved as though it was as important. The preparation went on for nearly as long. He had never seen her as excited about anything and he didn’t begrudge her the money they spent as she had turned her life around. It could have so easily spiralled the other way. Her exam results wouldn’t be back until after the Prom but he knew she had worked hard and that was why he was so proud of her. The significance that was placed on this one evening was beyond his comprehension though.
He would remind her of all of this when she did get married. When she was making a commitment of a lifetime to the person of her dreams.
He paced about in the small kitchen, with its newly fitted units and appliances. It gleamed. But he needed to have a table in the centre so he could still sit and still read his paper and still chat to Connie. The woman of his dreams.
His daughter walked in and though she might still have a wedding in her future, at this moment, she looked more beautiful than she ever had in her life.
It was her first big night and Isaac felt anxious, yet he couldn’t say why. He felt troubled as she stood there, looking beautiful in a simple flowing gown, more adult, and more serene than he had ever seen here. He wanted to capture this moment forever, but forever had a diaphanous feel, like if he tried to reach out and imagine it, it would float away from him. Instead he took out his camera, watched as Emma posed, and snapped the moment in time.
21
Sean Beers answered the door on the second set of knocks. His unruly brown hair appeared to have grown more ruffled. The sun behind us lit up his face, which was looking pale and lacklustre. Dark circles under his eyes stood out like purple crescent moons. He looked from Aaron to me and back again. Not a flicker of recognition crossed his face. His hand rested on the door handle as his mind fought to place the two people in front of him.
‘Mr Beers,’ I went in to help him. ‘DI Robbins from last week at the police station and my colleague, DS Stone.’ His lips parted in an O shape. ‘If we can just come in for another chat.’ I didn’t want to phrase it like a question. I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to come up with an excuse to turn us away. At the minute we were keeping in touch with the family of a suspicious death victim. How this played out remained to be seen. Would he be grieving, a supportive father or something else altogether?
‘Honey, who is it?’ A slender woman with bright auburn hair popped up from under his arm somewhere. A bright smile that went all the way to her eyes. Beautiful, even without a trace of make-up on her face.
‘It’s the police.’ He found his voice and looked at her. ‘About Lianne.’
‘Well, let them in.’ She backed up a couple of steps, forcing Sean to back up with her. ‘Come in. Come in.’ She ushered as we all moved at once. ‘I’m sorry, he’s not quite with it at the minute.’ The woman apologised as we all continued moving in unison away from the doorstep and any prying eyes that might be there. We took a right turn through a doorway following her into a large square-shaped living area. Two three-seater sofas at right angles to each other kept the room in a box shape, but were softened with extra cushions thrown about them in a multitude of colours. Smiling faces in a mishmash of frames shone out from the walls and an overweight, golden retriever lay on a rug on the floor, lifting its head in acknowledgment before dropping to the floor again. ‘Sit, please.’ The woman waved her arm in front of the two sofas, indicating we could take either. Aaron looked down at the dog and sat in the furthest seat facing back into the room. A large oak bookcase loomed behind him. I followed, sitting next to him I sank deeper into the plush cushions than I expected to and put my hands down to steady myself. The woman smiled at me. Sean and the woman, I presumed to be his wife, seated themselves on the other sofa.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Sean’s wife, Janine.’
I smiled. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Hannah Robbins and this is Detective Sergeant Aaron Stone.’ I paused and looked around, not wanting to say too much if a child was going to walk into the room. ‘Can I ask where the children are before we go on?’
‘Yes, Sofia is with my mum,’ Janine spoke again. Sean kept his face turned down towards the floor.
‘And Megan?’
At this Sean looked up but still didn’t speak. His wife was doing it all for him. ‘She’s upstairs, resting. We were up most of the night with her again and she’s worn herself out now. We’ll hear her if she starts to come down the stairs though, so we’re okay to talk.’
‘Why is Sofia with your mum?’ asked Aaron.
‘It’s a tough transitional time and we thought it best that she be in a stable place as we get through this initial grieving period with Megan. She’s so young.’ I nodded. ‘We’ll get the two girls together more often on a gradual basis as and when we feel they will both be able to deal with the emotional implications of what it means – that they are sisters, on a permanent basis. For Megan that is going to be traumatic and could have some massive knock-on effect towards Sofia, maybe without her even realising it.’
This woman seemed to have her head screwed on. She wasn’t the woman I was expecting and certainly not quite the woman Sean had drawn her to be.
‘How have you explained it to her, Sean?’ His head popped up at the same time Janine’s eyebrows lifted away from bright eyes.
‘I … erm, we … erm, said … We told her that her mummy was in heaven, obviously.’ I waited.
‘We told her it was an accident and she was going to be living with us in her room here.’ I waited some more.
‘How the hell do you think she took it?’ Aah.
The response. I felt Aaron shift forward, balancing his elbows on his knees.
Janine stood. ‘Can I get anyone a tea? Coffee? Water?’
It was another warm day. ‘I’ll just have water, please.’
She looked at Aaron.
‘I don’t drink in people’s houses.’ She brushed down her jeans and walked out of the room. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment, then looked back at Sean. He continued to look down at the floor.
‘How are you doing, Sean?’ He looked up, as though only just remembering we were still there.
‘Shocked. I’m shocked. It’s all hard to take in you know, and then to deal with the girl’s pain, well, it’s … I never thought anything could be this hard.’
‘I can only imagine. You have strong support with Janine by the look of it.’
‘Yes. She’s been wonderful. I don’t know what I would have done without her.’ He lifted his face to the display of images on the wall and a smile flitted across his lips.
‘We need to ask you about medications, Sean.’ At that point Janine walked in carrying a tray with two cups and a glass of water. I waited for her to put it down on the coffee table before continuing.
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