Heartbreaker (Brennan and Esposito Series)

by Tania Carver

  No one replied.

  ‘The other new face you see is DS Avi Patel from West Bromwich.’

  Patel put his hand up, waved, smiled. The team responded in kind. They knew how to react and interact with one of their own, thought Imani. Much more comfortable on home ground.

  Cotter smiled. ‘Now we’ve promised Avi that we’ll go easy on him since he’s from out in the sticks, so I want you all to respect that.’

  A few laughs.

  ‘But don’t be too surprised if you have to help him out with a few things. Electricity, cars, stuff that West Brom probably think is witchcraft.’

  Louder laughs this time, a few jeers. Imani was sitting next to Patel. He was shaking his head, full of mock affront but grinning broadly.

  ‘Moving on,’ said Cotter, ‘Forensics haven’t as yet come up with anything we can use from either crime scene, but they’re still looking into them. Similarly, we don’t expect anything imminent from Pathology. The preliminary post-mortems have been done and further tests are being carried out. In the meantime, it’s down to good old-fashioned legwork. And I’d like DC Oliver to address the team with her findings. Imani?’

  At Cotter’s gesture, Imani stood up, moved to the front beside the board. She turned to face the team, notebook open in her hand. This was the kind of thing Phil usually did, she thought, and he was good at it. She, however, was just nervous. She swallowed hard, tried to conquer her nerves. Not look at the negative expression on Sperring’s face. She began.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘DS Patel and I have been looking at similarities between the two victims. Both were in their late twenties, early thirties, both married, both with children. The important thing here, I believe, is that they were both in long-term abusive relationships. Elli’ – she gestured towards her – ‘has been cross-referencing information on the two women and we have discovered that they both contacted this place here. Safe Haven.’ She pointed at the board, then turned back to the team. ‘This is a glaring similarity and one that really needs exploring.’

  She glanced at her notes. Realised she didn’t need them.

  ‘They both contacted the refuge with a view to moving in there.’

  ‘Any similarity in their husbands?’ asked Sperring.

  ‘Not really,’ Imani replied. ‘Different kinds of men but the end result was the same. Like that Russian writer said about everyone being happy in different ways but everybody’s sadness being the same.’ She glanced round the room once more, realised she might have slipped and let her university education show too much. ‘Think I’ve got it the right way round,’ she said with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Anyway. They both called Safe Haven. The refuge said they would send a car for them. Neither of them ever arrived.’

  She pointed to the board again.

  ‘Gemma Adderley disappeared a month ago. Her body was found two days ago in the canal at Saturday Bridge. Janine Gillen was found dead in Oakwood Park in West Bromwich. Both women had had their heart removed. That’s too coincidental not to be the same perpetrator. We’re currently working on a new theory. Looking for other potential victims. Women who called the refuge, were sent a car but who never turned up. We think he may have been intercepting calls somehow.’

  ‘What about Janine Gillen?’ asked Sperring. ‘Was he disturbed?’

  Patel cleared his throat. Everyone turned to him. ‘I’ll have a go at this one. I was the CIO on that case. There were no signs of disturbance. Apart from the obvious. Nothing seen in the surrounding area, nothing suspicious; no one’s come forward with anything. At the moment we’re thinking that maybe she realised what was happening and tried to get away. Or even changed her mind about wanting to go.’

  ‘Or,’ said Sperring, ‘she recognised the driver?’

  ‘Could be,’ said Patel. ‘We’re looking into her background at the moment. Any similarities between the two women, mutual friends, stuff like that. Nothing so far, though.’

  Imani took over once more. ‘It’ll be a long job. Lot of cross-referencing.’

  ‘Can I just ask something?’ said Marina before she could continue.

  Imani shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  ‘You’re looking for other victims. Or potential victims. Previous ones. D’you think he’s done this before? Is there anything you’ve found so far to indicate that?’

  Cotter jumped in before Imani could answer. ‘It’s a definite possibility. We’re hoping that you may be able to shine some light on that for us, Dr Esposito.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Marina and fell silent.

  ‘Safe Haven is run by a woman called Claire Lingard,’ continued Imani. ‘I’ve spoken to her and she’s as concerned as we are about what’s happened, offered to do everything she can to help, put all her resources at our disposal.’ It hadn’t quite gone that way, thought Imani, but it didn’t hurt to embellish somewhat. Especially now that Claire Lingard was fully onside. ‘Her husband’s name is Keith Bailey. He’s a counsellor for Relate.’

  ‘Bet it’s great to be at their dinner table of an evening,’ said Sperring.

  Some laughter.

  Imani continued. ‘These two might be an angle worth pursuing. Someone might have a grudge against one of them, or both of them: some disgruntled ex-husband blaming them for what happened to his relationship, something like that.’

  ‘So is Roy Adderley definitely out of the frame for this?’ said Sperring.

  Cotter jumped in. ‘He has no alibi for the time of Janine Gillen’s murder. No. He’s not off the table. No one is.’

  ‘So that’s where we are,’ said Imani.

  ‘Good,’ said Cotter, standing up. Imani took that as her cue to sit. ‘Thanks for bringing us up to speed, Imani.’ Cotter looked round the team again. ‘I think that’s all fairly comprehensive. The focus of the investigation, as you can tell, is shifting. Bearing in mind what we’ve just heard, I’m coming to the question of the new CIO for this inquiry.’

  Imani saw Sperring perk up at the words.

  ‘Because of the sensitive nature of this investigation, because it now concerns murdered and abused women, I think it only natural that a woman should be put in charge.’

  Here we go, thought Imani. Cotter stepping back into the fray herself. A quick glance at the faces round the room confirmed that she wasn’t the only one thinking that.

  ‘That’s why I want DC Oliver to be the new CIO.’

  Imani’s heart skipped a beat.

  ‘She’s proved herself already with her discoveries and I believe she has the necessary qualities to take this investigation forward. I realise some of you may not be happy about this because of her relatively low rank, but I don’t want that to cause any consternation. We’re still working together on this and everyone’s contribution is equally valid. I hope you’ll recognise that she is in charge and treat her accordingly.’ She looked straight at Imani and smiled.

  Imani tried to return the smile. Managed only a grimace and a stare.

  She was aware that everyone in the room was looking at her. Especially Sperring, and he wasn’t happy. She was also aware of Patel’s eyes on her and she noticed him wink. That went some way to make up for the expressions of the others.

  ‘Right,’ said Cotter. ‘I think we’ve all got enough to be going on with. Can I just remind everyone that this case is high-priority. We need to get a result and quickly. The media have got hold of it, they’re camping on our doorstep and whipping everyone up into a panic. They’re calling him the Heartbreaker. But I don’t want anyone here using that name, right? Not on this team, not in my hearing.’

  She looked round. No one dared to contradict her.

  ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Specifics. Another chat to Claire Lingard. Marina, you got enough to be going on with?’

  Marina nodded.

  ‘Good.’ Cotter smiled at Imani again. ‘Sensitivity. That’s what we need. And a result.’ She addressed the room once more. ‘Let’s go, people.’

  They all got up from their chai
rs.

  As Sperring passed, Imani was sure she heard him mutter something about shoving your sensitivity up your arse.

  Patel appeared at her side. ‘Congratulations,’ he said. ‘A promotion without being promoted.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Hope I can do it justice.’

  And just at that moment, with a sudden jangle of nerves, she wondered whether she actually could.

  43

  The ringing in Phil’s head woke him up. He slowly pushed open his heavy eyelids, tried to focus.

  Sleep hadn’t come easy to him the night before. He had just slipped into a kind of alcoholic mini-coma. The fact that he had made it to bed surprised him. The last thing he could remember was sitting in an armchair in the living room, the usual balm of music and booze not working. Neil Young singing about how only love could break your heart certainly hadn’t helped. Another bottle of bourbon had been devoured and all he had to show for it was a swirling head, a nauseous stomach and an acid-bitten throat.

  He had started examining the events of the day – and the last few days and weeks – in the minutest detail. Wondering if there was anything he could have done differently, trying to see if there was a tipping point, an indicator of when everything had started to go wrong. And he always came back to the same one: Marina leaving. No matter which route he took in his mind, it always led back to the same place.

  Marina left me. Because she thinks I can’t protect her.

  His eyes were open now but the ringing continued. He realised it was coming from outside his head, not inside. The front door.

  He managed to throw the duvet off and slide his feet to the floor. Immediately the room began spinning and tilting.

  ‘Oh God…’

  He flopped back down on the bed again. Maybe if he waited, whoever it was would go away.

  Another ring. They were going nowhere.

  Trying again, he managed to get to his feet. The bedroom felt like one long swirling, rotating corridor that he had to brave in order to reach the other side.

  A thought struck him. Was it Marina? Had she come back? Something quickened in his chest. Gave him the strength to grab his towelling robe from the back of the door, make his way down the stairs.

  Better not be fucking Jehovah’s Witnesses, he thought.

  He opened the door, heart in his mouth.

  ‘Hi. Sorry for calling early. Did I wake you?’

  It took him a few seconds to focus properly, to lose the image of the person he wanted to see there and replace it with reality.

  Esme Russell.

  He sighed. ‘Oh. Hi. Sorry. Slept in.’ And to emphasise the point, a yawn.

  Esme looked embarrassed. ‘Oh. Right.’ She glanced from side to side. ‘Is this… is this a bad time?’

  Phil could have laughed at her choice of words.

  ‘Erm…’ He tried for something witty, couldn’t even find coherent. He shrugged. ‘What can I say? You know what’s happened.’

  She nodded. Looked at him. Silence fell between them.

  ‘Look, d’you… d’you want to come in?’

  He opened the door wide; she nodded and entered.

  Closing it behind her, Phil realised how bad he smelled. Stale body odour, stale breath and stale alcohol. And how bad he looked. ‘Sorry,’ he said, finding he had to mention it, show her he was aware of it. ‘I must look and smell something awful.’

  She smiled. ‘I’ve experienced worse.’

  ‘Yeah, but you work with corpses.’

  She laughed, desperately trying to break the ice between them. ‘True.’

  ‘Come through,’ he said, hoping that the living room was in a fairly reasonable state.

  It wasn’t. Newspapers, old takeaway containers, empty bottles. And that, he knew, was just from the previous night.

  ‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said, trying to bend down and pick up the worst of it, giving himself an even worse headache.

  ‘Have you been subletting to students?’ she said, trying to laugh again.

  He laughed too. But not too deeply and not for long. ‘Please,’ he said, once he had cleared a space on the sofa, ‘sit down.’

  She did so.

  ‘Can I get you a tea? Coffee?’

  ‘Whatever you’re having.’

  He went to the kitchen and made a cafetière of coffee, trying all the while to pull himself together.

  ‘Here we go,’ he said, returning to the living room and setting the tray down on the table, hoping it would hide most of the booze rings left there.

  She watched him as he poured, then moved along the sofa and made space for him next to her. Phil pretended not to have noticed, went and sat in an armchair.

  ‘So,’ he said, aiming for cheerful and missing, ‘what brings you here so early in the morning? Haven’t you got work to go to?’

  ‘I heard what happened yesterday,’ she said, taking a sip of coffee, setting it down beside her.

  Phil nodded, said nothing. There was nothing he could find to say.

  ‘I just wanted to say I’m sorry.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But it’s not your fault.’

  ‘No, I know it’s not, but I wanted to let you know that… you’ve got a friend.’

  Phil looked at her from behind his coffee mug. The concern in her eyes, on her pretty face. She really was pretty. Extraordinarily so. Beautiful, even. But…

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I really appreciate that.’

  She nodded. ‘I know we left things on something of a… well, I don’t know what. But I just wanted to tell you that I’m… I’m here. If you… you know.’

  Her head was bowed as she spoke. It had taken a lot for her to come and see him, he realised, a lot for her to open up in front of him. And he felt bad because, beautiful though she was, and clever and funny and perfect, she just wasn’t the one he wanted to be with right now.

  He looked at her again. And could sense that she knew it too.

  The silence stretched between them until Esme broke it.

  She drained her mug, stood up. ‘I… I’d better go. Bodies to cut up, and all that.’ She tried to smile. It didn’t take.

  He stood up too. It still hurt. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m not much company at the moment.’

  ‘I… Well, you know where I am.’

  She leaned in to him, unsure of whether to kiss him or not, and with Phil offering nothing in the way of guidance, settled for a peck on his cheek.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  She nodded, turned and left the house without once looking back.

  Phil walked back to the living room, sat down in the armchair once more. His coffee was cold now. He could make another. But in the meantime, all he had to do with the day was pick up where he had left off the previous night.

  Working out what the greatest thing was he had lost.

  44

  Claire Lingard was trying to behave as if it was just a normal day. But given what she did, there was no such thing as a normal day. Safe Haven was exactly that. Claire was proud of what she and her colleagues had achieved. The refuge, along with other such places in the city, provided a vital resource. Don’t judge, just help. That was the mantra she instilled in all of her co-workers and volunteers.

  Don’t judge, just help.

  She sat in her office, looked at the things piling up on her desk. Risk assessments. Legal documents. Social services papers. Shift rotas. All needing her attention. All vital to the running of the refuge. She sat back, closed her eyes. The events of the last few days, the murders, had made her think back to a time when she was someone else. Someone on the other side of the counter.

  Help. Me.

  Her old mantra, repeated over and over again. And that was what she had needed, what she had found eventually. But it hadn’t been easy.

  It had started at university. Exeter. Shaun, his name was. She had been aware of him for some time. With a Venn diagram of mutual friends, they saw each other at parties, bars and
clubs. He was her total opposite, the total opposite of Graeme, her previous boyfriend, too. Graeme had been on the same course as her, English literature plus social sciences. Loads in common. Too much, ultimately. They stifled each other. Then she met Shaun.

  A rugby-playing IT and electronics student. Couldn’t have been more dissimilar. But in the way opposites attracted, they fell for each other. Hard.

  At first it was purely physical. Rough, animalistic sex. Like their bodies couldn’t get enough, devouring each other in every way possible. Then, as the initial spark faded, as it always did, something else took its place. A deeper, more abiding thing. Love, Claire would have called it. She presumed Shaun called it the same.

  She was wrong.

  After their finals, they prepared to set a course for the real world. Claire wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Shaun was. He had been offered a place at a huge electronics firm outside Reading. Good prospects, excellent starting salary. He was going to take it. He asked Claire to join him. With nothing else in her life, she did.

  The first few months were wonderful. Like it had been at university when they had just met. Great sex, optimistic about the future.

  But.

  Claire began to feel more alone as Shaun started to work late. Not only that, but she was expected to have dinner on the table for him when he came in. At first she had done it – ironically, she thought. Shaun the breadwinner, Claire the little housewife. A game they shared. But gradually she began to feel that Shaun wasn’t playing. This was what he expected of her.

  All through university she had prided herself on being a strong woman. A feminist like women should be if they wanted any kind of decent life. She was ashamed at how far she had fallen from that.

  One evening, down on her hands and knees cleaning the toilet while Shaun was out God knew where, she realised things didn’t feel right in her body. She was pregnant.

  Shaun was delighted. As long as it was a boy, he said. She thought he was joking. He wasn’t. Luckily it was a boy. She wanted to call him Graeme but Shaun wanted Edward, after his father. Shaun got his way. And then Claire was a stay-at-home mother.