The Man in the House

by Emmy Ellis

  “We’ll soon find out if it belongs to her,” she said.

  “Yep. And if it doesn’t…”

  “Hmm.” She’d sift through the possibilities, but really, she couldn’t face it. Not yet. “Any signs of sexual assault?” She folded her lips over her teeth and pressed down hard, waiting for his answer, praying he didn’t say yes. She closed her eyes so she wasn’t tempted to watch him check between Walker’s legs.

  “Oh,” Zach said. “Bloody Nora.”

  “Do I want to see this?” she asked.

  “Probably not.”

  Helena opened her eyes anyway.

  Callie Walker had been sewn up down there, too.

  Chapter Two

  It had been one hell of a morning, and it was only half eight. Suzie bit the inside of her cheek so she wouldn’t explode on the kids. They were messing her about, running around the living room. Loons, the pair of them.

  “Pack it in,” she said, “and for the love of God, get your bloody shoes on.”

  They did—eventually—and within ten minutes, they were all out of the door and on the way to school. Ben and Toby shot off ahead, leaving her panting to catch up. She’d had a right old time of it trying to lose weight after they’d been born, and what with it being so much easier to sling a pizza in the oven after work, the calories lived on her backside. She hated it but didn’t have the money to buy all that fresh food Jamie Oliver went on about.

  “Or the time to cook it,” she muttered, staggering on.

  The school appeared around the corner, and she legged it as best she could over the playground and into the kids’ cloakroom. Her lads, twins, fucked about throwing plimsolls all over the place, and one whacked a girl on the head. So mass hysteria didn’t erupt, Suzie apologised to the mother and grabbed her boys by their arms.

  “Sit down, change your shoes, and stop being so naughty,” she said through gritted teeth, giving them The Glare and The Voice, the ones that told them she really, seriously, had had enough.

  They obeyed.

  With them packed off into the classroom for the poor teacher to deal with, Suzie bustled off to pop their school dinner money envelope in the deposit box beside the sliding window belonging to the receptionist. It was cardboard and wrapped in artwork created by a couple of nursery children. God, it seemed ages ago now since Ben and Toby had been that small. Where had the past seven years gone?

  Back outside, she zipped her coat up. The wind had a nasty bite and tossed her long hair about. If she hadn’t been so distracted this morning, she’d have put it in a bun, but everything about the day so far had just about set her on the road to Hell.

  Again.

  She turned the corner into her street, readying herself to tackle a bit of cleaning for half an hour before she had to get down to Waitrose for her shift. Ten until two, she did, which helped bump up Robbie’s wages. The days of them squandering their cash prior to getting married were long gone, and the money Mum had left her in the will had been spent fixing the broken tiles on the roof, and hadn’t that cost a packet. An arm and a leg, Dad would have said.

  Why had they bought this house again?

  You know why. You had to get away.

  She unlocked the creaking wooden door and stepped inside, sighing at the bomb site. You wouldn’t think she’d tidied up after the boys had gone to bed last night. Why did she bother? It was a pointless task, a never-ending recurrence. The lads’ pyjamas were strewn on the living room carpet, and one of them had eaten his breakfast on the floor in front of the TV—not allowed; he must have done it while she’d been in the shower, the scamp. He’d left the bowl there. A dirty sock sat inside it, soaking up the leftover milk.

  Suzie had to fight not to cry.

  “Come on, you silly cow, just get on with it.”

  In the zone, she cleaned up, made the beds, and scrubbed the loo and sink—why was there always toothpaste left around the plughole? Every. Single. Day.

  Christ, she needed a holiday.

  Without the kids.

  The doorbell rang—just what she bloody needed—so she went back downstairs to answer it, out of breath and narked that a neighbour might be after something. A toilet roll, a bit of juice, Calpol for a grizzly kid, or any number of sodding things in her almost bare food cupboard. Why was she the street shop?

  She flung the door back and snapped, “What!”

  A woman and a man stood there.

  Oh. She hadn’t expected that. She blushed and wished she could shut the door and open it with a nicer attitude. Or better yet, wake up all over again and approach the day with a sunnier outlook.

  The woman’s short brown hair was in a trendy pixie cut, and she was pretty as anything, maybe around thirty-eight or so. The man was older, pushing sixty Suzie’d bet, and a strong scent of aftershave came off him.

  That might cause Suzie a problem if they hung around for long.

  “Suzie Naul?” the woman asked.

  “Yes…” Who were they, and how did they know her name? Shit, she hoped they weren’t from the council tax. She hadn’t paid it for about four months now, and they’d already had a nasty letter. Or three. Suzie hadn’t had the time to give them a ring to sort some kind of payment plan—there weren’t enough minutes in the day—and if she were honest, she was scared to speak to them about it. Then again, she didn’t really have to. Robbie was due a bonus on Friday, so they could pay the lot off then.

  “I’m DI Helena Stratton.” She held up ID. “And this DS Andy Mald. Can we come in?”

  What, they sent the police out for not paying a bill now? Wasn’t it court first, then the bailiffs? Or had she got that mixed up and it was the other way round? Had they got a court letter and Robbie hadn’t told her?

  Suzie’s heart fluttered then plunged into deep pounding. She’d be sick in a minute if she didn’t calm herself. “I can have the money to them by next week,” she managed to get out, rubbing her chest. It hurt. She’d think of it as her asthma rather than an oncoming panic attack.

  “I’m not here about any money, Mrs Naul,” Stratton said. “Please, we really do need to come in.”

  “Oh. Christ, has something happened to the kids or Robbie?”

  “No,” the copper said, stepping into the house and forcing Suzie to move back.

  Mald came in, too, and the hallway was crowded, enough for Suzie to contemplate screaming. She didn’t like being in close quarters with people she didn’t know, and that bloke’s aftershave was getting to her chest.

  She rushed off into the kitchen, grabbed her inhaler, and opened the back door, gulping in air. Sucking Ventolin into her lungs, she held her breath for the required ten seconds, then exhaled. She repeated the process, her chest finally relaxing a bit. Her face burned, and she flapped her hand in front of it.

  “Are you all right?” Stratton asked, coming in and standing beside Suzie.

  “Yes,” she said. “His aftershave… Asthma.”

  “You should have had a whiff of him before he put that on,” Stratton whispered and winked.

  More at ease now, Suzie brushed past her and moved to the kettle. “Can I get you some tea? And will you be long, only I’ve got to leave for work in ten minutes.”

  “You might want to ring in and say you can’t make it,” Stratton said. “And sit down. I’ll make the tea. You look like you could do with taking a moment.” She pointed at the small dining table with four chairs, one of them pulled out already where the good child of the day had eaten his breakfast there.

  Suzie did as she was told, staring at the remains of chocolate boulders and brown milk in a bowl. Why would she need to stay home? What the hell was going on?

  Mald came in, and Stratton beckoned him over to the open door.

  “Stand here,” she said. “Your aftershave’s a tad on the strong side, and Mrs Naul has asthma and can’t breathe.”

  “And I can’t win,” he mumbled.

  Suzie frowned. What was that all about? “Listen, you’re worrying m
e. If it isn’t the kids, or Robbie, or that bloody council tax, what is it?”

  Stratton patted Suzie on the shoulder, then went over to switch the kettle on. It wouldn’t take long to boil, seeing as Suzie had used it recently. The copper took three mugs off the tree on the worktop and put teabags and a sugar in two and four in the third. Suzie was overweight, but pissing hell, did Stratton just assume she had a sweet tooth?

  “When was the last time you saw your sister?” Stratton asked, leaning against a cupboard, comfortable as you like.

  Suzie frowned. “Which one? There’s two of them.”

  Stratton glanced at Mald, and he took a notebook out.

  Had her sisters got themselves into trouble? She couldn’t imagine that, unless they’d slept with someone’s boyfriend or husband and had been found out. They were a bit too free with their favours in Suzie’s opinion. They wouldn’t ever knowingly encroach on another woman’s bloke, but saying that…they were damn good at keeping secrets, so who was Suzie to say whether they kept ones she didn’t know about?

  “What are their names?” Stratton asked and poured water into the cups.

  “Callie and Emma…”

  “Both Walker, yes?” she asked, squashing a teabag on the inside of a cup.

  “Yes. Look, what’s one of them done?” Suzie glanced at the clock. “And I’m going to be late for work. I’m meant to be leaving in a minute or so and I’ve still got to get my uniform on.”

  Stratton poured milk then brought the heavily sugared cup over and placed it on the table. “Have a drink. Just ‘be’ for a second, all right?”

  “I haven’t got that luxury,” Suzie all but snapped. This was getting on her bloody nerves. Why couldn’t the woman just come out with it?

  Stratton collected the other cups and handed one to Mald, who took it with a grunt and placed it on the windowsill beside the back door. Suzie would normally have a go about that, saying the heat would mark the recently glossed wood, but something about the uncomfortable silence meant she kept her mouth shut.

  Stratton sat opposite her. “Has Callie got any enemies?”

  So it was Callie they were interested in. Suzie had the mad urge to laugh. Callie with an enemy was like the queen without a corgi. It just wouldn’t happen. Well, apart from him.

  “No,” she said. “Not that I know of.” Another check of the clock sent Suzie’s heartrate scattering. “Why don’t you just visit her? She can answer any questions. I’ll give you her phone number and address, and you can get on with it.” She took a sip of tea and winced at the sweetness.

  “Okay, I’ll make the questions quick,” Stratton said. “Then I’ll get to the point, all right?”

  Suzie nodded.

  “Does she have a boyfriend?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Does she like gardening?”

  “What?” This was getting well annoying now. “No! She hates it since—” Shit, it had nearly popped out. She’d have to make something up now. “Since she helped Mum cut roses and a thorn pricked her finger.” God, that sounded so stupid.

  “So she wouldn’t have owned gardening gloves as a rule then?”

  “No. Our brother sorts her garden because…” Fuckfuckfuck. “He mows the grass, does a bit of weeding.”

  “I see. And his name is?”

  “Jacob. Walker.”

  “Right. Does Callie wear false nails?”

  “No.”

  “Does she use nail polish?”

  “No.” Suzie’s guts rolled over, and she stared at her bare nails. No colour for her or her sisters. Definitely not. Just thinking about polish sent her back to a time she’d rather forget.

  “So no red nails then?”

  Could you faint sitting down? You could, couldn’t you? Suzie’s balance seemed shot away, and her chest constricted. She puffed on her inhaler again.

  “Are you okay?” Mald asked, coming closer.

  “Step back,” Stratton said. “I’ve already said why…”

  Mald retreated with a hmmph.

  “It’s okay,” Suzie managed, but it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. Flashes of memory flickered in her mind—red nails, pink nails, purple nails…him.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God…

  “Is there anyone we can call to come and sit with you?” Stratton asked. “I’m concerned you’re going to have an attack.”

  “I haven’t got time for an attack. Please, I need to go to work. I don’t understand your questions.”

  “Can Emma come round for a bit?”

  Anger boiled then, and Suzie slapped her hand on the table. Tea sloshed out of her cup. “I can’t afford not to go to work. Can you leave now, please, if you’re not going to say what you’re here for? I have to get on. Really.” She stood and stared at each of them in turn, her cheeks hot.

  The police weren’t budging.

  Suzie flopped back down, all the fight fizzling out of her. She never had been able to stand up against people who gave off vibes of authority, of being stronger than her. If anyone stared at her for too long, she backed down immediately. “What? What’s happened?”

  “You’re the oldest of your siblings and therefore their next of kin, yes? No other family about?” Stratton asked.

  Suzie blinked. Why was she needing to know that? She opened her mouth to ask.

  The doorbell ringing put paid to that.

  “I’ll go,” Stratton said.

  “It’ll be my brother,” Suzie said. “He drops me off at work sometimes.”

  Stratton left the room, and murmured voices filtered through from the hallway. Stratton and Jacob appeared, and tears itched Suzie’s eyes at the sight of him.

  “Sit down, please,” Stratton said, eyeing Jacob as though he was a creature from another planet.

  Jacob frowned and raised his eyebrows at Suzie. She shrugged back, and he settled beside her, reaching out to take her hand. She didn’t want his comfort but couldn’t exactly say so when they had company. If he touched her, she might break down. Today had been a shitshow and a half already.

  Stratton took a deep breath, looking as though she wanted to be anywhere but here. “I’m sorry to have to inform you both that your sister, Callie, was found dead in the early hours of this morning.”

  Suzie’s lungs refused to work. She managed to grab her inhaler, tried to take a breath, but blacked out.

  Chapter Three

  A lilac forget-me-not was outside Suzie’s door when she went upstairs to bed. Her tummy tightened, and she wanted to go downstairs and tell Mum, but he’d said she couldn’t. If she told, Dad would die, then Mum, then Callie, then Emma, and finally, herself.

  She got into bed, quietly so as not to wake her sisters.

  In the middle of the night, he crept in as he always did, and touched her in places he shouldn’t touch. She closed her eyes and waited it out until he went away again, the sound of the back door opening barely a whisper. He’d be back, but until then, she’d sleep and pray to God, who never listened, even though He was supposed to.

  Tomorrow, she’d have to put purple nail polish on so he could see it and know she was still keeping her promise.

  That she wasn’t going to tell.

  Chapter Four

  “That’s not something I thought we’d be doing,” Andy grumbled. “Waiting for a bloody ambulance. It’s taken up a good bit of our morning. It’s almost lunchtime, and my sandwiches are back at the nick. At this rate, I’ll be eating them for my tea. That Jacob was a weird-looking chap, don’t you think? Recessed eyes. They always give me the willies.”

  Helena didn’t feel in the mood to talk about someone with a weight problem so she ignored Andy’s griping and drove on, turning towards the coast, where Emma Walker lived in a cottage on the Smaltern cliffs. With house-to-house enquiries going on in Callie Walker’s street, Helena and her team needed to do the other side of investigating. “Ring Olivia for me, will you, and see how she’s getting on with the social media accounts of the Walker f
amily. Then ask Phil if anything’s turned up in his background searches.”

  “They always ring if they find something, though,” Andy said.

  “You can never just take an order, can you. Is it because I’m a woman or what? I’ve always wondered.” She was sure that was his problem—he kept failing the inspector exam, and her coming in to take over from his previous male partner a few years ago had clearly boiled his piss.

  Andy snorted. “Don’t pull that card. It’s because what I just said is true. They always ring—and you always badger them before they’re ready to give us info. Do you know how irritating it is to have someone breathing down your neck when you’re trying to work?”

  No, she didn’t. Not these days anyway. Their chief, Damien Yarworth, was a lazy bastard who let her get on with things. He didn’t ask for updates, knowing Helena had it all in hand. She was glad. Running to him every five minutes would get on her wick.

  She had a think about what Andy had said, and he had her there. She did prod and poke when she didn’t need to.

  “Fair point,” she said.

  “What, you’re not going to deny it, biting my head off while you’re at it?”

  “No. Can’t be arsed.”

  They continued in silence for a while, a couple of minutes that seemed like twenty, what with the body odour issue hanging around between them—except now it was excessive aftershave. Should she say something about that, too? It had been over the top for Suzie Naul, so it stood to reason it’d be too much for other people.

  Bugger it.

  “I’m not picking, I swear to God I’m not, so don’t go all high and mighty on me, but can you tone the new scent down a bit?” she asked, cracking her window an inch.

  He sighed. “Christ Almighty. Do you want me to beg for a treat and all? I thought it’d be better than the other smell.” He sighed again, this time not his usual, affronted sort.

  “It is. But it’s just that you don’t need to use so much. If you’re spraying deodorant, you shouldn’t even need aftershave to mask anything.” Helena turned down one of the quaint cliff top streets with their cookie-cutter cottages that featured on many of the postcards in the local tourist shops.