by Emmy Ellis
“I let myself go, didn’t I,” Andy blurted.
“Excuse me?” It was the only thing she could think of to say. In all the years she’d been working with him, she’d never heard him admit he was in the wrong, let alone that he might be struggling with life—assuming that was the issue.
He rubbed his chin. “When Sarah left. You know…”
“I see. You didn’t go downhill when she first went, though. It’s only been the last year or so.”
“I wanted her to come back, so I…”
Helena got it. He’d kept on top of things, thinking she’d return home. When she hadn’t… “It happens,” she said, feeling sorry for him. “People split up.” She thought of Marshall and how she’d told him to take a hike. He’d got angry, torn her a new arsehole, and still bothered her from time to time, but in the end, he’d be out of her life when he realised she meant what she’d said. She’d move on—but she wouldn’t forget to spray Dove.
“I stopped showering, cleaning the house, all that sort of thing.” Andy spoke as if she wasn’t there, almost to himself, a revelation he was just now seeing. “You should have said I stank sooner.”
“I thought it’d pass—the phase or whatever it is. When it didn’t…” Should she open up a bit herself? “Listen, you know the Uthway case?”
“I’ll never forget it.”
Nor would Helena, but for completely different reasons to Andy. “Your smell brings back memories of…”
“Oh. Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
Helena swerved into a space between two cars outside Emma Walker’s. “No sympathy, please.”
“I didn’t realise.”
“No, you were caught up in your own problems, and that’s as it should be.”
“But that’s been a year of you putting up with it. The reminders…”
“Yep, but let’s forget it. So long as you wash your armpits and whatnot, we’re good. We’ve got this poor cow to speak to now, so let’s get cracking.”
Andy rested a hand on her shoulder, and Helena turned to look at him.
“I’m not an arsehole deep down, Stratton,” he said.
“I wouldn’t know. We’ve been partners for years, and you’ve always come off as a bit of a wanker—sorry, but that’s the truth. Show your other side. No one likes a dick.”
“Let it all out, why don’t you.”
“I would, but it’d take all day, maybe even into tomorrow, and we have to be getting back to work.”
He stared at her as though he wanted to say more. About Uthway.
“Don’t,” she said. “It’ll be fine. I’ll get over it.” No, I won’t.
She got out of the car and waited for him to do the same. He was massaging his temples in circular motions, so she left him to it—if he needed a minute or two to get himself together, she’d give it.
She stared between two houses on the other side of the street. The dark-blue sea stretched beyond, a grey line separating it from a light-grey sky dotted with black-bottomed cumulus. A storm was well on the way. The wind would pick up soon, chugging the scent of brine and kelp with it. Gulls squawked overhead, spreading the news for everyone to stay inside before thunder rolled and lightning staggered, its reflection looking back at it from the sea.
Andy got out of the car, and they walked up Emma’s path.
“All right?” she asked him.
“Not really. Maybe we should have a drink after work. Clear the air. I’ve been thinking of all the times I was a knob to you.”
“That’d be nice,” she said. “But don’t expect me to be sorry for thinking you’re a knob all this time.”
He laughed quietly, and Helena knocked on the door.
“Put it all away for now,” she said. “We have a job to do.”
Emma Walker opened the door and stared at them. It was obvious she hadn’t been told a thing—unless she was good at holding her feelings in. Her eyes weren’t red-rimmed, her skin was rosy but not blotchy, and she had a casual pose, not the hunched one of someone who’d been given devastating news.
“Yes?” she said, tilting her head so her brown ponytail swung.
“Hello. I’m DI Helena Stratton, and this is DS Andy Mald. We need to talk to you about something. Can we come in?”
They showed their ID.
Emma frowned, her blue eyes narrowing. “What about?”
“Your sisters.” It wasn’t a lie. One was in hospital, and so was the other, although she wasn’t on a ward. The poor cow was probably under Zach’s knife at the minute.
“Suzie and Callie? What’s happened? Has something gone off at work?”
Earlier this morning, Helena had done the background on the sisters—Suzie worked at Waitrose, same as Callie. “Um, no.” She raised her eyebrows and gestured at the door. “Shall we?”
“Of course.” Emma stepped back and pressed her bum to the wall, a full body shake going on. “Are they okay?”
She seemed overly panicked, more so than anyone Helena had met on the job before. Emma bit her bottom lip and clenched her hands.
“Let’s go and sit somewhere, shall we?” Helena said.
Andy closed the door, and Emma led them into a living room. Helena blinked. Everything, including the walls, ceiling, and carpet, was black.
“Oh, wow,” Helena said.
“I don’t do colour,” Emma said.
It sounded cryptic, an undertone running through it. Emma shuddered and rubbed her arms, sitting on the leather sofa. Her torso appeared to hover in all that blackness, her dark leggings disappearing, only her white, long-sleeved T-shirt, her head, hands, and feet distinguishing her from the surroundings. She had a dragon tattoo on the top of one foot. Black.
Helena stood by the door, and Andy sat on an armchair, notebook in hand.
“I take it you haven’t spoken to Suzie or Jacob this morning?” Helena asked.
“No. I haven’t texted Suzie since yesterday, and Jacob contacted me last week. Wednesday, I think.” She bounced one leg.
“What about Callie? When did you last speak to her?”
“Um, last night.”
Oh, now we’re getting somewhere.
“Was that by text, Messenger, on the phone, or did you see her?”
“She gave me a ring around eight o’clock.”
“And what did you talk about?”
“She thought…” Emma blew out a noisy breath. “She thought someone was in her back garden.”
“I see. What happened then?”
“I stayed on the phone with her while she went next door to ask the bloke there to go and have a look.”
“And did he?”
“Yes. No one was there. Callie’s…she’s jumpy. She thinks… Well, she just sees things or thinks things that aren’t there. She’s always saying there’s a man in the house. She’s…not right.”
“In what way? A mental issue?”
“Oh no! No, nothing like that. I just mean…she’s a bit nervous. Any little noise, she thinks someone’s breaking in. She rings me about that sort of thing a lot.”
“Do you know why she’d think that way?”
Emma hesitated a bit too long. “No.” That was a firm answer.
A lie?
“Was there a problem with someone? Had she had an altercation with somebody for her to think they might be in her garden or want to break in?”
Again with the hesitation, plus a quick glance at a photo on the wall. “No.”
Helena studied the picture. All four siblings together, Jacob standing at the back between Suzie and Emma, his arms around their shoulders, Callie in front, kneeling. A studio portrait, and all of them looked uncomfortable. That wasn’t surprising, seeing as those types of settings didn’t exactly inspire relaxation or ease in front of the camera.
“Do you have a friend who can come and sit with you for a while, as we have some upsetting news.”
Emma’s mouth went slack, and sh
e stared between Helena and Andy as if waiting for one of them to deliver the wicked, verbal blow. “I…no, I don’t have many friends, and they’ll all be at work now.”
Emma worked at The Villager’s Inn, a pub a mile or so down the coast, so Helena assumed she maybe did the evening shifts.
“Okay.” Helena gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid that after us visiting Suzie to give her the news, she had an asthma attack and had to be taken to hospital.”
Emma gasped and went to say something, but Helena carried on.
“Jacob is with her, so you don’t have to worry there, and we were assured she’ll be all right. She just needs to be on a nebuliser for an hour or so. Do you drive? We can take you if you need a lift.”
“What?” Emma shot up and hugged herself. “What news was it?”
“Take a seat again, Emma,” Helena said.
Emma flopped down, arms still across her belly. “Oh God, it’s Callie, isn’t it?” She rocked and gazed vacantly out of the window. “I can’t do this again, not after Mum and Dad.”
Checks earlier had shown Mr and Mrs Walker to be deceased, the father when the children had been small, the mother recently, around five months ago.
“I’m afraid so,” Helena said gently. “She was—”
“Murdered,” Emma said, her eyes filling. She remained staring through the window, although she probably wasn’t registering anything outside.
That was a strong statement… Does she know something?
“I have to ask… Are you aware of anyone who would have wanted to do this to Callie?”
Emma’s face crumpled, and she sobbed. Helena waited for five minutes while the woman cried it out and Andy went off to make Emma a cup of sweet tea. He returned and placed the black cup in Emma’s hands, and she sniffed and whispered a thank you.
“I should have driven over there,” Emma said. “Last night. But she’s forever saying someone’s trying to get her, so I thought it was just the same old rubbish.” Her lip wobbled. “And now I feel bad for saying that. It wasn’t rubbish. Someone must have been there.”
Helena supposed it was an easy assumption that Callie had been killed in her home, considering the evening phone call and what Callie had told Emma. “Yes, someone must have been there. Now, I’m going to ask you a couple of questions, because something was left in her house, and we really do need to find out what it means. Suzie doesn’t feel they belong to Cassie. I’d like to know what you think, all right?”
Emma nodded and looked up at Helena. “Okay.”
“Would Cassie have owned a pair of gardening gloves with red roses on them?”
Emma’s sharp intake of breath was loud—she hadn’t been quick enough to hide her reaction. “No. She hated gardening. J…Jacob does it for her.” Emma shivered.
“What about red nails. Would she have had those?”
“Absolutely not!” Emma almost shouted, then seemed to check herself. “No. No way. She hates nail varnish.”
“Any reason why?”
Emma clamped her mouth shut.
Something bloody weird was going on here. Why would anyone be so averse to having their nails painted red?
“Emma?” Helena prodded, anxious to get some answers.
“She…” Emma closed her eyes for a moment. “She just doesn’t like it, that’s all.”
“Did anything happen in relation to red nail varnish?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Emma plonked the cup on the floor beside her feet. “I need to go and see Suzie.” She sighed, and it came out shaky from the aftereffects of her earlier sobs. “How…how did she die?”
“Early indication, strangulation.”
Emma wailed. “Did he…did he do anything else?”
He? Is that a guess it’s a man?
“I’m not sure the details are something you need to hear at the moment,” Helena said. “This has all been a bit of a shock, and you don’t need the extras.”
“I do.” Emma glared at her, either anger or determination stiffening her spine. “Believe me, I do.”
“If you insist. I’m incredibly sorry to say she had her mouth and vagina sewn up.”
“Oh… Oh no. Fucking hell…” Emma rammed her knuckles between her teeth, and she shook all over. She lowered her hand. “I should have said something.”
“What about?”
Emma blinked, seemingly confused, then she blushed. “About…about…I don’t even know what I mean.”
Helena had a feeling she did, but poking Emma about it could wait until tomorrow. Yes, something was definitely off, and Helena was determined to find out what the hell it was.
Chapter Five
The artificial pink tulip was outside the bedroom door. Emma swallowed, thinking of how the forget-me-nots for Suzie had been there only last night. He usually visited them once a week each, giving them time in between, so to have him in the room a second night on the trot meant…
He was getting worse.
Emma’s ‘session’, as he called it, wasn’t due for a few days. She hadn’t prepared herself. Hadn’t spent the week so far gearing herself up for it. She shivered, glancing around the landing as if he skulked in the shadows, and she peered through the bathroom doorway in case he was in there, waiting. But he wouldn’t be. He only ever came in when Mum and Dad were asleep.
Emma went into the bedroom. The lamp was on beside Callie’s bed. Both of Emma’s sisters were asleep—or so it seemed. Had they seen the tulip, too?
She stared at Callie’s bare nails, then at Suzie’s purple ones. In the morning, Emma would have pink on hers, and next week, Callie would have red.
Emma looked around. Pink wallpaper, pink bedding, the typical room for girls. She hated it. When she was older, her bedroom would be black and white. Her whole house. She wouldn’t have reminders then. At least not indoors. Outside, though, life lived and breathed colour, every shade imaginable, and she’d always recall what he did, would always remember nights like…this.
Him.
She was going to tell Dad, no matter what he’d said.
Come the morning, everything would be all right.
She switched off Callie’s lamp.
“Why is there another session so soon?” Callie whispered in the darkness.
Emma jumped, her heart racing. She sat on Callie’s bed and reached out to stroke her sister’s hair. “I don’t know.”
“Will it be my turn tomorrow?”
“I hope not.” If Emma told Dad, it would all be okay, wouldn’t it? There would be no more flowers, no more painting nails.
“We mustn’t say anything,” Suzie said from her bed in the corner.
Had she read Emma’s mind?
“No, we mustn’t,” Emma said. But she’d tell—she’d just ask Dad not to say how he’d found out.
Emma patted Callie’s head then got into her bed, the one in the middle of the row. She stared at the dark ceiling, squinting to make out the dragon shape created from an ancient damp patch where the water tank had leaked in the loft years ago. It was directly above her head, and she stared at it when he came in and…did what he did. It was her anchor. Her way to pretend it was a giant beast in a faraway land where fairies danced in meadows and castles dotted the horizon.
She loved dragons.
Chapter Six
With a small glass of white wine on the table in front of her, Helena leant back on the green fake Chesterfield sofa in the pub. Andy sat on one of the chairs opposite, a pint in hand. Guinness, the top creamy-looking, about an inch thick.
“Why did we choose this job?” she asked, thinking about the day they’d just had.
Andy sighed. “If you mean, did we sign up to chat to all the staff in a supermarket to find out who bumped their colleague off, I don’t know. If you mean, did you know your wife would leave you because you’re never home, I don’t know.”
Shit, he was a bundle of laughs, wasn’t he?
“It still gets to you after all the
se years then,” she said. “Sarah leaving.”
“Of course it bleeding well does. We were with each other from fifteen years old. We’d planned to grow old together and all sorts.” Andy took a long pull of his pint. Some of the froth clung to the skin above his upper lip. He wiped it off with his sleeve. “Turned out she decided getting old with someone else was more her style. Maybe he can give her the babies I couldn’t, although her having children at our age… A bit dodgy, isn’t it?”
Helena didn’t want kids, so she’d never thought about what age was best. “I’m sorry that didn’t work out for you. But going back to the copper bit; she knew you wanted to be a policeman. Surely she was aware of how much you’d have to work—the odd hours, being called out in the night and all the other bollocks we deal with.” Helena took a sip of wine. It tasted bitter. She’d get sweet next time.
The Blue Pigeon was a stone’s throw from her house, so she could manage a second glass and not have too much alcohol in her system for work the next day. Andy would have to get a taxi—he could forget about kipping in her spare room. They’d walked from her place to the pub, Andy wittering on about the house-to-house enquiries not yielding any results apart from the next-door neighbour who’d come to check the garden. Andy had also banged on about there being no visible evidence other than the weird gardening gloves and those creepy-as-eff nails. Oh, and the fact that social media had thrown up jack shit, just a few friends in common.
“She was all right until I made detective,” Andy said, eyeing the floor between his feet as though it had the answer to everything. Then he looked up. “Shall we have some dinner while we’re here?”
Helena nodded and reached for a menu wedged between a Sarson’s vinegar bottle and the salt and pepper shakers, a bottle of Heinz tomato sauce standing forlornly to the side. “Could do. We never did have any lunch, did we.”
“No, and I’m bloody starving. Got a steak on there, have they?” he asked. “With chips and peas, none of that rabbit food stuff.”
Helena ran her finger down the steak section. “Nice sirloin here. They all come with chips and salad. I could always ask them not to put it on the plate, you know.” The image of a chicken sizzler platter with onions and peppers caught her attention, so she’d have that and make her own wraps.