by Emmy Ellis
She got up and walked to the bar, thinking she’d pay, seeing as Andy was down in the dumps. Placing the order, she waited for the barman to tot it up on the till and thought about Andy’s behaviour over the years. Why was he such a douche? And, more importantly, did she want to know? Wouldn’t it be better just to ask for a new partner—someone with less baggage? Then again, she carried a few suitcases around herself, so she was a fine one to talk.
Helena returned to the table and plopped back on the sofa. “Right. We’re here to talk about our working relationship, not the case. I’ve bought your grub, by the way. You’re welcome.”
His eyebrows shot up.
She laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m not really a cow deep down—similar to what you said about yourself. So spill the old beans, will you, because elephants in the room are always unwelcome guests.”
“You saying I need to lose a bit of weight?” Andy patted his overhanging gut and grinned.
“Fuck me, is it your birthday?” she asked.
“Eh?” He frowned.
“You smiled.” She reached for her glass, drank some wine, and eyed him over the rim.
“Very funny, Stratton.” He twirled his pint around on the table. “I’ve just forgotten how to be happy, that’s all.”
Well, that just went and dumped a load of guilt on her, didn’t it.
“Sorry,” she said. And she meant it. “Want to talk about it? Let’s start with why you’re that knob I call you so often—which I shouldn’t, and I’m truly sorry I do it.”
Andy shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m just angry all the time. Sarah’s gone, and I don’t think she ever laughed like that when she was with me.”
“So you’ve seen her with him then? Her fella?”
“Might have.”
Helena gaped. “Please don’t tell me you followed them or something equally weird.”
Andy looked sheepish.
She shook her head. “Bloody hell, mate. Do you know how creepy and disconcerting that is for her? Marshall does the same to me—he’s there every so often, watching. Outside my house or in Waitrose. Just happens to be in there to get his shopping at the same time as me—twice a week. He joined me in the cinema once and all. Sat in the row right behind me, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”
“What?” Andy’s eyes widened.
“Ah, so you can see how it is when it’s happening to me, but you don’t see the harm when it comes to Sarah, is that it?”
Andy blinked a few times. “Um, I didn’t think of it that way.”
“I bet. Listen, for whatever reason, you and Sarah split up. She’s with someone else. It’s been years—get over it. Move on. Find another woman. Be happy like her.”
“I’ve tried with Louise Baker, but she’s not interested.”
“Maybe she will be now your smell problem is sorted.” She cocked her head.
“Christ, I’ve really ballsed things up, haven’t I.” He stared at his Guinness.
“But you can fix it. Get yourself in better shape. Stop slobbing around. Clean your house so if you invite anyone over, they don’t think you’re a pig.”
“Your punches sting, Stratton.”
“They’re meant to. Oh, here’s our dinner, look. Shame I told them not to put the salad on, eh? You could have started as you meant to go on.”
“Cheeky cow.”
While the server placed their plates down, Helena studied Andy. She rarely glanced at him, not properly. In the past, the mere sight of him had her seeing red. But now, she looked at him as other people might, as if for the first time. He wasn’t ugly, and his specs were trendy. He was a bit out of shape and could do with a haircut, but that wouldn’t mean anything to the right woman. It was his demeanour. His take on life. Doom and gloom and then some. Maybe he was depressed and needed to see the doctor.
The server vanished after Helena thanked him, and she tucked into her meal, her stomach growling something chronic. Andy seemed to be enjoying his, attacking the peas first. Maybe her salad jibe had hit a sore spot and he was showing her he could eat the healthy bit instead of going straight for the salt-and-vinegar-soaked chips.
Halfway through, she paused. “I’ll go to the gym with you, if you want.” Where that had come from, she didn’t know.
“When are we meant to fit that in when we’re on a big case?” he asked.
“Right, that stops now.”
“What does?” A speck of salt sat in the corner of his mouth.
“A negative answer right away. Think: I’ll fit that in after work for an hour. Or: I’ll get up early and go before work.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.” He speared a square of steak he’d just cut off.
“Do you want my bloody help or not?” Helena rolled some chicken and salsa inside a wrap.
“I suppose.”
“Good. So we’ll go first thing. I’ll pick you up at six. We can work out until seven-fifteen, and that gives us time to shower, eat, and get to the station by eight-thirty, all right?”
“But—”
She pointed at him. “Fuck off. We’re doing it.”
“Right.”
“Right.” She laughed. “It’s for the best. A new you. New start. Then I won’t have to put in for another partner, because you’ll have got your act together.”
“You what?” He frowned. “You’d actually do that?”
“Been thinking about it for ages.” She shrugged then bit into her wrap. Christ, this chicken was lovely.
“I didn’t realise. I just thought it was how we were. Bumbling along.”
“Getting on each other’s nerves…”
Andy grinned. “And that.” He chewed on a chip. “Do you reckon we’ll find our other halves?”
Helena had already found hers. Zach sprang to mind. When would they take the next step? After she’d had a word with Marshall about him loitering near her? She’d ring him later, when she got home. “This isn’t about me. It’s about you. But I’m telling you, if you don’t lighten up, we won’t be working together for much longer. I don’t want to go and see Yarworth, but I will if I’m backed into a corner.” She smiled at him to soften the blow. While she was being cruel, it was also to be kind. He needed this kick up the arse.
“I’ll give it a go,” he said. “You know, try my best.”
“Good. That’s a start, at least.”
Helena finished her wrap and made another, some of the onions and a slice of red pepper hanging out of the top. The door beside her swung open, and she glanced across to see who’d come in. Jacob Walker ambled up to the bar and leant both elbows on it while he waited to be served.
“Ay up,” Helena said, making eye contact with Andy and jerking her head to the right.
He turned that way. “Drowning his sorrows? People are allowed to get rat-arsed when their sister has died, you know.”
“I know. Just saying. He lives two streets from me—saw it on the checks this morning. We’ll need to speak to him tomorrow. There’s something up with that family—did you feel it?”
“No.” Andy rested his knife and fork on his plate.
“So you didn’t notice how Suzie and Emma were a bit strange over the nails, mainly the polish?”
“Nope.” He rubbed his temples. “I wasn’t paying much attention, to be honest. Shit, I’m messing up all over the place.”
“Oh, stop it with the negative bollocks, will you? Tomorrow, get on the ball. Listen, but specifically, watch. You know people give tells with body language. It’s what they don’t say that’s important.” She took a bite of food. Swallowed. “Both sisters were jittery over the nails. And Emma…didn’t you clock it when she said, ‘I should have said something’? She also said she didn’t want to talk about it—about the red varnish.”
“Um, again, no.”
“What the hell were you doing during that interview? Head away with the fairies, was it?”
“Something like that.”
; “Well, that stops now, too, got it? Sharpen up your act. There’s something dodgy about all this, and we need to find out what it is.”
“Yes, boss.” He gave her a wry smile, then, “Bugger it.”
“What?”
“I just thought…”
“Careful, you might hurt yourself.”
He huffed out a breath and attempted a smile. “I haven’t got any sports clothes.”
“Lord Almighty,” she said, grabbing her wine. “Then buy some tomorrow, and we’ll go the next day. I’m going to make a gym bunny out of you yet.”
After another drink each, they walked back to Helena’s, Andy calling for a taxi to meet him there in five minutes. Once she’d seen him off in it, she went inside and kicked off her shoes. Curled up on her sofa, she took a deep breath and, with alcohol fuelling her courage, she hit the Call button on her phone.
“Helena,” Marshall said, all syrupy and far too sweet. “How are you, babe?”
She hated him calling her that. The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. “This isn’t a social call. I’m ringing to warn you first, before I take it to the next level. Stop accidentally bumping into me, stop following me—don’t deny it, I know you have—and stop hanging around outside my house. While you’re at it, don’t ring me. Now, I’m about to get a restraining order, so be prepared for that.”
“What? We live in the same town. It’s obvious I’m going to see you out and about.”
“I’ll give you that, but sitting behind me in the cinema, breathing down my neck? Standing on the other side of my street? Ringing me? That’s not a coincidence. I’m a copper, Marshall. I know how these things go.”
“You’re up your own arse, you are. Like I’d want to follow a bitch like you around.”
Helena’s skin went cold. She wasn’t going to bite. Really. “Fuck off, Marshall. This is your only warning.” She cut the call and stared ahead at the picture on the wall above her fireplace. Concentrated on the brush strokes in the painting. Shaking—she was bloody shaking. And she wasn’t about to convince herself it was from the cold. Deep down, despite how ballsy and ‘with it’ she appeared, she was like any other person in this situation—afraid of him and his temper. Now she thought about it, he was just like Uthway, the creep who’d locked her away in a metal storage container because she’d come too close to nicking him. He didn’t feel anyone could tell him what to do or stop him from breaking the law.
Well, she was fucked if she’d let Marshall treat her like Uthway had.
No, he was going to learn to do as he was told.
Chapter Seven
Suzie sat beside Robbie on the sofa, staring into space while he watched some bullshit on TV. The kids were at his mum’s. Betty had picked them up from school and said she’d have them for the night and take them to class in the morning. Suzie was grateful. She couldn’t be doing with sorting them out at bedtime, not after spending most of the day in hospital and losing those wages. The lads were little monsters at the best of times, and she didn’t think they’d cut her any slack despite what she’d been through. She had no energy to employ The Glare and The Voice this evening, so they’d have run rings around her.
Her chest was sore, but her heart more so, her eyes, too, from so much crying.
Callie. Gone. Just like Mum and Dad.
None of them had confessed to telling the truth, revealing the secret, when Dad had died while they’d been youngsters, or with Mum just a few short months ago. Suzie had come to the conclusion that Emma or Callie had said something both times, because Suzie had been too frightened to. He was an evil bastard and wouldn’t think twice about doing as he’d said again. Three murders made that pretty clear. So far, he was sticking to his promise—if they breathed a word, he’d kill family members. First Dad, then Mum, and now Callie. Emma would be next, but if Suzie didn’t say anything, her only remaining sister would be safe.
Emma wouldn’t sign her own death warrant, would she?
Neither of them could risk opening their mouths. She’d have to speak to Emma in a bit and reiterate the warning, although, like Suzie, Emma didn’t need a reminder, not with Callie dead.
Suzie thought about the gardening gloves, and a shiver scarpered up her spine on heavy size nines. It was a blatant clue left for her and Emma, but the police wouldn’t have any bloody idea what it meant. Why did he have to do that? Just Callie being killed was enough. Adding salt to the wound with the clue was him all over, though. He enjoyed being in control, the sadistic bastard.
“You all right, love?” Robbie asked when the show broke for the adverts.
Suzie was jolted out of her thoughts and absently watched a woman on the screen showing the benefits of a cordless hoover. “Yeah, just tired.”
“I don’t mean about you blacking out.” He reached over and squeezed her hand.
“I know what you meant. Still tired.” Of all…this. Of what had happened and how it continued to control her life. At eighteen, she’d married Robbie quickly after a whirlwind romance—a good excuse to leave the family home with all the memories whispering from the walls. And going to bed with Robbie—like that—was nothing compared to how it’d been with him. The fact that he still insisted on being in her life was her cross to bear, something she’d put up with if it meant keeping Emma and Callie safe.
She winced.
I don’t need to keep Callie safe anymore.
“I can’t get over it,” Robbie said. “You know, what happened to Callie, and so soon after your mum and all.”
Mum’s death had looked like a heart attack, but Suzie knew it wasn’t. Mum hadn’t had a heart problem—not that they knew of anyway—so he’d done what he’d said and killed her.
“Maybe we should move away.” Christ, had she said that out loud?
“If you like,” Robbie said. “I’ll go wherever you go, you know that.”
Yes, she did.
It was something to think about.
* * * *
Emma had served pint after pint in The Villager’s Inn, and her arms ached. She was dying for a fag, and her break time had long since passed. She’d been too run off her feet to take it. Now the customers had either buggered off home or no longer lined the bar three deep, she told the shift manager she was going for a smoke.
She went out to the side of the pub and leant against the wall, glad to be away from the hustle and bustle indoors. It was bloody cold, and she rubbed her bare arms, goosebumps springing up beneath her palms. Sighing, she fished a cigarette out then lit up, stuffing the packet and lighter in her back jeans pocket. Her hand shook as she raised it to her mouth for a long, calming puff.
She’d spent the day after the police had left mooching around her house, their lives and unhappiness swirling inside her mind to the point she’d head butted the wall and left a dent. Harming herself was sometimes the only way she could cope. If she had that sort of pain to deal with, to concentrate on, the bigger, more devastating things faded somewhat. For a short while.
She should have visited Suzie in hospital but hadn’t been able to face it.
She hadn’t said a word about the secret this time, so it had to have been Suzie for Callie to be dead. Dad dying had been enough for Emma to keep everything locked up inside since she’d told him someone was fiddling around with his daughters. He hadn’t even had a chance to get to work on the morning she’d let it all out. He’d promised to sort it once he got home, but on the way to his job at the bank, his car had swerved into a tree, and he’d apparently died on impact.
How had he known she’d told on him? He hadn’t been around at the time—or she hadn’t seen him anyway. How had he had the foresight to mess with the brake pads the way he had? How had he found the time? The police had said they were dodgy, but regardless of that, Dad’s death had been put down to an accident.
But Emma knew better.
So had Callie.
So did Suzie.
So did he.
Her phone rang, an
d she sighed again, drawing it out of her front pocket and swiping the screen. Suzie was calling. Emma should have rung her way before now, or at least checked in with the hospital to see how she was doing, but it was all too much. This…this desecration of her family.
“Hi,” Emma said. “Are you okay, Suz?”
“Yes, don’t worry about that. It was just my stupid body doing a number on me. How are you?”
“Coping. I’m at work.” Emma waited for the shriek.
One…two…
“What?” Suzie delivered.
Emma shrugged, even though her sister couldn’t see it. “Better than being at home and thinking about…everything.”
“True.” Suzie sighed. “I’m sitting here wondering what the hell’s gone on. I’m in the bedroom, obviously. I can’t let Robbie know what it’s all about. Not yet anyway.”
What the fuck did that mean?
“I didn’t say a word to anyone,” Suzie went on. “Did you?”
“No, I swear I didn’t. Why would I do that?” Especially after I got our dad killed. She’d learnt full well that opening her mouth brought terrible results—and had never admitted to her part in them losing him. It was too awful. She’d killed Dad as much as he had. “I don’t mean to sound horrible here, but Mum dying… Do you think that was Callie’s fault?”
“Well, it bloody well wasn’t mine.” Suzie sounded well affronted.
“Nor mine. Fuck.”
“Maybe Callie…”
Emma’s heart pitter-pattered so hard her chest hurt. She drew on her cigarette. Could Callie have had enough to the degree she’d rather be dead? They all knew she was next on the list after Dad and Mum, so… Had Callie been so distraught about their childhoods that she’d no longer been able to carry on? Emma knew that feeling. It had lived inside her for years. “What, you think she told him she was going to say something, and he…?”
“Well, if it wasn’t you or me…”