In the Shadows

by Tara Lyons

  Hamilton didn’t want to beg, but he saw the look of doubt in Allen’s expression. “Please, sir, you can’t do that. There aren’t many clues in these cases, but we have all the information available so far. Another team would have to start right at the beginning. As I’ve said, we have a few more avenues to investigate. Let us see those through.”

  “Well, don’t stop there, Denis. What are your plans?”

  “DS Morris will determine where our second victim was the evening she was murdered, and we hope that will lead us to discover who she was with. DS Clarke and Wedlock have compiled a list of CCTV cameras in the vicinity of both crimes, and once they’ve obtained the discs, we will be giving some attention to that side of our enquiries,” he replied with confidence, for his benefit as much as his superior’s.

  He stopped talking when Allen held up his hand. The chief rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in a circle, a telltale sign that he was deliberating over his decisions.

  “Denis, I will give you until after the holidays, and then I want an arrest, or at least a damn suspect in my station. Is that clear?”

  Hamilton nodded eagerly and left the office before the DCI could change his mind or add any threats.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Grace survived Christmas in a daze, and although she hadn’t suffered any nightmares, she felt numb and isolated. Regardless of the daily messages she received from her friends through WhatsApp, Facebook, and Snapchat, all trying to tempt her into attending the multitude of festive parties. The previous year, it would have been her egging other friends out for a Jäger bomb or to dance the night away.

  She had visited her grandfather’s grave every day and was content with wallowing in her memories. A favourite, which she couldn’t ignore thinking about, was their week-long trip to Blackpool before she started secondary school. Each day on their morning stroll, her grandfather would say hello to people they passed in the street. Grace was in awe of how many friends he had, even in a seaside town she had never visited before.

  “I’m just being friendly,” her grandfather had laughed in reply when she asked how he knew everyone. His strong Cork accent still sounded clear in her mind.

  She thought about the massive ice-cream cones they had shared as they sat on the pier; he’d regularly recollected the memory even some twenty years after their visit.

  Valerie’s voice pulled Grace from her sweet musings as she pottered about the kitchen, making tea. “Darling, you have to go and socialise. It’s New Year’s Eve, and all your friends miss you.”

  “Mum, I really don’t feel like celebrating. Surely you can understand that! Besides, I’m back to work next week, and I want a clear head. I’ve got so much to catch up on. The theatre will showcase a new performance this year, and I have no idea what’s going on.”

  “They all understand why you’ve had some time off.”

  “Mum!” Grace interrupted. She exhaled deeply through her nose and clenched her teeth. “Don’t talk about grief again.”

  She made her frustration obvious, hoping her mother would take the hint and back off from the subject.

  “I just meant, yes you’ve missed out on some things because of your compassionate leave, but you’re brilliant at what you do. It won’t take you long to catch up. I have faith in you.”

  “Seriously, I don’t need a pep talk, Mum.” She sighed.

  “It’s hard for all of us. We’ve all lost a man from our lives that was so loving, strong, and influential. Albeit stubborn.” Valerie laughed gently, in an obvious ploy to lighten the atmosphere, but Grace knew it was far too late for that.

  “Mum,” she said sharply, her eyes wide and glaring. “I’m fine. I just don’t fancy going to any New Year’s Eve party. Now please, drop this conversation.”

  “Maybe you could talk to someone. You know, like a counsellor-type person. I’d be happy to go with you. I mean, first your grandfather and then your poor friend brutally murdered. It’s horrific what you’re going through.”

  “Stop!” Grace bellowed at the top of her voice, her face burning and her hands balled into fists. “I don’t need to talk to anyone. I have nothing to say. Do you understand? I have nothing to say.”

  She swung round and smacked the cup of tea off the kitchen table. She was already out of the room when the white mug connected with the floor and smashed into pieces.

  ****

  Valerie tapped lightly on the door and waited. When no answer came, she debated taking the mug of tea back downstairs. A few hours had passed since their last scene, and she thought perhaps Grace had fallen asleep. She soon detected the light sound of sobs from the other side of the door and quietly pushed it open, peering in.

  Sitting cross-legged on her butterfly-design bedspread, Grace held her head in her hands. Her long, dark hair fell around her, and she was weeping. A large pink box was open, and she knew that meant Grace had been looking through old photographs. She placed the mug of tea on the bedside table and lowered herself onto the bed. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around her daughter and looked down at the photographs. Spread around them were years of memories shared with their beloved departed. They sat, embraced on the bed, for what seemed like hours, but Valerie wouldn’t let go. She wanted Grace to know she was there to support her. They cried together, and when there were no more tears left, they sat in silence. Eventually, the ache of their pins and needles became too much to bear, and they were forced to pull apart.

  “I’m sorry,” Grace whispered, as Valerie watched her listless daughter search for a tissue. Her nose was blocked, and her red eyes bulged.

  “Don’t apologise. I know that I shouldn’t keep pushing you to talk to someone that you don’t want to. It’s not my place. We all deal with things differently.”

  “But I am sorry,” Grace repeated as she stared down at her fumbling fingers. “I mean, I know I should say sorry. I feel I should. I just don’t always remember what I’m saying it for.”

  Valerie put her arm around her daughter’s shoulders when she noticed Grace’s eyes had filled with tears once again.

  “Mum, I know sometimes I snap at you for the most trivial things. But afterwards, I can’t even remember what it was I said, and then… and then, I don’t know. I feel so drained.” The tears escaped again.

  “It’s grief, darling. Please don’t worry. Lie down and get some rest.” Valerie helped Grace lower herself onto the pillow then covered her with a blanket.

  From the bedroom door, she turned to watch her adult daughter lie silently like a small child. How she always thought Grace looked when she slept.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The rustle of leaves alerted her to someone following close by. She stopped still, staring into the bushes, urging her eyes to adjust to the shadows. The park was gloomy. Thick black clouds covered the brightness of the full moon, and useless streetlamps flickered, failing to fully light the pavement in front of her. She picked up speed as the wind whistled around her and the cold breeze hit hard against her bare skin. She cursed her decision not to add a coat to her skimpy red bodycon dress. She stumbled in her black stilettos as she walked through the empty playground.

  She screeched, her body jerked, and she dropped her handbag. Jesus, it’s way after midnight. What’s wrong with these pricks?

  The banging and popping of the fireworks frustrated her—they inhibited her ability to listen for the footsteps she was sure had crept by. When the last rocket soared and fizzled out in the sky, the park was alarmingly quiet and shrouded in shadows again. She held her breath, scanning furiously from side to side, but it was impossible to see anything in the darkness. Exhaling slowly, she contemplated reaching for her phone, but was frozen in fear, incapable of bending down to retrieve it. Something cold swept against her exposed arm, and she bolted for the exit in a daze, fueled by alcohol and adrenaline.

  She drew closer to the gate, trying to run faster, but the heel of her shoe caught in the shingles of the pavement, tossing her face-first
onto the gravel. Her hands were grazed, specks of blood mixed with grit, and she grunted in pain turning onto her side.

  Heavy footsteps skimmed along the concrete, taunting her with their slow advance. Her heart beat furiously. She wanted to get up and run—the gate was so close. But her brain wasn’t reacting to her commands. It was too late.

  The silhouette stopped at her feet, and the tall figure bent over her. She opened her mouth to scream, but the wind caught her breath and took it in the breeze. The hooded figure inched closer to her.

  “Fuck! What are you doing? You scared the shit out of me!” She sighed and lifted her right arm in the air. “Well, bloody help me up then,” she continued to yelp.

  In that moment, the glint of the blade caught her eye. Seconds later, she felt the cold knife edge enter her chest, piercing her heart.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Grace stood in the shower, eyes closed and head resting against the tiles. She yearned for more sleep, but her mind focused on the visions that had pulled her from her sleep once again. Surrounded by the darkness, women’s screams resonated in her ears, and the odd flash of colour, a deep red or rusty brown, filled her memory. She couldn’t keep her eyes closed for long before the anxiety returned and the breathlessness took over. Standing directly under the showerhead, Grace attempted to ignore her thoughts. She allowed the hot water to wash over her, beat down onto her face. She wanted it to erase the images from her mind. It was her first day back to work after two weeks, and Grace worried she had adopted the look of a banshee.

  The underground journey into Central London felt exactly as it had before, except for old train acquaintances wishing each other best wishes for the New Year. Grace paid no attention to them and happily sat in an overcrowded carriage with strangers, their heads buried deep in The Metro, avoiding eye contact. Something captured her attention, and she edged forward on her seat to read the newspaper held up by the man opposite.

  “I know that story,” she said, forgetting where she was for a moment.

  “That’s no story!” a large redheaded lady to her left answered. “That poor woman was found on New Year’s Day. Murdered like the others, except her clothes were left on. They’ve dubbed her the Lady in Red. Isn’t it awful? Us women can’t even walk home safely in our own city without fear of what could happen to us,” the woman roared as though she were addressing the whole train, and a shiver tingled down Grace’s spine.

  She hopped off the train at her station and automatically followed the swarm of commuters to the exit. The fresh air was a welcome wake-up call as she walked the short distance to work. Standing in front of the theatre, Grace sighed. Her eyes roamed over the grand building and lingered on the bold lettering of their new play: The Lady in Red.

  “That needs to change, right?” a voice whispered in her ear.

  There was no need to turn around. The clean, fresh smell of Calvin Klein filled her nostrils, and goosebumps swept over her body.

  Eric walked round her and offered his arms out for an embrace. Grace gladly fell against his warm chest.

  “How are you?” He asked, his warm breath tickling over her bare neck.

  That’s a new tartan scarf. Christmas present from his mum. I hope. She pulled away and looked into his warm hazel eyes. “I’m fine. So please, spread the word to cut the sympathy act. I just want to get back to normal now.” Grace couldn’t hold his gaze.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Eric mock-saluted and nudged her shoulder. “Well, your first order of business is to find a new name for that,” he said, pointing to the sign above the theatre door. “No one is going to come and see a play named after a dead woman.”

  “Who came up with the name?” she whispered.

  “I did. Well, we all did, as a team. Don’t you remember, before your… before you… left. Well, you know, before…”

  “Before my granddad died? You can say it, Eric. And no, actually, I don’t remember.”

  ****

  Michael Sparks had headhunted Grace when he opened his theatre three years ago in Covent Garden. Her reputation of being organised, meticulous, and inspirational to those she worked with had preceded her, and ultimately secured her the job as assistant director at The London.

  Grace’s love of the theatre was obvious to Michael. He knew of her ambition to become a famous actress, to dominate the stages and fascinate audiences everywhere with her talents. When they first met, she told him that she was in awe of the stage, thrilled to watch actors become someone new and bring that character’s story to life. He remembered every word she’d uttered. Sadly, the dramatic life was not to be for Grace, who forgot lines, tripped over props, and froze in front of an audience of more than ten people. Desperate to not leave the stage completely, she’d started as a runner and worked her way to the top, gaining a wealth of knowledge and experience from a variety of theatres, in a range of different jobs. Michael knew that he needed Grace Murphy on his team. She was a highly respected go-getter willing to try her hand at any role to create a successful theatre.

  “We need a meeting. Now!” Grace stood at his office door, her hands placed firmly on her hips.

  “Erm… Good morning. Happy New Year. Welcome back. Nice to see you. Any of those could also work,” Michael replied, smiling.

  “Our new play is called The Lady in Red. A murdered woman has today been given that name in the press. We need a meeting, Michael. Now. I’ll get the room ready.”

  He felt giddy as Grace marched away from him. His chest heaved with happiness that this feisty brunette was back in her rightful place at the theatre. He’d expected nothing less of her than the passionate entrance he’d just witnessed, happy for her to take the lead role in their working relationship, despite him being the director.

  Michael watched her in awe. She was a mystery to him. She had a passionate and energetic side, but he had also witnessed a reserved and shy character that she sometimes adopted. Oh how I long to get into her mind. Into her mind, and her body. Dragged back to reality, a frustrated Michael stared down the corridor towards Grace and Eric. Her hand grazed the man’s masculine biceps.

  Last year, Michael hired Eric as lead male because of his outstanding experience and stunning references. Watching the pair, he winced as his perfect leading lady flirted with the six-foot-tall, tanned man he’d welcomed into The London.

  “Hello!” Despite its high-pitched yell, her voice sang to him. “Can we get a move on, Michael? We have some important decisions to make and not a lot of time to do it in.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The meeting kept Grace busy for most of her first day back at work, and she was thrilled to be part of the team again. When she finally checked her phone, after shutting down her computer to leave, she was greeted with a number of missed calls and messages. She opened WhatsApp and found the unread messages from Natasha, her best friend since high school.

  Natasha: OMFG!!! It’s your first day back at work. Sorry I didn’t call last night. Meet me tonight for a drink. It’s been sooooo long, and we need a catch up. Pls xx

  Grace read the message and sighed at the thought of the carefree days. She often met her friend in the pub, at least once a week, but since her grandfather passed away she’d barely even spoken to her. They usually joked and called it their own version of the Monday Club, because they never ditched work first—they were professional women. She was always in awe of Natasha’s feisty, laid-back attitude. With her flame-red hair and several tattoos, most people thought it odd when they discovered a spirited individual such as Natasha was a solicitor at a top London firm. Grace knew working in a male-dominated arena was part of the attraction for her friend, but Natasha also enjoyed proving the haters wrong and was a fierce opponent in the courtroom.

  Natasha: I miss u xx

  She felt a pang of guilt as she read the second message on her phone. She didn’t want to suffer a night of sympathy and questions, but she couldn’t exclude her friends any more. Empowered by a day of making tough decisions, changin
g the production name, and editing advertising material, Grace replied.

  Grace: Meet u @ The Oak in an hour x

  The Royal Oak—or the Oak, as they called it—was a local pub in their hometown of Brent. They had met in that very pub when they were underage drinkers at seventeen, and even while they were living in halls at university, they regularly travelled back on weekends to catch up with friends. Most pubs in the area had closed down, and their friends had moved and bought homes in Radlett or Harlow to begin families. Grace loved living at home with her mum and having that sense of community around her. Even though both women earned good money, they preferred having a beer at the local pub, rather than drinking cocktails with names they couldn’t pronounce, in Central London wine bars.

  Eager to chat over a cold glass of San Miguel, Grace quickly made her way through the dark corridor leading to the small offices, each of which was large enough for only a table and a filing cabinet. The larger rooms, where the activity was livelier, were used for dressing rooms, costumes and props. Stunned by the bang as she passed Michael’s office, she stiffened and waited for another sound. In the eerie silence of the corridor, her hand trembled over the door handle. Her gut told her to flee the darkness, but as always, her enquiring mind won. From behind the desk, Eric looked up at her with a solemn expression, and she sensed a genuine sadness in his otherwise-beautiful hazel eyes.

  “Shit! What the hell are you doing in here?” Grace screeched, leaning on the doorframe.

  “Sorry,” he replied, but he didn’t make eye contact with her.

  “You scared me. It’s so dark in the corridor. I heard a loud bang, and then it went quiet. Plus, I knew Michael had already gone home,” she rambled, attempting to shake the fright she’d just had.

  But Eric obviously wasn’t paying much attention, as he didn’t look up from the glass he held lightly in his hand. Grace had never witnessed him in this mood, and she was unsure of what to say. I know what I’d like to do. If I could just straddle him on that chair…