by Tara Lyons
“Calm down, Grace. I think you’re the emotional wreck at the moment. We’ll need to be the strong ones. That’s not just our team out there; they are our employees. They’ll be looking to us for support and guidance. We cannot show them that,” Michael said, pointing at the mascara streaks staining her face.
“Yes, okay,” she agreed but felt hurt by his harsh attitude. She understood that some people could keep a barrier up against their emotions, but this situation was different. How can he be so unmoved about what has happened? Emily is dead.
“Now, go and freshen up, Grace. Make yourself look beautiful again. Your eyes look a bit red and puffy. We’ll regroup back here in twenty minutes and face the crew together.”
Once she was in the safety of her office, Grace gulped air as though she’d been holding her breath underwater. She slid to the ground, her back against the door. She tentatively slipped her hands into her cardigan pocket. The business card felt like a scorching object, demanding her to make a choice. She pulled it out and read the details over and over for a few moments. I think it’s time I called this shrink.
****
Hamilton and Clarke parked outside a row of terraced apartments in Maida Vale. They all looked pristine with freshly painted front doors and neatly trimmed pot plants decorating the front steps.
“I couldn’t live here. Everything looks the same; it’s a bit creepy, really. Like a cult,” Clarke grumbled, as they climbed the stairs to the front door.
“You couldn’t live here because you can’t afford it, Lewis.” Hamilton smirked as he lifted the brass handle and knocked on the shiny black door. “I’ll take the lead with the questions.”
“As always, boss.”
A slender, tanned man answered the door, wearing grey jogging bottoms and a black T-shirt. His eyes were swollen, and there were balled-up tissues in his hand.
“Mr. Eric Dexter?” Hamilton asked.
“Yes, that’s me,” the man sniffled in reply.
“I’m Detective Inspector Denis Hamilton, and this is Detective Sergeant Lewis Clarke.”
They flipped out their warrant cards in unison.
“All right if we come in and ask you a few questions.”
Eric turned and led them into the front lounge. A cream three-piece suite surrounded by chrome-and-mirror-effect furniture greeted them. Two bookshelves were decorated with photos of Eric and various people in glitzy outfits at parties.
“Other wannabe celebrities, I bet,” Clarke whispered.
Hamilton raised his eyebrows at his partner. They both ogled a huge canvas hung on the wall; nine images of Eric’s face in different bright colours stared back at them.
“It’s pop art,” Eric explained.
Hamilton held in a chuckle as his partner smiled and nodded in mock interest. They both took a seat on the sofa, and Eric followed suit, sitting in the leather armchair by the window.
“I assume you’re here about Emily.”
“Yes, Mr. Dexter, we are. We visited The London Theatre this morning, and Mr. Sparks informed us that you called in sick today,” Hamilton replied.
“Can you blame me? I’m in shock. I wouldn’t be able to give my best performance. Not even in rehearsals.”
“So you and Miss Donovan were dating?” Hamilton asked, and Eric’s hesitation made him curious. “Mr. Dexter?”
“Well, it’s complicated. Yes, we dated, but nothing was official. We’ve been on and off for a while now.”
“How did you find out Emily had been murdered?”
“Hayley, her sister, rang me after the family found out. She knew that we had a bit of a thing going on, and thankfully, she thought I should hear it from her and not the newspaper,” Eric replied as he used the balled-up tissue to wipe his eyes.
“When did you last see Emily?” Hamilton continued to fire questions at the man, eager to see if he would hesitate again.
“Friday. We left the theatre together, but she went to meet some friends at a local bar, and I caught the tube home alone. I didn’t see her after that.” Eric lowered his head into his hands.
“Did that bother you, Mr. Dexter? That she had plans that didn’t include you?”
“No! Why would you think that?”
Hamilton ignored the question. “Where were you during the early hours of Saturday morning, let’s say between three and six a.m.?”
Eric drew in a deep breath. “I was here, at home, all night. And have been since.”
“Can anyone confirm that?”
Hamilton’s interest was piqued further as Eric shifted in his seat and remained quiet.
“Can anyone confirm that you were at home the night Emily Donovan was murdered?” Hamilton repeated with more urgency.
“Maybe. Well, yes, actually, because I wasn’t alone. But obviously it wasn’t Emily, so I’d rather not divulge that information.”
“Mr. Dexter, we are in the middle of a murder investigation, and our latest victim is the woman you were having a relationship with. You will divulge that information with us right now if you want to be eliminated from our enquiries.”
“Are you suggesting that I had something to do with this?” Eric’s voice rose, and he stood up. “How dare you—”
“It would be wise if you calmed down.” Hamilton moved to the edge of his seat, prepared to restrain the man if he had to.
Clarke mirrored his action.
“We’re not suggesting anything at this time, but surely you understand why we need to clarify your alibi.”
Eric nodded and sat down again. “Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just not a great position I find myself in right now. You must understand Emily and I were not exclusive. I’m sure she was seeing other men too.”
“Mr. Dexter?” Hamilton said, his patience dwindling.
“I was with Grace. She works at the theatre with me. Actually, she’s my boss, the assistant director. It’s all rather embarrassing.”
“Grace Murphy?” Clarke confirmed as he flipped back through his notes.
“Yes. I bumped into her Friday evening, hours after we’d left the theatre. She had been in the pub with friends. We ran into each other after she had left and came back here for a few more. One thing led to another, and she stayed the night. It was silly, really. I think we both knew it shouldn’t have happened and that’s why she scarpered the next morning while I was in the shower.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dexter,” Hamilton said. “Obviously, we’ll have to meet with Ms. Murphy again to corroborate your alibi. Here’s my card. If you can think of anything else we should know about, give me a call. We’ll see ourselves out.”
Safe in the privacy of the car, the detectives spoke freely with each other. “Strange Grace Murphy didn’t offer us that bit of information this morning,” Clarke said, double-checking his notes from earlier.
“Yes, I know why you’re thinking that, Lewis, but she was in a terrible state of shock.”
“Seems quite a bit of extracurricular activities take place at The London Theatre.”
Hamilton snorted. “I’ve noticed! But I don’t know… there’s something about that guy I do not like. I just don’t know what it is exactly.”
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove. “Right, back to the station so I can check in with the team. While we’re there, we can get Ms. Murphy’s home address and pay her a visit later on, see if she backs up Mr. Dexter’s story.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The shadowy evening crept through the window, causing silhouettes to dance on Grace’s bedroom wall. She switched on her desk lamp to brighten the room, wrapped her woolly cardigan tighter around her and scrolled through Facebook on the laptop. She peered at Michelle’s and Kate’s accounts and took another swig of wine. After scrolling through photographs from their parties and celebrations, she read updates about promotions, new partners, and praise for performances or sober days. I feel awful that I didn’t stay in touch with you both. And now I’ll never have the chance to. Grace gulped another mouthfu
l of her drink then clicked the defriend button, first on Michelle’s account then Kate’s. She was saddened by the thought of never reading any virtual updates from them again. I can’t believe you’re both gone. Murdered. This world has become a scary and violent place to live in. A knock at the door interrupted Grace’s thoughts.
“Honey, two policemen are here to see you,” Valerie said as she peered into the room. “They’re waiting in the living room.”
“Oh, okay, thanks, Mum. I’m coming.”
Grace quickly followed her mother downstairs. When she entered the room, she saw the two detectives she’d met earlier already sitting comfortable on the sofa.
“Ms. Murphy, I hope you don’t mind us coming to see you again, but we’d like to ask you a few more questions.” Hamilton stood and shook her hand.
“Please, call me Grace. It’s no problem. Of course, ask your questions,” she replied.
“Okay, Grace.” Hamilton smiled at her briefly. “We spoke with Mr. Dexter this afternoon, and he led us to believe that the two of you were together last Friday night. Is that true?”
Her cheeks burned instantly and she turned to check Valerie wasn’t standing in the doorway. Satisfied her mother wasn’t eavesdropping, she met Hamilton’s gaze. “Yes, unfortunately, it is true. It wasn’t very professional of me at all.”
“I must admit we were surprised you didn’t think this was important enough to mention this morning. Especially as we explained we would pay him a visit.”
“I was deeply shocked by the news of Emily’s death, Inspector. I wasn’t thinking straight, but I didn’t really think you would need an alibi for Eric. Plus, it’s really not information I would want my boss to find out, but I apologise.” Grace finally raised her eyes to meet Hamilton’s.
“What time did you meet up with Mr. Dexter on Friday evening?”
“Well, I didn’t meet up with him exactly. I literally ran right into him on the street.” Grace recalled to the two detectives what happened the night she met Eric.
“And what time did you leave the next morning?”
“Erm… it was seven thirty when I left his apartment. I checked my phone. After I woke up, Eric came into the bedroom, and we spoke for a few minutes. Thankfully, he went straight into the en-suite for a shower, and I used the opportunity to get out as fast as I could. I’m embarrassed about the whole situation.”
“Where had Mr. Dexter come from?”
Grace frowned. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“Well you didn’t wake up together, you just said. So where was Mr. Dexter?”
“Oh, I don’t know. The kitchen, maybe. He was in his boxer shorts!”
“But he left the room without you noticing?”
“Erm… I’m not entirely sure how the evening went. Too much alcohol. We were definitely still in his lounge at midnight, because the friend I had been with that night rang me, and I let it go to voicemail. We made a sick joke about letting her worry.” Grace looked away again, ashamed of her actions.
“But after midnight, the details become hazy, and you woke alone in his bed, yes?” Hamilton smiled but held up his hand, preventing her from answering. “Grace, as you’ve probably read in the tabloids by now, there are another three victims involved in this investigation, Michelle Young, Kate Wakeman and Vicky Lawlor.”
“Yes, I know, and it pains me to say I knew Michelle and Kate.” Her trepidation grew at the thought of the vindictive people roaming free, but she didn’t want to crumble in front of the detectives.
“We discovered you were mutual friends on Facebook, but could you tell us how you knew the women?” Hamilton continued.
Grace studied his face. The warmth in his brown eyes, his smooth caramel skin, and his genuine smile drew her in. She stopped fumbling with her fingers and took a deep breath.
“Although we were friends on Facebook, I actually hadn’t spoken to them in years. I went to the same secondary school as Michelle. We were friendly enough but didn’t have a lasting relationship. I haven’t seen her since we left sixth form college. Kate and I used to drink in the same pub, and we were good friends for a few years, but then you get caught up in life. I went off to university, and last I heard, she had given up the booze, so we never bumped into each other. So it must be at least seven years since I’ve seen her. Gosh, that’s a long time. Detective, I’m so sorry. Should I have mentioned this to you earlier?” Grace’s eyes welled up, but she quickly brushed them away.
“Of course not, you couldn’t have known there was a connection in the murders. We’re just ensuring that we follow up every possible association in the cases,” Hamilton continued. “Did you know Mr. Dexter and Miss Donovan were dating?”
“Not really. It came as quite a surprise to me. Eric and I had gone for a drink after work one night, and he briefly spoke of someone he was seeing, but he didn’t mention Emily’s name. I honestly feel so foolish about spending that Friday night with him. I wish I could erase it from my memory. If only life were that simple. He told me about a woman who had cheated on him, then I saw him having sex with Emily at the theatre, and that same night, I stayed at his apartment. I should have known he was just another ladies’ man.”
Hamilton nodded while his partner scribbled down everything Grace shared with them. “Just one final question before we leave, Grace. Do you know how Mr. Dexter and Kate Wakeman knew each other?”
“I didn’t know they did. Wait! Are you telling me that Kate was another conquest of Eric’s? I feel even more of an idiot now.” Grace frowned. “Hang on a minute, Inspector. Could Eric be involved in all this?”
“I’m not saying anything of the sort. It was a simple question to gauge the connections between our victims. Obviously, you can understand that to find a link in a case like this can be of the utmost importance.” Hamilton stood up to leave. “I’ll leave you my card, and if you think of anything, then please do let me know straight away this time.”
Grace felt slightly reprimanded, but took the card and escorted the detectives to the front door.
“One last thing. Please be extra vigilant when you’re out and about. This is the fourth murder investigation we’re looking into, all young women in your age group. So spread the word amongst your friends and make sure you don’t travel alone late at night.”
“Of course, Inspector. Thank you. It’s so scary to think these awful crimes are happening where I live and work. To people that I know,” Grace said, opening the door.
Hamilton and Clarke stepped onto the front porch.
“We’ll be releasing a statement to the media shortly, but please remember what I said about being alert at all times,” Hamilton repeated.
“Thank you,” she replied.
“Nice to see you have the neighbourhood watch on your doorstep,” Clarke added.
Grace followed the man’s gaze to Mr. Wilson’s house across the street and just caught sight of a twitching net curtain.
“I’m afraid it’s more inappropriate nosey neighbours with that one, Detective.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When Grace arrived at work the following morning, she rushed to her office, not wanting to put off the task any longer. Although she usually felt empowered and businesslike at her desk, she trembled as she lifted the phone from its dock station. Right at that moment, the nerves took hold. Her mouth dried up, and she wondered if she would be able to string a sentence together. But before she had the chance to talk herself out of the task, she dialled the number on the business card.
“Hello, Maria Lee speaking. How may I help?”
“Oh. Hello. Hi. Yes, I think I need some help. Make an appointment for some counselling, maybe, I mean.” Grace heard a small giggle down the phone line and cringed at herself. “I’m sorry. Let me start again. My name is Grace Murphy, and my mum gave me your business card. She suggested I give you a call.”
“Please don’t apologise, dear. It can be a very daunting experience for some people to make this type
of call,” Maria said, and Grace could hear the warmth in the lady’s voice.
“You’ve tackled the first stumbling block just by talking to me. How do you think I can help you, Grace?”
“Oh. Erm… I’m not really sure. I’m sorry, you’re right; this is difficult. Maybe I’m not ready.”
“Don’t give up so quickly. Why don’t you tell me why your mother gave you my details and suggested you call me?”
“My grandfather passed away.”
“I am sorry, Grace. My condolences.”
“Thank you. The thing is, if I’m honest with myself, I haven’t been coping too well. My moods are up and down like a yo-yo, especially towards my mum, who I suppose is getting the brunt of it. I’m having trouble sleeping. I feel really anxious and can’t switch off—unless I have a drink, then I fall into a deep sleep. But I’m also having nightmares, when I do manage to sleep, that is.” Grace stopped to catch her breath.
“It sounds to me like you have a lot on your mind, dear. I would be happy to explore this further with you. Let me look at the diary to see when we can book you an appointment. It’s difficult to explain your feelings over the phone.”
The line went quiet for a few moments, and Grace was very aware of how fast her heart was pounding. She gripped the phone in an attempt to stop the trembling. I can’t believe how nervous I am.
“Grace, sorry to keep you waiting. How does Friday evening suit you? Let’s say five p.m.?” Maria finally said.
“Oh wow! That is quick. I thought I’d be on a waiting list for a few weeks.”
“Please don’t feel anxious, Grace. I work from a small office above my home, so it’s very informal. I prefer this method, as I think it’s a calm environment. I don’t have an enormous list of patients as I work alone and like to give an intimate one-to-one service. I want to build a relationship with you. You’ve made the decision to choose me, so as my patient, I’d like to show you that same consideration by giving you my full attention.”
“I see. I guess I’m not really sure how it all works. Or really how you can help. I mean, it’s just grief and lack of sleep. I’d hate to waste your time.” Grace backtracked, offended at being referred to as a patient.