Buried Secrets

by Lisa Cutts

  ‘Hazel will be in no danger, I promise,’ clarified Doug.

  ‘Fucking hell, Doug. I didn’t think he was going to do Hazel in – I was worried about him trying to shag her. Now, I’m bloody worried.’

  In his temporary poky office next to the incident room, Doug shook his head at what he had heard himself say. He had too much on his mind today, and was letting things slip out.

  Feeling the pain behind his eyes start to blur his vision, Doug took off his glasses and laid them on the table. He could see even less now, of course, but at least he was able to massage his temples with more ease.

  ‘He probably will try to give her one,’ said Doug, ‘but chancing your arm with a woman isn’t the same as being a physical menace.’

  ‘OK then. I’ll ring Hazel, tell her the news and send her to see you.’

  By the time he’d taken a couple of painkillers, washed down with lukewarm coffee, and put his glasses back on, Doug glanced up to see Hazel standing at his open office door, about to knock.

  ‘Hello, Hazel,’ said Doug. ‘Come in.’

  She took a step inside, unsure whether to sit down. She had returned to Major Crime over six months ago after having spent years within its walls working on murders, rapes, kidnaps, even a couple of bomb hoaxes. Being there felt as if she was back within her comfort zone, although taking a statement from one of the department’s DIs who had just discovered the murdered body of another DI’s wife was new ground for all of them. Even Doug Philbert looked out of sorts and he was always calm and collected.

  Hazel waved Harry’s statement at the DI. ‘Thought you’d be the best person to give this to,’ she said. She was aware it was supposed to go into the tray to be registered on HOLMES but experience told her she should be handing it over to someone in person on the chance that this was an operation where the paperwork was to be kept under wraps.

  He held his hand out to take the sheets of paper from her.

  ‘Please sit down,’ Doug said, smiling at her. He liked Hazel, and couldn’t remember anyone having a bad word to say about her, either professionally or personally. She had always struck him as somewhat dull, yet fundamentally decent.

  ‘Sir, I understand that I’m to be the family liaison officer for the Bowmans’ son.’

  ‘We had some difficulty locating him. He wasn’t at university where we thought he was going to be, so that’s a slight welfare concern, but also it suggests he might in some way be responsible for his own mother’s murder.’

  Hazel raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she said. ‘I guess we still aren’t sure about most of the facts.’

  ‘It’s early days yet,’ he continued. He was about to tell her that she definitely was going to spend the foreseeable future taking care of the Bowmans’ son, despite all FLOs being told that they would only be assigned jobs after their own personal circumstances or feelings had been taken into account. He would go through the motions and ask her if she had any problems with this particular deployment, but short of ringing in sick for the next two months, she was going whether she liked it or not.

  ‘You’re up shit creek without a paddle,’ said Hazel, ‘and I’m being sent because you don’t really have anyone else.’

  Doug fought the urge to merely agree with her. He was management at the end of the day. He was aware Hazel’s father had died in a car crash and her role in this investigation might well cause her anguish, yet what was he supposed to do? He had to send someone and she was the easiest answer for him.

  ‘It’s because of your particular skill set in dealing with matters like this – delicate matters, not to mention you’re extremely capable. And I won’t lie about this bit, we’re short of trained liaison officers. You’re correct about that one. You need to go and see Travis Bowman this evening. He’s staying at his friend’s house. See the DS on this operation. He’s got the details.’

  With a barely concealed sigh, she stood up to go.

  ‘Oh, Hazel,’ Doug said as she reached the door, ‘can you keep me updated if Harry Powell contacts you again?’

  There was something in the expression flitting across her features that he couldn’t read but interpreted as concern. Doug couldn’t help but think that Harry had already done something he perhaps shouldn’t have.

  ‘You will let me know if you have any issues, won’t you?’ he asked.

  ‘Course, sir,’ she said, turning away so that he couldn’t see her face redden for the second time in an hour.

  As Hazel made her way to see the incident room’s DS, she took her phone out of her pocket and reread the text from Harry. ‘Can you call me? Forgotten something. Even better, come over if you’re still on duty.’

  She couldn’t help herself: this was the start of something that was only going to be trouble for both of them. Fighting it was just too difficult, and giving in seemed the more pleasant option.

  Chapter 8

  Whatever had happened in Hazel’s past, she managed to cope and lead a normal life. Until she turned fifteen, her life had been normal, boring even. That all changed when she trotted down the stairs one night to the sounds of her mother crying to find her being consoled by two police officers. They had come to tell her mother that there had been a car accident and her father was dead.

  Her life changed so rapidly and drastically, she didn’t adjust to her change in circumstances, just woke up one day and everything was different.

  Before she knew it, she was at her mother’s cousin’s house eighty miles from her own home town, sharing a bedroom with a twelve-year-old girl she was in some way related to, though had met only once and had nothing in common with, other than a few long-forgotten relatives.

  Following her father’s funeral, Hazel kept her head down and remained a serious and studious girl. Before long, she was a serious and studious woman working in a local hotel as a receptionist before deciding to join the police.

  The image of the two officers standing in her kitchen had never left her.

  Contact with her mother was limited after she left home. It was clear to everyone that Mrs Hamilton never recovered from the news of her husband’s sudden death, and she failed in every way to give her own daughter any comfort and support.

  Never once did Hazel complain to anyone about her mother’s behaviour: she was only trying to survive and deal with it the best way she could.

  Hazel loved both of her parents and always would. Now her life was about making as many positive contributions to other people’s lives, whatever the personal cost.

  Chapter 9

  As soon as DCI Barbara Venice thought she was about to get two minutes to herself, her mobile phone rang once again.

  She picked it up with a sigh and as the display showed Number withheld, she answered with her corporate, ‘Barbara Venice. How can I help you?’

  Such was the urgency of the caller’s tone that when Josh Walker opened the mobile-incident-room door and made to step inside, she gave a tight smile in his direction and held up her palm to warn him off.

  For several minutes she sat and listened, fighting against the instinct to write down and record in her policy file what the voice was telling her. Except she knew there was a time and a place to keep notes on something so sensitive, and indeed dangerous. There was no doubt about it, what she was hearing was the last thing she was expecting to find out, and it wasn’t going to make her job or the job of Major Crime any easier.

  Hunched over the table, elbows supporting her arms, one hand clutching the phone to her ear, the other hand grabbing at her hair, was how she remained for some time. It was only when she felt a sharp pain to her scalp that she realized quite how much force she was applying and it dawned on her just how transfixed she was.

  When the call ended, she remained where she was, incredulous at the new information. For a moment, she didn’t know how to react.

  The secrets that any marriage or relationship held were often a surprise to her, even after so many years as a police offic
er. The people she worked alongside were usually the same as any other cross-section of society, but how she hadn’t known about the Bowmans’ ability to pull the wool over everybody’s eyes was beyond her.

  They had seemed to be such a normal family, and now all of that was shattered. Just how had they managed to keep the truth about Linda a secret for so long?

  Barbara looked up as the door opened again.

  Josh’s face appeared in the gap. ‘I couldn’t hear you talking so I gathered you’d finished your call.’

  She nodded slowly at him.

  ‘Everything OK, Barbara?’

  ‘Not really,’ she said as she blew out her cheeks and exhaled a long, slow breath. ‘All I can tell you at the moment, is that this isn’t going to be straightforward and from the content of the call I’ve just taken, this is one murder which is really going to bring the pains on.’

  Chapter 10

  Evening of Monday 5 June

  Hazel found out what she could from the incident room’s detective sergeant, got an FLO log book, and drove towards Aiden Bloomfield’s house. She’d been told that Milton and Linda Bowman’s son Travis was now being looked after by his friend’s family, and officers were already at the house. As usual with a family liaison deployment, she wasn’t totally sure what she was walking into, but that was one of the aspects of the role she loved so much. Checks would have been carried out on the premises she was going to, as well as the people in it and connected to it; however, possibly not everyone in the house had previously come to the attention of the judicial system. These were the ones who were waiting to strike, or possibly even already had, just hadn’t been caught. They were usually the worst kind.

  During her time at Major Crime, Hazel had been sent to work with many families, some of which were more pleased to see her than others. Rape victims were sometimes the hardest to deal with mentally, as they had their own type of bereavement to contend with. Some murder victims’ families had welcomed her into their home, while some had treated her with outright hostility and distrust, only willing to meet with their solicitor present. Whatever the situation, she’d loved them all. It was dealing with people at the end of the day. And people who needed help, whether they wanted it or not.

  DC Hazel Hamilton had no reason to doubt that her current deployment would be equally as interesting.

  She knew that this one would also be out of the ordinary, although it was fair to say that they were all embedded in her memory: the unpredictability of dealing with people under horrendous pressure made all deployments unique. This one, however, featured a nineteen-year-old boy whose mother had been murdered and whose father was about to die. She couldn’t picture Travis as anything other than a boy, even though legally he was a man. What adult wouldn’t buckle under the pressure of the last twelve hours’ horror, let alone a teenager?

  The satnav she’d borrowed from the incident room, along with the filthy unmarked Skoda, was indicating that she was about to turn into the Bloomfields’ road. It didn’t escape her notice that the houses were detached, some gated and all worth at least twice that of the Bowmans’ home, if not three times.

  Pulling up outside number 17, Hazel glanced towards the property and saw the outline of a woman appear in the downstairs front window. The figure peered out into the street, before rushing out of sight into the darkness of the house. By the time Hazel had put the satnav away and got her paperwork together, the front door was open.

  They were expecting her.

  She felt an adrenalin rush as she was about to enter the unknown. There was a chance that one of the people in the house was a murderer. It crossed her mind that it might even be Travis Bowman. Still, even Hazel wasn’t prepared to rush in and arrest the young lad with little more justification than her bleak view of the human race.

  Checking that her Airwave radio was in her bag, her PAVA spray in her jacket pocket and her asp tucked into her trouser pocket, Hazel got out of the car and locked the doors. She was aware that she was being watched by the person at the door, and thought that it was probably the woman who had seen her pull up in the street.

  As Hazel walked up the driveway, she saw in the early evening summer light that the woman waiting for her was in her late thirties, attractive face creased by a frown and an air of concern about her.

  She went past the marked police car outside the house and towards the woman she assumed to be Aiden Bloomfield’s mother. To all the world, she appeared to be a concerned individual, mum to a young man whose friend’s own mother had been murdered and whose friend’s father had been airlifted to hospital. Hazel saw something else. This was possibly a woman who knew more than she was letting on and who was covering for Travis, or more likely, her own son.

  Wasn’t that what parents did? They did anything to protect their own children, even if it meant assisting them to cover up a murder and going to prison themselves. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  ‘Hello,’ said Hazel, showing her warrant card. ‘Are you Aiden’s mum?’

  ‘Yes, please come inside,’ she said, moving out of Hazel’s way. ‘I’m Jenny.’

  The officer stepped inside the wide hallway, running an eye over the large staircase leading to the next level, and several feet of oak flooring. While Hazel appreciated that a lot of money had been spent on the house and its furnishings, she was also aware of the family shrine of glass photo frames adorning the walls behind her.

  She could hear her two uniform officers talking and voices coming over their radios.

  Hazel, with her back still to the wall, said, ‘I’m Hazel. I’m a police officer and I’ve been asked to be Travis’s family liaison officer. How’s he doing?’

  Jenny Bloomfield gave a jerky shrug and let her hands fall to her sides. ‘It’s difficult to say. It’s bad enough what’s happened to Linda. It gives me goosebumps. I only saw her a few days ago and offered her a lift to the train station. She said she fancied a walk, and now I feel so bad that that was the last time I saw her, walking away from me.

  ‘The two officers here broke the news and he doesn’t seem to have taken it in yet. He wants to go to the hospital to see his dad but they were talking about taking him to King’s College Hospital in London, into theatre, so until we know, there’s no point in Travis going anywhere.’

  ‘Well, that’s one of the things I’m here to help with,’ said Hazel, wondering whether to tell this woman more, then dismissing it. ‘Can I meet him now?’

  She was led into a room off the hallway through an open door. The room was lit only by the dying light of the evening sun and a large table lamp in the far right-hand corner. In front of that sat an armchair. Hazel could make out the shape of a man sunk back into the chair. The position of the furniture meant his features were darkened yet his size was all the more pronounced.

  About halfway between her and the man in the chair was a three-seater sofa with a uniform officer perched at each end.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘I’m Hazel, also a police officer.’

  ‘I didn’t realize how dark it’s getting in here,’ said Jenny as she stood just inside the room and reached over and turned on the wall lights.

  As she did so, the man stood up. From the distance of thirty feet or so away, Hazel estimated him at six foot four, early twenties, biceps the size of most men’s thighs. The short sleeves of his navy-blue T-shirt were taut across his upper arms and chest.

  ‘This is Travis,’ said the uniform officer closest to Hazel. ‘We were waiting on an update about his dad.’

  All thoughts she’d had on the journey over about Travis still being a boy were forgotten. She could see the resemblance to his father in his face, a man she had only worked with on two occasions, neither of which she’d enjoyed. Milton Bowman hadn’t been her type of man. Harry Powell, however, was.

  To her annoyance, her thoughts had flitted to Harry when she was supposed to be here as family liaison officer to the detective inspector’s son whose mother ha
d just been murdered. The job came first, always. She put her momentary lack of concentration down to the heat of the day, not to mention the end of it being nowhere in sight.

  ‘Please, Hazel, sit down,’ said Jenny. ‘I’ll see where Aiden’s got to.’

  As she turned to leave the room, Hazel glanced at her and took in her tight-fitting light blue dress and bare feet. She switched her gaze back to Travis and thought she’d caught him watching his friend’s mother’s retreating backside.

  Hoping she was wrong, she took the seat nearest to him, waited until he sat down again, and then put her brand-new A4 investigator’s notebook on her lap. Her pen was clipped to the top of the cover but she had no intention of writing at this stage. This was the part that intrigued her: meeting the family, helping them whilst keeping her distance. Watching what they did. Hazel could already feel that something wasn’t right here and so far, no one had told her very much at all.

  That was still to come.

  Chapter 11

  The black Range Rover pulled to a stop at the road leading to the twenty-storey block of flats. It was the only hideous monstrosity to blot East Rise’s skyline, and it took its job very seriously. As well as the building being so ugly it was offensive, it managed to house over half of the seaside town’s undesirables. This, of course, made it much easier for the police to know where to concentrate resources and early morning search warrants, and was a very useful starting point for those wishing to track down anyone who was the wrong side of the law.

  The night was beginning to draw in, leaving enough light for the driver to watch for signs of hostility or unwelcome attention from rivals in the occupants’ line of business. He glanced out through the window and said to the two passengers, ‘It’s the fourth floor and everything you’ll need’s in there.’

  Without looking at the man next to him, the driver pointed at the glove compartment, heard it open and said, ‘See you in ten minutes. If I have to drive off, you know where I’ll be.’