by Jane Isaac
“I am thinking of your dad. I’m thinking of all of you. That’s why Lydia and I spent the best part of yesterday evening at the police station, reporting the incident with Lucky.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Grace sat on the bench and watched Lucky mill around in the bushes nearby. A week had passed. Lucky was making a good recovery and now able to take short walks, all be it on heavily-bandaged paws. A wave of exhaustion had swamped Grace after the incident. She’d battened down the hatches, concentrated her efforts on caring for Phil and Lucky. She began to realise how tense she’d been, overwrought after losing Jo, the police investigation and then Phil’s illness. She knew she’d never rest easy until Jo’s killer was caught, but the sense of calm had loosened the knot in her stomach slightly, enabling her to sleep, night after night, for the first time in months, knowing that her family were with her. Safe.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the man approach until he was almost beside her. “Penny for them,” he said, giving a lopsided smile as he heaved himself down beside her. Grace looked across at him absently as recognition hit her. It was the man Faye and she had seen while walking in the park, a few weeks back. The man Faye had said was an old college friend.
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “No Faye today?”
“Not today,” she said, shifting up the seat, not wishing to invite conversation, especially not with anyone remotely connected to Faye.
An unpleasant odour filled her nose as he undid the top button of his coat. She inched away further, as politely as she could. Lucky came rushing over to meet him, her extended lead winding around his ankles.
“She’s a beauty,” he said, fondling her head. He made a play of unravelling the lead. “What’s she done to her feet?”
Grace explained how she had found Lucky.
“How awful.” The dog hopped off. They sat in silence, the only sounds the hum of traffic from the nearby road and the wind rustling through the trees.
“How do you know Faye?” Grace asked.
“It’s a long story,” he said, eyes glazed. “Used to live near her before I moved a couple of years ago.”
“In Manchester?”
He glanced across at her. “Manchester? No, Western Avenue, Market Harborough.”
“Oh, I’ve only known her since she’s lived in Fairfax Road.”
She pulled her coat against her chest, made to go when he spoke again. “She ain’t never lived in Fairfax Road.”
Grace was on her feet now, reeling Lucky in on the lead. “What did you say?”
“I said she lives in the flats on Western Avenue. Number 32, above the shops. Always has done.”
Grace adjusted her scarf, bade farewell and moved away, relieved to be away from the potent smell. He’s confused, she thought to herself. Although the conversation nudged at her as she left the park and made her way through the back streets. Faye had skipped in and out of her mind this past week. A part of her felt uncomfortable about the manner in which they’d parted. Faye had been a rock of support when it seemed she had no one else to turn to. They’d been good friends, shared confidences together. And, as her anger subsided, she couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. The phone calls, the attack on Lucky didn’t make sense. Maybe there was some kind of other explanation. There had to be.
Phil was sitting in his chair, watching the golf when Grace arrived back home. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.
“No thanks, love. How was your walk?”
“All right. Bleak day out. Bit of a strange question, but when you went to pick Faye up that time, it was from her home, wasn’t it?”
Phil looked up, surprised in the change in conversation. “Yes, when she came to stay. Why?”
“Oh, nothing. Just thought I’d go over there. Pick some bits up. Can you remember the number?”
Phil patted his chin a moment. “Number 99, I think. Can’t be sure though. She was outside, sitting on the wall when I got there. Why don’t you text her?”
***
An hour later, Grace pulled up outside number 99 Fairfax Road. It was a pretty white-painted bungalow, the front lawn edged with a low brick wall. She looked up at the frontage as she made her way down the driveway, catching the edge of a curtain twitch from a side window. It made her uneasy. Perhaps she should have phoned first. The front door slid open to a chain as she reached it to reveal the face of an elderly woman, the skin around her eyes creasing as she found focus.
“Sorry to bother you,” Grace said. “I was looking for Faye.”
“Who?”
“Faye,” Grace repeated, lifting her voice slightly. “Faye Campbell.”
The woman looked taken aback. “Nobody of that name here.”
Grace felt her stomach tighten. “Oh, I must have the wrong house.” She glanced back towards the car.
The woman watched her, said nothing.
“Sorry.” Grace took a couple of steps away when she stopped, turned back. The woman was still standing at the doorway. Her face looked ghostly through the narrow crack. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how long have you lived here?”
“Forty-three years.” There was a rasp in the woman’s voice as she pushed the words out. “And I’ve never heard of anyone by the name of Campbell.”
Grace apologised again and made her way back to the car. She recalled all the conversations with Faye about renovating her father’s bungalow. Faye definitely mentioned Fairfax Road. She remembered it distinctly. Maybe she’d got the number wrong.
She was just considering knocking on another door, when an address skipped into her mind. The man in the park had said the flats above the shops on Western Avenue. Number 32, wasn’t it? Perhaps she was renting a place while her bungalow was being renovated. Or maybe she was looking after somebody? Grace climbed into the car and drove around the corner.
There were two stone staircases, one at either end of the bank of shops on Western Avenue, that led up to the flats above. The doors overlooked the road and the park beyond. Grace climbed the right hand staircase and made her way along to number 32. The door was chipped, the letterbox stuck open. She knocked on the door.
When there was no answer, she knocked again and peered through the frosted glass in the door. A shadow flickered in the distance. Grace knocked harder this time. Her breaths quickened. The long days they’d spent together over the past few months swam around her mind. They’d shared secrets she hadn’t even shared with her family and yet it seemed the most basic fact about Faye’s life, the address where she lived, was a lie.
The door jerked as it was pulled open. The face that appeared bore little resemblance to the manicured Faye that Grace had become accustomed to. Lank hair stuck out at angles; mascara smudges sat beneath dark eyes.
When she saw Grace she made to shut the door, but Grace heaved forward, catching her by surprise. She flew off balance as the door swung back. “I need to speak to you,” Grace said.
She marched through a cramped hallway, past a coat rack almost hidden by an array of jackets and into a dingy kitchen. Chipped laminate cupboard doors were marked and scratched. A round table piled with post sat in the middle, four chairs tucked underneath.
“I want my keys back,” Grace said.
“I left them in the dish in the hallway at your house.”
“The other pair.”
Faye turned away.
“Why do you keep calling the house and putting the phone down, Faye?” Grace asked.
Faye ignored her question. “How’s Lucky?”
Grace stared at her a moment. She thought of the string of Lucky’s favourite dog treats idly scattered over the broken glass as a fresh ball of anger rose in her chest.
Grace barely heard her words, aware of her voice rising. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
The poise of Faye’s icy stare was disconcerting. “You sent the police to see me.”
“How could you? I took you into my home when you needed somewhere to stay. How coul
d you hurt my dog?”
Faye said nothing.
“You’ve never lived in Fairfax Road, have you? Were you even at my school? Did your boiler really break? Just tell me the truth, Faye!” The questions came out like bullets, one firing after another.
The vacancy in Faye’s eyes was unnerving. But what really chilled Grace was that nothing in her mannerisms betrayed the intimacy of a close friendship. It was almost as if they had never met.
Grace turned away, just as a glint of silver on the window ledge caught her eye. She moved closer. It was Jo’s signet ring.
“How dare you!” Grace cried. Faye didn’t flinch as she waved it front of her eyes. Grace swallowed back the tears, raised a pointed finger. “Stay away from me, and stay away from my family!”
Grace ran for the door, pounded down the concrete steps. Something about Faye’s appearance, those wide eyes, the detached stance, filled her with disquiet. She’d invited Faye into her home, offered her friendship. But who was she, really? As she reached the car, she felt the signet ring in her pocket and toyed with the idea of calling the police. But right now, all she wanted was to get back to her family. And the first thing she would do is call the locksmith.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Superintendent Janus took her glasses off and rested them on the desk exposing deep grooves down the sides of her nose. “I had a phone call from Carmela Hanson earlier.” Jackman snapped his gaze away from the window. They were sat in her sparse office in the Leamington Headquarters, where they’d spent the last ten minutes discussing the status of the policy report on working practises he’d still not finished. “They’ve had a suspicious death in Market Harborough. There may be a connection with the Jo Lamborne case you helped them with last year.” She glanced at her notes. “A Faye Campbell.”
Jackman straightened his back. “Do we know any more details?”
“No, but she phoned to warn me. She’s pulling together the same team, wants you back on loan. Thinks that, in view of your experience on the Lamborne case, your input would be valuable.”
“So, I’m in?”
“Actually, I didn’t get much say in the matter, she’d already taken it through management channels. Bloody annoying but,” she gave an approving nod, “she’ll go far, that one. Certainly knows what she wants. Anyway, I’ve agreed to a couple of weeks, that’s all. You’ll go back in as Acting Chief Inspector.” She tapped her nail on the pile of paper on her desk. “And only on the basis that this report is finished and on my desk by January the 31st.”
“Thanks.”
She allowed herself a wry smile as she checked her watch. “Okay. Take the rest of the afternoon to hand over your current caseload to your team. You need to be at Leicestershire HQ at 8am tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll fill you in then.”
Jackman found a spring in his step as he took to the stairs. Unsolved cases were an uncomfortable part of working the murder squad, but the Lamborne case had been like a loose stone rattling around in his shoe. He’d found himself returning to it in quiet moments, troubled by the lack of motive or distinct pattern, something most serial offenders seemed to follow. The Leicestershire location had made it all the more difficult because he couldn’t go back through the evidence, keep an eye out if anything new came to light. It would be good to take another look.
He’d reached the car park now, his feet inadvertently taking him out for some air. Davies raised her arm from where she was stood with another officer beside the bicycle shelter, stamping her feet to keep warm as she puffed on her cigarette. He returned her wave, turned the corner and leant up against the cold brick.
Faye Campbell. He didn’t recognise the victim’s name. If his stint with Leicestershire homicide had taught him anything though it was that they were so afraid of leaks, they didn’t make links unless there was compelling evidence to do so. But the fact that they’d asked him back suggested a similar MO, or a connection to the family. He grabbed his phone, called Wilson, tapping his foot with every ring, cursing as it switched to voicemail. Instead, he punched out a text: Hope you’re well. I’m joining you tomorrow morning. Can you email me everything you have on the new case so that I can hit the ground running? Thanks.
***
Grace closed the door behind DC Emma Parsons. The detective’s words rung out in her ears. ‘Faye’s body was found in her flat this morning.’ The detective had been cagey about the details, but confirmed that the police were treating her death as suspicious. A mixture of shock, confusion and sadness hit her. Who, why?
Parsons had spoken to her gently, asked about their relationship. At first, Grace hadn’t known where to start. She tried to tell the story of their short friendship. They were close, for a while, although they’d argued recently. It sounded a little like a soap opera as she spoke the words aloud and she cringed inwardly. She talked about her visit to Faye’s flat the day before. Discovering she wasn’t who she said she was.
Another feeling crashed in, dismissing the others. Relief. After all the bad feelings, the lies and deceit… It was a relief to think that had been dissipated. But she quickly checked herself. Although the exchange yesterday was weirdly fresh in her mind, whatever Faye was, whoever she was, whatever she’d done, they’d had some good times together. She’d been a great comfort to Grace through her grief and she didn’t deserve to die.
Another death. Another murder.
A click in the distance. A door opening, measured footsteps descending the stairs. Grace raced into the downstairs washroom, pushed the door closed, splashed water on her face and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was bright red.
Phil was seated at the kitchen table by the time she joined him. “Everything okay?” he asked.
Grace gave a weak smile. In spite of her best efforts, and asking the detective to speak quietly, they’d still disturbed him. For a moment she thought about keeping it from him, just like all the other bad things that had happened recently, but it was of no use. He would find out soon enough anyway. It was bound to be plastered across the local news. She sat, cleared her throat. “It was the police,” she said, pressing her hand on his forearm reassuringly.
“Is there some news, about Jo?”
“No, not about Jo. It’s Faye.”
“Your friend, Faye?”
Grace nodded. “She’s been killed.”
“What?”
“The police are just looking into everything at the moment, but it seems she was killed in her flat. Her body was discovered this morning.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
“Forty-year-old woman, Faye Campbell. Killed with a single stab wound to the side of her neck. Body discovered by a parcel delivery driver, knocking the door early yesterday morning. When she didn’t answer, he noticed something was awry through the frosted glass panel in her door. He looked through the letterbox and saw a pool of blood on the floor that appeared to be coming from the kitchen. That’s when he called us.” Jackman watched Wilson tap the pictures of the dead woman taken from a number of angles, before she turned back to the room to continue her briefing. Although he’d stayed up most of the night, poring over the case, the words, spoken aloud, cemented the facts in his mind. “No sign of a break-in,” Wilson continued, “so we assume she let the killer in. Which means it’s likely to be somebody she knows. No defensive wounds, she didn’t put up a fight. Celeste’s report is due in soon but she has put an estimated time of death of within the last twelve hours of finding her body, which takes us back to ten o’clock the night before.”
“The knife was left in situ?” Jackman asked.
Wilson nodded. “The carotid artery was pierced. They appeared to know exactly what they were doing.”
Jackman looked from one photo to another. “Only one stab wound. Do we know where the knife came from?”
“Forensics are checking it for fingerprints, but there is a knife missing from the block on the kitchen side.”
“So, the victim might have been killed with her ow
n knife. Are we absolutely sure she didn’t do this to herself?”
“The question has already been raised. It’s not impossible, but Celeste thinks it’s unlikely that any victim would have the psychological strength to perform something like that, even if they were physically strong enough.”
Jackman rolled his shoulders, listening to the cartilage pop and crackle. “What’s the connection with the Lamborne case?”
“Faye Campbell was a close friend of Grace Daniels.” Jackman could now recognise her in the photo. He had been wracking his brains all night trying to place her. She was the woman who’d brought in the drinks the last time he’d visited Grace. A very close friend then. “Is that it?”
Wilson drew a breath. “No. CSIs retrieved her phone from the scene. They’ve found an association with Jo Lamborne on there.”
“Not unusual if she was a family friend.”
“There are photos. Some of the photos are of Jo in the bridesmaid dress she wore on the day she died.”
“Okay, was Faye listed as a guest at the wedding?”
Wilson shook her head.
“Anything else?”
“Her bedroom in the flat was littered with evil eyes.”
“Oh?”
“Posters, charms, bracelets.”
“What about an earring?”
“Nothing yet. But lots of fibres and hair samples throughout the flat, all of which need to be eliminated. We’ll know more when we get the forensic report through.”
“I presume someone has been out to see Grace Daniels?”
A head nodded from the side of the room. Parsons peered around the side of the officer in front of her to meet his gaze. “That was my remit, sir.”
“How was she?”
“Seemed shocked. They’d been old school friends, apparently, although hadn’t seen each other in years. Faye told Grace she’d moved back to the area a few months ago. They’ve been close since then. Faye even stayed with them for a week or so after Christmas when she had a problem with a broken boiler at home. But the two women have had a falling out.”