by Jack Jordan
She jolted in her seat as booming thuds thundered on the other side of the door. She hadn’t heard anyone at the door in days, and now she was about to receive her second visitor of the evening.
Max rushed to the door, barking as he went. Naomi headed after him and took him by the collar as she opened the door.
Cold wind whistled through the crack between the door and the frame.
‘Hello?’
Max pushed his head through the gap and barked hot breaths into the night.
Dead leaves rustled down the path. The air was moist with rain.
Max continued to bark. Someone was out there.
‘Hello? Is anyone there?’
She could hear someone breathing. Excited breaths consciously slowed, rattling through the stranger’s nostrils, vibrating with the beat of a heart.
‘Who’s there?’
Max’s bark echoed down the empty street, bouncing against every closed door, every curtained window. No one would see the stranger push their way inside. No one would know.
The wind rustled the trees lining the road and battered the leaves with rain until the quiet street turned into a rush of noise. The iron gate at the end of the garden path slammed and creaked, slammed and creaked.
‘Tell me who you are.’
Naomi stood in the doorway on shaking legs, listening to the rush of the rain and her own frantic breaths. Adrenalin leeched the moisture from her mouth until the insides of her cheeks stuck to her teeth.
Footsteps headed down the path. The gate squeaked on its hinges and slammed shut. The last thing she heard was the footsteps walking steadily back up the road until they were nothing more than a whisper, leaving her staring blindly into the night as rain collected on her cheeks like tears.
FIVE
Marcus filed into the stuffy incident room behind his colleagues and took the seat closest to the door.
Balkerne Heights had been his home for only two months, and yet he already found himself looking for any opportunity to escape. His car always faced the road on the driveway, and his clothes were folded and arranged so they could be packed up at a moment’s notice. There was something about the place that kept him on edge.
The incident room was cramped and hot, with a table that took up the majority of the room, forcing officers to squeeze into seats or stand against the wall until their toes went numb in their boots. The walls were scuffed from the backs of chairs and the table was scarred with scratches of ink, like small blue veins in the wood.
Lisa stood at the top of the room and waited for the last of the officers to line up against the wall. Marcus had learned early on not to take that spot; Lisa made direct eye contact with those standing at her level.
Once everyone had assumed their positions and the door was shut, silence rang through the room as they waited for her to speak.
It was an impressive number of people to work on one investigation in such a small town. But without the uniformed officers in the room, the truth would be revealed. There were only four people dedicated to the case.
‘Settled? Good.’ Lisa scanned the faces. When her eyes fell on Marcus, a muscle twitched in his neck. ‘Campbell, give us the run-down on the case.’
All eyes turned to him, a sea of faces with straight set lips.
‘Twenty-five-year-old Cassie Jennings was killed between eight and ten p.m. on the thirtieth of October 2017.’ He noticed the shake of his voice and cleared his throat. ‘Cause of death was asphyxiation by drowning.’
‘Drowning?’ an officer asked. Marcus had yet to memorise all their names. He eyed the officer, her brown hair tied in a bun, her hazel eyes with flecks of gold. The name was on the tip of his tongue.
‘Drowned in her own blood,’ Lisa cut in.
Silence hung in the room. He wondered if they were all imagining what it would be like to choke on their own blood, feel the warmth of it filling their lungs. He continued.
‘The body was discovered in St Peter’s Alley at around three forty yesterday afternoon by school student James Day. Blood splatters on the wall of the alley indicate the murder took place there. The first of the lab results confirm the blood belongs to the victim. There are no street lights through the walkway, making it easier for an attack to take place.’ He looked down at his notes, not because he didn’t remember every detail of the scene – the glimpse of white bone, the sun setting in the dead woman’s eyes – but because the pressure to deliver competently shrouded his mind.
‘The fatal injury was a cut to the throat, measuring roughly twenty centimetres long and seven centimetres wide. The weapon severed the right carotid artery, causing the blood loss. There was significant damage to the oesophagus and airways, making it easier for the blood to fill her lungs.
‘The injury appears to have been caused by a kitchen knife, a flat blade measuring around twenty-five centimetres long. We know from the way the skin was severed that the blade had started to become blunt from use, and traces of washing-up liquid and food were found in the wound, indicating that the knife was used in a kitchen. The weapon was not found at the scene. Forensics have sent possible DNA findings linking to a third party to the lab and we are awaiting results; however, they have already confirmed traces of latex on the victim’s neck, which may indicate the person in question was wearing disposable gloves.’
Lisa nodded. ‘The post-mortem was performed last night at my request; there’s no time for us to drag our feet on this one. We’ll have more information once I meet with Dr Ling this morning.’ She took a sip of water. The room was so quiet that Marcus heard it slip down her throat with three hearty gulps. ‘As you know, I made a televised statement last night asking for witnesses to come forward. In the meantime, I want all officers on the front line to keep an eye out from here on in – any suspicious behaviour and new faces should be questioned.’
DS Blake Crouch glanced his way. Marcus was a new face. He looked down at his notes.
‘Become the community’s best friend. Talk to people at every given opportunity; ask them what they’ve heard. I want all of you to have your ears to the ground. After the Miller fiasco, this case must be solved.’
Marcus looked around the room. Everyone was nodding meaningfully. Another story he didn’t know.
‘Crouch,’ Lisa said, looking down at the detective sergeant. He sat up straighter. ‘Obtain any and all CCTV footage near the scene and scan through it for suspicious behaviour and sightings of the victim or a possible attacker around the time of the murder. Talk to the businesses within half a mile of the scene; ask if anyone saw anything out of the ordinary. If my memory serves me, there are flats situated above the shops on the high street that overlook the alley. Ask the occupants if they saw or heard anything that might be useful.’ She glanced at a uniformed officer. ‘Banks, you can help him.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Crouch said.
A young uniformed officer nodded. Marcus tried to commit his face and the surname to memory.
‘O’Neill,’ she said.
Police Staff Investigator Amber O’Neill looked up, blinking her long blonde lashes. From the shadows framing her bloodshot eyes, it was clear she had been up all night. Her golden hair was tied in a bun, with rebellious strands slipping from the band and trailing down the back of her blouse. Marcus had never seen her without make-up before. She looked remarkably young. Too young.
‘Go interview the schoolboy; take Hughes with you.’
‘At his home, boss?’ O’Neill asked.
‘Yes. He’ll be scared enough as it is without bringing him in.’ She scanned the room. ‘Campbell.’
Marcus met her eye.
‘I want you to look into Cassie Jennings: find out what made her tick, who she liked and disliked, down to what her coffee order was. I want to know everything about her and why someone wanted her dead. A family liaison officer will be assigned to the Jennings family today, and will help gain information from their perspective.’
Marcus looked around the room. T
hese people had lived in the town their whole lives. They would know the victim know far better than he, and he couldn’t help but wonder if giving him the task was a way of making him under-deliver. During the two months he had worked for Lisa Elliott, he had begun to question whether she had justice for the victims at heart, or was instead orchestrating each investigation so that she stood out in the eyes of her superior.
‘And another thing.’ She looked around the room to make sure everyone was paying attention. ‘Cassie Jennings was a journalist for the local paper. The press will pick this up and run with it as soon as they catch a whiff – one of their own is dead. They’ll want blood. Keep your mouths shut and leave them to me.’
Everyone nodded.
‘Questions?’ she asked, in such a way that no one dared. ‘Good. Dismissed.’
Officers slowly snaked out of the room, barging past Marcus so he couldn’t leave his chair. He waited until the path behind his seat was clear, then stood.
‘Campbell,’ Lisa said. ‘Get your coat.’
‘Boss?’
‘You’re coming with me to meet Dr Ling.’
When he hesitated, she eyed him coolly.
‘What? You’d rather I ask someone else?’
‘Not at all. I’ll be ready to leave.’
‘Good,’ she said, and left the room.
He should be grateful. He had been the one to accompany her to the crime scene, and now he was going with her to learn the full details of the post-mortem. But fear churned in his gut. On the surface, Lisa was helping him develop as a detective, but beneath it there was something rotten. His boss seemed to seek out naivety in others to use to her own advantage.
Marcus would follow her commands, but he vowed to keep a close eye on her. After all, she had his future with the force firmly in her hands.
SIX
Marcus clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Lisa led the way down the corridor to the examination room, where Cassie Jennings was waiting for them. The thought of seeing her body sewn up like some Frankenstein’s monster made his stomach lurch.
Lisa appeared to relish finding weaknesses in her new recruit. He could feel the joy shivering off her, her eyes occasionally darting to his face to catch the fear in his. He would have to learn to hide his emotions from her or she would tear him apart. He had been filled with confidence before taking up the position in Balkerne Heights, but from the moment he began to work beneath Lisa, he felt like a fumbling fool. If other detective sergeants had survived Lisa Elliott, he could too; he just had to keep his head down and get on with the job.
‘I bet you a tenner you’ll be a vegetarian after this,’ Lisa said as she watched him for a reaction. He clenched his jaw briefly and she knew she had got to him. ‘We’re all the same when it comes down to it. Meat and bone.’
Shut up, he thought. Please shut up.
‘Here,’ she said as they stopped in the hallway before a scuffed grey door. ‘Ladies first.’
She opened the door and held it for him.
He regretted leaving his position in Invicton. It might have been a sleepy town with nothing more than petty crimes and missing cattle that had wandered away from the herd, but he had been respected there, and promoted to detective sergeant. He’d left them in the hope of getting a real case to work on. Now he knew to be careful what he wished for.
He stepped into a small room with white walls. Three plastic chairs faced a large pane of glass, giving a clear view of the examination room.
The body lay on the metal table. It felt wrong to see Cassie Jennings displayed like that, for them to pore over every mole and scar. The sight of her naked body would once have been a sight to earn, but in death it was as simple as looking through glass. The corpse was so pale that he could see blue veins snaking beneath her skin. Her hair had been combed away from her face, giving him a full view of what had once been a beautiful young woman. Someone had loved this body, kissed every inch of skin, cradled her as a child. Now she was a slab of meat with a Y-shaped incision from her collar bones to her pubis, the skin peeled back for strangers’ hands to rummage around inside.
He spotted his reflection in the glass and took it all in: the darkness surrounding his eyes, the protruding bones of his skull. Bathed in the stark white light from the examination room, he looked cadaverously pale compared to the dark brown hair swept away from his face. He glanced back at the body; bile stormed in his stomach.
‘Morning,’ Dr Ling said as she appeared on the other side of the glass, her voice crackling through the speaker on the wall. ‘Sleep well?’
He hadn’t.
‘What’ve we got?’ Lisa asked, standing next to Marcus before the glass partition. Marcus smelt instant coffee on her breath.
‘Straight to work, as always,’ Dr Ling said.
‘Well we aren’t here for a cup of tea and a chat, are we?’
Ling forced a smile. Her right cheek quivered with the strain. She looked down at her notes.
‘I can confidently say there are no signs of sexual assault. Other than a few abrasions from her fall, the only wound the victim suffered was the fatal cut to the neck.’
She took a small steel instrument from the metal table beside the body and lifted the top lip of the wound. Marcus clenched his teeth. All he had managed that morning was two cups of coffee, and already he could feel them trying to lurch back up.
‘The way the skin was cut suggests that it was done with a smooth blade, as I mentioned in the report I sent you last night. The weapon appears to be a kitchen knife of some kind, around twenty-five centimetres, not including the handle.’
‘You said something about the killer being nervous,’ Lisa interjected.
Ling nodded. ‘There seemed to be hesitation before the cut was made, suggesting that the blade was held there for some time, breaking the skin slightly before eventually doing the deed with one quick movement. You can see the shallowness here at the beginning of the cut where the killer paused, as if he was working up the courage, before the eventual depth here, where the blade cut down to the bone.’
She lifted the skin further with the metal instrument, revealing the pink meat of the victim’s insides. Marcus clenched his fists until the blood left his knuckles. Dr Ling’s voice began to sound tinny and distant.
‘The end of the incision clipped the right carotid artery, which as you can see here almost crumbled under the pressure of the blood flow.’
Marcus’s legs shook beneath him. He tried to focus on anything but the artery, but Dr Ling’s words led him right to it. His eyes fell on the shredded red tube. His stomach clenched and retracted like a beating heart.
‘Any fingerprints on the victim’s neck?’ Lisa asked.
The lights in the examination room flashed bright. Marcus screwed his eyes shut just as the room began to spin.
‘Nothing. The person who killed Cassie Jennings was good at cleaning up after himself. Almost as good as—’
‘I’m not going to tell you again, Dr Ling. There is no connection between Cassie Jennings and the disappearance of Hayley Miller. Christ, the town will be whispering about it soon enough, I don’t need to hear it from you.’
A beat sat between them, but all Marcus could hear was the thrum of blood rushing in his ears.
‘Are you all right, Detective Campbell?’ Dr Ling asked from the other side of the glass. He tried to look at her, but she was nothing more than a featureless blur against the bright lights.
‘I … I need …’
He put his hand to the wall and rested his head against the paint. He couldn’t be sick in front of Lisa, she would tear him apart, but the back of his throat was going numb and his stomach was beating with his pulse. The room began to spin.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ Lisa said as he vomited black coffee over the floor.
‘Sit him down,’ Dr Ling said. ‘He looks faint. I’ll be right there.’
Marcus threw up again, this time down his shirt. He closed his eye
s to stop the room from spinning.
‘Did you really have to embarrass me like that?’ Lisa asked as she guided him to the closest chair. He couldn’t answer. He was worried that if he didn’t clench his teeth together, more vomit would come.
‘Are you all right?’
He opened his eyes. Dr Ling was crouched before him with her hand on his knee.
‘Sorry.’ It was all he could think to say. His vision was blurred around the edges as the fainting spell began to pass.
‘You should have eaten,’ Dr Ling said. ‘Coffee can’t sustain you all morning, not in this job.’
‘What? So there would be more mess to clean up?’ Lisa said with a dry laugh.
‘Why don’t you go and get him some tea, Lisa? Lots of sugar. You know where the machine is.’
Lisa’s face hardened.
‘When you’re ready, Campbell, we have a job to do. I’ll be in the car.’
With that, she left the room.
Marcus looked down at himself and saw dark brown liquid dripping from the lapels of his jacket and soaking through his shirt.
‘Ignore her,’ Dr Ling said quietly. ‘Lisa was exactly the same when she attended her first autopsy. I saw it with my own eyes. She’s just too brave and too foolish to admit it.’
Brave? Marcus thought. Lisa Elliott isn’t brave; she’s a monster.
SEVEN
Naomi reached into her wardrobe and traced the letters her mother had sewn into the sides of her cotton shirts. She felt a jagged ‘W’ and yanked the white shirt off the hanger so hard that it cracked. Rain tapped on the window pane like fingertips drumming against the glass.
She had spent the night awake, listening to the sound of the hours ticking away, waiting for the stranger to pound on the door again. Her eyes closed at dawn, and she woke to Max nuzzling her face with his wet nose. She was late. There was no time to go to the cliff. There would be people on the green by now, each of them with the power to stop her from jumping. She wouldn’t see them coming until it was too late.