by Jack Jordan
‘Go home!’ he yelled, spraying saliva down to the tarmac. ‘You’ve done enough!’
Feet scuffled against the pavement as hushed whispers crept down the street, until door after door clicked shut and Marcus was left alone, quivering in the gutter, dripping with blood that wasn’t his own.
SIXTY-TWO
Marcus woke up with his head pressed against the car window, which had steamed up with his breath. It was dark outside, lit faintly by the flickering street lamp in the hospital car park. It took him a moment to remember where he was. He wiped away the film on the window and peered out at the night. The knot of his tie dug into his throat. His tongue was rough against the roof of his mouth.
He had worked into the afternoon until his hands shook and every blink had been slow and forced. The sun had been setting in the sky as he closed his eyes.
A packet of cigarettes rested on the passenger seat, the lid gaping open to reveal just two orange tips protruding from the carton. He hadn’t smoked since college, yet the pressure to keep going through the day had dragged him to the corner shop to buy a pack. He loathed the taste and the way it coated his teeth in fur, but the moment he stubbed one out, he wanted another, and another. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten something or drunk anything except instant coffee.
He rubbed his eyes. Nausea splashed around his stomach in waves.
Josie Callaghan was dead. There was nothing to link her attacks on Naomi and Dane with the murders of Amber O’Neill and Cassie Jennings. And the disappearance of Hayley Miller still gnawed at his brain. It was all connected. He felt like the answer was right there in front of him, but he was too exhausted to see it.
He turned on the engine, opened the window, and lit a cigarette. The night air was refreshing, each gust stroking against his hair like his mother used to do to send him to sleep after his father had beaten them both. Hospitals always reminded him of her and the way she held him as they sat in A&E in silence, waiting their turn.
He checked his watch. It was gone nine, which meant he’d only had a few measly hours of sleep, crumpled behind the wheel. The exhaustion filled him up until he felt sick with it.
Talk to Naomi. Find out what she knows and go from there.
He sat beneath the flickering street lamp until the cigarette burned down to the filter. He threw it into the shadows beneath the neighbouring vehicle and closed the window, then got out of the car and stretched, his shirt spilling from the waistband of his trousers. He locked the car, then walked down the dark path towards the hospital. Distant sirens wailed in the distance.
A security guard stood outside the entrance, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette by the non-smoking sign. As he looked Marcus up and down and opened his mouth to speak, Marcus flashed his warrant card and walked inside. He didn’t blame the guard for his doubts – he didn’t look like a police officer tonight; just a desperate man in a crumpled suit.
The fresh air had breathed some life into him, but he still bought a coffee from the dusty machine in the hallway. It tasted burnt and scalded his tongue, but he drank it down anyway. Dribbles of black coffee seeped from the corners of his lips and onto his shirt. He threw the empty cup into the bin by the lift and travelled up one floor. He popped a mint in his mouth and checked his underarms with his nose.
The hospital was eerily quiet at night except for the buzzing of the strip lights and the faint bleeping from behind closed doors, some machines pumping oxygen and blood, others just waiting for hearts to stop.
He checked his phone for the ward name and followed the signs until he stood outside the double doors. What if Naomi wanted answers that he couldn’t give her? What if she was angry at him for failing her?
He took a deep breath and walked through the doorway. His footsteps echoed in the quiet ward.
‘Can I help you?’ the nurse asked from behind the desk, shoving a magazine out of sight. Her black hair was tainted with grey streaks.
‘I’m here to see Naomi Hannah.’
‘Visiting hours ended a while ago.’
He showed her his warrant card and watched her brow crease.
‘There’s already a detective here.’
‘Well now there are two.’
He wasn’t himself – exhaustion was curdling his brain. He was beginning to understand Lisa’s coolness, and wondered if he was already starting to morph into her.
‘Down the corridor,’ the nurse said dismissively. ‘Second door on the left.’
He nodded curtly and followed the directions. He stopped the moment he saw her.
Lisa was sitting outside Naomi’s room, biting her thumbnail. When she looked up, her icy blue eyes sent a shiver down the flesh on his back.
‘I knew you’d come,’ she said. ‘Took your time, though.’
‘Is she …’
‘She’s asleep. Her mum’s in there. Refuses to leave.’
They occupied the hallway in silence. A clock was ticking. Marcus heard the nurse flicking through the magazine again.
‘Why are you here?’ he asked.
Lisa looked down at her feet. She chewed on her bottom lip and tapped her foot against the floor. ‘I fucked up. I got it wrong. She deserves an apology.’
‘I wasn’t expecting that.’
‘Then you don’t know me very well.’ She glanced up and ran her eyes over him. ‘You look like shit,’ she said.
‘You too.’
Laughter reverberated up her throat. ‘So you’ve grown some balls, being boss for the night. Found the killer yet? The real one, I mean.’
He looked away.
‘Not so easy, huh? TV shows and books make it look simple. The detectives always find the killer in the end. But that’s not real life, is it?’
She got up and walked towards him. He fought the urge to step back. She looked older up close: the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes were deeper, and the whites of her eyes were turning a dull, sickly yellow.
‘The superintendent will want the killer caught quickly, especially after last night. What will you say to him? Or better yet, what will you do to cover your tracks?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You know exactly what I mean.’ She looked up at him with hatred in her eyes, the corners of her lips turning upwards. ‘Who will you blame for the murders, Marcus? Who will be your scapegoat?’
‘I’m not like you,’ he said.
‘You follow the rules,’ she said. ‘And look where that’s got you. Josie Callaghan didn’t kill Amber and Cassie, did she? But I’m sure you could make it look that way.’
‘And let the real killer walk? No way.’
‘He already has,’ she replied. ‘There hasn’t been a murder in weeks, not that fits the killer’s pattern. He’s gone, and you’ve missed your chance to be the hero. So what are you going to do?’ She peered up at him, unblinking.
‘I’m going to do the right thing.’
‘The right thing,’ she scoffed. ‘And who does that help? The case will die off without a conviction, and the victims’ families will forever wonder if they’re safe, if the killer is out there stealing the lives of more innocent women, if they can ever trust the police again, just like Hayley Miller’s case. It wouldn’t do your reputation any good, would it? Not the best way to start your career here. Does that sound like the right thing?’ She stepped back. ‘Or you could do the respectful thing. You could pin the responsibility on a psychopathic dead woman who will never be able to plead her innocence, save the families any more pain and suffering, and keep your career afloat.’
‘That’s not the way I work,’ he said.
‘Wake up, Marcus. We’re not the good guys; we’re at the front line of something much bigger. We enforce control on society so that people don’t turn against the system. We lie so that civilians can sleep at night. We tell them what they need to hear so we can keep the peace. It’s not our job to save people; it’s our job to protect the system, and the sooner you realise that, the ea
sier all of this will be on you.’
‘It certainly looks to have taken its toll on you,’ he said, looking at her drawn features.
‘Come and talk to me when you’ve been in the job for over a decade. We’ll see how great you look. That’s if you haven’t been demoted like me.’
He stared at her, trying to decide whether to believe her or not.
‘Don’t look so surprised. It’s exactly what you wanted. I’ll be chained to a desk come the end of the month, after Internal Affairs have had their say.’
‘All I wanted was justice for the victims,’ he said. ‘You were trying to pin the murders on an innocent woman. We could have worked together on this, but you chose to see me as the enemy.’
She scoffed. ‘You’re just another man who wanted to undermine me. Men always find a way to pick away at women in the workplace. Do you know how hard it is being a woman in this job? And a gay one at that? I’ve had to fight for respect, shrug off the PMT jokes and being called a dyke behind my back, while you receive instant respect just for having a dick between your legs. I wasn’t going to give you or anyone else a reason to push me out. But somehow you still managed it. Well, I won’t be some desk-twat filing your paperwork. I’m moving divisions after my compulsory leave is over.’
She clenched her hands into fists at her sides. Marcus wondered how hard she could throw a right hook.
‘You think you can stick around and do my job? Be my guest. But it’s already tearing you apart. I’d get out while you still can.’
For the first time he saw something else in her eyes, behind the hatred and the hardness. Fear. She cleared her throat and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Then she patted a pocket, took out a packet of cigarettes, and walked away.
‘Get some rest, Campbell,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘And think about what I said.’
‘Lisa?’
She turned back at the sound of his voice, a cigarette already in her fingers.
‘Hayley’s disappearance is connected to all of this, isn’t it?’
She paused for a beat, looking him up and down.
‘I think so.’
He stood in silence and listened to the sound of her footsteps echoing down the corridor. He had survived Lisa Elliott.
His phone rang shrilly in his jacket pocket. The nurse peered over the desk and pressed a finger to her lips.
‘Sorry,’ he whispered, and answered the call.
‘DS Campbell.’
‘Marcus, it’s Dr Ling. There’s something here you should see. I would usually call Lisa, but after what’s happened with her, I didn’t know who else to contact.’
‘I can be there in fifteen minutes. What is it?’
‘This is big, Marcus.’
‘I’ll make it in ten.’
He ended the call and raced down the corridor, ignoring the nurse’s disapproving frown as the soles of his shoes squealed against the lino floor.
SIXTY-THREE
Marcus blinked away the sweat as Dr Ling led him down the corridor. He had run from the hospital ward to his car, and sped through the streets. It was only now, as Dr Ling led him down the corridor nine minutes after she had called, that he had a chance to catch his breath.
‘Just in here,’ she said and held the door for him.
The room was dominated by a large steel table covered with clear plastic evidence bags containing bloodstained photos, underwear, a bottle of perfume.
‘We collected these items from the crime scene at Ms Hannah’s house,’ Ling said, standing on one side of the table. Marcus stood on the other. ‘They appear to belong to Naomi, at least at some point, and were found scattered over the floor, seemingly brought into the house in an empty shoebox we also found. But one item stood out.’
She slid an evidence bag across the table. Inside was a photo, the corner of it red with blood. Marcus picked up the bag and held it between his fingertips. The cold wave of shock almost made him drop it back onto the table.
The photo was of Hayley Miller, Grace, Dane and Blake.
‘Now you understand why I didn’t know who to call,’ Dr Ling said.
‘This … this was found at Naomi’s house?’
Ling nodded.
‘The watches Dane and Blake are wearing in the photo, are they the same as …’
‘They appear to be identical,’ Dr Ling said.
Marcus stared down at the photo, at Dane’s arm hanging over Hayley’s shoulder, the steel of the watch gleaming in the flash of the camera. Blake was on the other side of her, holding Grace in a seemingly friendly chokehold with an identical watch wrapped around his wrist.
‘What are you going to do?’ Dr Ling asked.
Lisa was gone. Blake couldn’t be trusted. It was down to him and him alone.
‘I’m going to speak to Grace Kennedy.’
SIXTY-FOUR
Marcus stood outside Grace’s front door and took a deep breath. The coffee he’d drunk at the hospital had worn off, and his body was running purely on adrenalin.
The door opened and shed a warm sliver of light. Grace stood there in the doorway with tears shimmering on her cheeks.
‘Is it Naomi?’ she asked, and rested her hand on her chest as though she was bracing her heart for the answer. The hospital would only allow one visitor to remain with Naomi. Grace had been forced to stay at home and wait for news.
‘She’s stable,’ he replied. ‘I’m here about Hayley.’
She stared at him silently. A visible shiver shook through her.
‘It’s time, Grace. We need to know what happened to her.’
Grace nodded silently and stood aside to let him pass.
‘I’m getting a drink,’ she said as she closed the door behind him and wiped her face. ‘Want one?’
‘I shouldn’t really,’ he said.
She led him down the warm hallway. The walls were lined with maroon wallpaper with velvet floral designs in a lighter shade. The carpet beneath his shoes was the purest of creams. He peered down the hall at the kitchen where he had spoken to her husband.
The drawing room was quaint and homely, with two armchairs by a lit fire and bookshelves on either side of the chimney breast. A burgundy chaise longue rested in the bay window with a throw dangling off the edge, as if she had been curled up beneath it before he arrived.
‘Take a seat,’ she said as she opened a cupboard below one of the bookshelves and retrieved a bottle of Scotch and two tumblers. ‘You’ll need this,’ she added.
Marcus sat down in one of the armchairs and watched as Grace poured amber liquid into the glasses. She handed one to him, then sat opposite him and knocked hers back without even flinching. She poured herself another straight away.
Marcus took a sip of his own drink and relished the warmth of it seeping down his throat.
‘Hayley was raped,’ she said suddenly, as though the secret had been sleeping beneath her tongue for twenty years. ‘By Blake Crouch.’
She was right. He needed the drink. He knocked it back and let her pour him another. The bottle shook in her hand.
‘Two nights before she disappeared, there was a party at Blake’s house with all his friends, laddish types who goaded each other into things. Hayley had a reputation for being … Well, I’m sure you’ve heard. They invited both of us to the party. I think they thought we would be easy lays.
‘I knew Dane and Blake through Hayley; they were older than we were. Hayley and Dane had been an item on and off while Hayley was at college, and Dane was always trying to set Blake up with me. We went on a few double dates, but it was clear we didn’t fancy each other. I always thought Blake wanted Hayley himself and resented having to entertain me.
‘I didn’t want to go to the party. I didn’t think it was a good idea. Dane wasn’t going, it was just Blake and his friends, but Hayley was adamant, and she said if I didn’t go, she would go on her own.
‘When we turned up, there were eight boys there. A spliff was doing the rounds and booze w
as lined up on the side table. Hayley was in her element. The boys flocked around her, plying her with drink and drugs. They were like dogs crowding around a bowl, drooling and scraping at each other to get in beside her.
‘I felt uncomfortable and wanted to go home. I finally pulled Hayley aside and told her I wanted to leave, but she just laughed. She was wasted and wouldn’t go with me. I couldn’t leave her there like that. I didn’t trust the boys one bit.
‘Hayley dragged me down next to her on the sofa and pressured me into joining in. The boys chanted until I had chugged down half a bottle of wine and taken a deep drag on a spliff. It wasn’t long before I had to run to the cloakroom to throw up.
‘I don’t know how long I was in there, but when I came out, the living room was empty. I could hear them upstairs.’
Marcus felt sick. He noticed the empty glass shaking in his hand.
‘They gang-raped her, Detective. I walked in and saw them, like a sea of skin, boys waiting beside the bed with their trousers around their ankles, holding themselves, waiting for their turn.
‘Blake was on top of Hayley. She had sick in her hair and her eyes were rolled back in her head. It wasn’t consensual. They were raping her, one by one.
‘I don’t know what came over me. One minute I was in the doorway, and the next I was on top of him, punching the back of his head, scratching at his eyes, snatching at his hands to get them away from her. The boys grabbed me and yanked me off him. Five of them dragged me downstairs by my hair. I fought them – I couldn’t leave her there unconscious, at their mercy – but I was no match for them. They hit my head against the wall and cracked the plaster. One of them punched me in the ribs. I was thrown out of the house, then they shut the door behind me and went back upstairs.
‘I lay there on the pavement, sobbing hysterically. I only realised I had Blake’s watch in my hand when I went to wipe away tears. I had ripped it off his wrist in the struggle. All the boys had the same watch, like they were some band of brothers or something. They got them before their first lads’ holiday. Blake’s watch had Hayley’s blood and sick on it …’