Bloodstream

by Luca Veste

  ‘These new ones never recognise me,’ Murphy muttered under his breath. ‘Not sure if I like it or not.’

  The house was well kept, but small. A terraced house on a nice street; one Murphy wasn’t that familiar with, which meant it didn’t see a lot of trouble. The carpets were a bit thin, but the furnishings all seemed to be made of a good quality dark wood, packed into the small space of the living room where they’d been left alone with Hannah’s sister. Nicola Flynn was a brunette version of the blonde Hannah. A little softer in the face, but the resemblance was uncanny.

  ‘Nicola, we just have a few questions, if that’s okay?’

  As Murphy was about to introduce himself Nicola burst into tears. He hadn’t expected her to get upset straight away but it was as if she’d been waiting for him to arrive before opening the floodgates.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m sorry. I, I just couldn’t hold it in any more.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Murphy said, moving towards where she was sitting on the sofa. He sat beside her, his hand hovering in the air, before resting on his own knee. ‘I’m Detective Inspector David Murphy, this is Detective Constable Jack Kirkham. We’re very sorry about Hannah and Greg. Take your time.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Nicola replied, her crying easing off. ‘It’s all just so unreal. I’ve been sitting here since me mum left with Millie, just watching the news.’ She pointed to the TV displaying BBC News, its red banner crawling across the screen. ‘I wasn’t expecting the video of Chloe and Joe to come on. That woman you sent here told me to turn it off, but I couldn’t. It just doesn’t seem real.’

  ‘I’m sorry you had to see that,’ Murphy said. ‘We’re working to get the news channels not to show it.’

  ‘It hardly matters now, does it? It’ll be everywhere. And that’s the same thing that happened to Hannah and Greg. I refuse to watch that one. Don’t make me.’

  ‘We’ll try to make sure that doesn’t happen,’ Murphy said, turning to DC Kirkham and motioning at him to sit down. ‘Your mum told us earlier that Hannah only told you and her about what happened with Millie—’

  ‘That’s not really true,’ Nicola interrupted. ‘That’s just what me mum thinks. There were a couple of other people who knew. Just Hannah’s close friends though. And not the whole story. What’s happening? Have you found out who did this yet?’

  ‘We’re working on it, Nicola. We just need to ask a few questions, get a fuller picture of Hannah and Greg.’

  ‘But there’s nothing to tell,’ Nicola said, staring at the now-muted television. ‘They were just . . . normal. Apart from the Millie thing, but even that wasn’t a big deal.’

  Murphy shifted in his seat; his view of a ‘big deal’ was obviously very different from Nicola’s. ‘Who knew of Hannah’s secret?’

  Nicola gave a couple of names, which Murphy made sure DC Kirkham wrote down. ‘That was it though, no one else. We were all sworn to secrecy. It was really difficult for her, but she decided not to tell Greg. It would have destroyed him . . . I guess in the end, it did.’

  Murphy waited for the tears to start falling again, but it looked like he was safe. ‘Did they have any arguments, or fallings out, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Nicola replied, flopping back into the sofa and running both of her hands through her hair. ‘This is all just so weird.’

  ‘I know, but we’re going to find out what’s happened, okay?’

  Nicola nodded, leaving one hand in her hair to play with it. ‘They had a couple of tiffs, but nothing major at all. Hannah used to say it was the most normal relationship she’d ever had. She was devastated when she made that one mistake. Millie is just gorgeous, though, and Greg was so good with her. No one needed to know the truth. It wouldn’t have helped anyone.’

  ‘Do you know who the father is?’

  Nicola shook her head firmly. ‘Hannah didn’t even know. It was some bloke in a club she went off with. Absolutely stupid of her, but then, she did do some stupid stuff. She wasn’t sure if she was going to stay with Greg at the time, so some bloke said all the right things to her and got her on her own. She never did anything like that again.’

  ‘They didn’t have any contact at all afterwards?’

  ‘She never said they did. She just wanted to put the whole thing behind her.’

  ‘Her and Greg were having problems at one point then?’ DC Kirkham said from the other side of the room.

  ‘Oh, that was just silly shite. Hannah was getting a bit fed up with the way he was. Greg was a good guy, but he could be a bit boring. She wasn’t sure he was totally committed to her. It wasn’t his fault, but Hannah just wanted something more out of life. When she got pregnant, she grew up a bit. Decided things weren’t that bad after all. That being content was much better. She loved him.’

  Murphy glanced at the TV screen, its presence making him a little nervous, given the events of the day. ‘So, they were happy, but this secret Hannah was keeping must have been difficult?’

  ‘Not really,’ Nicola replied, sitting forward and clasping her hands together. ‘She just got on with it. It was for the best. She told us late on in the pregnancy, when she was working out dates and stuff. I always thought that’s how Greg would find out, but he never questioned it. Just got on with it and never said a word.’

  Murphy asked a few more questions about the relationship, but received much the same responses. ‘What about from the outside, did they have any issues with anyone, any confrontations or arguments?’

  Nicola thought for a few seconds before replying. ‘No, not that I know of. She left that for me.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Murphy said, glancing at the time on the TV screen, noticing it was later than he’d thought.

  ‘Oh, just some problems at work. Some bloke who is a bit weird, that’s all. Nothing I can’t handle. Thankfully, they’ve given me some time off, after what happened this morning. Not that I would have gone in anyway.’

  ‘Okay,’ Murphy said, lifting himself off the sofa and producing a card from his pocket. ‘If you think of anything else, this is the direct number for our team. Call any time, okay?’

  ‘Yeah, great. Do you think we’ll be able to see her soon? Mum is a bit anxious to say goodbye . . .’

  The tears were threatening to start up again. ‘It won’t be too long,’ Murphy said. ‘We’re going as fast we possibly can for you all.’

  Once outside, Murphy turned to DC Kirkham. ‘How many death knocks and interviews with relatives have you done?’

  ‘Too many,’ DC Kirkham said, waiting for Murphy to key the central locking so he could open his door. ‘Always different, aren’t they?’

  ‘Like you wouldn’t believe. They don’t get any easier, either. That’s just a lie. You learn to get used to them though.’

  ‘I think I’m halfway there.’

  Murphy opened his door and got into the car, shoving his paperwork onto the back seat. ‘I’m going to drop you back the station and nip off for an hour.’

  ‘Okay . . . no problem. Anything I can help with?’

  Murphy thought about the man he was going to see. A foot shorter and heavier by at least five stone.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Murphy replied, shifting the car into gear and driving away. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  There was a time Murphy could have ended up somewhere like this. A dingy little ground-floor flat in a converted building in Speke, round the corner from where he’d grown up. Graffiti covered the brick outside, and an overflowing bin sat next to the front door – the smell of rotting rubbish becoming the stench of desperation. The drawn faces of the few people walking through to the main road were grey and resigned.

  There was barely any upward mobility to be seen here, Murphy thought. No chance of escape, a path to a better life. It was why he didn’t live here now. The sentimental feelings outweighed by the knowledge of what the place stood for.

  The people were good, but driven i
nto the ground by the lack of support. Things hadn’t changed enough over the years.

  Jess had felt the same way. She’d also moved away and built a life for her and her son. Peter.

  Murphy shook the memory from his mind, attempting to focus on the matter at hand. He thought about Amy Maguire and what he could do for her. Imagined she was someone he could save.

  He knocked on the door with a closed fist, rattling the old wood in its frame. Banged again when a few seconds had passed without a response. He heard footsteps clattering from within and thought he heard Keith Hudson almost falling over his feet as he ran to answer the door.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  Murphy hadn’t expected that. Usually people just answered the door.

  ‘Delivery,’ Murphy said, hoping Keith didn’t recognise his voice.

  ‘Not expecting anything.’

  ‘Is it Mr K Hudson?’

  ‘What is it?’

  Murphy was becoming bored already. He wondered if one kick would be enough to put the door through. Judging by the cracks in the wooden frame, it probably wouldn’t take much. ‘No idea, mate.’

  ‘Just leave it there,’ Keith said from behind the door, with an attempt at sounding gruff, Murphy thought. ‘I’ll get it later.’

  ‘Need you to sign for it, mate.’

  ‘Fuck’s sake . . .’ Murphy heard before a bolt was pulled back from the inside. Maybe more than one kick then. The door opened slowly, half a face appearing in the crack.

  ‘Wait . . .’

  That was all Keith had a chance to say before Murphy stuck a foot in the gap and pushed the door back with one hand. Keith was knocked back into the wall and to his knees, as Murphy entered, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Sorry about that, Keith,’ Murphy said, offering him a hand. ‘Didn’t think you’d want to talk to me if I just announced myself.’

  Keith ignored the proffered hand and lifted himself to his feet, brushing off the dust from his torn jeans. ‘Yeah, you’re right. My brief said I’m not to talk to any of you lot without her. She made me promise . . .’

  ‘Well, she’s not here right now. And I’m not here to start anything. I just want a word, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing to say.’

  Murphy looked to his left and at the open door leading from the communal hall into Keith’s flat. ‘Through here, are you?’ he said, walking in.

  ‘Hey, you can’t do that,’ Keith said from behind Murphy as he entered. The smell of damp and dust hit him as he walked into what passed as a living room doubling as a kitchen-diner. He looked round the small area, noting the familiar black mould in the corners of the room and the dust motes floating in the air, waiting to enter your throat and settle in. The curtains were drawn so only a pale light illuminated the room.

  ‘Nice place,’ Murphy said.

  ‘You have to leave,’ Keith said, standing in the doorway. ‘Or I’m going to call the . . . erm . . .’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘She’ll have your job for this. She’s good is my brief. Doesn’t take any shit.’

  ‘Oh, I know. She’s great. You should try and find some money so you always have her around. She won’t always be the one appointed to you.’

  Keith shifted on his feet, arms crossed over his body. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Just to talk,’ Murphy replied, finishing with the niceties. ‘About why you came into my life the other day, confessing to that murder.’

  ‘It was all a mistake,’ Keith said, raising a hand and scratching at his head. Dandruff flew into the air. ‘I was confused, that’s all.’

  ‘And you’re not now?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad to hear that. The only thing is, I’m not completely satisfied with that. I think there is more to it.’

  Keith shook his head, Murphy wondering if his brain was about to spill out of his ears with the vigorousness of the action. ‘Definitely not. I was just having a bad time of it. Felt a bit ill. Not right in the head and that. It was all just made up.’

  ‘Are you sure about that? Only there were some things that you said that made sense. Did you kill the girl, Keith?’

  ‘I didn’t, honest. I . . . I just made a mistake. I’m all right now, though. Saw the doctor and everything.’

  Murphy thought back to what DS Ayris from Liverpool South had said about Keith having mental health issues. The way the flat looked made him feel no better. In the kitchen was an overflowing open-topped bin, frozen meal wrappers and cartons perched on top. A microwave, which might have been considered new when Murphy was still a teenager, was the only thing on the counter apart from a kettle with a frayed power lead. Evidence of someone who couldn’t look after himself, never mind anything else.

  Still, he couldn’t be certain. And he had to be.

  ‘That’s not good enough for me, Keith. See the thing is, I have a thing about girls just up and disappearing. Get’s right on my wick. So, I’m not going to just accept your word for it.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing else to say,’ Keith replied. ‘Please, I want you to go.’

  Murphy stood still for a second, weighing up what to do next. ‘So, you just knew Amy from where she worked?’

  ‘That’s all. When she disappeared, I missed her. She used to talk to me nicely when I went into the shop. One of the only ones who did. Always smiled at me. Treated me well. Everyone else around here just thinks I’m the local nutter, but I’m not. I’ve just been unlucky, that’s all.’

  ‘So why would you say you killed her?’

  Keith looked down at the torn carpet at his feet. ‘I was worried.’

  ‘Worried about what?’

  ‘That I had. That I’d done something to her. To make her disappear. I didn’t want her to go away, but sometimes I do things and don’t remember them. I heard her voice and thought it was my head telling me I’d done something. That’s sometimes how it happens. I’m not well, I told you.’

  Murphy crossed the space between them in two strides, his long legs covering the short distance with ease. Keith jumped back, but Murphy grabbed him by his crumbling T-shirt, forcing him against the wall.

  ‘Tell me the truth,’ Murphy said, a globule of saliva spraying from his mouth and hitting the now cowering Keith on the cheek. ‘What did you do? Tell me what you did, right fucking now, or I swear to God I’m going to bash your fucking head into this wall. Tell me.’

  A door opened and closed somewhere out in the corridor, Keith’s head snapping towards the noise and then back to Murphy. ‘I don’t . . . I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘You’re a liar,’ Murphy said, grabbing Keith’s jaw with one hand and squeezing. ‘Tell me the truth.’

  ‘I have,’ Keith replied, tears springing from his eyes. ‘Don’t hurt me. Please.’

  Murphy hesitated, seeing himself and what he was doing for a second. Then an image of Amy Maguire replaced the one of him and he gripped tighter.

  ‘If you don’t tell me everything you know now, that’s it, Keith. I won’t even kill you. Just leave you a fucking vegetable, do you understand? Just enough so you understand what’s going on. All those thoughts and voices in your head and you won’t be able to fucking move. You won’t be able to make them go away.’

  ‘Please,’ Keith said, now sobbing and trying to prise Murphy’s hands off him. ‘Somebody help me, please.’

  Murphy hesitated again, loosening his grip on Keith. ‘You don’t know anything, do you?’

  The crying was louder now. It was like a drill in Murphy’s ears as he stepped back and let go of the shivering and shaking man in front of him. ‘I’m sorry. I . . . I just need to find her.’

  ‘Go away,’ Keith said, his arms crossed over himself again. ‘Leave me alone.’

  Murphy walked out, leaving the door open behind him as he left the flat and stepped onto the street outside. A tracksuit-wearing lad who couldn’t be out of his teens skirted round him pushing a buggy. The man-boy adjusted hi
s baseball cap with one hand, muttering something under his breath as he turned the corner.

  Murphy reached into his pocket, took his car keys out and, after a few attempts, managed to push the button on the fob. His hands shook as he crossed the street and walked to the car.

  Once inside, he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles going white. He bent his head towards it, swearing to himself in a whisper. He looked up, expecting the street to suddenly fill with police cars, ready to arrest one of their own for assault, but it remained empty.

  Murphy turned the key and put his foot down, tyres squealing as he tore out of there.

  * * *

  Sarah’s hands were shaking as well. Not that she had any idea that back in her home city her husband’s were doing the same.

  She refused to shed a tear. She could feel that familiar lump at the back of her throat, but tried to ignore it. She wasn’t going to let it happen.

  He wasn’t going to win.

  She hadn’t known what to expect. Not really. When the letter had arrived, letting her know she’d been asked to visit, everything within her said to just throw it away. Move past it and try to drive the memories back down.

  Another voice had piped up. One which wouldn’t be silenced.

  What if she could get some closure? Something to tell David, so he could also move on. Something that could remove a barrier.

  Instead, she had got lies from that piece of shit, who was currently residing within the prison walls behind her. She banged the steering wheel in frustration, swearing loudly enough for someone walking past to give her a glance and then quickly scurry off.

  Sarah calmed down a little, taking her phone out of her bag and looking at it. She went through her call list, found David’s number and hovered a thumb over the call button. She pressed the message button instead and started typing.

  I miss you. Hope you get home for an early night ;-) xx

  She shook her head, turned the ignition and pointed the car towards home. Tried to forget what she had just heard and lock it away.

  Resolved never to tell anyone else about what she had done that day.