I Know You (DI Emma Locke)

by Louise Mullins

  ‘Ta live. But a promise a’ll be back jus as soon as mi get settle,’ he said with conviction.

  And just as I did, Steven believed him.

  I feel my shoulders fall now as my heart sinks. ‘Do you think that’s why he left the country?’

  ‘It’s possible he had a problem here with someone,’ says DS Maguire. ‘Or maybe he wanted a fresh start.’

  Yet I wonder if Dejuan took off to strike a deal. If his crack-fuelled delusional state on the day that he decided to rob the convenience shop wasn’t caused by a temporary loss of sanity but was due to the fact he’d recently begun smoking the white stones of chemical euphoria he was supposed to be selling. He had a criminal record involving the possession and supply of drugs here that I knew nothing about, so there is a high probability he had contacts in Jamaica he presumed there was little chance I’d discover because he was so far away.

  Had I chosen to have a relationship, live, and create a child with a drug dealer?

  I slump further onto the hard wood and press the palms of my hands over my face, rubbing the heels of them into my eye sockets, and glance up, my sight blurred from tiredness and tears. ‘I’d have known. There would have been something to alert me.’

  ‘Some people are good at keeping secrets, Miss Bennet.’

  They lie and manipulate situations to maintain an element of control, to avoid detection.

  I wipe my face with the back of my hand. ‘Before we parted Dejuan used to collect Steven from school and take him to the park to practise football. If what you’re saying – that he was involved with some seriously dangerous people – is true, that means anything could have happened to my son at any time. That’s not something I can easily forget, detective.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to. But until you can forgive yourself for your perceived wrongs, you won’t be open enough to consider the alternative.’

  I open my mouth to speak but DC Pierce stops me short. ‘Which is that you are not at fault. You aren’t to blame for what Dejuan did, especially before you met him.’

  But I can’t assimilate the gnawing fear that I could have prevented my son’s murder, or even Natalie’s, if only I’d opened my eyes to the possibility that things weren’t as solidly cut as they first appeared. Maybe I was in denial. Or maybe Dejuan’s actions weren’t anything to do with our son’s death and the detectives are wasting more valuable time and resources looking in the wrong direction for something that isn’t there, allowing a killer to continue his violent murder-spree undeterred.

  ‘I must warn you to stay away from the Campbells, Miss Bennet.’

  I look DS Maguire directly in the eyes. ‘I have no intention of upsetting Carmen so soon after her daughter’s death.’ Although I’d still like to know how much of her children’s lives she was aware of, whether she chose to withhold pertinent information which could have prevented Steven’s or Natalie’s murders, and if it will have a rebound effect on Jerome, whose life could now be at risk.

  DS MAGUIRE

  Croydon, London

  Rawlings eyes me from across the incident room as I recite all I’ve learned so far to the two DCs me and Pierce have working alongside us: Benson and Hodges, who I’ve aptly named B&H after the cigarettes I smoke but know I shouldn’t.

  ‘The CCTV camera focused on the scene of Natalie’s murder has been out of action for two months.’

  There is a collective eye-roll from two DCs at the back of the room.

  ‘We have intelligence that confirms the same vehicle, described by multiple witnesses at the incident site where Natalie was shot, matches the description of the vehicle caught on camera speeding several roads away from the area where Keenan, the server of the restaurant, spotted it pulling away seconds before a female witness informed him that she’d found the victim lying on the pavement covered in claret. I attended the address after the manager, Mr Reginald “Reg” Atkinson, told me Keenan had been fired from his position for damaging equipment and behaving threateningly, to find it empty. One of his neighbours told me he’d seen Keenan visit the address and deposit something through the letterbox late the evening of Natalie’s murder. I confirm that during my inspection I saw the key on the mat beside the front door. He’s since been reported missing.’

  ‘This is the same vehicle that’s been sat on a patch of grass opposite Mr Mahajan’s high-rise flat for the past year,’ says Pierce, wanting to get his word in.

  Benson raises a hand and I give him a nod of approval to speak. ‘So we have a set of cloned plates?’

  ‘It looks that way, yes. We visited the owner’s widow Edith who informed us she had a grandson, Nathaniel, but he’s the least likely candidate in our small list of suspects. He’s studying medicine at the University College London, which is where he was when we spoke to him, and with corroboration from his head of year and roommate, the night of Steven’s demise too. He doesn’t have a driving licence and as far as Edith is aware has never set foot inside his deceased grandfather’s car. DNA swabs from the vehicle confirm that she has never driven it either.’

  I point to the photograph of Keenan Palmer blue-tacked to the whiteboard. ‘Yet it was him who gave us the true description of the vehicle that Natalie falsified during her interview, so I’m inclined to suggest – not presume, you understand – that Keenan was unaware of the event that would occur while he was serving up greasy burgers and fried chips.’ Because if he knew what was going down that night, he surely wouldn’t have assisted the police in framing himself as our unknown male suspect.

  ‘Keenan has no criminal record and appears squeaky clean, but having spoken to several individuals living nearby it transpires that some of his associates have chequered pasts. One of his mates for instance is currently serving time within Her Majesty’s Prison Manchester on remand for suspected drug offences. His girlfriend Mercedes drives a new Range Rover and seems to own a lot of Dolce and Gabbana handbags and Christian Louboutin heels. Undercover have been surveying her home since we discovered Keenan had legged it in the hope of determining why.

  ‘He’s been on the Met’s radar for some time though no one has been able to garner any concrete proof he’s up to anything unlawful.

  ‘Aside from visiting a nail salon and Budwals, all Mercedes seems to do is maintain her appearance and eat out. Looking hot is apparently expensive and using her National Insurance number to check with Her Majesties Revenue and Customs, I’ve ascertained she doesn’t work. Her boyfriend’s job serving food as a kitchen porter – while he was still employed – paid £7.50 per hour. Though where she gets her money from isn’t my primary concern. The airplane ticket to Thailand is. According to her flight booking reference number, she’s leaving tonight.

  ‘I suspect she’s visiting a heroin supplier there, distribution of the drug being a well-known source of income in the country. But we won’t be able to prove it unless we let her go and pray that she returns carrying the brown substance on her person. Border checks by officers at customs and excise could easily find drugs when scanning her Barbie pink Armani suitcase on wheels but might be less inclined to dig deep enough while she’s squatting to ascertain whether she’s plugged anything during a routine strip search. I suspect, though cannot yet evidence, that is how she will transport the class A substance into the UK.

  ‘Or maybe she’s meeting Keenan there.

  ‘Aside from Hong Kong, Thailand is one of the most common places on earth for evaders of the law to disappear. Absconding somewhere popular with British tourists that has a lax approach to exercising their extradition treaty with the UK is ideal if wanting to travel abroad and protect your illegal earnings. If Mercedes has a bank account over there she can transfer and spend money how she sees fit and no one will care to question how she can afford to purchase a new home, kit it out, or buy a car so long as they are getting paid for the transaction and she’s contributing to the economy. What she doesn’t know however is that undercovers are going to be following her to the airport when she leaves fo
r her holiday, extended or not, and police located near to her destination will be acquiring intelligence for use should she decide she misses the London rain and the scent of smoggy exhaust-ridden motorways over the dewy dawn rainforests of Khao Sok or the freshly prepared Chatuchak market street food of Bangkok.’

  Benson leans forward resting his elbows on his knees.

  Hodges’ eyes narrow. ‘No offence, Sarge, but what the fuck have Keenan and Mercedes got to do with Steven’s murder?’ he says.

  ‘Well, if Keenan was in the vicinity when Steven was stabbed to death and did a moonlight flit from his mother’s house two hours after Natalie was shot dead, it raises suspicions, no?

  ‘Keenan is also Steven’s dad’s friend. Dejuan’s got a chequered past regarding the sale of class A substances and so has Keenan’s brother, who is currently serving time for possession of heroin.’

  ‘Whether Mercedes is purchasing illicit substances or not, we have good enough reason to suspect she’s meeting Keenan in Thailand. If she does, it’s possible he has no intention of returning to the UK. And I too find it incredibly suspicious that he vanished the night Natalie was gunned down,’ Pierce interjects.

  Benson nods. And Hodges asks the question I was hoping someone would. ‘You’ve caught Keenan leaving through a checkpoint or have a hit on his passport?’

  ‘Neither. I suspect he’s using a fake and travelled out of London for the flight. I’ve already requested footage from several main airports around the country. Namely Bristol and Manchester, which would be the obvious choices as they’re the closest. But I’ve also got the British Transport Police covering the ports in case he decided to travel by sea.

  ‘Benson, I’d like you to deal with any potential leads concerning Keenan’s whereabouts and stay in contact with the British Embassy in Thailand in case he’s marked on their law enforcements radar.’ I turn my attention to Hodges. ‘How did you get on at the mortuary?’

  ‘The coroner hasn’t found any worthwhile trace evidence on Natalie’s clothing to suggest who shot her. However, when I spoke to the technicians at the lab one of the assistant pathologists informed me the bullets match an 8mm shotgun, forensics think might be identical to an unlocated firearm that’s been used in relation to seven murders over the past four years. Six of the victims, of differing sex, age, race, religion, social class, and employment status were affiliated with gangs. But although the shootings were similar the murders occurred in several different locales of the UK, including London, Bristol, Birmingham, Liverpool, and Manchester.’

  ‘What’s the connective imprint?’

  ‘The force of impact leaves a distinctive pierce-wound, an uneven circular hole in the skin with a slight point at the top. The bullets are uniquely identifiable, although no one has yet been able to locate the firearm they came from.’

  ‘Right, while you focus on any lines of enquiry relating to Natalie’s assailant, Pierce and I will be concentrating on narrowing down our pool of suspects in relation to Steven’s murder, starting with Leighton.’ I wait for him to respond but he doesn’t look as though he’s listening. I tap him on the shoulder, and he glances up at me from where he sits facing the whiteboard. ‘We’re going to pile the pressure onto Steven’s circle of friends.’

  He nods though he looks uninterested, and again I get the sensation of distrust crawling up my spine.

  ‘Right people, let’s wrap this up and get to work.’ I receive a mumble of agreement, followed by the shuffle of feet. By the time I’ve cleared my notes from the table in front of me, Pierce has already vacated the room.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he says dismissively.

  I meet him halfway down the corridor. ‘If you’re not up to the job I can give you some station duties to do?’ He glares at me.

  ‘I don’t have time to deal with your moodiness. Whatever the problem is, spit it out so we can sort through it, and move on with this case. If your emotions are getting in the way of your ability to think objectively, if you can’t handle this fairly straightforward investigation then I—’

  ‘Do you ever shut up?’

  I snap my mouth closed and narrow my eyes at him. ‘Whatever it is, don’t bring your personal shit into the office, Pierce.’

  SINEAD

  Newport, Wales

  I awake groggy and disorientated. Feel a hand on mine. A gentle caress. Then a squeeze. ‘Hey?’

  I open my eyes to a clinically white room. Aeron is staring down at me. His own eyes are red and ringed, and his face is pale. While I’ve been lazily dreaming, he looks like he hasn’t slept. He swims away from me and I close one eye to hold him in sight.

  There is a crash from somewhere nearby that makes me jump. People chattering. Machines bleeping. I pull my hand away from his and feel a tugging sensation on the back of it. Pain jars me like a needle. I glance down at the intravenous drip pumping fluids into my bloodstream. ‘Did I pash out?’

  ‘You’ve got severe concussion.’ So, that’s why I feel woozy.

  He grips my cold fingers tight in his and his eyes well with tears. ‘I thought I was going to lose you.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ My words are slurred, and I feel my blood pressure rise in panic, hoping I’m not going to be left permanently injured.

  ‘They put you in an induced coma. You had some slight swelling on your brain.’

  I nod. It feels like it’s rattling inside my skull. ‘Don’t move. Just… try to keep still.’

  He looks back as a nurse enters the room. I feel rather than see her because turning my head is too painful and the pressure at my temples and behind my ears is too strong to ignore. She steps forward, and I adjust my focus on her large frame and warm smile. ‘You’re awake. Lovely to see you, Sinead. I’m Chloe. I’ve been keeping an eye on you. The doctor should be around in a few minutes to check your observations. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Shick.’

  ‘That’s to be expected. Are you in any pain?’

  ‘My head.’ My voice sounds echoic and underwater.

  ‘It’s best if you rest as much as possible. Sleep is the greatest healer.’ She gives Aeron a wide-eyed look and he retracts his hand from mine. My fingers tingle from the pressure of his grip.

  I try to follow her movements, but she moves quickly and methodically, and I keep having to avert my gaze to avoid the spin-cycle sensation my brain’s been afflicted with.

  Aeron stands and checks his pockets for his keys and phone.

  ‘Don’t let me keep you. If you have got to be shomewhere, go.’

  He sighs, his arms falling at his sides. ‘I’m sorry. I caused all this. It’s my fault you’re here. I know my actions are unforgivable. I should never have kept the state of my finances from you, nor gone behind your back for the loan. I love you, Shinzo.’

  In his half-assed attempt at apology he’s excusing his behaviour, reasoning that his love for me motivated him to lie. I can’t argue though. I’ve not been honest either.

  He sounds sincere. He looks ashamed. ‘It’sh okay.’

  ‘It’s not. I just hope you don’t hold it against me.’

  ‘Terry’sh the crazed lunatic who did thish. You didn’t put me in here.’

  He leans forward and wipes away a trail of saliva that’s dribbling down my chin. ‘If I’d believed you, told the police what you said about that man following you—’

  ‘I’d probably have denied it.’

  ‘Why?’ The sharp tone to his voice causes my eyes to widen. I close them quickly to prevent his face from swimming away from me.

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell the police, at first? What are you hiding?’

  ‘I think I’m going to be shick.’ I turn away from the bed and stare vacantly at the tiled floor. Head drowning in a sea of a thousand fragmented thoughts. The bed feels as though it’s rocking.

  ‘Here,’ says Chloe, appearing at my side with a grey cardboard bowl. I glance up at the nurse to find a
doctor who I didn’t hear arrive through the whooshing in my ears stood behind her. He seems to be regarding Aeron with a concerned expression painted across his face.

  I don’t want to turn my head and look at my husband. I fear Aeron knows what happened between me and Gareth. And I’m not ready to explain everything. I can barely see straight let alone think up a way to justify my conduct.

  The doctor asks me my name, age, date of birth, where I live. Then moves on to the children, asking me what their favourite colours are, where we last took them on holiday, and how much money I’d have left from a ten-pound note if I bought a sandwich for two pounds and fifty-seven pence. He seems pleased with my responses. ‘You’re going to need to stay here until the swelling goes down. We’ll give you another MRI scan once the symptoms wear off: the dizziness and nausea, to see how you’re healing. I’m afraid I can’t give you a timeframe. Everyone’s different. And you’ve sustained a serious head injury. It could be a while before you start to feel better.’

  The nurse finally coaxes Aeron to leave. He says goodbye, leans over me to apply a damp peck to my cheek, then exits the room with the doctor. The nurse follows moments later, after tidying away the remnants of Aeron’s visit from the table to my left: a half-drunk coffee and a sandwich wrapper.

  I try to keep my eyes closed to stave off the sensation that I’m sinking, evaluating the events of the past few days. Self-admonition sends waves of crushing fear and anger to press down hard on my chest like the weight of a breezeblock.

  Terry didn’t put me in hospital. Neither did Mr Unknown. I did with my own recklessness. It’s time I stopped letting others dictate my life’s directive. I need to find the man who ploughed his vehicle into mine and confront him. Because he must really hate me to want to harm me with my children seated inside the car behind me.

  Hate though is closer to love than any other emotion. Someone I know did this to me. Someone I care about.

  I try to unpick from where my doubts towards Aeron stem. Though he apologised for withholding the state of his debt, I don’t think our finances is the only thing my husband has kept from me.