What She Saw

by Diane Saxon

  They took their seats again and Fleur barely roused as Jenna shuffled her onto her lap and stared at her sister. ‘So, are we to expect this kind of meal from now on?’

  Fliss snorted and poured a little fresh cream from its carton onto the steaming rice pudding. She raised her spoon and paused before putting any food into her mouth, a thoughtful expression on her face. ‘Don’t get too used to it. I know I’ll revert to my old ways, but for the next couple of days you’re probably in luck.’

  Jenna could do nothing but admire her sister’s honesty and hope her cooking stint lasted a little longer than a few days. But she’d appreciate every one of them, just as she appreciated Fliss.

  She finished off her pudding, picking up every last morsel until the plate was almost wiped clean, then settled back in her chair, her stomach a gentle bulge.

  Fliss pushed her own plate away and met Jenna’s gaze. ‘You sound as though you had fun today.’

  Jenna sobered. It hadn’t been fun, it had been damned long. A hard slog of a day with a small window of excitement that had pumped adrenaline through the department to lend them a boost of energy.

  Jenna’s lips tightened as Fliss slipped a hand over hers, her eyes darkening with concern. ‘I know you don’t like to burden me with the hard stuff, but I know about the fire you were called to the other night. I assume it’s the same one I heard on the news today.’

  Jenna sighed. She turned her hand over so her fingers linked with her sisters. ‘It’s a tough one.’

  ‘Tough. There’s an understatement. That poor family. I looked in The Shropshire Star. It sounds horrendous.’

  It was a diluted version. And Fliss was right. Jenna didn’t need to burden her with the details. The Shropshire Star’s version would suffice. Confirmation that bodies had been discovered at the fire-ravaged home of Shropshire estate agent Gordon Lawrence.

  ‘It says there’s been no identification of the bodies.’

  ‘No. Nothing formal.’

  ‘But the whole family are missing.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Fliss squeezed her fingers. ‘It’s them, isn’t it?’

  Jenna nodded. ‘It appears so.’

  ‘That poor family. Those poor children. I can’t imagine being trapped.’ Fliss’s nightmare was to be trapped. Worsened by her kidnap.

  ‘They may not have been.’ She almost bit her tongue to stop the words that tumbled out.

  Fliss tilted her head to one side, a frown sending a vertical crease between her eyebrows. ‘What do you mean?’

  Jenna slid her fingers from under Fliss’s hand and raised her glass to take a sip of wine. ‘The latest is that they’ve found five bodies.’

  ‘They said it was arson in the press release. Some awful person setting fire to their house.’

  Jenna met her sister’s gaze. ‘Yeah, but we found used guns.’

  Fliss sucked in a breath and slapped her hand over her mouth as her eyes went wide. ‘Oh dear God. They were murdered? Deliberately?’

  Jenna inclined her head, regret circling in her stomach that she’d told her sister, but at least it was closer to the truth than her sister would read from an anti-establishment journalist.

  ‘Who would do that? Was it a break-in?’ Her sister fired the questions at her without waiting for a reply.

  Jenna shook her head. ‘It’s only a suspicion, but we think Gordon Lawrence did it.’

  Fliss’s face froze into a mask, her lips barely moved as she stared at Jenna. ‘The father? He killed his family?’

  ‘Yes. Quite possibly.’

  ‘Who in their right mind would do that?’

  Jenna pulled in a long breath through her nose. ‘That’s just the point. No one in their right mind would. But we have six people missing and only five bodies accounted for. They haven’t finished the search yet, but I think someone escaped the fire. With a combination of gossip and evidence, the finger points to the dad.’

  Jenna pushed back from the table, sliding Fleur off her knee again, she picked up the two bowls, needing to change the subject. It had been on her mind all day while she dealt with the drugs case. She’d finished off the day with the debrief and she’d likely be dealing with it for the foreseeable future.

  She placed her hand on Domino’s head as he stared lovestruck as though she was his favourite person in the world just because he’d found her today and enjoyed an unexpected walk. ‘Has he been fed yet?’

  ‘Yes, of course he has. But there's nothing like cupboard love is there?’

  His eyes filled with adoration.

  ‘Drug pusher.’

  Fliss snorted out a laugh. ‘Oh my God. Just wait until I tell—’

  ‘No.’ Jenna held up her hand. ‘You can’t tell anybody, Fliss. I shouldn’t have told you as much. Some of the information is okay for you to know, mainly because your dog has been trotting up and down the neighbourhoods pushing drugs.’

  ‘More?’ Fliss raised the bottle.

  Jenna shook her head and placed her hand over the top of her glass. If she had another drop, she’d be asleep across the table. One glass was plenty on a work night. She’d probably only get six hours sleep before she had to be back at the station again.

  ‘Obviously I need a statement from you about how you came to use Lena to walk Domino, but I’ll get Ryan to do that. You mustn’t say anything to anyone.’ Jenna stressed. ‘This could be a bigger operation than we anticipated when it kicked off this morning. So, keep it to yourself.’

  Flustered, Fliss drained her glass and came to her feet to clear the dishes, stacking one on top of the other before she took them to the dishwasher. ‘Yes, of course, of course. It’s so funny really.’ Fliss glanced sideways at her, her teeth pulling at her bottom lip, her eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘How much was he carrying?’

  It took a moment for Jenna to process the question. ‘Domino? Jim Downey has got to double-check yet, but from experience, he was talking two grams. Around £85.00 a gram.’

  ‘Wow, so how much does one person take?’

  ‘You’re a little too interested in this subject.’

  ‘Knowledge is power.’

  ‘It is, but not if you use it the wrong way.’

  Fliss finished stacking the dishwasher and pushed the door to as Jenna dipped her hands in near boiling water to give the wine glasses a thorough wash. ‘Do I look like I’m about to deal in drugs?’

  Jenna regarded her sister with a professional eye. ‘You look like a teacher.’

  Fliss flashed her a grin. ‘Why thank you. That was always my intention.’

  Which circled Jenna nicely around in the right direction. ‘Have you had any word about the promotion?’ She grabbed a towel and dried her hands.

  Fliss let out a delicate snort. ‘I think from September I'll be taking over head of infants by the look of it.’

  ‘Fliss that’s great news. It really is and you do deserve it.’

  Her sister preened just a little and Jenna’s heart warmed at the thought that this precious woman had started to heal. ‘I do. Actually, I’m good at my job.’

  Jenna checked her over, relieved at how far Fliss had come since the kidnap. There would still be dark times. Times when Fliss slipped back into that dreadful cellar with its rising waters each time they heard the Ironbridge flood warnings. It triggered a gut-wrenching response. Not only in Fliss but Jenna too. Step by step they dealt with it, confronted it and moved on, stronger and better each time.

  She reached out and cupped her sister’s cheek and then pulled her into her arms for a silent hug, rocking her in unspoken understanding.

  For now, she could be content that her sister’s pale green eyes sparkled and the flush on her smooth cheeks made her skin glow, and the relaxed smile on her face washed away the tensions of the day.

  31

  Monday 20 April 2045 hours

  A fine sheen of sweat slicked over Mason's skin as his feet slapped against the shiny rubber of the running machine.

 
Knees like jelly and breath heaving so his tongue turned to dust in a mouth devoid of saliva, he drove on, determined to keep going even though his heart might explode in his chest. His arms pumped as he fought to keep up with the loose-limbed youngster beside him. Ryan’s gangly limbs seemed to have found a comfortable rhythm, enough to gain Mason’s reluctant admiration.

  Not sure if he could keep up the pace for much longer, Mason swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, mortified at the drip, drip, drip of sweat falling onto the electronic device in front of him

  If only he’d taken Ryan's advice and attempted a run on the flat to begin with, but, no, he thought he was smart enough, strong enough, to take on Ryan in an uphill race.

  Two and a half miles in and he was shocked. His muscles turned to liquid and he prayed to God Ryan would stop before Mason humiliated himself and collapsed in a heap on the running machine as his legs turned to overdone spaghetti.

  Heat travelled up his neck to burn across his cheeks.

  They’d already spent forty-five minutes going through the paces in the weight room. He hadn’t been so bad at that. His upper-body strength was good. He had weights in his garage, together with a punchbag he used to blow off steam. He’d taken a casual interest in boxing, enjoyed the skill, the rhythm, the control.

  But this, this was a piss-take.

  Unfortunately, he wasn’t as young as he used to be. And he hadn’t kept up an exercise regime. He couldn’t have everything and he was too busy with work and socialising.

  Pride shot to hell, with the sound of his breathing turned to a strained rasp, Mason reached out and stabbed the incline button until he was once again on a flat. His fingers shook as he punched the console in front of him, so the machine slowed to a walk and eventually, just as he’d started to believe his life was no longer worth living, the treadmill wound down to a stop.

  Tempted to collapse onto the railings and just breathe for a moment, he shot another glance at Ryan whose attention was thankfully absorbed by the huge television screen in front of him with music blasting from his Bluetooth EarPods so loud Mason could hear it above his own laboured breathing. The boy was going to burst his eardrums.

  Mason sagged, his whole middle turned to mush.

  Ryan wouldn't even notice if he had a cardiac arrest. He’d probably keep on running while Mason writhed around on the floor. Dying.

  Mason pushed away from the machine and walked, weak-legged, over to the paper towel dispenser, ripped off several pieces, wiped down his dripping face, shoulders, arms, skimmed them over the length of his florid legs.

  His stomach gave a painful hitch and he remembered he’d barely had anything to eat that day. Christ, he didn’t even know why he’d come to the gym, except it had seemed like a fucking bonding exercise with Ryan. Or if he’d admit it, a little testosterone trial. One he’d failed badly.

  He slipped his phone from his pocket, tapped the screen to open his WhatsApp and stared at a photograph. No words necessary, there was a clear invitation for him to go around for a hot meal and an even hotter girlfriend.

  Without hesitation, his stomach took control and sent a surge of desperately required adrenaline to fight its way to the surface and instil enough energy in him to move his steadily stiffening limbs in the right direction.

  He lobbed the paper towels into the bin and whipped some more from the roll to wipe drops of sweat from the running machine.

  Mason tapped Ryan on the shoulder. Without a pause in his stride, Ryan turned his head to look at him and Mason raised a hand and pointed in the direction of the changing room to indicate that he was off.

  Ryan gave him the thumbs up and continued. Damned youngster, not even a hitch in his deep, even breathing. Yet Mason's was still laboured as he gasped for oxygen.

  Didn’t Ryan have a life? The nurse he was dating was probably working and the kid just wanted to exercise after a hard mental and emotional day. The realisation hit him. He wasn’t the kind to kick his arse into gear after a gruelling day. It may suit others, but he’d far rather sit back with a bottle of Stella snuggled on the sofa with Fliss.

  He dragged his feet through the locker room to the showers, stripped and stepped under the stream of tepid water despite it being turned up to the hottest temperature. It didn’t matter, a grateful groan still surged from his chest as his muscles protested and tightened up instead of relaxing.

  Perhaps he could have a bath once he got to Jenna’s house. He was still treading carefully in his relationship with Fliss. Not wishing to spook her, he took it at her pace. The wait for her commitment would be worth it in the end, but she still had so much to deal with and putting pressure on their relationship wouldn’t gain him anything.

  He could wait.

  She was worth waiting for and he’d be there for her in the coming months once the trial started for Frank Bartwell. Admiration for Fliss’s strength swelled in his chest, but she’d still need support.

  He pumped the dispenser and dumped a handful of shampoo and body wash on his head. Where the shower had failed to revive him, the sharp citric aromas hit his senses to give him a well needed kick-start.

  Scrubbing at his scalp, he let his mind drift on the possibilities of what tomorrow might bring because they needed a break. Both in the amount of work they had on their spinning plates and in the investigations, which were stuck on stalemate until they got the forensics back. They could all make assumptions. Gordon Lawrence had most likely murdered his family, set fire to Kimble Hall and then offed himself. Selfish bastard. All the forensic evidence in the world could be presented, but no one ever knew what went on in the mind of a disturbed being.

  He swiped his hands down his hair and let the water slough from him.

  By the time they’d left work, the body count was still off. Someone from that family survived. They just needed to find out who. And why.

  Mason stepped from the pathetic shower and grabbed a fluffy blue towel from the peg outside the cubicle. Set to automatic, the shower turned itself off as he scrubbed at his revived skin, surprised at how the physical workout could offset the mental and emotional turmoil of the day.

  No matter how tired, the exercise had done him good.

  Late it may be, but that was shifts for you. No given time to eat, sleep or have sex. Not necessarily in that order.

  He was ready for all three.

  32

  Monday 20 April 2230 hours

  Deep overwhelming sadness weighed heavily on Jenna as she sank down onto the bed and laid her head on the cool of her pillow next to Fleur who’d already bagged her place. A whole family wiped out. She had her opinion, but she’d wait for the forensics. The proof.

  She reached out a hand to touch the satin downiness of Domino’s head as he climbed up after her and laid on the bed by her face with no respect for personal space and the little dog he almost lay on.

  How did he always understand? Empathy oozed from him as he grumbled low in his chest and closed his eyes to offer her the comfort she needed as the exhaustion of two sixteen-hour days caught up with her and allowed dark emotions to sneak under her guard. Emotions she’d only experienced since her sister was taken, flinging her into the middle of a nightmare. Despite all her experience and knowledge as a police officer, once her heart opened to the reality of true distress, it was difficult not to apply it to other situations.

  She curled her fingers deep into Domino’s thick ruff and kneaded his neck, aware he was only with her for the brief time Fliss was in the shower, then he’d be off, deserting Jenna for his one true love. It didn’t matter to her. She’d take her comfort when she could from him. Just as she’d taken the welcome distraction of Fliss’s amazing food and wonderful company and for a full hour they’d shared bad news and good, enough to lift her spirits.

  And for now she had Fleur’s company. The sweet little dog with sadness swirling in her eyes.

  Adrian’s messages had curled a warmth in the pit of her stomach too to sustain her while she
had a quick shower before exhaustion took her completely. They were nothing, but something. They’d not progressed to the intense stage, things were still light and tentative, but he had a way of wording messages that warmed her heart. A tendency to always ask about her first. His hours were almost as long as hers while he worked a major case. He understood her shifts, appreciated she needed to get on with the job, eat, sleep. Some days were like that and he didn’t press if she wasn’t available.

  Once the darkness closed in though, she was left with her own thoughts.

  Her breath hitched in her throat and her chest burnt with the emotions she’d stifled for the past few hours, ones she’d felt the need to skim over in Fliss’s presence. Fliss didn’t need more pressure than she already had with the court case looming.

  Domino moved his head to tuck his cold wet nose behind her ear and snuffle there, sending soft shivers along her spine. He wasn’t supposed to be on the bed. She’d told Fliss off numerous times for allowing him in her bedroom before. But so much had changed between before and after Fliss’s kidnap. So many things Jenna had considered important were no longer.

  She reached out a hand to smooth it over Fleur’s soft rounded belly.

  What would happen with the before and after for the Lawrence family?

  A quiet sob snagged at the back of her throat. Some days were hard.

  Arson. The fire service had confirmed an accelerant had been used. As the scene had cooled down SOCO, led by Senior Forensic Scientist Jim Downey, had been allowed in. Jim had emailed initial photographs. Of blackened, gnarled husks, curled in on themselves as the heat of the fire had scorched through, rendering their fat content to liquid so it dripped away onto whatever surface each of the bodies had lain on. It had twisted the limbs into unrecognisable shapes. Two of them so small. Despite having it instilled that they should never jump to conclusions, the obvious conclusion was that they were the youngest of the Lawrences. Twin girls. Talisha and Geraldine. They had names. They were real. They were children who Gordon Lawrence had quite possibly murdered and then set alight.