The crowd was up on its feet, baying for blood. And then, from further back, ‘Mr Ross. You say it’s up to the public. What I want to know is whether you think DI Hunter is up to running this investigation?’
The voice cut through the throng: a confident, unmistakeable drawl that had provided a soundtrack to Eve’s lowest moments. Her heart plummeted. She felt Mr Ross’s stare on her skin, confusion in his eyes when she glanced his way before looking towards the disembodied voice. Claire Jenkins from the local rag, the Aberdeen Enquirer.
The reporter’s hair was more severe, dyed bright red and dragged back off her face, but the dark-rimmed glasses and sharply cut suit were still the same. Eve’s pulse throbbed in her neck, a trickle of sweat running between her shoulder blades. She forced herself to stay seated and tried not to glower at Jenkins, conscious of the camera.
Elliott rose from his seat. Mearns was staring; Eve could almost feel the cold glare on her skin. Cooper looked angry, whereas Ferguson looked like he was enjoying the show. Elliott was on high alert, making a visible effort to smooth the scowl from his face, the result not much better. ‘Ladies and gents. Please. The capabilities and dedication of all our officers is never under question. Let’s stick to why we’re here, please.’
Hastings stiffened next to her. Jenkins licked her lips, the blue stone of her tongue piercing flashing in the lights of the cameras, reminding Eve of Melanie all over again. When Jenkins spoke, it was with an icy tone. ‘But don’t you think with DI Hunter’s recent history that—’
Elliott looked at Melanie’s father. ‘Thank you, Mr Ross. The gent in the red tie, please, what was your question again?’ Elliott pointed beyond Jenkins, dragging the attention away from her.
Eve relaxed, grateful for the intervention. Jenkins seethed, mouth pursed, eyes dangerous, as proceedings continued around her. Eve answered the next question, but her mind was on the vicious article that Jenkins had written after MacNeill Jnr’s car accident. Every word dripping with accusation. Pointing the finger at her:
Local police officer being investigated after suspect run off the road … witness says officer was breaking the speed limit and driving recklessly … total disregard for fellow officer’s life … life-changing injuries to Johnny MacNeill Jnr … father wants justice …
Eve would pay for her unanswered questions later.
The next half an hour was a sea of questions. Hastings missed plenty of openings to wrap things up. Eventually, Eve took it upon herself. She coughed, making sure her voice would be steady and seem confident through the mic. ‘That’s all we have for now. Further information will be given as soon as we have it. Thank you.’
The reporters were on their feet again. Still an onslaught of questions. None of them satisfied with what was essentially a holding statement. Such a statement was usually made without the press in attendance, but in light of the severity of the case they had hoped the face-to-face briefing to be the right PR move. A move that said they weren’t hiding from the media, even though they were in every sense of the word: no details on the tongue, the headline attached to the clothing, or the nature of the crime scene, and no hint towards Ryan Phillips at this point in time.
Eve stood and followed Hastings out, her lopsided gait more pronounced than ever. Elliott took hold of her arm, steadying her through the crowds, making sure she got outside and across the uneven corridor to the lift. She never wanted to be seen as a victim, but this was one time she appreciated the help. Melanie’s father was being escorted home to his wife. The din was still clear as the lift doors closed and they made their escape.
Only Elliott spoke. ‘I’m not sure the plan worked.’
Chapter 9
Then
The playground’s crowded, filled with deafening squeals and screams of children set free from school, if only for a short while. He stands with his back to the red-brick wall, pressing hard against its uneven rough surface, the fat rolls spreading, enjoying the feeling of it through his thin school shirt.
It’s shaded here. Sheltered by a cracked asphalt flat roof that the older boys come to climb on after school hours. This is where he always stands. At the junior end of the playground even though he’s a senior. Away from the crowd. From them. Invisible. Alone. Except he doesn’t feel alone, not as long as he can see her.
Her long brown hair flies out behind her as she runs here and there with her friends, sunlight catching its strands, glowing like a halo, like the angel she is. She waves over to him, grins, and he doesn’t feel invisible any more.
‘Hey, Fatty.’
His cheeks clench as he hears Mason, sees him and his four-strong gang rounding the corner of the school. He starts stumbling in the other direction, the only place he’s able to go – the school car park. Figuring he’d rather take the wrath of the head teacher any day over what he knows Mason is looking to hand out. He hears them starting to run, feels his own feet picking up speed. Hopes she isn’t watching. Watching him run. Scared.
The punch to the centre of his back propels him forward, bending his upper half over his lower. He reaches out for the metal barrier between the playground and the car park, touching the flaking red paint with his fingertips, trying to stop himself from falling, grappling to grab hold of the bar too late, hitting it with his chin instead as he crashes to the ground.
He hears laughter. Right before the kicks start raining down on him, jabbing into his ribs, stamping on to his back. His cheek’s pressed hard against concrete, gravel in his mouth, sticking fast against the tears on his face, mixing with the snot running from his nose.
‘Down this end to see that sister of yours again?’ Mason’s out of breath with the effort of the blows he’s dishing out. ‘Watching her run around in that little skirt of hers. Hoping for a flash of her knickers?’
He lifts his head, shakes it violently against the lies, seeing the blur of faces gathered around him. All of them standing by, watching his humiliation, enjoying it.
‘Maybe we should check out her knickers. She’s obviously got something you can’t find anywhere else.’
He clenches his teeth, fists curling beneath him, scraping against the stone, oblivious to the pain, anger spreading across his chest, making him get to his knees. No longer seeing the crowd, only Mason. Only Mason. He lunges for him, wonders why his lower legs are circling air, going nowhere, until he realizes he’s being held from behind. By someone bigger than him. The headmaster, Mr Bellingfield.
And then he’s being dragged backwards, carried along as if he doesn’t weigh what he does, towards the office. Aware he’s shouting, swearing, kicking, unable to stop. Seeing everyone then. Each and every face. Finding his sister’s amongst the many.
He focuses on it. Sees tears on her cheeks glinting in the sunlight. Stares at her, calming himself. Needing to be there for her. Wanting her to be proud of him, not ashamed.
But then it’s her screaming. Pleading with them all to leave him alone. Her brother. To stop all the lies. Making everyone turn to stare. Making him want to start kicking again.
Chapter 10
The cold air was thick with the smell of coffee, officers hugging plastic cups between freezing hands, the muster room lacking decent decor and heat. Eve scanned the faces in front of her. Some had the ‘been there, done that’ air about them, hardened to most things these days. Others were still wet behind the ears, eager to please, hungry to climb. Everything she’d told them, they’d probably already gleaned from the usual HQ canteen gossip.
She cleared her throat and ploughed on. ‘DC Ferguson is looking into the CCTV footage between Melanie’s work and the hotel.’ Eve heard grumbling, no doubt from DC Ferguson.
‘There’s no record of Melanie entering the hotel – either on CCTV or checking in. We believe she may have used the back entrance to the Malmaison, where the CCTV has been faulty for some time. It’s fair to say she knew who she was meeting and, judging by how she entered the building, that she’d been there before. However, on checking,
Melanie has never officially been booked in. At least not under her own name.’
‘Why do we think she knew who she was meeting, ma’am?’
The wiry-haired officer was new, sitting posture perfect, craning his neck over those in front of him. One of the keen ones. Clearly he hadn’t been there long enough to have his opinion of her warped by all the gossip, unlike some of the more familiar faces looking back at her now.
‘Good question.’
The officer tried and failed to hide the pride on his face. She felt like a dog trainer throwing a titbit for good behaviour.
‘Melanie told her parents she was going to be home late, but not why. The bag she packed in advance, found at the scene, answers that. The contents were of a sexual nature. I don’t think there’s any need for me to spell that out.’
‘Might add some excitement to the morning.’
Once more, Eve blanked DC Ferguson, but her hackles were starting to rise. The press briefing earlier had been enough for one day. Her fingers flexed.
‘Could the contents of the bag have been placed at the scene? Had she been raped, ma’am?’ The question came from the same enthusiastic, Brillo-padded head bobbing above the others.
‘According to MacLean, there were no signs of sexual activity, but we are awaiting post-mortem details to confirm that.’
‘Waste of a good bag.’ There was a spattering of laughter, the usual suspects, with DC Ferguson at the heart of it. Eve glared at him, not willing to ignore him this time, irritated by the DC’s artfully ruffled hair, arms draped over the plastic chair, toned muscles visible through his shirt. ‘Knock it off, Ferguson.’ She held the stare, pulse throbbing in her head, until the laughter was cut short.
Now was not the time to deal with him, but it would have to happen at some point. And definitely before she lost it with him. She broke eye contact and looked towards Hastings, an unspoken agreement between them that Ferguson’s attitude had been noted.
Eve raised her voice. ‘As I said earlier, it was a brutal attack. Severe disfiguration to her face, believed to have been caused by a sharp instrument, perhaps a scalpel. MacLean thinks it may have been the same thing used to remove her tongue.’
The silence that followed the collective intake of breath was heavy. No longer any doubt who was in control, any reservations and distractions forgotten. Then a buzz of chatter charged through the room.
‘Do we know if she was alive when it was cut out?’ It was Ferguson again. Hopefully this time his sensible question wasn’t leading somewhere stupid.
‘Again, we are awaiting results, but it looks like she was.’
The groans hit her from all sides. Ferguson kept quiet.
Eve carried on. ‘MacLean thinks she was drugged. Unable to move but awake.’
She let that sink in before signalling to Elliott, who leaned forward, staying seated, more used to being behind the scenes in the press room.
‘Thanks, Eve. We’ve managed to keep the finer details out of the media after the briefing this morning. I know if they were to get out how difficult your job would become with the press baying for blood. The panic from the general public. We’ll try to hold them off for as long as we can.’
Eve looked around the room, making sure everyone was getting Elliott’s message. No leaks. She saw Ferguson’s scowl as he looked at Elliott and then glanced over to Mearns. She could take two guesses as to what his problem was – Mearns staring back at Elliott. But it was the least of hers.
‘Thanks, Elliott. As I’m sure you’ll all appreciate, this is not your standard murder inquiry. On top of that, the scene looked staged. Mirrors, magazines and make-up were all placed around Melanie’s body. A headline from the local newspaper about a modelling competition that Melanie had made the finals in was pinned to her body.’ Eve passed crime-scene photos around the room, watching each officer grimace in turn. ‘I think our guy is trying to send us a message. I hope I’m wrong, folks, but we need to be all over this.’
The atmosphere in the room was electric. Even the hardened were animated. Eve felt buoyed. Back in the game. She sensed movement from the side of the room. Hastings. White hair flapping, upturned nose twitching. Her boss placed a clammy hand on her shoulder and faced their audience.
‘Ladies, gents.’ His voice was gruff, authority rumbling across the space without the need for volume. ‘I have to go, but I want to take this opportunity to welcome DI Hunter back to the team. Some of you have worked with her previously; some of you are new to her. Whatever preconceptions or misconceptions you might have, you get on board and give her the best of you. Eve, I’ll catch you later.’
The door closed. Eve turned to the crowd, the blur of faces waiting for her reaction. Her eyes were drawn to DC Ferguson, the smug look all over his face. Eve took a moment, her clenched hand unfurling and reaching to fuss at her blouse collar. Mearns seemed to be enjoying her discomfort alongside Ferguson.
Was she supposed to show gratitude for Hastings’ backing? In truth she was pissed off, feeling like she’d had to pass some kind of test; to earn the right to be standing where she was. Maybe a swift, hard punch to Ferguson’s face would help the throbbing in her temples. If only. She gulped, plugging her rising anger in order to refocus.
‘We should expect preliminary post-mortem results later today, tomorrow at the latest.’ Her voice quivered, with anger not nerves. ‘The crime scene is a forensics nightmare; news on that front could be a long time coming.’
A shout-out from the back: ‘Do we have any leads?’
Eve rocked on her heels. ‘We have a firm lead, but again the following information is to be kept confidential and within the murder-inquiry team.’
The room fell silent.
‘A Mr Ryan Phillips booked the room. After speaking with Melanie’s parents, it has been verified that he’s Melanie’s adoptive brother.’
Eve let the flurry of comments fly. Christ knows what would’ve happened if she’d announced, as she’d first assumed, that Ryan had been Melanie’s biological brother. She raised her hand.
‘Obviously this is highly sensitive for the family. They’re estranged from Ryan and have been for some time. Efforts to track him yesterday were unsuccessful.’
‘Any word on the phone?’ Mearns said it like a petulant teenager.
‘Another dead end. Looking like it’s been destroyed.’
Eve spun round to the whiteboard behind her and pinned up an A4 photo of Melanie and the most recent photo of Ryan that Mr Ross had been able to provide.
‘I’ll assign some of you to help with the CCTV; others will be working through the statements taken from the hotel staff.’
Eve turned to the wall, hoping she looked confident. ‘Let’s get down to business.’
Chapter 11
DC Mearns raised her head above the computer monitor and saw DS Cooper sitting opposite her staring intently at his own.
‘Square eyes?’
He smiled. ‘Getting there.’
He’d been good to her since she’d joined the team six months ago, had made it easier coming in under the circumstances she did. Sanders had been a force to be reckoned with. The team was fiercely protective of that reputation; of making sure it wasn’t forgotten. If Mearns had arrived without the easy nature and strong work ethic she possessed, things could’ve been different. This was the first time that easy nature had been threatened, coming face to face with Eve. But she didn’t want Cooper to think less of her for the opinions she held; she knew he admired his boss.
‘Fancy a brew?’
He shook his head. ‘I was thinking it was about time we headed off.’
‘You did a good job getting Hunter out of here.’ Mearns couldn’t bring herself to call her Eve.
‘It’s been a hell of a couple of days to return to. She won’t have switched off though. She’ll be waiting for an update.’
‘You’ve got a lot of time for her.’
‘Best boss I’ve had. Fair. And as long as you do yo
ur job, you know, show respect, she’s not too anal about rank.’
Show respect. That wasn’t something Mearns was willing to do. Not with what had happened to Sanders. ‘And do people do that? Respect her, I mean?’
‘Yeah, Eve’s not up her own arse. Treats folk equal; people want to please her. Doesn’t mess about if folk take the piss though; you don’t want to see that side of her.’
Like Sanders had? And she hadn’t even been taking the piss. But from what she’d been told, Eve definitely had. Mearns tried not to show how she felt, didn’t want the woman’s return to affect her relationship with Cooper.
‘Must’ve been tough for her.’ She meant all the press intrusion and gossip after the attack – something Mearns thought Eve deserved.
‘Tough for anyone, worse when you hold yourself responsible no matter what folk say. One thing you can be sure of though, Eve will always have your back.’
She doubted that and was glad when the incident-room door opened, stopping the conversation.
‘What’s the scoop?’ DC Scott Ferguson swanned into the room.
‘Nothing. Chewing the fat. Talking about Eve.’ Cooper sighed and turned towards his screen.
Mearns was aware of how little time he had for Ferguson.
Ferguson tutted. ‘Plenty to talk about there. And none of it good.’
Cooper turned, glaring at him. ‘Fergu—’
‘OK, OK. Suit yourself. Still can’t believe they let her back though.’ Ferguson shrugged, that lazy smile spreading across his face, blue eyes twinkling as he looked at Mearns. ‘You needing a lift tonight?’
Mearns nodded. ‘Yeah, that’d be good.’ She looked at his hair, strangely fascinated by how it always looked the same even at the end of the day, no matter the weather, no matter the job. She admired his dedication to personal grooming.
She had fallen into a kind of car-share agreement – in that she shared Ferguson’s car now the weather was turning, as she didn’t have her own. Not that she wouldn’t have walked the fifteen minutes it took her, but he’d refused to take no for an answer.
Hold Your Tongue Page 6