Dead Inside

by Noelle Holten

  Maggie stared at the crime scene photos on the board in front of her. Piece by piece everything began to fall into place. The witness statements, evidence, and photos flickering and flashing in her mind. She was suddenly back at the crime scenes, seeing them take place in real time. The images cleared in her mind and the killer was revealed. The face clear. Maggie smacked her hands on the table.

  ‘Oh, my god.’ She stood up. ‘It was right under our noses all along. We do know someone who has links to hospitals and a vet’s surgery.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

  The team knew that they needed to be one hundred per cent certain, before rushing out to make an arrest. Maggie joined heads with Dr Moloney. Together they looked over previous interviews, notes taken, and the links to the victims, until they agreed that this was their killer. The pieces of the puzzle were finally coming together. The alleged suspect grew up in a house filled with domestic abuse, had a mother who suffered systematic abuse, who’d turned to alcohol and drank herself to death. Leaving the child to be taken into care. No previous convictions, although they had been cautioned for a public order offence in their teens. How did they not see it?

  Maggie and Mark headed to the address. Kat was waiting for the search warrant to be signed off and would let them know as soon as it was available.

  Given the nature of this individual’s job, they knew that the working hours could be early mornings and late nights but were pleased to see a car out front when they arrived.

  It was still fairly dark, and the streets were quiet. Maggie signalled for Mark to go around the back and make sure there were no access points for escape. Maggie knocked on the door – three fast, hard knocks.

  She waited.

  Nothing.

  Just as she was about to knock again, the hall light came on. The occupant opened the door with a look of surprise, but also relief.

  ‘I wondered how long it would take you to figure things out.’

  ‘Shell Baker, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Robert Millard and Michael O’Dowd—’

  Maggie was so busy cautioning Shell she failed to see her reach into her pocket and pull out the Stanley knife. Shell backed away from the door and into the hallway, holding out her wrist.

  ‘Ms. Baker … Shell … put the knife down. It’s over. You don’t want to hurt yourself.’ Maggie stepped after her down the hallway, her hands raised, palms up. ‘Don’t give those men the satisfaction—’

  ‘I did what I had to do. I don’t need to do it anymore.’ Shell backed into the living room. ‘It really is over – over for me.’

  Maggie stood across the living room from her, her hands still raised, and continued to try and talk her down. Shell’s eyes danced around the room as she held the knife against her wrist. Maggie edged closer and just when it looked like Maggie had turned the situation around and Shell was about to hand the knife over, Shell sliced her wrist deeply with a sudden movement and screamed. Blood filled the room and Maggie ran forward. Shell collapsed to the floor.

  ‘Oh, my god.’ Maggie raised Shell’s arm above her head to try and stem the flow of blood. It was everywhere. ‘Mark! MARK! Call an ambulance, quickly.’

  Mark raced into the room and immediately called for assistance.

  Maggie could see Shell’s lips moving and bent down. Shell whispered in Maggie’s ear, ‘Everything you’ll be wanting – what I used – it’s in my bedroom under the floorboards. In my closet. Please don’t trash my place.’

  ‘OK Shell, we’ll do our best. Now stay with me. Don’t close your eyes … I’ve got you.’

  Shell was quiet as the ambulance took her away. She would have to be interviewed by the police and knew she’d be arrested and charged. But with Patrick gone, Vicki recovering, her cousin Louise safe, and Drew not able to hurt another woman again – her anger had dissipated. She was done.

  There wouldn’t be a long trial. Shell would answer their questions and spend her remaining years at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. That thought didn’t scare her. She closed her eyes and smiled as she was driven to the hospital.

  CHAPTER NINETY

  After two days in the hospital Shell was released into police custody. She refused a solicitor. Sitting across from her in the interview room, Maggie shrugged and reminded Shell that if at any point she wished to stop the questioning and request the services of one, she could.

  ‘I understand. I just want to get this over with.’

  Maggie could see relief in Shell’s eyes and almost felt sorry for her. What would make someone commit such brutal acts of violence and ultimately face a life sentence?

  ‘Shall we start?’

  ‘The sooner the better.’

  ‘Present in the room are Ms Shell Baker, PC Mark Fielding, and myself – DC Maggie Jamieson. Ms Baker, can you just verbally confirm once again that you declined a solicitor?’

  ‘Yes, I declined.’

  ‘Ms Baker, can you also confirm that you told my colleague and myself, on arrest, that you committed the offences for which you are being questioned about now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Yes, what, Ms Baker?’

  ‘Yes, I confessed to murdering Drew, Robert and Mick.’ She almost spat their names out.

  Maggie and Fielding looked at each other. ‘Sorry, did you say Drew?’

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you know about Drew?’

  ‘We were going to ask you about him, but now that you have cleared that up, can you tell us the circumstances surrounding each murder, please?’

  Shell Baker spent eight gruelling hours recounting the details. She grew up in a house where violence was the norm, had watched her father beat her mother, and taken her fair share of beatings. She was home, hiding under the bed when her father beat her mother and then left her for dead. Her father was evil. Shell detailed her time in care homes where the abuse didn’t stop. Although it didn’t happen in every home, it seemed social care liked pairing her up with families that used abuse to put the fear of God in children. She’d have been better off living on the streets, but refused to let him win. Then she met Drew and thought he was her knight in shining armour. That is, until he beat her up and she packed her bags and left. She then moved away. But it seemed he followed. After hearing from Wendy what he did to his girlfriend, and not wanting him to do the same thing to others, Shell made sure he would never do it again.

  Shell’s annoyance flared as she explained to the officers how her anger remained deeply hidden, suppressed because she wanted to make something of herself. She didn’t want her past to control her but when people she cared about – her family, close friends – fell into the same trap of violence, something inside her snapped.

  She looked at Maggie. ‘Someone had to do something.’ The coldness in her eyes sent a tingle down Maggie’s spine.

  ‘What did you use to incapacitate the victims, Ms Baker?’ Maggie wanted to be sure that Shell wasn’t covering for someone else.

  ‘Victims? Victims? That’s a fucking joke! The only victims were Heather, Louise and Vicki. Someone needed to protect them.’

  ‘Ms Baker, can you tell us what you injected Robert Millard and Mick O’Dowd with? And why not Talbot?’

  Shell sighed. ‘My uncle’s a vet. I clean his clinic and have keys to all the cabinets, including the safe. When I was younger, I used to help him. I saw him inject something into the animals to relax them before surgery. I asked him about it. He told me the name, and what it did, and I’m not sure why, but I never forgot it.’

  ‘What was it, Ms Baker?’

  ‘Succinylcholine.’

  ‘And what did you do with it?’

  Shell told them she’d stolen the succinylcholine and syringes from the clinic. Maggie nodded. The items including the drugs were exactly where Shell had told her they would be: under her floorboards, including the notebook from Vicki’s flat which officer’s had failed to find. Heads would no doubt roll.

  Shell had googled how much would be required to make so
meone collapse without killing them, but the drug would only last ten to fifteen minutes and was difficult to trace. She always had a spare syringe but, once her anger had been released, the men had died before it was required. Shell smiled when she learnt the men had actually drowned in their own blood. Shell didn’t have the succinylcholine when she found out what Talbot had done to Wendy’s daughter; she crept up behind him and knocked him over the head. She found the empty syringe inside his pockets and thought that if she injected air into his veins, he would die instantly. When he didn’t, she slit his throat and slashed the top of his legs. She had read somewhere that there was a big vein in that part of the leg that, when cut, could cause someone to bleed out quickly. She then bashed his hands to a pulp. ‘Fucking prick deserved it.’

  She recounted the look on the other two men’s faces as she rained kicks and punches down on them, a manic look in her eyes. With Mick the drug was wearing off so she tasered him.

  ‘They could feel everything.’ Maggie started to feel sick as she watched Shell continue to talk. ‘They were helpless and knew they were going to die. And you know what?’ Shell looked at both officers. ‘I laughed. I fucking laughed my arse off. Those fuckers finally knew what it must have felt like for Heather, Louise and Vicki. Those pricks deserved to die.’

  When asked about Patrick Quinn, Shell admitted her affair but was adamant that she didn’t kill him. However, when they told her about what had happened to his wife, she stopped telling her story and went pale. After a moment, she recovered herself and stated that he probably would have ended up like the others. After her father and then Drew, she’d never allow a man to lay a finger on her again. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen through Patrick. She should have listened to what others had said, but Patrick was so charming. He blindsided her. Maggie thought Shell actually looked ashamed for the first time in the long confession – not by the murders she had committed, but by the abusive man she had almost let into her life

  As Maggie was recounting the interview with Shell to the team, she noticed Mark returning to the office.

  Hooper and Calleja congratulated everyone on their good work in this case and agreed that the CPS would have no issue in taking it before the court. Shell could probably get a lighter sentence, if the judge felt there were mitigating circumstances. Regardless, she’d be looking at a considerable amount of time behind bars.

  Maggie listened as Hooper reminded everyone that with the Talbot, Millard and O’Dowd case closed, they couldn’t be complacent. Patrick Quinn’s murder remained unsolved, and they needed to tie this up quickly. Even with Shell admitting to her affair with Patrick Quinn, the MO was different – no needle mark, no evidence that placed her at the scene. They were confident that had Shell committed the crime, she would have confessed. She had nothing more to lose. Following a brief update from her, the team agreed to meet back in the morning and go through the evidence in more detail.

  CHAPTER NINETY-ONE

  Lucy stared at the grey walls before her, the weeks spent in prison were taking their toll. She started rocking absentmindedly back and forth on the bed. A coping mechanism she’d developed as a child, one that carried on into her adult years whenever she was anxious or upset. The tears that were flowing confused her. She wasn’t sure if she was crying for herself or grieving Patrick’s death. Her emotions were all over the place and she was bottling them up. People wouldn’t understand how she could cry and grieve for a man who had stolen years of her life. Lucy had been guilty of those thoughts about other abused women, so why wouldn’t people think the same about her?

  Patrick had been a master manipulator and even now she felt her feelings weren’t within her control. Looking back, she realized that he’d been subtle initially. Isolating her from her friends and family. The more Lucy would defend them, the more Patrick would go out of his way to make her question things – were they genuine? Did they love her? Why did they act that way? More thoughts, reminders of the emotional abuse flooded her thoughts, and she picked up her journal and wrote them down.

  If your parents are so great, how come they wouldn’t help us when we were struggling to pay the mortgage?

  That’s not fair, Patrick, they didn’t have the money and you know it.

  Didn’t they? I thought I saw them on Facebook – a holiday – only a week later. Face it, they don’t give a toss about you, us, or the kids.

  I thought about what Patrick was saying. You know they’d saved for that holiday for ages. It was pre-booked …

  Patrick smacked his palms on the table, making me jump. I remember it so vividly. Raising his voice, he’d said, like fuck they had. Wake up, Lucy. Are you stupid? Are you really that stupid!

  Lucy knew exactly why her parents didn’t visit. The last time they had, Patrick had got drunk and been disrespectful, not only to Lucy but to her sister and parents. Lucy’s father had warned her to be careful after that final dinner they’d attended, the one where Mel was flirting with Patrick. But Lucy didn’t listen. The next day, her father had called her and warned her again. Lucy had made excuses for Patrick, but her father made it clear they wouldn’t be visiting again. He had sounded so sad. Almost like he was saying goodbye forever. Patrick made her believe they were better off alone.

  The grey walls were closing in on her. Lucy carried on rocking. She used to believe that if he was dead, she’d be free. The reality was different, and she now wondered if she’d ever be free. Even in death he controlled her.

  Lucy sighed. The days in prison seemed to drag, like when you’re in a hospital, and every time you look at a clock it doesn’t seem to have moved at all. She did have one thing to look forward to though: seeing Rory and meeting his girlfriend. Lucy smiled and stopped rocking for a moment. They would be arriving any minute now. She had become close to Rory since the murder; they wrote to each other weekly. She felt this overwhelming need to still protect him, as if she was all he had left.

  When it was time, the guard escorted her into the visiting area to wait. Lucy chose a seat as far away from the others as possible. She couldn’t get used to associating herself with the other prisoners. It wasn’t that Lucy felt she was better than them, she just couldn’t face any questions which might lead to her getting her face smashed in. No one had discovered she was a probation officer yet, but it was only a matter of time.

  Visitors were arriving, and Lucy eagerly sat up in her seat. There he was, Rory was growing up to be a handsome young man, and his girlfriend looked happy and content. She waited for them to come over to the table and for Rory to make the introductions. She hugged Rory.

  ‘I miss you, Lucy,’ Rory said shyly.

  ‘You too, little man, or not so little anymore.’ Lucy stood back and looked at him. He looked so much like his father, Lucy was taken aback momentarily. ‘And who’s this then?’ she turned to the young woman who clung to Rory’s hand.

  ‘Lucy – this is Emma. Emma Shand.’ He let go of her hand and Lucy went over to hug her. Lucy didn’t know if she was imagining things, but she thought she heard the young girl wince. Lucy stepped back.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Emma looked up at Rory and Lucy thought she saw a familiar glint in Rory’s eye.

  Turning back to Lucy, Emma replied, ‘Oh yeah. I just slipped over the other day. A little sore still.’ She smiled weakly. ‘Really nice to meet you. Rory has told me all about you and what happened.’ Lucy looked at Rory who just shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘We don’t have much time and I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to. Please, sit down.’ Lucy pointed to the chairs across from her.

  There was a strange vibe in the air. After a slightly uncomfortable conversation, Lucy noticed that the hour was coming to an end. She asked Rory to tell her all about his plans. He talked about attending college, moving into his own flat when he could, and how he was using the money that Lucy set up with her wages to help him. Despite the charge, she had only been suspende
d pending investigation, so she ensured that her wages, once the bills and mortgage had been paid, would go to Siobhan and Rory. She smiled.

  ‘I’m so proud of you, Rory. Do you see much of Siobhan?’ Lucy worried about Siobhan every day. Once she was sentenced for Patrick’s murder, the special guardianship would be officially revoked, and the social worker informed her that Siobhan’s grandparents would be granted a residency order for her. Lucy felt a tear escape her eye.

  ‘Hey, don’t cry. Siobhan’s doing great! I still see her as much as I can. She is still slightly angry with you, but I tell her every time I see her that what happened wasn’t your fault. She just doesn’t understand. Not yet. But she will.’

  Lucy squeezed Rory’s hand.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘After everything you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do.’

  Lucy’s eyes widened. Looking at Emma, she whispered, ‘Rory, you can’t say anything. Never. Do you understand?’

  Rory had a funny look on his face. He didn’t respond, but instead turned to Emma and then back to Lucy. ‘Just going to get something from the vending machine. Long journey back. Two secs.’

  That’s odd.

  Lucy reached out to touch Emma’s arm to thank her for coming, but Emma snatched it back.

  ‘What’s wrong? Do you need to go to the doctor and have your arm checked? Maybe you fractured something when you fell?’

  Emma turned red and shook her head. She looked over her shoulder and appeared to shrink into her seat. Suddenly things became clear to Lucy.

  ‘No … no … No!’

  Rory was making his way back to the table.

  ‘You can’t stay with him, Emma. You need to leave. Please, tell me you will, or all this will have been for nothing!’

  Fear overcame Emma and she whispered hurriedly, ‘I can’t. He’ll kill me …’