by M K Farrar
“Do you think it’s possible one of those people figured out who had stolen from them and sought out revenge?”
Gemma shook her head. “Highly unlikely. We were never confronted by anyone, or caught, as far as I know. Of course, Jacob didn’t tell me everything, so there’s a chance someone caught him one time when I wasn’t there.”
“And you think that’s the reason Jacob’s mother didn’t like you?”
“She thought I’d led him astray, but actually he was worse than me. The night he went missing, we had a big row about it.”
“I saw that in the case file. The two of you had an argument in the club where he was last seen?”
She swept a stray strand of hair out of her face. “That’s right. I explained it all at the time. We were having a fun night, plenty of booze, and someone had some pills...”
“Pills?” Mallory checked.
She made a mental note to see if a tox screen had been run on the body during the autopsy.
“Yeah, ecstasy. We’d all dropped earlier that night. It was pretty normal for a weekend.”
“So then what happened?”
“Jacob wanted me to help him steal money off some bloke. He’d seen him pocketing a wedge of notes, and he wanted me to distract the guy, like flirt and stuff, so he could pickpocket him. I was having a good time, and I didn’t want to get involved. Besides, it was a bad idea doing it in a club where they have CCTV, and I told Jacob I didn’t want to do it. He got angry with me, and I accused him of only wanting me around to act as his accomplice, and he said something along the lines of ‘Well, what else are you good for.’ I told him that if he felt that way, what the hell were we doing together anyway, and he said that maybe we shouldn’t be. I called him names and he called me some back. He stormed off, and that was the last time I saw him.”
“Did you see him arguing with anyone else that night?”
Her gaze dropped down, and she shook her head. “No, it was just me, but I promise I didn’t have anything to do with his death. We were young and stupid, but I did love him at the time. I would have done anything to change the way things ended between us. I hate to think that in his last moments he was thinking that I hated him.”
Her voice trembled with emotion. Even though it was ten years later, and Gemma Ennals had clearly moved on, with a husband and a child of her own, the loss of the young man she’d loved as a teenager still clearly affected her.
“I beat myself up over that a long time after I found out he’d died in such a horrific way. After our fight, I thought he was doing what we call ‘ghosted’ these days. He didn’t message or text and didn’t reply to any of mine. I thought he was just ignoring me, and I was really angry at him for things ending that way. I thought he was being selfish, and then we realised he was missing, and even then I was more angry than worried. I thought it was typical of him to get everyone worried about him when he was probably just visiting friends in London or something. So I was angry and resentful, and the whole time he was dead.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Look, my husband and daughter don’t know what I was like when I was younger. I’d really appreciate it if this could stay between us. He’s a straight-laced man, completely the opposite to the type of person Jacob was—the type of person I was—and I’m not sure how he’d react if he found out I used to be into drugs and stealing things, you know?”
“I’ll do whatever I can to keep it between us, but if we do find out who did this, and need you to come to court as a witness, I’m afraid he’ll find out. You might be better off telling him now rather than waiting for someone else to tell him.”
She bit her lower lip. “You’re probably right.”
“Before I go...in the initial interview you gave, you said you were with some other people that night. Are you still in touch with any of them at all?”
“Not really. I’m friends with a couple of them on Facebook, but that’s all. Most of them moved away, and we all just got on with our lives. It’s been ten years. I guess we all grew up.”
“What about earlier that day? Did you see Jacob getting into arguments with anyone else? Did anything unusual happen at all?”
“Not that I can remember, but it all happened a long time ago. Whatever I told the police during my initial interview after he went missing would be far more accurate than whatever I can remember today. It feels like a lifetime ago. I was a completely different person.”
“This is going to sound like a strange question, but does paint mean anything to you in relation to the people you knew back then?”
Her brow furrowed. “Paint? No, should it?”
Mallory gave her a bright smile. “We’re not sure yet. Just something we’re looking into.”
“Right.”
Her daughter called out from the other room. “Muuum!”
Gemma glanced in that direction and then back at Mallory. “Is that everything? I should really get back to her before she decides to colour in the living room walls or something.”
“That’s it for the moment, but I may need to speak to you again.” Mallory handed Gemma her card. “And if you do think of anything in the meantime, please, give me a call.”
“I highly doubt I will, Detective. Sorry. I’ve already told you everything I know. I do hope you find whoever did this to Jacob, though. I’ve hated to think his killer has been getting away with it all these years. For a long time, I couldn’t walk past a stranger in a supermarket or on the street without wondering if they were the person who murdered him.”
“You believe it was a stranger rather than someone he knew?” Mallory asked.
A visible shudder ran over her shoulders. “Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, but I can’t imagine anyone he knew wanting Jacob dead. He might have been a bit of a troublemaker, but he wasn’t a bad man. He was just young and stupid, like we all were back then.”
Mallory tried to think back to the type of person she’d been in her late teens and early twenties. She remembered in her early teens hanging out with school friends in the park, drinking from two litre bottles of cider, and occasionally sneaking a few drags of a spliff when it was handed around. When she’d got old enough to get into bars and clubs, she’d moved on to stronger drinks, but that had been all. She’d certainly never stolen from another person and had never tried anything harder than those few early smokes of a joint.
“Not all of us,” she said with a half-smile.
“No, of course not.” Gemma’s cheeks grew pink. “Sorry.”
Gemma’s daughter called out for her again.
“I’ll leave you in peace,” Mallory said, “but please get in touch if you think of anything at all.”
Mallory walked back to her car, climbed inside, and then called Ryan.
“How did you get on?” he asked.
“Jacob’s ex has a nice life now and wasn’t too keen on dragging everything back up. She did talk to me, though.”
“Anything that wasn’t in the initial report?”
“She said that she and Jacob used to steal things, money mainly. They’d pinch people’s wallets and handbags and take the cash for drugs and partying.”
“Could it be he was caught with his hand in someone’s pocket?” he mused.
“I thought the same. Not sure how that relates to our more recent victims though. How did you get on with the mother?”
“She wasn’t overly happy on seeing me either. She felt the police had let her and Jacob down by not catching his killer. She was happy to hear we were reopening the case.”
“Let’s hope we can give her some closure,” Mallory said.
“Agreed. I’m heading back into the office now. I’ll meet you there.”
Mallory ended the call and checked her watch. By the time she got back to the office, and Ryan went through the end-of-day briefing, it would be time to head home.
Chapter Ten
Joe stepped back out on the street, making sure he was wearing the same
clothes he’d been in for the past few weeks. Even though he’d taken the time to have a hot shower, he hadn’t washed his face or his hair, just letting the water run over his body. Being too clean would give him away. He even kept his hands out of the flow, knowing that clean hands and nails would be another giveaway. Everyone on the street had several layers of dark grime under and around their nails.
He was always cautious of this part—arriving and leaving the house. He doubted he would be seen by anyone on the street, but he didn’t want the neighbours asking questions. They probably already thought he was unsociable, but since he was also quiet and rarely home, that most likely made him the perfect neighbour.
He pulled his hat down over his forehead and hauled the black bag of belongings over his shoulder.
Maybe today would be the day.
The need rose inside him, an ache that twisted his internal organs. Maybe he was wrong, but he couldn’t stop now. He’d come so far.
He didn’t even risk getting a bus in case he was seen. Homeless people didn’t waste money on public transport, not when legs worked perfectly well, and that money could be spent on more practical things like food or booze. He didn’t want to do anything that might make them think he was dodgy. There were people who begged in the city centre, and made a pretty penny doing so, only to return to their comfortable homes and pocket the cash. Those people were never very popular with those who were genuinely homeless, taking money that could have gone into the pockets of the more needy. Joe didn’t try to beg, though. He had no interest in earning money from being on the street. Sometimes people just threw some at him, assuming he needed it, and so he took that money and slipped it into the belongings of actual homeless people while he slept beside them at night.
No, this wasn’t about money, or about scamming people. It was far more important than that.
When he was in his homeless attire, he became invisible. People deliberately avoided his eye and glanced away, not wanting to see him. If they’d been asked to describe him in any detail, the best they’d have been able to come up with was ‘a homeless man’, and perhaps a guess at his age—somewhere between twenty and forty. His real age was twenty-nine, but with his hat tugged right down and a thick beard covering his face, it was impossible to tell.
Joe walked into town and then cut up to head back through Castle Park. He kept his eyes peeled for the group of homeless who normally gathered around here at this time.
He spotted the men sitting around a park bench—a couple on the seat, and three others on the ground. Before they noticed him, he took a moment to see who was there. He spotted Ash and Richard from the previous night, and another man he knew as Warren. Were there any faces that hadn’t been there the previous day?
“Hey, Joe,” Warren called out to him.
He’d been seen. Joe lifted a hand in a wave and wandered over.
“Where you been?” Warren asked.
Joe shrugged. “You know, here and there.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? I thought I saw you walking up towards Montpelier way first thing this morning. Where were you off to?”
Joe froze, but he did his best to hide his reaction by pasting on a nonchalant smile. It was the one thing he relied upon—his anonymity. He couldn’t have people talking about him or asking him where he’d been.
“Nah, that wasn’t me. You must have seen someone else.”
“I’m sure it was you. You were on the other side of the road. I’d have shouted out to you, but I didn’t think you’d hear me over the traffic, and I didn’t want to get up in case I lost my spot.”
He needed to be more careful.
“What were you doing up that way?” Joe tried to divert the conversation from what he’d been doing.
What if someone followed him one day and saw him letting himself into his flat? His cover would be blown, and so would all his opportunities.
Warren shrugged. “Town’s been getting so crowded lately, and people barely seem to see us anymore. Thought a change of location might bring in some extra cash.”
People barely seem to see us anymore...
That was what Joe relied on. Except it wasn’t the regular members of the public he didn’t want to notice him, but those he spent his time with day in, day out. He’d heard rumours, and he’d followed those rumours, hoping to hear more. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way, but he would never get close to them if he was seen as one of the others.
Maybe he needed to stop going back to the house. If he immersed himself in this situation one hundred percent of the time, he wouldn’t have the fear of being seen or noticed as someone different. Wasn’t it more important that he achieved what he’d set out to do rather than get a good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed? The thought made him want to curl up and shrivel into nothingness. He’d only just been tolerating being pissed on and beaten up because he’d known it was only temporary.
It still is temporary. You can quit at any time.
But could he quit, though? So many cities. So much time wasted. What would have been the point in it all?
“There was a new kid hanging around near the train station last night,” Richard said. “Heard the cops moved him on.”
Joe perked up at that news, relieved the topic had moved from him. “Oh, yeah. Where did he go?”
He shrugged. “No idea.”
Joe let out a breath. “It’s dangerous for new ones. They don’t know the rules, or what’s expected of them.”
Ash snorted. “They’ll learn soon enough.”
“Either that or they’ll go running back to the missus or their mother,” Richard said, “whichever one’s more likely to take them back in.”
Warren chuckled. “That’s if they survive long enough.”
Joe experienced a jolt inside him at the mention of people not surviving. Of course people died. It was only normal. People died every day. But somehow the thought of dying out on the street, with no loved one to hold their hand, on a cold, hard pavement, not even in a bed, was even worse. The streets were brutal, and often it was the people they shared these streets with who were the worst.
It was easy for someone to vanish out here, and no one would even notice they were missing or report them gone.
Chapter Eleven
“Hi, I’m home!” Mallory called out as she entered the house.
She never liked getting back too late, but sometimes it was unavoidable, especially when she was working a big case like this one.
Voices came from the kitchen, and she froze. A different atmosphere permeated the house, and all the hairs on her arms stood on end. Without bothering to remove her jacket, she strode down the hallway and into the kitchen where her brother stood with a man she didn’t recognise. He appeared to be about her age, with light-brown hair and smartly dressed in a light-blue shirt and a pair of grey suit trousers.
“I didn’t realise Ollie had a visitor,” she said abruptly.
“Hi, Mallory.” Her brother greeted her with his wide smile that she loved so much.
Ollie was twenty-three and had Down’s syndrome. He’d been living with her for the past year since their parents had found taking care of him as well as themselves a bit too much.
The man smiled at her. “Yes, I hope that’s okay. My name’s Daniel. I’m from the Helping Hand Charity Trust.”
Her smile felt frozen on her face, all her inner alarm bells jangling. “You are?” She knew the name of the charity, it was one of the ones she’d been in touch with about getting respite care for Ollie, but no one had been in touch. “Have you got your ID?”
Her lack of warmth seemed to fluster him. “Oh, yes, of course. Here you go.”
He handed over his ID. It looked genuine enough, but anyone with a computer and a laminator could rustle up some fake ID.
“Just excuse me for one second,” she said.
She stood her ground, and he realised she expected him to leave the room rather than the other way around. She had no intent
ion of leaving him alone here with Ollie. She’d always been protective of her younger brother. She was eight years older than Ollie and could always remember looking after him. She liked to think having him in her life made her a better person. When her friends were fighting with their siblings and complaining about them, all she’d ever wanted to do was spend time with him. If she had a bad day, she always knew that coming home to him would make her feel better. His was a simpler life in many ways, but no less rich.
Daniel ducked his head. “Right. I’ll just be out here.”
He stepped out into the hallway, and Mallory did a quick search on the charity on her phone and called the number on the website. There was one on the back of Daniel’s ID, but for all she knew, that phone number might be connected to a partner in crime who was ready and waiting to cover his back.
“You’ve reached Helping Hand. Patricia speaking.”
“Hello, Patricia. My name is DS Lawson. I’d like to do a check on an employee you have called Daniel Williamson.”
“What kind of check?”
“I came home to find him in my house, so I wanted to make sure he actually works for you, and that he was due to pay us a visit today.”
“Oh, yes, he does. Let me check the diary. One moment.”
Mallory threw Ollie a smile as he watched her intently, most likely wondering what all the fuss was about.
The woman’s voice returned on the end of the line. “Yes, that’s right. He’s due to be with you now.”
“He is. Thanks for your help.” She ended the call and raised her voice slightly. “Come on through. The charity confirmed who you are.”
He came back into the kitchen, looking a little like a naughty child who’d been sent out of the room.
“Sorry to be suspicious,” she said, “but I don’t take things on face value.
“Mallory is a detective,” Ollie announced proudly, pronouncing the word ‘detective’ carefully and in three syllables: dee-tec-tive.
Daniel grinned at Oliver. “Is that right? Impressive.”