Читать онлайн книгу «Maggie Jamieson Crime Thriller» автора Noelle Holten
Maggie Jamieson Crime Thriller
Noelle Holten
‘An excellent read’ Martina ColeA dark and gripping debut crime novel – the first in a stunning new series – from a huge new talent.‘Kept me hooked … excellent pace and a very satisfying ending’ Angela MarsonsWhen three domestic abuse offenders are found beaten to death, DC Maggie Jamieson knows she is facing her toughest case yet.The police suspect that Probation Officer Lucy Sherwood – who is connected to all three victims – is hiding a dark secret. Then a fourth domestic abuser is brutally murdered. And he is Lucy’s husband.Now the finger of suspicion points at Lucy and the police are running out of time. Can Maggie and her team solve the murders before another person dies? And is Lucy really a cold-blooded killer?
DEAD INSIDE
NOELLE HOLTEN
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
KillerReads
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain in ebook format by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Noelle Holten 2019
Cover design by Ellie Game © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com (https://www.shutterstock.com/)
Noelle Holten asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008332235
Version: 2019-04-08
To Buster (aka #TheBear) – my sounding board, best friend, soul mate and saviour.
Missing you every-single-day.
Table of Contents
Cover (#ub9d7e207-1304-5b49-a693-06c22dcf203f)
Title Page (#u1a804956-e868-562a-a585-bb98760c6069)
Copyright (#u88aa70b6-a558-51e7-a5eb-f9381e0bd2a9)
Dedication (#u0637bf43-d40c-5d19-85fd-6c1ce863489f)
Prologue (#ufc3e74f6-afee-5209-baa8-c9d89727b79a)
Chapter One (#u6fa64db7-4b17-52f5-998c-6dfab76bc8df)
Chapter Two (#u7db1798c-1743-5e02-8a6e-69ef8b4fd94d)
Chapter Three (#u33438419-0a3c-58ee-8539-4e70ef7850db)
Chapter Four (#uaa185fbe-ee90-50cd-9b60-d929b5db8651)
Chapter Five (#u86212875-9243-5440-9e94-d7ced64ef2a4)
Chapter Six (#u74731213-512c-51e0-bcf8-af7fe7194d3e)
Chapter Seven (#u55e15c3e-4603-5d33-9eb9-6cb0b4248706)
Chapter Eight (#u446f1364-5af5-532e-8d8c-cb2751f87631)
Chapter Nine (#uc92265c7-3db2-5a17-927f-87197e5195e6)
Chapter Ten (#u810c417f-f9d9-599d-919a-da9595fa0cc4)
Chapter Eleven (#u85f1aad3-7134-532e-ac64-b8db1f569880)
Chapter Twelve (#ub4b6ec0e-884f-5ad6-8b81-68df35fa9964)
Chapter Thirteen (#u3adc6076-8a42-5a8d-9e72-ca4a33500708)
Chapter Fourteen (#ua26f6786-77a7-52af-809c-05a51c1f8c9e)
Chapter Fifteen (#u8437d034-3969-54ba-bbf5-ef888d9bca3b)
Chapter Sixteen (#u0797d6b2-37e6-5e04-ae6f-c82b1059fc77)
Chapter Seventeen (#uab19c90a-18ed-5d47-b362-671c54045d7c)
Chapter Eighteen (#uf4c50cfd-9065-5233-8407-73506dfca317)
Chapter Nineteen (#ub93ffaf9-fe1d-5136-9f5e-2f814f3938cc)
Chapter Twenty (#u44f44068-7ae3-5f55-bf95-4de720babff5)
Chapter Twenty-One (#uda7dac9b-ab73-5b0c-b669-43d9e8d96792)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#uf30273f6-f9b8-5578-95df-bb0ce27d070a)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
A Note From Noelle (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading… (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#uee7e52df-45f8-517b-a54c-369e6ab890c0)
The crash at the bottom of the stairs woke me instantly.
I could see the smallest sliver of light peering underneath the door. The rest of the bedroom was in complete darkness.
I froze.
Should I get up and check on Siobhan? But, I knew if she had woken up, she would tap her fingers on her headboard like she always did, to let us know she was awake.
No tapping.
I didn’t want to move. I couldn’t, I was paralyzed with fear. I had always accepted the verbal abuse that was thrown at me. I could take that. It was the physical abuse that filled me with shame. I couldn’t help but shudder in dread as he stumbled his way up the stairs. I pretended to be asleep, but my heart raced faster with the sound of every footstep. My fear of him weighed me down, suffocated me, and pinned me to the bed.
We had two years of bliss before he proposed to me.
Two years of living normal, happy lives.
What happened?
Six months into the marriage, I realized I’d sealed my fate when I’d said, ‘I do’.
Ten years later, and the regrets were mounting.
Who would have thought that two little words would have given me such a long sentence?
Why me? What did I do to deserve this?
The bedroom door creaked open slowly. That’s what he did. Let me know he was coming, then built on my terror by taking his time to enter the bedroom.
I could hear his breathing as he stood there, his eyes bearing down on me. I tried to keep as still as possible. I wanted to disappear, sink deep down into the depths of the mattress where it was safe.
The foul stench of alcohol filled the room, stinging my eyes, and threatening to choke me.
Oh God! Please let him just ignore me tonight.
The dull thud from the change in his pocket startled me, as his clothing fell piece by piece to the floor.
I can’t take this anymore.
I wanted to shout but couldn’t wake up Siobhan.
He crawled in beside me. Hot, smelly breath burned at my neck, making me cringe. I couldn’t stand him anywhere near me.
In my mind, I was screaming, get away please just leave me the fuck alone! But not a sound escaped my lips.
He put one of his rough, calloused hands under my oversized T-shirt, his fingers icy to the touch. I shivered, not because his hand was cold, but because I knew what would happen if I said no.
He wrapped his arm around my neck, pulled me closer. Tight, uncaring and rough, until he was almost choking me.
‘Please … don’t.’ There was a whimper in my voice.
Sometimes, my weakness made me sick.
‘I want you.’
‘I have to work in the morning, Patrick. Please … don’t.’
He shoved his hand between my legs. Not gentle or loving, but forceful.
Through gritted teeth he snarled, ‘I don’t care. I. Want. You.’
‘Please. Think of the Siobhan. You’ll wake her.’
I remember tears flowing down my face like a waterfall. Like they’d never stop. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of something else.
Anything else. Anything would be better than this.
I was dead inside, numb to it all, even as I tried to remember the happier times.
When I thought he loved me.
When I loved him.
That night was the first time my husband raped me.
The look in his eyes when he finished and cast me aside told me it wouldn’t be the last.
CHAPTER ONE (#uee7e52df-45f8-517b-a54c-369e6ab890c0)
With only a few hours left in his shift, Amit was itching for a break. He saw Beacon Park up ahead and, as the moon reflected brightly off the bonnet of his black cab, he pulled up at the kerb and turned off his engine. It was nearly 4 a.m..
He stretched his arms and the tinge in his leg told him he needed to get out before they cramped up. He opened the door and felt the chill in the air. Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabbed his jacket and stepped out of his car. It was so quiet. Not a person in sight, but as it wasn’t the best area in Markston, he made sure to lock his door before heading to the park entrance.
Amit stood by the gate and debated whether to have a quick walk down the path. The lamps were few and far between, thanks to the bloody council. He pulled the collar of his jacket up to keep his neck warm and started walking. A gust of wind blew a plastic bag in front of him and made him jump. He shook his head, looked over his shoulder. Laughed to himself.
In the distance, he could see something in the middle of the path – a large lump was blocking the way. He took out his mobile phone and searched for the flashlight app. Turning it on, he held the phone in front of him and saw that it was a person, lying flat on their back. Probably some drunk passed out after a few too many. Could be a potential fare if he played his cards right.
‘Hey! Are you OK?’ He waited for a response. Kept waiting. After a minute or so he decided to approach. They may have hit their head when they fell backwards. The clothing indicated that it was probably a man and, as he got closer, he noticed something wet on the ground. He must have been sick. The man’s arms were splayed out beside him, like he was rejoicing in the glory of his drunkenness.
Amit wasn’t prepared for the sight that met his eyes and he could feel the bile rise in his throat. Oh Christ!
The man was not sleeping – though Amit wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead. He shone the flashlight over his chest and couldn’t see it rising. It was then that he spotted the slash across his throat and realized that it wasn’t puke oozing beneath the man’s head – it was blood. He jumped back. Shit. Shit. Shhhhhhhit.
Hands shaking, he ran back along the path. Punched in 999 on his mobile and raised the phone to his ear. Time stood still as he stopped running, heaving in a breath. Heard the phone ring once, twice and finally an answer.
‘Uh … hell … hello? Yes, police p-p-please. I’ve found a body.’
His phone fell from his shaking hands and the contents of his dinner emptied on to the grass.
CHAPTER TWO (#uee7e52df-45f8-517b-a54c-369e6ab890c0)
Lucy came downstairs and looked at Patrick. He was slumped in the chair with his hand wrapped around a can of lager and – for one appalling moment – Lucy hoped he was dead. She shook the thought from her head in disgust and focused instead on her busy morning. He was supposed to take Siobhan to school. Lucy told him last night that she had an early meeting with one of her offenders. She sighed.
Getting angry at Patrick was a waste of energy – it never achieved anything. With her parents and sister coming to dinner later, Lucy could do without anymore stress. All she wanted was for Patrick to be semi-sober and civil. Not too much to ask, or so she thought.
Seeing Patrick now, Lucy couldn’t explain what had drawn her to him in the first place. She supposed it was the usual things – cheeky smile, piercing eyes, and a charismatic personality. But it was what he was like behind closed doors that scared her. As a probation officer, Lucy knew all the signs – the I’m sorrys, it won’t happen again; I love you so much … the list of excuses was long and never-ending. Despite this, she still found herself unable to leave.
Lucy left the room and walked back upstairs, pushing Siobhan’s bedroom door open. She looked over at the bed and paused.
Social services had placed Siobhan in the care of Patrick, giving Lucy temporary special guardianship. The court battles were expensive and emotionally hard to endure, but Lucy wouldn’t have changed a thing. She loved Siobhan as her own.
Lucy tiptoed inside and shut the door behind her, looking around at the room. The pink walls and plush carpet were Siobhan’s choice, and matched her duvet perfectly. Her eyes fell on a photo of Siobhan’s grandparents, standing outside their house.
Ten-year-old Siobhan still had supervised contact with Becky Parks, her mother. She would spend most weekends at her maternal grandparent’s house, where Becky could go and visit. Lucy was fortunate to have forged a reasonably good relationship with Becky’s parents, Ed and Maria Parks. Although it was initially strained, they seemed to understand why their daughter needed to be kept away from solely raising Siobhan.
Lucy made excuses for herself. Reasons why she stayed, because to believe that she’d allow this to happen to herself was incomprehensible. Taking on Patrick’s daughter played a large part in Lucy staying in the relationship. Siobhan was the result of Patrick’s toxic past with Becky Parks – an alcoholic and pretty vile creature-of-a-woman, whose voice could send a shiver down your spine. But it wasn’t all bad; there were some good days with Patrick, when the house was filled with laughter, and Lucy even felt a little bit of love. She knew that things weren’t perfect, but she had made the decision to stay, so now she just had to deal with it.
Lucy crouched down next to the bed and gently pulled back the covers. ‘Siobhan, wake up, sleepyhead! Daddy is poorly, so I’m taking you to school today, OK?’
Siobhan rustled in her bed. ‘OK.’
Lucy headed back to her own room to get ready for work, knowing Siobhan could get dressed without any fuss. Lucy planned on leaving Patrick a note to remind him about their dinner plans. Picking up her mobile, she texted Sarah Hardy, her friend and colleague at Markston Probation, to let her know she was on her way.
Lucy looked in the mirror and stopped. She nearly cried, something that was becoming a bit of a habit. Once silky, her hair was now a greasy mess – always pulled back in a bun or ponytail. Eyes that previously held a mischievous sparkle, were dull and puffy. Looking herself up and down, she saw an overweight, frumpy woman who chose oversized jumpers and cheap trousers to hide her body and make herself less attractive.
Lucy was finally beginning to realize that she had gradually cocooned herself in a protective shell. Withdrawn from friends, family, and neighbours, she had become someone she no longer recognized – or liked. Although she remained happy and assertive at work, at home – she glanced again in the mirror – she had become this person.
Snapping out of self-pity mode, Lucy knew she needed to get a move on, and Sarah would only cover for so long. Lucy had a supervision session booked for 9:00 a.m. and she hated being late – it didn’t set a good example for those she supervised, especially when she was constantly reminding them they were breaching the conditions of their order or licence if they didn’t show up on time.
After dropping Siobhan off at school, she arrived at the office with twenty minutes to spare. She rushed past Sarah, thanked her, and threw her coat over her chair. She logged into her computer and opened up her emails.
‘Everything OK, Lucy?’
She gave Sarah a thumbs up and hoped she wouldn’t ask anymore questions. She noticed a red-flagged email identifying a ‘Transfer from an Out of Area Probation Office’ waiting for a response. It would have to wait a little longer, because her desk phone buzzed to announce the arrival of her first appointment of the day. Lucy gathered her notes, made her way to the printer, and picked up the warning letter she had just printed off for Robert Millard. Taking a deep breath, she headed for reception.
Robert wasn’t going to be happy today, in fact, his mood may end up being worse than hers.
CHAPTER THREE (#uee7e52df-45f8-517b-a54c-369e6ab890c0)
DC Maggie Jamieson woke with a start, drenched in sweat. The nightmares had been happening more frequently now, even though she knew Bill Raven was safely behind bars. Bill Raven, also known as The Chopper thanks to the creativity of the news media, was convicted on his confession alone. Three missing women brutally butchered, their body parts strewn across unknown locations in Staffordshire and the surrounding areas. Maggie shuddered and threw back the covers.
After his confession, forensics used luminol in Raven’s flat and had found a huge amount of blood, covering the floor, walls, and bathtub. However, the bleach and other industrial cleaners he’d used had deteriorated the samples so that they couldn’t state, with one hundred per cent accuracy, who it had belonged to , whether it was more than one person or if it was even human. The police had had to go by what Raven had told them during interviews and match his statement to those women reported missing at the time. Fortunately for the police The Chopper was so concerned with infamy that he gave them full disclosure of his gruesome crimes.
Raven’s roommate, Adrian Harrison, was also questioned during the initial investigation. Both men were as odd as each other in Maggie’s opinion but, despite her gut feeling, the evidence had all pointed at Raven and eventually he confessed, leaving Adrian in the clear.
Maggie had learnt recently that Raven had suffered a breakdown following his sentence and was currently on a hospital order until the doctors deemed him fit to return to prison.
She sat up and ran her fingers through her knotted hair. She groaned; it was only 5:30 a.m. and way too early to head in to work. Although she was keen to start her new post with the Domestic Abuse and Homicide Unit – or DAHU – she didn’t want to appear overeager or tire herself out before the day had even begun. Maggie still cringed at the use of the word ‘homicide’. When she had queried it with her boss, DI Abigail Rutherford, she’d been advised that as homicide covers the offences of murder, manslaughter, and infanticide, the Police and Crime Commissioner, or PCC, was keen to use it to describe the newly formed team.
Hearing the patter of tiny feet across the laminate flooring, Maggie looked down to find Scrappy staring up at her. A big meow made her laugh and she picked him up for a cuddle. Now that Scrappy knew she was awake, there was no way his belly was going to let her get another twenty minutes under the covers.
‘OK, cat, let’s go get you some brekkie.’
Maggie put Scrappy down, grabbed the sweatshirt she’d thrown on the floor last night, and pulled it over her head. With Scrappy leading the way, she headed into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle.
‘Coffee first, Scrappy-boy, or I’m going to be grumpier than usual today!’
Once she’d sorted the cat out, Maggie sat down at the breakfast bar and turned on her iPad to browse the news. She had this fear that Bill Raven would try to gain more notoriety with a story and she’d be pulled back into something that she was desperately trying to forget. The case was officially closed based on his confession, but if more bodies were discovered and linked to him, Maggie could find herself back with the Major and Organised Crime Department, or murder team as she preferred to call it. Maggie hated labels – keep things simple was her motto. She let Scrappy out and started to get ready. She had enough struggles of her own to worry about without repeatedly going over Raven’s case in her head. The best thing about starting with a new team was the chance to move forward and leave the past behind.
After a quick shower, Maggie donned her usual black trouser suit and white blouse, opting for her low-heeled court shoes in case the day entailed any physical activity. She looked at herself in the mirror.
‘That’s as good as it gets.’
Not really one for a lot of make-up or accessories when it came to work, Maggie pulled her shoulder-length, auburn hair back into a loose ponytail and straightened her collar.
She grabbed her coat from the hook by the door and headed out.
OK, DAHU – let’s see what you have in store for me.
CHAPTER FOUR (#uee7e52df-45f8-517b-a54c-369e6ab890c0)
Robert Millard was what was known in the criminal justice arena as a domestic abuse perpetrator. Each agency used a lot of different acronyms, which Lucy found hard to keep track of at the best of times.
She was currently supervising Robert on a two-year suspended sentence order, after a judge felt his years of sustained abuse against his estranged wife more than warranted the threat of custody if he breached the imposed requirements. Robert’s wife, Louise, was also granted an indefinite restraining order – which meant that he could have no contact with her unless it was removed.
Lucy made her way to the reception area and called out for Robert. He looked exhausted and unkempt as he dragged his feet and followed her into the interview room designated for the riskier, more volatile offenders. Pointing at the chair across from her, Lucy asked Robert to sit down.
‘Why are we in here? We usually go upstairs.’
She could feel the paranoia and edginess emanating from him as she asked him again to sit down; the last thing she wanted was for Robert to be standing up when she confronted him with the information she now had. She waited as he pulled the chair out and sat down.
‘Do you want to tell me what happened the other night, Robert?’ Lucy had learnt over the years that if she gave her offenders the opportunity to come clean, they were less likely to lash out when challenged. She had been supervising Robert on and off for three years now and wanted him to be the one to tell her. This would also give her a better idea of where his risk status was at.
Robert’s face darkened. He clenched his fists tight and his eyes began to glaze over. Suddenly he snapped.
‘Who the fuck do you think you are, you fucking bitch?’ The spittle from his lips hit Lucy’s face like toxic raindrops. Grabbing a tissue from the drawer, Lucy wiped her face without losing eye contact with Robert. She’d not let him get the better of her.
Lucy raised her hands to her ears to lessen the painful sound of metal screeching as Robert pushed back his chair. He leapt towards the wall and Lucy cringed when she heard the crack of his knuckle as flesh met concrete.
‘You’re ruining my life! All you bitches are the same.’
Robert obviously wasn’t going to be forthcoming about the other night. Her hand hovered over the alarm button beneath the desk. Lucy glanced at the camera in the corner and was grateful that reception would be watching. Punching the wall was meant to intimidate her, but she wasn’t impressed. Robert paced the small room then grabbed the back of his chair.
‘Now what the fuck is going to happen to me?’
Lucy waited for his breathing to return to normal. ‘Are you through then, Robert?’ She let the question hang in the air and watched as he calmed down. He nodded his head.
‘Then take a seat and I’ll explain everything.’
Robert reluctantly sat down again, his eyes blazing. She could tell he wasn’t going to trust a word she said, and she prepared herself for another angry outburst.
‘Robert, you broke the conditions of your restraining order. That means, you also broke the requirements. What did you think was going to happen?’ Somehow she kept her voice icily calm.
‘She asked me to come over. Why am I the one getting into trouble?’ He almost sounded like a spoiled child.
‘You know why, Robert. I told you this. You signed the paperwork and said you understood what you were signing. Let’s not kid ourselves here: this is not the first order you’ve been on.’ Lucy cocked her head to the left and raised her eyebrows knowingly. ‘I explained to you that even if your ex-partner made contact, you were not to reply. Ignoring those instructions, you went to her house; you were drunk, you got angry, and you smashed a window—’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake! She wound me up. She was drunk too. Rubbing it in my face that she has a new boyfriend that treats her better – fucking slag. How did she think I was going to react? I didn’t even touch her.’
This wasn’t the first time Lucy had heard this story. Day in and day out, it was always the same. Always someone else’s fault; always the alcohol or drugs that ‘made them’ do it. Not one of these men, or women, ever wanted to accept responsibility for their actions.
‘Look, I have no choice but to give you a warning. You know that. You’ve been charged with a further offence. My hands are tied.’ She pushed across the envelope with his warning letter inside.
‘Are you fucking serious?’ The chair flew back as he stood up and towered over her.
There was no way Lucy was going to let this dickhead take control. She pushed her own chair back calmly, stood face to face with him and looked him directly in the eyes.
‘Whoa, whoa – you need to calm down, Robert. I don’t want to have to push the panic button; there’s no need for you to stand over me like that. Can’t you see how your behaviour could be viewed as threatening?’
Robert once again grabbed his chair but this time he sat back down almost immediately, and Lucy watched his chest rise and fall as he took deep breaths to control his temper.
‘Sorry, miss, but it just seems like every time I’m getting somewhere, it gets thrown back in my face and that pisses me off.’
There it was again. That whiny voice. For a moment it was Patrick sitting across from her. She sat back down.
‘Robert, it’s your actions that’ve caused all this. We’ve been here before. You need to stop and think about things first. You have your group programme coming up soon. You’ll learn some more techniques that will help you recognize the triggers and avoid reacting violently to situations that anger you. We’ve also discussed alcohol previously. And before you say that if you were sober, this wouldn’t happen – just remember, alcohol doesn’t make you do the things you do. You act this way because you choose to. You know you need to keep away from your ex.’
Lucy pointed at the warning letter in the hope that it would encourage Robert to read it. He jammed it into his back pocket unopened.
‘Are we done now?’ He stood up to leave.
‘Do you want to talk anymore about things? Maybe put a plan together in case the situation comes up again?’
‘Fuck that! I’m sick of that bitch getting me into trouble! Just give me my next appointment.’
‘It’s on your warning letter.’
Robert tried to storm out of the room as Lucy smirked behind his back – he needed her to use her swipe card to exit the room. The power was still hers.
‘Open the fucking door!’
‘Right, Robert! Lose the bloody attitude and calm down!’ If she wasn’t careful she’d find herself facing a complaint, but she was so fed up with these men and their controlling ways. Lucy swiped her card and let Robert back out into the reception area.
‘See you next week, Robert.’
Lucy couldn’t help but mutter ‘wanker’ under her breath. The receptionist briefly glanced up from her computer, and Lucy shrugged her shoulders.
There was no response from Robert, but she hadn’t expected one. She knew he was still pretty pissed off, so she made a note to call the domestic abuse team and flag Louise’s address. With Robert in this mood, there was no telling what he might do to his ex-wife.
Lucy needed caffeine to calm her nerves. Her job as a probation officer had her supervising some of the area’s most violent offenders and today was no different.
‘Hey, Lucy. Your hands are shaking, another tough session?’ Sarah asked as she made her way to the coffee machine. Sarah was a brilliant probation officer but also a very good friend.
‘Nah, just the usual, Sarah.’
It wasn’t Robert Millard causing Lucy’s nerves to be on end. She knew that after work her parents and sister were coming around and she didn’t know what kind of mood Patrick would be in, considering he’d been still drunk before she’d left for work. Lucy wished she had the same confidence to deal with the situation at home as she did at work. Self-loathing crept over her as she put a false smile on her face to carry on with her day.
Sarah looked at her in such a way that Lucy wondered if she knew. She rubbed Lucy’s shoulder reassuringly. ‘You know where I am if you need me.’
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_2ce89c96-85be-590d-9f33-4d7d840b9bd9)
Lucy tapped her fingers on her desk as she stared at her computer screen, reading the Crown Prosecution documents for the pre-sentence report she had to complete. She wasn’t too keen on interviewing this guy as the offence was brutal in nature. Mr Talbot was late and bail conditions attached indicated that should he fail to attend his interview, a warrant would be issued. She would have to inform the courts. She remembered she needed to stop off at the shop on her way home and picked up her mobile phone to remind Patrick about collecting Siobhan from school.
I know! I got your fucking note
was the text she received back.
Putting her head in her hands, she didn’t hear Sarah come up behind her.
‘Everything all right, Lucy?’
Lucy jumped. ‘Yeah … sorry, I was in a world of my own there for a minute. Everything’s fine, Sarah. I’m just a little distracted. My family is coming for dinner – you know what it’s like.’ Lucy caught Sarah glancing at her phone screen and quickly turned it over.
‘Oh God, yes! Family, eh? The joys!’ Laughing awkwardly, Sarah again squeezed Lucy’s shoulder. ‘Well, let me know if I can do anything. You’re just looking a little stressed.’
‘Thanks, Sarah. I’m fine. Seriously. Just that bloody Robert Millard and now the guy I was interviewing for this court report has failed to show up. Not sure why I agreed to take on the domestic abuse cohort now. Sometimes I just think it would be better if they were all dead! Fucking controlling assholes.’ Lucy wished she could take back the words as soon as they left her mouth. ‘You know I don’t really mean that, right?’
‘Obviously. Take a few deep breaths, inform the courts and grab a cuppa. Do you want me to contact the police about Robert?’
‘Oh God. I nearly forgot. See what I mean? Thanks for reminding me. I’ll do it now, I need to speak with PC Fielding anyway.’
She watched Sarah walk back to her desk and noted all the tasks she needed to complete for the day. Any excuse to stay a bit longer today at work suited Lucy just fine. The last time her parents visited had been a disaster and she wasn’t sure they’d forgiven her, or Patrick, yet. The longer she left it before seeing them, the better.
Lucy smiled as she picked up the phone to call PC Mark Fielding, she could do with hearing a friendly voice.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_f903ffda-04b5-555d-a8db-b88083f6b70b)
Maggie felt a buzz of excitement as she stepped into the room and took in her new surroundings, the open-plan office lined with modern ‘pods’ on the second floor of a grey building. She thought back to when she had first been called into the DI’s office to discuss her move from the murder investigation team. She had been advised that given her recent experience with The Chopper case, her superiors felt that a step away from the team on a temporary basis would do her good, while still allowing her to be involved with the job she’d dedicated her life to. DI Rutherford had said she thought it would help her development.
Maggie walked through the modern office. All the new offices seemed to be set up this way now. The desks were together in groups of two, facing each other. Plain white walls lined with motivational posters preaching the higher up’s latest mantras. Although there were eight of the ‘pods’, only three desks were currently occupied. There was also a small office that looked out over the open-plan area. Maggie suspected it was the detective sergeant’s.
‘Hi! Are you DC Jamieson?’ One of the people in the room called out, a young male of average build. He had a bright smile which immediately made her feel welcome.
‘I am indeed. You can call me Maggie in the office though. And you are …?’
‘I’m PC Mark Fielding – Mark. The guv said you were starting today. How about I give you a quick tour of the place? No doubt DS Hooper will sort out the formal side of things when he arrives and give you a rundown of the murder case that just came in. Start as you mean to go on and all that.’
‘Murder?’ She swallowed, then recovered her composure. So much for a break from homicide. ‘Thanks, Mark, it would be great if you could show me around.’
With Mark making the introductions, Maggie learnt that PC Kat Everett was a feisty one and suspected that they would get on well. Maggie could smell the cigarette smoke from Kat’s clothing and noted her colourful nails. The other officer was PC Pete Reynolds. Pete looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. He barely looked up from his computer screen as he said a strained, ‘hello’.
‘Don’t mind Pete.’ Mark laughed. ‘He’s just joined the team and is fairly new to the police. DS Hooper is making him read all the policies for a test at the end of the week.’ He winked, and Maggie understood the implied message – there was no test, his colleagues were just winding him up.
‘Ah, right then. I’ll leave you to it, Pete.’ Maggie gave him a quick nod.
‘We can grab a coffee and I can take you through to DI Joseph Calleja if you want?’ Mark headed towards what Maggie assumed to be the communal kitchen.
‘Hmmm … OK, but maybe that’s something DS Hooper will want to do? I don’t want to step on any toes, my first day and all.’
‘Good point! Right, let’s get the brews in. Hooper’s in a meeting at the moment. He’ll be back for the briefing at 11 a.m.. Why don’t you take the desk across from me? I’ve left the details of the other agencies on your desk. We’re what they call an integrated team and have probation, the Independent Domestic Violence Advocate, Drug and Alcohol services, as well as a few other agencies involved with our team on varying levels. I’m sure the guv will explain more. Sorry, you probably know all this, right?’
Maggie smiled. Having never worked directly with other agencies as part of one team, she wondered if they ever pulled rank or allocated blame on each other when things went wrong. She followed Mark into the kitchen hoping to pick his brains, but before she had the opportunity, a phone rang, and Mark dashed past her to answer it.
‘Domestic Abuse Unit, PC Mark Fielding speaking. How can I help you?’
Mark’s voice was a welcome sound considering the way today had started, Lucy thought.
‘Hi, Mark. You forgot the homicide. It’s Lucy Sherwood from Markston Probation. How are you?’ Due to the nature of the individuals she worked with, Lucy, like many of her colleagues, used her maiden name for professional purposes.
‘Hey, Lucy! Great to hear from you! I know, I know. I still can’t get my head around homicide – why can’t they just say murder? Though I suppose DAMU is probably not the best acronym for a team like ours, is it?’
Lucy heard him laugh down the phone.
‘All’s fine here … just the usual – overworked and under-resourced. To what do I owe this pleasure?’
Lucy felt her cheeks get warm and knew she was blushing. She seemed to blush every time she spoke to Mark. He was so kind to her and made her feel like her opinions mattered, the total opposite of Patrick.
‘I had an interesting supervision session with Robert Millard.’ Lucy heard the groan that Mark tried, unsuccessfully, to hide.
‘OK, are you concerned that something is going to kick off?’
‘A little. I just wondered if you could flag Louise’s address and maybe do a safe-and-well check?’
‘The address is already flagged, but I’ll log this, and note that a safe-and-well check needs to be done. I can’t promise it will be today, we’re a little short staffed, but it is noted. We have a few new additions to the team, so maybe that will help. For now, though, we have to rely on the field teams to pick these up, depending on the other priorities.’
‘Cheers, Mark. That will at least put my mind at ease. I would hate to think he goes around there and something even more serious happens. Louise does have a personal alarm, but we both know she doesn’t use it. I’ll record all this in his case records and make contact with Sharon Bairden; she’s still the victim’s advocate in the unit, right? Hard to keep up with all the changes. Mr Talbot also failed to show up for his pre-sentence report and, because he has bail conditions, I informed the court and expect a warrant to be issued soon. Soooo, anyway, spill. Who are the newbies, what are they like, and when will I meet them?’
‘We know why Mr Talbot failed to report, I’m afraid. Someone should have contacted you. I can’t go into too much detail because it’s an ongoing investigation, but needless to say, it’s one less report you’ll need to write. About the newbie: DC Maggie Jamieson is with us from the Major and Organised Crime Department.’
‘Whoa! You can’t tell me what’s happened to Talbot? And nice to see you keeping it professional. I take it there are other people in the room with you then?’ Lucy laughed.
‘I’ll definitely keep you posted on Talbot, but I don’t have too much info myself. You know me, Lucy, I’m always professional.’
She could just imagine Mark glancing around the room to make sure no one of authority was eavesdropping.
‘Of course, right, I best get back to work. I should be over at the police station soon for a catch-up. Keep me posted on any developments concerning Robert Millard and thanks for the heads-up on Talbot.’
‘Yeah, sorry ’bout that. I’ll have to find out why probation wasn’t contacted. Looking forward to seeing you though. Make sure you bring me a latte, or I’ll have you arrested at the enquiry desk.’
Hearing his laugh made her smile. Lucy sighed as she hung up the phone. If only Patrick could be more like Mark.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_d70babad-4e6d-52fc-80b7-e1c28d86b419)
Maggie’s first encounter with her immediate superior did not go as she expected. She found herself sitting with her new colleagues near the back of a large briefing room, listening to the details of the murder her team would be investigating.
‘Good morning, everyone.’ Her boss, DS Jim Hooper, looked around the room, stopped at Maggie, giving her an uncommitted nod, then carried on outlining details of the gruesome murder.
‘This is what we know so far. A taxi driver called 999 at 4 a.m. this morning, to notify us that he stumbled across the victim’s lifeless body while he stopped for a break—’
Maggie’s take-charge instinct kicked in and she interrupted Hooper mid flow. ‘Has the driver been questioned by the responding officers or will we be interviewing the witness?’ She immediately regretted her decision.
‘If you let me finish,’ he glared at her then looked down on the desk at a piece of paper in front of him, ‘DC Jamieson, I’ll give you all the information you and the rest of your colleagues need.’
Maggie felt her neck burn with embarrassment.
Hooper posted a picture on the investigation board and a chorus of gasps could be heard around the room. It wasn’t a pretty sight and Maggie regretted having that cream cake when she first arrived.
‘As I was saying, the victim – Drew Talbot – was found lying on his back blocking the path not far from the entry into Beacon Park. The witness indicated that no one else was around and given the time, it is unlikely that anyone else was about – though we’ll still need to confirm that. An empty syringe was sticking out of his neck. His arms were outstretched beside him – palms up – and his hands completely pulverized. You can see from the pictures.’ He pointed at the screen. ‘It looks as if someone took a hammer or a similar implement and battered both hands to a pulp. A large pool of blood gathered underneath his head, the top portion of his legs and his groin area. Initially it was unclear where the wounds were located, but his jeans had two slices on the upper inside thigh of each leg. The wound across his windpipe was easily identified.’
Maggie tapped her pen on the desk and glimpsed at the pictures that were being passed around the room. She made a note to have a closer look once the briefing was finished. Her fascination with crime scene pictures was well known at her old office, but she didn’t want her new team to learn that just yet.
Hooper continued, ‘With the arrival of the pathologist, photographs of the male victim were taken and evidence collected. A wallet found in the back pocket of the body determined that the victim’s name was Drew Talbot – although a formal ID is yet to be made.
‘PC Reynolds, I’d like you to work with the handover team to track down and notify Mr Talbot’s family after the briefing. Mr Talbot had recently appeared in court under a charge of grievous bodily harm, and he has a history of violence against partners. I understand that Lucy Sherwood was supposed to be writing a report—’
‘I think Mark told her earlier that Mr Talbot would not be making the appointment, but he didn’t go into too much detail.’ Maggie looked at Mark.
‘That’s right, guv. Lucy called to let me know that her pre-sentence report had not attended for interview. That’s when I advised that Talbot wouldn’t be making his appointment and, because of an ongoing investigation, I couldn’t share anymore information with her yet. Not sure why someone didn’t contact probation.’
‘As he was one of our nominals, that would have been down to one of you lot. We’ll call it crossed wires and move on, shall we? Fiona Blake, the Home Office pathologist, noted that there was an injury to the back of the victim’s head. She believed that Mr Talbot was attacked from behind and knocked unconscious. It appears he was then rolled over onto his back, a syringe stuck in his neck – we will have to wait for toxicology to find out what substance he was injected with – his hands were mashed to a pulp and the three cuts were then made. Any one of them could have led to his death. That’s where we are at. So, what are your initial thoughts?’
Maggie jumped straight in. ‘Do we have the time of death established? And do we know where Mr Talbot’s victim was during the relevant times?’
‘Talbot’s ex-partner is in hospital with a broken cheekbone, broken jaw, broken arm and strangulation marks around her neck. She is barely able to stay awake for more than an hour at a time and is heavily medicated; we don’t believe she is directly involved, but we will need to interview her family and friends, in case they decided to seek their own revenge. Estimated time of death is any time between 12 a.m. and 4 a.m. when the body was found. Anyone else?’
‘The injuries would suggest to me that this was personal. The injuries on his hands indicate someone was clearly angry with Mr Talbot and took that anger out on his body. Could the killer have been making a statement against Mr Talbot’s abuse?’ Maggie said. Hooper looked at her and she thought she saw the makings of a smile forming on his face.
‘Interesting observation, Jamieson. That’s a line of enquiry I would like you to explore further. You and Mark can look at people close to Talbot’s ex-partners and see if you can eliminate any of them as persons of interest. Kat? Pete? Mark? Do you have anything you want to add?’
‘Fuck sake, guv. I can just about keep my breakfast down at the minute.’ Taking a deep breath Kat added, ‘Were there any other witnesses or vehicles around the area at the time?’
‘Only the taxi driver. Pete can trawl CCTV to see if there were any cars or people acting suspiciously during the times noted and let you know.’
‘OK, guv. I can go out and interview anyone we come across,’ Kat said.
Pete made note of his task and sighed. He had been hoping to get out in the field more.
‘Mark, can you speak to the pathologist and see if she can shed some light on the exact cause of death, and then chase up toxicology?
‘Maggie, you and Kat can interview Wendy Parker; her daughter is the victim of domestic abuse at Talbot’s hands,’ Hooper said.
Mark gave him a thumbs up and gathered his papers.
‘That’s it then. You all know what you need to do. Keep me informed of any developments … oh, and Maggie – welcome to the team.’
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_a68f8c48-ffaf-52a8-a3ac-7365488dd8e1)
Patrick had made sure Lucy knew exactly how he felt about her bloody note when he’d texted her back earlier. He wondered if Lucy’s sister, Melody, would also be coming over. A bit of eye candy would make it easier to tolerate the whole situation.
Unlike Lucy, Mel looked after herself. She had big tits she liked to put on show and wore short skirts to accentuate her long, toned legs. Even though she was a solicitor, Patrick liked her down-to-earth personality. He often wondered if he had chosen the wrong sister. He made his way to the bathroom, the thought of Mel still stuck in his head.
There were only a couple of hours before he had to collect Siobhan, so he jumped in the shower in an attempt to sober up. Lucy would have a go at him if he was drunk and he couldn’t be bothered with the hassle. If the nosy bitches that hung around the school gate smelled alcohol on him, that social worker would start her home visits all over again. He wouldn’t put it past any one of those tramps to ring social services. Lucy would go ballistic.
Back downstairs, he picked up the post, sat down in his favourite chair, and went through the envelopes. Bills, bills, and more bills. He threw them on the coffee table for Lucy to deal with when she got home. He thought about looking for a job, but remembered how quickly he had lost the last one. The row with his old colleague that had spiralled out of control. The way people had laughed at him, taken the piss. A good kicking is what they deserved.
Patrick’s main concern was his kids – Siobhan and Rory – and anyway there was no need to work if Lucy continued to pay for everything. They were struggling financially, but he wasn’t going to just take any job. He wanted his kids to be proud of him. He saw the way they looked up to Lucy. Patrick was hoping that Rory would visit again soon, though he knew Rory’s mother did her best to poison his son’s mind against him.
Another stupid bitch.
It was no secret that Patrick loved his drink, so why did the women in his life always make an issue out of it? They knew what they were getting from the start. Beer was his drink of choice, but, if truth be told, he’d drink anything. It let him see things more clearly, made everything quieter, even if it did sometimes make him angry or sad. Fuck Lucy – what does she know?
Today he felt a bit down and Lucy’s constant moaning didn’t help. Patrick was no fool. He had a rage inside, he’d had it from a very young age. He couldn’t help it. It was his parents’ fault. After all, witnessing his mother being beaten and getting a few hard slaps at the hands of his father would be hard for anyone. What did people expect? His father wasn’t selective though – he beat all his children equally. Fair is fair, he used to say.
Patrick clenched his fists. He used to promise himself he’d never treat a woman the way his father treated his mother. Promises he found hard to keep. He didn’t care what anyone said – he wasn’t like his father.
CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_c47f008b-9f6e-5c8f-b4d3-e7f6cef41ab4)
Maggie and Kat arrived at Wendy Parker’s house after going to the hospital to check on Drew Talbot’s ex – Heather Parker. The nurses had confirmed that Heather had been in the hospital for the last three weeks and, with the recent infection she had from her injuries, there was no way she could have left the hospital in her condition and the only person who had visited her since she was admitted was her mother, Wendy.
They knocked and waited for Mrs Parker to answer the door.
‘I’m coming,’ a frail-sounding voice called out.
The door could use a bit of WD-40, thought Maggie, as it squeaked open. The haggardlooking woman inside had grey hair, tightly piled in a bun on the top of her head, and wore a pair of slacks with a neat blouse.
‘If you’re selling something, I’ll save you the time. I’m not interested.’
Maggie smiled. ‘Are you Mrs Parker?’
‘I am.’
‘My name is DC Jamieson, and this is my colleague, PC Everett. Would it be OK if we came in and had a chat?’
She noticeably relaxed at the sight of their ID. ‘Of course. Please, make yourselves at home. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’
‘That would be lovely. I’ll have a coffee – milk, no sugar – and PC Everett will have a cup of tea if it is not too much trouble. Milk and one sugar.’ Kat looked almost surprised that Maggie had remembered how she liked her tea.
‘Is this about Drew? Was it him that was attacked? It’s been all over the news. I won’t be at all upset to hear that someone finally gave him what he deserved.’
Kat piped up, ‘Yes, I’m afraid it was Drew. We just have a few questions for you.’
‘For me? What in the world would I know about this?’
‘Standard procedures, Mrs Parker.’ Maggie stood up to help the woman with the tray of tea. She looked like she might fall over.
‘Oh. Thank you. I can normally manage, but I’ve been having dizzy spells lately. Old age, I guess … and please, call me Wendy.’
‘OK, Wendy. Can you tell me where you were on Monday between the hours of midnight and four a.m.?’ Maggie watched her eyes.
‘Are you having a laugh? Look at me. I’m in bed before nine most nights. I can barely lift a tray of tea. How do you expect me to have inflicted all those injuries that the news reported? And the size of him! I’d need a ladder to hit his head … pffft.’
‘Please just answer the question, Wendy, so we can eliminate you from our enquiries. Did you ask anyone to hurt Mr Talbot? Or do you know of anyone who would want to hurt him?’ Maggie asked reluctantly.
‘Absolutely not! How dare you even insinuate such a thing. Do you know what HE did to my daughter? Do you?’
Trying to calm the situation, Kat changed the subject. ‘We do know, and it was a horrible assault on your daughter. But as I’m sure you understand, we have to ask these questions. Mr Talbot’s family need answers too.’
Wendy seemed to soften at the mention of other victims. ‘It was awful … just awful what that man did to my girl. I could see the imprint of his hands around her throat in the bruises.’
Maggie handed her a tissue and patted her knee.
‘We’re so sorry, Wendy. At least he will never be able to hurt anyone again.’
‘It’s all my fault. My fault. I turned her away when she came here. I thought she just wanted money for drugs. Why did I do that?’
Seeing the anguish in Wendy’s eyes, Maggie’s throat tightened. She could only imagine what Wendy was feeling. If someone had hurt her, both her parents would have the same view. ‘We’re sure you did what you thought best. How were you to know what was happening?’
‘My head knows that. My heart says: a mother should know.’
‘This is not your fault, OK?’ She smiled and patted the woman’s knee again. ‘But like my colleague has just said, you must understand how Mr Talbot’s family are feeling. We just need to help them get closure too?’
‘I understand. But I am still so angry with him. Walking about here when he was out on bail. No shame or remorse. And my daughter, lying battered and bruised in the hospital. It wasn’t fair and I wasn’t the only one who thought that either.’
Maggie looked at Kat. ‘What do you mean you weren’t the only one? Could you have said something to someone and maybe they took matters in their own hands?’
‘Did you not hear me before? Don’t be daft. I don’t have many friends and the ones I do have wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m tired now, so if you’re not going to arrest me, I’d like you to leave. As far as I’m concerned, the man who hurt my baby got everything he deserved.’
Kat handed Mrs Parker a card. ‘Thanks for your time. If you think of anything else, our number is there. You can call at any time.’
‘We’ll be in touch.’
Kat and Maggie returned to the pool car.
‘What did you make of that, Kat?’
‘She was angry, but I don’t think she had anything to do with Talbot’s murder. Way too frail. She’s just concerned about her daughter. Do you think she was involved?’
‘My gut instinct is no, she wasn’t. But can we rule her out completely? I mean, she sure has motive. You saw her daughter. What Talbot did to her was vicious. I don’t think we should cross her off the list just yet.’
CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_63e328f3-ea60-570a-903c-f0ec03f958fa)
Finishing work without any further major incidents, Lucy arrived home tired. When she opened the door, she was met by an excited Siobhan. Well, at least Patrick remembered to pick her up.
‘Hey, sweetie! Where’s your dad?’
Patrick appeared in the doorway. His eyes were slightly glazed, and Lucy sighed.
‘What the fuck was that for?’
‘Patrick! Please don’t swear in front of Siobhan. I’m just tired, OK? That’s all. My parents are going to be here soon, and I’m not really in the mood. I guess I’d better start the dinner.’ Lucy turned and put the shopping bags on the counter. To avoid confrontation with Patrick, Lucy prepared the dinner.
‘Will your sister be coming?’ Patrick called. Lucy’s shoulders tightened. She didn’t have to turn around to know that Patrick was sneering at her.
‘I’m not sure. Mel just split up with her husband. She wasn’t sure if she could make it.’ Melody and Lucy didn’t share the best of relationships, though she hoped that would change. Lucy hadn’t told Patrick that Mel was single again, because she knew he’d use that to wind her up. She saw the disgusting way Patrick ogled her sister. At one point, Lucy had confronted Mel about the way she flirted with Patrick. Mel had laughed in her face and told her that flirting was one thing, fucking was another. Lucy never thought that Mel would ever make her feel the way Patrick did, but with that one sentence, Mel had confirmed how weak she believed Lucy to be. Their relationship was never the same after that.
‘Pity. Would be nice to have something pretty to look at.’ Patrick purposely knocked into Lucy as he made his way to the fridge for another can of beer.
‘How many of those have you had?’
‘Don’t start,’ he warned. ‘I’m really not in the mood. Isn’t it bad enough I have to sit across from your father and listen to his snide remarks about me?’
Lucy didn’t answer. She had seen the look in his eyes.
‘So, what’s for dinner then? I hope you’re going to make something edible for a change.’
Trying a different tack, Lucy put on a cheerful voice. ‘Your favourite. I thought I’d make a shepherd’s pie.’
‘Well at least that’s something. Even you couldn’t fuck that up.’ He headed back to the living room.
Lucy’s stomach was cramping with nerves. This wasn’t going to be an enjoyable evening. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut?
Forty minutes later, with the dinner in the oven and the kitchen tidied, Lucy asked Siobhan to set the table and went to get changed. If Mel was coming, Lucy would feel like a frumpy, old woman. Every one of her nice outfits was now too tight, all she had were her work clothes. She held back her tears, knowing that her father would start asking questions if he saw her red, puffy eyes. Lucy put on a little make-up, black trousers with a sweater, and stared sadly at herself in the mirror.
Mel was a high-paid solicitor in Birmingham. Her soon-to-be ex-husband was also a solicitor, and this always made Lucy feel slightly inferior. At work, Mel would wear power suits and come across as the total professional that she was. Outside of the office, though, it was short skirts, tight tops, and stiletto heels that were her sister’s weapons of choice. It never used to bother Lucy, until now – now she’d let herself go. Not caring served a purpose though: it reduced the number of times Patrick could accuse her of cheating. Instead, he would put her down, pointing out that she was lucky he wanted her as no one else would. Lucy sighed and headed back downstairs.
Patrick looked up from the chair. ‘Why are you wearing make-up?’
‘I just thought I’d make a bit of an effort.’
‘Oh, nice, you don’t make any effort for me, but you’re happy to put a bunch of shit on your face to impress your parents.’
Lucy knew she shouldn’t have bothered, but she didn’t want her parents wondering why she’d changed so much. Questions would be asked, and she just couldn’t cope with the look of disappointment she knew she’d see on her father’s face. Taking a tissue out of her pocket, she wiped some of the make-up off and sat anxiously on the edge of the sofa to wait for her parents.
The knock on the door startled her. Siobhan ran to answer it, but Lucy called after her. ‘Hang on, sweetie. I’ll get it.’ She ruffled Siobhan’s hair on the way past. Lucy hadn’t seen her parents for some time, so wanted to be the first to greet them. They had been very supportive of her – particularly her father – allowing her space to make her own decisions. It broke her heart that she now felt so distant from them. Straightening her sweater, she took a deep breath and pasted on a smile as she opened the door.
‘Hi, Mum. Hey, Dad!’ She invited them inside and kissed each of them on the cheek as they squeezed by her in the doorway. She was about to close the door when her sister put her hand out.
‘Eh! Charming, sis!’
‘Oh sorry, Mel. I didn’t see you hiding there.’ Lucy’s hands squeezed into fists as she looked her sister up and down. They were complete opposites. Mel worked out and showed off her toned arms and shapely legs with a tank top and short skirt.
‘Aren’t you cold? You barely have anything on.’
‘Don’t be jealous, Luce. It’s not an attractive feature.’
Why did I even invite them around? Shrugging her shoulders, Lucy shuffled them all from the kitchen to their seats in the dining room. Lucy cringed when her dad sat at the head of the table. The sooner this was over, the better.
The tension in Lucy’s shoulders subsided as dinner and drinks were served; the talk around the table was polite if not semi-strained. Lucy was embarrassed to see Patrick drinking heavily and leering over Mel. She seemed to be loving the attention, giggling like a teenager. The scowl on her father’s face said it all. Lucy figured her mother must have asked him to keep his mouth shut, because he barely said two words during the meal. Siobhan, as always, was as good as gold and Lucy smiled at her.
‘I’ll help you clear the table, Lucy.’ She really was a little diamond and Lucy gave her a hug as she gathered the plates.
‘Is everyone ready for dessert?’ Lucy called from the kitchen. She heard a few moans; the shepherd’s pie must have filled them up. But once dessert was served, Lucy knew her father would want to make a quick exit and that suited her just fine. The room was silent except for the awkward sound of cutlery scraping on plates. Someone coughed uneasily. Lucy didn’t want to make her parents stay where they were clearly uncomfortable. Her sister was the first to answer.
‘None for me, Luce. Can’t afford to add any extra pounds, if you know what I mean?’
Lucy held her tongue. She noticed Patrick lean over and whisper something in Mel’s ear. Mel giggled and slapped Patrick playfully on the arm.
The flirting between the pair was making Lucy feel physically sick. How could he do that in front of her? In front of her parents and Siobhan? Her hands shook with rage.
Before she could say anything, her father interjected, ‘Enough now, Melody. Can we just enjoy dessert without any of this nonsense?’ Lucy looked at her dad and thanked him with her eyes. He returned the action with a smile and a nod. Lucy really did miss her father, but she knew that the less contact she had with her parents, the less likely they were to realize what she was going through. She couldn’t take the pity looks and she didn’t want to hurt her family.
Everyone devoured the dessert in record time. Patrick made it clear the night was over by abruptly standing up and making a move to leave the table. ‘Right, time to clear the pipes out! Think that’s the first decent meal Lucy’s cooked in ages; my body isn’t used to it!’ He laughed loudly.
‘It’s late, darling. I think we’re going to make a move,’ Lucy’s dad said.
Patrick didn’t acknowledge him but turned to Mel, leaned in, and kissed her on the cheek.
‘It was really nice to see you. Don’t be a stranger.’ At least this time Mel had the courtesy to blush as she saw the look on Lucy’s face.
‘Take care, Patrick,’ Mel said. She reached her hand out to Siobhan. ‘Come give your Aunty Mel a hug, sweets.’
Siobhan walked over and gave Mel a big hug as everyone said their goodbyes. Patrick disappeared upstairs as Mel and her mother got into the car. Lucy’s dad, however, pulled Lucy aside and they stood in the front garden outside the open door.
‘Why do you put up with that, sweetheart? You’re so much better than him.’
‘Oh, Dad …’ Lucy hugged her father tight. ‘He’s not always that bad. He’s had a tough time lately.’ Lucy saw the look of disappointment in her father’s face. She could feel the tears welling up, too ashamed to tell him the whole truth.
‘It’s OK, Lou-lou.’ He used to call her that when she was a little girl. ‘There is always a place for you at ours, if you ever change your mind.’ He wrapped his strong arms around her and gave her a squeeze.
Lucy choked back the tears. ‘Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.’ She gave him another hug and waved them off, not seeing Patrick as he stepped back from the open bathroom window directly above the front door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_83b0a7f3-dd18-5c99-bb19-dfadda47c2f1)
Across town, at the same time Lucy’s parents were saying their goodbyes, field officers were about to carry out the safe-and-well check for Louise. They knew Robert well as he’d been arrested a few times for drunk and disorderly.
As they approached the house, they saw a light in the front room. One of the officers knocked while the other tried to look through the window.
‘Who is it? Do you know what fucking time it is? Taking the bloody piss!’
‘Police, ma’am. We’re here to check that everything is OK.’
‘Well it is, so get lost!’
The officers looked at each other.
‘Please, ma’am. Do you mind if we come in for a few minutes for a chat?’
Both officers knew that if they left the property without actually seeing Louise, there could be trouble; Robert could be inside coercing Louise to get rid of them.
They heard the chains rattle and multiple bolts being undone. Clearly Louise was concerned for her safety. The door eventually eased open slowly. One chain remained, and Louise poked her head between the gap.
‘There! Satisfied?’ The officers heard her mumble some not so savoury words underneath her breath.
‘Uh, no – sorry, ma’am. Could you please open the door fully?’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake …’ Louise shot back the final chain and wrenched open the door. ‘Happy now?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Sorry to have upset you. Can we just come in for a quick chat?’
‘Please yourselves.’ Stepping out of the way, Louise ushered the two officers into the living room. They could see curtains twitching in the street outside; Louise was clearly keen to get them out of sight.
‘When was the last time you saw Robert?’ The officer closest to Louise asked while his colleague stood looking around the room.
‘The last time I saw that waste of space was when I called you guys. Yesterday I think it was, it could’ve been the day before. Fucked if I know. There is a restraining order in place but that seems to do jack shit – which is why I never got one before! I mean, what is the point of having it if he can swan over here, do some damage, and then the police act?’
‘We understand your frustration, Mrs Millard. But it really is the best option. And with the panic alarm and your house being flagged – the police will respond immediately.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I get it. Just pisses me off.’
Before leaving, the officers advised her what she should do if Robert turned up at her house again but neither were confident she would heed their advice. They only hoped the next visit wasn’t for something more serious.
CHAPTER TWELVE (#ulink_77b1d57d-c9ae-55c4-abc0-29f3c4baa412)
Patrick stood back from the bathroom window. Fucking prick should mind his own business. He gripped the sink and tried to control his breathing. It wouldn’t have bothered him so much if he hadn’t been drinking that evening. But he had, and he was fuming now. Blaming it on the alcohol made him feel better. He’d often say to Lucy, ‘If I’d been sober, that would never have happened,’ but Patrick knew the truth. It would have. Patrick hated feeling out of control, hated people treating him like a muppet. It wasn’t his fault if people kept winding him up. People like Lucy. People like Lucy’s dad. They did it on purpose. Especially when Lucy used her probation speak. If she’s going to treat me like an offender, I may as well behave like one.
Patrick loved Lucy despite all the arguments … the other women in his life were just a means to an end. A man has needs, and if Lucy didn’t want to fulfil them, he knew plenty of other women who would. Maybe he should make a move on Mel, make Lucy really appreciate what she has. He’d never leave her though. There was no way she’d leave him either. He’d make sure of that.
He flushed the toilet when he heard her come back inside and went into Siobhan’s room.
Inside the house, Lucy shut the door and leaned against it. Looking around the kitchen, she knew she’d have to clean up before going to bed. She turned on the hot water tap and started to fill the sink. While she waited, she wiped down the counters, and the dining table. Bitterness filled her mouth at the fact that her sister had reciprocated Patrick’s flirting. Actually enjoyed it. Especially after Lucy had confronted her and told her how she felt. Lucy wiped the table harder, her jaw tight. She thought her sister was better than that.
Lucy could hear Patrick upstairs with Siobhan. Although unusual, she was grateful that he was getting Siobhan ready for bed. She didn’t have the energy. It still made her suspicious, though. Patrick never did anything without expecting something in return, even for his own child. She wouldn’t let that prey on her mind; instead she wanted to get the kitchen cleaned and get up to bed before Patrick came down, that way, she might avoid any argument.
As she was finishing the last of the dishes she heard him on the stairs. Staring out the window at the overgrown back garden, her heart sank. She’d missed her opportunity. With a sigh, she prepared herself for whatever insulting comments he was about to unleash on her.
‘So, what’s your dad’s problem then?’ The accusation in Patrick’s voice was undeniable.
‘What are you talking about? My dad barely said two words all evening.’
‘Ah. OK. Are we playing that game then? I hate when you play dumb, Lucy … really fucking annoys me.’ Patrick’s lip curled in that sneer that Lucy recognized; she had to think fast, or something bad was going to happen.
‘Seriously, Patrick. I have no clue what you’re talking about.’
Patrick prodded her shoulder sharply as he accentuated each word spoken. ‘Don’t. Worry. I. Know. Exactly. What. I. Am. Talking. About.’ He then tapped his nose and winked. Making his way to the fridge, he peeked past the open door, staring at Lucy as he took out a can and cracked it open. He knew she hated that sound.
Lucy cringed and turned away. He won. She placed the tea towel on the counter and started to walk off. Patrick’s phone pinged indicating he had a text message. Just as Lucy reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard Patrick call out, ‘Well, will you looky here! Looks like your sister might fancy a piece of me.’ Lucy stopped dead in her tracks. Her head was screaming, Ignore him. He’s just doing this to wind you up. She clenched her jaw and began to turn around. What the hell was Mel playing at? When did she start texting MY husband?
Lucy was on her way back to the kitchen when Patrick came out. ‘Oh, you’re back. I thought you were slinking off to bed. And not even a goodnight kiss.’
‘What did my sister want?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’
She swallowed down her rage.
‘Forget it. I’m going upstairs.’
She made a move to turn around, but Patrick was fast. He grabbed her by her upper arm and pulled her close. He gripped her mouth, his thumb and index finger pinching her face so her lips puckered, and he kissed her. Hard. When she eventually broke free, he leaned into her ear and whispered, ‘I wonder if your sister kisses better.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#ulink_89181b78-070d-54d9-b964-af9457acdab4)
Patrick smirked as he sat down and looked at the text from Lucy’s sister.
Hi, Patrick. Great to see you tonight. If you ever fancy a pint, give me a bell. Would be great to see you and Lucy again. X M.
Of course, he didn’t tell Lucy about the last bit. He could use it to wind Lucy up. She might even appreciate him more.
Sipping on his beer, Patrick withdrew into his dark place. He knew that alcohol was a bad mix when he was in a mood, but he didn’t care. He drank for many reasons, but mainly to stop the demons that haunted him.
As a child, he was abused sexually, and rather than deal with the abuse, his mother ignored the problem. As Patrick’s dark thoughts spiralled, he was suddenly fifteen years old standing in his bedroom.
It was dark outside and he was shaking with fear, trying not to think about Uncle Stan … He looked at the baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire that he had spent weeks making ….
He nearly beat Uncle Stan to death that night before his mother stopped him. The police weren’t called, and Uncle Stan was warned if he ever stepped foot in the house or was seen anywhere in the area, his life was over.
Patrick stood up and started pacing the room, trying to walk away his memories. If he ever saw Uncle Stan again, he knew exactly what he would do; he had been planning every single detail for years. Patrick kicked a chair across the room.
People wound him up. He told himself he couldn’t help it, but really, he could. He knew exactly where and when he could lash out. Spotting weakness in others a mile off was his biggest talent. He preyed on people’s vulnerabilities and had a charm about him that got him into their favour. People could be very stupid sometimes. He drew the line at his kids though. He’d never lay a hand on them and God help anyone else who tried.
Upstairs, Lucy sat up on the bed, listening for Patrick. By the sound of it, he was settling downstairs for the night as she heard another can of lager being opened. After he had forcefully kissed her she had run upstairs, desperate to scrub the taste of him out of her mouth. Lucy hoped he wasn’t going into one of his moods: the mood when he’d start his drunken ramblings, his voice getting louder the more he drank, until he was shouting at the walls, the floor, or his own reflection. It wasn’t good for Siobhan to hear her dad that way. She was a deep sleeper, like her father, and Lucy only hoped that she slept through it.
The rants did give Lucy insight into Patrick’s behaviour as an adult, though. For instance, she’d learnt that he was always getting into trouble as a child. A tearaway teen is how he’d described himself, telling her that he was always in and out of trouble – but never getting nicked. He believed he was too clever for that.
Patrick was estranged from his family, but Lucy had caught him calling his mother a few times, ranting vile words down the phone. Eventually, his mother had changed her number and moved to the Isle of Man without giving Patrick her address. Even his family didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Another warning sign Lucy had ignored.
At the start of their relationship, Lucy had blamed his family, but she now understood the truth and only wished she’d seen it sooner.
Although Patrick had never told her directly, it was clear from his rants that he’d been physically abused by his father. Lucy also suspected other abuse, because Patrick had an extreme hatred for someone he called ‘Uncle Stan’. When Patrick had been barely coherent through alcohol one night, he’d told Lucy that Stan was never talked about by any of the family members. Although on occasions in the past when they all had met up, little snide remarks were made and Patrick would usually end up storming off. Eventually, he stopped going and the invites dried up. Lucy tried to find out more about Stan but, on one particular night, pushed too far and received a punch in the mouth for her concern.
‘Now will you shut the fuck up?’
Lucy got the message loud and clear. When Patrick mentioned Uncle Stan now, Lucy stayed silent.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#ulink_e6a4ab50-c6b1-512c-b344-5a8c2596c4db)
Maggie Jamieson stretched her legs and looked out the window of her office. It was getting dark but she was pleased with how her first day at DAHU had gone, even though she’d had to put in extra hours. The team had the perfect balance of banter and seriousness. Recent cutbacks made specialist teams a rarity, so Maggie knew she was going to get as much out of this experience as possible. Maybe Rutherford was right.
After the Talbot briefing and interview with Wendy Parker, Maggie met with DI Joseph Calleja – Maggie guessed he was about five feet nine; he had a slim build and he had a shadow of a beard. The DI came across as a force to be reckoned with but a firm and fair boss. Calleja explained the overall workings of the team, and where each agency fit. The more she learnt, the more impressed she’d been. Calleja informed Maggie that she’d be reporting directly to DS Hooper.
Maggie grimaced. Making her way to the communal kitchen, she reflected on the team so far. Her initial impression, during her first meeting with Hooper, was that he would keep her on her toes. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he had a certain look about him – stubble adorned his face and despite her colleagues warning her that he could be a right pain in the arse, he had a kindness in his eyes. It was good to know that he always had their back. That’s all she could really hope for. There was nothing worse than a boss who was only interested in furthering their own career, often to the detriment of their team.
Maggie turned the tap on and filled up a cloudy glass with cold water. She also learnt that Probation Officer Lucy Sherwood would occasionally come to the police station with Mark, as he was the most experienced in working domestic abuse cases. Although Maggie had yet to meet Lucy, her colleagues had nothing but praise for her. Maggie was still trying to figure Mark out, though. She was curious why he joined this team as he had very strong, negative views about domestic abuse perpetrators and it seemed he wasn’t afraid to express them openly. She’d need to keep her eye on that. The last thing Maggie wanted was a black mark on her record because of something a colleague had said or done.
Maggie returned to her desk and cleared a spot to place her glass down. Thinking about the rest of the team, she laughed to herself. Kat Everett, the mouth on that one. Every sentence seemed to have a fuck or a shit in it somewhere. Maggie wondered how Kat managed to get through court cases or deal with the public without a ‘fuck’ flying out of her mouth.
Maggie was aware that a civilian, Dr Moloney, would also be joining the team soon to share her insight as a criminal psychologist and Calleja clearly admired her work. What really interested Maggie though was the multi-agency approach. She liked that this team had specific individuals from other agencies working directly with their nominals and based within the police station, even if it was just once a week. She’d see how this all worked now with their first murder investigation – how much collaboration really took place.
Working at Markston Police Station would be a challenge, too. Markston was a relatively average size town, but the station was also responsible for covering Littlefield, Barston, and some of the more rural surrounding areas. Domestic abuse was a big problem in Staffordshire as a county, which was why the Police and Crime Commissioner had decided it was a priority offence that needed to be dealt with by a specialized team.
‘Any further updates that I need to be aware of before we call it a night, Mark?’ Maggie picked up her coffee and walked around to her colleague’s desk.
‘Well you know that Lucy called earlier today. She wanted to flag up Louise Millard’s address as Robert left probation a little pissed off. Robert is one of our regulars.’
Maggie shuddered at the thought of what this description entailed.
‘Safe-and-well check then, I presume?’
‘Yep. All sorted. Two of the field team officers have been tasked with the job. Looks like it has happened, but the system hasn’t been updated with the full details yet. We can pick anything up in the morning from the log but, as nothing has been flagged, it must have gone OK. Any emergency will be dealt with by the field team tonight.’
Looking over Mark’s shoulder, Maggie noted the long list of call-outs to the address. ‘Hmmm … so Robert Millard has recently been bailed for a breach of the harassment order in place?’
‘Yeah. Lucy will send me the details of their session today. She emails over any concerns, especially if she isn’t going to be at the police station any time soon.’
After scanning the records, Maggie’s own experience with domestic abusers told her it wouldn’t take much to trigger Robert.
‘Do you know if Lucy contacted the victim’s support worker? Sorry, I know this is stuff you’re all probably aware of and doing, I just need to check, to satisfy myself before I go home. Once I’ve been here for a few days, I promise the questions will ease up, but only just a bit.’ Maggie smiled.
‘That’s OK. I get it. Lucy said she’d be contacting Sharon – oh, sorry, you won’t know who Sharon is. Sharon Bairden is the victim’s advocate connected to our team. You’ll meet her soon enough as she attends our operational meetings. I sent the details over to her as well. Always good to cover our asses.’ Despite being an integrated team, each agency worked on separate computer systems, so information was often duplicated.
‘So, although it has been one hell of a long day, it’s been a productive one and it really has been great getting to grips with things as much as I can.’
Maggie could tell from Mark’s immaculately organized desk that he would have everything in order. She glanced at her own desk – organized chaos – and hoped Mark wasn’t OCD. She’d only been in the office one day and already it looked like she’d been there years. Despite this, she got the impression that they would work well together.
Maggie felt her mobile phone buzz in her pocket. Pulling it out and seeing his name on the screen always filled her with dread. Why now?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#ulink_71ed300b-963b-525f-923a-1d9011b64cc7)
Maggie stared at her mobile debating on whether she should answer it. She clicked to answer, putting the phone to her ear.
‘What have you done now?’
‘Hello to you, too.’
‘Cut the bullshit. I’m still at work. What do you want?’ Maggie stood up and walked out to the hallway.
Glancing back into the office, she noticed Mark quickly turn and look at his computer screen. Maggie needed to keep calm and lower her voice; she didn’t want any awkward questions that she couldn’t answer.
A familiar whine reached her ears.
‘Sorry, I thought you’d be at home now, it’s late. Can I stay at yours? I’ve been thrown out of my flat.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. What have you done now?’
‘Nothing! I swear. The landlord has it in for me.’
Maggie looked at her watch and sighed.
‘I’m done now. Meet me at the café on the corner near my flat. We’ll talk.’
‘Thanks, Maggie. Really – you have no idea how much this means to me. Should I, uh, bring my stuff with me?’
‘You can … but I’m not making any promises. Let’s talk first.’
Maggie hung up. She saw Mark looking her way again, but ignored him and headed back to her desk so she could wrap things up for the day and get out of there.
Why the fuck am I the only one he calls?
He was already seated and tearing napkins to shreds when Maggie arrived at the corner café. This was a nervous habit from his childhood that seemed to have carried on into his adult years.
‘Do you want a coffee?’ Maggie gently tapped his shoulder.
He nearly jumped out of his seat. ‘Shit, Maggie! You scared the bloody hell out of me! The waitress will be back in a sec. I already have a coffee on the way. I didn’t think you’d be here so soon, or I would have got you one too.’
‘Oh, right. How would you have paid for it, if I had changed my mind about coming?’
‘Don’t be like that, sis. It’s good to see you.’
Maggie sat across from her brother and, despite her best efforts, her lip curled slightly into a smile.
‘It’s good to see you too, Andy. Though why is it you only call or come to see me when you’re in trouble?’
The waitress arrived at the table with Andy’s coffee and took Maggie’s order.
Maggie noticed the waitress had a pretty smile and watched her walk back towards the counter.
‘I see you still like the ladies then? Guess it wasn’t a phase after all?’
Maggie picked up a coaster and gripped it firmly.
‘Oh, I see. You’re still in denial? Nothing wrong with being a lesbian these days, you know.’
‘Watch your fucking mouth, Andy. I’m not a lesbian. I date men! When have you ever seen me with a woman? Don’t bloody label me. Not that it’s any of your business anyway.’
‘OK. OK. Calm down. So, you’re bisexual. What’s the big deal?’
‘I’ve had just about enough of your shit, Andy. Enough, already. And keep your fucking voice down, will you … What I do in my personal time is none of your business. Can we move on now? We’re not here to talk about me.’ Maggie glared at her brother.
Holding up his hands, Andy Jamieson admitted defeat. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was a sore subject and I didn’t come here to upset you. Is that Chopper case still getting to you? You seem a bit on edge. I’ve missed you, OK, and I thought if you knew that I understood about the … ladies … well, things could get back to normal with us.’
Maggie waved her hand dismissively. ‘So, what is it that you really want, Andy?’
‘I told you on the phone. I need a place to stay. My landlord evicted me, and I just need to get my head together and sort out where I go from here.’ He was fidgeting and playing with the corner of the tablecloth.
Maggie frowned.
‘Who do you owe money to?’
Andy had a gambling problem and their parents had washed their hands of him years before. Maggie had bailed him out a few times but knew this wasn’t something she could keep doing. He was her brother though, and she hated to think of what he’d do if things got desperate.
‘No one! Why do you always assume the worse of me?’
‘Erm … because I know you! Why would you get evicted if you were paying your rent? And why aren’t you paying your rent if you have no other debts? You’re still working, right?’
‘Yes, I’m still working – but I may have missed a few rent payments, OK? Seems my landlord is not the negotiating type.’
‘Here’s the deal then, Andy, and I mean this. You have four months. You need to be honest with me, but more importantly, with yourself. I’m guessing you’re back gambling and that has got to stop; I won’t be helping you out again. If you pressure me, you will find yourself out on the streets.’ Maggie knew she sounded harsh, but Andy pushed everyone to the limits and he had to know that this would be the last time.
They picked up a pizza on the way back to Maggie’s flat and over the next few hours, Andy had told his sister that he owed six-thousand pounds to a loan shark for a gambling debt. Maggie didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Every week that he missed a repayment, the debt went up. His job at the factory wouldn’t cover the repayments, but he assured Maggie that if she helped him out this one last time, he’d pay her back.
Maggie had eight thousand pounds in her savings and agreed that she’d pay back the debt on the condition that she could go with him to this loan shark. Maggie also stipulated that within the four months that he was staying with her, he was to do all the odd jobs that needed doing in the flat without so much as a moan.
Andy had already depleted their parents of their savings and she wouldn’t let him do the same to her without getting something in return. He would earn the money and if he messed up again, she would cut him out of her life completely. It was tough love, but it was the only thing that would get through to him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#ulink_1cd7d34a-5e44-5b9a-8574-70f8ca4be6aa)
Robert Millard was sick and tired of having his life controlled by others. A restraining order, a licence, and fucking women. He took another sip of Tennent’s Super and licked his lips as the first hit of alcohol took over. It was noon, so he was doing well. The shakes had kicked in not long after he woke up this morning, but he managed to hold off, desperate to prove to himself that alcohol didn’t dictate his life.
Robert looked around the cramped bedsit. Black bin bags mixed full of dirty and clean clothes were piled in every available space. He needed to get out of this shithole or he’d go crazy. Picking up his mobile, he scrolled through the numbers until he came across the one he wanted. He pressed call. Let it ring until the answerphone kicked in.
‘Hey, it’s me. I know you’re there. Just pick up the fucking phone!’ He hung up and dialled again.
‘Quit playing games. I just want to talk. I want my stuff.’ He put the phone down. He felt the anger rise in him and grabbed another can. He pressed redial on the phone.
‘Fucking bitch! Pick up the phone or I will come round there and then you’ll be sorry!’
Robert grabbed his coat and headed to the pub. He wouldn’t let that bitch wind him up anymore. Her new boyfriend could deal with her now. He needed to be around people who understood him. If Louise had called the police, they would go to Robert’s bedsit first, so he thought it best to get out of there. If he was going to spend a night in the cells, he may as well be shit-faced first.
The usual suspects were propping up the bar when he walked into his local. He headed to the bar and ordered a pint of Stella Artois. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a £20 note. The last of his dole money. He hated this. If it wasn’t for Louise, he’d still have his job. A job he’d managed to keep for nearly four years. That bitch will pay one day. He looked around the room and spotted a familiar face.
‘Hey, Vicki. When did you get out?’
Vicki Wilkinson had lived in the area since the beginning of time. Shell Baker, one of Vicki’s oldest and closest friends, was also a regular at the pub, though she was nowhere in sight right now. Robert knew that Vicki had a terrible temper in drink and often found herself in and out of prison for short periods for fighting. Recent changes in the law meant that Vicki and other offenders who were given prison sentences under twelve months, now had to report to probation following their release. Robert laughed inwardly – Vicki wasn’t going to like that one bit – and the laughter continued when Robert said he was on probation too.
‘Who’s your PO, then?’ The words were slurred, and Robert had to lean in close to understand what Vicki was asking. She’d clearly been drinking since the early morning.
‘Some bitch … Lucy. Thinks she’s hard, but I see her hands shaking … She’s probably a fucking alky!’ They laughed again.
‘Mine is Sarah something or other. She’s OK, I guess.’ Vicki shrugged. ‘You still married?’ Vicki tried to focus on Robert’s wedding finger to see if he was wearing a ring.
‘Nah. That bitch threw me out. Says I beat her when the reality is, she gave as good as she got. What the fuck am I supposed to do when she flies at me? Let her hit me? Fuck that shit!’
‘Ah, you’re probably better off without her. Gis a drink will ya?’ The crooked smile on her lips told Robert that Vicki was still up to her old tricks.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#ulink_494f2695-58fa-58de-a314-7a29d5ecea87)
Kate Moloney wasn’t your average doctor. In fact, she couldn’t be described as average in any way. Her goth appearance really did throw people when she introduced herself as a doctor. She was proud of her PhD in criminal psychology and didn’t care that people questioned her credentials based on how she looked. Pettiness or jealousy could rear its ugly head; it didn’t bother her.
She looked in the mirror. Her long, shiny, straight black hair glistened as the sun reflected through the window. Pools of blue, her eyes were hidden beneath a dark, grey shadow. Her silver nose ring and deep purple lips made a statement that she wasn’t to be messed with. She straightened her perfectly fitted black blazer, wiped down her pencil skirt and slipped on her most comfortable combat boots.
Dr Moloney had moved from her hometown in Galway, Ireland, to London so she could finish her studies. There wasn’t much need for a criminal psychologist where she lived and the jobs in Dublin were scarce. She’d made London her home away from home and managed to blend in nicely. But the move to the small market town of Markston, Staffordshire, was a welcome change to the hustle and bustle of life in the Big Smoke.
Even if it wasn’t considered as glamourous as some of the larger neighbouring townships, Dr Moloney knew she’d settle in quickly. It was the type of place where everyone knew each other, and new faces were often made to feel unwelcome. If she let it bother her, she wouldn’t last very long. Dr Moloney wouldn’t let it get under her skin.
Dr Moloney had also learnt that the neighbouring boroughs were managed by both Markston Probation and the local police station. When she’d googled the area, she hadn’t been surprised that this caused controversy with offenders who had to travel some distance to reach their appointments on time.
Substance misuse was a growing concern in Staffordshire. Kate also noted from her research that six pubs were located throughout the town, the most popular of which were The Black Penny and The Smith’s Forge, thanks to low prices and seemingly ‘friendly’ patronage. Many of the offenders who frequented the probation office were often found in The Smith’s Forge next to the train station and bus depot.
Kate was happy that, although the town had a retail park with various shops – Asda, Sainsbury’s, Boots – if you took a twenty-minute walk, you’d find yourself in a very rural area surrounded by fields and lakes. Yes, she’d settle here just fine.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#ulink_ec22cf87-f731-5139-bc63-c09ee6b916c3)
Lucy’s days and weeks often passed in a blur of busy activities. Today was no different. Although nothing untoward had happened, the whole week had flown by, and Lucy didn’t know whether to be glad or sad that the weekend had finally arrived.
‘See you later, Sarah!’ Lucy grabbed her coat and headed for the bus stop. It was her turn to pick up Siobhan from school, even though Patrick wasn’t working at the moment. A bone of contention with Lucy but not one that she was willing to pursue. She tried to pick her battles wisely, though not often with success.
Lucy loved seeing Siobhan’s face light up as she neared the school gate.
‘Lucy, Lucy! Guess what.’ Siobhan ran excitedly to the gate.
‘Hey, munchkin! What’s all the excitement about?’
Lucy picked up Siobhan and gave her a big hug. Putting her down again, Lucy rustled her hair, and reached out for her hand.
‘The school is having a dance. Can I go? Can I? Pleeeeeease!’
‘Hey, sweetie. You know the rules. We have to ask your father.’
Siobhan’s shoulders drooped, and she let out a sigh. ‘Aww. He’s probably going to say no. He always does.’
‘When’s the dance?’
‘Next Friday. Everyone’s going.’ Siobhan was on the verge of crying.
‘Well, there’s plenty of time. If you do your chores, we’ll catch your dad when he’s in a good mood. I’ll speak to him, I promise.’ Lucy regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. Siobhan’s blue eyes lit up again with hope. With Siobhan at her grandparents over the weekend, Lucy would speak with Patrick on Saturday … just in case anything kicked off.
‘There’s the bus. Shall we make a run for it?’
Lucy glowed with pride as Siobhan raced ahead. These were the moments that she cherished. The smile on Siobhan’s face was so big, it pushed her cheeks up and made it look like she was squinting. More often than not, when happiness made her heart swell, Patrick was nowhere to be seen.
Lucy paid the bus fare and sat down, wedged between Siobhan and someone who was in serious need of a shower. She stared aimlessly out the window, wishing her life had been different.
No lights were on as Lucy and Siobhan walked up the path to the front door. Once inside, Lucy looked for a note or anything that would let her know where Patrick was. Although Siobhan didn’t say anything, Lucy saw the tears glistening in her eyes. She had wanted to say goodbye to him before her granddad arrived. Lucy suspected Patrick was at the pub or avoiding Becky’s parents. She reached into her handbag, digging her mobile out to text Patrick and see if he’d be back in time.
Lucy held Siobhan’s hand and they both headed to the living room, waiting for Patrick to answer. Siobhan turned on the television and flicked through the channels. Fifteen minutes had passed and still no response; she had no doubt then that he was at the pub. She turned to Siobhan and placed her hands gently on the child’s shoulders.
‘Looks like Daddy is at an important meeting, sweetheart, so I doubt he’ll be back in time. Let’s make you a quick snack and get your things together.’ She couldn’t bear to see Siobhan’s trembling lip and hated lying to her.
As she wiped the crumbs leftover from Siobhan’s cake, Lucy heard the familiar chug of Ed’s car pulling up in the drive. She waited for the billow of smoke from his exhaust to clear before she opened the door. ‘Siobhan, your grandad’s here. Grab your stuff and come give me a hug.’
Siobhan raced down the stairs with her weekend bag dragging behind her.
‘Love you, little one.’
‘Love you too, Lucy.’
Lucy gave Ed a wave and watched as they left.
The house was quiet when Siobhan was away. Patrick’s son, Rory, sometimes came around, but they didn’t speak much.
Rory had found Patrick online through Facebook. The pair had been reunited six or seven months earlier and had since been making up for lost time. Rory was fifteen years old now and mature for his age. Lucy had occasionally noticed a flash of Rory’s temper. Given his age though, that wasn’t unusual. She only hoped he didn’t end up like his father.
With the house to herself, Lucy struggled with deciding what she wanted to do. She found it difficult to relax when he was out, because she spent the whole time worrying what sort of mood he’d come back in. She almost wished he’d been at home, passed out drunk when she got back today. That way she could sneak past him quietly and make her way upstairs to the spare room, which she’d turned into a mini library.
Lucy loved her little haven. She’d sit on the futon she’d brought when they had first moved in to the house together. Patrick hadn’t always been a monster. Life with him had started out pretty good. For the two years of dating, they’d had some amazing times – in fact, when looking back Lucy realized that most of those times he hadn’t drank any alcohol, at least not in front of her. Lucy held on to the belief that deep down, Patrick had a good heart.
Of course, the whole Mr Nice Guy routine soon changed after they moved in together. At first, he’d have a few cans of lager after work. Nothing wrong with that. After all, he’d spend eight to twelve hours a day on building sites and just wanted to unwind a bit. Then the little sarcastic jibes started, which Lucy initially laughed off – he didn’t mean that, she thought. He’s obviously had a stressful day.
It was when Patrick lost his job and couldn’t keep any of the other jobs he managed to lie his way into, that the worst of it started. Life, for them, soon went from bad to worse. With Patrick slowly slipping into a depression and alcohol becoming his solace, it quickly became Lucy’s worst nightmare.
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#ulink_5238d6c9-f997-5087-bc15-56b14177935b)
Shell Baker could always be found surrounded by men at one of the pubs in Markston. Most people who had grown up on the estates knew Shell. Her beauty made women jealous and her personality attracted men like moths to a flame.
The minute he walked in the door, Shell was intrigued. She had heard of Patrick Quinn and wondered if he really was as bad as everyone made him out to be.
He smiled at her as he made his way towards the bar. ‘What are you drinking, love?’
She had to admit, he had a certain charm.
‘Don’t you think you’d better introduce yourself first, love? I don’t take drinks from strangers.’ He seemed surprised by her straight-talking, but she liked the sound of his laugh.
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, the name’s Patrick – you going to share yours now?’
Shell was no fool. This guy was clearly a charmer, but a free drink didn’t mean she had to marry him, so why not.
‘Shell.’ She stuck out her hand ‘Pleased to meet you, Patrick. I’ll have a cider and black.’
She’d seen Patrick at the pub before. Although he hadn’t grown up in the area, there were only a few pubs in Markston and most people knew the regulars. Shell didn’t like much of what everybody said about Patrick, but she always believed in giving people a fair shake.
Of course, Shell was no angel either. If Patrick messed her about, he’d regret it.
Patrick told Shell that he needed a break from home and the banter flowed easily between them.
‘So, why are you here talking to me if you have a wife and daughter at home?’ Shell said.
‘Lucy doesn’t get me. She’s controlling and always complaining. I can’t talk to anyone or go anywhere without getting the third fucking degree.’
Shell wasn’t convinced. He didn’t strike her as a man who would let someone control him. He oozed confidence and had a slight arrogance about him.
‘Why do you put up with that shit, then? I’d be out of there like a shot if anyone tried that with me!’
Patrick didn’t answer right away. He looked as if he was thinking carefully.
‘Not sure, if I’m honest. Been thinking about leaving her, but I have my kids to worry about too.’
Kids? ‘I thought you said you had a daughter. What do you mean by kids? She ain’t pregnant, is she?’
‘No. No. No. I have a son, he just turned fifteen but lives with his mother. I was with his mother before Becky, Siobhan’s mum.’
‘Oh, right. I see. Well, if she’s like that with you, what’s she like with the kids … especially when you’re not around?’
‘Hmmm. I see your point. I never thought about that.’
‘Where’s your daughter’s mother then? She still in the picture?’
A strange look came over Patrick’s face. ‘She’s probably in a psycho ward! She’s a raging alcoholic who fucked anything that gave her the slightest bit of attention.’
Shell wondered if Patrick could sense her surprise at his outburst.
‘Look. I’m sorry if that came out a bit harsh. Siobhan’s mum has problems. She needs help. She’s a violent, aggressive drunk, and I worried she’d hurt my little girl. Not sure what happened to her before she met me, but it made her drink herself stupid nearly every day. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I just upped and left.’
‘You left your daughter with her?’ Shell’s mouth gaped open and she inched away.
‘No. I took Siobhan with me and rang social services. I explained why I took Siobhan; they came, did their assessments, and the courts gave me custody. I would never leave my kid in a situation like that. What do you take me for? Sorry, I guess you don’t really know me so that was a fair comment.’
Shell was beginning to warm to this guy. As well as being good-looking, with his cheeky smile, Patrick gave off all the signs of a decent, caring father. Someone with a troubled past who was doing their best. Shell could relate to that. She fidgeted in her seat with embarrassment at jumping to the wrong conclusion. Her hand went to Patrick’s and she gave it a squeeze.
‘Oh God, that sounds like an awful situation. Thank Christ you had the sense to get your daughter out with you. Not many men would.’
He looked down and shook his head. ‘It was awful. I know girls need their mums, but there was just no way I’d put my princess through that.’
Patrick went on to tell Shell about Rory. How he’d last seen him ten years ago and, when Rory made contact via Facebook, Patrick knew they had to meet up. He told Shell that he had needed to explain his side of the story to Rory, because his mother had just left one day without an explanation, taking him with her.
Shell gasped. ‘How could she do that?’
Patrick shrugged his shoulders. ‘Still don’t know. Maybe she was having an affair? Who knows. I don’t care anymore, I’m just happy my kid found me.’
They had continued chatting until the pub closed and said their goodbyes outside. Patrick kissed Shell on the hand and suggested they exchange numbers. She reluctantly agreed but made it clear that she wasn’t into breaking up families. Patrick had mumbled a comment, but Shell just waved it off and headed home.
CHAPTER TWENTY (#ulink_d765221a-4350-5032-b34c-9c5a2551f2f3)
Lucy had a meeting with Claire Knight before work that morning. The knots in her stomach were agony, because she dreaded having to make yet another excuse for Patrick’s no-show. The loud snores from downstairs reaffirmed that he’d spent Sunday night drinking himself into a stupor and was still sleeping it off.
After getting into an argument with Patrick on Saturday about Siobhan’s school dance, Lucy had left him to his own devices for the rest of the weekend. It was best to avoid him when he was in one of his moods.
When Siobhan had come home on Sunday, Lucy was the one left to tell Siobhan Patrick’s decision. The little girl’s tears broke her heart and once again, Lucy was left to pick up the pieces. Siobhan barely said a word to them that evening and Lucy was furious. She could only hope that Siobhan would sleep off the disappointment as only kids could do.
Lucy took Siobhan to school and waved goodbye to her at the gates. She headed to the nearby Costa, grabbed a coffee, and rushed to Claire’s office. She hated these meetings. Hated lying. But if she wanted to keep Siobhan safe from her mum and from Patrick, she knew she had to play the game.
Lucy gave her name at the reception desk and sat down to wait. Within minutes, Claire came out and called her through.
‘Hi, Lucy. How are you? It’s been awhile hasn’t it?’
‘Hi, Claire, yeah, it has. Maybe three months?’
‘Wow! Well hopefully we can withdraw our involvement completely if everything keeps going as well as it has. Where’s Patrick today?’ Claire had a funny look on her face and Lucy knew that her excuses were probably being questioned.
‘He has a job interview.’ Lucy smiled and couldn’t believe how easily the lie rolled off her tongue.
‘Hey, that’s great. I hope something comes of this one. It has been quite some time since he lost his job, right?’ Claire probably guessed there was more to the story of Patrick’s unemployment. But Lucy was a strong, protective factor in Siobhan’s life; Claire wouldn’t want to upset that.
Lucy hated the look of pity on Claire’s face. ‘Yeah, it feels like forever, though. Can be a struggle supporting four people on my wage alone.’
Claire coughed and looked up from the notes she’d been writing. ‘Four?’
Oh shit! Patrick is going to kill me!
‘Um. Well, not always four … What I mean is, Patrick’s son recently made contact and stays over some weekends.’ Before Lucy had the chance to change the subject, Claire pounced.
‘Really? I didn’t know Patrick had a son. How old is he and can I get some more details off you?’ Claire began writing furiously in her notepad, and Lucy bit her lip angrily. Just when social services were finally looking to get out of their lives.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
‘Of course.’ Lucy gave Claire as much detail about Rory as she knew offhand and told her she’d have to email later with the rest.
As he was only fifteen years old, social care would have to do some further checks on Rory and speak to his mother. Although this would not affect the case with Siobhan, who knows what Patrick’s ex would say to Claire? Lucy could just kick herself. Patrick had made it clear to her, on more than one occasion, that this was all her fault because she’d called the police once when Patrick came home drunk and kicked off.
Siobhan was already known to social care because her school had contacted them when Becky arrived drunk and caused a scene. She had told social care that Patrick’s abuse made her drink and, although there was no evidence recorded, any child that came to spend time overnight with Patrick had to have an assessment.
Lucy didn’t know much about Rory’s mother or why she left Patrick – he’d always clam up or get angry when she asked questions – but she had a pretty good idea what had happened. If she was right, and Claire went digging further, Lucy was expecting all hell to break loose.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#ulink_4ffaafd6-1bb0-5b5f-ad70-28ae976eb383)
Shell couldn’t seem to get Patrick out of her head as she worked. She pushed the vacuum across the floor of the office, careful to avoid the plant pots as her thoughts returned to him once again. Who was this guy? She was reluctant to get involved with him, even as friend, but she had to admit there was something about him.
Shell’s own experience of a violent father made her portray herself as hard and overly cautious. But Patrick seemed really genuine when talking about his children, and Shell knew that some women were bitter when relationships ended. Maybe things had been blown out of proportion.
The anger she felt towards her father, who was currently serving time at Her Majesty’s pleasure, often invaded her thoughts. She couldn’t believe that nearly seventeen years had passed; even though she was now thirty years old, it only seemed like yesterday.
Shell knew what happened to her mother wasn’t her fault, but there were days when guilt still ate away at her. She’d only been thirteen years old – what could she have done?
The nights when Shell managed to get some sleep were filled with nightmares. Her mother screaming as Shell hid in her room, hoping she hadn’t been heard, wanting to run down and stop her father. The glass table shattering. The million pieces of ice-like shards rotating through the air and scattering across the floor. Her life had been changed forever the moment she had gone downstairs and seen her mother’s battered body, barely breathing, in a heap on the living room floor.
She shuddered when she recalled the smirk on her father’s face. Him standing in the doorway watching her. Shell running towards him, him shoving her back so hard she hit her head on the corner of the broken table.
‘Get the fuck away from me, you little bitch. Just like your mum.’ The memories after that still only came to Shell in brief flashes. Hazy. According to the police reports and pictures from the night, Shell sustained a head injury that affected her memory.
Shell had drifted in and out of consciousness that night in the hospital, but she’d never forget the look of pure hatred and disgust in her father’s eyes. How he had kicked her mother, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.
Shell felt a cold chill up her spine as she bent over to switch the vacuum off. At the time, she’d spent a few nights in hospital and now, as she subconsciously rubbed her head, it was only the psychological scars that remained. It didn’t take the police long to find her father, though. He was arrested a few days later, pissed up in a pub a few miles away, and charged with the attempted murder of her mother.
Her father had initially pleaded not guilty – which meant Shell had had to give evidence in court, thankfully via video link– but it was all part of his desire to exert power and control over the women in his life.
He argued publicly with his solicitor during the trial. But continued the mind games after the damage had already been done to Shell’s fragile emotional state by eventually changing his plea. He was convicted of attempted murder against her mother and GBH against her. Due to the brutality of the offence – he’d beat Shell’s mother so bad that nearly all her bones were broken – he received the maximum sentence: life.
The thought of what she and her mother had had to endure all those years ago was still too much to bear. Shell hated when the post arrived; she was crippled by the constant fear that she’d find out he was eligible for parole.
Her mother’s diary had been produced as evidence. It detailed the years of abuse, both sexual and physical, that she’d endured at the hands of Shell’s father. Shell had kept this diary and it made for a very dark read. Her mother had survived the brutal attack, but something had died inside her that day. Shell had been taken into care as her mother turned to alcohol and drugs to escape the memories, and eventually prostitution, to pay for her mind-numbing addiction. She overdosed a few years later and Shell would never forgive her father for that.
Shell snapped out of the painful stroll down memory lane and carried on with the job at hand. She picked up her cloth and cleaner before she leaned against the window and looked down at the traffic rushing past in the street below. Never forgotten, she knew this abyss would rear its ugly head again. She was just grateful that she was able to push the dark thoughts aside and focus on the positive things in her life. She had made something of herself and wouldn’t let her father get the last laugh. She had to admit though, sometimes it was hard to keep her anger in check and she feared what that could lead to. Would she turn out like him?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#ulink_ef7dafaa-a945-5be3-8fb5-11328e33d3e5)
Lucy had spent Tuesday and Wednesday at work making sure her cases were up to date and her appointments were covered. She had the Thursday off to deal with personal matters.
The family courts were busy on Thursdays. Patrick and Lucy had met with their solicitor and handed over the paperwork that Lucy had spent weeks preparing. They were going for permanent custody of Siobhan, since it looked like social care were going to withdraw their involvement with the Quinns shortly. Although Lucy had been concerned after she had let slip about Rory spending weekends, she had been assured by Claire that the case with Siobhan and her custody would be dealt with on its own merits. Their solicitor and Cafcass also believed that there would be no issues; Rory was not a permanent resident, the agencies just wanted to ensure that there would be no further disruption to Siobhan’s home life.
Becky Parks was sitting at the other side of the waiting area and kept shooting daggers at Lucy. She looked drunk.
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Noelle Holten
‘An excellent read’ Martina ColeA dark and gripping debut crime novel – the first in a stunning new series – from a huge new talent.‘Kept me hooked … excellent pace and a very satisfying ending’ Angela MarsonsWhen three domestic abuse offenders are found beaten to death, DC Maggie Jamieson knows she is facing her toughest case yet.The police suspect that Probation Officer Lucy Sherwood – who is connected to all three victims – is hiding a dark secret. Then a fourth domestic abuser is brutally murdered. And he is Lucy’s husband.Now the finger of suspicion points at Lucy and the police are running out of time. Can Maggie and her team solve the murders before another person dies? And is Lucy really a cold-blooded killer?
DEAD INSIDE
NOELLE HOLTEN
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
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KillerReads
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain in ebook format by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Noelle Holten 2019
Cover design by Ellie Game © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com (https://www.shutterstock.com/)
Noelle Holten asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008332235
Version: 2019-04-08
To Buster (aka #TheBear) – my sounding board, best friend, soul mate and saviour.
Missing you every-single-day.
Table of Contents
Cover (#ub9d7e207-1304-5b49-a693-06c22dcf203f)
Title Page (#u1a804956-e868-562a-a585-bb98760c6069)
Copyright (#u88aa70b6-a558-51e7-a5eb-f9381e0bd2a9)
Dedication (#u0637bf43-d40c-5d19-85fd-6c1ce863489f)
Prologue (#ufc3e74f6-afee-5209-baa8-c9d89727b79a)
Chapter One (#u6fa64db7-4b17-52f5-998c-6dfab76bc8df)
Chapter Two (#u7db1798c-1743-5e02-8a6e-69ef8b4fd94d)
Chapter Three (#u33438419-0a3c-58ee-8539-4e70ef7850db)
Chapter Four (#uaa185fbe-ee90-50cd-9b60-d929b5db8651)
Chapter Five (#u86212875-9243-5440-9e94-d7ced64ef2a4)
Chapter Six (#u74731213-512c-51e0-bcf8-af7fe7194d3e)
Chapter Seven (#u55e15c3e-4603-5d33-9eb9-6cb0b4248706)
Chapter Eight (#u446f1364-5af5-532e-8d8c-cb2751f87631)
Chapter Nine (#uc92265c7-3db2-5a17-927f-87197e5195e6)
Chapter Ten (#u810c417f-f9d9-599d-919a-da9595fa0cc4)
Chapter Eleven (#u85f1aad3-7134-532e-ac64-b8db1f569880)
Chapter Twelve (#ub4b6ec0e-884f-5ad6-8b81-68df35fa9964)
Chapter Thirteen (#u3adc6076-8a42-5a8d-9e72-ca4a33500708)
Chapter Fourteen (#ua26f6786-77a7-52af-809c-05a51c1f8c9e)
Chapter Fifteen (#u8437d034-3969-54ba-bbf5-ef888d9bca3b)
Chapter Sixteen (#u0797d6b2-37e6-5e04-ae6f-c82b1059fc77)
Chapter Seventeen (#uab19c90a-18ed-5d47-b362-671c54045d7c)
Chapter Eighteen (#uf4c50cfd-9065-5233-8407-73506dfca317)
Chapter Nineteen (#ub93ffaf9-fe1d-5136-9f5e-2f814f3938cc)
Chapter Twenty (#u44f44068-7ae3-5f55-bf95-4de720babff5)
Chapter Twenty-One (#uda7dac9b-ab73-5b0c-b669-43d9e8d96792)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#uf30273f6-f9b8-5578-95df-bb0ce27d070a)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Forty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventy-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighty-Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ninety-Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
A Note From Noelle (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading… (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#uee7e52df-45f8-517b-a54c-369e6ab890c0)
The crash at the bottom of the stairs woke me instantly.
I could see the smallest sliver of light peering underneath the door. The rest of the bedroom was in complete darkness.
I froze.
Should I get up and check on Siobhan? But, I knew if she had woken up, she would tap her fingers on her headboard like she always did, to let us know she was awake.
No tapping.
I didn’t want to move. I couldn’t, I was paralyzed with fear. I had always accepted the verbal abuse that was thrown at me. I could take that. It was the physical abuse that filled me with shame. I couldn’t help but shudder in dread as he stumbled his way up the stairs. I pretended to be asleep, but my heart raced faster with the sound of every footstep. My fear of him weighed me down, suffocated me, and pinned me to the bed.
We had two years of bliss before he proposed to me.
Two years of living normal, happy lives.
What happened?
Six months into the marriage, I realized I’d sealed my fate when I’d said, ‘I do’.
Ten years later, and the regrets were mounting.
Who would have thought that two little words would have given me such a long sentence?
Why me? What did I do to deserve this?
The bedroom door creaked open slowly. That’s what he did. Let me know he was coming, then built on my terror by taking his time to enter the bedroom.
I could hear his breathing as he stood there, his eyes bearing down on me. I tried to keep as still as possible. I wanted to disappear, sink deep down into the depths of the mattress where it was safe.
The foul stench of alcohol filled the room, stinging my eyes, and threatening to choke me.
Oh God! Please let him just ignore me tonight.
The dull thud from the change in his pocket startled me, as his clothing fell piece by piece to the floor.
I can’t take this anymore.
I wanted to shout but couldn’t wake up Siobhan.
He crawled in beside me. Hot, smelly breath burned at my neck, making me cringe. I couldn’t stand him anywhere near me.
In my mind, I was screaming, get away please just leave me the fuck alone! But not a sound escaped my lips.
He put one of his rough, calloused hands under my oversized T-shirt, his fingers icy to the touch. I shivered, not because his hand was cold, but because I knew what would happen if I said no.
He wrapped his arm around my neck, pulled me closer. Tight, uncaring and rough, until he was almost choking me.
‘Please … don’t.’ There was a whimper in my voice.
Sometimes, my weakness made me sick.
‘I want you.’
‘I have to work in the morning, Patrick. Please … don’t.’
He shoved his hand between my legs. Not gentle or loving, but forceful.
Through gritted teeth he snarled, ‘I don’t care. I. Want. You.’
‘Please. Think of the Siobhan. You’ll wake her.’
I remember tears flowing down my face like a waterfall. Like they’d never stop. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think of something else.
Anything else. Anything would be better than this.
I was dead inside, numb to it all, even as I tried to remember the happier times.
When I thought he loved me.
When I loved him.
That night was the first time my husband raped me.
The look in his eyes when he finished and cast me aside told me it wouldn’t be the last.
CHAPTER ONE (#uee7e52df-45f8-517b-a54c-369e6ab890c0)
With only a few hours left in his shift, Amit was itching for a break. He saw Beacon Park up ahead and, as the moon reflected brightly off the bonnet of his black cab, he pulled up at the kerb and turned off his engine. It was nearly 4 a.m..
He stretched his arms and the tinge in his leg told him he needed to get out before they cramped up. He opened the door and felt the chill in the air. Reaching over to the passenger seat, he grabbed his jacket and stepped out of his car. It was so quiet. Not a person in sight, but as it wasn’t the best area in Markston, he made sure to lock his door before heading to the park entrance.
Amit stood by the gate and debated whether to have a quick walk down the path. The lamps were few and far between, thanks to the bloody council. He pulled the collar of his jacket up to keep his neck warm and started walking. A gust of wind blew a plastic bag in front of him and made him jump. He shook his head, looked over his shoulder. Laughed to himself.
In the distance, he could see something in the middle of the path – a large lump was blocking the way. He took out his mobile phone and searched for the flashlight app. Turning it on, he held the phone in front of him and saw that it was a person, lying flat on their back. Probably some drunk passed out after a few too many. Could be a potential fare if he played his cards right.
‘Hey! Are you OK?’ He waited for a response. Kept waiting. After a minute or so he decided to approach. They may have hit their head when they fell backwards. The clothing indicated that it was probably a man and, as he got closer, he noticed something wet on the ground. He must have been sick. The man’s arms were splayed out beside him, like he was rejoicing in the glory of his drunkenness.
Amit wasn’t prepared for the sight that met his eyes and he could feel the bile rise in his throat. Oh Christ!
The man was not sleeping – though Amit wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead. He shone the flashlight over his chest and couldn’t see it rising. It was then that he spotted the slash across his throat and realized that it wasn’t puke oozing beneath the man’s head – it was blood. He jumped back. Shit. Shit. Shhhhhhhit.
Hands shaking, he ran back along the path. Punched in 999 on his mobile and raised the phone to his ear. Time stood still as he stopped running, heaving in a breath. Heard the phone ring once, twice and finally an answer.
‘Uh … hell … hello? Yes, police p-p-please. I’ve found a body.’
His phone fell from his shaking hands and the contents of his dinner emptied on to the grass.
CHAPTER TWO (#uee7e52df-45f8-517b-a54c-369e6ab890c0)
Lucy came downstairs and looked at Patrick. He was slumped in the chair with his hand wrapped around a can of lager and – for one appalling moment – Lucy hoped he was dead. She shook the thought from her head in disgust and focused instead on her busy morning. He was supposed to take Siobhan to school. Lucy told him last night that she had an early meeting with one of her offenders. She sighed.
Getting angry at Patrick was a waste of energy – it never achieved anything. With her parents and sister coming to dinner later, Lucy could do without anymore stress. All she wanted was for Patrick to be semi-sober and civil. Not too much to ask, or so she thought.
Seeing Patrick now, Lucy couldn’t explain what had drawn her to him in the first place. She supposed it was the usual things – cheeky smile, piercing eyes, and a charismatic personality. But it was what he was like behind closed doors that scared her. As a probation officer, Lucy knew all the signs – the I’m sorrys, it won’t happen again; I love you so much … the list of excuses was long and never-ending. Despite this, she still found herself unable to leave.
Lucy left the room and walked back upstairs, pushing Siobhan’s bedroom door open. She looked over at the bed and paused.
Social services had placed Siobhan in the care of Patrick, giving Lucy temporary special guardianship. The court battles were expensive and emotionally hard to endure, but Lucy wouldn’t have changed a thing. She loved Siobhan as her own.
Lucy tiptoed inside and shut the door behind her, looking around at the room. The pink walls and plush carpet were Siobhan’s choice, and matched her duvet perfectly. Her eyes fell on a photo of Siobhan’s grandparents, standing outside their house.
Ten-year-old Siobhan still had supervised contact with Becky Parks, her mother. She would spend most weekends at her maternal grandparent’s house, where Becky could go and visit. Lucy was fortunate to have forged a reasonably good relationship with Becky’s parents, Ed and Maria Parks. Although it was initially strained, they seemed to understand why their daughter needed to be kept away from solely raising Siobhan.
Lucy made excuses for herself. Reasons why she stayed, because to believe that she’d allow this to happen to herself was incomprehensible. Taking on Patrick’s daughter played a large part in Lucy staying in the relationship. Siobhan was the result of Patrick’s toxic past with Becky Parks – an alcoholic and pretty vile creature-of-a-woman, whose voice could send a shiver down your spine. But it wasn’t all bad; there were some good days with Patrick, when the house was filled with laughter, and Lucy even felt a little bit of love. She knew that things weren’t perfect, but she had made the decision to stay, so now she just had to deal with it.
Lucy crouched down next to the bed and gently pulled back the covers. ‘Siobhan, wake up, sleepyhead! Daddy is poorly, so I’m taking you to school today, OK?’
Siobhan rustled in her bed. ‘OK.’
Lucy headed back to her own room to get ready for work, knowing Siobhan could get dressed without any fuss. Lucy planned on leaving Patrick a note to remind him about their dinner plans. Picking up her mobile, she texted Sarah Hardy, her friend and colleague at Markston Probation, to let her know she was on her way.
Lucy looked in the mirror and stopped. She nearly cried, something that was becoming a bit of a habit. Once silky, her hair was now a greasy mess – always pulled back in a bun or ponytail. Eyes that previously held a mischievous sparkle, were dull and puffy. Looking herself up and down, she saw an overweight, frumpy woman who chose oversized jumpers and cheap trousers to hide her body and make herself less attractive.
Lucy was finally beginning to realize that she had gradually cocooned herself in a protective shell. Withdrawn from friends, family, and neighbours, she had become someone she no longer recognized – or liked. Although she remained happy and assertive at work, at home – she glanced again in the mirror – she had become this person.
Snapping out of self-pity mode, Lucy knew she needed to get a move on, and Sarah would only cover for so long. Lucy had a supervision session booked for 9:00 a.m. and she hated being late – it didn’t set a good example for those she supervised, especially when she was constantly reminding them they were breaching the conditions of their order or licence if they didn’t show up on time.
After dropping Siobhan off at school, she arrived at the office with twenty minutes to spare. She rushed past Sarah, thanked her, and threw her coat over her chair. She logged into her computer and opened up her emails.
‘Everything OK, Lucy?’
She gave Sarah a thumbs up and hoped she wouldn’t ask anymore questions. She noticed a red-flagged email identifying a ‘Transfer from an Out of Area Probation Office’ waiting for a response. It would have to wait a little longer, because her desk phone buzzed to announce the arrival of her first appointment of the day. Lucy gathered her notes, made her way to the printer, and picked up the warning letter she had just printed off for Robert Millard. Taking a deep breath, she headed for reception.
Robert wasn’t going to be happy today, in fact, his mood may end up being worse than hers.
CHAPTER THREE (#uee7e52df-45f8-517b-a54c-369e6ab890c0)
DC Maggie Jamieson woke with a start, drenched in sweat. The nightmares had been happening more frequently now, even though she knew Bill Raven was safely behind bars. Bill Raven, also known as The Chopper thanks to the creativity of the news media, was convicted on his confession alone. Three missing women brutally butchered, their body parts strewn across unknown locations in Staffordshire and the surrounding areas. Maggie shuddered and threw back the covers.
After his confession, forensics used luminol in Raven’s flat and had found a huge amount of blood, covering the floor, walls, and bathtub. However, the bleach and other industrial cleaners he’d used had deteriorated the samples so that they couldn’t state, with one hundred per cent accuracy, who it had belonged to , whether it was more than one person or if it was even human. The police had had to go by what Raven had told them during interviews and match his statement to those women reported missing at the time. Fortunately for the police The Chopper was so concerned with infamy that he gave them full disclosure of his gruesome crimes.
Raven’s roommate, Adrian Harrison, was also questioned during the initial investigation. Both men were as odd as each other in Maggie’s opinion but, despite her gut feeling, the evidence had all pointed at Raven and eventually he confessed, leaving Adrian in the clear.
Maggie had learnt recently that Raven had suffered a breakdown following his sentence and was currently on a hospital order until the doctors deemed him fit to return to prison.
She sat up and ran her fingers through her knotted hair. She groaned; it was only 5:30 a.m. and way too early to head in to work. Although she was keen to start her new post with the Domestic Abuse and Homicide Unit – or DAHU – she didn’t want to appear overeager or tire herself out before the day had even begun. Maggie still cringed at the use of the word ‘homicide’. When she had queried it with her boss, DI Abigail Rutherford, she’d been advised that as homicide covers the offences of murder, manslaughter, and infanticide, the Police and Crime Commissioner, or PCC, was keen to use it to describe the newly formed team.
Hearing the patter of tiny feet across the laminate flooring, Maggie looked down to find Scrappy staring up at her. A big meow made her laugh and she picked him up for a cuddle. Now that Scrappy knew she was awake, there was no way his belly was going to let her get another twenty minutes under the covers.
‘OK, cat, let’s go get you some brekkie.’
Maggie put Scrappy down, grabbed the sweatshirt she’d thrown on the floor last night, and pulled it over her head. With Scrappy leading the way, she headed into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle.
‘Coffee first, Scrappy-boy, or I’m going to be grumpier than usual today!’
Once she’d sorted the cat out, Maggie sat down at the breakfast bar and turned on her iPad to browse the news. She had this fear that Bill Raven would try to gain more notoriety with a story and she’d be pulled back into something that she was desperately trying to forget. The case was officially closed based on his confession, but if more bodies were discovered and linked to him, Maggie could find herself back with the Major and Organised Crime Department, or murder team as she preferred to call it. Maggie hated labels – keep things simple was her motto. She let Scrappy out and started to get ready. She had enough struggles of her own to worry about without repeatedly going over Raven’s case in her head. The best thing about starting with a new team was the chance to move forward and leave the past behind.
After a quick shower, Maggie donned her usual black trouser suit and white blouse, opting for her low-heeled court shoes in case the day entailed any physical activity. She looked at herself in the mirror.
‘That’s as good as it gets.’
Not really one for a lot of make-up or accessories when it came to work, Maggie pulled her shoulder-length, auburn hair back into a loose ponytail and straightened her collar.
She grabbed her coat from the hook by the door and headed out.
OK, DAHU – let’s see what you have in store for me.
CHAPTER FOUR (#uee7e52df-45f8-517b-a54c-369e6ab890c0)
Robert Millard was what was known in the criminal justice arena as a domestic abuse perpetrator. Each agency used a lot of different acronyms, which Lucy found hard to keep track of at the best of times.
She was currently supervising Robert on a two-year suspended sentence order, after a judge felt his years of sustained abuse against his estranged wife more than warranted the threat of custody if he breached the imposed requirements. Robert’s wife, Louise, was also granted an indefinite restraining order – which meant that he could have no contact with her unless it was removed.
Lucy made her way to the reception area and called out for Robert. He looked exhausted and unkempt as he dragged his feet and followed her into the interview room designated for the riskier, more volatile offenders. Pointing at the chair across from her, Lucy asked Robert to sit down.
‘Why are we in here? We usually go upstairs.’
She could feel the paranoia and edginess emanating from him as she asked him again to sit down; the last thing she wanted was for Robert to be standing up when she confronted him with the information she now had. She waited as he pulled the chair out and sat down.
‘Do you want to tell me what happened the other night, Robert?’ Lucy had learnt over the years that if she gave her offenders the opportunity to come clean, they were less likely to lash out when challenged. She had been supervising Robert on and off for three years now and wanted him to be the one to tell her. This would also give her a better idea of where his risk status was at.
Robert’s face darkened. He clenched his fists tight and his eyes began to glaze over. Suddenly he snapped.
‘Who the fuck do you think you are, you fucking bitch?’ The spittle from his lips hit Lucy’s face like toxic raindrops. Grabbing a tissue from the drawer, Lucy wiped her face without losing eye contact with Robert. She’d not let him get the better of her.
Lucy raised her hands to her ears to lessen the painful sound of metal screeching as Robert pushed back his chair. He leapt towards the wall and Lucy cringed when she heard the crack of his knuckle as flesh met concrete.
‘You’re ruining my life! All you bitches are the same.’
Robert obviously wasn’t going to be forthcoming about the other night. Her hand hovered over the alarm button beneath the desk. Lucy glanced at the camera in the corner and was grateful that reception would be watching. Punching the wall was meant to intimidate her, but she wasn’t impressed. Robert paced the small room then grabbed the back of his chair.
‘Now what the fuck is going to happen to me?’
Lucy waited for his breathing to return to normal. ‘Are you through then, Robert?’ She let the question hang in the air and watched as he calmed down. He nodded his head.
‘Then take a seat and I’ll explain everything.’
Robert reluctantly sat down again, his eyes blazing. She could tell he wasn’t going to trust a word she said, and she prepared herself for another angry outburst.
‘Robert, you broke the conditions of your restraining order. That means, you also broke the requirements. What did you think was going to happen?’ Somehow she kept her voice icily calm.
‘She asked me to come over. Why am I the one getting into trouble?’ He almost sounded like a spoiled child.
‘You know why, Robert. I told you this. You signed the paperwork and said you understood what you were signing. Let’s not kid ourselves here: this is not the first order you’ve been on.’ Lucy cocked her head to the left and raised her eyebrows knowingly. ‘I explained to you that even if your ex-partner made contact, you were not to reply. Ignoring those instructions, you went to her house; you were drunk, you got angry, and you smashed a window—’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake! She wound me up. She was drunk too. Rubbing it in my face that she has a new boyfriend that treats her better – fucking slag. How did she think I was going to react? I didn’t even touch her.’
This wasn’t the first time Lucy had heard this story. Day in and day out, it was always the same. Always someone else’s fault; always the alcohol or drugs that ‘made them’ do it. Not one of these men, or women, ever wanted to accept responsibility for their actions.
‘Look, I have no choice but to give you a warning. You know that. You’ve been charged with a further offence. My hands are tied.’ She pushed across the envelope with his warning letter inside.
‘Are you fucking serious?’ The chair flew back as he stood up and towered over her.
There was no way Lucy was going to let this dickhead take control. She pushed her own chair back calmly, stood face to face with him and looked him directly in the eyes.
‘Whoa, whoa – you need to calm down, Robert. I don’t want to have to push the panic button; there’s no need for you to stand over me like that. Can’t you see how your behaviour could be viewed as threatening?’
Robert once again grabbed his chair but this time he sat back down almost immediately, and Lucy watched his chest rise and fall as he took deep breaths to control his temper.
‘Sorry, miss, but it just seems like every time I’m getting somewhere, it gets thrown back in my face and that pisses me off.’
There it was again. That whiny voice. For a moment it was Patrick sitting across from her. She sat back down.
‘Robert, it’s your actions that’ve caused all this. We’ve been here before. You need to stop and think about things first. You have your group programme coming up soon. You’ll learn some more techniques that will help you recognize the triggers and avoid reacting violently to situations that anger you. We’ve also discussed alcohol previously. And before you say that if you were sober, this wouldn’t happen – just remember, alcohol doesn’t make you do the things you do. You act this way because you choose to. You know you need to keep away from your ex.’
Lucy pointed at the warning letter in the hope that it would encourage Robert to read it. He jammed it into his back pocket unopened.
‘Are we done now?’ He stood up to leave.
‘Do you want to talk anymore about things? Maybe put a plan together in case the situation comes up again?’
‘Fuck that! I’m sick of that bitch getting me into trouble! Just give me my next appointment.’
‘It’s on your warning letter.’
Robert tried to storm out of the room as Lucy smirked behind his back – he needed her to use her swipe card to exit the room. The power was still hers.
‘Open the fucking door!’
‘Right, Robert! Lose the bloody attitude and calm down!’ If she wasn’t careful she’d find herself facing a complaint, but she was so fed up with these men and their controlling ways. Lucy swiped her card and let Robert back out into the reception area.
‘See you next week, Robert.’
Lucy couldn’t help but mutter ‘wanker’ under her breath. The receptionist briefly glanced up from her computer, and Lucy shrugged her shoulders.
There was no response from Robert, but she hadn’t expected one. She knew he was still pretty pissed off, so she made a note to call the domestic abuse team and flag Louise’s address. With Robert in this mood, there was no telling what he might do to his ex-wife.
Lucy needed caffeine to calm her nerves. Her job as a probation officer had her supervising some of the area’s most violent offenders and today was no different.
‘Hey, Lucy. Your hands are shaking, another tough session?’ Sarah asked as she made her way to the coffee machine. Sarah was a brilliant probation officer but also a very good friend.
‘Nah, just the usual, Sarah.’
It wasn’t Robert Millard causing Lucy’s nerves to be on end. She knew that after work her parents and sister were coming around and she didn’t know what kind of mood Patrick would be in, considering he’d been still drunk before she’d left for work. Lucy wished she had the same confidence to deal with the situation at home as she did at work. Self-loathing crept over her as she put a false smile on her face to carry on with her day.
Sarah looked at her in such a way that Lucy wondered if she knew. She rubbed Lucy’s shoulder reassuringly. ‘You know where I am if you need me.’
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_2ce89c96-85be-590d-9f33-4d7d840b9bd9)
Lucy tapped her fingers on her desk as she stared at her computer screen, reading the Crown Prosecution documents for the pre-sentence report she had to complete. She wasn’t too keen on interviewing this guy as the offence was brutal in nature. Mr Talbot was late and bail conditions attached indicated that should he fail to attend his interview, a warrant would be issued. She would have to inform the courts. She remembered she needed to stop off at the shop on her way home and picked up her mobile phone to remind Patrick about collecting Siobhan from school.
I know! I got your fucking note
was the text she received back.
Putting her head in her hands, she didn’t hear Sarah come up behind her.
‘Everything all right, Lucy?’
Lucy jumped. ‘Yeah … sorry, I was in a world of my own there for a minute. Everything’s fine, Sarah. I’m just a little distracted. My family is coming for dinner – you know what it’s like.’ Lucy caught Sarah glancing at her phone screen and quickly turned it over.
‘Oh God, yes! Family, eh? The joys!’ Laughing awkwardly, Sarah again squeezed Lucy’s shoulder. ‘Well, let me know if I can do anything. You’re just looking a little stressed.’
‘Thanks, Sarah. I’m fine. Seriously. Just that bloody Robert Millard and now the guy I was interviewing for this court report has failed to show up. Not sure why I agreed to take on the domestic abuse cohort now. Sometimes I just think it would be better if they were all dead! Fucking controlling assholes.’ Lucy wished she could take back the words as soon as they left her mouth. ‘You know I don’t really mean that, right?’
‘Obviously. Take a few deep breaths, inform the courts and grab a cuppa. Do you want me to contact the police about Robert?’
‘Oh God. I nearly forgot. See what I mean? Thanks for reminding me. I’ll do it now, I need to speak with PC Fielding anyway.’
She watched Sarah walk back to her desk and noted all the tasks she needed to complete for the day. Any excuse to stay a bit longer today at work suited Lucy just fine. The last time her parents visited had been a disaster and she wasn’t sure they’d forgiven her, or Patrick, yet. The longer she left it before seeing them, the better.
Lucy smiled as she picked up the phone to call PC Mark Fielding, she could do with hearing a friendly voice.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_f903ffda-04b5-555d-a8db-b88083f6b70b)
Maggie felt a buzz of excitement as she stepped into the room and took in her new surroundings, the open-plan office lined with modern ‘pods’ on the second floor of a grey building. She thought back to when she had first been called into the DI’s office to discuss her move from the murder investigation team. She had been advised that given her recent experience with The Chopper case, her superiors felt that a step away from the team on a temporary basis would do her good, while still allowing her to be involved with the job she’d dedicated her life to. DI Rutherford had said she thought it would help her development.
Maggie walked through the modern office. All the new offices seemed to be set up this way now. The desks were together in groups of two, facing each other. Plain white walls lined with motivational posters preaching the higher up’s latest mantras. Although there were eight of the ‘pods’, only three desks were currently occupied. There was also a small office that looked out over the open-plan area. Maggie suspected it was the detective sergeant’s.
‘Hi! Are you DC Jamieson?’ One of the people in the room called out, a young male of average build. He had a bright smile which immediately made her feel welcome.
‘I am indeed. You can call me Maggie in the office though. And you are …?’
‘I’m PC Mark Fielding – Mark. The guv said you were starting today. How about I give you a quick tour of the place? No doubt DS Hooper will sort out the formal side of things when he arrives and give you a rundown of the murder case that just came in. Start as you mean to go on and all that.’
‘Murder?’ She swallowed, then recovered her composure. So much for a break from homicide. ‘Thanks, Mark, it would be great if you could show me around.’
With Mark making the introductions, Maggie learnt that PC Kat Everett was a feisty one and suspected that they would get on well. Maggie could smell the cigarette smoke from Kat’s clothing and noted her colourful nails. The other officer was PC Pete Reynolds. Pete looked to be in his late thirties or early forties. He barely looked up from his computer screen as he said a strained, ‘hello’.
‘Don’t mind Pete.’ Mark laughed. ‘He’s just joined the team and is fairly new to the police. DS Hooper is making him read all the policies for a test at the end of the week.’ He winked, and Maggie understood the implied message – there was no test, his colleagues were just winding him up.
‘Ah, right then. I’ll leave you to it, Pete.’ Maggie gave him a quick nod.
‘We can grab a coffee and I can take you through to DI Joseph Calleja if you want?’ Mark headed towards what Maggie assumed to be the communal kitchen.
‘Hmmm … OK, but maybe that’s something DS Hooper will want to do? I don’t want to step on any toes, my first day and all.’
‘Good point! Right, let’s get the brews in. Hooper’s in a meeting at the moment. He’ll be back for the briefing at 11 a.m.. Why don’t you take the desk across from me? I’ve left the details of the other agencies on your desk. We’re what they call an integrated team and have probation, the Independent Domestic Violence Advocate, Drug and Alcohol services, as well as a few other agencies involved with our team on varying levels. I’m sure the guv will explain more. Sorry, you probably know all this, right?’
Maggie smiled. Having never worked directly with other agencies as part of one team, she wondered if they ever pulled rank or allocated blame on each other when things went wrong. She followed Mark into the kitchen hoping to pick his brains, but before she had the opportunity, a phone rang, and Mark dashed past her to answer it.
‘Domestic Abuse Unit, PC Mark Fielding speaking. How can I help you?’
Mark’s voice was a welcome sound considering the way today had started, Lucy thought.
‘Hi, Mark. You forgot the homicide. It’s Lucy Sherwood from Markston Probation. How are you?’ Due to the nature of the individuals she worked with, Lucy, like many of her colleagues, used her maiden name for professional purposes.
‘Hey, Lucy! Great to hear from you! I know, I know. I still can’t get my head around homicide – why can’t they just say murder? Though I suppose DAMU is probably not the best acronym for a team like ours, is it?’
Lucy heard him laugh down the phone.
‘All’s fine here … just the usual – overworked and under-resourced. To what do I owe this pleasure?’
Lucy felt her cheeks get warm and knew she was blushing. She seemed to blush every time she spoke to Mark. He was so kind to her and made her feel like her opinions mattered, the total opposite of Patrick.
‘I had an interesting supervision session with Robert Millard.’ Lucy heard the groan that Mark tried, unsuccessfully, to hide.
‘OK, are you concerned that something is going to kick off?’
‘A little. I just wondered if you could flag Louise’s address and maybe do a safe-and-well check?’
‘The address is already flagged, but I’ll log this, and note that a safe-and-well check needs to be done. I can’t promise it will be today, we’re a little short staffed, but it is noted. We have a few new additions to the team, so maybe that will help. For now, though, we have to rely on the field teams to pick these up, depending on the other priorities.’
‘Cheers, Mark. That will at least put my mind at ease. I would hate to think he goes around there and something even more serious happens. Louise does have a personal alarm, but we both know she doesn’t use it. I’ll record all this in his case records and make contact with Sharon Bairden; she’s still the victim’s advocate in the unit, right? Hard to keep up with all the changes. Mr Talbot also failed to show up for his pre-sentence report and, because he has bail conditions, I informed the court and expect a warrant to be issued soon. Soooo, anyway, spill. Who are the newbies, what are they like, and when will I meet them?’
‘We know why Mr Talbot failed to report, I’m afraid. Someone should have contacted you. I can’t go into too much detail because it’s an ongoing investigation, but needless to say, it’s one less report you’ll need to write. About the newbie: DC Maggie Jamieson is with us from the Major and Organised Crime Department.’
‘Whoa! You can’t tell me what’s happened to Talbot? And nice to see you keeping it professional. I take it there are other people in the room with you then?’ Lucy laughed.
‘I’ll definitely keep you posted on Talbot, but I don’t have too much info myself. You know me, Lucy, I’m always professional.’
She could just imagine Mark glancing around the room to make sure no one of authority was eavesdropping.
‘Of course, right, I best get back to work. I should be over at the police station soon for a catch-up. Keep me posted on any developments concerning Robert Millard and thanks for the heads-up on Talbot.’
‘Yeah, sorry ’bout that. I’ll have to find out why probation wasn’t contacted. Looking forward to seeing you though. Make sure you bring me a latte, or I’ll have you arrested at the enquiry desk.’
Hearing his laugh made her smile. Lucy sighed as she hung up the phone. If only Patrick could be more like Mark.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_d70babad-4e6d-52fc-80b7-e1c28d86b419)
Maggie’s first encounter with her immediate superior did not go as she expected. She found herself sitting with her new colleagues near the back of a large briefing room, listening to the details of the murder her team would be investigating.
‘Good morning, everyone.’ Her boss, DS Jim Hooper, looked around the room, stopped at Maggie, giving her an uncommitted nod, then carried on outlining details of the gruesome murder.
‘This is what we know so far. A taxi driver called 999 at 4 a.m. this morning, to notify us that he stumbled across the victim’s lifeless body while he stopped for a break—’
Maggie’s take-charge instinct kicked in and she interrupted Hooper mid flow. ‘Has the driver been questioned by the responding officers or will we be interviewing the witness?’ She immediately regretted her decision.
‘If you let me finish,’ he glared at her then looked down on the desk at a piece of paper in front of him, ‘DC Jamieson, I’ll give you all the information you and the rest of your colleagues need.’
Maggie felt her neck burn with embarrassment.
Hooper posted a picture on the investigation board and a chorus of gasps could be heard around the room. It wasn’t a pretty sight and Maggie regretted having that cream cake when she first arrived.
‘As I was saying, the victim – Drew Talbot – was found lying on his back blocking the path not far from the entry into Beacon Park. The witness indicated that no one else was around and given the time, it is unlikely that anyone else was about – though we’ll still need to confirm that. An empty syringe was sticking out of his neck. His arms were outstretched beside him – palms up – and his hands completely pulverized. You can see from the pictures.’ He pointed at the screen. ‘It looks as if someone took a hammer or a similar implement and battered both hands to a pulp. A large pool of blood gathered underneath his head, the top portion of his legs and his groin area. Initially it was unclear where the wounds were located, but his jeans had two slices on the upper inside thigh of each leg. The wound across his windpipe was easily identified.’
Maggie tapped her pen on the desk and glimpsed at the pictures that were being passed around the room. She made a note to have a closer look once the briefing was finished. Her fascination with crime scene pictures was well known at her old office, but she didn’t want her new team to learn that just yet.
Hooper continued, ‘With the arrival of the pathologist, photographs of the male victim were taken and evidence collected. A wallet found in the back pocket of the body determined that the victim’s name was Drew Talbot – although a formal ID is yet to be made.
‘PC Reynolds, I’d like you to work with the handover team to track down and notify Mr Talbot’s family after the briefing. Mr Talbot had recently appeared in court under a charge of grievous bodily harm, and he has a history of violence against partners. I understand that Lucy Sherwood was supposed to be writing a report—’
‘I think Mark told her earlier that Mr Talbot would not be making the appointment, but he didn’t go into too much detail.’ Maggie looked at Mark.
‘That’s right, guv. Lucy called to let me know that her pre-sentence report had not attended for interview. That’s when I advised that Talbot wouldn’t be making his appointment and, because of an ongoing investigation, I couldn’t share anymore information with her yet. Not sure why someone didn’t contact probation.’
‘As he was one of our nominals, that would have been down to one of you lot. We’ll call it crossed wires and move on, shall we? Fiona Blake, the Home Office pathologist, noted that there was an injury to the back of the victim’s head. She believed that Mr Talbot was attacked from behind and knocked unconscious. It appears he was then rolled over onto his back, a syringe stuck in his neck – we will have to wait for toxicology to find out what substance he was injected with – his hands were mashed to a pulp and the three cuts were then made. Any one of them could have led to his death. That’s where we are at. So, what are your initial thoughts?’
Maggie jumped straight in. ‘Do we have the time of death established? And do we know where Mr Talbot’s victim was during the relevant times?’
‘Talbot’s ex-partner is in hospital with a broken cheekbone, broken jaw, broken arm and strangulation marks around her neck. She is barely able to stay awake for more than an hour at a time and is heavily medicated; we don’t believe she is directly involved, but we will need to interview her family and friends, in case they decided to seek their own revenge. Estimated time of death is any time between 12 a.m. and 4 a.m. when the body was found. Anyone else?’
‘The injuries would suggest to me that this was personal. The injuries on his hands indicate someone was clearly angry with Mr Talbot and took that anger out on his body. Could the killer have been making a statement against Mr Talbot’s abuse?’ Maggie said. Hooper looked at her and she thought she saw the makings of a smile forming on his face.
‘Interesting observation, Jamieson. That’s a line of enquiry I would like you to explore further. You and Mark can look at people close to Talbot’s ex-partners and see if you can eliminate any of them as persons of interest. Kat? Pete? Mark? Do you have anything you want to add?’
‘Fuck sake, guv. I can just about keep my breakfast down at the minute.’ Taking a deep breath Kat added, ‘Were there any other witnesses or vehicles around the area at the time?’
‘Only the taxi driver. Pete can trawl CCTV to see if there were any cars or people acting suspiciously during the times noted and let you know.’
‘OK, guv. I can go out and interview anyone we come across,’ Kat said.
Pete made note of his task and sighed. He had been hoping to get out in the field more.
‘Mark, can you speak to the pathologist and see if she can shed some light on the exact cause of death, and then chase up toxicology?
‘Maggie, you and Kat can interview Wendy Parker; her daughter is the victim of domestic abuse at Talbot’s hands,’ Hooper said.
Mark gave him a thumbs up and gathered his papers.
‘That’s it then. You all know what you need to do. Keep me informed of any developments … oh, and Maggie – welcome to the team.’
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_a68f8c48-ffaf-52a8-a3ac-7365488dd8e1)
Patrick had made sure Lucy knew exactly how he felt about her bloody note when he’d texted her back earlier. He wondered if Lucy’s sister, Melody, would also be coming over. A bit of eye candy would make it easier to tolerate the whole situation.
Unlike Lucy, Mel looked after herself. She had big tits she liked to put on show and wore short skirts to accentuate her long, toned legs. Even though she was a solicitor, Patrick liked her down-to-earth personality. He often wondered if he had chosen the wrong sister. He made his way to the bathroom, the thought of Mel still stuck in his head.
There were only a couple of hours before he had to collect Siobhan, so he jumped in the shower in an attempt to sober up. Lucy would have a go at him if he was drunk and he couldn’t be bothered with the hassle. If the nosy bitches that hung around the school gate smelled alcohol on him, that social worker would start her home visits all over again. He wouldn’t put it past any one of those tramps to ring social services. Lucy would go ballistic.
Back downstairs, he picked up the post, sat down in his favourite chair, and went through the envelopes. Bills, bills, and more bills. He threw them on the coffee table for Lucy to deal with when she got home. He thought about looking for a job, but remembered how quickly he had lost the last one. The row with his old colleague that had spiralled out of control. The way people had laughed at him, taken the piss. A good kicking is what they deserved.
Patrick’s main concern was his kids – Siobhan and Rory – and anyway there was no need to work if Lucy continued to pay for everything. They were struggling financially, but he wasn’t going to just take any job. He wanted his kids to be proud of him. He saw the way they looked up to Lucy. Patrick was hoping that Rory would visit again soon, though he knew Rory’s mother did her best to poison his son’s mind against him.
Another stupid bitch.
It was no secret that Patrick loved his drink, so why did the women in his life always make an issue out of it? They knew what they were getting from the start. Beer was his drink of choice, but, if truth be told, he’d drink anything. It let him see things more clearly, made everything quieter, even if it did sometimes make him angry or sad. Fuck Lucy – what does she know?
Today he felt a bit down and Lucy’s constant moaning didn’t help. Patrick was no fool. He had a rage inside, he’d had it from a very young age. He couldn’t help it. It was his parents’ fault. After all, witnessing his mother being beaten and getting a few hard slaps at the hands of his father would be hard for anyone. What did people expect? His father wasn’t selective though – he beat all his children equally. Fair is fair, he used to say.
Patrick clenched his fists. He used to promise himself he’d never treat a woman the way his father treated his mother. Promises he found hard to keep. He didn’t care what anyone said – he wasn’t like his father.
CHAPTER NINE (#ulink_c47f008b-9f6e-5c8f-b4d3-e7f6cef41ab4)
Maggie and Kat arrived at Wendy Parker’s house after going to the hospital to check on Drew Talbot’s ex – Heather Parker. The nurses had confirmed that Heather had been in the hospital for the last three weeks and, with the recent infection she had from her injuries, there was no way she could have left the hospital in her condition and the only person who had visited her since she was admitted was her mother, Wendy.
They knocked and waited for Mrs Parker to answer the door.
‘I’m coming,’ a frail-sounding voice called out.
The door could use a bit of WD-40, thought Maggie, as it squeaked open. The haggardlooking woman inside had grey hair, tightly piled in a bun on the top of her head, and wore a pair of slacks with a neat blouse.
‘If you’re selling something, I’ll save you the time. I’m not interested.’
Maggie smiled. ‘Are you Mrs Parker?’
‘I am.’
‘My name is DC Jamieson, and this is my colleague, PC Everett. Would it be OK if we came in and had a chat?’
She noticeably relaxed at the sight of their ID. ‘Of course. Please, make yourselves at home. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’
‘That would be lovely. I’ll have a coffee – milk, no sugar – and PC Everett will have a cup of tea if it is not too much trouble. Milk and one sugar.’ Kat looked almost surprised that Maggie had remembered how she liked her tea.
‘Is this about Drew? Was it him that was attacked? It’s been all over the news. I won’t be at all upset to hear that someone finally gave him what he deserved.’
Kat piped up, ‘Yes, I’m afraid it was Drew. We just have a few questions for you.’
‘For me? What in the world would I know about this?’
‘Standard procedures, Mrs Parker.’ Maggie stood up to help the woman with the tray of tea. She looked like she might fall over.
‘Oh. Thank you. I can normally manage, but I’ve been having dizzy spells lately. Old age, I guess … and please, call me Wendy.’
‘OK, Wendy. Can you tell me where you were on Monday between the hours of midnight and four a.m.?’ Maggie watched her eyes.
‘Are you having a laugh? Look at me. I’m in bed before nine most nights. I can barely lift a tray of tea. How do you expect me to have inflicted all those injuries that the news reported? And the size of him! I’d need a ladder to hit his head … pffft.’
‘Please just answer the question, Wendy, so we can eliminate you from our enquiries. Did you ask anyone to hurt Mr Talbot? Or do you know of anyone who would want to hurt him?’ Maggie asked reluctantly.
‘Absolutely not! How dare you even insinuate such a thing. Do you know what HE did to my daughter? Do you?’
Trying to calm the situation, Kat changed the subject. ‘We do know, and it was a horrible assault on your daughter. But as I’m sure you understand, we have to ask these questions. Mr Talbot’s family need answers too.’
Wendy seemed to soften at the mention of other victims. ‘It was awful … just awful what that man did to my girl. I could see the imprint of his hands around her throat in the bruises.’
Maggie handed her a tissue and patted her knee.
‘We’re so sorry, Wendy. At least he will never be able to hurt anyone again.’
‘It’s all my fault. My fault. I turned her away when she came here. I thought she just wanted money for drugs. Why did I do that?’
Seeing the anguish in Wendy’s eyes, Maggie’s throat tightened. She could only imagine what Wendy was feeling. If someone had hurt her, both her parents would have the same view. ‘We’re sure you did what you thought best. How were you to know what was happening?’
‘My head knows that. My heart says: a mother should know.’
‘This is not your fault, OK?’ She smiled and patted the woman’s knee again. ‘But like my colleague has just said, you must understand how Mr Talbot’s family are feeling. We just need to help them get closure too?’
‘I understand. But I am still so angry with him. Walking about here when he was out on bail. No shame or remorse. And my daughter, lying battered and bruised in the hospital. It wasn’t fair and I wasn’t the only one who thought that either.’
Maggie looked at Kat. ‘What do you mean you weren’t the only one? Could you have said something to someone and maybe they took matters in their own hands?’
‘Did you not hear me before? Don’t be daft. I don’t have many friends and the ones I do have wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’m tired now, so if you’re not going to arrest me, I’d like you to leave. As far as I’m concerned, the man who hurt my baby got everything he deserved.’
Kat handed Mrs Parker a card. ‘Thanks for your time. If you think of anything else, our number is there. You can call at any time.’
‘We’ll be in touch.’
Kat and Maggie returned to the pool car.
‘What did you make of that, Kat?’
‘She was angry, but I don’t think she had anything to do with Talbot’s murder. Way too frail. She’s just concerned about her daughter. Do you think she was involved?’
‘My gut instinct is no, she wasn’t. But can we rule her out completely? I mean, she sure has motive. You saw her daughter. What Talbot did to her was vicious. I don’t think we should cross her off the list just yet.’
CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_63e328f3-ea60-570a-903c-f0ec03f958fa)
Finishing work without any further major incidents, Lucy arrived home tired. When she opened the door, she was met by an excited Siobhan. Well, at least Patrick remembered to pick her up.
‘Hey, sweetie! Where’s your dad?’
Patrick appeared in the doorway. His eyes were slightly glazed, and Lucy sighed.
‘What the fuck was that for?’
‘Patrick! Please don’t swear in front of Siobhan. I’m just tired, OK? That’s all. My parents are going to be here soon, and I’m not really in the mood. I guess I’d better start the dinner.’ Lucy turned and put the shopping bags on the counter. To avoid confrontation with Patrick, Lucy prepared the dinner.
‘Will your sister be coming?’ Patrick called. Lucy’s shoulders tightened. She didn’t have to turn around to know that Patrick was sneering at her.
‘I’m not sure. Mel just split up with her husband. She wasn’t sure if she could make it.’ Melody and Lucy didn’t share the best of relationships, though she hoped that would change. Lucy hadn’t told Patrick that Mel was single again, because she knew he’d use that to wind her up. She saw the disgusting way Patrick ogled her sister. At one point, Lucy had confronted Mel about the way she flirted with Patrick. Mel had laughed in her face and told her that flirting was one thing, fucking was another. Lucy never thought that Mel would ever make her feel the way Patrick did, but with that one sentence, Mel had confirmed how weak she believed Lucy to be. Their relationship was never the same after that.
‘Pity. Would be nice to have something pretty to look at.’ Patrick purposely knocked into Lucy as he made his way to the fridge for another can of beer.
‘How many of those have you had?’
‘Don’t start,’ he warned. ‘I’m really not in the mood. Isn’t it bad enough I have to sit across from your father and listen to his snide remarks about me?’
Lucy didn’t answer. She had seen the look in his eyes.
‘So, what’s for dinner then? I hope you’re going to make something edible for a change.’
Trying a different tack, Lucy put on a cheerful voice. ‘Your favourite. I thought I’d make a shepherd’s pie.’
‘Well at least that’s something. Even you couldn’t fuck that up.’ He headed back to the living room.
Lucy’s stomach was cramping with nerves. This wasn’t going to be an enjoyable evening. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut?
Forty minutes later, with the dinner in the oven and the kitchen tidied, Lucy asked Siobhan to set the table and went to get changed. If Mel was coming, Lucy would feel like a frumpy, old woman. Every one of her nice outfits was now too tight, all she had were her work clothes. She held back her tears, knowing that her father would start asking questions if he saw her red, puffy eyes. Lucy put on a little make-up, black trousers with a sweater, and stared sadly at herself in the mirror.
Mel was a high-paid solicitor in Birmingham. Her soon-to-be ex-husband was also a solicitor, and this always made Lucy feel slightly inferior. At work, Mel would wear power suits and come across as the total professional that she was. Outside of the office, though, it was short skirts, tight tops, and stiletto heels that were her sister’s weapons of choice. It never used to bother Lucy, until now – now she’d let herself go. Not caring served a purpose though: it reduced the number of times Patrick could accuse her of cheating. Instead, he would put her down, pointing out that she was lucky he wanted her as no one else would. Lucy sighed and headed back downstairs.
Patrick looked up from the chair. ‘Why are you wearing make-up?’
‘I just thought I’d make a bit of an effort.’
‘Oh, nice, you don’t make any effort for me, but you’re happy to put a bunch of shit on your face to impress your parents.’
Lucy knew she shouldn’t have bothered, but she didn’t want her parents wondering why she’d changed so much. Questions would be asked, and she just couldn’t cope with the look of disappointment she knew she’d see on her father’s face. Taking a tissue out of her pocket, she wiped some of the make-up off and sat anxiously on the edge of the sofa to wait for her parents.
The knock on the door startled her. Siobhan ran to answer it, but Lucy called after her. ‘Hang on, sweetie. I’ll get it.’ She ruffled Siobhan’s hair on the way past. Lucy hadn’t seen her parents for some time, so wanted to be the first to greet them. They had been very supportive of her – particularly her father – allowing her space to make her own decisions. It broke her heart that she now felt so distant from them. Straightening her sweater, she took a deep breath and pasted on a smile as she opened the door.
‘Hi, Mum. Hey, Dad!’ She invited them inside and kissed each of them on the cheek as they squeezed by her in the doorway. She was about to close the door when her sister put her hand out.
‘Eh! Charming, sis!’
‘Oh sorry, Mel. I didn’t see you hiding there.’ Lucy’s hands squeezed into fists as she looked her sister up and down. They were complete opposites. Mel worked out and showed off her toned arms and shapely legs with a tank top and short skirt.
‘Aren’t you cold? You barely have anything on.’
‘Don’t be jealous, Luce. It’s not an attractive feature.’
Why did I even invite them around? Shrugging her shoulders, Lucy shuffled them all from the kitchen to their seats in the dining room. Lucy cringed when her dad sat at the head of the table. The sooner this was over, the better.
The tension in Lucy’s shoulders subsided as dinner and drinks were served; the talk around the table was polite if not semi-strained. Lucy was embarrassed to see Patrick drinking heavily and leering over Mel. She seemed to be loving the attention, giggling like a teenager. The scowl on her father’s face said it all. Lucy figured her mother must have asked him to keep his mouth shut, because he barely said two words during the meal. Siobhan, as always, was as good as gold and Lucy smiled at her.
‘I’ll help you clear the table, Lucy.’ She really was a little diamond and Lucy gave her a hug as she gathered the plates.
‘Is everyone ready for dessert?’ Lucy called from the kitchen. She heard a few moans; the shepherd’s pie must have filled them up. But once dessert was served, Lucy knew her father would want to make a quick exit and that suited her just fine. The room was silent except for the awkward sound of cutlery scraping on plates. Someone coughed uneasily. Lucy didn’t want to make her parents stay where they were clearly uncomfortable. Her sister was the first to answer.
‘None for me, Luce. Can’t afford to add any extra pounds, if you know what I mean?’
Lucy held her tongue. She noticed Patrick lean over and whisper something in Mel’s ear. Mel giggled and slapped Patrick playfully on the arm.
The flirting between the pair was making Lucy feel physically sick. How could he do that in front of her? In front of her parents and Siobhan? Her hands shook with rage.
Before she could say anything, her father interjected, ‘Enough now, Melody. Can we just enjoy dessert without any of this nonsense?’ Lucy looked at her dad and thanked him with her eyes. He returned the action with a smile and a nod. Lucy really did miss her father, but she knew that the less contact she had with her parents, the less likely they were to realize what she was going through. She couldn’t take the pity looks and she didn’t want to hurt her family.
Everyone devoured the dessert in record time. Patrick made it clear the night was over by abruptly standing up and making a move to leave the table. ‘Right, time to clear the pipes out! Think that’s the first decent meal Lucy’s cooked in ages; my body isn’t used to it!’ He laughed loudly.
‘It’s late, darling. I think we’re going to make a move,’ Lucy’s dad said.
Patrick didn’t acknowledge him but turned to Mel, leaned in, and kissed her on the cheek.
‘It was really nice to see you. Don’t be a stranger.’ At least this time Mel had the courtesy to blush as she saw the look on Lucy’s face.
‘Take care, Patrick,’ Mel said. She reached her hand out to Siobhan. ‘Come give your Aunty Mel a hug, sweets.’
Siobhan walked over and gave Mel a big hug as everyone said their goodbyes. Patrick disappeared upstairs as Mel and her mother got into the car. Lucy’s dad, however, pulled Lucy aside and they stood in the front garden outside the open door.
‘Why do you put up with that, sweetheart? You’re so much better than him.’
‘Oh, Dad …’ Lucy hugged her father tight. ‘He’s not always that bad. He’s had a tough time lately.’ Lucy saw the look of disappointment in her father’s face. She could feel the tears welling up, too ashamed to tell him the whole truth.
‘It’s OK, Lou-lou.’ He used to call her that when she was a little girl. ‘There is always a place for you at ours, if you ever change your mind.’ He wrapped his strong arms around her and gave her a squeeze.
Lucy choked back the tears. ‘Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.’ She gave him another hug and waved them off, not seeing Patrick as he stepped back from the open bathroom window directly above the front door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#ulink_83b0a7f3-dd18-5c99-bb19-dfadda47c2f1)
Across town, at the same time Lucy’s parents were saying their goodbyes, field officers were about to carry out the safe-and-well check for Louise. They knew Robert well as he’d been arrested a few times for drunk and disorderly.
As they approached the house, they saw a light in the front room. One of the officers knocked while the other tried to look through the window.
‘Who is it? Do you know what fucking time it is? Taking the bloody piss!’
‘Police, ma’am. We’re here to check that everything is OK.’
‘Well it is, so get lost!’
The officers looked at each other.
‘Please, ma’am. Do you mind if we come in for a few minutes for a chat?’
Both officers knew that if they left the property without actually seeing Louise, there could be trouble; Robert could be inside coercing Louise to get rid of them.
They heard the chains rattle and multiple bolts being undone. Clearly Louise was concerned for her safety. The door eventually eased open slowly. One chain remained, and Louise poked her head between the gap.
‘There! Satisfied?’ The officers heard her mumble some not so savoury words underneath her breath.
‘Uh, no – sorry, ma’am. Could you please open the door fully?’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake …’ Louise shot back the final chain and wrenched open the door. ‘Happy now?’
‘Yes, ma’am. Sorry to have upset you. Can we just come in for a quick chat?’
‘Please yourselves.’ Stepping out of the way, Louise ushered the two officers into the living room. They could see curtains twitching in the street outside; Louise was clearly keen to get them out of sight.
‘When was the last time you saw Robert?’ The officer closest to Louise asked while his colleague stood looking around the room.
‘The last time I saw that waste of space was when I called you guys. Yesterday I think it was, it could’ve been the day before. Fucked if I know. There is a restraining order in place but that seems to do jack shit – which is why I never got one before! I mean, what is the point of having it if he can swan over here, do some damage, and then the police act?’
‘We understand your frustration, Mrs Millard. But it really is the best option. And with the panic alarm and your house being flagged – the police will respond immediately.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I get it. Just pisses me off.’
Before leaving, the officers advised her what she should do if Robert turned up at her house again but neither were confident she would heed their advice. They only hoped the next visit wasn’t for something more serious.
CHAPTER TWELVE (#ulink_77b1d57d-c9ae-55c4-abc0-29f3c4baa412)
Patrick stood back from the bathroom window. Fucking prick should mind his own business. He gripped the sink and tried to control his breathing. It wouldn’t have bothered him so much if he hadn’t been drinking that evening. But he had, and he was fuming now. Blaming it on the alcohol made him feel better. He’d often say to Lucy, ‘If I’d been sober, that would never have happened,’ but Patrick knew the truth. It would have. Patrick hated feeling out of control, hated people treating him like a muppet. It wasn’t his fault if people kept winding him up. People like Lucy. People like Lucy’s dad. They did it on purpose. Especially when Lucy used her probation speak. If she’s going to treat me like an offender, I may as well behave like one.
Patrick loved Lucy despite all the arguments … the other women in his life were just a means to an end. A man has needs, and if Lucy didn’t want to fulfil them, he knew plenty of other women who would. Maybe he should make a move on Mel, make Lucy really appreciate what she has. He’d never leave her though. There was no way she’d leave him either. He’d make sure of that.
He flushed the toilet when he heard her come back inside and went into Siobhan’s room.
Inside the house, Lucy shut the door and leaned against it. Looking around the kitchen, she knew she’d have to clean up before going to bed. She turned on the hot water tap and started to fill the sink. While she waited, she wiped down the counters, and the dining table. Bitterness filled her mouth at the fact that her sister had reciprocated Patrick’s flirting. Actually enjoyed it. Especially after Lucy had confronted her and told her how she felt. Lucy wiped the table harder, her jaw tight. She thought her sister was better than that.
Lucy could hear Patrick upstairs with Siobhan. Although unusual, she was grateful that he was getting Siobhan ready for bed. She didn’t have the energy. It still made her suspicious, though. Patrick never did anything without expecting something in return, even for his own child. She wouldn’t let that prey on her mind; instead she wanted to get the kitchen cleaned and get up to bed before Patrick came down, that way, she might avoid any argument.
As she was finishing the last of the dishes she heard him on the stairs. Staring out the window at the overgrown back garden, her heart sank. She’d missed her opportunity. With a sigh, she prepared herself for whatever insulting comments he was about to unleash on her.
‘So, what’s your dad’s problem then?’ The accusation in Patrick’s voice was undeniable.
‘What are you talking about? My dad barely said two words all evening.’
‘Ah. OK. Are we playing that game then? I hate when you play dumb, Lucy … really fucking annoys me.’ Patrick’s lip curled in that sneer that Lucy recognized; she had to think fast, or something bad was going to happen.
‘Seriously, Patrick. I have no clue what you’re talking about.’
Patrick prodded her shoulder sharply as he accentuated each word spoken. ‘Don’t. Worry. I. Know. Exactly. What. I. Am. Talking. About.’ He then tapped his nose and winked. Making his way to the fridge, he peeked past the open door, staring at Lucy as he took out a can and cracked it open. He knew she hated that sound.
Lucy cringed and turned away. He won. She placed the tea towel on the counter and started to walk off. Patrick’s phone pinged indicating he had a text message. Just as Lucy reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard Patrick call out, ‘Well, will you looky here! Looks like your sister might fancy a piece of me.’ Lucy stopped dead in her tracks. Her head was screaming, Ignore him. He’s just doing this to wind you up. She clenched her jaw and began to turn around. What the hell was Mel playing at? When did she start texting MY husband?
Lucy was on her way back to the kitchen when Patrick came out. ‘Oh, you’re back. I thought you were slinking off to bed. And not even a goodnight kiss.’
‘What did my sister want?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’
She swallowed down her rage.
‘Forget it. I’m going upstairs.’
She made a move to turn around, but Patrick was fast. He grabbed her by her upper arm and pulled her close. He gripped her mouth, his thumb and index finger pinching her face so her lips puckered, and he kissed her. Hard. When she eventually broke free, he leaned into her ear and whispered, ‘I wonder if your sister kisses better.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#ulink_89181b78-070d-54d9-b964-af9457acdab4)
Patrick smirked as he sat down and looked at the text from Lucy’s sister.
Hi, Patrick. Great to see you tonight. If you ever fancy a pint, give me a bell. Would be great to see you and Lucy again. X M.
Of course, he didn’t tell Lucy about the last bit. He could use it to wind Lucy up. She might even appreciate him more.
Sipping on his beer, Patrick withdrew into his dark place. He knew that alcohol was a bad mix when he was in a mood, but he didn’t care. He drank for many reasons, but mainly to stop the demons that haunted him.
As a child, he was abused sexually, and rather than deal with the abuse, his mother ignored the problem. As Patrick’s dark thoughts spiralled, he was suddenly fifteen years old standing in his bedroom.
It was dark outside and he was shaking with fear, trying not to think about Uncle Stan … He looked at the baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire that he had spent weeks making ….
He nearly beat Uncle Stan to death that night before his mother stopped him. The police weren’t called, and Uncle Stan was warned if he ever stepped foot in the house or was seen anywhere in the area, his life was over.
Patrick stood up and started pacing the room, trying to walk away his memories. If he ever saw Uncle Stan again, he knew exactly what he would do; he had been planning every single detail for years. Patrick kicked a chair across the room.
People wound him up. He told himself he couldn’t help it, but really, he could. He knew exactly where and when he could lash out. Spotting weakness in others a mile off was his biggest talent. He preyed on people’s vulnerabilities and had a charm about him that got him into their favour. People could be very stupid sometimes. He drew the line at his kids though. He’d never lay a hand on them and God help anyone else who tried.
Upstairs, Lucy sat up on the bed, listening for Patrick. By the sound of it, he was settling downstairs for the night as she heard another can of lager being opened. After he had forcefully kissed her she had run upstairs, desperate to scrub the taste of him out of her mouth. Lucy hoped he wasn’t going into one of his moods: the mood when he’d start his drunken ramblings, his voice getting louder the more he drank, until he was shouting at the walls, the floor, or his own reflection. It wasn’t good for Siobhan to hear her dad that way. She was a deep sleeper, like her father, and Lucy only hoped that she slept through it.
The rants did give Lucy insight into Patrick’s behaviour as an adult, though. For instance, she’d learnt that he was always getting into trouble as a child. A tearaway teen is how he’d described himself, telling her that he was always in and out of trouble – but never getting nicked. He believed he was too clever for that.
Patrick was estranged from his family, but Lucy had caught him calling his mother a few times, ranting vile words down the phone. Eventually, his mother had changed her number and moved to the Isle of Man without giving Patrick her address. Even his family didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Another warning sign Lucy had ignored.
At the start of their relationship, Lucy had blamed his family, but she now understood the truth and only wished she’d seen it sooner.
Although Patrick had never told her directly, it was clear from his rants that he’d been physically abused by his father. Lucy also suspected other abuse, because Patrick had an extreme hatred for someone he called ‘Uncle Stan’. When Patrick had been barely coherent through alcohol one night, he’d told Lucy that Stan was never talked about by any of the family members. Although on occasions in the past when they all had met up, little snide remarks were made and Patrick would usually end up storming off. Eventually, he stopped going and the invites dried up. Lucy tried to find out more about Stan but, on one particular night, pushed too far and received a punch in the mouth for her concern.
‘Now will you shut the fuck up?’
Lucy got the message loud and clear. When Patrick mentioned Uncle Stan now, Lucy stayed silent.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#ulink_e6a4ab50-c6b1-512c-b344-5a8c2596c4db)
Maggie Jamieson stretched her legs and looked out the window of her office. It was getting dark but she was pleased with how her first day at DAHU had gone, even though she’d had to put in extra hours. The team had the perfect balance of banter and seriousness. Recent cutbacks made specialist teams a rarity, so Maggie knew she was going to get as much out of this experience as possible. Maybe Rutherford was right.
After the Talbot briefing and interview with Wendy Parker, Maggie met with DI Joseph Calleja – Maggie guessed he was about five feet nine; he had a slim build and he had a shadow of a beard. The DI came across as a force to be reckoned with but a firm and fair boss. Calleja explained the overall workings of the team, and where each agency fit. The more she learnt, the more impressed she’d been. Calleja informed Maggie that she’d be reporting directly to DS Hooper.
Maggie grimaced. Making her way to the communal kitchen, she reflected on the team so far. Her initial impression, during her first meeting with Hooper, was that he would keep her on her toes. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he had a certain look about him – stubble adorned his face and despite her colleagues warning her that he could be a right pain in the arse, he had a kindness in his eyes. It was good to know that he always had their back. That’s all she could really hope for. There was nothing worse than a boss who was only interested in furthering their own career, often to the detriment of their team.
Maggie turned the tap on and filled up a cloudy glass with cold water. She also learnt that Probation Officer Lucy Sherwood would occasionally come to the police station with Mark, as he was the most experienced in working domestic abuse cases. Although Maggie had yet to meet Lucy, her colleagues had nothing but praise for her. Maggie was still trying to figure Mark out, though. She was curious why he joined this team as he had very strong, negative views about domestic abuse perpetrators and it seemed he wasn’t afraid to express them openly. She’d need to keep her eye on that. The last thing Maggie wanted was a black mark on her record because of something a colleague had said or done.
Maggie returned to her desk and cleared a spot to place her glass down. Thinking about the rest of the team, she laughed to herself. Kat Everett, the mouth on that one. Every sentence seemed to have a fuck or a shit in it somewhere. Maggie wondered how Kat managed to get through court cases or deal with the public without a ‘fuck’ flying out of her mouth.
Maggie was aware that a civilian, Dr Moloney, would also be joining the team soon to share her insight as a criminal psychologist and Calleja clearly admired her work. What really interested Maggie though was the multi-agency approach. She liked that this team had specific individuals from other agencies working directly with their nominals and based within the police station, even if it was just once a week. She’d see how this all worked now with their first murder investigation – how much collaboration really took place.
Working at Markston Police Station would be a challenge, too. Markston was a relatively average size town, but the station was also responsible for covering Littlefield, Barston, and some of the more rural surrounding areas. Domestic abuse was a big problem in Staffordshire as a county, which was why the Police and Crime Commissioner had decided it was a priority offence that needed to be dealt with by a specialized team.
‘Any further updates that I need to be aware of before we call it a night, Mark?’ Maggie picked up her coffee and walked around to her colleague’s desk.
‘Well you know that Lucy called earlier today. She wanted to flag up Louise Millard’s address as Robert left probation a little pissed off. Robert is one of our regulars.’
Maggie shuddered at the thought of what this description entailed.
‘Safe-and-well check then, I presume?’
‘Yep. All sorted. Two of the field team officers have been tasked with the job. Looks like it has happened, but the system hasn’t been updated with the full details yet. We can pick anything up in the morning from the log but, as nothing has been flagged, it must have gone OK. Any emergency will be dealt with by the field team tonight.’
Looking over Mark’s shoulder, Maggie noted the long list of call-outs to the address. ‘Hmmm … so Robert Millard has recently been bailed for a breach of the harassment order in place?’
‘Yeah. Lucy will send me the details of their session today. She emails over any concerns, especially if she isn’t going to be at the police station any time soon.’
After scanning the records, Maggie’s own experience with domestic abusers told her it wouldn’t take much to trigger Robert.
‘Do you know if Lucy contacted the victim’s support worker? Sorry, I know this is stuff you’re all probably aware of and doing, I just need to check, to satisfy myself before I go home. Once I’ve been here for a few days, I promise the questions will ease up, but only just a bit.’ Maggie smiled.
‘That’s OK. I get it. Lucy said she’d be contacting Sharon – oh, sorry, you won’t know who Sharon is. Sharon Bairden is the victim’s advocate connected to our team. You’ll meet her soon enough as she attends our operational meetings. I sent the details over to her as well. Always good to cover our asses.’ Despite being an integrated team, each agency worked on separate computer systems, so information was often duplicated.
‘So, although it has been one hell of a long day, it’s been a productive one and it really has been great getting to grips with things as much as I can.’
Maggie could tell from Mark’s immaculately organized desk that he would have everything in order. She glanced at her own desk – organized chaos – and hoped Mark wasn’t OCD. She’d only been in the office one day and already it looked like she’d been there years. Despite this, she got the impression that they would work well together.
Maggie felt her mobile phone buzz in her pocket. Pulling it out and seeing his name on the screen always filled her with dread. Why now?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#ulink_71ed300b-963b-525f-923a-1d9011b64cc7)
Maggie stared at her mobile debating on whether she should answer it. She clicked to answer, putting the phone to her ear.
‘What have you done now?’
‘Hello to you, too.’
‘Cut the bullshit. I’m still at work. What do you want?’ Maggie stood up and walked out to the hallway.
Glancing back into the office, she noticed Mark quickly turn and look at his computer screen. Maggie needed to keep calm and lower her voice; she didn’t want any awkward questions that she couldn’t answer.
A familiar whine reached her ears.
‘Sorry, I thought you’d be at home now, it’s late. Can I stay at yours? I’ve been thrown out of my flat.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. What have you done now?’
‘Nothing! I swear. The landlord has it in for me.’
Maggie looked at her watch and sighed.
‘I’m done now. Meet me at the café on the corner near my flat. We’ll talk.’
‘Thanks, Maggie. Really – you have no idea how much this means to me. Should I, uh, bring my stuff with me?’
‘You can … but I’m not making any promises. Let’s talk first.’
Maggie hung up. She saw Mark looking her way again, but ignored him and headed back to her desk so she could wrap things up for the day and get out of there.
Why the fuck am I the only one he calls?
He was already seated and tearing napkins to shreds when Maggie arrived at the corner café. This was a nervous habit from his childhood that seemed to have carried on into his adult years.
‘Do you want a coffee?’ Maggie gently tapped his shoulder.
He nearly jumped out of his seat. ‘Shit, Maggie! You scared the bloody hell out of me! The waitress will be back in a sec. I already have a coffee on the way. I didn’t think you’d be here so soon, or I would have got you one too.’
‘Oh, right. How would you have paid for it, if I had changed my mind about coming?’
‘Don’t be like that, sis. It’s good to see you.’
Maggie sat across from her brother and, despite her best efforts, her lip curled slightly into a smile.
‘It’s good to see you too, Andy. Though why is it you only call or come to see me when you’re in trouble?’
The waitress arrived at the table with Andy’s coffee and took Maggie’s order.
Maggie noticed the waitress had a pretty smile and watched her walk back towards the counter.
‘I see you still like the ladies then? Guess it wasn’t a phase after all?’
Maggie picked up a coaster and gripped it firmly.
‘Oh, I see. You’re still in denial? Nothing wrong with being a lesbian these days, you know.’
‘Watch your fucking mouth, Andy. I’m not a lesbian. I date men! When have you ever seen me with a woman? Don’t bloody label me. Not that it’s any of your business anyway.’
‘OK. OK. Calm down. So, you’re bisexual. What’s the big deal?’
‘I’ve had just about enough of your shit, Andy. Enough, already. And keep your fucking voice down, will you … What I do in my personal time is none of your business. Can we move on now? We’re not here to talk about me.’ Maggie glared at her brother.
Holding up his hands, Andy Jamieson admitted defeat. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was a sore subject and I didn’t come here to upset you. Is that Chopper case still getting to you? You seem a bit on edge. I’ve missed you, OK, and I thought if you knew that I understood about the … ladies … well, things could get back to normal with us.’
Maggie waved her hand dismissively. ‘So, what is it that you really want, Andy?’
‘I told you on the phone. I need a place to stay. My landlord evicted me, and I just need to get my head together and sort out where I go from here.’ He was fidgeting and playing with the corner of the tablecloth.
Maggie frowned.
‘Who do you owe money to?’
Andy had a gambling problem and their parents had washed their hands of him years before. Maggie had bailed him out a few times but knew this wasn’t something she could keep doing. He was her brother though, and she hated to think of what he’d do if things got desperate.
‘No one! Why do you always assume the worse of me?’
‘Erm … because I know you! Why would you get evicted if you were paying your rent? And why aren’t you paying your rent if you have no other debts? You’re still working, right?’
‘Yes, I’m still working – but I may have missed a few rent payments, OK? Seems my landlord is not the negotiating type.’
‘Here’s the deal then, Andy, and I mean this. You have four months. You need to be honest with me, but more importantly, with yourself. I’m guessing you’re back gambling and that has got to stop; I won’t be helping you out again. If you pressure me, you will find yourself out on the streets.’ Maggie knew she sounded harsh, but Andy pushed everyone to the limits and he had to know that this would be the last time.
They picked up a pizza on the way back to Maggie’s flat and over the next few hours, Andy had told his sister that he owed six-thousand pounds to a loan shark for a gambling debt. Maggie didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Every week that he missed a repayment, the debt went up. His job at the factory wouldn’t cover the repayments, but he assured Maggie that if she helped him out this one last time, he’d pay her back.
Maggie had eight thousand pounds in her savings and agreed that she’d pay back the debt on the condition that she could go with him to this loan shark. Maggie also stipulated that within the four months that he was staying with her, he was to do all the odd jobs that needed doing in the flat without so much as a moan.
Andy had already depleted their parents of their savings and she wouldn’t let him do the same to her without getting something in return. He would earn the money and if he messed up again, she would cut him out of her life completely. It was tough love, but it was the only thing that would get through to him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#ulink_1cd7d34a-5e44-5b9a-8574-70f8ca4be6aa)
Robert Millard was sick and tired of having his life controlled by others. A restraining order, a licence, and fucking women. He took another sip of Tennent’s Super and licked his lips as the first hit of alcohol took over. It was noon, so he was doing well. The shakes had kicked in not long after he woke up this morning, but he managed to hold off, desperate to prove to himself that alcohol didn’t dictate his life.
Robert looked around the cramped bedsit. Black bin bags mixed full of dirty and clean clothes were piled in every available space. He needed to get out of this shithole or he’d go crazy. Picking up his mobile, he scrolled through the numbers until he came across the one he wanted. He pressed call. Let it ring until the answerphone kicked in.
‘Hey, it’s me. I know you’re there. Just pick up the fucking phone!’ He hung up and dialled again.
‘Quit playing games. I just want to talk. I want my stuff.’ He put the phone down. He felt the anger rise in him and grabbed another can. He pressed redial on the phone.
‘Fucking bitch! Pick up the phone or I will come round there and then you’ll be sorry!’
Robert grabbed his coat and headed to the pub. He wouldn’t let that bitch wind him up anymore. Her new boyfriend could deal with her now. He needed to be around people who understood him. If Louise had called the police, they would go to Robert’s bedsit first, so he thought it best to get out of there. If he was going to spend a night in the cells, he may as well be shit-faced first.
The usual suspects were propping up the bar when he walked into his local. He headed to the bar and ordered a pint of Stella Artois. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a £20 note. The last of his dole money. He hated this. If it wasn’t for Louise, he’d still have his job. A job he’d managed to keep for nearly four years. That bitch will pay one day. He looked around the room and spotted a familiar face.
‘Hey, Vicki. When did you get out?’
Vicki Wilkinson had lived in the area since the beginning of time. Shell Baker, one of Vicki’s oldest and closest friends, was also a regular at the pub, though she was nowhere in sight right now. Robert knew that Vicki had a terrible temper in drink and often found herself in and out of prison for short periods for fighting. Recent changes in the law meant that Vicki and other offenders who were given prison sentences under twelve months, now had to report to probation following their release. Robert laughed inwardly – Vicki wasn’t going to like that one bit – and the laughter continued when Robert said he was on probation too.
‘Who’s your PO, then?’ The words were slurred, and Robert had to lean in close to understand what Vicki was asking. She’d clearly been drinking since the early morning.
‘Some bitch … Lucy. Thinks she’s hard, but I see her hands shaking … She’s probably a fucking alky!’ They laughed again.
‘Mine is Sarah something or other. She’s OK, I guess.’ Vicki shrugged. ‘You still married?’ Vicki tried to focus on Robert’s wedding finger to see if he was wearing a ring.
‘Nah. That bitch threw me out. Says I beat her when the reality is, she gave as good as she got. What the fuck am I supposed to do when she flies at me? Let her hit me? Fuck that shit!’
‘Ah, you’re probably better off without her. Gis a drink will ya?’ The crooked smile on her lips told Robert that Vicki was still up to her old tricks.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#ulink_494f2695-58fa-58de-a314-7a29d5ecea87)
Kate Moloney wasn’t your average doctor. In fact, she couldn’t be described as average in any way. Her goth appearance really did throw people when she introduced herself as a doctor. She was proud of her PhD in criminal psychology and didn’t care that people questioned her credentials based on how she looked. Pettiness or jealousy could rear its ugly head; it didn’t bother her.
She looked in the mirror. Her long, shiny, straight black hair glistened as the sun reflected through the window. Pools of blue, her eyes were hidden beneath a dark, grey shadow. Her silver nose ring and deep purple lips made a statement that she wasn’t to be messed with. She straightened her perfectly fitted black blazer, wiped down her pencil skirt and slipped on her most comfortable combat boots.
Dr Moloney had moved from her hometown in Galway, Ireland, to London so she could finish her studies. There wasn’t much need for a criminal psychologist where she lived and the jobs in Dublin were scarce. She’d made London her home away from home and managed to blend in nicely. But the move to the small market town of Markston, Staffordshire, was a welcome change to the hustle and bustle of life in the Big Smoke.
Even if it wasn’t considered as glamourous as some of the larger neighbouring townships, Dr Moloney knew she’d settle in quickly. It was the type of place where everyone knew each other, and new faces were often made to feel unwelcome. If she let it bother her, she wouldn’t last very long. Dr Moloney wouldn’t let it get under her skin.
Dr Moloney had also learnt that the neighbouring boroughs were managed by both Markston Probation and the local police station. When she’d googled the area, she hadn’t been surprised that this caused controversy with offenders who had to travel some distance to reach their appointments on time.
Substance misuse was a growing concern in Staffordshire. Kate also noted from her research that six pubs were located throughout the town, the most popular of which were The Black Penny and The Smith’s Forge, thanks to low prices and seemingly ‘friendly’ patronage. Many of the offenders who frequented the probation office were often found in The Smith’s Forge next to the train station and bus depot.
Kate was happy that, although the town had a retail park with various shops – Asda, Sainsbury’s, Boots – if you took a twenty-minute walk, you’d find yourself in a very rural area surrounded by fields and lakes. Yes, she’d settle here just fine.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#ulink_ec22cf87-f731-5139-bc63-c09ee6b916c3)
Lucy’s days and weeks often passed in a blur of busy activities. Today was no different. Although nothing untoward had happened, the whole week had flown by, and Lucy didn’t know whether to be glad or sad that the weekend had finally arrived.
‘See you later, Sarah!’ Lucy grabbed her coat and headed for the bus stop. It was her turn to pick up Siobhan from school, even though Patrick wasn’t working at the moment. A bone of contention with Lucy but not one that she was willing to pursue. She tried to pick her battles wisely, though not often with success.
Lucy loved seeing Siobhan’s face light up as she neared the school gate.
‘Lucy, Lucy! Guess what.’ Siobhan ran excitedly to the gate.
‘Hey, munchkin! What’s all the excitement about?’
Lucy picked up Siobhan and gave her a big hug. Putting her down again, Lucy rustled her hair, and reached out for her hand.
‘The school is having a dance. Can I go? Can I? Pleeeeeease!’
‘Hey, sweetie. You know the rules. We have to ask your father.’
Siobhan’s shoulders drooped, and she let out a sigh. ‘Aww. He’s probably going to say no. He always does.’
‘When’s the dance?’
‘Next Friday. Everyone’s going.’ Siobhan was on the verge of crying.
‘Well, there’s plenty of time. If you do your chores, we’ll catch your dad when he’s in a good mood. I’ll speak to him, I promise.’ Lucy regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. Siobhan’s blue eyes lit up again with hope. With Siobhan at her grandparents over the weekend, Lucy would speak with Patrick on Saturday … just in case anything kicked off.
‘There’s the bus. Shall we make a run for it?’
Lucy glowed with pride as Siobhan raced ahead. These were the moments that she cherished. The smile on Siobhan’s face was so big, it pushed her cheeks up and made it look like she was squinting. More often than not, when happiness made her heart swell, Patrick was nowhere to be seen.
Lucy paid the bus fare and sat down, wedged between Siobhan and someone who was in serious need of a shower. She stared aimlessly out the window, wishing her life had been different.
No lights were on as Lucy and Siobhan walked up the path to the front door. Once inside, Lucy looked for a note or anything that would let her know where Patrick was. Although Siobhan didn’t say anything, Lucy saw the tears glistening in her eyes. She had wanted to say goodbye to him before her granddad arrived. Lucy suspected Patrick was at the pub or avoiding Becky’s parents. She reached into her handbag, digging her mobile out to text Patrick and see if he’d be back in time.
Lucy held Siobhan’s hand and they both headed to the living room, waiting for Patrick to answer. Siobhan turned on the television and flicked through the channels. Fifteen minutes had passed and still no response; she had no doubt then that he was at the pub. She turned to Siobhan and placed her hands gently on the child’s shoulders.
‘Looks like Daddy is at an important meeting, sweetheart, so I doubt he’ll be back in time. Let’s make you a quick snack and get your things together.’ She couldn’t bear to see Siobhan’s trembling lip and hated lying to her.
As she wiped the crumbs leftover from Siobhan’s cake, Lucy heard the familiar chug of Ed’s car pulling up in the drive. She waited for the billow of smoke from his exhaust to clear before she opened the door. ‘Siobhan, your grandad’s here. Grab your stuff and come give me a hug.’
Siobhan raced down the stairs with her weekend bag dragging behind her.
‘Love you, little one.’
‘Love you too, Lucy.’
Lucy gave Ed a wave and watched as they left.
The house was quiet when Siobhan was away. Patrick’s son, Rory, sometimes came around, but they didn’t speak much.
Rory had found Patrick online through Facebook. The pair had been reunited six or seven months earlier and had since been making up for lost time. Rory was fifteen years old now and mature for his age. Lucy had occasionally noticed a flash of Rory’s temper. Given his age though, that wasn’t unusual. She only hoped he didn’t end up like his father.
With the house to herself, Lucy struggled with deciding what she wanted to do. She found it difficult to relax when he was out, because she spent the whole time worrying what sort of mood he’d come back in. She almost wished he’d been at home, passed out drunk when she got back today. That way she could sneak past him quietly and make her way upstairs to the spare room, which she’d turned into a mini library.
Lucy loved her little haven. She’d sit on the futon she’d brought when they had first moved in to the house together. Patrick hadn’t always been a monster. Life with him had started out pretty good. For the two years of dating, they’d had some amazing times – in fact, when looking back Lucy realized that most of those times he hadn’t drank any alcohol, at least not in front of her. Lucy held on to the belief that deep down, Patrick had a good heart.
Of course, the whole Mr Nice Guy routine soon changed after they moved in together. At first, he’d have a few cans of lager after work. Nothing wrong with that. After all, he’d spend eight to twelve hours a day on building sites and just wanted to unwind a bit. Then the little sarcastic jibes started, which Lucy initially laughed off – he didn’t mean that, she thought. He’s obviously had a stressful day.
It was when Patrick lost his job and couldn’t keep any of the other jobs he managed to lie his way into, that the worst of it started. Life, for them, soon went from bad to worse. With Patrick slowly slipping into a depression and alcohol becoming his solace, it quickly became Lucy’s worst nightmare.
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#ulink_5238d6c9-f997-5087-bc15-56b14177935b)
Shell Baker could always be found surrounded by men at one of the pubs in Markston. Most people who had grown up on the estates knew Shell. Her beauty made women jealous and her personality attracted men like moths to a flame.
The minute he walked in the door, Shell was intrigued. She had heard of Patrick Quinn and wondered if he really was as bad as everyone made him out to be.
He smiled at her as he made his way towards the bar. ‘What are you drinking, love?’
She had to admit, he had a certain charm.
‘Don’t you think you’d better introduce yourself first, love? I don’t take drinks from strangers.’ He seemed surprised by her straight-talking, but she liked the sound of his laugh.
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, the name’s Patrick – you going to share yours now?’
Shell was no fool. This guy was clearly a charmer, but a free drink didn’t mean she had to marry him, so why not.
‘Shell.’ She stuck out her hand ‘Pleased to meet you, Patrick. I’ll have a cider and black.’
She’d seen Patrick at the pub before. Although he hadn’t grown up in the area, there were only a few pubs in Markston and most people knew the regulars. Shell didn’t like much of what everybody said about Patrick, but she always believed in giving people a fair shake.
Of course, Shell was no angel either. If Patrick messed her about, he’d regret it.
Patrick told Shell that he needed a break from home and the banter flowed easily between them.
‘So, why are you here talking to me if you have a wife and daughter at home?’ Shell said.
‘Lucy doesn’t get me. She’s controlling and always complaining. I can’t talk to anyone or go anywhere without getting the third fucking degree.’
Shell wasn’t convinced. He didn’t strike her as a man who would let someone control him. He oozed confidence and had a slight arrogance about him.
‘Why do you put up with that shit, then? I’d be out of there like a shot if anyone tried that with me!’
Patrick didn’t answer right away. He looked as if he was thinking carefully.
‘Not sure, if I’m honest. Been thinking about leaving her, but I have my kids to worry about too.’
Kids? ‘I thought you said you had a daughter. What do you mean by kids? She ain’t pregnant, is she?’
‘No. No. No. I have a son, he just turned fifteen but lives with his mother. I was with his mother before Becky, Siobhan’s mum.’
‘Oh, right. I see. Well, if she’s like that with you, what’s she like with the kids … especially when you’re not around?’
‘Hmmm. I see your point. I never thought about that.’
‘Where’s your daughter’s mother then? She still in the picture?’
A strange look came over Patrick’s face. ‘She’s probably in a psycho ward! She’s a raging alcoholic who fucked anything that gave her the slightest bit of attention.’
Shell wondered if Patrick could sense her surprise at his outburst.
‘Look. I’m sorry if that came out a bit harsh. Siobhan’s mum has problems. She needs help. She’s a violent, aggressive drunk, and I worried she’d hurt my little girl. Not sure what happened to her before she met me, but it made her drink herself stupid nearly every day. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I just upped and left.’
‘You left your daughter with her?’ Shell’s mouth gaped open and she inched away.
‘No. I took Siobhan with me and rang social services. I explained why I took Siobhan; they came, did their assessments, and the courts gave me custody. I would never leave my kid in a situation like that. What do you take me for? Sorry, I guess you don’t really know me so that was a fair comment.’
Shell was beginning to warm to this guy. As well as being good-looking, with his cheeky smile, Patrick gave off all the signs of a decent, caring father. Someone with a troubled past who was doing their best. Shell could relate to that. She fidgeted in her seat with embarrassment at jumping to the wrong conclusion. Her hand went to Patrick’s and she gave it a squeeze.
‘Oh God, that sounds like an awful situation. Thank Christ you had the sense to get your daughter out with you. Not many men would.’
He looked down and shook his head. ‘It was awful. I know girls need their mums, but there was just no way I’d put my princess through that.’
Patrick went on to tell Shell about Rory. How he’d last seen him ten years ago and, when Rory made contact via Facebook, Patrick knew they had to meet up. He told Shell that he had needed to explain his side of the story to Rory, because his mother had just left one day without an explanation, taking him with her.
Shell gasped. ‘How could she do that?’
Patrick shrugged his shoulders. ‘Still don’t know. Maybe she was having an affair? Who knows. I don’t care anymore, I’m just happy my kid found me.’
They had continued chatting until the pub closed and said their goodbyes outside. Patrick kissed Shell on the hand and suggested they exchange numbers. She reluctantly agreed but made it clear that she wasn’t into breaking up families. Patrick had mumbled a comment, but Shell just waved it off and headed home.
CHAPTER TWENTY (#ulink_d765221a-4350-5032-b34c-9c5a2551f2f3)
Lucy had a meeting with Claire Knight before work that morning. The knots in her stomach were agony, because she dreaded having to make yet another excuse for Patrick’s no-show. The loud snores from downstairs reaffirmed that he’d spent Sunday night drinking himself into a stupor and was still sleeping it off.
After getting into an argument with Patrick on Saturday about Siobhan’s school dance, Lucy had left him to his own devices for the rest of the weekend. It was best to avoid him when he was in one of his moods.
When Siobhan had come home on Sunday, Lucy was the one left to tell Siobhan Patrick’s decision. The little girl’s tears broke her heart and once again, Lucy was left to pick up the pieces. Siobhan barely said a word to them that evening and Lucy was furious. She could only hope that Siobhan would sleep off the disappointment as only kids could do.
Lucy took Siobhan to school and waved goodbye to her at the gates. She headed to the nearby Costa, grabbed a coffee, and rushed to Claire’s office. She hated these meetings. Hated lying. But if she wanted to keep Siobhan safe from her mum and from Patrick, she knew she had to play the game.
Lucy gave her name at the reception desk and sat down to wait. Within minutes, Claire came out and called her through.
‘Hi, Lucy. How are you? It’s been awhile hasn’t it?’
‘Hi, Claire, yeah, it has. Maybe three months?’
‘Wow! Well hopefully we can withdraw our involvement completely if everything keeps going as well as it has. Where’s Patrick today?’ Claire had a funny look on her face and Lucy knew that her excuses were probably being questioned.
‘He has a job interview.’ Lucy smiled and couldn’t believe how easily the lie rolled off her tongue.
‘Hey, that’s great. I hope something comes of this one. It has been quite some time since he lost his job, right?’ Claire probably guessed there was more to the story of Patrick’s unemployment. But Lucy was a strong, protective factor in Siobhan’s life; Claire wouldn’t want to upset that.
Lucy hated the look of pity on Claire’s face. ‘Yeah, it feels like forever, though. Can be a struggle supporting four people on my wage alone.’
Claire coughed and looked up from the notes she’d been writing. ‘Four?’
Oh shit! Patrick is going to kill me!
‘Um. Well, not always four … What I mean is, Patrick’s son recently made contact and stays over some weekends.’ Before Lucy had the chance to change the subject, Claire pounced.
‘Really? I didn’t know Patrick had a son. How old is he and can I get some more details off you?’ Claire began writing furiously in her notepad, and Lucy bit her lip angrily. Just when social services were finally looking to get out of their lives.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
‘Of course.’ Lucy gave Claire as much detail about Rory as she knew offhand and told her she’d have to email later with the rest.
As he was only fifteen years old, social care would have to do some further checks on Rory and speak to his mother. Although this would not affect the case with Siobhan, who knows what Patrick’s ex would say to Claire? Lucy could just kick herself. Patrick had made it clear to her, on more than one occasion, that this was all her fault because she’d called the police once when Patrick came home drunk and kicked off.
Siobhan was already known to social care because her school had contacted them when Becky arrived drunk and caused a scene. She had told social care that Patrick’s abuse made her drink and, although there was no evidence recorded, any child that came to spend time overnight with Patrick had to have an assessment.
Lucy didn’t know much about Rory’s mother or why she left Patrick – he’d always clam up or get angry when she asked questions – but she had a pretty good idea what had happened. If she was right, and Claire went digging further, Lucy was expecting all hell to break loose.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#ulink_4ffaafd6-1bb0-5b5f-ad70-28ae976eb383)
Shell couldn’t seem to get Patrick out of her head as she worked. She pushed the vacuum across the floor of the office, careful to avoid the plant pots as her thoughts returned to him once again. Who was this guy? She was reluctant to get involved with him, even as friend, but she had to admit there was something about him.
Shell’s own experience of a violent father made her portray herself as hard and overly cautious. But Patrick seemed really genuine when talking about his children, and Shell knew that some women were bitter when relationships ended. Maybe things had been blown out of proportion.
The anger she felt towards her father, who was currently serving time at Her Majesty’s pleasure, often invaded her thoughts. She couldn’t believe that nearly seventeen years had passed; even though she was now thirty years old, it only seemed like yesterday.
Shell knew what happened to her mother wasn’t her fault, but there were days when guilt still ate away at her. She’d only been thirteen years old – what could she have done?
The nights when Shell managed to get some sleep were filled with nightmares. Her mother screaming as Shell hid in her room, hoping she hadn’t been heard, wanting to run down and stop her father. The glass table shattering. The million pieces of ice-like shards rotating through the air and scattering across the floor. Her life had been changed forever the moment she had gone downstairs and seen her mother’s battered body, barely breathing, in a heap on the living room floor.
She shuddered when she recalled the smirk on her father’s face. Him standing in the doorway watching her. Shell running towards him, him shoving her back so hard she hit her head on the corner of the broken table.
‘Get the fuck away from me, you little bitch. Just like your mum.’ The memories after that still only came to Shell in brief flashes. Hazy. According to the police reports and pictures from the night, Shell sustained a head injury that affected her memory.
Shell had drifted in and out of consciousness that night in the hospital, but she’d never forget the look of pure hatred and disgust in her father’s eyes. How he had kicked her mother, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.
Shell felt a cold chill up her spine as she bent over to switch the vacuum off. At the time, she’d spent a few nights in hospital and now, as she subconsciously rubbed her head, it was only the psychological scars that remained. It didn’t take the police long to find her father, though. He was arrested a few days later, pissed up in a pub a few miles away, and charged with the attempted murder of her mother.
Her father had initially pleaded not guilty – which meant Shell had had to give evidence in court, thankfully via video link– but it was all part of his desire to exert power and control over the women in his life.
He argued publicly with his solicitor during the trial. But continued the mind games after the damage had already been done to Shell’s fragile emotional state by eventually changing his plea. He was convicted of attempted murder against her mother and GBH against her. Due to the brutality of the offence – he’d beat Shell’s mother so bad that nearly all her bones were broken – he received the maximum sentence: life.
The thought of what she and her mother had had to endure all those years ago was still too much to bear. Shell hated when the post arrived; she was crippled by the constant fear that she’d find out he was eligible for parole.
Her mother’s diary had been produced as evidence. It detailed the years of abuse, both sexual and physical, that she’d endured at the hands of Shell’s father. Shell had kept this diary and it made for a very dark read. Her mother had survived the brutal attack, but something had died inside her that day. Shell had been taken into care as her mother turned to alcohol and drugs to escape the memories, and eventually prostitution, to pay for her mind-numbing addiction. She overdosed a few years later and Shell would never forgive her father for that.
Shell snapped out of the painful stroll down memory lane and carried on with the job at hand. She picked up her cloth and cleaner before she leaned against the window and looked down at the traffic rushing past in the street below. Never forgotten, she knew this abyss would rear its ugly head again. She was just grateful that she was able to push the dark thoughts aside and focus on the positive things in her life. She had made something of herself and wouldn’t let her father get the last laugh. She had to admit though, sometimes it was hard to keep her anger in check and she feared what that could lead to. Would she turn out like him?
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#ulink_ef7dafaa-a945-5be3-8fb5-11328e33d3e5)
Lucy had spent Tuesday and Wednesday at work making sure her cases were up to date and her appointments were covered. She had the Thursday off to deal with personal matters.
The family courts were busy on Thursdays. Patrick and Lucy had met with their solicitor and handed over the paperwork that Lucy had spent weeks preparing. They were going for permanent custody of Siobhan, since it looked like social care were going to withdraw their involvement with the Quinns shortly. Although Lucy had been concerned after she had let slip about Rory spending weekends, she had been assured by Claire that the case with Siobhan and her custody would be dealt with on its own merits. Their solicitor and Cafcass also believed that there would be no issues; Rory was not a permanent resident, the agencies just wanted to ensure that there would be no further disruption to Siobhan’s home life.
Becky Parks was sitting at the other side of the waiting area and kept shooting daggers at Lucy. She looked drunk.
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