Bloodstream (11 page)

‘It’s still hard for her, you know that. Peter dying in the way he did, it changed her. She’s not the same person any more. She’ll come around eventually. Just takes time.’

Murphy closed the cupboards, rubbed his stomach and tried to decide if he was actually hungry or not.

‘Well, I’ll be here when she’s ready. Now, shall we stop this charade where we pretend to have a proper conversation first and just go upstairs?’

Sarah lowered her head as she suppressed a grin. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

Rossi decided her timing couldn’t be worse; the start of what promised to be a major investigation colliding with the start of what could be her first proper relationship.

Not a drunken one-night stand, or an affair with a married man. An actual relationship in a life of failed ones. A myriad of non-starters.

A few years earlier, there had been promise of a romance with a man who had been a murder suspect in her first case with Murphy. That had fallen at the first hurdle of reality a few weeks later. The pointed barbs from her mother – Mama Rossi – were becoming more explicit by the visit. Rossi’s lack of interest in being part of a couple was not shared by her old-school mother. It was the
done
thing. She was supposed to be married off by now, according to Mama Rossi. Happily supplying her mother with grandchildren to fuss over.

Two bodies found in her division, minutes after a guy walks into her station and confesses to a murder her boss doesn’t believe has happened. All in one day. Her reaction was not to go home and lie in her bathtub for an hour before getting an early night.

No. She was going out.

She had met Darren Logan through a friend weeks earlier. It had been a pity set-up, by someone who could no longer hide their disappointment at a single friend in a group of couples.

Who the hell had blind dates in 2015 anyway?

Rossi thought back to that night those few weeks before as she sat in front of her mirrored wardrobe and applied a third different shade of lipstick. She had made little effort, jumping in the shower once she’d made it home then changing into her most casual of going out outfits. Jumper dress, black tights and boots.

Darren Logan. She remembered being told about him and deciding he sounded too good to be true. Good job, good education. According to Christina – the friend in question who had set them up – he was also good-looking. She hadn’t used the words tall, dark and handsome, but from her description it sounded as if the cliché would fit.

She wouldn’t have been far wrong.

Since that initial first date, they had seen each other more than a few times. Rossi wasn’t a wait-and-see kind of girl, so she’d slept with him on the second night out. She had been suitably impressed to agree to a third night. Other than that, they’d spoken mostly by text. Flirty messages becoming gradually more filthy. He had been funny, even if he did sometimes overuse those emoticons she had yet to decide if she liked or not. Nothing that screamed BAD GUY or anything as ridiculous as that.

Maybe too normal.

Now she was dressing up again. Deciding what to wear then discarding her choices. Checking the time and swearing as the clock conspired against her. Rossi dried her hair, taking a minute to decide if she wanted to straighten it as well, before checking the clock again and deciding to leave it to curl.

She sent him a text to let him know she was running late but she would be there soon. Knowing that she had an early morning, she decided against a taxi into town and picked up her car keys.

Checking the mirror image of herself in the hallway of her flat, she nodded and said, ‘That’ll do,’ under her breath.

Timing. It was all down to timing. Get that right and things will go perfectly. It was the way things worked, she’d found. She had made sure to tell Mama of her burgeoning relationship, just to keep her quiet for a week or so. Rossi thought of Murphy and shook her head as she recalled the almost constant ribbing he was giving her for the relationship.

Darren Logan. She had found herself putting her first name with his last and had almost decided to end it all that moment. Laura Logan sounded like a news reporter or a comic book character. He lived near Crosby, in an apartment . . . which wouldn’t work in the future. She didn’t want to live that far north in Liverpool. She thought about a bright future together, knowing his job as an anaesthetist at the Royal Hospital was secure enough financially.

She was annoyed with herself for thinking about these practical things. It had only been a few weeks, but she was already considering a future. It was so far away from her normal thoughts that it continued to jar her every time her mind drifted that way.

It was already too much effort, she thought. Having to wonder if this was The One, as if everyone only ever had a single ‘one’. She left her little house, unlocking her car before reaching it. The street was quiet, the evening almost in total darkness.

A couple of hours, a meal and no alcohol. Then, back to her home for an early night. That was her intention.

When she walked into the restaurant fifteen minutes later – seeing Darren sitting there, hair flicked back, designer stubble and eyes lighting up at the sight of her – all thoughts of that went out the window.

Sometimes she just needed the comfort of normality. Darren stood up and brushed her cheek with his lips, the stubble on his jawline rubbing against her face a little.

Rossi smiled back at him. Decided it didn’t really matter if she was late the next morning.

Murphy listened as the overnight staff updated him on the few things which had occurred during the late shift. He sighed, the sum total amounted to bugger all. Almost twenty-four hours since they had found Chloe and Joe, and the layout was already beginning to rely on two things – people who knew the couple and the post-mortem.

‘CCTV doesn’t cover anywhere near there really,’ DC Hale said, looking suitably haggard from being out at crime scenes most of the previous day. ‘Could go further out, but I’m not sure how useful that would be.’

‘No,’ Murphy replied, eyeing his chair, knowing he wouldn’t get a chance to sit down and relax much that day. ‘Unless he’s wearing a big sign announcing himself, I suppose not. Still, won’t hurt to check. I’ll let you know the timeframe after the PM this morning. Anything from the neighbours?’

‘There really wasn’t any. Closest one was at least a few minutes’ walk away. Didn’t even know we’d closed the road off.’

‘I owe Laura a fiver then. Keep an eye on any reports from Crimestoppers coming in. Hopefully someone somewhere noticed something.’

DC Hale nodded and walked off, slower than usual. Someone else who hadn’t slept all that much the previous night, Murphy thought.

‘Anyone seen Laura about?’ Murphy asked the few people milling about the desks. The negative response only lasted a second as the doors behind him banged open.

‘I’m not late,’ Rossi said as she hurried towards him.

‘Didn’t say you were.’

‘Before you do then,’ Rossi replied, a hand selfconsciously sweeping through her hair, ‘what time are we going to the Royal?’

‘Now,’ Murphy said, buttoning his jacket up. ‘Ready?’

‘Of course.’

The Royal Hospital was situated just outside the city centre, the largest in the county of Merseyside by some stretch and about to become even larger. Building work had been going on for the previous few years, providing another reason for Liverpool to be proud of itself. Rossi had bored Murphy with the details on another trip there previously, the links to the nearby university and its medical students something she was proud of. As if her attendance at that university – studying something entirely different – meant she was a part of it.

All Murphy knew about the place was that it housed arguably his most visited scene outside the station.

There was something they’d never told Murphy about all those years before in training. Post-mortems are boring, painstakingly slow and protracted. Only made worse by the fact his favourite doctor carried them out.

Dr Stuart Houghton, rotund purveyor of death, who Murphy had a difficult time getting along with for seemingly no reason at all. Not one that Murphy could fathom anyway. The good doctor had taken an instant dislike to him years earlier and Murphy wasn’t really interested in changing that perception.

Maybe it was the beard, Murphy thought.

‘You’re here then,’ Houghton said as they passed through to his office – cluttered with every box file and piece of paper in the hospital in Murphy’s eyes. The doctor greeted Rossi with a warm smile. Murphy not even receiving a cold one. ‘Come on then. Let’s get down to it.’

Murphy bounced lightly on his feet as he watched Houghton and his assistant get to work, two bodies doubling the workload but not the number of workers.

‘Cutbacks,’ Houghton had said as way of explanation. ‘Can’t even claim for petrol on call-outs at the moment.’

‘I bet it’s a real strain on your wallet,’ Murphy replied, his acerbic tone earning a withering look from the doctor.

‘We’ll do the girl first,’ Houghton said.

Murphy never understood the need to be there, not when Houghton could just print up his report and send it on. Yet, it was the done thing for a DI in Liverpool North division. You gave press conferences for no reason and watched a portly doctor dissect a corpse for the same.

It’s the habits passed down generation by generation that get you through life.

‘There is nothing to suggest she was beaten,’ Houghton said, a digital recorder capturing his voice in the silent theatre, ‘other than some minor contusions on her wrists and legs. From the restraints, I would deduce at this point. Some reddening to her face, evidence of tackiness.’

Duct tape, Murphy thought. Bound and gagged. No need to
deduce
anything there.

‘Puncture marks on her left forearm. Two in total. Evidence of bruising.’

A while later, organs removed and checked, Houghton made a sound like he was agreeing with himself and began to move on.

‘Rush on tests,’ Murphy said to Rossi.

She nodded back at him and noted it down.

The morning was getting away from them by the time Joe Hooper was in the spotlight. Murphy could see the condition of his body was very different from the pale glow of Chloe’s.

‘Multiple contusions to the head, caused by a blunt instrument. Possibly a hammer, the claw part.’

Rossi winced beside Murphy, earning her a look from him.

‘Mannaggia,
’ Rossi said, turning away. ‘I hate the claw end.’

Murphy let out a soft laugh, turning back to the table and Houghton’s work.

‘Slash marks to the torso. Seven in total. Caused by a sharp instrument. Strangulation, with a ligature, to the neck. Possible cause of death.’

Murphy’s phone was buzzing in his pocket with text messages every few minutes as he received details of the interviews currently occurring. Chloe and Joe’s friends going over what they knew, which appeared to be very little. He showed Rossi the more interesting ones. The detective constables were being made to feel useful though, so every cloud . . .

‘Two very different bodies, David,’ Houghton said, once he had finished. ‘The lovely Chloe’s death will be drugs related – an overdose of some type of opioid possibly – but we won’t know until the report comes back on that one. Mr Hooper was not so fortunate.’

‘How long were they dead in that house?’

‘Around forty-eight hours, I’d say. Approximate time of death is between nine p.m. and six a.m. on Friday night, Saturday morning for both of them.’

Murphy thought of the murder-suicide theory and how stupid it seemed now. The discovery of what lay beneath the clothes of Joe Hooper had ended that theory for him.

‘Who went first?’

Houghton dried his hands on some paper towels, before squirting some alcohol from a pump dispenser onto them for added effect. ‘Sorry?’

Murphy shook his head. ‘Which victim died first, Doctor?’

Houghton matched Murphy’s shake of the head. ‘Not sure. That’ll require much more investigation and even then we’d likely still not know for sure. If their deaths occurred within minutes of each other, it’s unlikely we’ll be able to tell.’

Murphy looked at Rossi, waiting to see if she had any questions, then, when she didn’t, they exited the theatre before Houghton and his assistant had a chance to leave them in there alone.

‘What are you thinking?’ Rossi said as they left the hospital and walked towards the car.

‘That this case just got a little bit more interesting,’ Murphy said, unlocking the car from a few feet away. ‘And annoying.’

The media presence outside the station on St Anne Street had grown overnight, the waiting press attempting to get any kind of word from them as they drove in. The car was surrounded by people as soon as they’d pulled up to the gate, word spreading quickly that they were of importance to the case. Murphy knew his face had become more recognisable to the local media over the years, but it seemed the nationals had also been tipped off to his notoriety. His name hadn’t been shouted in public so much since his ill-fated return to Sunday league football a few months earlier.

At least it wasn’t accompanied by shouts about his uselessness this time.

Inside the office, the number of detectives on the team had increased. DCI Stephens was standing silently at her office door, coming to life as Murphy and Rossi entered.

‘Meeting, two minutes.’

Murphy mocked a salute and slipped his coat and jacket off. He stood near the radiator and placed a hand on it. ‘Christ, this thing’s barely warm.’

‘No one is going to complain,’ Rossi said to him, cupping a hand conspiratorially in front of her mouth. ‘Winter finished in February according to those holding the purse strings. And everyone here is scared they’ll take something away if they move money in the budget for heating.’

Murphy laughed and hung his coat back on his chair after it fell off again. ‘Bit pointless having lukewarm radiators on, though. Bloody freezing out there and not really any better in here. We’ll be wearing a vest and long johns by the end of the week.’