Bloodstream (22 page)

She put the conversation she would eventually have with her granddaughter to the back of her mind. How do you tell a two-year-old that her mum and dad aren’t coming back? No, she thought. Another time, another place. Another worry. Right now, there were other things she needed to think about.

Not the room and how her daughter had looked as she walked into it. Not the blood, or the smell. Anything but that.

‘I know how these things work, Detective. I just want to see my daughter. Properly this time.’

‘We know that, Mrs Flynn. We’ll make that happen as soon as we possibly can. We just need to ask a few questions, okay?’

Emily just wanted them to leave. Not that she wanted to be alone. Not with the way thoughts were flying round her head at that moment. She just didn’t want to have to deal with any of these stupid things at that moment. Questions and suspicions. She knew how those things worked. She’d seen it on TV enough.

‘I have no idea what’s happened. I imagine it’s burglary by some evil little thug, who your lot have let out onto the streets. What was taken from the house?’

‘We’re not sure about that right now, Mrs Flynn,’ the brunette with the dark complexion said. Bit foreign, Emily decided. The olive skin, the vowel at the end of her surname. Definitely not totally English. Even if she spoke with a flawless Scouse accent.

‘Well, they didn’t have much. Worked hard and paid their bills. Hannah had only recently gone back to work. Just part-time. Greg works in a solicitor’s. Low down on the ladder, but he’s getting up there. They . . . they’ve done nothing wrong.’

Emily could feel the tears coming; she tried swallowing them back down, but failed to dislodge the lump at the back of her throat. She didn’t want to cry in front of these two police detectives. She hadn’t cried in front of anyone in a very long time and wasn’t about to do it in front of strangers.

‘Have there been any incidents in the past few weeks, Mrs Flynn? Something that may have worried or scared either of them?’

Emily hesitated, wondering if the impossible had happened. Decided it didn’t have anything to do with what had happened. ‘Nothing at all, as far as I was aware. They’re a normal couple.’

What would she say to Millie?

‘Do you give out those books,’ Emily said, before either of the detectives could jump in with more questions. ‘The ones where you explain . . . this kind of thing . . . to a child? Only, I don’t really know what I’m going to say to Millie. I’m not used to that type of thing. Hannah’s dad died young, but she was a teenager. I have no clue what to say to a two-year-old about her parents. I just . . . don’t.’

She could feel the tears now, falling in single file down her cheek. She choked back a sob and turned away from the pair.

‘Please . . . can I have a minute. I can’t do this now.’

‘She held it back well.’

‘So unhealthy and bloody British to keep it in.’ Murphy and Rossi waited outside by the police van as a family liaison officer took over inside with Emily Flynn.

A low morning sun, which had made a brief appearance, dipped behind dark clouds once more. A smattering of raindrops soon appeared above them.

‘Sit in my car?’ Murphy asked, turning to Rossi who already had a hand above her head.

‘Better than out here.’

Murphy led the way, passing miserable-looking uniformed officers. It was the one thing most coppers could agree on – there was almost nothing worse than having to stand in the rain and look professional.

‘That’s better,’ Murphy said once they were both sitting in his car. He turned the engine on and flicked the heater on. ‘Hopefully it’s just a shower.’

‘From the look of those clouds, I’m not so sure.’

‘What are you thinking then? Serial killer going after couples for reasons unknown?’

Rossi slipped off her jacket as the car heated up, ran a hand through her hair and shook the moisture out. ‘Looks about right. Although there does seem to be something about all the messages he’s leaving behind.’

‘It could be a woman doing it.’

‘You’re always so quick with that one,’ Rossi replied, fiddling with the heater controls. ‘You’re desperate for a female serial killer.’

‘Well, we’ve seen most other types. Always good to have a bit of variety in your life.’

‘I think you’ll be waiting for a while yet. They’re hard to come by.’

Murphy hummed agreement, watching the uniforms outside scramble for cover as the rain came down harder, the gentle swipe of his wiper blades clearing the view every few seconds. ‘Talking about variety, I didn’t get a chance to give you my opinion on the latest bloke in your life.’

Rossi shifted in her seat. ‘Go on then. Give me the bad news.’

‘There isn’t any. I’ve done a full background check on him and he’s clean—’

‘No you bloody haven’t . . .’

‘Of course I haven’t,’ Murphy said behind a smile, dodging out of the way of one of Rossi’s backhands. ‘He seems all right. He’s proper into you, though.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘The way he looks at you. It’s all in the eyes. I’ve seen that look far too many times not to recognise it. He even got a bit jealous, back at the hospital, when that other guy looked at you. You’re feeling the same way, I hope?’

Rossi relaxed back into her seat. ‘I don’t know. It’s nice to have a distraction, but it’s a bad time for it, though, don’t you think?’

‘Is there ever a good time for it in our job?’

Rossi shrugged and turned away from him, looking through a rain-splattered window. Murphy faced forwards again, the road ahead now almost clear, save for a few hardened uniforms braving the now-slowing rain. ‘I reckon you should just go for it. I can see you’re feeling the same way as him. What’s the worst that can happen?’

‘That’s the problem, isn’t it?’ Rossi replied, still turned away from him. ‘I know what the worst is, don’t I? Working this job lets you know that pretty quick.’

Murphy decided an answer or opinion wasn’t what was wanted in that moment and kept his mouth shut. Waited a minute or two before speaking again.

‘You think there’s something more to this?’ Murphy said, pointing towards the house and what lay within. ‘Something we’re not considering?’

‘Oh, definitely. There’ll be a reason for it, whatever that might be.’ Rossi turned in her seat. ‘A link between all three couples so far. The messages at both of our scenes seem to be saying something about secrets. Maybe he’s targeting couples hiding things from each other.’

Murphy thought about Sarah, about the things she didn’t know. ‘Then he’s going to be a very busy boy.’

‘Why do you say that?’

Murphy switched the now-redundant windscreen wipers off, turned the key and began to open his door. ‘Because we all have secrets. All relationships do. It’s the only way they work.’

He hadn’t meant to go there. Not then. He did like to visit the old places from time to time. See what had changed since he’d been there. Not for a sense of reflection, but more curiosity. He liked to know if what he had done had changed anything.

He was Working Man right then. Normal. Dressed up in another disguise. There were a few other people standing at the end of the street, peering past the police to try and get a better look. All gawping at the same nothingness. He was one of them, that was all. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Someone walking past who had taken a slight interest in what was going on. Who wanted to know what the commotion was. If there was anything to see.

He knew there wouldn’t be. Not from where they were standing. Everything that would satisfy their curiosity was behind the closed door of a house they could barely see in the distance. They would read all the grisly details of what lay behind that door on their phones and tablets later. The words deadening the impact of what it was they were reading about. The deaths of two people, a couple who could be any one of them.

This couple would eventually give up their secret, so the public could judge and evaluate. Decide if they deserved their fate or not. Talking with their own partners and friends about every detail and passing criticism.

As if their own lives would stand up to the same scrutiny.

He thought of the girl in his life now. Number Four. How he wanted to show her how things could be so different. How this was all for her.

How it would all be worth it.

He watched as the big detective, Murphy, scurried back to his car, the rain now coming down harder, Laura Rossi following close behind. He began to shift things into focus, working through problems and the possible downfalls to his plan.

Decided that he had come so far in his life that there was no sense in giving up. That he had a job to do.

That nothing was going to stop him.

He had everything prepared, ready to go at the click of a button. All secure and untraceable to him.

It wasn’t the time to be nervous.

It was time to show them all.

The meeting had been scheduled before Murphy and Rossi had even returned to the station. The Major Crime Unit was now in full swing; doing what needed to be done, and all that management speak Murphy so hated.

It was a chance for some important people to feel important. To feel like their job title meant they really mattered.

‘It’s not them who have to see these places close up,’ Murphy said, Rossi an ear to unload on, as they arrived back at the station. ‘Just a load of bullshit to justify the money they’re on.’

‘I’m sure they had their own fill of bad crime scenes on the way up.’

‘Too busy sucking up to be dealing with that sort of thing. That’s how these things work. You know that.’

Rossi elbowed him as his voice grew too loud. ‘You’re such a cynic. Just be quiet and take it all in. We need all the help we can get, don’t you think?’

Murphy opened his mouth to moan further, but decided against it. Instead, he gathered up what information they had about the cases so far and walked over to the meeting room.

‘Catch up with Hale and Kirkham,’ Murphy said as he was about to enter the meeting room. ‘See if they’ve finished up with the neighbours yet. And find out if they’ve had any hits from CCTV.’

Rossi gave him a thumbs-up and turned to talk to DC Harris. Murphy breathed in and pushed open the door.

He was the last one to turn up. Always a great first impression, he thought. Professional to the end.

‘Ah, David, there you are,’ DCI Stephens said as Murphy sat down without a word. ‘I gather there’s a lot still going on at the newest crime scene?’

Murphy relaxed a little. She was already making his life easier, which meant there was at least one person in the room on his side. ‘Yes. We’ve only just got back now.’

‘Well, you know everyone round the table,’ DCI Stephens said, her outstretched palm sweeping across the room as if it were full to the brim with people. In reality, there were five faces peering back at him. All suited and booted, looking polished and pristine. Murphy looked up and attempted a welcoming smile, which he wasn’t sure came off as genuine.

Stephens continued. ‘DSI Butler, I’ll let you take over.’

Detective Superintendent Gareth Butler made as if he were going to stand, before deciding against the action. Murphy had taken an instant dislike to the DSI a few years earlier and hadn’t really altered his thinking in the time since then. He couldn’t argue against the presence he had, however. It was as if George Clooney – or whoever the latest famous old-bloke crush was now – had walked through the offices, if the reaction from some of the female staff was anything to go by.

‘Thank you,’ said Butler, clearing his throat once. ‘I understand this is the third case in the last few days, David?’

Murphy stopped himself from rolling his eyes. ‘Not exactly, sir. The first case – the one brought to our attention by colleagues over the water – those murders occurred almost a month ago. Our case – the Chloe Morrison and Joe Hooper murders – began on Monday, but they were dead and missing for a couple of days before that. This new scene from this morning looks to have happened overnight.’

‘Ah,’ DSI Butler said, taking a sip of water from a glass in front of him. Murphy looked round for any other glasses and saw none. ‘Our man is escalating. That’s the term they use, isn’t it?’

Murphy nodded, the beginnings of a headache starting to appear as he held his tongue. ‘It looks that way, sir.’

‘Then we need to give your command all the support we can in order to stop this in its tracks.’

‘That would be nice,’ Murphy said, earning himself a look from DCI Stephens, which he took as a warning not to finish his sentence.

‘This is also a chance to see if this new command set-up works well in these situations,’ DSI Butler said, as if Murphy hadn’t spoken. ‘Really test things out. We have a press conference scheduled for later today. David, you should be there, but don’t worry, you won’t have to speak. From now on, myself and DCI Stephens will be the faces of this investigation. I understand the second couple . . . what were they called again?’

‘Chloe Morrison and Joe Hooper,’ Murphy said, fighting to keep the steel out of his answer.

‘Right, those two. I understand they were some kind of celeb couple type of thing?’

‘ChloJoe,’ one of the other suits said. Murphy remembered the name of the guy as soon as he heard the high-pitched voice: Sergeant Unsworth, from the uniformed side of things.

Murphy had to cough to hide a laugh as he remembered the nickname the man had. High-Pitched Harry – the thin-faced sergeant’s voice having a tendency to sound like someone going through puberty.

‘Yes,’ DSI Butler said, breaking into Murphy’s thinking. ‘Quite. Well, I gather we’ve had quite the media interest over the past couple of days, due to the profile of those two. We’ll be getting more of a handle on that from now on. I don’t want the public thinking we’re ignoring the fact that this could be three couples dead in one month. All by the same person or persons. We’ll be up to our necks in outrage before we know it.’