Bloodstream (23 page)

Murphy tuned out as DSI Butler’s voice droned on, waiting until he could leave the room and actually do some proper work. He thought – not for the first time – that promotion wasn’t something he wanted at that moment. Possibly never.

He just couldn’t pull off the power suit and management speak.

After another twenty minutes of almost interminable talking, Murphy escaped from the meeting room, motioning Rossi away from her desk and to the corridor.

‘Any excuse to visit the vending machine,’ Rossi said, lifting herself off the desk of DC Harris where she’d been perched. ‘Want anything?’

DC Harris shook his head and continued to stare at his computer screen as Murphy waited. He gave Rossi another two seconds and began walking away.

‘Hang on.’

‘I did,’ Murphy replied, waiting at the door and holding it open. ‘You were starting to take the piss.’

‘Meeting was fun then?’

‘Aren’t they always?’ Murphy said, letting the door close as Rossi passed him. They walked side by side down the short corridor into the main lobby on their floor of the station. Rossi made straight for the machine holding the drinks captive, plugging money in and waiting for an energy drink to fall.

‘What’s going on then? I’m guessing we’re to keep going?’

Murphy leaned against the vending machine. ‘That’s about the gist of it. They want to see how this new command unit works with something as big as this.’

‘See if we’re up to the job,’ Rossi said, snapping the top off the bottle and draining a third in one long swig.

‘Which we will be,’ Murphy said, eyeing the chocolate bars in the vending machine opposite. He attempted to keep control of himself, despite the jangle of change in his pocket. ‘Our friend DSI Butler will be in front of the media from now on, of course.’

‘Glory hunter,’ Rossi muttered under her breath. ‘Takes some of the heat off us, though, I suppose.’

‘There is that. What’s the latest then? Any further with neighbours?’

Rossi shook her head. ‘Most had no clue anything had happened overnight at all. Next door to one side were out until late at a family thing over in West Derby. The other side were a bit more cagey, according to Hale and Kirkham. Older couple, in their fifties or something. Eventually, they admitted they heard shouts, but thought they were arguing or something.’

‘Was that something they heard often?’

‘Apparently not. But the couple who lived there before Greg and Hannah had screamed blue murder at each other almost every night. They were used to that sort of thing, so just left them to it. Kirkham said they got very upset when they realised what had really been going on.’

Murphy pulled on his lower lip with his teeth. ‘Interesting.’

‘What is?’ Rossi said, staring at her drink and shaking her head at its lowered contents.

‘Our guy lets them shout out. Not worried about being interrupted and caught. Odd behaviour.’

‘He probably just knows that screaming and shouting coming from a house next door is about as useful as a car alarm these days. We’re all so used to it, we don’t go running for the phone any more. Just try and block it out and get on with our own lives.’

‘True,’ Murphy replied, his faith in humanity struck down a little further still. ‘Still happens though. I bet if you ask most uniforms the majority of their domestic call-outs come from concerned neighbours.’

‘Yeah, but they’re the ones we hear about. There’s bloody loads more we don’t.’

Murphy considered the number that did pass through the police’s hands, then the many more that didn’t. He shuddered at the thought of it.

‘We’ve got Emily Flynn here, by the way,’ Rossi said, picking at the label on her drinks bottle. ‘Family liaison have calmed her down somewhat. She’s waiting to speak to us.’

Murphy pushed himself away, straightened up and brushed off his jacket. ‘Oh, good. Let’s see if she’s a bit more forthcoming this time around.’

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in the family room opposite a more composed version of Emily Flynn. Murphy had watched the woman that morning, seen the way she’d held back her emotions as her mind raced, remembered the time it had been him in that position some years earlier, as his parents lay in their living room, murdered by the hand of someone he’d been unable to stop.

He understood what Emily was going through.

‘Thank you for speaking to us again,’ Murphy said, using his concerned voice. Sarah had got a few laughs when he’d practised his different voices for different situations, but they did come in handy. ‘We won’t keep you for too long. I know you’re eager to get back to your granddaughter.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Emily said, a flatness to her tone now. Nothing practised there, Murphy thought. ‘Have you got any news yet?’

‘We’re working through everything as fast and as diligently as possible, Mrs Flynn.’

‘I think you can call me Emily now, Detective.’

‘Thank you, Emily. We just have a few more questions and then we can move forwards, OK?’

Emily raised a hand, motioning for him to go on.

Murphy asked a few questions just to ease Emily into things, not wanting to go in too hard straight away. Rossi chipped in every now and again, just to keep things straight. Murphy paused after a few minutes, preparing for the more difficult questions. Those which could lead to difficulties for them as well as Emily.

‘Do you know if Greg and Hannah had any friends outside of those you’ve already told us about . . . maybe more high-profile ones?’

‘High-profile friends? I don’t understand . . .’

‘Well, such as more well-known figures. People who may have been in the public eye in the past couple of years.’

Emily narrowed her eyes at Murphy as he continued to dance round the subject. ‘No, they’re just a normal couple. I keep saying this.’

‘Okay, not a problem. How about people over the water, on the Wirral? Did they have any friends over there?’

‘Not that I know of,’ Emily replied, rubbing her forehead with one hand. ‘I don’t understand what these questions are about. What do they have to do with Greg and Hannah?’

‘We’re just looking into every possibility at the moment.’

Murphy hoped he’d placated her, but he could already see the cogs turning in the woman’s mind. It wouldn’t be long before she realised why he was asking about ‘high-profile’ people.

‘This might be a bit more difficult, Mrs Flynn,’ Rossi said, taking over from Murphy. ‘But we want to know more about their personal lives, if that’s okay?’

‘There’s nothing really to say about that.’

‘I’m sure there isn’t, but it’s important we ask anyway. We don’t want to miss a vital piece of information at this point.’

Emily didn’t answer. Just waved the creased hand again.

‘Were they going through any financial trouble at all?’

‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Hannah had to go back to work part-time, just to make sure they were still comfortable. They bought the house a year or so ago, but they were doing okay.’

‘Neither of them ever spoke to you about borrowing money, or anything like that?’

Emily shook her head. ‘Nothing like that at all. They would have come to me if they needed anything and they never did.’

‘How about personally, did they get on well together?’

Murphy watched as Emily hesitated a touch before answering. He poked Rossi under the table out of sight.

‘They’re great together. No arguments or anything like that.’

‘Was there anything Hannah may have come to you about,’ Murphy said, glad Rossi had recognised his signal to allow him to speak next. ‘Something she was worried about perhaps?’

Another hesitation. ‘I’m her mother, so she would always speak to me. But there’s nothing that could have led to this, I don’t think.’

Murphy could sense a hesitation. ‘There is something, though, isn’t there, Emily?’

‘I’m not sure what you mean . . .’

‘This is very important, Emily. We need to know everything, because then we can discount anything we believe to be unrelated. We don’t judge here. We’ve heard it all. Nothing will take away from the fact that we want to find the person who has done this to Hannah and Greg. If there’s something Hannah was worried about, we need to know that.’

‘I . . . I don’t know,’ Emily said, her voice faltering as her hands began to shake.

‘Please, Emily. We need to know what it is.’

‘There is something, but please, I don’t want this being told to everyone. I don’t want to read about this or . . . see it on the news or anything. If people found out, they would only say bad things about Hannah and it’s not like that.’

Murphy knew better than to speak in absolutes or make promises. He’d been burned too often in the past.

‘We’ll do everything we can to make sure this stays private, Emily,’ Murphy said, hoping that would be enough.

‘Okay, but please, understand that this wasn’t the way Hannah was. She was a good girl. She just made a mistake.’

‘What was the mistake, Emily,’ Rossi said. ‘What happened?’

Emily began to speak, faltering at first, then resigned to telling them the whole story.

As she spoke, Murphy felt as if the air within the room became thicker. He listened, thoughts flying through his head, muddled and disorderly. Close to an answer, before it was stripped away.

The video appeared on his timeline with little fanfare. A minute and a half of darkness, waiting to be clicked on and played. Retweeted by someone he didn’t know, but who must have followed him at some point, prompting a follow back instead of an actual reply. An unknown Twitter account, forcing the video into his world.

He clicked on it, of course. Scrolling through hundreds of boring tweets, reading an
Echo
article, which had talked about two more people found dead earlier that morning. He hadn’t been surprised that there was some kind of link to those two celebs who’d been murdered. He had his own theory about those two. Drugs deal gone bad or something like that. Good riddance, he thought. Like the world would miss those two oxygen stealers. Famous for doing fuck all, whilst people like him struggled along in life. Sod them.

He had gone back to Twitter, when something had caught his eye.

The video was titled ‘The Third Couple – Why They Died’. Enough for him to stop and check it out.

It wasn’t like he was some kind of weirdo who trawled the web for disgusting videos to watch. He hadn’t Googled beheadings or sought out anything equally shocking. He thought he was normal. Just a bloke called Andy, on a bus, on the way to work for an afternoon shift at a fast-food place in town. Making minimum wage, which barely covered the contract for the new smartphone he was holding.

He almost closed the video after a few seconds. If he hadn’t had his headphones plugged into his phone, he probably would have done. The screen remained black, no sound or movement. His finger moved towards the back button on his phone screen.

Then the noise started. Crying, shouts. An argument of some sort. Begging. The video cut ahead: he was now able to make out two figures facing each other, sitting in chairs.

No, he thought, not just sitting. Tied to the chairs.

The words they were saying didn’t make much sense. Some garbled noises, the bloke shouting, ‘Tell me,’ at one point. It was becoming boring. Andy’s finger hovered over the button again.

Then the view changed to a close-up of the girl’s face. Streaked with tears and fear. Marked, slashed on one side. Good special effects, Andy thought, although the lighting guy needed shooting. Could barely make her out most of the time.

‘Millie isn’t yours . . . I slept with someone else . . . I’m . . . I’m sorry.’

Andy clicked off the video, bored. He expanded the original tweet, to see what other people had commented. Then looked out the window and realised his stop was coming up soon.

Andy locked his phone, grabbed his bag and shifted across the seat. He waited until the bus turned the corner into Liverpool One bus station and then walked down the stairs.

He forgot about the video and how he came to watch it until later that day.

When everyone was talking about it.

Sarah Murphy was driving as the video was shared around – oblivious as Heart FM blared from the radio. The same songs repeated over and over.

She was barely listening, travelling down the East Lancs Road, heading towards the M62, and Manchester which lay at its end. Every now and again, she considered turning off and going back home, but shook the thought away each time.

She needed to do this.

There was a little voice in her head, telling her it was a mistake. That if David found out about her visit, he would never forgive her. There was a louder voice, though, which remembered everything that had happened all those years ago, a voice that wouldn’t be silenced. She needed to know, to find out why.

Why did he do it?

Why them?

Why her?

She’d phoned the school that morning, feigning sickness, something that she’d never done before. She hoped it would be worth it.

Sarah’s hands began to shake as she got closer, the signs on the motorway starting to include her destination. The reality of what she was doing beginning to hit. The thought of the man she had known so well, and everything he had done, turning her stomach.

Still she drove forward. The hour-long journey from Liverpool dragging out, but almost at an end.

Sarah thought about David, and what he was currently investigating. More death, as if he hadn’t already had enough of it. She glanced at the mobile in its holder on the dashboard as it came to life, cutting over the radio. She hoped for a second it would be David, telling her to come home, that everything was finished and she had him back properly again.