Bloodstream (33 page)

‘Do you need anything, Kim?’ Murphy said, placing down the cup of coffee he had brought with him. ‘Drink or something?’

‘I need you to find out who did this so I can kill him. Can you do that for me?’

Murphy glanced at Rossi who had her eyes fixed on Kim’s. He waited a second to see if she was going to answer, but she kept her mouth closed.

‘We’ll certainly do everything we can to find out who did this, Kim,’ Murphy said, attempting his soothing voice. ‘We just need to ask a few questions.’

‘Is it the same one? The guy who killed those other couples and ChloJoe?’

Murphy internally shuddered at the use of the abbreviation. Everything he had learned about the pair in the previous week made the name even more ridiculous. ‘We’re not ruling anything out at the moment, Kim. We just want to know a bit more about Carly and Will at this point.’

Kim straightened up in the chair and performed some kind of breathing exercise. Murphy was aware of Rossi shifting in her seat next to him, but he waited Kim out.

‘Carly was twenty-four years of age,’ Kim said eventually, the words coming out staccato-like, as if she were reading from a script. ‘She has worked for one of the big banks for the last three years, dealing with payment protection refunds, out in the business park in Speke. Earned a good wage. No children, but she told me she wanted them someday. She was concentrating on her career for now. We grew up in Fazakerley, both went to primary and high school there. She’s three years younger than me and we have a younger brother who is twenty. Our mum and dad live in Spain, where Dad bought a property a year ago. Retired in his mid-fifties, after making his money early.’

Murphy listened to Kim recite their family’s history, as if it were something she was used to doing. He wondered if she’d been through this before and no one had thought to ask, before admonishing himself quietly.

‘She had a few friends, but no one as close to her as I was,’ Kim continued. ‘She rarely went on nights out, preferring to stay at home after work.’

Rossi was making a note of everything Kim was saying, her pen flying across the pages of her notebook as Murphy glanced towards her.

‘Carly met Will while they were still in school. Both fifteen. They moved in together when they were both eighteen.’

There was silence in the room as Kim’s stilted voice stopped. Murphy wondered if she had finished or if she was just taking a breath. As the pause grew longer, became more uncomfortable, Murphy decided it was the former.

‘How was the relationship between Carly and Will?’

‘I don’t know. I never asked, not once. Carly was a very private person and wouldn’t have told anyone about that kind of thing.’

Will had told someone something, however, Murphy thought. The fact that it was Carly who had received the drug overdose meant it must have been Will who had the secret. Something came to him then, a thought, but it was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

‘He’s been around the family a while though,’ Rossi said, taking over from Murphy. ‘What did you think of him?’

‘Will wasn’t the one for Carly, but I don’t think she ever realised that,’ Kim replied, her voice softening a touch. ‘If you were around them, it was almost like they didn’t know how to be with anyone else, so had just settled for each other. Does that make sense? I can try it again if not.’

‘That’s fine, Kim,’ Rossi said, her soothing voice much better than his, Murphy thought. ‘Is there anything that Carly may have said recently, anything she was worried about?’

‘No, there’s been nothing. We weren’t those type of sisters really. We didn’t discuss our private lives. It was more about what we were watching on telly, or which film we were looking forward to seeing. That sort of thing. She was more into fashion than I was, so she’d talk about a bag or a dress she’d seen in some shop. I’d talk about how quick I’d run 5K in the gym that day. We didn’t talk about our other halves.’

Murphy was beginning to see the mask slip a little. Kim was putting on a good show, but he could tell underneath the surface there was a multitude of emotions going on.

‘When was the last time you spoke to her?’ Murphy said, a question which had burned him in the past, but seemed to make no impression on Kim. It was the word ‘last’ which usually struck home. No one wanted to remember those final words spoken to their loved one.

Kim breathed in for a few seconds, let a long breath out. ‘I spoke to her Wednesday at around eight or nine p.m. We arranged for her to come to mine last night, but she didn’t show up. I texted her, but didn’t get a reply. That’s unlike her, but I gave her until this morning. I texted, rang, sent an email, all before ten a.m. I couldn’t just sit there and not know, so I went to the house. All the curtains were drawn, so I let myself in. I thought I may have been interrupting something between her and Will, until I saw the photographs had all been removed from the wall. It didn’t make sense. Of course, that was until I walked into the dining room.’

Murphy watched as Kim wavered slightly before composing herself once more. He looked towards Rossi who shaped to say something more, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. Another knock came a second later, louder and more insistent.

‘Excuse me a second,’ Murphy said, walking over to the door, ready to fire a volley of words at whoever was knocking. He opened the door and slipped out in one movement.

‘What the hell is it?’ Murphy hissed at DC Kirkham, who took a step back and shrunk an inch or two smaller. ‘We’ve got a family member in there, or have you forgotten that?’

‘Sorry, I wouldn’t have interrupted, but it’s urgent.’

‘It best bloody had be.’

‘It’s him, sir,’ DC Kirkham said, still trying to catch his breath. ‘He’s sent us a message.’

It had been five days since Karen Morrison’s life had been upended and changed irrevocably. Beyond repair, she thought. Nothing would ever be the same again. Her entire existence would come down to the moment she watched her daughter eventually be lowered into a grave.

She wasn’t meant to go first. That wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. Chloe was expected to look after her, when she finally allowed the ageing process to take hold. That was the correct way of things. Not this.

‘Don’t you dare touch that remote.’

Neil moved his hand back slowly, still not willing to look at her. Karen knew he was taking it hard, but was too focused to take into account his feelings as Chloe’s stepfather.

Karen couldn’t bear to have anything but the news on the television now. Waiting for any kind of update, not wanting to miss a thing. Watching the same faces, listening to the same voices over and over. The same news, again and again. Hating the dispassionate way they spoke of her daughter as a ‘victim’.

When they had shown the video a couple of days previously, of her daughter in darkness in her final moments, Karen had sat transfixed, listening to her speak. It didn’t matter what she said, she just wanted to hear her voice.

The girl they had portrayed on that reality show wasn’t the one Karen knew. It was a caricature of the real person. Chewed up and spat out for entertainment purposes. They didn’t know the girl who had played on Moreton Shore as a five-year-old. The eight-year-old Chloe who had cried all the way home from New Brighton because the 2p machines had ‘eaten all her money’. The fifteen-year-old who had come into Karen’s bedroom at midnight, crying over the loss of a first love.

All they knew was the Chloe who had gone on some stupid reality show and become the twenty-first-century version of famous. The Chloe who modelled for lads’ mags and was never seen in the same outfit twice. The Chloe who was followed around by pre-arranged paparazzi so she could be pictured shopping or visiting fellow celeb friends.

They would never know the girl Karen had.

Neil had sent away the woman who had been with them for the first couple of days. Family liaison officer or something. She’d been cluttering up the place anyway. Always there, waiting for Karen to break down so she could offer platitudes and a soothing voice. Just like she’d been trained to do.

Karen didn’t want that. She’d begged Neil to send the woman away. She didn’t want to worry about a stranger in the house on top of everything else. There were only so many times she could see that stark reminder of what had happened, sitting at her dining-room table, or in her living room. Eating her biscuits and drinking her tea.

On the television, it was less real. Chloe would now forever be just what she’d always wanted. Famous. Infamous. No one would ever forget her now.

All the news channels were full of the story, the coverage increasing as the week had gone on. Two more people found that morning, unnamed at that moment, but Karen knew their stories would be coming soon enough.

‘I can’t keep watching this, Karen. It’s the same thing over and over. It’s not healthy.’

Neil didn’t understand. How could he? He didn’t know the bond a mother and daughter have. How that never disappears, even as that daughter grows up and becomes an adult. The link between Chloe and Karen had never been broken.

Chloe had always been her favourite.

Karen detested the way, even in death, Chloe was still not recognised for who she was as a person. Every news programme, every newspaper, all lumping her together with the man who had caused her death.

ChloJoe.

They didn’t see her as a person in her own right. She wasn’t good enough to be spoken of as a single entity. She was bonded forever with the man whose actions had led Chloe to her fate.

Now they couldn’t have a funeral until they
released her body
. Her daughter was lying all alone in a morgue drawer somewhere in Liverpool. Karen just wanted her home, to see her walk through the door as if nothing had happened. Eleven years old, on the cusp of transition, still a small happy child. Or fourteen years old and in the throes of puberty and teenage angst.

Karen wanted to be sitting up in a hospital bed, her new baby in her arms, the feelings of exhaustion and relief washing over her. Thinking she could never love anyone as much as she loved that newborn lying in her arms.

Karen refused to cry now. She had got it all out of her system on that first day, leaving nothing for afterwards. It wasn’t about her now. She just had to get through each day, waiting for the news to change.

‘I’m going out for a walk.’

Karen didn’t move her eyes away from the television. Another couple found that morning. More death, more drama for the news to keep the interest going.

She didn’t move as she heard the door slam.

The scrolling news ticker remained unchanged; the new couple found in Liverpool now included with the other victims.

‘Get out of my way.
’

Karen could hear Neil’s raised voice coming from outside, but ignored it at first. There were still people camped outside their house, cluttering up the pavement so you couldn’t get past them. She knew the neighbours would be complaining behind closed doors, wondering how long it was going to go on for. How long they were going to have to suffer through it.

‘I
said get out of my fucking way! Let me just have five minutes alone!
’

Karen had the volume on the television turned down low, but now she muted it as she walked over to the window to look out. She pulled back the closed blinds, peering out through the gap.

Neil had his hands clasped around the collar of a short balding man who still held on to his camera as Neil got in his face.

‘This is what you want, isn’t it? Keep pointing that thing at me, I’ll rip your fucking head off, you understand?’

Karen sped to the front door, tearing it open and leaving it to bang against the wall inside. She ran down the path, cameras and microphones turning in her direction as she opened the gate.

‘Neil,’ she shouted over the voices of so many others. ‘Come inside, now.’

Neil turned to look at her and she saw him for the first time in days. The dark rings under his eyes, the way he seemed to have aged ten years in less than a week. He let go of the photographer, who fell to the floor.

‘You all killed her,’ Neil said, looking towards the multitude of photographers and journalists standing on the pavement outside their home. ‘You understand that? It was all of you. You’re the reason she’s dead.’

Karen went to his side. She put an arm around him and dragged him back towards their house.

‘There’s blood on your hands,’ Neil shouted at them as they walked back up the path. ‘And now you’re after us. I hope you’re all proud of yourselves. You sick bastards.’

Karen ignored the questions still being shouted at them as she closed the front door, the noise finally quietening a little.

‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ Karen said in a low voice. ‘That’s not the way we’re supposed to deal with this.’

‘I can’t take this any more,’ Neil replied, pacing up and down the hallway, hands clenched into fists. ‘They’re making us prisoners in our own home. They just can’t leave us alone. How are we supposed to deal with any of this, if they’re out there waiting for us to make one move?’

‘That’s just the way it is. Let me get past. I might have missed something.’

‘You’re just going to go back to watching the shit them out there produce?’

Karen slid past Neil, taking up her familiar position on the sofa opposite the television. She picked up the remote and turned up the volume, drowning out the voices from outside.

‘We can’t go on like this, Karen. You need to speak to me. We need to talk about all this. I’m hurting too, love. I’m really fucking struggling here.’

Karen continued to watch the news, turning up the volume a little more.

So many things that needed sorting out, she thought. So little time.

There were fewer reporters camped outside Emily Flynn’s house, but they were there all the same. Waiting to ask her a multitude of questions every time she tried to leave the house.

Since the video had been released, showing Hannah confessing to Greg of her
transgression,
the questions had been different.