Bloodstream (18 page)

‘The ChloJoe one,’ Simon said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. ‘We’ve seen the news.’

‘Yes,’ Rossi replied, from the end of the dining table. ‘We’ve heard what Stuart – or James as we now know he was called – was keeping secret.’

‘We never knew,’ Simon said, almost banging his fist down on the table, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking. If we had, we never would have accepted him.’

‘We’re not for one minute suggesting you did,’ Murphy said, fixing a stare on the older man. ‘We think it may be a reason they were targeted, however. Do you think Jane knew?’

‘She had no idea,’ Carole said, speaking for the first time. Her accent was harsher than her husband’s. Murphy had her pegged as someone who had grown up in Liverpool, then moved across the water. ‘She was too proper for anything like that. Very into her feminism as well. She wouldn’t have been able to be with someone who had raped a child.’

‘Rape is a strong term for it—’ Simon began, before stopping as his wife glared at him. ‘It’s not important though. What’s important is that he kept something away from Jane.’

‘Tell us about her,’ Rossi said, leaning forward and speaking to Carole directly.

‘She was a good child, went to university and excelled. Always wanted to learn. Jane always cared about others, before herself even. That’s why she wanted to work at the hospital. She wanted to be a part of making people better. I can’t believe she’s gone.’

Rossi continued talking, as Carole’s breath began to hitch. ‘Jane worked at the Royal in Liverpool, right?’

‘Yes,’ Carole said, looking at Rossi and Murphy in turn, before looking back down at the table. ‘She was a nurse there. A damn good one as well, I bet.’

Murphy listened as Rossi and Jane’s mother continued to discuss the person missing from the room. That weight of loss evident from every corner. There wasn’t much else they could do to help the couple, other than hope that the fact their daughter’s death was now being investigated as part of something bigger might result in a conviction.

‘I hope that means you’ll find the . . . thing that did this to our daughter.’

‘We’ll do everything we can,’ Murphy said, holding on to Simon’s proffered hand. ‘We know your daughter deserves that.’

There was a shared look between the two men, standing there with hands still grasped.

‘I believe you,’ Simon said, letting go of Murphy’s hand. ‘She was a good woman. An exceptional one. She never had us worried or disappointed. Jane was one in a million.’

They all were, Murphy thought. Everyone’s child, or parent. Always exceptional or different from everyone else. Placed on a pedestal in premature death, forever treated as something more than the norm.

He knew only too well how that worked. It was also what made him work that little bit harder to deliver justice.

Even if it made little difference to how those families would survive after.

Greg had known all along. Deep down. The truth had been there from the beginning. It was nothing to do with him. It wasn’t his fault. Nothing to do with the way he was, or the way he had been with Hannah. It was her. All her.

‘Would you have ever told me if it wasn’t for this?’

She still wasn’t speaking to him. Stopped answering his questions once the man had begun hurting her. At first, Greg had been disgusted. Tried to stop it happening. Then, he’d heard two words which told him everything he needed to know.

‘I can’t.’

Two words that made the bottom of his world drop out. Now he knew there was something. That it was something she didn’t want him to know badly enough that she was willing to go through pain not to tell him.

The man stopped, moving away from Hannah and allowing Greg to see what had happened to her. Greg ignored the blood, the bruises already rising up on her skin. The shaking of her body. ‘Tell me, Hannah. He’s going to hurt you again if you don’t tell me.’

‘You should listen to Greg,’ the man said, moving in front of Greg, his back to him. ‘He knows what he’s talking about. I’m just trying to help you. Can’t you see that? I’m stopping your lies.’

Hannah’s words were almost quiet enough to miss. ‘Don’t. Please.’

Greg could see everything now. His eyes had become accustomed to the dark, enough so he could see the man move forward and slap Hannah across the face with an open palm. The crack in the silence making Greg jump in the chair a little.

His right hand slipping further out of the bonds which tied them.

Hannah screamed again, cut off by the stretch of duct tape placed across her face.

‘You’re good, Hannah,’ the man said, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her head up. ‘I really didn’t think you would hold out this long.’

Greg was done crying. Tears no longer springing forth as he watched the woman he loved in pain. It had gone too far. There was something she was keeping from him. And he wanted to know what it was.

He watched as the man hit Hannah across the face again. This time with the back of his hand, snapping her head backwards with force as he struck her. Clumps of Hannah’s hair fell to the floor as he grabbed at it again, producing something Greg hadn’t seen up to that point.

The blade was silver, catching the light as it shone through a gap in the almost closed curtains; almost sparkling as the man held the knife in front of Greg, before turning and showing Hannah.

Greg lowered his head as he heard the noises behind Hannah’s gag grow in volume, pleading and crying.

‘Stop, please. Let her talk.’

The man stepped back and turned towards Greg. ‘You think she’ll talk now?’ He revealed Hannah again as he moved away unblocking Greg’s line of sight.

A line of blood, rapidly growing and criss-crossing with others, stretched out across one side of Hannah’s face. Greg imagined the blood hitting the ground in droplets, disappearing into the darkness and pooling at her feet, the gashes across her face widening around a mess of tears and red.

‘Please, Hannah,’ Greg said, tears finally beginning to form once more. ‘Just tell me so he stops hurting you.’

There was nothing for a few seconds then Hannah’s shoulders slumped further still and she began to nod.

‘Good, good,’ the man said, the glee in his voice causing Greg’s stomach to flip. ‘Let’s see if you can get through this. If I take this off and you scream, Hannah, I’m going to find and kill your child. She might not be here right now, but I’ll find her. Do you understand?’

The man and Greg waited for her to nod again. Greg breathed in deep, as he watched the man rip the duct tape off Hannah’s mouth, a cry escaping as he did so.

‘Now,’ the man said, throwing the duct tape to one side and standing between them. ‘This is how things are going to go. Hannah, you are going to tell him what we both know you’ve been keeping from him. No big explanations. No pleading forgiveness, or going all round the houses before slipping in the truth. You have ten seconds to say your piece, and if you haven’t in that time, I’m going to take this little knife here and slice right into your legs, your hands, then finally your throat. Are we clear?’

‘Yes.’

Greg almost didn’t recognise her voice. In a single word, he heard the difference such a short amount of time spent in extreme fear could have on a person. Hannah was broken, wrecked. Scared.

‘Excellent,’ the man said. ‘Are you ready, Greg?’

Greg swallowed, his mouth dry. He tried to speak, but the growing lump of bile at the back of his throat wouldn’t allow it. He nodded instead.

‘Then, Hannah, talk.’

There were a few moments of silence before Greg’s life as he’d known it ended. His previous existence hadn’t been blissful, but it was still preferable to what came next.

‘Millie isn’t yours,’ Hannah said, her voice still betraying her. ‘I . . . I slept with someone else. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m . . . I’m sorry.’

Greg had known it was coming. But the shock of the words spilling from Hannah’s mouth still made him recoil despite being strapped to the chair.

‘No. No, no, no. Not that. Not my daughter.’

‘I’m so sorry, Greg. I’m so sorry.’

He didn’t want to hear it. Not the apologies, not the continuing lies.

‘I can’t . . . why would you do this to me? I gave you everything. I loved you. Our little girl . . . how could you do that to me?’

‘It was a mistake.’

Greg shook in the chair, every hair standing on end as the realisation hit him – everything had transformed in an instant. His life was irreparably changed with just a few words of truth.

‘You fucking bitch.’

Once the words were out of his mouth – the way they hit Hannah and made her look even smaller in the chair opposite – he had a sudden realisation.

He wanted the man to hurt her more.

‘I can’t believe you did this to us. Was it worth it? Did he fuck you good enough to make up for what’s happening now?’

Hannah didn’t answer him. Greg thought of every instance he’d held what he’d thought of as his daughter in his arms and felt overwhelming love for her. Gone. The idea was alien to him now. The thought of loving another man’s child, caring for it, cuddling and kissing it, allowing it to become his world, all of it repulsed him.

Greg leaned over to one side as the bile came to the surface finally, splattering over the carpet. A new stain added to go along with the rest. His throat burned as he retched, tears streaming from his eyes as he choked and spluttered onto the ground. He lifted his head slowly, unable to wipe his mouth or face. Desperately wanting to.

‘Fucking whore,’ Greg said, his voice not as strong as he wanted it to be. ‘That’s what you are. You’ve destroyed me. You know that? Do you care?’

‘Of course I do,’ Hannah replied through tears. ‘I never wanted to hurt you.’

‘Well you fucking have.’

The man stepped between them, facing Greg. ‘That’ll do, you two. Now, what happens next?’

‘Hit her again,’ Greg said, saliva and bile spraying from his mouth. ‘She deserves it.’

‘Can you forgive her?’

‘No, not for this.’

‘What am I supposed to do here, Greg? I have exposed her lies and it means nothing to you? Can you not move on from this?’

Greg shook his head, rocking the chair with the violence of the movement. ‘I want her gone.’

The man sighed and turned away. ‘This is what lies can do, Hannah. This is what happens when love isn’t done correctly. You don’t deserve it. I’m going to have finish it, aren’t I, Greg?’

Greg shook in the chair. ‘She’s a fucking slut bitch who deserves all she gets.’

The man nodded once, then moved quicker than Greg had seen before. In one swift movement there was duct tape across Hannah’s face again, her eyes straining out of their sockets as she screamed behind the tape. Her stare locked with Greg’s as the blade reappeared.

He wanted her dead. She deserved it. That was all he felt. He wanted her to feel more pain than he was experiencing.

‘You’ve taken my life,’ Greg said. ‘You deserve this.’

It wasn’t until the blade of the knife went into her neck that he realised his mistake.

He is dreaming, he knows that. He can understand the unreality of it all, the broken images, the distorted scenery, the blurriness of his surroundings.

It feels real though. The anxious, nausea-inducing feeling in the pit of his dream form stomach is real.

He’s entering the house again. The silence overpowering him once more. There is something else though, a different quality to it. The presence of people within, silent, hushed.

DC Graham Harris is outside on the pavement. Blood surrounding him as it exits his body. The thought is just there, in his head, all at once.

He doesn’t remember leaving him there.

It’s as if he is trying to walk through water, something pulling him back from entering the room ahead.

The door opens, independently, as he floats through it in his dream state. At first, the scene is different from what he remembers, and he feels confusion. There are words on the wall, dripping red onto the floor below it. He can’t make out what they say, no matter how many times he tries to read them.

A second later, the scene shifts. The man is there, as he was in reality. Standing over an unoccupied chair, holding a shotgun towards the empty space.

He doesn’t want to see this again. He wants to wake up, turn back and run away.

Instead, he watches as the empty chair is replaced with one in which a young man is sitting down, his head lowered against his chest so he can’t make out who it is.

He knows, of course, who sits there.

He hears Jess’s voice. His friend of two decades. Best friend. One he shared his life with. One who shared her life with him.

He hears Sarah’s voice, his wife, the other half of him. Take her away and he becomes less than whole.

Jess’s voice overpowers Sarah’s. She screams, but he doesn’t move. He watches as the man holding the shotgun begins to shake with the exertion. He’s mouthing words at him, but he doesn’t know what they mean.

He remembers a name. Alan Bimpson. Only that wasn’t real. Thornhill. That was what he was really called. Alpha. A killer.

The boy in the chair has become younger. He remembers his name, who he is, but tries to forget it.

He remembers holding him hours after he’d been born. Watching him grow into a toddler. Into a schoolboy.

Into a teenager.

An eye for an eye . . .’

He doesn’t want to hear this. He knows what comes next.

‘I want you to see this.’

He looks down at his legs, willing them to move, but they won’t comply. He bunches his fists, banging them against his thighs.

He turns his hands over, staring at them as they leave trails through the air as he moves them. They shake, he can’t keep them still.

He’s scared. He’s shaking, and he can’t move his legs. He can’t run away, he can’t hide. He buries his head in the crook of his arm. He doesn’t want to watch. Not again.