Dying Eyes (3 page)

Ad shuffled his feet and squeezed his hands together before tilting his head backwards. “Come in, then.”

His flat was a carbon copy of the girl’s, only more poorly decorated, which was hard considering the girl’s room wasn’t decorated at all. Empty picture frames were scattered around at random. Specks of tobacco and whatever else coated every surface. A dull hint of cannabis and sweat lurked in the air.

“Take a fucking seat.” Ad fell back onto his bed.

Brian looked down at the seat, covered with something slimy. Cassy returned a disgusted gaze. “It’s okay.” Brian smiled out of politeness. “We’re only here for a few minutes.”

Ad waved his hand in their direction as if to say, “Suit yourselves.”

“First things first, Ad, we know you called the
Lancashire News
,” Brian lied. “We’ve got evidence that links the location of the call to somewhere around here. There’s no point lying about that anymore.”

Ad held his mouth open then sighed. He’d fallen for Brian’s bait. “Times are tough. We’ve gotta find a way to make a quick buck, y’know? But I was gonna ring the police, too. I swear I was gonna.”

Singing like a bird already. Good start. “Okay, Ad. What happened last night, from the beginning?”

Ad leaned forward, polishing his voice as if he were telling a story to a classroom. “Well, it was about half-twelve, one-ish. I remember that, ‘cause I was watching the fucking ‘Football League Show’. Waited fucking ages for the Bolton highlights, and they went and showed them last again. Lost as well, so that pissed me off.

“Anyway, Barnsley are on‌–‌fucking Barnsley‌–‌and I hear this banging next door, and I think nothing of it, ‘cause there’s always fucking banging going on here…‌you get me?” His eyes glimmered for a moment before thinking better of the implications of his rhetorical question. A sort of naivety washed across his face. He must’ve known damn well the police were aware that Foster Road was one of the largest areas for prostitution, but clearly didn’t want to say anything in case it involved him.

“And what was so startling that you decided to go ‘round and take a look?” Cassy asked. She moved a tray of moulding cigarettes out of the way so she could lean against the small wooden coffee table, putting her sleeve down to stop her flesh touching any surface.

Ad stared at Brian as if Cassy wasn’t even there. “There was a load of fucking around going on, I could hear that. Bloke talking a lot afterwards. Didn’t hear what he said, but he was speaking loud, and then I heard a car go. Dunno what it was, but I went out in the morning and the door was open a bit, and I found her in there, as she is.”

Brian rubbed his eyebrows. “The police said the door was closed when they arrived. That’s technically tampering with evidence, Ad.”

Ad waved his hand in their direction again, his face going red. “I don’t know anything about fucking tampering with evidence. I just rang my old mate from the
Lancashire News
, and he came in the morning. Maybe he shut it, I dunno.”

McDone glanced at Cassy. She knew what that look meant. They’d keep an eye on Ad; grill him with more questions, especially without a lead. He was the best they had right now.

“Have you seen the girl before, Ad?” McDone asked, leaning forward.

Ad shook his head, his eyes scanning the room. “There’s lots of girls come here. Lots of ‘em. Lose track, y’know? But I ain’t seen her, which is weird. Must be a new girl. That’s normal enough.”

Brian kept his voice calm. “And if I were to speak to somebody and find out whether she is a ‘new girl’, then who would that be?”

Ad’s eyes held contact with Brian’s for a moment. He opened his mouth and shut it again. “I just keep myself to myself, y’know?”

“Of course you do, Ad. Of course. We might have a few more questions for you over the coming hours and days, though, you have to understand that. Until then, if you were to remember who this ‘employer’ is, then that would be a great help, okay?”

“No need.”

The sound of the voice sank to the bottom of Brian’s stomach like a rock. He turned around and saw DI Price leaning against the door, arms folded. Brian waited for him to speak. He cocked his head and gestured for Brian to leave the room with him. Brian followed him outside, nodding at Ad, who looked on with curiosity.

“Family of a girl gone missing just came in to the station.” Price reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph.

He noticed her smile first. Then her eyes. Those green eyes, beautiful and warm.

“Nicola Watson. Twenty-two years old. Didn’t come home last night. That your girl?” Price asked.

Brian sighed. “That’s her. I’d better be the one to, y’know‌–‌”

“You’re good at that stuff, Brian,” Price said. “See you back at the station.”

Brian poked his head into Ad’s room again. Cassy, still crouched against Ad’s coffee table, frowned at him. “Come on, Detective,” Brian said. “Ad‌–‌thanks for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch.”

Cassy followed Brian out of the door as Ad muttered to himself.

“We’ll keep an eye on Ad, but right now we need to head back to the station,” Brian said.

“And why would I head back to the station?”

Brian sighed. He hated this part. “The girl’s called Nicola Watson. She’s twenty-two. We’re off to tell her parents.”

As they passed the flat, he took a final glance at Nicola Watson’s terrified, bloodshot eyes and walked towards the police car.

Chapter Three

The long walk towards the public interview rooms felt like twice the distance when it was to deliver bad news. Telling parents their daughter had been murdered was the worst sort of news.

Brian stood outside the room where Mr. and Mrs. Watson sat. He could just about see them through the blinds. Mr. Watson was a big man, a grizzly bear with ginger hair and a distant, glassy gaze. Mrs. Watson, with bleached-blonde hair and a fake tan, held her husband’s hand in the middle of the table. Neither of them spoke.

A hand fell onto Brian’s shoulder. He turned ‘round to see Cassy, her eyes sympathetic and understanding. “You sure you want to do this alone?”

Brian took a deep breath and nodded. He brushed the front of his shirt. “Someone’s got to do it. You get back down to Foster with some DCs. I’ll be with you in no time. Make sure the family liaison officer’s fully briefed and at the ready.”

“Brian, I‌–‌I didn’t mean to insult you when I said about your wife.”

“It’s okay.” Brian smiled to reassure her. He needed to toughen himself up. Three months off on the sick at the end of last year had turned him into a wuss. “The alcoholic detective with marital problems. I’m a walking, talking cliché!”

She laughed and stuck her middle finger up before disappearing past the other interview rooms and into the buzz of the main office.

She believed him. People were so used to seeing alcoholic detectives in fiction and on television that they took it as truth. He just had to keep playing up to that image‌–‌drinking when he needed to drink, smelling of booze when he needed to smell of booze. He just had to keep up the image and hope nobody asked to see his arms.

Brian took another deep breath and grabbed the cold metal handle of the wooden door.
Just go in there and get it over with.
He pulled the handle. The eyes of the desperate, searching mother and father stared up at him.

He didn’t even have to say anything to them. He could tell by the way that they looked back at him, they already knew.

The interview room was completely silent for a few moments. Brian let the Watsons take their time to get their head around things. Not that a few minutes made much difference, but it’d be downright rude to start blabbering on and asking about their dead daughter immediately. He did note a few things, though. Firstly, they didn’t seem like parents of a prostitute. Quite well-kept. Expensive clothing‌–‌nothing too scrotey. Unless Nicola had run away from home a while ago or something and made a bit of cash on the side. But that didn’t make sense. They’d reported her missing right away. They’d come to the police station.

“Mr. and Mrs. Watson, I understand this is a really difficult time for you both, but I just need to ask you a couple of questions, what with the nature of‌–‌”

“Who did it?” Mr. Watson barked. “Have you got anyone?”

Brian leaned forward towards them as Mrs. Watson snivelled into her hands.

“It’s…‌I understand your frustrations, but it’s too early in the investigation to start pursuing any solid leads. That’s where I was hoping you could help me. Tell me a little. Talk to me about Nicola.”

It felt strange saying her name.
Nicola.
What had she done to deserve this?

Mr. Watson fell back into his chair. “She’s…‌She was a lovely girl. Always thinking about others.” Mrs. Watson spluttered and cried some more as her husband, his voice shaky, continued to speak. “I mean, like any girl in their early twenties, she did stuff behind our back, but we didn’t think anything of it, y’know?”

“What sort of stuff?” Brian asked.

Mr. Watson’s eyebrows twitched. “That look. Get that look out of your eyes. I didn’t say that. Our daughter’s no hooker. She had secrets, but she’s no hooker, I swear to you‌–‌”

“Calm down, Trev,” Mrs. Watson said. “Just…‌just calm down.”

He sulked in his chair and wrapped his arms around his large belly.

“She drank, probably took a few drugs, but she was just growing up, right?” Mrs. Watson tried to put on a brave face. “All the kids do it‌–‌you know that better than anyone. But nothing…‌nothing like
that
. She was a good girl. She was going somewhere in her life.”

“Until that little shit came along,” Trevor muttered.

“Who are you referring to, Mr. Watson?” Brian asked.

“That boyfriend of hers. If she got into anything dodgy, it’s his doing. Off the rails sort. Nicky thought she could ‘rescue him’ or some crap like that, but she was better than him. He just used her for her good nature.”

“Trev, Danny was okay at times‌–‌”

“He was a scrote,” Trevor roared. “A weedy little scrote. Not good enough for my Nicky. Not good enough.” His arms shook as Shenice Watson, sniffing back the tears, rubbed her hand against them.

Brian took a note in his diary:
Danny. Boyfriend
. “Do you have an address for Danny…?”

“Stocks,” Trevor Watson said. “Danny Stocks. Lives down by the old hospital on Walter Road. Number six, I think. Do you think he‌–‌”

“It’s too early to start suspecting people. But hopefully he can shed a bit of light on why someone might have wanted to kill your daughter.”

The pair flinched with Brian’s words.
Too cold, Brian. Too fucking cold. Watch yourself.

“Were there any arguments at home we should know about? Any indications that she might’ve been in trouble?”

Trevor Watson’s eyes narrowed. “Are you implying something?”

Brian kept his cool. “I’m simply intrigued as to why you were so worried about your daughter’s disappearance the morning after a night out, and more importantly, why you linked the death of a suspected prostitute with the death of your daughter.”

Trevor and Shenice looked at each other, open-mouthed. Shenice cleared her throat and wiped away a tear with a scrunched-up tissue. “She always came home,” she said. “Didn’t matter how late she’d been out, she always came home. And that road‌–‌those brothels and that seedy stuff‌–‌she always had to walk up by there. I guess I saw the age and I just…‌I just panicked. I always told her to walk with her friends, keep her wits about her, but she just saw the good in everyone, y’know? She never saw this coming. Poor girl. Poor, poor girl…”

Brian flicked through the pages of his diary, giving Trevor and Shenice a moment to calm themselves. “Is there anybody else that might be able to give us a few details about your daughter? Any friends or work?”

Shenice’s eyes struggled to focus. “Um, I don’t…‌I don’t know about her friends now. Since…‌since she met Danny. But, I don’t know.”

“There is her workplace though,” Trevor interrupted. “That charity. BetterLives.”

“What about BetterLives?”

“She was helping out there. Doing a load of admin work, helping out with the accounts. She seemed to love doing it, even though it was voluntary. She always was into her politics and stuff.”

Brian closed the diary and slipped his hand into his pocket. He shot a sympathetic smile at Mr. and Mrs. Watson. “Thanks for your time, both of you. Here’s my card‌–‌if you remember anything, or if you just want to speak, give me a call, any time. I…‌I realise how hard it must be to lose a child. So please, don’t forget me. My colleague will take you to see…‌To identify the body. Thanks again for your cooperation.”

Trevor walked up to Brian. He looked much taller than the impression he gave when seated. “Have you ever lost a kid, Officer?”

Brian’s gaze twitched towards the ground. His neck burned, and he tugged at the top button of his collar. “No, I‌–‌”

“Then you don’t understand. You can’t possibly understand.”

The pair left as Brian slumped into his chair, slicking his hair back with the sweat that had formed.

The chatter of the briefing room immediately died down the second Price, grinning, walked in. He held his Starbucks coffee cup so tightly that it looked like it might just crumble in his hands. He sat down next to DC Peters, who was quite visibly hungover, and plonked his large pad onto the table. The force snapped Peters out of his trance; he rubbed his eyes and took deep, steadying breaths.

“Hello, all. So it’s not ideal to be calling another briefing so soon after this morning, but at least you’re all here this time.” He glared at Brian then opened his pad. “We’ve made huge progress, though. Bloody huge. Peters, what’ve you got for us?”

DC Peters, whose face was growing paler by the minute, shuffled the papers in front of him.

“Come on, Peters,” Price said. “You’re gonna be keying this info into H.O.L.M.E.S. this afternoon, so you’d better be clued up.”

“Okay, okay.” Peters fumbled his glasses from his collar. “Well, so far I…‌The girl. The girl’s call‌–‌”