Never Look Back (24 page)

‘Nope, it’s not mine. Must be Amber’s,’ she said, turning the earring over in her fingers. ‘I’ll give it to her tomorrow. Will we see you next week?’

‘You sure will,’ he said, tipping an invisible hat as he walked down the stairs.

Lockyer pulled the front door closed behind him. A freezing gust of wind found its way under his coat, cooling his kidneys. He pulled his collar up and eased the zipper as high as it would go. In lieu of gloves he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down the driveway. The car’s side lights flashed as he released the central locking. He climbed in and started the engine, turning up the fans to help clear the windscreen.

As he sat back, watching the half-moon patches of clear glass spread, he looked at the clock on the dashboard. He had twenty minutes to get back to the office. He put the Audi into reverse, his other arm draped over the passenger seat so he could look behind him. But something stopped him. He turned around slowly and sat, staring at the now clear windscreen.

‘What the . . .?’ With slow, deliberate movements he turned off the engine, slid the key out of the ignition and climbed back out of his car. He walked up the driveway and rang the bell. He could hear Alice’s footsteps inside as she walked across the hallway, towards the front door. When she opened it her face seemed to freeze mid-smile.

‘What’s up?’ she asked, stepping backwards. ‘Is something the matter?’

Lockyer walked in, closed the door behind them and held out his hand.

‘Alice, I need the earring I just gave you?’

‘Why?’ Alice said, her eyes now wider than the bay windows.

‘Alice, can you just give me the earring, please?’ he said, his voice on a monotone.

She put her hand in her pocket, brought out the earring and held it out to him.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked again.

‘Alice, I need you to . . . let’s sit down,’ he said, gently ushering her into the lounge. He was uncomfortably aware that he was using his ‘work’ voice. She sat down in a large armchair that seemed to engulf her tiny frame.

‘Mike, you’re scaring me.’

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ he said, as his mind raced through a dozen different options. How was he going to explain this? No one in the office even knew he had a brother and Alice didn’t know he was a police officer, but that wasn’t the problem. How the hell had the missing earring from Deborah Stevens’ crime scene found its way into his brother’s bedroom?

6 February – Thursday

‘Oh, come on,’ Sarah said, throwing her mobile onto the kitchen counter. She had already left four messages for Bennett. In the meantime she was slowly going insane wondering if he was still in custody or outside her flat, right now, watching her. She resisted the urge to go into her lounge and check, again, especially as she still didn’t know who she was looking for. How long was Bennett going to make her wait? She hadn’t left the flat all day. In fact she hadn’t been out since her impromptu meeting with Mike on Tuesday. She picked up her phone again and dialled the only other number Bennett had given her. Her nerves vibrated with each ring.

‘DI Lockyer.’

‘It’s Sarah, Sarah Grainger?’ she said, hoping that would be enough of an explanation for her call.

‘Sarah, hello. What can I do for you?’ he asked, his tone all business.

‘I’ve been trying to get hold of Sergeant Bennett. I’ve left a couple messages but she hasn’t called me back.’

‘I see . . . I’m sorry about that, but listen, I was just heading into a meeting. Can I call you back in five minutes, ten tops?’

Sarah could feel her cheeks heating as she said, ‘It’s been days and I really need . . .’ She drifted into silence as the determination drained out of her. ‘Fine. It’s . . .’ She dredged her mind for the number. Toni had forced her to buy a pay-as-you-go phone. It’s 07978 . . . 433 . . . 909.’

‘I’ll call as soon as I’m done.’

The dial tone sounded in her ear before she could respond and a weight dropped in her stomach. She shouldn’t have called him. He was heading up a murder investigation. There were four girls now. Sarah had seen Mike on the news last night, standing at the back of a press conference about the girl killed in Richmond Park. He had looked so calm. What must his job be like? She shook her head as she realized she couldn’t think about it; the agony, the grief the girls’ parents would be facing. Guilt settled on her shoulders like a coat soaked with water. She walked over to the kitchen window and stared out at her garden. The family of foxes was back, playing in the snow and tearing up her lawn. They were making themselves at home before their afternoon nap in the shed.

‘You’re welcome to it,’ she said, turning her back to them as they barked up at her. She was too tired to fight anyone or anything. It was months since she had even opened the back door. She stared at the floor, a wave of sickness making her whole body sway. Why was she still hiding?

She padded through to the lounge, phone in hand. The television was already on showing typical afternoon television. It was some house makeover show and they were at the reveal stage. The homeowner was crying, overcome by the transformation of her bathroom. As Sarah sat down on the sofa she pulled a fleece blanket over her knees. The heating was on full blast but her old-fashioned sash windows, though beautiful, did very little when it came to keeping the heat in or the cold out. She looked at the woman weeping with joy as the presenter showed her round her new garden, pond, decking. Sarah thought about her own appearance. She barely recognized the person staring back at her from the bathroom mirror each morning. Her long blonde hair had lost all of its shine; split ends stood out at all angles. She had lost weight, about a stone, making her normally slim frame look emaciated. Her ribs stuck out like sharpened twigs. She pulled the blanket up to her chin, covering a body she no longer knew.

She jumped as her phone started to ring. It was an automatic response, a muscle memory she couldn’t shift. Would she ever be able to hear a ringing phone again, without panicking? She made herself push ‘answer’. ‘Hello.’

‘Hi, Sarah. It’s Mike,’ he said. ‘Sorry it took me so long to call you back.’

Sarah dropped the blanket and pulled up her sleeve to look at her watch. It was already 3.30, half an hour since her call. She looked up at the television and realized another programme had started and was now finishing, without her even noticing.

‘That’s OK,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry Sergeant Bennett hasn’t returned your call. She’s still out of the office. I know she intended to speak to you on her return but she’s not due back until tomorrow.’

His voice sounded different, harder somehow. ‘Can you ask her to call me then?’

‘Of course, but is there anything I can do? I am happy to help,’ he said, but Sarah thought his offer sounded tentative.

‘. . . Sergeant Bennett’s cases are my responsibility when she’s out of the office,’ he said, his voice softening but only marginally. Why would he want to waste his time trying to reassure a hysteric? That’s what she was now. There were so few rational marbles rolling about in her head that it could be hours, sometimes days before she managed to grab hold of one.

‘A constable dropped off some paperwork; on restraining orders . . . I just wanted to ask . . . it doesn’t matter.’ She blew out a long breath.

‘Sarah, it’s OK. Could you come into the station in, say . . . an hour?’

Panic rushed through her veins. ‘Oh . . . I would, but my car is in the garage . . . the buses aren’t running properly because of the snow and . . .’ As her list of pathetic excuses abandoned her, she realized she was crying.

‘Sarah, are you all right?’ he asked, his voice soft.

She took a deep breath. ‘I’m fine.’ She struggled to find the right words. ‘I haven’t been out of the flat since . . .’

‘Since when?’

‘Since Tuesday,’ she said on an outward breath as the admission drained her last ounce of energy. All she could hear was Mike breathing at the other end of the line.

‘Tuesday, after we met?’

There was a significance in his words that she didn’t fully understand but he sounded concerned. ‘Yes,’ she said, too tired to care what he thought any more.

‘OK,’ he said, stretching out the final syllable. ‘How would it be if I came to you? I could be with you by five, five-thirty.’ Sarah opened her mouth but no words came out. ‘Is five-thirty OK with you?’ he asked again.

‘Yes . . . but . . .’ How could she take him away from those girls? They needed him more than she did. She didn’t need him. She just wanted him, his time.

‘I’ll see you then. I’ll bring all of the relevant paperwork with me,’ he said, again hanging up before she could reply.

She pulled the blanket back over her hands and stared at the television, as if in a trance. Six months ago she had been independent, successful. Ever since Bennett had called to tell her that a suspect was in custody she had been waiting for some feeling of relief, elation maybe. It had never come. Instead, there was a void. A void where
he
had been, whoever
he
was. She stood and let the blanket fall to the floor. With a force of will she pushed her shoulders back, tipped up her chin and walked through to the kitchen. She poured herself a small glass of chilled white wine. As she took a numbing sip she looked around her. God, the place was a mess.

Lockyer put down his phone and stared at it. Why had he done that? All he needed to say was, ‘Yes, I’ll get Sergeant Bennett to call you first thing in the morning.’ Instead he had practically insisted on seeing her, taking precious hours away from a multiple murder case. Ever since the discovery of Debbie’s body he had wrestled with self-doubt, with the thought that he was losing his edge, but now he was beginning to wonder if that wasn’t all he was losing.

‘Brilliant, just brilliant,’ he said, shuffling the files on his desk as he tried to justify his actions. The release of the reconstruction of Debbie’s last movements had been a great success. The phone lines had been jammed all morning as half of Peckham called in to say they had been to the Tesco that day, or that week. Obviously, not all the calls were helpful but half a dozen members of the public had been interviewed already, with another tranche booked in for later today. He could spare the time. Besides, with Turner’s release Sarah needed to know how to move forward with a restraining order. He didn’t relish the thought of telling her that Turner was out, as of this morning, free to roam. But what could he do? The judge had let him keep the guy for a further forty-eight hours after Turner admitted to interfering with Debbie’s body, but that was it. It would be weeks, maybe months before Turner’s hearings were even set. Until then Sarah was on her own. It wasn’t good enough but there was nothing Lockyer could do about it.

Raised voices in the outer office made him look up. Chris and Amir seemed to be having a heated discussion but they weren’t looking at him. When he first heard their voices it was as if the shouts were in direct protest to his thoughts. Sarah wasn’t a priority. She wasn’t his priority but he had to see her. More than that, he wanted to see her. He pictured her pale face in the café last week. She had tried so hard to hide her fear. Surely, she deserved his time just as much as Debbie, Hayley and the other girls.

He logged off and waited for his computer to shut down. As the screen went black he saw his reflection. The strain of finding the earring was etched on his face. And he still hadn’t told his team or his SIO, Roger. The office had been so busy last night and this morning, what with the press conference, the reconstruction and his interview with Hayley’s parents, that he hadn’t had time. He shook his head. That was a lie and he knew it. He stood up and walked over to his window, out of his team’s line of sight. He had done everything by the book since Thursday morning; giving the earring to the exhibits team (ignoring their curious looks), requesting DNA analysis on the skin cells left inside the butterfly section and typing up extensive decision logs for each step. He just hadn’t uploaded the information to the case file, as yet. As soon as he did, Roger, Jane, the whole team would know and numerous questions would follow. It was the questions he was dreading most because one would undoubtedly lead to another, and another.

He paced his office, finally settling next to his filing cabinet. The metal was cool against his palms. The sun that had been shining into the room suddenly disappeared. He turned and lifted the blinds with the back of his hand. The sky above Lewisham High Street was grey. It was going to snow, again. As the thought entered his head the first few flakes started to fall. He pushed his fingers into the corners of his eyes, his pulse pushing back at him.

The exhibits team had confirmed the DNA on the earring as a match for Debbie, as he knew they would. But there was no other trace evidence, nothing to lead Lockyer to the man who had taken it from Debbie’s ear and planted it in his brother’s room. There was no doubt in his mind it was planted, but why Bobby? There was really only one answer to that question and the ramifications were turning Lockyer’s heart into a jack-hammer. He took his jacket off the back of the chair, snagged his coat and scarf from the hook on the far wall and walked out of his office.

As he waited for the lift he stared at his reflection. ‘You idiot,’ he said to himself. He had turned a potential lead, a significant development in the case, into an almighty cock-up. He shook his head, blowing out a frustrated breath. He would file the paperwork the second he was back from Sarah’s and face the consequences. Would he be taken off the case? Could his actions and personal involvement derail a future prosecution? Lockyer didn’t think so, but he would need Roger’s help to convince the chief. Of course, how forthcoming Roger’s help would be after he’d been kept in the dark remained to be seen. The doors opened, he stepped in and pressed the button for the ground floor. Bobby would have to be checked out and eliminated from the inquiry, Lockyer knew that. The idea was hideous and he could only imagine the distress Bobby would face. But it had to be done. Only then would the focus shift back to catching a killer before he took another innocent life.