Never Look Back (26 page)

He stood, lifting her easily into his arms, his lips never leaving hers. She pulled him closer. She could hear his breaths coming in quick gasps as he grappled with her shirt. A button broke away from the fabric and skittered across the kitchen floor. He pulled back and looked at her. There was a moment, Sarah could see it. He seemed to be wrestling with his own indecision but it only lasted for a few seconds and then he was back in her arms.

7 February – Friday

Lockyer pushed his front door closed and walked down the hallway, turning on lights as he went. It was still early: 7.15 on his kitchen clock. He flicked the switch on the kettle and looked out of the window at his snow-covered garden. An image flashed into his mind of Sarah, lying naked on her bed, reaching out to him. His body reacted to the memory. He pulled out a kitchen chair, sat down and put his head in his hands. ‘What are you playing at? Are you trying to get fired?’

As the kettle boiled he stood up and made himself a cup of tea and walked through to his bedroom, taking small gulps as he went. If Roger hadn’t called and cancelled their meeting last night, Lockyer would have left Sarah’s house hours earlier. ‘Christ,’ he said, slapping his forehead. Was he really trying to blame his boss? No one had made him do anything. He had chosen to exclude Jane, his team and Roger. The sound of his doorbell saved him from any more mental remonstrations.

He pushed himself up off the bed and walked out of the room and down the hallway, trying to decipher his visitor by the shadowed form beyond the opaque glass. He couldn’t. He turned the latch and pulled open the door, immediately wishing he had been in the shower, or asleep, or anywhere but right here, standing at his front door facing his SIO. Roger didn’t even bother to greet him. Instead he pushed past and walked down the hallway and into the lounge.

Lockyer followed and closed the door behind him. He didn’t need any nosy neighbours hearing the dressing-down he was about to get. This wasn’t the first time he had been on the receiving end of Roger’s fury. His SIO could never be described as quiet.

‘Can I get you something to drink, boss?’ he asked, deciding it was probably best to keep it formal.

‘No, thank you. This won’t take long,’ Roger said, not even bothering to look at him.

‘OK,’ he said, debating whether he should sit or remain standing like Roger. He decided at this point it made little difference, so lowered himself into an armchair. Sunshine streamed through his floor-to-ceiling Georgian windows, forcing him to shield his eyes as he mentally braced himself for what was to come.

‘I assume we can skip the preamble about why I’m here?’ Roger said.

‘Yes, sir. I . . .’ Before he had the chance to finish or even start his apology, Roger was shaking his head and pacing back and forth, periodically blocking the sun’s path into Lockyer’s face.

‘Let’s not bullshit each other, Mike, OK? You are no doubt going to tell me that I’ve nothing to be concerned about . . . that you filed all the necessary paperwork and dealt with the evidence in an expedient manner. And of course, that you didn’t tell me because it’s your case and you’re running it, so you decided to take it upon yourself to get the item of jewellery checked out and verified before you bothered someone in my position with it. Am I close?’

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘Yes, boss. Sounds about right.’

‘Good. So now we’ve skipped the shit, you can tell me what the hell you think you’re playing at?’ Roger’s face was puce, his hands balled so tightly into fists that his knuckles were white.

Both men faced each other in the silence until Lockyer finally gave in, sat back in his chair and said, ‘You’d better take a seat, Roger.’ His boss obliged by sitting on the very edge of Lockyer’s new sofa, rearranging his suit trousers as he did so. ‘I found the item of jewellery in an assisted living facility, just outside Lewisham. It’s called Cliffview and . . .’ He stopped when Roger held up his hand.

‘Spare me. We’re way past you giving me a normal rundown . . . I’ve read your report,’ Roger said, putting both hands flat against his thighs. It looked like he was struggling to hold his temper. ‘What I want to know, Mike . . . what I need to know is why I had to find out about this from some exhibits clerk?’

Lockyer didn’t know what to say. The excuses he had been flooding his mind with for the past twenty-four hours were pathetic. He shook his head and stared down at his feet.

‘Is all of this . . .’ Roger waved a hand in the air, his eyebrows high on his forehead, ‘this nonsense because of your brother?’ he asked, incredulity in his voice.

‘I guess so,’ he said, ashamed of the weakness in his voice.

Roger stood up and started pacing the living room again but before he could speak Lockyer decided to get it over with. ‘Look, Roger, I’ve only known him . . . my brother, for the past five years. My parents sent him to live with an aunt when I was four. I only found out he existed when my father died. Bobby’s autistic. I moved him down here, to Cliffview. It’s a nice place. He gets to live a relatively independent life.’ He paused, unsure how to continue. ‘I guess I panicked,’ he said. ‘I found the earring, realized it had belonged to Debbie . . . one of the victims . . . and I panicked. The last thing I wanted was SOCO swarming all over Cliffview, not to mention my brother being treated as a suspect, which he’d have to be. I just couldn’t handle the idea of that, sir.’ He finished speaking and braved a look in Roger’s direction. His boss’s face was no longer puce so he decided to keep going. ‘The killer planted that earring, boss, for me to find. My face has been all over the papers for weeks and Phil said the suspect would be following the media coverage. This guy has obviously decided to fixate on me. He’s playing games with me, trying to implicate my brother. It was him. I know it.’

Roger took a deep breath, stopped pacing and put both of his hands in the air. ‘You seem to have forgotten, Mike, that I have been on the force for thirty-seven years. I am not braindead and I know a plant when I see one,’he said, closing his eyes, the frustration evident on his face. ‘The point is . . . you should have informed me. Instead, I hear about it from some exhibits clerk. It didn’t take Jane long to find out the rest.’ Roger was clenching his jaw. He looked like he was going to burst. ‘If you’re right, which I don’t doubt . . . and Lewisham’s very first serial killer was in your brother’s room, then wouldn’t it seem important that SOCO dusted the house for prints immediately?’

He realized shutting the door to the lounge had been a moot effort. There was no way his neighbours or in fact anyone on his street could have failed to hear Roger’s last sentence. ‘Boss, I have never and would never do anything to jeopardize a case.’ An image of Sarah flashed into his mind. ‘I know I screwed up, Roger, and I’m sorry. SOCO are at the house now. I was literally just changing before heading there myself.’ He could see Roger’s colour returning to some semblance of normal but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. ‘I guess what I’m saying is, I needed some time.’

‘Not a good enough excuse, Mike,’ Roger said, shaking his head and opening the door to the lounge. ‘Now, I have to go. I have a meeting with the chief in an hour. I have to find a way of spinning this so you don’t end up unemployed and I’m not left high and dry without one of my best detectives.’

They walked to the front door in silence. Lockyer pulled it open and shook Roger’s hand. ‘Thank you, Roger. And for what it’s worth, I really am sorry.’

‘This isn’t the first time I’ve saved your arse, Mike, but do me a personal favour and make it the last, OK?’ Roger said, stepping out into the cold, the snow still covering the pavement. ‘You will have to brief your team. I don’t care how you handle it but I don’t want to hear about this again. And . . .’ He looked at Lockyer. ‘Your brother is going to have to provide fingerprints and a DNA sample.’

He could feel his anger bubbling up but swallowed it down. ‘I know. I’ll sort it the second I get over there.’

‘Fine.’ Roger turned and walked away.

Half an hour later Lockyer was standing on Cliffview’s driveway looking at the front garden. It was buried under several deep flurries of snow.

The SOCO guys were already on site, combing through the house and gardens looking for any evidence left by Debbie’s killer. Was the planted earring meant to freak him out, implicate his brother or just mess with the investigation? He walked up to the front door, stepping onto the plastic sheeting the SOCO team had put down. He stared into the hallway, at the white-suited bodies buzzing around, filling his brother’s home with alien sounds and smells. It wasn’t right. He had spent years keeping his job away from Cliffview, away from the people living and working here. They didn’t deserve to be embroiled in the crap he dealt with every day. This was his fault. He had brought the killer here. He let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed his temples before reaching into his pocket for some more painkillers.

As he crossed the hallway to the back stairs leading up to his brother’s room, he thought about Sarah, the way she looked at him. He couldn’t stop seeing it, thinking about it. She had needed him and, more importantly, she had wanted him. Sarah had reawakened a sensitivity he didn’t know he still possessed. But she was a victim. As much as she hated to hear the word and he hated using it, she was. Had he taken advantage? Under the circumstances it would be understandable if she had just wanted someone to comfort her, someone to share her burden. He hoped that wasn’t how she felt.

‘Sir?’

He turned at the top of the stairs to see Jane walking up towards him. When she was standing beside him she finally looked up, meeting his eyes.

‘Why didn’t you tell me, sir?’ she asked.

He realized there was more than anger in her expression. She was upset. Disappointed. He would have done anything at that moment for a time machine or a hole in the ground, anything to get him out of this. This was worse than facing Roger. She stared at him without blinking.

‘How did you find out?’

‘You weren’t in the office yesterday afternoon, so exhibits called, spoke to Roger and he told them to send the full DNA report to me, sir. It didn’t take much to get a list of residents,’ she said, a trace of her own guilt visible in her eyes. ‘I had to tell him.’

He debated his answer before holding up his hands and saying, ‘I’m sorry.’ He found himself staring at his hands like a naughty schoolboy. He had never apologized so much in one day.

Jane dropped her head and sighed. ‘You don’t have to apologize to me, sir. I . . . I just don’t understand why you couldn’t tell
me
, considering what you know about me and Peter.’

It was then that it struck him. Jane wasn’t upset with him for withholding the evidence. She was upset about Bobby, questioning why Lockyer hadn’t trusted her when she had trusted him. He had almost told her so many times, when they were alone in the car, or cooling their heels at a crime scene. ‘I honestly don’t know, Jane,’ was all he said.

She seemed to compose herself at that, standing up straighter, snapping on a pair of gloves. ‘It doesn’t matter, I guess I just thought that we’d . . . never mind. Where have we got to, sir?’

‘Jane, there’s no way my brother is involved, it’s ludicrous and a total waste of time. SOCO have been here since 07.00 . . . there are a million prints, of course, so we’ll need to print the residents to eliminate them, but hopefully we’ll find our suspect in the process.’ He made it sound so straightforward, as if none of this was a bother, just a minor inconvenience. ‘I’ve got to help one of the nurses print my brother now and take a sample for DNA.’ He closed his eyes. He felt ashamed. How could he do this to his own brother? Bobby would never and could never understand all this. A circus had invaded his sanctuary and there was nothing Lockyer could do to stop it. ‘Have you told the team?’ he asked as he started to walk down the corridor.

‘No, sir. I figured you’d tell everyone in today’s briefing,’ she said from behind him. ‘Where do you want me?’

He turned and looked at her. He should thank God that he had her, that she was so loyal. ‘Can you help the SOCOs get fingerprints from the rest of the residents and staff and then start the questioning?’ He still couldn’t believe he was here, doing this. ‘I’ll be along in a minute . . . after I’ve sorted this,’ he said, pointing to his brother’s door. Alice was already inside, waiting for him. His heart felt like it might explode out of his chest as he pulled back the emotion that wanted to come.

‘You’ll do fine, sir,’ she said, touching his arm. ‘I’ll speak to SOCO. We’ll get everyone out of here as soon as possible.’

‘Thank you, Jane.’ He watched her walk away before turning back to his brother’s door and knocking three times.

‘Come in,’ Alice called.

As he pushed open the door he thought he was going to be sick. Fingerprint dust seemed to cover every surface; the air was thick with it. Why hadn’t they cleaned up after themselves? He could feel his blood heating, but then he saw his brother. Bobby was standing by the window, looking out at the garden. There was no sign that the invading guests were distressing him. He was fine, untroubled. Although for how long Lockyer wasn’t sure. The fingerprints, they would be tricky, but it was the cotton swab in Bobby’s mouth that was going to be the real test. In a way it made him feel worse. The SOCOs weren’t bothering Bobby. The dozens of police officers combing through his precious garden wasn’t disturbing him, but what Lockyer was about to do would. The lengths to which he had gone to protect his brother; had they all been in vain?

‘Come on,’ Alice said, giving his arm a gentle nudge. ‘We’ll get it done quickly and quietly . . . he’ll be fine, Mike,’ she said. ‘Trust me.’ He took comfort from her smiling face and stood back as she approached Bobby at the window. ‘Bobby, Mike’s here . . . we’re going to play a game together.’ She took his brother’s hand and led him over to his favourite chair. ‘There you are, you sit here . . . Michael, you sit over there.’

He sat down opposite his brother, leaned forward and picked up the cards. Alice had already spoken to him and run through how they would do it. Fingerprints first, then the cheek swab. The on-site test kit lay open on the table, the paper for the prints next to it. ‘Let’s play,’ he said, dealing out the cards. He watched Bobby’s eyes dart back and forth, following his every move.