‘I think he might mean well, maybe we’re being too harsh on him.’
They drove the rest of the way back to Rydal Falls in silence.
ELEVEN
Any moment now she would come out of the quirky coffee shop where she went for lunch every day at the same time. Natalie White. She always ate the same thing, a tuna mayo jacket potato with salad, large cappuccino and a slice of tray bake for dessert. Each day she went in with a different friend. Monday it was yoga day and she went in with a dark-haired woman, both of them wearing flowy yoga pants, tight vests and with a rolled-up mat underneath their arms. Tuesday it was fell-walking day and she usually arrived with two other women, all wearing walking boots, North Face trousers and gilets. Wednesday, she met her husband who was a good twenty years older than her; he was always late, she was always early, waiting for him with her coffee whilst reading this week’s copy of one of those awful celebrity magazines. Thursday her daughter would arrive, sometimes with a friend in tow, wearing her school uniform, a backpack slung over one arm and a look of either misery or anger etched across her moody face. Friday was by far the most interesting day, because on Fridays her lunch date was a younger man. The person watching wasn’t sure who he was, but they knew that Natalie always dressed up on Fridays, more than any other day. Which led them to question if he was a friend, or maybe a lover, they weren’t too sure because they never managed to get a table close enough to her on a Friday. It was always too busy, and the staff reserved Natalie’s table every day because she must spend a small fortune in there. Natalie and the man never left together, always going their separate ways with a quick peck on the cheek, which really piqued their interest.
Today was a long, leisurely lunch with several coffees involved. The watcher had seen it all from the shop across the road where they worked. They sighed happily; Natalie was still blissfully unaware that her clock was ticking, and her time was running out. Sometimes they wondered whether, if she knew that her glorious, privileged life was drawing to an end, she would live dangerously and try a roast chicken sandwich for a change. They smiled; it was a weird thing, knowing how much power they held after all those years of having none. They’d known since they were a small child that they were different, but hadn’t realised how much so until they’d finally put their plan into action. Some people didn’t deserve to live, it really was as simple as that. Beauty could be bought, but it was only ever skin deep. Look at Natalie, who had a fresh blow dry every week, roots retouched every four weeks and three-monthly Botox injections to keep those wrinkles at bay. She was exquisitely beautiful on the outside, yet when you peeled back all those layers you could see quite plainly that she was like a wizened, bitter and twisted witch from a Grimm’s fairy tale. It was a shame that people were so taken in with the glamorous woman who supported charitable causes with her husband’s wealth. The watcher saw through her though. They got a little kick out of the fact that her teenage daughter seemed to hate her almost as much as they did. Perhaps, when the time came, they would spare the daughter. Perhaps the open contempt she so publicly threw her mother’s way would save her life, they weren’t sure yet. It all depended upon how the plan went, they were open-minded, adaptable to small amendments. The Lawsons’ deaths had gone splendidly, much better than they’d anticipated. And it had inspired them to make the Whites’ deaths even more spectacular.
TWELVE
It was almost teatime when the car arrived back at the station. Ben and Morgan rushed to get changed out of their stuffy, heavy black cotton tunics into something more breathable and cooler, not to mention less restrictive. Her ankle was feeling much better. She’d noticed when she stood up and down for the hymns at the service that it wasn’t hurting her as much and she could bear weight on it much better. As she stripped off her uniform in the ladies, she sat on the toilet lid and tried to wiggle her foot, making small circles with it. It niggled a little but nothing she couldn’t cope with. Standing up she tried walking on it without the boot the hospital had given her and realised, much to her relief, that she could as long as she didn’t put too much weight on it, which meant that she’d also hopefully be able to drive. Pressing the palms of her hands together she closed her eyes and whisperedThank you, God, the universe, whoever is watching.Morgan hadn’t realised how much she’d loved the freedom of being able to drive wherever she wanted until it had been taken away from her. Sitting back down she tugged on her one highly polished Doc Marten boot and put her uniform in a bag to take to the dry cleaners, hoping that she wouldn’t need it again for a very long time.
She walked to the lift with one boot on, the other waiting downstairs for her in the locker where she’d left it in the hope that soon enough she’d be able to wear it again. She still wasn’t going to attempt the stairs, better not push it too much, but it also meant she wouldn’t have to be stuck in the station. She wanted to be out there talking to the Lawsons’ friends and colleagues, and trying to figure out who had hated them enough to kill them all in such a barbaric way.
Ben was back in his office, wearing a shirt and trousers but no suit jacket or tie. Amy had gone for a quick drink at The Black Dog with the officers who hadn’t been on shift, to raise a glass for Des and let her hair down for a bit. Morgan knocked on Ben’s door and he waved her inside.
‘I know you wanted me to view the CCTV, but I need to get out of here for a bit and I can drive now. I could go and speak to Sally’s colleagues and see if they know anything about her home life, if she’d ever mentioned any problems.’ Her fingers were crossed behind her back, desperate for him to say yes and give her some freedom back.
‘What do you mean you can drive now?’
She lifted her Doc Marten clad foot in the air, waving it in his direction. ‘Look, I can bear weight okay without the supportive boot. We can’t afford to waste any time, we could be losing precious leads.’
Ben sighed. ‘Okay, I’m glad your ankle is much better, that’s great. If you want to chase up some of Sally’s colleagues, friends that would be great. I’ll see if any of the PCSOs can view the CCTV for us. I’m waiting for Will or Declan to update me about the post-mortems.’
‘Cool, I’ll go to the salon and see if anyone is around.’
She left him to it, knowing that he had a lot on his mind and that a bit of time alone might be what he needed.
The Hair Bar was on the high street. Morgan squeezed the plain car into a space and crossed the road. There was a woman hovering around outside by the door, by a handwritten note taped to the glass window of the door, ‘Closed Due to Unforeseen Circumstances’. That was one way of putting it.
‘Is anyone in, do you know?’
She shook her head, eyes full of unshed tears, looking sad, and Morgan felt sorry for her.
‘I just came down to check everything was okay. We didn’t think it was appropriate to open up today.’
Morgan looked at the woman standing in front of her. She was early forties, with shoulder-length bobbed platinum hair and a pair of huge hoops dangling from her ears.
‘Can I help you? I’m Jackie Thorpe, I help to run the place when Sally isn’t here.’
‘I’m sorry for your loss, it must have been a terrible shock for you all. Is it okay to have a chat about Sally? I’m Detective Morgan Brookes, I’m on the investigating team.’
Jackie nodded. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t bring my key, my head’s all over the place.’
Morgan smiled. ‘I bet it is, what a terrible shock for you. Should we sit in my car?’ Morgan pointed across the street, and the woman nodded, though she looked a bit unsure.
They crossed the street and got back into her car. Jackie wore a strong perfume that filled the air, making Morgan feel a bit sick. She put the window down slightly not wanting to offend the woman who looked devastated.
‘Before we begin can I get your details? Your full name, date of birth and current address, please, for my records.’
‘Jacqueline Thorpe, the twelfth of April 1982, I live above the shop. I can’t believe it; she was fine yesterday. We were working late last night. I left around five to seven, and Sally was going to lock up and now she’s dead. We don’t even know how or what happened. I’ve been trying to get hold of David all day, but his phone’s turned off, understandably.’
A chill settled across Morgan’s shoulders as she realised that Jackie had no idea about David and Tim.
‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but both David and Tim are dead too.’
The woman sitting opposite her laughed, it was a high-pitched sound, then her hand flew to her mouth, and she whispered, ‘You’re kidding me, right? This is some kind of sick joke, why would you do that, are you even a copper?’
