Fallen Angel
‘What about the boyfriend? He had an alibi, I believe?’ she said, placing her now empty mug back on the table.
‘Yes, and, as the most obvious candidate, one we looked to break. But there was no evidence that he wasn’t exactly what he seemed, completely heartbroken,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Also that scenario would mean that she’d climbed out of the window to meet him without leaving any evidence, which is unlikely at best. There was no other way out of the house.’
‘No other way.’ Gaby frowned, her mind stepping back into the reports she’d read. Obviously, there were still a fair few box files to go through but … ‘What about the front door, or indeed the back?’
‘Not a chance. Their younger daughter, Katherine, suffered from an extreme form of sleepwalking – it’s well documented in one of the files. The house was locked down at night, the keys kept under the mother’s pillow. The only answer is that Angelica unbolted the window from the inside. Therefore, it follows that she must have known her murderer.’ He rested his head against the blue fabric of his chair, his voice whisper soft. ‘Believe me when I say that we examined this from every angle and came up with nothing. If it wasn’t for her wearing that nightdress, we’d have been happy to pass it off as one of those things but …’
Gaby pulled out her notebook and, flicking through the pages, quickly found what she wanted. ‘A long-sleeved, Victorian, pin-tucked nightdress? It did strike me as odd at the time.’
‘Indeed.’ He sent her a long glance before delivering his punchline. ‘Her mother insisted during interview that Angelica only ever wore pyjamas to bed and that she’d never seen the garment before in her life. And …’ He paused, taking a deep swallow. ‘Before you ask, yes, we did do a thorough search. But we quickly realised that the nightdress was handmade. We didn’t have a chance.’
Gaby felt a tension headache start to build. Headaches weren’t her thing, unless they were self-inflicted and, apart from the odd glass of wine with her evening meal, she rarely drank anymore. Since coming out of hospital she hadn’t touched a drop. She blinked down at her pad, trying to work out what else to ask, her mind weaving back through the key points, even as she silently cursed Owen to hell and back for plonking this onto her lap. The problem was that he knew her too well. As soon as she got excited about a case, she wouldn’t let it rest until she’d exhausted every lead. But what would she be able to do when there were no leads? Operation Angel wasn’t so much cold as absolutely polar.
‘So we have an eighteen-year-old girl climbing out of a window to meet person or persons unknown, only to lie down in a ball and die of natural causes in borrowed nightwear. I don’t get it!’
‘Join the club. Like I said, if it wasn’t for the nightwear side of things, we’d have passed it off as death by misadventure.’ He threw his hands up in the air, letting them fall down on his thighs with a dull slap. ‘It’s as if the killer wanted us to know what he’d done.’
Gaby’s eyes narrowed. ‘What – like a serial killer?’
‘Apart from there being no other murders either before or since carried out with anything like the same pattern. Believe me when I say that up until my illness, I continued to carry out a search where cause of death was unclear. There’s been plenty of those but none where the medical examiner couldn’t eventually come up with a reasonable explanation, and none of the women found were wearing someone else’s nightie.’
‘That’s useful, thanks.’
She’d have to leave soon. She could see it in the way Stewart’s shoulders had sunk further into his chest and in the shadows bruising his skin.
‘I’ll pop these into the kitchen and say hi to Sheila before I head off.’ She collected the mugs, her mind still running over the case. ‘I don’t know what Bates is trying to do. There’s no way I can bring anything more to the table apart from modern science but there’s no DNA to throw at it.’
She watched him jerk forward, suddenly wide awake when seconds before she’d thought he was dropping off to sleep.
‘I can’t believe that he wouldn’t have told you.’
‘Told me what?’
‘About Katherine, the sister. It’s his wife, Gaby. It’s Kate.’
Chapter 4
Gaby
Thursday 16 July, 7.15 p.m. St Asaph
‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me, Owen? I felt like a right wally,’ Gaby said, as soon as the door had closed behind Kate’s back.
She’d gone straight from Stewart’s house to Owen’s end-of-terrace situated around the corner from St Asaph’s Town Hall. The neat two-bedroomed property might not have either the sea views or the gardens of her cottage but Kate’s flair for design had turned it into a cosy retreat, perfect to come home to. It was little Pip’s bedtime when she’d arrived, so she’d had to wait until Owen had gone to tuck him up for the night before coming out with the reason for her visit.
‘Sorry about that but I wanted you to make the decision based on the worthiness of the case and not because of Kate,’ he replied, sitting down in the chair opposite and stroking his beard, a clear sign that he was anxious or worried – quite possibly both.
‘The one thing I don’t understand,’ Gaby continued, as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘is why you’ve never said a word. Not a peep in all the time we’ve been working together. For your wife’s sister to be murdered is quite a big thing, or isn’t it that important?’ She watched him open his mouth, only to snap it closed when he caught her look. ‘No, don’t speak. I don’t think I could bear to hear an explanation now. It’s all a bit too late.’
Gaby felt her anger build. As a child she’d had an explosive temper, which she’d learnt to manage. Now the pot was boiling to overflowing, pushing the lid aside and releasing a lava of emotion – she didn’t know why. Owen wasn’t just a colleague. He was a friend and, next to Amy, probably her best friend but that didn’t mean that they lived in each other’s pockets. She rarely saw him if it wasn’t to do with a case and, while she’d met Kate a few times, she couldn’t say she knew her that well. They were entitled to their secrets in the same way she was. So why did she feel as if he’d let her down?
Her attention shifted to the coffee table and the bowl full of assorted pebbles, all topped off with three featured stones emblazoned with the words love, hope and finally trust. The bowl was typical of Kate’s sense of style, the beach theme running throughout the open-plan ground floor with its grey oak laminate flooring. The white walls were plain except for the large black-and-white photos of Pip, carefully displayed in driftwood frames. She frowned, her gaze shifting back to one stone in particular. She remembered Kate telling her the story of the pebbles the first time she’d visited on some work-related matter that had necessitated her dropping off some files. In the same way people collected champagne corks, Owen and Kate collected stones. Every time they went to the beach, they chose one to add to the bowl and, after a relationship that spanned over twenty years, they had many such bowls dotted along the windowsills.
She stood and, reaching for her keys, turned to face him. ‘I’m not sure if I’m the right person to look into Angelica’s disappearance. There needs to be complete trust between colleagues and the way I’m feeling—’
‘It’s not Owen’s fault. It’s mine.’
Gaby twisted her head to the door, colour staining her cheeks. The last thing she wanted was to upset Owen’s wife, not least because she was eight months pregnant. Her eyes dropped to Kate’s belly, straining against the pretty, pink, floral top. Where seconds before there was anger, now there was guilt – lots and lots of gut-curdling guilt.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …’
‘I’m sure you didn’t,’ Kate said, her tone taking the sting from her words. Turning to Owen, she added, ‘Why not pop the kettle on, love, while Gaby and I have a little chat?’
Owen had jumped to his feet as soon as Kate had appeared. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?’
‘There’s no need. Why don’t you nip up and check on Pip while you’re at it? We’ll be fine.’
As soon as Owen had pulled the door closed behind him, Kate walked to a hard-backed chair close to the fireplace, placing a hand on her lower back before sitting down.
‘I wouldn’t wish my body on anyone currently, including my worst enemy,’ she said, frowning down at her swollen feet that she’d stretched out in front of her.
‘I hope I don’t fall into that category?’
‘As if! If Owen is to be believed, there lies the heart of a pussycat under that front you put up.’
Gaby offered her a cautious smile, well aware that most of the team thought her a tough cookie and long might it continue. Having to suffer fools wasn’t in her repertoire, and one way of ensuring the very best from the team was to keep them guessing as to what she was thinking. Only with Owen and Amy had she felt comfortable in revealing her soft centre – a decision she hoped she wasn’t about to regret.
‘All lies.’ She returned her keys back to the coffee table, her attention now on Kate’s white-blonde hair. She wondered why she hadn’t spotted the similarities between the two women, but then again she’d had no reason to suspect that Owen would have withheld such an important part of his life. ‘I know this must be difficult for you—’
‘Not as difficult as not knowing what happened that night. You don’t have children yet, Gaby. When you do, you’ll suddenly realise how precious they are. Oh, Pip can be the most maddening brat imaginable. He’s mastered the skill of knowing when and how to be at his most annoying. But we wouldn’t harm a hair on his head – he’s part of us. Some piece of magic that’s a reaffirmation of our life together. If something was to happen to him, I don’t know what we’d do.’ She placed her hand flat on her stomach, her jaw hardening. ‘Angelica’s death broke my parents in every way possible. They were never the same. It was as if someone took a shredder to their happiness. My dad couldn’t take it in the end. He walked out leaving my mum to try and hold the fragments together – there isn’t a glue invented that can mend a broken heart. The day Angelica disappeared was the day sadness invaded Mum’s body and mind, leaving no room for any other emotion. She didn’t even shed a tear when my dad died. The only time I ever see her happy is when she’s with Pip, and then it’s only fleeting.’
Gaby leant forward, her elbows resting on her knees. ‘But finding out what happened to your sister won’t change how she feels. In fact, dragging up the past might even make it worse.’
‘Please believe me when I say that nothing could make it worse. We lost a lot more than my sister all those years ago,’ she said, lifting her chin, her expression glacial. ‘Now it’s time to claw some of that back. Most people talk about the need for closure when something like this happens but that’s not what I want. I’m not hoping for an ending here but a beginning – a beginning for Owen, Pip, my mother, the baby and me. My husband has faith in you, Gaby. He says that you’re the very best of detectives. If anyone can help us it’s you.’
The sound of Owen’s heavy tread outside had her dragging her hand across her face and pasting a smile on her lips. ‘He doesn’t like seeing me upset. So, it’s only a few days until Amy and Tim’s party,’ she said, neatly changing the subject. ‘I was amazed when I heard that they were getting engaged so soon.’
Taking her cue, Gaby sat back in her chair and crossed her legs, watching Owen enter with a handful of mugs.
‘I have to say so were we,’ she said, noting Owen’s look of concern. Dropping her gaze, her attention focused again on the bowl of pebbles and that one pebble in particular – any last trace of annoyance disappearing under the heavy weight of remorse. She knew more than most the devastation the loss of a child could bring to a family and for Kate to trust her with trying to find out the truth was something she should have considered. ‘I don’t know how Amy has managed to arrange it all so quickly. I only heard a few days ago that he’d popped the question.’
‘I’m only pleased he did,’ Kate said, patting her bump. ‘Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have been able to attend. At least no one will miss me in the photos – it’s not often you get to see a whale at a party.’ She put her hand up, pushing the heavy weight of her hair away from her forehead. ‘Owen has it easy. All he has to do is pop on a pair of clean jeans and one of his trendier shirts.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ Gaby moaned. ‘Amy’s insisting on me wearing a dress to the dance. There isn’t even time to diet.’
‘There’s a lot worse things than worrying about your weight.’ Kate glanced at her. ‘Have you decided yet whether you’ll reopen the case?’
‘It’s never been closed, Kate. Serious crimes just get shifted down the pile as newer cases get dumped on top. As long as you realise the damage that opening old wounds can cause?’
‘There’s only so much healing that can occur without knowing what happened. All I ask is that you go easy on Mum. She’s lost far more than you can ever imagine.’
Chapter 5
Gaby
Friday 17 July, 9 a.m. St Asaph Police Station
‘Right then, ladies. The enforced holiday’s well and truly over.’
Gaby threw a thick file down on the table, trying to hide a grin at the state of her team. Jax Williams was still knotting his tie while Malachy Devine’s tie hadn’t even got that far. It was draped around his neck, the red and pink stripes complementing the bleary look he was rocking this morning. She scrolled down to his freshly shaved cheeks before turning to Owen, who looked, for once, every day of his thirty-seven years. While he’d brought it upon himself with his eagerness to bring Angelica’s murder to her attention, she could still spare some sympathy for what he must be going through right now. He’d never said anything outright, but Gaby had long suspected that his wife wasn’t happy with the long hours he put in. Reopening her sister’s case would only increase that pressure. Whether she would have acted the same way as Owen had, if their positions had been reversed, was a difficult question and one she wasn’t prepared to dwell on. Being a matter-of-fact sort of person, she always relegated such introspections to the same drawer as crystal balls. But a part of her, quite a large part, knew that she’d never have given up until she’d found out what had happened.
Moving on, she pulled a frown at the empty chair beside him. It was unusual for Marie Morgan to be late for anything and she hadn’t mentioned a word about an appointment yesterday. She was probably held up by something unavoidable. But, even so, Gaby made a mental note to have a chat with her later. It didn’t matter that Gaby was still only acting DI. Her job was important. The most important thing. It was the rest of her life that was falling around her ears, along with her cottage. She grimaced at the thought of the house she’d bought within weeks of joining the North Wales MIT. While the fabric of the building was sound, the Seventies-style décor and antiquated plumbing was something she was learning to live with. She certainly didn’t have the money to do much about it.
She shook her head and the image disappeared, her fingers now reaching for the file. Work was the one part that she was succeeding in. Having staff she could trust in the pressure-filled field of crime fighting was essential to that success. Her colleagues mattered even if it meant she’d probably have to fit in a one-to-one with Marie around the other one hundred things she’d already planned for her day. With a sigh, she opened the cardboard wallet and pulled out the first item – a post-mortem shot. It was the next photo that she couldn’t bear to focus on, the one where Angelica was still alive and about to embark on the rest of her life.
Her words came easily but she still took a moment to send a compassionate smile in Owen’s direction before sharing them.
‘As you’re all aware, the place has been quieter than a morgue since my return, so Bates and I felt that we should liven it up a bit.’
She watched in amusement at the sight of Malachy rolling his eyes in the direction of Jax and paused a moment for some pithy response. But, for once, they both remained silent. Managing the two of them was a little like overseeing a kindergarten. They both had a lot to learn, something made more difficult by their failing to realise how much. Of the two, Malachy was by far the cockier. He pushed the boundaries of their relationship most days and it was only by counting to ten that she managed to rein in her temper. She just hoped that when the time came for him to crawl up the ladder, he’d have an arrogant so-and-so slouching against the bottom rung ready to trip him up.
‘I know having a bit of a breather to catch up on paperwork is great but only up to a point and sitting on my bum isn’t how I want to spend my day.’ She placed a photo on each of their desks. ‘I don’t know whether either of you have heard of Operation Angel but, while we have time on our hands, I’d like us to see what we can turn up.’
Returning to the table, she picked up the next photo along with a single sheet of paper. ‘I’ve put together the main points of the investigation. But, in short, twenty-five years ago, Angelica, aged eighteen, disappeared from her first-floor bedroom, via the window, only later to be found halfway up the Great Orme. We have no method of murder and no motive but she ended up dead all the same. This wasn’t a rape gone wrong. There was no sign of sexual intercourse having taken place and, with her hymen still intact, Miss Brock was a virgin. The crux is the white nightdress she was wearing,’ she added, picking up the post-mortem photo and holding it up. ‘Where did it come from? Not as easy as it looks, lads, because the original team quickly discovered that it’s handmade.’ She glanced across at Jax, her lips twitching. ‘Being the nice boss that I am, I’m going to leave the nightie trek to Marie. Instead I’d like you to go through the files with a fine-toothed comb and see what gives – a nice little desk job for you this time, Jax, instead of all that dog walking in the last investigation.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She flicked her head towards Malachy. ‘I’d like you to track down the boyfriend, Mal. A Leo Hazeldine. He shouldn’t be that difficult to trace. I hear he had a bulletproof alibi. He’s obviously still going to be in the frame so see what you can do.’ She checked her watch. ‘We’ll meet back here at four to discuss what’s next.’
A noise from the back of the room had her lifting her head. But her smile of welcome froze at the sight of Marie Morgan’s tentative approach.
Marie was one of the most confident women she knew. Tall and with sweeping blonde locks, she’d look equally good walking down a catwalk as she would in an old sack and Gaby wasn’t the only person to ask what had attracted her to a career in law enforcement. But the woman slipping behind her desk wasn’t the Marie Morgan she knew. Instead of hair draping her shoulders, she’d pulled it back into a greasy ponytail, the style emphasising the thin slash of her cheekbones. Gaby was used to seeing her with a light dusting of make-up, nothing heavy but enough to make her eyes seem bluer and her lips brighter. Today she’d left her skin bare, which only accentuated the tiny lines radiating from her lips. The clothes were the same; the suit was one Gaby had seen her wear many times but today it appeared different, crumpled – almost as if she’d slept in it. There was something wrong with Marie – something very wrong – and the plans she’d made for her day suddenly disappeared as a more important concern pushed them down today’s to-do list.
‘Good to see you, Marie. I’ll fill you in on our next case in a moment.’
Turning her back, she deliberately focused on Owen, conscious that all three men had equal looks of concern stamped across their faces, something that shouldn’t have surprised her but did. It also pleased her, not that they’d have noticed from the set of her mouth.
‘The only bit left in our search and find operation, Owen, is the autopsy results. I’ve tracked down the pathologist, a Dr Herbert Tomlinson, but he passed away last year. So, I’d like you to catch up with Dr Mulholland ASAP and ask him to review the case notes.’
Owen’s expression switched from serious to cheeky in an instant. ‘I’m not sure I’m the right person for the job, if you don’t mind me saying … ma’am. I’m sure Dr Mulholland would much prefer to discuss it with you rather than me.’
Gaby should have been expecting that, and her anger flared at the oversight. She’d been waiting for him to mention Rusty Mulholland for days now, ever since the large bunch of flowers that had been left for her on her return to work following her six weeks’ enforced sick leave.
‘I’ll be happy to ram that “ma’am” down your neck, if you’re not careful,’ she said, her hands now entrenched on her hips.
But Owen, who was used to her mercurial moods, simply shrugged his shoulders before strolling to the door with his hands in his pockets as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Pausing, he tilted his head towards Malachy and Jax. ‘Come on, you two, let’s grab a coffee and leave the girlies to their chit-chat.’
Gaby watched them go, well aware that Owen was doing her a favour in emptying the room and yet still livid at the way he’d undermined her with that dig about Dr Mulholland. Okay, so Rusty wasn’t a problem that appeared to be going away anytime soon, the only saving grace being the lack of cases requiring the skills of North Wales’ top forensic pathologist. She’d bump into him one of these days and she still had no idea as to how she was going to play it, her mind skipping across to Amy and her engagement party later. For her to invite him was bad enough but to then proceed to tell her that the only reason that she had was to bang both their heads together was both unwarranted and devious. She hoped that she’d be able to use her recent injury as a good enough excuse for sloping off early.
Settling back in her chair, she rested both elbows on the desk, mindful that Marie was doing a fair job at avoiding her gaze.
‘Sorry I’m late. The traffic was terrible.’
If Marie had told the truth, whatever that might have been, Gaby would have been happy to let it go with a silent promise to keep a closer eye on how she was doing. But to lie so blatantly had her sitting up and concentrating on what she’d thought was going to be a pretty routine conversation.
One of the first things she’d done on accepting the temporary post of acting DI was to go through her team’s staff files. For instance, she knew that Jax Williams still lived with his parents although the gossip around the office was that he was hoping to move in with his new girlfriend. Malachy was more of a mystery. He lived by himself and, certainly at work, kept to himself. If she’d had to guess at a member of her team telling her porkies, she’d have guessed at it being him.
Marie was different again. Newly separated, she’d only moved out of the marital home a few weeks ago and was now living in a room in Glascoed Road, only a ten-minute walk from the station. Amy, the font of all things gossipy, had told her that Marie’s husband had moved some bimbo into the house and, as he’d owned it previously, she didn’t have a leg to stand on. Rumour had it that she was finding it difficult to manage on her income and was trying to cut every corner imaginable, which included selling her car.
‘Indeed, especially Rhos-on-Sea way,’ Gaby said, the implication that she’d still managed to get to the station on time clearly hitting the mark by the colour flooding across Marie’s cheeks. ‘You look a little flustered, if you don’t mind me saying. Everything okay with the job? None of the men annoying you?’
‘As if. Owen is a pussycat as is Jax. While Mal … well, he’s fine too. A little different but certainly not a threat.’
Gaby raised her brows at her unusual choice of words. If Mal wasn’t a threat did that mean someone else was?