‘But then again,’ Sean continues, ‘telling the feds did nothing for me last time, did it?’ He starts pacing the small room but doesn’t break eye contact with me. ‘Especially after Amber’s stupid sister went rogue.’ He clicks his tongue. ‘And Amber was repaying that debt too, by fucking with his daughter.’
My daughter. My kind, innocent Lucy.
‘And then the little bitch screwed me!’ He lifts the knife again, his hand shaking.
‘So you killed her,’ I hiss, not caring about the danger. ‘Not Matt. Or Lucy. Or Milla!’ I twist around on the bed. It won’t help me, but I need to expel some energy. ‘It was you!’
He lunges forward. His free hand lands on my mouth, pushes hard. He’s half lying on me now, his breath acrid, his forehead dripping in sweat. My chest sinks under his weight. He pushes the knife against my neck; I feel a sharp sting as the tip digs into my flesh. But I won’t show him I’m scared.
‘You wish it was me,’ he hisses. ‘Because you can’t stand to admit the truth. That your old man killed her.’
‘He didn’t.’ I close my eyes, but Matt’s image appears behind my eyelids. His disapproving stare. The quiet anger that can radiate off him if he feels out of control. I’ve always envied his self-discipline. But a deep, buried part of me has wondered what would happen if he ever snapped.
My dad will kill you.
‘I’ve seen it for myself, don’t forget,’ Sean goes on. ‘Him losing his shit. I bet he did Amber. And then gave Jess the same treatment. You might think you’re some kind, caring social worker, but you’re still married to a murderer.’
AFTER
Monday 13th May
DI Simon Finnemore
Jodie Bzowski got highly commended on the advanced driving course, so there’s never a discussion when they travel together. Simon opens the passenger door, sinks into the seat, and thinks about the conversation they’ve just had with Matthew Rose. His explanation about why he was out on the night Amber Walsh died stacks up in part – picking his daughter up from a party. But it doesn’t explain why his car was seen idling in the railway station car park over an hour before.
And there is also the Jessica Scott connection. Rose shouldn’t know that she was the key witness in his case – her identity was supposed to be protected – but these things have a way of getting out. And the guy acted very cagily when he asked about her. If Rose had suspected that the sisters were bullying his youngest daughter to get to him, especially with the way it escalated last Friday, that might cause him to lose his temper with one – or both – of them. But would he really follow Amber into the woods in the middle of the night? And how would he know she was there? Plus, his DNA is on NDNAD from his previous arrest, and there are no forensics linking him to the crime scene. Not yet at least – they still haven’t had the results of that partial blood sample.
Then there’s Lucy Rose to consider too. There is plenty of CCTV evidence that disproves her account, and she had a well-documented reason to hate the girl. But murder? He thinks about his own daughters, similar in age to the Roses, their attention wholly taken up by TikTok and American TV shows. He just can’t make the mental leap to treat Lucy as a suspect, but is that profiling gone wrong? He drums his fingers against the hard plastic of the seatbelt buckle. He needs to be more objective. Use the hard graft of proper policework to shape his opinions. He’ll get one of the team to look at Lucy Rose’s digital footprint.
Simon pulls out his phone to call the incident room, but before he gets a chance to dial, it buzzes in his hand. ‘Finnemore.’
‘Raj here, sir. Glad I caught you; there’s been a bit of a development.’
Simon leans forward in his seat, ignores the quizzical eyebrow raise Jodie gives him. ‘Oh?’
‘Caden Carter’s been assaulted. Not far from his house. It sounds like someone jumped him when he left for work this morning. Area team have given it to us for obvious reasons.’
Simon narrows his eyes. This was supposed to be a shocking and sad, but also clear-cut, murder investigation – a drugs-related killing and a dispiriting social care statistic – but now the sister of the victim is missing, and Raj is telling him that the prime suspect has been attacked. It’s getting harder to piece together by the minute. ‘How badly is he injured?’ Simon asks.
‘Broken nose. Two broken ribs. Hairline fracture in his jaw, sir. Otherwise just cuts and bruises. He’ll live of course, but he took quite a beating.’
‘Is he talking?’
‘There are two uniforms at Stoke Mandeville hospital with him at the moment,’ Raj explains. ‘And if you mean can he enunciate his words, then apparently no, not brilliantly. They reckon he sounds like a cross between an elephant and a pisshead. But if you mean talking in the sense of honour among thieves’ discretion, we don’t know yet. Uniforms know of his involvement in our murder case, so they’re leaving it well alone.’
‘Fair enough,’ Simon murmurs. ‘We’ll head over there now. ETA twenty minutes. Can you let the hospital know?’
‘Yeah, will do. Oh, and we’ve got some CCTV,’ Raj goes on.
‘Already?’ Simon is impressed.
‘Well, the idiot who attacked him started the assault on a residential road. He dragged Caden down the alleyway pretty quickly, but not before a couple of video doorbells picked him up.’
‘And can you identify the assailant?’
‘Nothing yet, sir. But the digital guys are blowing up some images. Hopefully we’ll get something soon.’
‘It sounds like this crime might be one we’ll actually solve,’ Simon murmurs, before ending the call.
‘How are you feeling, Caden?’ Jodie asks as they walk up to his hospital bed. There’s no sign of sympathy in her voice, even though his face is a mess. The nurse explained when they first arrived that his jaw doesn’t require surgery, but it’s heavily swollen and he’ll need to be on a liquid diet for the next few weeks. His nose is split at the bridge, and there are bruises forming around both his eyes.
He shrugs and makes a sound somewhere between a grunt and a moan.
Simon pulls up a chair – its metal legs screeching as he drags it across the floor – and lowers into it. ‘Do you know who did this to you, Caden?’
‘Yeah,’ Caden mumbles, his voice thick with soft tissue damage. ‘Fucking nutter.’
‘I need a bit more detail than that.’
‘He’s called Sean,’ Caden lisps. ‘Dunno his last name.’
‘Any idea why this Sean assaulted you?’ Jodie asks.
‘Same reason he killed Amber I guess,’ Caden murmurs. His words are quiet, but his eyes show that he’s aware of the bombshell he’s just dropped.
‘What did you say?’ Jodie asks, her voice rising.
‘He was ranting,’ Caden says. ‘As he did me. Saying he saw me up there. Passed me on his way to teach Amber a lesson about trust, he said. I know I didn’t kill her, so it must have been him.’
