DEAD GONE

Murphy looked around and spotted the man she was referring to, talking to some uniforms. An older guy, probably in his mid-sixties, his dog sitting next to him, silent on his lead.

‘He have anything to say?’ Murphy said.

‘Not much, dog ran off into the trees, he went looking for it and found the girl.’

‘Is nobhead here?’

Rossi looked confused. ‘Who’s a nobhead?’

Murphy smiled, still finding it amusing that the Scouse accent didn’t match the Mediterranean looks. ‘Brannon. Is he around?’

Rossi attempted to hold back a laugh behind a hand. Murphy noticed her fingernails, bitten down rather than manicured. ‘Yeah, he’s off on the hunt for clues. His words, not mine.’

‘Good.’ Murphy replied. ‘Fat bastard could do with some exercise. SOCOs here yet?’

‘About twenty minutes before you.’

‘Any other witnesses?’

‘Not at the moment.’

‘Okay. You looked at the body yet?’

Rossi shook her head.

‘Well then. Let’s not keep her waiting.’

Murphy snapped on his gloves, extra-large, and began walking towards the scene. He could see the Palm House, a large dome building which was the centrepiece of the park, in the distance, past the trees. The great glass windows gave it the appearance of a huge greenhouse looked dull and lifeless in the muggy morning light.

Murphy and Rossi entered the tent that was being erected around the body. The treeline was thicker there, the ground, still not completely unfrozen from the harsh winter, crunching underneath his feet.

The click and whirr of photographs being taken was the only soundtrack to the scene. Murphy let his eyes be drawn to the girl. Early twenties he figured. Plain looking, dressed conservatively in black trousers and a red v-necked jumper. One earring, which meant either one was missing or was now a souvenir.

His money, as always, was on the latter. Always to the morbid thought first. To be fair, he was usually right.

Murphy side-stepped around the edge, carefully avoiding anything that looked important, and stood at the foot of the body, taking it in. She had the distinctive pallor of the dead; pale, the colour drained out of her as the blood stopped flowing. The clothes looked new, unworn, the creases on the jumper looking like they were from packaging, rather than wear.

She was spread-eagled, arms outstretched in a V, her legs doing the same. Carefully placed in the position. It looked unnatural, posed, which was probably the intention, Murphy thought. Her face was what drew his gaze. Half-lidded eyes, staring right through him. Blue, glazed, the last image they’d captured that of whoever had left her here. Her mouth was slightly parted, the top row of teeth on show in a final grimace. Ugly, red marks over her bare neck.

Dr Stuart Houghton, Stu to his friends, was crouched next to the girl. He’d been the lead pathologist in the city for as long as Murphy had been working. His grey hair was thinning, his posture stooped, as he stood up from his haunches. His short, squat stature only enhanced by the ever-growing paunch he was cultivating around his middle. He turned to look at Murphy.

‘Dr Houghton, what have we got?’

‘Took your time, Dave.’

Murphy shot his hands to his mouth. ‘Calling me Dave when you know I don’t like it? You never fail to shock. And it was only because I knew you’d be here already. What can you tell me?’

‘Are you running this one?’ Houghton said.

Murphy gazed at the pathologist and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I just do as I’m told.’

Houghton pursed his lips at him. ‘Well then, can’t tell you much at the moment,’ he said, gesturing towards the young woman. ‘This is how she was found, her arms and legs outstretched like she’s doing a star jump, only lying down. There’s no evidence around the body as far as we can tell so far, and she’s been dead around twelve hours. No ID, handbag, purse, nothing. Other than that you’ll have to wait for the post-mortem. We’re moving her out now.’

‘Why suspicious then?’ Murphy asked, knowing the answer but wanting to piss off the doc a little more.

Houghton muttered something under his breath before continuing. ‘As you can no doubt already see, there’s bruises around her neck which indicate asphyxiation. First paramedic on the scene noticed them, and, in my opinion correctly, assumed it was better to call in the big boys.’

Murphy looked closer at the girl. Large bruises under her chin, turning darker as time passed. A large birthmark, or mole, the colour of strong coffee on the lower left side of her neck.

‘Did she die here?’

‘Not certain yet, but I’m almost positive she didn’t. No signs of struggle around the area. The grass is flattened only in the immediate vicinity of the body.’

‘Any other distinguishing features aside from the mole, I need to know about straight away. And let us know when the post-mortem is.’

Houghton nodded, and went back to work.

Murphy left the tent, Rossi trailing behind him. ‘We’ll take a statement from the witness and then we should try and find out who she is.’

Rossi nodded and set off towards the witness. Murphy began the process of removing his gloves and looking around the area, seeing a few familiar faces from older crime scenes about the place. He nodded and exchanged greetings with some of them.

No one stopped to talk to him.

He wasn’t surprised. He gave one last look at the finished tent, the uniforms walking around the area, looking under the bushes and scouring the ground.

Back to it.

2

Sunday 27th January 2013 – Day One

‘This is Eddie Bishop,’ Rossi said as she led the dog walker towards Murphy. He was a grey-haired man with a stooped posture, a little Jack Russell padding alongside him. Yellow, stained teeth grimaced back at Murphy, the man’s wrinkled hands gripping the lead tighter, as he kept the dog close by.

‘Just a couple of questions, Mr Bishop.’

‘Eddie is fine.’

‘Okay, Eddie,’ Murphy replied, noting the softness of the infamous Scouse accent. Softness which you only really heard from the older inhabitants of the city nowadays. ‘Do you walk this way often?’ he continued.

‘Twice a day, first thing in the morning, again in the evening.’

Murphy watched as Rossi wrote down the conversation in her notepad. ‘And the dog found the victim.’

Eddie’s face grew serious as he explained how he’d found the dog standing over the young woman. ‘Terrible shame. Will take me a long time to get over this, I’ll tell you that for nothing.’

‘And you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary this morning. Anything at all?’ Murphy asked.

Eddie shook his head. ‘Same as always, just me and Floyd.’ he replied, gesturing at the dog.

Murphy finished up with Eddie, explaining the need for a formal statement and promising to keep him informed, knowing that would be highly unlikely.

‘Anything else?’ Murphy asked Rossi, as she finished writing the conversation down in her notepad.

‘There’s someone who keeps telling uniforms at the gate that he heard something. Might be an idea to check that out.’

‘Okay. We’ll do that now.’

Murphy stopped to take in the place. The park was big enough to get lost in, vast areas of green and small wooded areas surrounding it.

‘In the dark, you could become invisible in a place like this,’ Murphy said to Rossi as they neared the gates.

‘True. Perfect places for this type of thing. In and out, probably without being seen in the early hours,’ Rossi replied, stepping underneath the crime scene tape. ‘I’ll be coming to interview this witness with you, yeah? I mean, I guess I’m getting to partner up with you on this one?’

Murphy paused. ‘Let me see. We’ve worked together on and off for about two years, right?’

Rossi nodded her head up and down slowly.

‘Ever known me to choose to work with Brannon?’

She smiled and mocked a salute. ‘I’ll just go and get a new notepad from the car.’

Murphy watched as she walked towards her car parked over the road, her posture straight and assured. The trouser suit looked new.

‘Sir. Sir!’

Murphy stopped and turned. Sighed for effect. ‘What do you want, Brannon?’

DS Brannon stopped jogging and bent down with his hands on his knees, panting. ‘I … sorry …’ He brought himself up again. ‘I just wondered if there was anything I can do?’

‘Haven’t you already got something to do?’

‘I just thought you might have something more interesting. I’m being wasted walking around looking through the mud.’

‘Rossi is with me on this one, Brannon. Maybe next time. For now, I want witness statements from everyone who lives in these houses which face the park entrance. Start organising it.’

‘But …’

Murphy smiled inwardly and turned back towards the road outside the park. Brannon wasn’t all that bad really. He was annoying rather than incompetent. He wasn’t even all that fat, but first impressions stick.

The uniforms were already being harassed by local residents eager to discover what was occurring near their homes. Murphy pushed through, ignoring the questions being directed towards him from a wild-haired older man, adorned only in a dressing gown and slippers.

Murphy took the uniformed constable who’d been trying to placate the man to one side. ‘Which one says he heard something?’

‘The loud-mouthed one.’

Typical, Murphy thought. ‘Okay, where does he live?’ The constable pointed to his house, which was exactly opposite the entrance. ‘Take him back in. We’ll be there in a minute.’

The first thought that struck Murphy as they approached the house, was that it seemed a little big for just one man.

As he entered, the second thought was that it wasn’t big enough for one man and the amount of stuff he seemed to own.

Newspapers were stacked up along the hallway in bundles, at least four feet in height, held together with what looked like old twine. A staircase with no carpet ran up the other side was similarly stacked with paper, but magazines instead of newspapers. As Murphy walked towards the first door which led off the hallway, he became aware of a sour milk smell assailing his nostrils, making him thankful for the lack of breakfast that morning. Rossi was a few steps behind him. Murphy turned to see if it had reached her yet. From the look on her face, he knew it had.

‘In and out?’

‘Definitely, or I’m going now,’ Rossi replied, covering her mouth with her hand.

They turned into a large living room, Rossi almost bumping into Murphy as he stopped in his tracks.

‘Jesus.’

The room was full. The only visible space to stand was that in which Murphy was occupying. Small portable televisions teetered precariously on top of microwaves with missing doors. Stacks of crockery were piled onto an old mantelpiece, a door missing its glass leaning against it.

It was the world’s biggest game of Jenga, only using household goods instead of wooden bricks.

‘Who’s there?’

The voice seemed to come from within the mass of what Murphy could only think of as every item a person could acquire in their life, without ever throwing anything away.

‘Hello? I’m Detective Inspector Murphy, this is Detective Sergeant Rossi.’ Murphy turned to introduce Rossi, but there was an empty space behind him.

Great.

‘I have a lot of work to do. Are you going to get on with it?’

Murphy ducked a little, trying to find the source of the voice. He saw a flash of brown through a small gap in the structure. ‘Can you tell me your name?’

A loud sigh. ‘Arthur Reeves.’

‘Right. And you live here alone?’

‘Do you see anyone else here?’

‘I can’t even see you, Mr Reeves.’

A small chuckle. ‘I guess that’s right. Let’s cut to the chase. I heard a car last night. It kept going up and down the road, disturbed my sleep. I got up out of bed and looked out the window. I couldn’t see very well, there’s not many streetlights up this way. It stopped at the entrance to the park. I assumed they’d been trying to find a parking space. Then it drove on again, right into the park.’

Murphy stood back up. ‘Did you notice anything about the car? Colour, model, reg plate?’

‘Not really. It was dark, as I said. Could have been dark blue, or dark red. Looked like a normal car. Or a van. A small van.’

‘Okay. And what time was this?’

‘About four a.m. I think. Maybe five or three, or in between. I thought it might be important, considering.’

Not exactly the early break Murphy had been looking for. ‘Anything else?’

‘Sorry. I went back to bed. It wasn’t until I saw all the police cars turn up that I even gave it a second thought.’

‘Well, thank you, Mr Reeves,’ Murphy said, patting his thigh, ‘that’s a great help.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Yeah. An officer will come and take a formal statement soon. But for now, you can get back to work.’

Murphy turned out of the room, coming face to face with Rossi. ‘There you are.’

‘Found the smell,’ Rossi whispered. ‘In the kitchen. There’s about two thousand empty milk bottles in there. Estimating of course. Think he got bored of rinsing them out.’

‘Let’s get out of here.’

They left the house, Murphy filling Rossi in on his conversation. ‘What was his deal do you reckon?’ he said as he finished.

‘One of those hoarders I think. We should call environmental health. Can’t be safe living like that.’

Murphy murmured an agreement. ‘Nearest CCTV to here?’

‘At the top junction which leads onto Ullet Road. Almost a mile up the road. Will get onto that.’

‘What about from the other end?’

Rossi clicked her tongue. ‘A lot of roads up that way. If our guy came from there, it could be any number of places. All CCTV in the area then?’

Murphy nodded. ‘Best to check everything.’

‘What now?’

They’d reached the entrance to the park again. The early morning mist had cleared, winter sun threatening to break through the remaining clouds. Murphy could still see faint traces of breath as he exhaled. ‘We need to find out who she is. Back to the station, check the system for any missing persons who match the description.’

‘Okay, will meet you there.’

Murphy reversed around a corner of a small cul de sac, and pointed the car back towards the station. Once Murphy had turned into Ullet Road and then further onto the A roads which led towards the station, the contrast was complete. Half completed buildings appeared in the distance, scaffolding and cranes became the landscape. The River Mersey was off to his left, but was masked by warehouses and housing estates. Toxteth on the opposite side, still struggling to recover from the events of thirty years earlier.

A city of contrast. Light and dark. Rich footballers and child poverty. Derelict housing and glass-fronted office buildings.

Murphy lived it all. Took it home with him, and attempted to make sense of it. How one city could have so many nuances to the lives of its inhabitants. Then he’d realise that every major city has the same issues. It wasn’t just Liverpool, they weren’t a special case.

Then he’d wake up and begin a murder investigation of a young woman, and the old feelings of resignation returned. A thread in the tapestry of his life coming loose. Frayed and torn. Threatening to be destroyed completely. A feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not a nervous feeling, something a little different. Something harder to ignore.

Fear.

3

Saturday 18th February 2012 Eleven Months Earlier Rob

Rob Barker was nothing if not average. Average height, average build, average wage earner, average Sunday League player.

No one called him special. He didn’t win trophies or certificates.

He lived in an average-sized house, with an average-sized garden. His car was an average-priced model.

When magazines or newspapers talk about the ‘average twenty-five to forty-year-old male’, that was him. He ticked all those boxes.

It wasn’t accidental. He desperately strived to go unnoticed, not to do anything special as he’d grown older and reached that pivotal moment of his early thirties. Bad things don’t happen to normal, average people. That fact had been drummed into his head from an early age.

Don’t get cocky. Don’t strive for more than you can handle.

Bad things happen to those who put themselves out there, raise their head above the parapet and ask life to take pot shots at them. Much better to fly under the radar, coast through life, happy and content.

Yet there was one area of his life he couldn’t control.

Who he would fall in love with.

Intelligent, witty, beautiful. Jemma was all that and more. So much more. She was bright, quick witted, and the worst cook Rob had ever known. She put a whole packet of noodles in a microwave once. Might have been okay if she’d taken them out of the packet and added water first.

She was gone.

And it was his fault.

Rob woke that morning to the sound of a Scottish ex-footballer complaining about a red card in a football match he hadn’t seen. The joys of talkSPORT. He steadily came around, listening to the radio as he began to wake. A split second when he wondered where he was before normality came in. It always took him some time to wake up – he was a deep sleeper, as Jemma would constantly remind him. With a radio show on, especially one discussing football, he was more likely to be up and ready for work a lot quicker.

She’d texted him before midnight to say she was having a late one. Rob had pretended it was fine, no big deal. Inside, he was shaking. How would she get home? Anything could happen to her at that time of night. Did she care?

He didn’t trust her. He couldn’t remember a time when he had. Everything was too good. Too nice. They barely argued. It didn’t feel real. Relationships weren’t perfect.

She wasn’t in the bed next to him. He wasn’t surprised. He’d been prepared for that.

‘Downstairs. She’ll be downstairs.’ His voice sounded alien, scared. He knew that she wouldn’t be, but he wanted to kid himself everything was still normal. An alarm bell at the back of his mind clanged against his skull with every thought of her being home and safe. That wasn’t the case, and he wouldn’t let himself believe it.

He sat up in bed, swung his legs to the side and slipped on the clothes he’d discarded the night before. Blue tracksuit bottoms and a footy shirt. Red.

The house was too settled, no sounds of light snoring coming from downstairs. When Jemma had been drinking she had a tendency to snore a bit. He’d hoped to turn into the living room and find Jemma lying there, sleeping off a heavy night.

He wasn’t surprised to hear silence.

Panic started to permeate inside him, a churning feeling. He began rubbing at his stomach, wondered if they had any Rennies left.

How does Mr Average react to his girlfriend not coming home from a night out? Does he ring the police straight away? Her friends … her mum? He was sweating, nervous energy running through him. He needed to think.

What had he done?

‘Relax,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Calm down.’

Rob boiled the kettle and had a cup of coffee. Two and a half sugars. A dash of milk. The early morning sunlight came through the window in the empty kitchen, reflecting off the microwave he barely used. The kitchen was exactly as he’d left it the night before. Nothing disturbed. Everything in its place.

She’d barely been on a night out since they’d moved in the house. Rob had never stopped her, she just preferred staying at home, watching a film or some crap on TV whilst he messed around on the laptop next to her. She never seemed unhappy.

He believed she was. Why else would she stay out late?

It was true that he’d pushed her to go out with her friends. Told her she needed to have a night out, let her hair down, dance to shit music and have a few drinks. He wouldn’t stop her enjoying herself. She just needed to stay safe. That’s all. Not put herself in danger.

She hadn’t listened to him. Obviously. She never fucking did. That was the problem. If she’d just listened, they’d be sharing breakfast now.

They never listened to him.

Four years they’d been together. She’d even started dropping hints about marriage, kids. They weren’t getting any younger.

He couldn’t see it. One day, she would have realised she was wasting her life with him. Left, and found someone as special as her.

He should ring around. Check her mates out. Do something.

‘Phone.’

He checked his pockets, coming up empty. Took the stairs two at a time as he remembered where he’d left it. Entering the bedroom he was struck by her absence again, the unslept-upon side of her bed. Always the left side, even though that had been his side of the bed when he was single. She got her way about that, as she’d continued to do throughout their relationship, Rob happy to give way on just about everything.

He reached over the bed to find his phone, having left it on the bedside table the previous night. He looked at the screen to check there were no missed calls, or texts waiting for him; a blank screen flickered back at him. He clicked on the phone button, Jemma’s number the first one on the list of recent calls.

‘Hi, this is Jemma. Can’t get to the phone right now …’

It was right that he tried her first. He had to think things through properly. He ended the call without leaving a message. Started flicking through the contacts on the phone to find her best friend’s number. Pressed the green call button and waited.

‘Hello.’ Carla’s husband. The woollyback with the fake Scouse accent. Rob bit his lip.

‘Andy? It’s Rob. Is Carla home?’

‘Yeah, mate. She’s in bed. Left her phone down here. What’s going on – it’s a bit early isn’t it?’

‘Is Jemma there?’

‘Erm, no. Should she be?’

‘She hasn’t come home. Can you see if Carla knows anything? Starting to panic a bit here.’

‘Course, Rob.’

Rob heard him walking, a muffled conversation, before he came back on the phone. ‘Carla said she got off early. Said she was getting a taxi home,’ Andy said.

Rob swore under his breath. ‘Didn’t anyone go with her, make sure she got off okay?’ Rob said, his voice rising. He needed to know whether anyone left with her; to know that she left the club alone, as anything could have happened in that time.

‘I’ve no idea, mate.’ Andy replied. ‘Jemma’s a big girl though, she can look after herself. I wouldn’t worry about it yet. She could have gone on to somewhere else or something.’

‘Who with, Andy? She said she was going home. Get Carla up for me. I need to speak to her.’

‘Come on, Rob, she didn’t get in ’til late. She deserves a lie-in, she hasn’t been out since the baby was born.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Andy, Jemma hasn’t come home. Tell Carla to get on the fucking phone. I want to speak to her.’ His own anger didn’t surprise him. People not listening to him. Always a trigger. He needed to calm down. If he carried on, alarm bells would start ringing with the stupid dickhead on the end of the phone. Rob softened his voice. ‘She could be anywhere.’

‘I understand, mate, but it’s only early, you need to calm down a bit. Don’t start worrying just yet. Give it a couple of hours and see if she turns up. Have you tried ringing her mum yet? She might have gone there for all you know.’

Rob sighed. Strike two. ‘No. I’ll try now.’

‘Cool. Look, I’ve got to get on with giving Leah her feed. Let me know when she turns up, okay?’

‘Okay.’ He ended the call and tried ringing Jemma again. He had to leave a voicemail this time. Could be important.

‘Jemma, it’s Rob. Ring me.’

He sent a text message.