Death Sentence (3 page)

The pathologist paused in her bag-sealing and vialing and sat back on her haunches. ‘Matthew,’ she asked, ‘are you okay?’

Matthew’s gaze flicked back to her face. Nicky had been the pathologist in attendance after Lily, ergo was one of the few people who would guess that Matthew was very much not okay; that this kind of crap got to him, more and more every day.

‘Yep, never better.’ He smiled tightly, glossing it over, because it was simply the only way he could get through it. ‘Ring me, will you, Nicky?’

Nicky nodded and went back to her task as he turned away.

‘Sir?’ his DS followed him, as Matthew headed back to his car, his stride purposeful, belying the sinking helplessness he felt inside.

‘Matthew?’ Steve called again. ‘Shall I stick around?’ Oversee the preliminary examination until removal of the body, he meant, always keen to follow rules and do things exactly by the book.

Sometimes, though, when murdering scumbags walked around scot-free, flouting the law, Matthew couldn’t help thinking that rules were made to be broken.

‘Do that.’ He nodded despondently over his shoulder. ‘And keep me posted, particularly as to the whereabouts of the missing shoe.’

Dragging a hand over his neck, Matthew pondered as he walked, tried to get his head around someone as devoid of feeling as Sullivan calmly checking he’d left no evidence. But then, the bastard has always been meticulous, making sure to cover himself when he’d decided he needed to teach people a lesson. Concocting alibis if ever one of his girls found courage enough to point the finger at him, alibis mostly provided by other young girls too terrified not to lie for him. Even the piece of scum’s wife lied for him, obviously preferring to turn a blind eye than give up the luxurious lifestyle her husband’s businesses afforded her.

Vermin!
Matthew’s fist hit the brick wall without process of forethought. His chest heaving, he counted silently in an attempt to control his fury, studied his stinging knuckles as globules of rich, red, fresh blood popped through the wounded flesh.
Focus
, he warned himself, groping ineffectually for some kind of detachment, trying hard to still the almost overwhelming desire to go directly to the ‘respectable’ Surrey home of the shit-dealing, pimping bastard who’d prostituted that young girl, abused her, used her, raped her probably, and—as sure as the sun rose in the east—murdered her. Patrick Sullivan. Pat to his friends, Pit-bull to those who crossed him, the man would never let go a grievance.

Matthew wasn’t about to either.

Chapter Two

Rebecca was searching for a file in ultrasound when she heard her co-workers
oohing
and
cooing
, and cries of, ‘Oh, isn’t he adorable!’

Melanie popped in from her maternity leave
, Rebecca guessed,
brought her brand new baby to show off to everyone
. Keen to get a glimpse too, painful though it would undoubtedly be, Rebecca retrieved the file she’d been searching for and headed back around reception.

‘Becks!’ Melanie beamed, coming towards her, her precious bundle in her arms.

‘Mel! How’re you doing? You look absolutely fabulous.’ Forcing back the familiar sadness that washed over her whenever she saw a woman radiating that special kind of happiness only a new mum could, Rebecca smiled back and pulled Melanie into a hug. ‘Ooh, I’ve missed you.’

‘Me too. And the gossip,’ Mel said. ‘Intelligent conversation’s a bit difficult with someone who doesn’t do much more than gurgle. Mind you, he makes up for it with his gorgeousness, don’t you, little man, hmm?’ She held her bundle up for inspection.

‘Oh, he’s a heartbreaker, aren’t you, sweetie?’ Rebecca looked him over approvingly. He was too. Reaching to brush his baby-soft cheek with the back of her hand, Rebecca’s heart physically ached with longing as she gazed down at him. He was perfect. With his softly curled eyelashes and adorable cupid lips, he really was beautiful. Laughing, she reached for a tiny flailing hand, as he stretched and yawned, his baby-blue eyes clear with the innocence of childhood.
A fragile new soul
, Rebecca thought awestruck,
untouched, untroubled, untarnished by life
.

It’s Matthew’s job to try to make sure they were never tarnished by some of the sordidness out there
, Rebecca reminded herself, and tried not to mind that he still hadn’t rung her. The nature of his job meant he worked long, unpredictable hours. She’d known that when she’d gone out with him. She’d married him anyway, because she’d loved him, utterly, all of the man who was so obviously caring of other people, as frustrating as he might occasionally be, more so since Lily. Now, when he was involved in a case, he was literally immersed in it, to the exclusion of everything else. He did try to make up for his workaholic tendencies lately, though: booking restaurant tables, bringing her flowers, delivering them personally on special occasions. Rebecca smiled inwardly, recalling how he’d turned up with arms full of red roses for their anniversary, right here in radiography. He’d got the wrong day. Melanie had enlightened him as to the reason for Rebecca’s bemused expression. Hugely embarrassed, he’d simply shrugged and smiled what Mel called his killer shy smile. Matthew had always had a ready smile. Still he tried, but the underlying sadness was always there now, etched deep into his eyes.

‘Talking of heartbreakers,’ Mel cut through Rebecca’s thoughts, ‘how’s that gorgeous husband of yours?’

‘He’s fine,’ Rebecca answered, though it was obvious to anyone who knew him that Matthew still carried his guilt over Lily’s death around like a stone in his heart. As if his being there by her side that evening could have prevented the accident.

Mel raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Rebecca smiled. She knew her friend was fishing out of caring not nosiness. Mel had been there for her when she’d gone into too-premature labour and lost little Mia. The much-needed friend who’d held her hand until Matthew had made it to the hospital.

‘No gossip to share there, I suppose?’ Mel probed hopefully.

Wondering whether I have any news in the baby-making department
, Rebecca guessed. ‘No, nothing to report,’ she said and mentally crossed her fingers. Mel would be furious with her, but, for fear of jinxing things, Rebecca wasn’t ready to share her news yet.

Mel knitted her brow sympathetically. ’But you are trying?’

‘Frequently.’ Rebecca assured her, thought in truth, they hadn’t been until recently. They’d held each other, woken sometimes in the same position they’d fallen asleep in, Matthew’s arms wrapped tightly around her. Making love though hadn’t come naturally, as it had always done previously, each of them feeling that somehow it was a betrayal of their grief, of their children.

‘You’d better go and sort your little man out.’ Pushing her sad thoughts aside in light of Mel’s obvious joy, she nodded at the baby, who was getting a bit fractious and about to make his presence known.

Mel rolled her eyes. ‘He needs a feed. He’s just like his dad, permanently ravenous.’

She gathered him to her. ‘Are you going to take his niece in, Becks?’ she asked the question she’d obviously been burning to, as Rebecca walked with her towards the exit.

‘I think so,’ Rebecca answered cautiously, the decision still having not yet been finalised. ‘Matthew seems uncertain. I’m not sure he’s convinced I can cope, but I’d like to, yes.’

‘You should.’ Nestling her baby in one arm, Mel turned to wrap her free arm around Rebecca and squeezed her into a hug.

‘Seeing how you were with Lily … ,’ she paused awkwardly. ‘Well, if ever little man needed a foster mum, you’d be my first choice. You were both such great parents, Becks. It breaks my heart, it really does.’

Rebecca’s breath hitched in her chest. ‘Don’t tempt me. I might steal him.’ Her smile now a little forced, she gave Mel a hard hug back and then planted a kiss on the little man’s peachy cheek.

Waving Mel off, Rebecca kept her smile fixed in place, and then headed quickly for the loo, where she quietly gave in to the tears which tended to sneak up on her unexpectedly, tears for Lily, her lost baby, for herself. This time though, she realised, she was crying for Matthew, who really had been a great parent, if only she could make him believe that he was.

****

Brianna’s mother broke down as they left. Pausing on the drive of the house, a middle-class, unspectacular house, home to the child her parents had given birth to, nurtured, obviously cared for, until the age of sixteen, a child now lying stone-cold dead on a mortuary slab, Matthew heard her heaving sobs as the front door closed.

It was the realisation that she’d be lying there alone that got to the father, caused him to excuse himself from the lounge, to try—and fail—to supress his own grief when the kitchen door closed behind him. Matthew had guessed what was going through the man’s mind. He could never hold her, comfort her, talk to her, he could never, ever make things all right for his little girl ever again: take back the argument, unsay the heated words that caused her to leave. They’d both been expecting the worst, Matthew knew. Most parents of runaways lived with that fear eating away at them day and night, day after tortuous day. They wouldn’t have processed the finality of it yet. God help them when they did. It would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

Sighing, Matthew ran a hand wearily over his neck.

‘No news is better than
that
news,’ he told Steve, pulling his ringing mobile from his pocket as they walked back to the car.

‘Adams?’ he answered distractedly, and then, realising it was Becky, squeezed his eyes closed.
Hell!

‘Becky, hi. No, I didn’t. Sorry, I got caught up in something and I … I forgot. Sorry.’

Veering away from the driver’s side, he fished his car-keys from his pocket and tossed them to Steve, indicating he should take the wheel while Matthew took his call.

‘Oh, Matthew!’ Rebecca sounded disappointed.

‘Sorry,’ Matthew repeated, climbing in the passenger side. ‘Something needed my full attention. A young girl …’ He stopped, kneading his temple with his free hand. Rebecca would be sympathetic when he shared as much as he could. She always was. She didn’t need the gory detail, though. She didn’t need to feel the parents’ heartbreak, which she undoubtedly would.

Rebecca didn’t answer immediately. Matthew heard her long intake of breath, and then, ‘Bad, I take it?’ she probed gently.

‘On a scale of one to ten, eleven,’ Matthew admitted, grateful for one thing in the shit-fest his life had become after Lily. That God had seen fit to spare Becky. She’d rescued him in the weeks after the funeral: literally prised the booze from his hand, led him upstairs, and just lay with him, her warm body up close, her limbs like a soft blanket around him. He hadn’t shed a tear until then. The tears had come that night though.
Christ
and some. He’d sobbed his heart out, right there in her arms. Without Becky, he might well have gone the same route he had when his father had decided life was no longer worth living: haunting the pubs, staying as long as he could after hours, stumbling home, falling unconscious into merciful oblivion, until the harsh light of reality jolted him sober. He wasn’t sure he’d know how to be without her. He wouldn’t want to be. He loved her. So much his heart physically ached at the thought of having almost lost her.

‘I’m on my way back to the office now,’ he said, grateful, yet again, that Becky seemed to be steering him to where he needed to be emotionally. ‘I promise I’ll ring you back within the hour.’

‘
Hmm?
’ Rebecca didn’t sound convinced.

‘If I don’t, I’ll give in gracefully to what you suggested earlier,’ Matthew offered, glancing warily at Steve, lest he get the gist.

‘You’re earmarked for the handcuffs anyway,’ Rebecca replied smartly. ‘And, as things stand, I can’t promise to be gentle with you.’

Matthew laughed. ‘Um, you might want to rethink that one, Becky.’

‘One hour,’ Rebecca replied, a mock-warning edge to her voice. ‘I’ll be waiting.’

Matthew nodded sombrely. ‘Yes ma’am.’

‘Goodbye, DI Adams.’

‘Goodbye, Mrs Adams.’

‘Oh, and, by the way, I love you,’ Rebecca said quickly, ‘though God knows why.’

‘Ditto,’ Matthew said quietly, ‘but without the God knows why bit.’

Smiling, genuinely, despite the events of the day, Matthew pocketed his mobile, glancing again at Steve, as he did. ‘Repeat any of this and you’re demoted, Detective Sergeant,’ he imparted, noting the smirk playing at his colleague’s mouth.

‘Yes, boss.’ Steve straightened his face. ‘Fancy anything,’ he asked, as they drove by Eddie’s Expresso Bar. ‘Mocha? Latte? Leather whip to go with the handcuffs?’ He nodded at the sex shop next door.

****

True to his word, Matthew made the relevant calls, reporting back to Becky that, subject to a successful introductory meeting and the usual protocol, they’d got the green light. There was something else he needed to do though, before seeing Ashley, who—dragged from bedsit to squat halfway around the country—was so young when he last saw her, probably wouldn’t even remember him. He needed to try to find Kristen again. Try to find out whether his sister was capable of remembering she had a daughter.

After driving the hour and a half to Birmingham—the last place he’d found her sleeping rough—Matthew tried her usual patch first, the corner of a landing on the grease-stained steps leading from the bus station to a city shopping centre. Kristen wasn’t there. Another statistic had claimed her space, curled up in his sleeping bag, his well-cared for dog curled up beside him inviting more sympathy than he did.

‘Spare some change, mate?’ the guy asked, as Matthew approached him. His look wasn’t hopeful, more resigned. Bland almost, any vitality he might have had in his eyes dulled; by booze, Matthew guessed, noting the several empty cider cans to his side.

Matthew offered him a short smile. ‘I’m looking for someone,’ he said.

The guy recoiled in an instant, shuffling further into his corner, assuming he was the law, as Matthew guessed he would. ‘My sister,’ he elaborated, drawing Kristen’s photo from his inside pocket.