Then She Was Gone (16 page)

‘I hope so. I could eat a dead horse.’

‘Probably will be if they’ve ordered from that place on London Road again.’

Rossi sniggered. ‘Don’t even joke about that. Although the thought of an entire command coming down with dysentery during a murder case is funny.’

‘Funny?’

‘OK, maybe not ha ha funny. What would happen though?’

Murphy made it to the outer door, holding it open for Rossi who waited for him to walk through first instead. ‘We’d be replaced faster than you can say “coming out of both
ends”.’

‘Lovely image.’

‘I have a way of painting a picture with words,’ Murphy replied, opening the car. ‘Back to the station, hope to eat, then over to the parents. Plan?’

‘Plan.’

They drove the short journey from the hospital to the station in near silence, contemplating what they had just witnessed. The brown brick building appeared in front of them, the drabness of it
sucking the life out of them more than the post-mortem had.

Murphy didn’t wait for Rossi, who he left swearing in Italian at a vending machine. He climbed the four flights of stairs and pushed his way into the incident room. He ignored the
increasing paper mountain on his desk and made his way over to the murder boards at the back of the room.

An attempt had been made at creating a new board for Sam Byrne, but whoever had done it hadn’t had their heart in it. Murphy wiped some of the unrelated notes away and picked up a marker
and began writing.

‘Pictures of Sam Byrne here,’ Rossi said, coming up behind Murphy. He was concentrating too hard to be startled, but gave a little motion of his head. She began sticking them to the
board with Blu-Tack as he wrote.

‘What was the name of the friend Sam’s mum mentioned the other day?’

Rossi stuck the last picture on the board and then took out her notepad. ‘Simon Jackson. We also had a few first names that Graham was looking into, but I’m not sure what’s
happening with them now. He’ll have been on CCTV all afternoon.’

‘Make sure someone is on that,’ Murphy began to say, but realised it was futile as Rossi had already gone. He waited for her to finish talking to the closest DC, informing them of
their new job. ‘Thank you,’ he said once she’d returned to his side. ‘Simon Jackson shouldn’t be too difficult to find. The others, maybe not so easy. Make sure
follow-ups are done on the flat as well, catch up with the people not home earlier on.’

‘It’s all moving along very quickly,’ Rossi said, snapping open an energy drink and slugging some back. ‘We’ve gone from a missing case to a murder case in a day.
Can’t be a coincidence.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘As soon as we get involved, he turns up dead in the boot of his own car. I think someone got spooked.’

‘Depends on when he was killed, I suppose. We were at the flat the same day we were put on the case–’

‘Odd that one of his own staff would lead us there,’ Rossi said, interrupting Murphy. ‘Somewhere supposedly secret and she may as well have written the address down for
us.’

‘True,’ Murphy replied, placing the lid back on the marker and putting it back. ‘We need to speak to Emma Palmer again. We’ll need to interview all of those people
helping out on the campaign.’

‘That’s a lot of people.’

Murphy stretched his arms above his head and yawned. ‘I know, but you never can tell who has the right info.’

‘That Charlotte will be devastated,’ Rossi said, also yawning. ‘Got me started now.’

‘Come on,’ Murphy said, walking away. ‘Let’s go see the parents and see what they have to say.’

*    *    *

Murphy looked at the biscuits on the plate longingly, his stomach making a few noises. He decided against reaching for one, however, thinking it was probably not the best
impression to make. Getting crumbs all over the floor of grieving parents was probably best avoided.

Not that they were showing much grief. Not outwardly, anyway.

‘Thank you so much for coming,’ Arthur Byrne said, removing his glasses and cleaning them with the edge of his jumper. ‘Such a ghastly business. We will help in any way we
can.’

Murphy glanced over at Mary Byrne, who was sitting rigid on the same chair she’d sat in on the previous day. Her hands were seemingly glued to her knees, white around the knuckles.

‘We’ve notified the correct people,’ Arthur continued, placing his glasses back on. ‘We want to make sure the media treat this with the respect it requires.’

‘I assure you we’re going to do all we can to find out what happened to Sam,’ Murphy said, repeating the same thing he always said to those left behind. ‘Is there
anything you can think of which might help us in that endeavour?’

First time he’d used the word ‘endeavour’, though, he thought. That was new.

‘I’m afraid we can’t give you anything more than we did yesterday. There’s simply nothing else we can think of which could lead to this.’

‘What kind of relationship did you have with Sam,’ Rossi said, leaning forwards which gave Murphy his cue to sit back.

‘A good, healthy one,’ Arthur replied, still stoic and resolute. ‘He was our son and we were proud of him.’

Murphy waited for a falter which didn’t come. The British stiff upper lip was in fine form.

‘Did you speak regularly?’

‘I spoke to him on a number of occasions recently, just to keep him focussed on the by-election. I wanted to make sure he didn’t let the opportunity slip. However, he was doing so
well without my help.’

‘How about you, Mary?’ Rossi said, turning to Sam’s mother. ‘Did you speak to him more than your husband?’

‘Once a week,’ Mary replied, staring past the two detectives at the wall behind them. ‘He was very busy, so it was just quick phone chats. I haven’t seen him in a
while.’

‘I know this is a difficult time for you both, but I really need you to think about any possible reasons Sam may have been in danger. If he was mixed up in something potentially dangerous,
however small.’

Mary looked at her husband who didn’t return her gaze. ‘No. He was not involved in anything that could lead to something like this happening. He was a good man. Was trying to do
right by his community and his country.’

Murphy watched Mary whilst Arthur spoke, frowning as she gripped her knees more.

‘Mary, look at me,’ Murphy said, his voice deliberately soft. ‘If you think you know something, and really want justice for your son, then you need to tell us.’

She shook her head in response, but he could see hesitation.

‘I imagine it was one of those bloody people being let into the country. Have you checked it wasn’t a terrorist incident? I hope you have. Open borders and damn liberal minds cause
things like this to occur to good people . . .’

‘Arthur, do please stop,’ Mary said, her hands now shaking. ‘We both know what’s going on here . . .’

‘That’s enough. We don’t need to talk about any of that.’

Murphy looked over at Rossi who was staring at Mary.

‘We can’t keep this quiet. It’s impossible. They should know everything.’

Arthur stood up, Murphy shifted forwards on the sofa waiting for him to make a move.

‘There are things that people outside of this house do not need to know,’ Arthur said, looming over his wife who sank back in her chair a little. ‘Unimportant information that
will only besmirch our son’s reputation. Do you want to do that to him? Really, now?’

‘You think his image matters more than getting justice for our son? You’re not worried about him at all. You’re worried about yourself. That’s how it’s always been.
You’re scared that he will damage your credibility. Your reputation.’

Murphy and Rossi watched the exchange in stony silence, looking between the couple as if they were watching a tennis match. In this case, a tennis match fuelled by thirty years of pent-up
anger.

Arthur stood over his wife for a few seconds longer, then crossed the room to a large wooden bureau. His hand was poised over the handle. Murphy guessed it was where he kept his alcohol, but
that he wasn’t prepared to start drinking in front of them.

‘Might I suggest something,’ Rossi said, lifting herself off the sofa. ‘How about Mary and I go and make some tea and have a chat.’

Mary looked up and gave a slight nod. Arthur still hadn’t turned round, but his hand dropped to his side.

Rossi waited for Mary to walk out of the room before turning to Murphy and mouthing, ‘
Talk to him
.’

Murphy watched her leave, then looked at the great bulk of Arthur. He had to stop himself from sighing.

The kitchen, a cottage-style set-up with exposed brick and wooden beams overhead, was much as Rossi had expected given the type of house Arthur and Mary Byrne lived in. There
was a large Aga, which took up most of the space along one wall, and a farmhouse sink beneath the window. Mary crossed to the kettle situated on the thick wooden worktop and switched it on.

‘I’m sorry about my husband,’ Mary said, her back to Rossi. ‘He is so ingrained with his former life that he doesn’t understand that sometimes we have to think a
little more emotionally about things.’

‘That’s OK,’ Rossi replied, pulling a white chair away from the small table. ‘It’s a difficult time for you both. We understand that.’

‘I just don’t want us to keep something quiet that could be important. Especially when it’s because someone is concerned about the way it makes them look. Like anyone would
care any more. Arthur hasn’t been an MP for over ten years now. He’s been forgotten about, but he doesn’t want to accept it.’

‘What is it, Mary? What do you want to tell me?’

Mary waited for the kettle to finish boiling. The other two people in the house had been forgotten, Rossi thought. She waited for Mary to make the tea and bring over the drinks to the table.
Mary produced a small jug of milk, which Rossi added to the mug in front of her, but no sugar was offered, which was annoying.

There was a hesitation as Mary looked towards the kitchen door, as if suddenly remembering the two men in the house. Then she sat down opposite Rossi, cradling the mug in her hands as if to feed
on the warmth resonating from it.

‘Sam was always a precocious child,’ Mary said, staring down at the table surface. ‘Always wanting to do something, or talk about things on his mind. He was reading very early,
talking in full sentences sooner than any child I’d known before. Very intelligent. The problem was he would become bored easily. Nothing was ever enough for him. There was always something
else he thought he should be doing. That’s why he failed to get into the universities in the south. He could never focus when he was younger.’

‘You didn’t have any other children?’

‘Couldn’t,’ Mary replied, shutting down that avenue of questioning quickly.

‘He still managed to achieve a lot,’ Rossi said, blowing on her mug a little. ‘It takes effort to get to the position he did.’

‘He was intelligent, as I said. Once he calmed down a little, knuckled down at university, he was always going to do something important. There were other things, though, which influenced
him.’

‘What things?’

‘Power,’ Mary said, tracing a circle with one finger on the table. ‘He had the same lust as his father. He wanted to be respected by the many, not just the few. Politics has
that effect on people. It seduces you into thinking you’re in a position which is exalted. That you have an effect on people’s lives. He enjoyed that belief.’

‘What was he like outside of that life?’

Mary gave a tight-lipped smile. ‘He was always very polite, staid and proper. With the right people.’

‘There was another side to him?’ Rossi asked, glancing around the kitchen and frowning as she tried to work out what was missing in the house. ‘One that he didn’t show to
just anyone.’

‘We tried our best with him, we really did. I wanted him to know that there was nothing that would make us think any less of him. He was our son. We wouldn’t turn our backs on
him.’

Rossi studied Mary, the older woman was still looking down at the table. ‘What are you trying to say, Mary?’

‘Well . . . I assumed wrong. That’s all.’

‘Assumed what wrong?’

‘I thought perhaps he was
different
. That he was single because of another reason.’

Rossi had to stop herself from sighing audibly. The usual dancing around the topic, which she saw so often from the older generation when it came to anything to do with sexuality. ‘You
thought he was gay, that’s it?’

‘I wouldn’t put it so bluntly.’

‘And you were wrong about that? Was he worried about his sexuality?’

Mary shook her head. ‘No, I was wrong. He wasn’t that way. There was something else, though. Something he didn’t want us to know.’

‘Did you know about the flat he kept in town?’

There was another hesitation from the woman. Rossi waited patiently for an answer.

‘I don’t know much about his private life.’

‘That’s not an answer.’

‘I don’t want to go into many specifics. There have been a few issues over the years we have had to deal with, that’s all. He didn’t have a normal life in that
regard.’

‘What kind of things?’

Mary didn’t answer, seemingly noticing the tea in front of her for the first time. She took a long sip, then set it down and looked at Rossi. ‘Whilst he was in university, he was
part of a group of friends who got up to some high jinks. Arthur had to smooth over some difficult moments, but there was nothing serious.’

Rossi felt there was more, but didn’t want to push too hard. ‘What kind of moments?’

‘As I said, nothing too serious. They would drink, as students do these days, and sometimes that led to over exuberance. A few local businesses weren’t too happy. That was all easily
sorted out, however.’

‘There are other things, though, aren’t there?’

‘Girls. More than one. I never knew specifics, but eventually we had a girl turn up here,’ Mary said, looking away and screwing her eyes shut. ‘About a year or two ago. Just
came up and knocked on the door.’

‘What girl?’