Page 43 of Dying Breath
Costa was quiet for a change and Lucy was grateful; she would be able to hear herself think. Mattie went to get their usual table, which was tucked away in front of a sofa in the far corner, near to the toilets. Lucy didn’t know any of the staff on shift today; Ellie worked here on Saturdays. She carried the coffees over to the table, where Mattie was staring down at his phone. He looked up at her from the sofa and smiled, taking his coffee from the tray.
‘So, then – this morning has been like working in an alternative station in a completely different world. The atmosphere has been terrible.’
Lucy laughed. ‘It hasn’t been that bad.’
He arched an eyebrow at her. ‘Maybe not for you. What’s the deal with the very temporary boss, then?’
‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.’ She was inwardly cursing Mattie’s intuition, but that’s why he was such a good detective sergeant. He didn’t miss anything. She thought about brushing it off once more, then decided it was easier to tell the truth.
‘I don’t trust Patrick. What has he done about the body found in the woods so far?’
Mattie shrugged.
‘I’ll tell you what: nothing. He was lazy when I worked with him years ago; it doesn’t look as if he’s improved much. Then they let him take over while Tom’s in hospital.’
‘So you don’t like him much and you’re angry he’s swanning around doing fuck-all?’
Lucy nodded.
‘Good, I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. Now what are we going to do to find the maniacs who are killing everyone?’
She sat back, relieved to be talking about a subject that she felt comfortable with. She’d rather discuss cold-blooded killers than her disastrous personal life.
They finished their drinks but Lucy didn’t want to move from the sofa; she was so comfy. The smell of the café always made her feel relaxed. Coffee was one of her favourite aromas – not to mention that she was brain-tired and bone-weary. Her head didn’t know which case to work on first, but something in her gut was telling her that if she could concentrate on Melanie Benson and go back to the beginning they might find something to help them.
Mattie stood up and held out his hand. Lucy took it and he tugged her up from the sofa, almost throwing her across the room.
‘You’re strong.’
‘And you need to eat more – that was like holding a bird. You’re wasting away.’
‘I’m not! My trousers are too tight.’
‘Good. Maybe you should buy the next size up and be comfortable.’
He walked out before she could hit him and she followed.
As she pulled on the plastic apron and gloves in the ladies’ changing room at the hospital, she felt as if she were living in some weird time warp. The same things were happening over and over again; she needed to get her act together and put a stop to it. There was no logical explanation for any of it, at least not to her. She imagined that whoever was doing the killing thought it was all very logical. She was the last to walk into the mortuary, where they were all standing around waiting for her.
‘Sorry. Is it just me or does anyone else feel as if they’re stuck? Like in that movie with Bill Murray,Groundhog Day? I feel as if my life is on one continuous loop.’
A multitude of heads nodded in agreement.
‘Good, I’m glad it’s not just me. It kind of makes me feel better.’
The door opened as the mortuary attendant wheeled in a trolley with a black body bag on it. The body inside was far too small to fill the bag. For a split second she thought about walking out of there; stripping off the plastic apron and the gloves, and running away. She didn’t care where to, as long as it was hot. Somewhere the people were happy and full of life. There was only so much death you could stare in the face before it got the better of you. She didn’t realise that she was swaying until Mattie reached out and grabbed her elbow to steady her. He leant towards her and whispered, ‘Are you okay, boss?’
She looked at him, her eyes wide, and whispered back, ‘I don’t know.’
Catherine pretended to be busy writing up notes, but Lucy knew that she was watching her and giving her a few minutes’ breathing space. The woman was a saint – how she did this day in, day out was nothing short of a miracle. Lucy squeezed her eyes shut, blinked a couple of times, then looked across at Catherine and nodded. The doctor smiled back at her. The look in her eyes told Lucy that she got it and that it was perfectly fine to freak out now and again.
The body bag was lifted onto the slab, under the fluorescent lights. The bright-yellow plastic tag was checked and then cut off the zipper. Lucy steeled herself to come face to face with the small figure of Arran Martin for the last time.
Chapter Forty
He walked past the kiosk on the high street, which sold magazines and newspapers, stopping to look at the headlines on the local paper. There was nothing about the family, which was strange, although they’d probably printed the paper before the crime had been called in. In fact, it was highly likely – they lived in an unusually quiet neighbourhood. What stared back at him from the front page instead was the grainy black-and-white mug shot below the headline ‘Have You Seen This Man?’ He pulled a pound coin out of his pocket and picked up a paper, passing the money to the vendor, so absorbed in reading the article about Brooklyn Bay’s most-wanted, he didn’t even wait for his change as he wandered off. So that’s definitely where he recognised him from.
As he got into his car he was still smiling to himself. At this rate the police would never catch him; they were too busy putting all their resources into finding the wrong man. Which was good – very good – but he also craved attention and recognition for his brilliant work. He wanted to see the headlines splashed across the pages when they realised what a fucking genius he was. He desperately wanted someone to work it all out. He had high hopes for Detective Inspector Lucy Harwin, and going on her past record she would, or should, be the one to figure it out. Maybe he should stop believing that she was this good. He hoped she’d be the copper to realise what was going on because he didn’t want to have to start communicating with the rest of them. The last thing he wanted to do was to put it on a fucking plate to serve up cold for them. That would really anger him; it would undermine his sheer brilliance if the police were too stupid to figure out the connections between each kill. He supposed that was the trouble with being much cleverer than the average person – stupid was the norm.
