Page 34 of One Left Alive
‘I just wanted to let you know that we’ve let Harrison go; his alibi checks out and he seems like a good kid. A patrol found Saul Potter’s car in a lay-by along the road the cleaner you spoke to informed you about. It’s been forensically lifted and taken to be examined. I also wanted to make sure I hadn’t pushed you too hard.’
‘Back to square one then with suspects? That’s good news about the car, maybe something will show up inside that links back to the killer. Oh and no, you definitely didn’t. I’m enjoying this, at least I think I am.’
He laughed. ‘Yes, for the time being. Harrison is still on my list. I’ll leave you to it then.’
She walked him to the door.
He turned to her. ‘If Stan comes back you have to ring the police or me; do not let him inside. You don’t deserve to be treated like this.’
He left and she closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock. He might be grumpy, but he seemed to care underneath that rough exterior and she liked him even more.
* * *
Morgan ran the bath she’d been promising herself all day. She put in some lavender oil, pink Himalayan and Epsom salts, then lit the scented pink candle she kept in the bathroom. A little self-love ritual that her mum used to swear by might make her feel a little better after the crappy two days she’d had. She was unable, though, to pour herself the wine to go with it because her idiot dad had taken everything that contained a drop of alcohol. Instead, she made herself a cup of lavender and lemon tea. The kids at school had taunted her, saying her mum was a witch; Morgan didn’t see it that way. Her mum had been a herbalist; she grew and collected an assortment of herbs which she would then use to make teas and bath oils to soothe worries, aches and pains. There was nothing remotely witchy about her, apart from her love of nature and natural healing.
As Morgan slipped into the steaming water, which smelt divine, she closed her eyes and lay back. Inhaling the lavender, she felt her entire body begin to relax. By the time she’d sipped her tea and let the water go lukewarm she was ready to get dressed in a pair of fresh cotton pyjamas and climb into bed. She’d picked the drawers up and tidied her bedroom so it didn’t look as if it had ever been violated.
Climbing under the soft duvet, she waited for sleep to come. She didn’t think about the long, horrific day she’d had; instead she lay breathing deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth, counting backwards from one hundred until she let out a gentle snore.
Twenty-Three
Morgan’s eyes opened wide. She didn’t need to look at the clock; she knew it was 04.25. The same time she had woken every morning without fail since her mum had died. She missed her more than she could put into words. They’d had a loving friendship that had soothed her soul. It wasn’t a typical mother/daughter relationship; Sylvia had treated her like an equal and not a child. She had never forced her to do homework, insisting that life skills were far more important and weekends were spent gardening, cooking, making batches of herbal teas. Looking back she realised she’d been lucky to have had Sylvia in her life, even though it had only been for the first eighteen years, and she wouldn’t change a second of it. Morgan wished her mum could have talked to her about what was happening in her life instead of deciding to end it.
Considering she’d climbed into her bed just before midnight, she felt refreshed for a change. Perhaps it was the tears she’d cried at the loss of her treasured necklace or the soothing bath she’d had before bed. Whatever it was, she felt better and ready to face the day. Getting up, she began cleaning up the rest of the mess Stan had left behind. It wasn’t as bad as it had first looked last night. It must have seemed worse because she’d been exhausted. Once everything was put back and tidy again, she set about making herself a pot of coffee and some toast. If yesterday was anything to go by, today would be just as long and busy, if not worse.
The smell of burning toast brought her rushing back to the kitchen. She’d forgotten to turn the dial down. Her dad always ate his toast burnt to a crisp. The thought of him made her fingers curl into tight fists. The shock of seeing the mess he’d left had totally thrown her, and she’d forgotten the reason she’d rushed home to see him, to ask him what he’d been doing at the Potters’ house the day before they were murdered. Crap. She needed to tell Ben, who would probably say it was a conflict of interest and she couldn’t work on the investigation because of it. If that happened, she would be furious, not to mention mortified. If she thought Dan’s teasing was bad now, it would only get worse once he found out what a disaster the last twenty-four hours as a detective had been.
Taking her coffee and toast, she sat at the small table where she took her laptop out of her bag. As she ate her toast she wondered how many murders there had been in the area. Probably not that many; it was a quiet town in the Lakes after all. She set about searching the internet, which brought up a couple of recent murders in Keswick and Kendal. Neither victims were killed by strangers: it had been partners or ex-partners. Perhaps Ben was right: the killer was someone who knew the family. But who would bear such a grudge against them to do this? It was too horrific to comprehend. Morgan stared at her laptop screen. There at the bottom of the page was a grainy black-and-white photograph of a house that looked familiar, with the heading ‘Family Slain’. She clicked on it and waited for the article to load. It was from the local paper, which had changed its name since this had been written, a whole forty-five years ago. As it loaded, she sucked in her breath and didn’t let go.
It was the Potters’ house, she was positive.
An entire family were murdered in their beds at a rural property on Easdale Road last night. The O’Brien family only moved in recently after renovating the property which had lain empty for years. Jason O’Brien and his wife, Jennifer, were found bludgeoned to death in their double bed. Their two daughters, Anna and Melissa, were found in their bedrooms. Police have cordoned off the entire area and are asking for anyone who may have seen anything to come forward.
Morgan let out a gasp; how could this happentwicein the same house? She began to scribble notes on a pad.
Did the O’Briens’ killer get caught?
Where are the case files?
Did the Potters know about the murders when they bought the house?
Is there any connection between both families?
Did Stan also know the O’Briens?
A sinking feeling in her stomach as she reread the last line made her feel like throwing up. Pushing away the remainder of her breakfast, she rushed and got dressed. She needed to get to work now, log on to the computer and try to find any information on this case.
As she drove into the car park, she had to look on the bright side; at least coming to work this early had its benefits. There was no need to worry about a parking space, she had her pick. By the time the early shift started in another hour they’d be fighting to get parked. It felt strange not getting her kit on and going into the downstairs report writing room, where the response staff worked before going out on patrol. Instead, she carried on upstairs to the CID office.
It was empty. She looked at the desks: some of them had photos on, mugs with sarcastic slogans on them containing days-old tea or coffee. While waiting for the computer to load she gathered all the mugs and took them out to the small kitchen, where she tipped their offending contents out and filled the sink with steaming hot water and a good dollop of washing-up liquid. Leaving them to soak, she went back and sat down at the desk in the corner of the room, nearest the back wall. There were no personal items on it so she didn’t feel as if she was encroaching on someone’s work space. She logged on to the computer and began searching. She tried everything, but nothing brought any results up. How on earth was she supposed to find anything out? It was ridiculous. All the systems were new and the records didn’t go back very long. Even the older systems, which ironically were much easier to navigate, only went back to the nineties.
Frustrated, she gave up and went to wash the cups. Her arms elbow deep in soapy water, she didn’t hear Ben, who came up the back stairs.
‘Do you ever sleep?’
She screeched. ‘Jesus, you scared me.’
‘I don’t look that bad, or do I?’
