Kill Me Again Part 5

'You know that's not possible, Tom. You know we can't risk your DNA getting onto her body. I'm in the car now on my way to the scene. My driver says we're two minutes away, then we'll get her s.h.i.+fted to the mortuary. A forensic pathologist is on his way so we'll be as quick as we can with the PM. Then, if you still want to, you can make a preliminary identification. Are you okay?'

'Fine,' Tom said. 'I'm fine.' He hung up without saying anything more.

Placing the phone gently back on the bedside table, he rested his hands, arms straight, on the bed by his side, clutching the now-damp duvet cover tightly in clenched fists. He glanced over his shoulder at the pillows and for a moment saw Leo's face there, smiling at him as he dressed in the morning or gazing at him as he undressed to join her in bed. He remembered the way her feet always poked out from under the covers because she couldn't stand to be too hot, and how she had wrapped her long limbs around him each morning. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to stretch his naked body along the length of hers and hold her, safe and secure.

She couldn't be dead. There was too much of her, somehow, to have been wiped out so many complex layers, some of which had ultimately resulted in the end of their relations.h.i.+p, but others so sweet and vulnerable that he had never lost the desire to keep her safe. And he had failed.

The fact that he no longer loved her didn't for a second reduce the pain. If anything it intensified it because his sense of loss was merged with the ache of regret and with pangs of conscience for the hurt he had caused her.

He dropped his head and took several deep breaths. He was no good to anybody if he couldn't get some control back. His whole body was p.r.i.c.kling, and he realised that he was covered from head to toe in gooseb.u.mps whether from the shock or the cold he had no idea. He pushed himself off the bed and pulled open a drawer. The best thing he could do for Leo now was ignore the ache inside and find out who had killed her. It was time to get dressed and face whatever the day was going to bring.

12.

Concentration was out of the question, and Tom stared blindly at the pile of papers in front of him. There was no point even pretending to work the numbers on the spreadsheet just blurred into one incomprehensible ma.s.s. He wanted to speak to Becky and Jumbo, but he knew he had to wait for them to come to him.

He had asked to be kept up to date and had been told that the body was being moved. They had collected what evidence they could, but would of course continue to search once the body had gone from the scene. He shuddered at the thought of Leo being referred to as 'the body' and hated even more the concept of her being bundled into a body bag. Most of the time bodies were treated with respect, but there was the odd guy who thought that as the person was dead, there was no need to consider their dignity. Tom didn't agree. At the end of their lives, more than ever, people should be treated with consideration and thoughtfulness.

He wasn't going to be allowed near Leo's body in case he contaminated her with his own DNA which would cause catastrophic complications for the case. Normally the PM was completed before identification for that very reason any traces on the body from the smallest fragment of skin to a stray hair could convict a murderer. If people other than the investigating team came into contact with the body, it brought into question the validity of the findings. He wanted to see her though he needed to be sure.

The wait seemed interminable, and there was n.o.body he could talk to. He hoped and prayed that Max wouldn't call him for an update.

Over an hour later there was a knock on his door, which for once he had closed. Becky poked her head into the room.

'Is it okay if I come in, Tom, or would you rather I left you on your own?' Her voice was shaking.

'No, no. Please, Becky, tell me what happened, or what you think happened, and why you're sure it's Leo. Come in. Sit down.'

Becky was biting her lip. Much as he wanted to fire questions at her, he needed to give her a moment. If she lost control, it would take him longer to get the facts.

'I'm so sorry, Tom. But I couldn't risk you turning up and seeing her like that.'

Her words made the weight in his chest feel even heavier.

'How bad was it? I need to know.' He stared at Becky and forced the words out. 'Had she been raped?'

Becky spoke softly, her words echoing in Tom's head as he visualised the scene that Becky described.

'We don't know. She was propped against the tunnel wall, fully clothed, but Jumbo is certain she wasn't killed there. She was wearing boots with heels and there was no mud on them no sign that she had walked through that tunnel at all. Until they remove her clothes they're not going to know for sure if she was s.e.xually a.s.saulted. My guess is that it's unlikely. If she had been stripped and dressed again when he'd finished, he did a good job of it. Too good, really. Everything was b.u.t.toned correctly. She looked too tidy, if you know what I mean.'

Tom knew exactly what she meant. He had seen several bodies that had been redressed after a s.e.xual a.s.sault, and they all looked wrong somehow, as if their clothes belonged to somebody else. He felt himself shudder. The only thing he could do was focus as if this were just another body.

'Did we manage to get a forensic pathologist quickly enough?' For a murder, they couldn't bring in any old pathologist. He or she had to be accredited by the Home Office, and sometimes that meant quite a wait, occasionally with the body remaining in situ.

'Yes, it's James Adams, and we know he's good and incredibly thorough. He'll work out what happened to her, Tom and we'll catch him, whoever did this to her.'

'How do you think she died?'

Step by step, Becky ran through the morning's events, going over each point as often as Tom wanted her to. Philippa had opted to go to the post-mortem, and one of Becky's sergeants was setting up the incident room. Tom knew Becky could justify spending this much time with him because he knew Leo better than anybody, and he might well be the best person to provide a starting point for their investigation.

They were interrupted by the telephone, and Tom signalled Becky to answer it for him. He didn't want to speak to anybody right now. She listened for a second and handed the phone to Tom, mouthing, 'Philippa.'

'Tom, there's been a change of plan,' she said. 'Can you get over to the mortuary right now, do you think?'

'Are you going to let me see her?' A mixture of hope and dread hit him in equal measure.

'I've spoken to the pathologist, and we're confident that when he's finished all the external examination and the body can no longer be compromised it would be safe for you to come and take a look.' Philippa's voice softened. 'I don't like the thought of you sitting there wondering and hoping, if I'm honest.' Sometimes Philippa surprised Tom, but he wasn't about to argue.

'I'm on my way,' he said, pus.h.i.+ng back his chair. For the first time since his shower that morning Tom felt a sense of purpose.

With all her heart Becky was hoping that she was wrong about Leo. But there was a small, unwelcome part of her brain that almost wanted to be right simply because she didn't want to discover she had put Tom through all this grief for nothing. That would be truly terrible. She quashed the thought the minute it sneaked into her consciousness.

She insisted on accompanying Tom to the mortuary. She couldn't let him go alone. He had started to stalk off across the car park to his old BMW, but Becky grabbed his arm.

'There's no way you're driving. Come on I'll take you.'

For a moment she thought he was going to refuse. She knew he hated the way she drove, but surely for once he could forget that? And he wanted to get there quickly, didn't he?

They jumped into Becky's black Golf. She slammed it into reverse to get out of her parking spot, then pulled out onto the busy main road. It wasn't far to the mortuary, but the traffic in Manchester could be h.e.l.l, and she wasn't sure which would be the best route. She turned her head to ask Tom, but closed her mouth and looked back at the road. If ever there was a face that said 'Please don't talk to me' it was Tom's. The tension was causing deep creases between his nose and the outer corners of his mouth, and the fine lines around his eyes were accentuated. She could see that every muscle in his face was rigid, and she glanced at his thighs to see one leg tap, tapping. She had never seen Tom like this, and more than ever she wished she hadn't been the first person on the scene.

They completed the journey in silence, and on arrival at the mortuary Tom was out of the car and walking at speed into the building almost before Becky had the key out of the ignition.

Philippa was waiting for them in reception and reached out a hand to clasp Tom's arm. He nodded his thanks and followed her down a long corridor, Becky keeping a few metres behind.

When they reached the final door, Philippa stopped.

'We've put her in the chapel, Tom. We haven't opened her up yet, but there are some marks on her neck that tell their own tale. We would obviously cover these for family, but I thought you could cope. If it's Leo, and you're certain, we'll crack on with the PM and send someone straight off to break the news to her sister and brother-in-law.'

'I'll do that,' Tom said.

'Are you sure?'

'Absolutely. Nothing can reduce the pain, but at least when you get this kind of news from somebody you know it feels slightly less intrusive.'

'Okay. We need you suited up even though we've done the external examination.'

Tom reached down to a pile of plastic bags, each containing a clean white suit. He slipped one over his clothes. Becky and Philippa did the same.

'Are you ready?' Philippa asked, her voice quiet.

Tom nodded, and Becky felt a lurch in her gut. In a way she felt she had no right to witness Tom's grief, because she knew better than most how much he had suffered silently, but without a doubt deeply when he and Leo had split up. She didn't look at him. She focused on the room in front of her.

A woman lay on a table, her body covered in a white sheet. The contusions around her neck were obvious, but even in death this woman was beautiful. Her dark hair had been neatened and pulled back from her face.

As they entered the room, Becky heard a small gasp from Tom. He stood at the doorway staring, and she drew her eyes away from the body to look at him. After a second, his eyes narrowed and he started towards the body. He stood looking down at the lovely face and for a moment it seemed as if he was going to reach out and touch her. Philippa made a move to get closer, clearly prepared to stop him before he did, but his arm dropped to his side and he just stared.

His head dropped, and Becky swallowed a sob but couldn't stop the tears streaming from her eyes. So intent was she on controlling herself that she almost missed his words.

'It's not her,' he said quietly.

'Sorry, Tom. Can you repeat that?' Philippa said.

'This woman looks very like Leonora Harris, but it's not her.'

Tom turned to face them both, his mouth smiling, but his eyes frowning, as if he didn't know what to feel.

'Oh G.o.d, Tom, I'm so sorry,' Becky burst out, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. 'I was so certain. I even found her picture online and showed it to Jumbo and he agreed. I don't know what to say to you.'

Tom closed his eyes for a moment and then turned to Becky.

'It's okay, Becky. You did the right thing. If I'd turned up at the scene, I'd probably have thought this girl was Leo too for a moment. It's an uncanny likeness, but there are lots of differences. The nose isn't right, and this girl's a bit broader in the shoulders than Leo. To me, now I'm looking properly, they look nothing like one another. But that's because I know Leo's face so well.'

'Is there anything more specific, Tom?' Philippa asked. 'It would be useful to have something more tangible than "not right".'

'Leo has a small scar on her chin from a childhood accident. I'd completely forgotten about it. I only noticed it now because it's not there if that makes sense. I knew the moment I saw her, but if I'd had any doubts, the lack of the scar would have confirmed it.'

For a moment, the room was almost silent, the only sound an occasional sniff from Becky.

Then Philippa straightened her spine and turned to Tom. 'Right,' she said briskly. 'Let's get on then, shall we. She's all yours now, DCI Douglas. Let's find out who the poor woman is and discover what happened to her. Get an artist to do a picture wearing the s.h.i.+rt she was found in. It's very striking. I'd like a report by the end of the day, please.'

With that, she turned and marched purposefully out of the door, leaving behind her a room rocked by emotion. Tom looked dazed, and Becky could only imagine how he must have geared himself up for the pain of seeing somebody he cared about on that table. She felt an immense weight of guilt she had caused this man so much distress and didn't know how to put it right. She stared at him, waiting to see his reaction.

Tom held out an arm. 'Come here, Becky,' he said. 'I think we both need a hug.'

He gently pulled her towards him and held her close. She buried her head in his shoulder, slowly putting her arms round his waist, gradually tightening them to try to stop the shaking.

13.

The snow provided Maggie with a perfectly valid reason for not going to work, and she was relieved that it hadn't been necessary to invent some lame excuse. She certainly didn't want to tell her colleagues what had really happened.

She almost fooled herself into believing that Duncan's absence was down to the weather too that he had gone out to deal with some emergency or other and hadn't been able to get back. Perhaps his phone was dead so he couldn't call her.

Telling herself this was realistic and an obvious answer, she had used the time before the children woke up to phone around the hospitals and check if there had been any accidents. There had been plenty of b.u.mps because of the snow, but Duncan hadn't been involved in any of them. She had asked a friend in the police to break a few rules and see whether Duncan had perhaps been arrested for driving without due care and attention, or maybe he had been drinking and tried to drive home. But there was nothing.

Maggie knew there was no point in reporting him missing. She could recite the questions she would be asked verbatim, and she would have to admit that he had left of his own volition, that he wasn't a vulnerable adult and that he had been carrying a bag of clothes so he might not be at home, but he could never be defined as a missing person.

The certainty that he had left her for another woman punched her once more in the gut. How long had it been going on? Did he love this woman, or was it a fling? Why choose somebody who looked just like her wasn't she enough for him? Once again hot tears stung her eyes and she fought off the ache of loss, trying to convince herself that he would be back, that he would have a perfectly valid excuse. Try as she might, though, it was a hard sell even to herself.

She had nothing to tell the children no answers to give them. She didn't like lying to them, but she didn't want them to be upset so she said she had had a call from Daddy while they were asleep. If he had left them for good, she would have to find a way of explaining that to them, but for now she needed them particularly Josh to stop worrying.

'Daddy said he was fine, but he'd had to rush out to help an old friend where we used to live. He said to give you both a big kiss from him.'

'He left us on our own. He's not supposed to do that, is he?' Josh wasn't going to be diverted so easily, now he'd had time to think about it.

She ruffled his dark curls as if everything was all perfectly normal. 'He was worried about the weather, sweetheart. He knew if he didn't go straightaway, he would be stuck in the snow.' Her story seemed to calm the children down, and the snow provided another useful distraction. Both of them were now outside in the back garden building a snowman.

She had time to think.

She had nothing to go on, though, no starting point. All she had was Josh's story of a photo on Duncan's phone and a sc.r.a.p of newspaper. She had tried to work out what the tops of the letters told her, but they were just black marks. She pulled her laptop towards her and typed 'British newspaper masthead' into a search engine and selected 'Images'.

Even if she found the paper and the date, what would it tell her? It could be any story. And he might just have had some tool or other wrapped up in the paper. It was hopeless. She pushed the laptop away from her, sick of clutching at straws. He had left her. That's all there was to it. But more than anything in the world, she wanted to know why.

Maggie had never had the slightest inkling that Duncan was interested in anybody else, and she knew all the signs she remembered them from when Suzy's partner, Ian, had been having an affair that ultimately resulted in him leaving her sister and their children. When you knew what to look for, it was obvious: the name introduced into the conversation with unnecessary frequency; the phone calls taken in the locked bathroom; the trips to the gym to 'tone up'; the nights he was 'out with the boys' wearing his best clothes and aftershave; the fact that he would never leave his mobile unattended in the room.

Duncan hadn't behaved like that. But then he had always said that his job as a plumber gave him freedom. She didn't know what he did all day and she never questioned his earnings. He had always put whatever he could afford into the joint account.

Fighting hard to keep control, Maggie got up from the table. She needed to make some lunch for the children, although raising the necessary enthusiasm was going to be difficult. Her mind miles away, she grabbed a pan and was filling it with water when the phone rang, jolting her back to reality.

'Oh c.r.a.p!' she shouted as she dropped the full pan on the floor, soaking the bottom of her jeans and her bare feet. Scared of slipping on the wet tiles, but equally terrified of missing the call, she slid across the floor to the phone.

'Duncan?' she said. 'Oh, thank G.o.d. Are you okay?'

'Maggie? I thought you were going to phone me back. What the h.e.l.l's going on?'

'Oh s.h.i.+t, it's you. Sorry, Suze. I should have called you, but I've got a bit of a situation here, and I need to keep the line free.'

'What's the matter? What's happened to Duncan?'

For some reason, she couldn't tell Suzy. Not yet. It would make it real; she would cry again; the children would see her. She made every excuse she could to herself, but deep down she knew that she couldn't at this minute tell anybody even Suzy that her husband had left her without saying goodbye.

'I'm sorry, Suzy, but I can't talk now. We've got thick snow, and both the children are at home, so now isn't a good time.'

'But what about last night? Why were the kids alone?'

'Please, sis, don't ask me to explain right now. I promise I'll call you tonight when the children are in bed. If you don't hear from me, everything's okay. I've got to go Lily's shouting.'

Lily was in fact about to open the back door. She didn't know how to enter a room quietly, and Maggie knew she would notice the tears running down her mummy's face, and shout it out for Suzy to hear.

Maggie disconnected before her sister could say another word, and quickly sc.r.a.ped the sleeve of her jumper across her eyes.

'Was that Daddy?' Lily said, skipping across the kitchen floor in her socks, having discarded her wellies at the door. Maggie was excused the need to reply as Lily shouted, 'Ooh, the floor's all wet. Oh yuk, Mummy. I've got soggy feet.'

The phone rang again. It was bound to be her sister with some more questions. Maggie was about to ignore it, but Lily was heading towards it with great glee. She loved answering the phone, but Maggie didn't want Suzy questioning her niece so she grabbed the phone.

'Look, Suze, I promise I'll call you back if I need you. Please, can we keep the line free?'

There was a silence at the other end, and for a moment it felt as if ice was blowing down the wire. Maggie s.h.i.+vered.