The voice seemed to come from within the mass of what Murphy could only think of as every item a person could acquire in their life, without ever throwing anything away.
‘Hello? I’m Detective Inspector Murphy, this is Detective Sergeant Rossi.’ Murphy turned to introduce Rossi, but there was an empty space behind him.
Great.
‘I have a lot of work to do. Are you going to get on with it?’
Murphy ducked a little, trying to find the source of the voice. He saw a flash of brown through a small gap in the structure. ‘Can you tell me your name?’
A loud sigh. ‘Arthur Reeves.’
‘Right. And you live here alone?’
‘Do you see anyone else here?’
‘I can’t even see you, Mr Reeves.’
A small chuckle. ‘I guess that’s right. Let’s cut to the chase. I heard a car last night. It kept going up and down the road, disturbed my sleep. I got up out of bed and looked out the window. I couldn’t see very well, there’s not many streetlights up this way. It stopped at the entrance to the park. I assumed they’d been trying to find a parking space. Then it drove on again, right into the park.’
Murphy stood back up. ‘Did you notice anything about the car? Colour, model, reg plate?’
‘Not really. It was dark, as I said. Could have been dark blue, or dark red. Looked like a normal car. Or a van. A small van.’
‘Okay. And what time was this?’
‘About four a.m. I think. Maybe five or three, or in between. I thought it might be important, considering.’
Not exactly the early break Murphy had been looking for. ‘Anything else?’
‘Sorry. I went back to bed. It wasn’t until I saw all the police cars turn up that I even gave it a second thought.’
‘Well, thank you, Mr Reeves,’ Murphy said, patting his thigh, ‘that’s a great help.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Yeah. An officer will come and take a formal statement soon. But for now, you can get back to work.’
Murphy turned out of the room, coming face to face with Rossi. ‘There you are.’
‘Found the smell,’ Rossi whispered. ‘In the kitchen. There’s about two thousand empty milk bottles in there. Estimating of course. Think he got bored of rinsing them out.’
‘Let’s get out of here.’
They left the house, Murphy filling Rossi in on his conversation. ‘What was his deal do you reckon?’ he said as he finished.
‘One of those hoarders I think. We should call environmental health. Can’t be safe living like that.’
Murphy murmured an agreement. ‘Nearest CCTV to here?’
‘At the top junction which leads onto Ullet Road. Almost a mile up the road. Will get onto that.’
‘What about from the other end?’
Rossi clicked her tongue. ‘A lot of roads up that way. If our guy came from there, it could be any number of places. All CCTV in the area then?’
Murphy nodded. ‘Best to check everything.’
‘What now?’
They’d reached the entrance to the park again. The early morning mist had cleared, winter sun threatening to break through the remaining clouds. Murphy could still see faint traces of breath as he exhaled. ‘We need to find out who she is. Back to the station, check the system for any missing persons who match the description.’
‘Okay, will meet you there.’
Murphy reversed around a corner of a small cul de sac, and pointed the car back towards the station. Once Murphy had turned into Ullet Road and then further onto the A roads which led towards the station, the contrast was complete. Half completed buildings appeared in the distance, scaffolding and cranes became the landscape. The River Mersey was off to his left, but was masked by warehouses and housing estates. Toxteth on the opposite side, still struggling to recover from the events of thirty years earlier.
A city of contrast. Light and dark. Rich footballers and child poverty. Derelict housing and glass-fronted office buildings.
Murphy lived it all. Took it home with him, and attempted to make sense of it. How one city could have so many nuances to the lives of its inhabitants. Then he’d realise that every major city has the same issues. It wasn’t just Liverpool, they weren’t a special case.
Then he’d wake up and begin a murder investigation of a young woman, and the old feelings of resignation returned. A thread in the tapestry of his life coming loose. Frayed and torn. Threatening to be destroyed completely. A feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not a nervous feeling, something a little different. Something harder to ignore.
Fear.
3
Saturday 18th February 2012 Eleven Months Earlier Rob
Rob Barker was nothing if not average. Average height, average build, average wage earner, average Sunday League player.
No one called him special. He didn’t win trophies or certificates.
He lived in an average-sized house, with an average-sized garden. His car was an average-priced model.
When magazines or newspapers talk about the ‘average twenty-five to forty-year-old male’, that was him. He ticked all those boxes.
It wasn’t accidental. He desperately strived to go unnoticed, not to do anything special as he’d grown older and reached that pivotal moment of his early thirties. Bad things don’t happen to normal, average people. That fact had been drummed into his head from an early age.
Don’t get cocky. Don’t strive for more than you can handle.
Bad things happen to those who put themselves out there, raise their head above the parapet and ask life to take pot shots at them. Much better to fly under the radar, coast through life, happy and content.
Yet there was one area of his life he couldn’t control.
Who he would fall in love with.
Intelligent, witty, beautiful. Jemma was all that and more. So much more. She was bright, quick witted, and the worst cook Rob had ever known. She put a whole packet of noodles in a microwave once. Might have been okay if she’d taken them out of the packet and added water first.
She was gone.
And it was his fault.
Rob woke that morning to
