Mummy's Favourite (6 page)

She needed to run. A week and a half sitting at home, eating Easter eggs and with barely any exercise had taken its toll. She felt sluggish and almost as stiff as the trusty trainers she had squeezed her feet into. She jogged over to the front of the building where she always stopped briefly to admire the two huge fifteen inch diameter gun barrels which marked the entrance to the museum.

She stood in front of the guns, staring into their black interiors for what seemed like ages, letting her mind flit between past and present. Every morning she made a point of standing in a quiet spot, in silence for two minutes, eyes closed, allowing her memories free rein. Each time she reopened her eyes, her memories had refuelled her motivation for justice. Beth and Lucy had caught her doing it a few times and teased her for it, but for Charlie it worked. Those memories kept her focussed.

When at last she opened her eyes she realized she wasn't alone. Ben Jacobs was there.

He stood to one side, leaning on a pair of crutches, a money box labelled ‘Help for Heroes' hung around his neck. He regularly sat, lost in his thoughts, collecting money outside the museum.

‘You're early today,' he waved towards her.

‘I could say the same about you.'

‘Couldn't sleep.'

She knew better than to question him further. She'd taken him out to breakfast a couple of times in the last six months and listened to his story. Sometimes his recurring nightmares led him to the bottle. Sometimes the need for a new bottle brought him out early from his flat.

Unlike the soldiers who had lost limbs, the injuries Ben had suffered in the latest conflict were not obvious to onlookers. He had post-traumatic stress syndrome and the flashbacks, as vivid as the actual fighting, were repeated constantly in his head.

His body mirrored his mind. Sometimes his tall, lean frame would stand upright, shoulders back, dark hair neatly cut, chin and neck cleanly shaved, clothes fresh and smart, eyes alive and smiling, a lop-sided grin lighting up his handsome features. Other times he was stooped, unkempt and dirty; both frightened and frightening.

Today he looked more dishevelled than usual; his eyes dull through lack of sleep, a plaster cast on his right leg. A can of Special Brew dangled from his hand.

Charlie reached into her pockets and scooped out a handful of loose change, slotting each coin carefully into his tin. He deserved way more than a few pennies. Usually she would make time to chat, but today, even though she felt guilty as hell she knew she had to get on.

She pointed to the crutches.

‘What have you been up to then?' She already knew the answer.

He shrugged. ‘Too much of this.' He held the can up, before putting it to his lips.

‘We'll do breakfast again soon, Ben. I promise.'

‘I'll hold you to that, Charlie.'

‘Don't worry. It's always my pleasure. Just got a big case to crack first.'

‘Well hurry up and crack it quickly. I'm hungry.'

She laughed. ‘I'll do my best. Can't have you wasting away.'

He waved as she jogged away. He was a lovely guy. It was such a pity to see him so troubled, but she made a point of never judging him. Who could ever know what he had experienced and was still experiencing now. She would be back as soon as she could.

By the time she'd reached the office both Charlie and her trainers were feeling more like normal, which was more than could be said for her entrance. Bet and Paul were straight on their feet, wrapping arms round her, genuinely pleased at her return. They had both kept in daily contact with her for the week and a half she'd been off.

Naz and Sabira hovered in the background, wanting to show their solidarity but not quite sure what to do. Sabira was an Asian lesbian, two features that didn't sit well together in Indian culture. She helped Paul on the LGBT cases but also worked on the increasing number of faith/honour crimes. She was Paul's opposite: quiet and unobtrusive, patient and tolerant, sensible clothes, sensible shoes, someone who was never going to set the world on fire.

Naz, on the other hand, wanted to set the world on fire but, having had two children with different fathers, was now tied down with childcare issues. The world that she inhabited was much smaller and more contained than she'd ever envisaged. Young, black, feisty and proud of the tattooed cleavage regularly on display, she relied on both her mother and grandmother babysitting to enable her to work during the week and, more importantly, to socialize at the weekends. Charlie loved them both.

Colin remained seated but nodded his agreement with the sentiment.

Bet ambled over to the kettle and started a brew. Almost immediately Paul piped up with his plans for this weekend's escapades. Things were the same as always and she was glad to be back to her usual routine, even though her head was throbbing annoyingly.

She let Paul talk without really listening and instead walked across to Colin who was, as usual, bent over his computer screen. He looked up.

‘Didn't expect you back so soon. Sounds like you were lucky from what the boss was saying.'

‘Think we were all lucky,' Paul chipped in from across the room. ‘Two days concussed in hospital without Charlie saying a word. Must be a record?'

‘Two
minutes
of silence from you would be a record,' she responded, to grunts of agreement from the others. Paul laughed and pulled an imaginary zip across his lips.

‘Well it's all been happening here while you were off.' Colin turned back to his computer, bringing up the missing person report which had now lengthened to dozens of pages of enquiries. He was never one to indulge in the office banter for any longer than needed.

‘Yes, so I hear. Hunter said that the case had been escalated to a major enquiry and that after my assault Hubbard's propensity to violence is being re-examined in minute detail. Can you give me a potted version of what's been done so far? I expect you've been keeping tabs on it, seeing as you knew the family?'

Colin nodded and scrolled down through the pages of enquiries.

‘Well, it's as full scale an enquiry as it could be without bodies; not quite a murder investigation as yet, but not far from it. In fact, the Murder Investigation Team is being consulted regularly. Nothing's been heard from them now for two weeks. Let me see. They've been making enquiries with banks, building societies, Equifax and the department dealing with child benefits. They've also sent out port notifications to airports and ferry ports. CCTV is being gone through from all the local shopping areas, railway stations and roads around where they live. Both Julie and Richard's mobile phones were switched off early on the Friday evening they disappeared, so every conceivable check is being made on where and when they were last used, and any contacts.'

‘Nothing positive as yet?'

‘No. It doesn't look as if there have been any real steps forward. They've got forensics in Hubbard's house at the moment, scouring it with a fine-toothed comb.'

‘Well they'll be lucky to find anything. Hubbard had cleaned it all before we even got there.'

‘And forensics were there after your GBH.'

‘Well, I hope that examination hasn't jeopardized the main one then. He's got to be the number one suspect in their disappearance. If he had a problem with his missus that's bad enough, but if he's done something to his kid…'

‘You never really know what goes on within families.' Colin clicked the report shut and leant back. ‘You only have to look at the news to see what it does to men when they're threatened with losing access to their kids.'

His voice tailed off as he turned and looked away from her, towards the window. A cloud rolled across the sun almost at the moment he spoke. She followed the shadow as it moved across the windowsill.

‘Sorry Colin. I know it's a bit close to home for you. Have you had any more luck getting access recently?'

Colin turned back, his eyes hard. ‘It's a work in progress, Charlie. I think I'm beginning to win. The kids are dying to see me these days.'

‘Glad to hear it. You could use a bit of luck in your situation.'

‘Ah is that DC Stafford's voice I can hear. Good to have you back, though you should have had more time off to recover.'

Charlie looked up recognizing Hunter's voice booming across the office. He looked genuinely pleased to see her, though she knew he didn't mean what he'd just said. He'd barely had a day off sick in all his thirty-seven years.

‘Can I have a quick word please?'

She nodded and followed him through to his office, closing the door against the eyes she knew would be following her. The room was only small but it was neat, well ordered and compact. Photos of Hunter's children sat proudly on his desk. He was grooming his son to take over from him when he did eventually retire.

‘I'll come straight to the point. The CPS is dropping your case. Have a read of this. I suspected it might happen.'

He passed her a single piece of A4 paper on which a few paragraphs were typed before turning away in obvious frustration. ‘We winged it a bit when we sent the original file to them, exaggerated how good we hoped the forensic stuff would be. It's turned out to be pretty useless and totally inconclusive. Now they've got the full file they don't think we've got a hope in hell. Hubbard, as I told you, is already out on bail and the case will almost certainly be dropped this afternoon. I've tried to reason with them, but I haven't really got much of a leg to stand on, to be honest.'

He stopped talking and the silence lengthened as she read the CPS memo, short, succinct and brutal. Unless fresh evidence came to light the case would be dropped. Keith Hubbard would get away with it. Even though she'd expected the news, she still couldn't trust herself to speak. Placing the letter back on Hunter's desk carefully, she got up and walked unsteadily to the door, opening it wide. Half a dozen eyes turned to watch and she couldn't bear the pressure of them. She turned back to see Hunter stand and take a pace towards her. She held out her hand to stop him touching her. She didn't want to cry and any contact was likely to start the tears. He paused.

‘If my case is being dropped,' she said, loud enough for the main office to hear. ‘There shouldn't be any conflict of interest if I helped out further with the investigation into his missing wife and child? So could I be seconded on to the full investigation team for at least a while? I can't just sit back and do nothing.'

Hunter tilted his head and pursed his lips as he stared back at her, considering the request.

‘I think it's probably the least we can do. Though you will have to be careful you act completely professionally and any progress you make doesn't look personal.'

He smiled knowingly at her and she noticed his eyes were glinting dangerously.

‘I'll have a word and see if we both can.'

It wasn't fair that Julie was dead. She was supposed to have lived much longer. He'd wanted to keep her there, slowly dying of starvation. Slowly, so slowly, knowing that her son was dead beside her. She was supposed to have lasted at least a month, even up to six weeks. He'd read all about it:

It was nothing more than she deserved. The fucking bitch. But she'd died already. Too soon, far too soon. He couldn't believe it had happened and yet it had.

But she hadn't been too fat or too skinny and he'd thrown down bedding to keep her from freezing. Maybe she'd deliberately wasted all the water in a bid to die quickly and cheat him of even this pleasure. That must have been it. She'd spat out the water. He hadn't been able to come for a few days but there should have been enough for her to survive until he returned. But the bitch had spat it out just to spite him and now she was dead. They both were. Her and Richard, her spoilt brat of a son, mummy's little favourite blue-eyed boy; the golden child who could do nothing wrong.

He stamped downwards on to her head, pleased at the sight of the dirty footprint he left on her face, down her nose, across her cheeks. She was supposed to be alive, damn it. She was supposed to be staring up at him, pleading for survival, desperate to live. Then she'd know what it was like to be lonely. Then she'd know what it was like to be there, but not to be there; to be unseen, unheard, unwanted, unloved. Just as he had been.

He'd read so much. This time he'd wanted to get it right, to make her pay. To make all the conniving mothers pay for their greedy, selfish needs.

‘Fuck.' He screamed the word out loud again and again and again. There was no one there. No one ever was. It had been the perfect place to watch and examine and see.

He'd watched as this had begun to happen to Richard. So spoilt, so perfect, but not so fucking perfect now, eh? He'd bent down and poked at the body. The experts were right. It had been stiff and unbending.