Carla Gregory left home early that morning to journey to Liverpool. Travelling from Stockleigh, she caught a connecting train from Crewe. Gazing out of the windows as the train made its fifty-minute journey, she almost wished she was moving home again as she spied the views.
It was the first week of the new year and 2017 was going to be a challenge from the get-go. She could see the water-clogged fields, the recent snowfall having melted. In the distance, white patches still covered the hills. The view brought a lump to her throat. Her daughter would have loved it.
Carla hadn’t set foot in Liverpool for twelve months, yet she’d spent years of her married life there. It was the first time she’d been able to pluck up the courage to come back to the area and visit Chloe. Ryan, her husband, had just recently come out of prison, and it was the one place he knew she would be. But she couldn’t not visit today.
She hadn’t wanted to leave Liverpool – circumstances had forced her – and, even though she knew she was safer in a small city, she often wondered if she’d be better in a country village like the ones she glanced in the passing scenery. But living among lots of people versus living in isolation at the end of a country lane always won hands down. She had to blend in rather than hide away.
Once off the train, she walked the twenty minutes to her destination, slaloming through the crowds until they thinned. She pulled in the collar of her coat – pushing her scarf further up her neck – and braced herself as an icy wind sliced through her. Keeping a watchful eye, she scanned every person walking ahead, every car going past as she marched down the pavement. Her hands were thrust in her pockets to stop them from shaking.
Up above she could see the large black wrought-iron gates, a grand entrance fit for a final resting place. It was 11.30 a.m. Several people milled around as she passed through the gates of the cemetery. A man in the distance walking his dog – too old. A woman with a pushchair sitting on a bench – no man with her. A man and a woman in their early twenties, arms around each other standing over a grave. That couldn’t be him.
Even though her senses needed to be on full alert, Carla felt a calmness about her as she walked. It was peaceful in the cemetery, but still she wasn’t going to hang around for any longer than necessary.
At the fifteenth row, she turned right and made her way along to the ninth plot. Even after ten years, it still pained her to see her daughter’s grave. Sad thoughts that she could never watch Chloe grow up, have a career, be married, see her as a mother. Selfish thoughts that she had missed out on so much, would never have grandchildren, see her daughter flourish.
As the wind played with her long blonde hair, Carla shivered. Would she ever be rid of Ryan’s ghost? She glanced around again, her eyes darting everywhere, looking behind trees, in-between the gravestones and along the pathways. She stopped and bowed her head for a moment but quickly brought her eyes up again. He could be anywhere, and she had to keep a lookout for him at all times.
‘Happy birthday, my beautiful angel,’ Carla said in a whisper that was taken away in the breeze. She cleared her throat, trying to remove the lump in it. ‘I can’t believe how grown up you are. Eighteen years old today.’
The circular framed photo of a smiling eight-year-old was on the top-right corner of the black marble headstone. She had been a beautiful baby, always being admired when she was out in her pushchair and, despite their home life, Chloe had grown into an affectionate and loving little girl. She made friends easily at school and always aimed to please everyone.
Blonde plaits hung either side of her face, red ribbons holding them together at the bottom. The eyes of her father stared back at Carla, but, while his were dark with nastiness, Chloe’s were a deep sapphire blue, full of sparkly excitement. The sharp framing cheekbones and her smile belonged to Carla.
To the outside world, the smile had been there for most of Chloe’s young life. Only Carla knew how it would drop almost as much as the temperature inside the house the moment her daddy came home.
She glanced around again, remembering the last thing Chloe had said to her. It had been an hour before the accident. Carla had tucked her up in bed with her favourite teddy bear and kissed her forehead, but as she stood up to leave, Chloe had reached for her hand.
‘Be strong, Mummy,’ Chloe had said, grasping it tightly. ‘I will always be here to watch over you.’
Carla had turned away quickly so that Chloe wouldn’t see her tears. What had her daughter heard or witnessed throughout the years to say that to her? How must she have felt seeing her daddy hitting her mummy and saying nasty things to her all the time? They’d tried to keep their problems hidden, but even so, no one really knew how being brought up with violence affected a child until it was too late.
Carla thought about Chloe’s final words on the day her life had changed immeasurably. Would she be watching over her today? She liked to think so.
In the distance she saw a car approaching. She pressed her fingers to her lips and then placed them on the top of the gravestone.
‘Goodbye, my angel,’ she whispered. ‘Sleep tight.’
A man got out of the driver’s seat. He wore a long dark overcoat, with a black woollen hat and scarf covering most of his face and hair. But it was him, she was sure. Even after ten years, she’d recognise his stance anywhere. Carla ran to hide behind a tree.
Holding her breath as he walked down the path beside her, only a few metres away, she moved around the trunk to stay out of his vision, watching with fear as he stopped at Chloe’s grave.
For a good minute, he stood in silence with his head bowed in the exact spot she had just vacated. Then he lifted it and glanced around quickly before walking away. As he passed the tree, he stopped.
‘I know you’re there, Carla,’ he said.
Carla froze in her hiding place, glancing around for the best way to run if he came towards her. He wouldn’t attack her in such a public, nor sacred, place surely? She held her breath but then he continued on his way.
Carla shrank to her knees, clutching a hand to her mouth as nausea threatened to engulf her.
Ryan wanted her to know that he had seen her.
And so it all began again.
Detective Sergeant Eden Berrisford wasn’t sure if she was surprised or disappointed when she drove past Sally Stanton’s house and spotted a familiar car outside. She pulled over, parked up and marched down the path of number twenty-seven Martin Avenue.
A bobby’s hard rap found a tearful Sally answering the door, a nervousness about her that Eden had come to recognise in her when she felt distressed.
Sally hugged her thin frame. Her right eye was swelling, bruising already appearing around her cheekbone.
‘What’s happened?’ Eden cried out in frustration. ‘Did Colin do that?’
‘It’s nothing.’ Sally pulled at her fringe, trying to hide the damage.
‘Did you invite him in?’
A shake of her head.
‘Is Mark still around?’
‘No.’
Eden sighed. Mark was Sally’s new partner. No doubt he’d had enough of looking over his shoulder all the time after he’d been assaulted too. ‘Do you want me to move him on?’ she asked.
‘Please.’ Sally’s voice held a tremor, as if she was almost afraid to speak.
Eden stepped inside and went through into the living room. Colin Stanton was sitting on the settee, feet up on the coffee table, arms folded, his eyes glued to the television screen.
Eden glared at him as she tried to control her temper. Stanton was a bully of the first degree. A weasel of a man with a jaundiced tinge to his skin, his eyes were as dark as the rings underneath them, the tips of his fingers stained with nicotine and just as dirty as his fingernails. His clothes looked ready to walk away and, by the smell in the room, he’d clearly been drinking.
She’d known him from her days on the beat but over the past two years she had advised him several times about coming too close to his ex-wife and her new partner. He hadn’t heeded her warning.
‘Comfy there, are you?’ Eden asked. ‘And get your feet off the coffee table.’
‘I might be.’ He removed his feet regardless.
‘I’m assuming you came here uninvited?’
‘No. Sal invited me, didn’t you, babe?’
The word ‘babe’ made Eden want to vomit. Coming from him, it sounded so vulgar. She glanced at Sally, who had perched on the furthest seat in the far corner of the room. The woman wouldn’t meet anyone’s eye.
‘You need to stay away from your wife,’ Eden started.
‘My ex-wife.’ Colin Stanton folded his arms and scowled at her.
Eden wouldn’t be drawn. ‘You need to keep away from Sally, and this property, otherwise I’m going to arrest you for something to get you out of here, and believe me I will take great pleasure in it.’
Eden heard a sniff and looked to see Sally wiping her nose. Her eye was getting worse by the second, colouring purple around the lid.
‘She walked into a door.’ Colin sniggered. ‘Nothing to do with me.’
Eden raised her eyebrows. ‘Is this true, Sally?’
Sally gave a curt nod, but she still wouldn’t look at either of them. Eden cursed inwardly. This is what he’d done to Sally. Turned her into someone who was afraid of her own shadow. She almost wanted to growl a warning at him.
Every time she left the property after yet another call-out, she very much hoped that Sally wouldn’t give in to Colin again. After dealing with victims of domestic abuse for so long, Eden never took the hump if anyone went back to a partner. Some of the victims just couldn’t cope on their own after being beaten down into thinking they were worthless by a supposed loved one. Nevertheless, she wouldn’t tolerate bullies.
She prodded Colin in the shoulder. ‘Sally wants you to leave now,’ she told him.
Colin yawned loudly. ‘I’m not going anywhere any time soon.’
‘I don’t think you quite understand.’ Eden grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.
‘Get off me.’ Colin tried to shake off her hand. ‘That’s police brutality.’
Eden pushed him forward, resisting the urge to say more in front of Sally. ‘Come on, chop, chop.’
Outside, as they neared the corner of the house, she reached for his arm and, dragging him out of sight, slammed him up against the wall. Holding him in place with her arm across his chest, she pushed a knee between his legs. Then she pulled out her baton.
‘Resisting arrest is an offence in itself,’ she said as she stood inches from his face. His breath assaulted her again but she stood her ground.
‘You’re mad, woman!’ He tried to push her away. ‘Get off me.’
But she was too strong. ‘I don’t like – and I won’t tolerate – bullies,’ she told him. ‘I know of another one – Steve Wilson. Perhaps I should let it slip that you’ve been heard shouting your mouth off about him in the Butchers’ Arms. I know he won’t take that lightly.’
‘I haven’t said anything.’
‘Oh, I know that, but I’ll happily make something up so that he’ll be obliged to beat seven barrels of crap out of you. You see, I think you need a bit of your own medicine every now and then. It’s okay for you to get your kicks out of hitting a defenceless woman but that doesn’t float my boat. It doesn’t make you a man. It makes you a mouse in my eyes.’ Eden lessened her grip. ‘You’re nothing if someone stands up to you. So what’s it to be?’
‘You can’t threaten me,’ he said.
‘Watch me.’ Eden stepped back. ‘Now either leave Sally alone or I am coming after you. Do you understand?’
Colin stepped into her space. ‘You don’t tell me what to do. I’ll do as I please.’
‘And I’ll uphold the law. So just stay on the right side of it.’
Eden saw his right hand bunch into a fist. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, but all the same she raised the baton in the air.
‘Time for you to go.’ She nodded her head towards the gate.
Colin leered at her before turning to leave and threw his parting shot. ‘I’d watch your back if I were you.’
Eden said nothing. Empty words didn’t bother her. She watched him out on the street before going back inside to Sally. She was still sitting on the settee where they had left her. The tissue she had wiped her eyes with was shredded in ribbons in her lap. Eden’s heart went out to her. She couldn’t begin to imagine how it must feel to be so scared in your own home. It should be a sanctuary.
‘He keeps pushing his way in, no matter what I do.’ Sally looked up at her. ‘If I go to the shops, he follows me home. If I stay in the house, he sits on the wall opposite and watches me. I don’t have a life any more.’
‘Then let me help you,’ said Eden. ‘Let me move you to a safe place. I can see if The Willows women’s refuge has a space.’
‘I can’t go there.’ Sally shook her head. ‘Besides, nowhere will be safe from him.’
‘You would have safety in numbers, a roof over your head and a bed to sleep in without fear of him coming to see you again at any time of the day or night.’
‘If I move he’ll find me somewhere else, won’t he?’
‘I can’t promise that he won’t, but at least you’d be with others who know how you’re feeling and can help you to realise that none of this is your fault and you deserve a better life. No one should live in fear.’
Sally paused for a moment but then shook her head. ‘I can’t.’
Eden held in her frustration, though she knew that she’d never give up trying to get Sally away from her ex-husband.
One day she might listen – or, ultimately, one day it might be too late.
Ella Brown tripped over her foot but somehow managed to keep upright. She giggled as the bouncer caught hold of her arm.
‘Steady on, darling,’ he said, laughing. ‘You’re not going to have a good weekend if you fall off those heels, now, are you?’
‘Who put that floor there?’ She smiled. Or rather she hoped it looked like a smile as he leered back at her. Jeez, he was old enough to be her father. She moved swiftly past him, heading for the exit of Sparks nightclub.
Outside, she rummaged in her handbag for her phone. It was the early hours of Saturday morning. There had been three of them at the beginning of the night, but somehow she had lost her friends, Lucy and Charlotte, after she’d slipped to the loo. She’d walked around for a while trying to spot either of them but eventually she’d given up and decided to go home.
There was a message from Lucy.
Tried to call you. Meet us at the doorway in ten minutes. If you’re not there in twenty, I’ll assume you’re still with Dylan. I want to know ALL the details tomorrow. Lx
Ella grinned, recalling how thrilled she’d been earlier when Dylan had made a beeline for her the minute she had stepped on to the dance floor. They’d spent most of the night together and had arranged a date for next week. But when she’d gone in search of her friends, she lost sight of him as well.
Sighing, as she knew she didn’t have enough money for a taxi home alone, Ella waited outside as the club emptied but still she couldn’t see them. Shivering slightly, she decided to walk. It would take her about half an hour, and if she stopped off for something to eat on the way, that would cheer her up. She had enough money for that.
Twenty minutes later, a cone of chips but a distant memory, Ella was almost home. She walked along the high street that would take her past The Cavendales and on to where she lived, just a few streets further on. Squinting as she passed the first of the large houses inside the walled estate, she dreamt of one day living in something so grand. Being eighteen and in her last year of a two-year A-level course at sixth form, she had a long way to go.
When she came to the cut-through that would take her to where she lived, she paused. She hated walking that way but she had done it for years, and it would take a good ten minutes longer to walk around. Taking a deep breath, she started the quick march to the other side.
Without warning, she was pushed in the back. Landing on all fours, someone from behind grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her along the pavement.
‘Hey!’ Ella cried as her knees scraped along the tarmac. In desperation, she tried to hit out at the hand that still had a firm grip on her hair as she scrambled to her feet again.
A few steps into the walkway, she was pushed up against the wall. She turned quickly to see a man. He was slightly taller than her and wore a black woollen scarf covering his mouth and nose, and a black hat. All she could see were his eyes, blue and menacing.
His hand squeezed her breast roughly.
Knowing he could overpower her in seconds, she put up a fight, pushing him in the chest.
‘Get off me!’ she cried.
But he came back at her, and she gasped as his gloved hand found her neck. She slapped at his face, his head, grabbed for his hat. Taking both of her wrists, he tried to force her to the floor.
‘No!’
If he got her to the ground, it would all be over. Her fist caught him on the side of his face, the next one on his cheek. As he tried to grapple to catch her arms, she cried out as loud as she could.
‘Help me!’
He struck her in the face. It felt like minutes passed, like everything was going in slow motion as she began to lose control. But in reality it had only been seconds. Ella groaned as pain engulfed her, her legs giving way.
He pushed her to the ground and straddled her. It was a few moments before she realised what he was doing next, a few more before she knew she was powerless to do anything about it. When one last bout of resistance brought another punch to her face, she went inside herself. The pain in her head intensified, yet she was almost thankful for it. It stopped her from thinking about what else he was doing to her.
Eden pulled up alongside a black Range Rover to see a woman inside having a go at the children in the back of the car. She caught Eden looking, and the woman rolled her eyes. Eden smiled at her, thankful that her days of the school run were over. She was still a taxi service during the evenings and weekends for her sixteen-year-old daughter, Casey, but at least she didn’t have to sit in traffic each morning and join the yummy mummies in the playground.
When the lights changed, she pressed on the throttle and the Lambretta shot forward. A puff of blue smoke came from the exhaust, its tinny engine way behind that of the Range Rover, which had already turned a corner before she’d got across the road.
Eden’s car had gone in for a service. She could have asked for a lift to the station, but that wouldn’t have been half as much fun. It was definitely not scooter weather, but at least it was dry and there was no ice on the roads. In winter, she never got much time to enjoy the feel of the wind rushing past her. It was certainly a wake-up call.
She pulled in to the station car park to jeers from a group of uniformed officers who had congregated around the back door.
‘Morning, Twiggy. You been out on an all-nighter?’ said one, sniggering at his own joke.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ she said, pulling off her helmet. ‘At least I get some action all night.’ She looked him up and down. ‘How old are you? Fifteen?’
‘Old enough, Sarge,’ he shouted amidst laughter as she made her way inside. ‘Old enough.’
Eden threw him the finger over her shoulder but she was smiling. She didn’t give a stuff who took the mickey out of her. She loved her Lambretta.
A few minutes later, she was at her desk and waiting to go in to see her boss. Detective Inspector Sean Whittaker was responsible for overlooking the Major Crimes Team, as well as Eden’s team, and split his time between the two accordingly.
The Community Intelligence Team had been set up six months earlier, on a twelve-month trial, and Eden had been asked to put in for the position of detective sergeant to head it up. She had two detective constables to manage, and if Eden could have chosen who to have in her team they would both have been top of her list.
Twenty-nine-year-old Jordan Ashcroft had been with the police for eight years, and had transferred from Manchester two years before to be a detective constable. His sunny disposition served him well as an officer, enabling him to deal with all types of people and situations.
His colleague, Amy Nicholls, was three years younger and had served just over six years at Stockleigh Police Station as a police constable before her recent promotion. When Eden had first met her, she’d thought Am. . .
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