‘Morning,’ I said, as I walked into the break room.
Paul looked up, his hands braced on the countertop. His greying black hair was mussed on one side, like he’d been pulling at the thick strands. His stick leant on the countertop beside him. He’d been injured years ago in a hostage situation and had used a walking aid ever since.
‘Is it morning still?’ he asked, his deep voice flat.
I looked at my watch. ‘Just about.’
He went back to staring at the red light on the toaster. I reached around him to get coffee from the top cupboard. I spooned it out into mine and Juliet’s mugs, added sugar to mine, and flicked on the kettle. Its gentle hissing filled the cramped room, comprised of a kitchenette and two ratty sofas.
Paul hadn’t moved.
‘How’s the case going?’ Asking went against every inclination inside of me screaming that I should keep my distance, but I would have asked about any other case.
Paul swivelled his head to squint at me, then resumed his toaster-vigil. The always purple skin around his eyes looked almost bruised. ‘It’s clear cut. All the evidence is there. Just got to bloody find them.’
I wrinkled my nose at the smell of burning toast. The slices jumped up, blackened and smoking. Paul dropped them onto his plate. ‘The press is going to have a field day.’
Paul’s lack of tolerance for the media was almost as legendary around the station as Juliet’s icy bitch status. But he wasn’t wrong. Journalists would leap on a high priority murder investigation losing its perpetrators.
‘Thank God our case came through first.’ The kettle clicked off and I poured steaming water into the mugs. ‘I don’t envy you spending your days dealing with the press and trawling through CCTV of warehouses.’
Paul dropped his knife, which landed with a clatter beside his toast.
‘You alright?’ I asked. He couldn’t claim I was taking an unhealthy interest in his case. Anyone with eyes had heard the basic facts about Krystal’s parents. Her father was a lorry driver, so would have insider knowledge of many industrial complexes.
Paul shook his head, picking up the sticky knife. ‘Fine. Just had a thought.’ His face brightened. ‘You might not have to deal with the press, but I took a gander at that mad wall of Juliet’s after you two left last night. You’ve got too many suspects and no leads.’
‘We didn’t then.’ I poured milk into my coffee. ‘We have now.’
Paul scraped more jam over his charred slabs. ‘I should have known. You’re far too chipper for someone with nothing to go on.’
I picked up the mugs. ‘Have a good day now.’
‘Yeah, yeah. You too.’ Paul waved me out of the room. ‘Let’s arrange dinner soon. You can entertain the monsters for a night.’
My tentative friendship with Paul was one of the most unlikely things to survive my move here. We’d met when we worked up in north London. He’d always taken the time to talk to uniformed officers, was unfailingly courteous and patient. He paid more attention to me once it became clear I thought about scenes differently to others at my pay grade. When I’d needed encouragement to attempt the detective exam, he’d cheered me on. He moved down here a year before me, probably envisioned me becoming his protegee when I followed. But he’d been allocated someone else to work with before I arrived. Despite his animosity towards Juliet, my working with her hadn’t affected our cheerful banter or the occasional meals he invited me to, his home cosy with the shouts of his sons and his wife’s gentle questions.
I walked across the open-plan floor towards mine and Juliet’s office, trying and failing to ignore the oversized picture of Krystal, bracketed on either side by her missing parents. I fought off a shiver. If there was one person I trusted to bring a child’s murderers to justice, it was Paul.
I hadn’t lied to him; we’d found something that could help us find Melanie’s killer. Alongside the incriminating texts from My Lion, the IT team had uncovered pictures of Melanie’s legs. They showed a history of abuse, her brown skin mottled with changing patterns of bruises.
We might not know all the answers, but the evidence from Melanie’s phone had brought us a step closer. Someone had been hurting her in the months before she died and someone had encouraged her onto the Dunlow Estate the night she was murdered.
‘I’ve got something else,’ Juliet said as I walked into our office.
I placed both coffees on her desk and sat next to her. Since she’d called me over to look at the IT report, we’d been working side by side.
Juliet clicked her mouse and a photo filled her computer screen. It was different to the tearful selfies interspersing the records of beatings. Melanie was laughing. That was clear, even though she held up her hands to cover her face. The photographer’s arm was in shot, reaching towards her. Their sleeve was blue.
I looked at the wall of evidence. Leo smiled in his school uniform. A navy blazer squared off his shoulders.
‘Exactly,’ Juliet said. ‘Now listen to this.’
The IT team had also sent over several voice recordings. Juliet clicked on the last in a short list. Static filled the air, then the tinny sound of someone playing the piano. After a sharp inhale, a voice joined in.
I closed my eyes as Melanie sang a verse and chorus of Amazing Grace, her breathing heavy after each line. There was something different about hearing voices from beyond the grave. Pictures were static. I struggled with the wealth of video and sound evidence victims left behind. It made them so much more real.
Another verse, and the singing faltered. The piano stopped.
What do you think?
It was good. Really good.
The recording ended. I opened my eyes. Juliet propped her elbows on the table, her coffee steaming into her face.
‘That was Leo’s voice, right?’ My phone vibrated and I thumbed at it. ‘That’s the tech team. My Lion’s phone number is registered to Timothy Dunlow.’
‘Looks like you might be right about My Lion. I don’t see Dunlow giving Karl a phone.’
I grabbed my mug and took a sip, hiding the smile rising on my face. In such a complex case, if I could be the one to make mental leaps and find the killer first, that had to equate to a job well done. Melanie would be able to rest peacefully and her loved ones move on, knowing her murderer had been brought to justice.
‘Both Leo and Jordan have lied to us.’ I set down my drink. ‘We need to talk to them again.’