Dani awoke from her drug-eased sleep just after seven in the morning. Not surprisingly she felt anything but refreshed. Even though the fear and panic of arriving home the night before seemed distant and nothing more than an irrational overreaction, the unhappy end to the couple of hours she’d spent with Jason was still playing on her mind.
She checked her phone, saw there was a message from him.
She tutted and scrolled up the page to see the other texts from him that were still on her phone. He’d last texted her three months ago, though she guessed the lack of contact since then was more down to her than him. Once again she didn’t bother to reply. Instead, she checked to see if there was any update on Paul Reeve. There was none. Did that mean they hadn’t found him yet?
She got up from the bed and set about getting herself ready for the day ahead. When she was showered and dressed and appropriately medicated, she closed the apartment door behind her and headed towards the stairwell. She was soon out in the street and walking alongside the canal towards the revamped Brindleyplace area in central Birmingham. She headed past the closed bars and restaurants, through the looming glass-fronted International Convention Centre and then onward past the oddity that was the newly erected Library of Birmingham, that to Dani basically looked like a gold-cladded chimney and had cost two hundred million pounds at a time of supposed austerity. Still, at least it looked better on the inside.
From there Dani headed past chugging dump trucks and cranes and booming diggers, in the midst of further redevelopment around the area known as Paradise Circus – yeah, real paradise – and onto Colmore Row, heading towards HQ. But HQ wasn’t her destination. Not yet anyway. Dani had set Easton up to track down Paul Reeve. She would have happily been involved in that herself, but there really was no need to cause a fuss so soon after returning to work by not keeping to her agreed programme of rehabilitation. So instead she would go to an appointment that she really didn’t want to have to keep, but had no choice about. Not if she wanted to continue as a DI under McNair’s watch anyway.
The psychiatrist’s office was on Newhall Street, off Colmore Row, so was at least convenient for getting to HQ afterwards. Dr Scholz, one of countless psychiatrists Dani had seen over the last two years, was a German-born man in his fifties. He’d lived in England for nearly thirty years but his roots were still obvious in his heavily accented English. He reminded Dani of a professor-type from a bygone era, with his thin hair, round glasses and wispy moustache. He was always immaculately dressed and groomed, yet there was little warmth in Scholz, and Dani had never really opened up in their sessions in the way she was expected to.
Which perhaps explained why she was still having to see him after some six months, even though she’d now been cleared to return to work. Her continued therapy was just one of the conditions McNair, on the advice of Scholz, had insisted upon, until it was deemed Dani was of sound enough mind to halt both the sessions and her anti-depressant medication. Dani often wondered whether she would ever reach that point.
She arrived outside the old redbrick Victorian terrace ten minutes early for her appointment and headed inside to the reception area that was decked out in modern and largely bright white decor – was it modern or just clinical? She sat on a blue plastic chair in the small waiting area while the young receptionist filed her nails. Every so often she glanced at Dani for a few seconds as though she were trying to figure out what was wrong with this clearly deranged woman. At least that’s what Dani thought.
Scholz poked his head around his office door bang on the hour and ushered Dani through. His office was pleasantly inviting compared to the reception area, with book-filled shelves, ornaments and various colourful paintings on the walls. As well as the two plain metal chairs in front of his desk, there were two armchairs plus the obligatory chaise longue. Dani had never taken to lying down during these sessions. Instead, at Scholz’s invitation to sit where she wanted, Dani opted for one of the seats at the desk. Would Scholz draw any conclusions as to her mental wellbeing from that simple choice alone?
Probably yes. He wouldn’t be able to help himself.
‘How are you, Dani?’
Scholz sat on his own chair – comfortable leather – put his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands together.
‘Fine. I’m back at work now.’
‘That’s good. And you’re coping ok?’
What was she supposed to say in response to that question? That since returning to work she’d gone to bed in tears two nights in a row? That she’d needed both alcohol and pills to help her sleep and to keep her feeling close to sane? That she’d seen a mysterious shadowy figure at a window at a murder scene? That last night she’d thought she was being stalked by the same or possibly another shadowy figure that may or may not have really been there? That she’d nearly had a full-blown panic attack over that?
Of course she wasn’t fucking ok.
‘Yeah. It feels good to be back,’ Dani said.
‘I saw you on TV the other night.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Can’t be easy being put straight back into the limelight. Especially on a murder investigation.’
Dani shrugged. ‘That’s my job.’
Scholz said nothing to that, just sat and studied Dani for a few moments. Their sessions together had blown hot and cold over the past few months. Sometimes Dani would remain placid, almost detached, just trying to stay calm and compliant so that she could get the session over without raising any questions in Scholz’s mind. Other sessions became more heated, with Dani defensive and up for a fight over what she felt was Scholz’s and the police’s agenda of trying to make her out to be goods damaged beyond repair.
Today Dani was strongly hoping she could keep calm. She simply wanted to ride over this and get out in one piece, then get on with the day ahead.
‘Have you been taking your medication?’ Scholz asked.
And then some, Dani thought, but she didn’t say it. ‘Just as the doctor ordered.’
‘That’s good. Often patients struggle a little at first when we reduce the dosages. So taking less hasn’t caused you any problems? Heightened sadness? Anxiety attacks? Anything like that?’
Reduced dosage? Well, about that…
‘Believe me, not every day is a party, but I think I’m doing ok, under the circumstances.’
After that, the conversation got down into the nitty-gritty of Dani’s life over the last few days, but particularly how she had been impacted by being back at work. The session was going quite well, Dani thought. Then Scholz raised the subject of Jason. He asked how Dani had coped with seeing her former lover for the first time in months. She clammed up from there. Jason was far from the cause of her problems, but the subject of their failed relationship was still one of the sorest, and saddest, in her mind, even if it was she who’d ended it – and it felt particularly raw after last night.
‘I’d really like you to try something for me, for the next phase of our therapy,’ Scholz said.
Our therapy?
‘Try what?’ Dani asked, hoping they were moving on from talking about Jason.
‘Pardon my forwardness, but I think it’s really important that you stop closing your mind off from what’s happened to you. It’s the only way you’ll be able to properly move forwards.’
‘You mean you think I’m in denial?’
‘That would have been a more succinct way of putting it, yes.’
He was probably right, but Dani didn’t want to agree and give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
‘What I’d like to see the next time we meet is that you’ve taken steps to confront some of your demons, so to speak. The worst thing for someone in your position to do is to internalise their problems.’
‘Are you still talking about Jason?’ Dani said, feeling frustrated that he was a subject that needed discussing at all.
‘In part, yes. If you were to ask me my personal opinion, I’d say that pushing away someone like Jason who cares about you is probably not helping you right now. Having a support network is very important and I’m not sure why you’re so determined to get through this alone.’
‘Just as well I didn’t ask for your personal opinion then,’ Dani said, and she saw Scholz squirm slightly at that. He looked at her questioningly, as though waiting for her to apologise for her abruptness.
‘Sorry,’ she said, not really feeling it. ‘You can blame my irritability on my damaged frontal lobes. Or the meds. Take your pick.’
‘Don’t worry, Dani. I know you’re still struggling with the changes in your personality.’
Did he?
‘Actually I do get where you’re coming from,’ Dani said.
Scholz raised an eyebrow at Dani’s perhaps unexpected acquiescence.
‘Which is why I’ve arranged to go and see Ben.’
Scholz looked shocked at that.
‘You said I need to confront my past,’ Dani said, when Scholz failed to say a word.
‘I did. I’m actually pleasantly surprised by this, Dani.’
‘Believe me, there’s nothing pleasant about the thought of going to see my brother.’
‘No, I’m sure there’s not. But I really do think that it will help you in the long run. May I ask what led you to this decision?’
Dani let out a long sigh. She thought about Harry and Chloe. Was a part of her doing this for them, or would saying that just be a smokescreen? Until yesterday, Dani hadn’t known how on earth her visiting her murderous brother in prison was ever going to help her relate to the real world with more purpose again. What she’d thought she needed was to erase him from her life one hundred percent. Remove every single memory and every single facet of his existence from her mind. But really, didn't she need some sort of closure for herself?
‘I saw my niece and nephew yesterday.’
‘That’s good. I’m glad you’re able to spend time with them now.’
‘Harry brought it up. I saw the hurt and the confusion and the anger in his eyes as he talked about Ben. He doesn’t even have the option of confronting his father. Gemma won’t allow that. He’s effectively being placed in denial because of someone else’s wishes.’
‘I’m sure she’s looking out for her child’s best interests.’
‘I’m sure she is too. But wouldn’t it do him good to be able to see his dad and to ask him all the questions that a ten-year-old must have?’
‘Perhaps. I can’t say, as I’ve not met him.’
Dani sniffed at the vague and unhelpful response.
‘On the other hand,’ she said, ‘you’re right. The only person stopping me from moving on is me. Seeing him is something I now know I have to do.’
Ben was still on Dani’s mind as she made her way on foot from Scholz’s office to HQ. Out in the fresh air her anger rose again as she continued to think about her brother, and she shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts of him from her mind. Yes, she would see him, but she still had a job to do in the meantime. She couldn’t let him dominate her life, nor could she let her constant irritation sour her return to the force.
She walked down Colmore Row, past St Philip’s cathedral, the pavements busy with suited workers piling into their offices. Dani would normally arrive at HQ well before the morning rush got into full speed, and she dodged and occasionally bumped into the frustratingly slow movers as she stormed along. Just before she reached Snowhill station, Dani ducked into a Waitrose store to grab a strong black coffee that she hoped would help to calm her mood.
She waited in line at the self-service machine. On a rack to her left she spotted a small pile of Birmingham Mail newspapers from the night before. Unsurprisingly, the picture on the front cover was of Monday night’s press conference. McNair, Fletcher and Dani sitting in a row. McNair was in mid-speech, her hands gesticulating. Fletcher looked cool and composed. Dani looked like the proverbial rabbit in headlights.
The headline stated that the police were desperately trying to identify a murder victim, but that clearly wasn’t the whole story detailed in the fine print because Dani could also see the caption underneath the picture. Rather than giving her the plain old title of DI Stephens, the hacks had done exactly what McNair had suggested they might.
DI Danielle Stephens, twin sister of serial killer Ben Stephens, back with Force CID following her horrific attempted murder ordeal.
Dani cringed and shut her eyes for a few seconds. It was one thing having to deal with her problems, but having the whole world watching her… Why was she even putting herself through this?
Maybe she should walk out of the shop, go home, pack her bags and head off to the deepest, most remote countryside and grow potatoes or something.
When she opened her eyes again it felt as though all eyes in the store were on her. Like everyone had seen the newspaper and knew who she was. Like they were judging her, talking about her, trying to decide if she was a mental case like her brother or not.
With the walls closing in, and Dani’s heart pummelling her ribs, she moved up to the coffee machine and pressed the button for a black americano, adding an extra shot for good measure, even though she was sure the extra caffeine was probably not what she really needed. She was shakily putting the lid onto the paper cup when she felt someone moving up behind her. Dani half-turned.
‘I’m so sorry,’ the woman said. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
‘That’s fine,’ Dani said, only giving the blonde woman a cursory glance. Whoever she was, Dani didn’t really want to engage.
‘I thought I recognised you from the paper,’ the woman said. ‘You’re Danielle Stephens, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Dani said, moving away from the woman and the machine. She needed air.
‘I—’
‘Why don’t you just buy the damn paper?’ Dani said, voice raised. ‘I’m sure that’ll tell you everything you need to know about me.’
Dani carried on her way, not looking back to see the reaction on the woman’s face. She moved over to the self-scan tills, keeping her head down. The shop felt stifling; she needed to be outside. She swiped her card against the pad then strode for the exit, avoiding eye contact with anyone else.
Only when she was out in the cool morning, taking deep lungfuls of autumn air, did it strike Dani that maybe she’d just blown a potential lead. The whole idea of the press conference, after all, was to obtain information related to the murder. What if the woman who’d approached her knew something? She could be another friend of the victim or a witness of some sort. And Dani had been more concerned about her own public image than bringing a murderer to justice.
Too late now. As Dani glanced around, and back into the shop, she didn’t even know which of the many people in sight it had been. Banishing the thought that she’d messed up, Dani continued outside and turned left to head the short distance to HQ. The entrance was in sight when her phone rang. She lifted it from her pocket. Easton.
‘You need to get over here right away,’ he said.
‘What is it?’
‘Paul Reeve. He’s dead.’