DC Hale was leaning on the side of the van, one dark shoe raised against it. Marked and unmarked cars were scattered across the road, some still blinking blue lights across the street. It was becoming busier. Hastily strung-up crime-scene tape was marshalled by constables in heavy uniform, their only job to keep a growing number of onlookers away from the scene as they held on to smartphones, updating Facebook and Twitter. Embellishing the nothingness of what they could actually see into something more tangible and interesting.
Murphy was becoming used to the latest way news spread. Didn’t like it, but he assumed not many on his side of the tape did. He looked both ways as he crossed the road, before realising such an action was redundant.
‘How is he?’ Murphy said as he reached Hale. ‘Sounds quiet.’
‘Not sure,’ Hale replied, looking past Murphy towards the house. ‘I haven’t spoken to him.’
Rossi shaped as if to say something, then stopped as Murphy gave her a look.
‘Don’t just stand there,’ Murphy said, drawing himself into Hale’s line of vision. ‘Find out what you can. See if anything else has been found out. If anyone saw anything. That kind of thing, yeah?’
Hale stood up to his full height but failed to reach Murphy’s towering figure by a good few inches. ‘Yes, boss.’
Murphy allowed Rossi to enter the van first, then let the uniform who had been sitting inside slip past him and leave. He stepped up into the van and sat next to the man.
‘I’m Detective Inspector David Murphy, this is Detective Sergeant Laura Rossi . . .’ Murphy realised he hadn’t even asked the man’s name. ‘And you are . . .?’
‘Thomas Parker,’ came the muted response. Parker’s head hung low, almost touching his knees in the cramped seats of the van. An almost perfectly round bald patch winked back at them as Parker slightly turned his back to the window. His shoulders looked bulky on his slight frame, solid as if he worked out, Murphy thought.
‘Is it them?’
Murphy cleared his throat and let the pause grow a little longer. ‘We’re not sure yet,’ he said after a few moments more. ‘We’re still making enquiries . . .’
‘I think it is. I don’t want it to be but Joe’s tattoos . . .’ Parker raised a hand to caress his own upper body, before letting it drop down to be clasped by the other.
‘We’ll know for certain soon enough, Mr Parker,’ Rossi said, leaning forward towards him from across the small aisle which separated them. ‘For now, we’re just going to ask you some questions, okay?’
A slight nod but still no raised head.
‘Can you tell us what happened this morning?’
‘I got a phone call around six, maybe just after.’ Parker’s voice was monotone, no life to it. ‘It was from Chloe’s phone, so I answered. A man on the other end said I could find Chloe and Joe at this house, that they were waiting for me. I thought it was a wind-up at first, but he was . . . he wouldn’t let me talk.’
‘What else was he saying?’ Murphy cut in.
‘I don’t know really, it was all a bit strange. He said I had to go and see what their love had created, what lies had been told, that they needed me to be there. Just a stream of stuff that I didn’t really understand. He was insistent that it was no joke, that I had no time to mess about.’
‘Then what?’
‘I didn’t go straight away. Took me about five or ten minutes of lying there deciding what to do before I moved. I was waiting for Chloe to ring me back and say it was all a joke. When she didn’t, I came straight down. I got here around seven and tried knocking on the front door.’ Parker paused, lifted his head for a second before letting it drop to his chest again. ‘I got a feeling something was bad, you know. Nothing looked right, not in the whole street. I was worried . . .’
Murphy glanced out of the window of the van, wondering how quiet it would have been there at that time of morning. ‘You were alone at this point?’
Parker nodded slowly. ‘I walked round to the back of the house, to see if I could look through a window or something. I realised the houses were all empty here, so I wasn’t expecting there to be any problems. The back gate looked locked, so I just rang you lot . . . the police.’
‘And they just came down? Like, straight away?’ Rossi asked, a hint of incredulity in her tone, causing Murphy to give her a glance before looking back at the top of Parker’s head.
‘Well . . . I know a few people, if you know what I mean. Only had to mention a couple of names and I didn’t have to wait long.’
Murphy shook his head slightly. The wonders of knowing the right people, moving in the right circles. ‘So, you waited until uniformed officers arrived. Did you see anything out of the ordinary at that point?’
Parker shook his head. ‘I felt something though. Like . . . I was being watched or whatever. Couldn’t see anyone and there were only the empty houses around anyway.’
Murphy looked towards Rossi who gave a nod in return, which he hoped meant that the other houses in the street were being searched.
‘They turned up and took over really. I hung back a little, but my curiosity got the better of me. When they got into the back garden, I followed them and saw what they . . . found.’
Murphy looked for tissues as Parker finally dissolved into the sobs that had been threatening to appear since they had entered the van. He found nothing.
‘Take your time,’ Rossi said, shrugging her shoulders at Murphy as he came up empty-handed.
‘I’m . . . I’m sorry. She was just such a sweet girl. She didn’t deserve this.’
‘Of course she didn’t,’ Murphy said, thankful the crying had subsided a little. ‘That’s why we need to know as much as possible at this point, so we can find out who did this.’
‘Yeah . . . yes,’ Parker replied, wiping a sleeve across his eyes, drying them for a split second before they became wet again. ‘I’ll do anything.’
Rossi cut in, changing tack. ‘When did you know they had gone missing?’
‘Two . . . well, three days ago now. They were supposed to be at an event for the opening of some local film on Friday. They didn’t show up and the PR in charge of the event called me. I tried getting in touch with Chloe, but didn’t get an answer. I gave her a few hours, but started to get a little worried.’
‘So you called us?’
‘Well . . . not you specifically, but yes, the police. Not straight away, though. I called the cleaning firm who looks after the apartment.’
Murphy asked for the name of the firm and wrote down the answer before allowing Parker to continue.
‘They went over there and found an empty apartment. The doorman there hadn’t seen them since Friday morning . . . I’m sure you already know all this.’
Rossi held up a hand before realising the futility of the motion as Parker still sat with his head bowed. ‘For now we just want to hear what happened before this morning. Gives us more of a complete picture from your side of it.’
‘Fine . . . fine. That’s it though. Police came over, found nothing to suggest anything untoward had happened and left. Said they’d probably gone away for a holiday or something without telling anyone.’
‘You didn’t think that was possible?’ Murphy said, wondering exactly how close this agent was to his client.
‘Not at all. Chloe knew not to do anything like that. She had to be ready at a moment’s notice to attend events, openings, things like that. She has . . . had . . . to be on call at all times. If Michelle Keegan, or Charlotte Crosby, or any of those reality TV celeb types backs out of some PR, Chloe has to be straight in there to get her face seen. If she wanted to go on holiday, she knew to tell me. She trusted me.’
‘So,’ Murphy said, attempting to bring a close to the conversation. ‘Chloe and Joe go missing at some point on Friday. No signs of a struggle at their home, then a phone call this morning, telling you to come to this house where they’re . . . found.’
Parker’s voice grew almost inaudible. ‘Yes . . . that’s about it.’
‘What did the voice on the phone sound like? Familiar, someone you recognised maybe?’
‘I’ve never heard that voice in my life. It was gruff, like someone was trying to sound older than they were. A weird, put-on accent as well. A Welshman trying to do a Geordie kind of thing.’
Murphy sat back a little, crossing his arms. ‘Tell us more about them. They had been together for almost two years? Since that TV show?’
Murphy watched Parker shift in his seat. The first time he had noticed a distinct change in his demeanour. ‘It would have been two years this coming July. All starting with that show. Didn’t think it would last this long, but it seems they knew what was best.’
‘You didn’t like him, did you?’ Murphy said, happy to finally be able to make eye contact with Parker as he fixed them with a watery gaze.
‘Not really, no. He wasn’t right for Chloe. I didn’t like the way he was with her.’
‘What way?’
Parker exhaled, his breath a long, drawn-out sigh. ‘I think she was more invested in that relationship than he ever was. He . . . There were rumours. That’s all.’
‘What kind of rumours?’ Rossi said, her pen flying across her notebook as she made the notes Murphy never did.
‘That he enjoyed himself a little too much when she wasn’t around. In my line of work, that’s usual though. No one seems to have any kind of loyalty in this game.’
Murphy listened as Parker went into a little more detail, thinking about the reasons murder usually occurred. Domestic issues was still number one. Although the last couple of years had shown him that there were always more reasons to kill.
‘Did they have any enemies?’ Murphy heard Rossi ask as he paid more attention to what was being said.
A short laugh from Parker. ‘Tons of them. There are thousands . . . maybe millions of people who hate reality stars. Just go on the internet and search for their names . . . Hell, just read any newspaper. There’s always someone saying nasty things about them. Social media is the worst, of course. Some of the tweets Chloe used to receive . . . Christ.’
‘Anyone specific,’ Murphy said, mentally crossing his fingers for an easy ride.
‘Not that I can think of. I will of course pass on the hate mail.’
‘Hate mail?’ Murphy replied, surprised that sort of thing still happened. ‘Didn’t think anyone sent letters these days . . .’
‘Oh, it’s all emails. We’ve really moved on as a society.’ Parker shook his head and looked on the verge of tears again. ‘Is that it for now? Only I’m going to be quite busy today. There’ll be a lot of interest in this.’
Murphy looked at Rossi who narrowed her eyes at him.
Always suspicious.
* * *
‘There wasn’t anything we could keep him on for now, you know that.’
Murphy and Rossi were standing in the cordoned-off street, keeping their voices low as more onlookers crowded round the crime-scene tape a hundred yards or so further up the road.
‘Yeah . . . just seemed shifty to me. All that crying . . .’
‘He was upset.’
‘Okay, maybe I wasn’t expecting that. I thought he’d be more of a loudmouth. Like those ones you see on telly. What was that bloke called?’
‘Which one?’ Murphy said, staring across towards the crowd of faces, all trying to get a better look at what was going on.
‘You know, the one who was always on Sky News and that. Turned out to be a paedo rapist or whatever . . .’
‘Max Clifford?’
Rossi clapped her hands together. ‘That’s the one. Would have annoyed me all day that.’
‘What about him?’ Murphy said, after waiting a few seconds for her to speak first.
‘That’s what I was expecting. Bit more gregarious, you know what I mean?’
‘Not really,’ Murphy replied, looking back towards the house. ‘Anyway, I think we’ve got work to do. We start now. Suggestions?’
‘Two things. The house and the victims.’
‘Good.’ Murphy nodded, wondering how infamous the house was about to become. ‘But that’s actually three things. Plus, you’ve forgotten about witnesses.’
Rossi tutted then shook her head. ‘There’s no one here really. All these houses are being pulled down.’
‘Maybe,’ Murphy replied. ‘But I guarantee there’ll be at least someone who hasn’t left yet. Always is. And it’s usually the one person who takes notice most of what happens around them.’
‘Fiver says you’re wrong,’ Rossi said, extending her hand. ‘Bet you there’s no one here.’
‘You’re on,’ Murphy said, gripping Rossi’s hand in his and shaking once. ‘A fiver on someone being here, who saw something suspicious.’
He lost the bet.
