Laura Grainger was early to work the next morning. She’d much rather turn in first and get her work done. She was surprised to see Jamie’s car already parked outside; he must have been in a hurry because he had abandoned it across the double-yellow lines. That was typical of him. She’d never worked for anyone so self-absorbed. Walking up the steps, she pushed her key into the door and opened it, but the door moved an inch and no more. Frowning, she pushed it again; it still didn’t move.
Pushing her mouth against the gap, she yelled: ‘Let me in, the door’s stuck.’
A rich, earthy smell filled her nostrils and she let out a small grunt of disgust. A cold chill settled over her as she shouted: ‘Jamie?’
This time she leant forwards, put her shoulder against the door and shoved it as hard as she could. It scraped open a few more inches, enough for her to peer through the gap. That was when she saw Jamie’s crumpled body, collapsed onto the floor.
Stepping back, she ran towards the post office next door, hammering on the door until it opened and she saw Mr Riley looking at her as if she’d gone mad.
‘Oh my God, I think he might be dead. I don’t want to go inside. Can you phone an ambulance?’
‘Who?’
She pointed at Jamie’s car.
‘Where is he?’
‘Inside the doorway to the office. He’s on the floor and I can’t get in.’
‘Susan, Susan.’ Mr Riley called to his wife. ‘Ring an ambulance now. Come on, you’d better show me.’
Laura led the way and let Mr Riley try to get inside. He pushed the door, managing to get it open just enough to squeeze in. She didn’t follow, didn’t want to see what was waiting on the other side. Moments later he pushed his way out, his usually ruddy cheeks devoid of all colour.
‘He’s dead. There’s blood everywhere. Jesus, I’ve never seen anything like this in my life.’
He landed heavily as he sat down onto the stone steps, his face between his hands. Laura didn’t know what to do, so she patted his back.
Susan came running out of the post office, her phone pushed against her ear.
‘I don’t know, hang on.’
She looked at her husband, then spoke to Laura.
‘Is the casualty conscious and breathing?’
‘We don’t think so. There’s a lot of blood.’
‘No, probably not, there’s blood all over. Right, well I’m not a doctor, am I? Please hurry.’
She ended the call and looked at them both. ‘Jesus, what a way to start your day. Police and ambulance are on their way.’
Laura sat next to Mr Riley; there was nothing any of them could do now except wait for help to arrive.
Thirty-Seven
Morgan had brewed a cup of tea before bed and used some of the mixed herbs that Ettie had given her. She’d still woken at 04.25 a.m., but felt unusually rested, almost like she could go back to sleep. Before she’d left for work, she’d been tempted to bag some up and ask Wendy to take a look at them. Sniffing the bag, it hadn’t smelt like cannabis, but she didn’t want to turn up to work high.
She took her large latte and bagel into the small office which was now hers and flicked all the lights on. Today she would hopefully get to grips with this case. Sipping her coffee, she began to read through the case notes. The list of possible suspects was small to say the least. A small, black MG sports car had been seen leaving the O’Briens’ house earlier on the day of the murders. Police enquiries had been unable to trace it or the owner. As she read down the list of witness statements, her eyes fixed on the name Stanley Brookes – gardener. Underneath it was a comment that his alibi had been corroborated, and she released the breath she’d been holding. As horrible as he was, she couldn’t see him as a killer. What would he have to gain from killing the people who bothered to employ him? There was no motive; it wouldn’t make sense.
Her finger stopped on the last name on the list; she knew that name, not the person, but she’d heard of him. Gregory Barker was the local mayor. He’d known the O’Briens quite well according to this, and she was sure his name had also come up in connection with the Potters. He must be the Gary