He closed the door behind them as they sat down and went back to his chair, which creaked as he put his weight on it.
‘So, what can I do for you?’ He picked up a box of Tic Tacs and shook it at them, then shrugged when they declined and tipped one out for himself.
Sally took the evidence bag containing the letter out of her handbag. ‘Maggie received this yesterday, it was put in her neighbour’s letterbox by mistake.’ She passed it over to him.
‘Hmm.’ DS Dyer put on his glasses and read it through the clear plastic. ‘You think it’s a serious threat?’ he asked Maggie.
She didn’t like his tone of voice. ‘Yes. I’ve had a few nasty calls at the office since I found the girls, but nothing like this. And it was delivered to my home. Whoever it is knows where I live.’
‘We were wondering if the lab could take a look at it, see if there are any fingerprints,’ Sally added. ‘Even a partial could help. Maggie and her neighbour touched it, and I held it for a moment before I realised what it was, but maybe they can pick something up. I’d also like them to look at the font and the postmark on the envelope, see what they come up with.’
DS Dyer turned the bag over. ‘The postmark is too smudged, you can’t read anything. Why do you think it’s a font? It just looks like elegant handwriting to me.’
‘I don’t know. It seems too uniform to me, every loop is the same, see.’
He peered closely. ‘Hmm, you could be right. And if it is a font? What then?’
‘We can see if it’s a commercially available one, or if someone has to buy it. There’ll be records, maybe we can get a name.’
‘Or maybe it’ll be like looking for a needle in a haystack, Constable Northwood. I don’t see any threat, or why we need to waste police time working on this.’ He leaned back, deep in thought. ‘Okay. We’ll send it to the lab for fingerprints only, see what they come up with. Nothing else, that’d be a waste of their time. It won’t be priority, mind, just something to do when nothing else has come in.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Sally’s reply was polite, but Maggie could hear the tension in her voice.
‘Right. I’ll have them phone you when they’re done.’ He waved the evidence bag in his hand. ‘I’ll keep this and pass it on to them. Oh, and don’t bother the DI with this, he’s got more important things to worry about.’ He reached over and placed the letter in a drawer in his desk.
Maggie saw Sally’s fists clench in her lap, and understood her frustration. She stood up and held out her hand. ‘Thank you for your help, I appreciate it,’ she said, trying not to flinch at the touch of his skin against hers.
‘Pleasure. And let me know if any more letters turn up. But it’s probably just somebody having fun, they’ll soon get bored and pick on someone else. That’s usually how it goes.’
They left his office like two schoolchildren who had just been told off by the headmaster. Eyes fixed on the floor, they ignored everyone as they made their way out.
‘I don’t think he took us seriously,’ Maggie said as soon as the door closed behind them.
‘From what I’ve seen since he’s been here, he’s always a bit sceptical at first, but he processes all the information before making his mind up.’ Sally shook her head, then gave Maggie an apologetic smile. ‘Okay, he didn’t take us seriously. Hopefully he’s right, and it’s just some joker. But you’re staying at my place for now, just in case, until we know one way or the other. No arguments,’ she added as Maggie started to speak.
Maggie huffed, then gave in. ‘At least I’ll be closer to work.’
‘Thanks, Mags, you know how to make a girl feel wanted.’ Sally nudged her. ‘So, how about we go and pick up your files, and then enjoy the rest of our Sunday?’
Maggie suddenly didn’t want to get immersed in old case files, surrounded by sheets of paper. ‘How about I go and pick them up tomorrow, and we just relax for now?’
Sally hugged her. ‘Sounds perfect.’
‘Yes, it does.’ Just for one more day, Maggie wanted to feel normal again. Monday, and everything it would bring with it, could wait.
5
I’d always hated our council house in Gosport, I’d grown up wanting to leave as soon as possible. Now that I’d finally moved out, I felt only relief – although Mum did her best to make me feel guilty. But there was no way I could carry on living at home and risk Maggie finding us. This way, Mum remained in blissful ignorance, and Pete was protected from prying eyes.
The hostel in Portsmouth would do for now, even though the daily trip on the Gosport ferry was taking its toll. What with ferry and bus fares, and paying for the hostel, my money was running out more quickly than I’d planned. Going back was out of the question, so it was lucky that the perfect job had turned up at just the right time. Luck… or fate.
Dad walked out on us when I was eight and Pete was thirteen, leaving us for ‘that slag down the road’, as Mum so eloquently put it. Mum turned into a chain-smoking, chip-eating slob, refusing to do any housework or cooking. We’d taken over all her chores, as well as going to school, studying, and catching up on homework. Us two kids looking out for each other, filling the gap our parents had left.
Until Pete got caught up in the gang. It was the danger that had pulled him in, an adrenaline rush he couldn’t get at home. Taking risks was like a drug; at first a little here and there, until soon it became a necessity more than a pastime. I watched helplessly as he turned into a sullen, aggressive teenager, snapping at me for no reason, staying out until all hours. It was impossible to compete with the allure of the gang. I listened as Pete boasted about their latest escapades, horrified as harmless pranks quickly turned into violent acts.
Pete dropped out of school as soon as he turned sixteen. I thought Mum was secretly scared of him, with his arms and neck covered in tattoos, his military-style haircut, and his arrogant swagger. But I knew it was all show, bolstered by drugs and having to look hard in front of the rest of the gang. Mum had accelerated his involvement by continuously telling him he was a loser, a no-hoper, a waste of space that would never amount to anything. Pete would tell her she was a drunken old cow, and worse, but she would just laugh at him, cackling like a witch. It had been a relief when he’d finally stormed out for good.
I somehow carried on, tiptoeing around Mum and her drunken rages, having snatched conversations with Pete whenever we could on the phone, until the terrible day the police knocked on the door and told us he’d been arrested. My world had collapsed at that moment, and ever since, life had been a mind-numbing existence without any meaning.
I went off the rails during those twelve years he was locked up, drifting from job to job, becoming a well-known face in all the pubs. Dark alleyways, parks, even a cemetery a couple of times, all became favourite places to have sex with strangers. The more violent the sex, the better. Pain meant feeling, feeling meant I was alive. I began to understand how Pete had become addicted; taking risks became a hobby, danger meant nothing.
One, two, three at a time; it didn’t matter. Bruised, bloody lips, friction marks from a brick wall, dark bruises around the wrists that took ages to fade, were merely marks for counting down the days until Pete was released.