LITMIR.BIZ

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      The assistant pathologist entered behind them. Murphy was distracted by the sight of her wheeling a bed up to the window, waiting for the cue to pull back the sheet.

      ‘We’re really sorry, but we need you to confirm this is your daughter,’ Rossi said, directing Donna McMahon’s parents closer to the glass separating them from their daughter.

      They’d introduced themselves in plummy voices, a world away from the accents you would hear on most Liverpool streets. John McMahon looked half broken. Tall, lean, with a shock of grey hair which was slicked back, wearing a suit that looked like it had been tailor made for him. Professional. Moneyed. Donna was obviously a daddy’s girl. Carole was holding back tears, trying to keep a stiff upper lip. She was shorter than her husband but not by much. Her skin was tanned and leathery looking. She fiddled with a large beaded necklace which was worn with a smart trouser suit.

      Murphy noticed John’s hands were shaking as he turned to face him. Murphy cued the assistant through the window to pull back the cover and Carole turned away, burying her face in her husband’s shoulder. Murphy watched as the realisation hit Carole as she moved her face away from John’s shoulder.

      John could see what she was doing and pulled her back. ‘Don’t Carole, it’s … it’s her,’ he said.

      ‘No. No, it can’t be. John, don’t say that. She’s halfway through her degree, she can’t be … be gone.’ Huge, racking sobs suddenly filled the corridor.

      John put his arms around her, clutching her in a desperate embrace.

      The temperature increased. Gone was the chill he always felt. Murphy could feel the heat in the place, seeping out of the drab, beige walls. Memories flooded in, crowding his mind. One minute the girl’s parents stood there, the next, him.

      Her.

      Murphy looked down at his hands, wringing themselves together. Began shifting on his feet, wanting to be anywhere else. Wanting the cold to come back.

      Rossi glanced his way and frowned at him. Turning back to the McMahons, she remained stoic. ‘Mr and Mrs McMahon, I know this is difficult. Are you sure that’s Donna?’ she said.

      ‘I know my daughter, officer.’ John said.

      Murphy had an overwhelming temptation to correct his terming of Rossi’s rank, but bit back on it. He wasn’t thinking straight. Why were they still crying? It was too hot to cry. He needed to get out of there. He was burning up, his chest tightening.

      This was the moment it changed for him. When it became real.

      Murphy felt eyes on him, realised the father was looking at him. He averted his eyes, not wanting to speak. He was still crying and Murphy couldn’t look at him like that. He needed to leave. ‘You got this, Laura? I’ll erm … I’ll go update the team,’ he said.

      ‘Er … yeah, okay,’ Rossi replied.

      Turning towards the parents, Murphy muttered, ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ and left, eyes to the floor, watching as his trousers bounced carefree up and down against his polished black shoes.

      He walked briskly towards the toilets. Once inside he went straight for the sinks, and began to run the tap. Murphy splashed his face a few times, trying to cool down. He caught his reflection in the mirror, noting the roughness of his face. He looked pale, tired. Breathed in and out slowly. The tightness in his chest began to subside.

      What was wrong with him, was it the grief? It must be. He couldn’t handle those parents crying about their loss. That was it. Of course it would take time.

      Or maybe he was just ill. A virus or something. That’d be it. He splashed his face a few more times, the coolness of the water bringing his temperature down. He turned the tap off, took some paper towels from the dispenser, and wiped his face dry.

      Was this it? Was this the one? An investigation he could lose himself within. Screw up his career for good. Let Sarah go for good. He rubbed the bare patch on his ring finger with his right hand.

      How long could he really go on like this?

      He shoved his still-damp hand in his pocket and left the bathroom, almost running into Rossi as he walked out the door.

      ‘Sir, you okay?’ she said, the concerned look on her face seeming sincere to Murphy.

      ‘I’m fine, Laura. I must be coming down with something, that’s all.’

      ‘Okay, you want me to take you home?’

      ‘No, I’ll be okay. We need to get cracking now we have a positive ID. Speak to her roommates, track her movements.’

      ‘Yeah. Look, the parents are distraught; I got hold of that victim support officer, before coming to find you. She’ll be here soon.’

      ‘Good, good. Let’s get on.’

      ‘If you’re sure, sir?’

      ‘I’m fine. Leave it alone. I’ll write up what we’ve got so far, you get names of the roommates.’

      Rossi shrugged and walked away. After a moment, Murphy followed, feeling more like himself with every step.

      More like the person he’d become in the last few months.

      8

       Saturday 18th February 2012 11 Months Earlier

      Rob paced the living room, back and forth, almost always missing the coffee table as he walked. Shadows shifted across the room, the day darkening as the afternoon came and went.

      Had he called them too soon, too early … he didn’t know.

      No matter. They’d barely listened. Over eighteen, not even twenty-four hours since she’d gone, call us back if she doesn’t come home tomorrow, blah, blah, blah.

      He’d called Carla again, who was becoming a little more concerned, but not all that much.

      Her mum hadn’t called.

      He walked out of the living room, walking up the stairs and entering the bedroom.

      He kicked at the bed, swearing out loud when pain shot through his foot. He slumped down on the bed, facing the door, that side of the bed smelling faintly of her. The scent of the red berry shampoo she used, emanating from the pillow.

      He looked at her bedside table and frowned.

      He picked up the small charm bracelet, turning it over in his hand. He remembered buying the bracelet for their first Christmas together, promising he’d fill it with more charms to add to the three already placed there. Each one meaning something to both of them.

      He rolled one charm in the shape of a dolphin between his fingers. Jemma was obsessed with dolphins. They’d gone to Orlando in Florida a year or so before, and she’d swum with them for half an hour. The uncontrolled joy on her face for weeks afterwards was an incredible sight and Rob didn’t mind the pictures and trinkets they’d had dotted around the house. It made her happy, which in turn made him happy.

      He turned over the charm in his hand.

      RB ♥ JB

      Their surnames began with the same letter. It meant if they got married, it’d still work.

      Fate.

      Tiny inscription, which he’d paid a lot for. Intricate work, he’d been told.

      He’d bought her the charm on their fourth anniversary. She’d cried when he handed her the box. But then, she cried any time she was happy.

      Was it an act? Did it really mean as much to her as it did to him?

      His heart was pounding in his chest, his hands began to shake, and he struggled back to standing.

      He slammed the bracelet down on

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