Chapter 37
They were silent in the lift and exited onto the second floor. McKeown led the way down the dull-carpeted corridor to his room. He opened the door, put the key card in the light switch and beckoned her inside.
‘It’s small,’ Chloe said, her eyes drawn to the double bed and two lockers with lamps lit. A tray with tea things sat on a table with a chair under a wall-mounted television.
She pulled out the chair and sat. McKeown perched on the edge of the bed. It suddenly felt so wrong. She stood. ‘I don’t know why I came up here. I should leave.’
‘Sit down and I’ll tell you about the case. It was way too noisy down there. I couldn’t hear myself think.’
She sighed, sat and waited, because he had a point.
‘Top secret,’ he said, tapping his nose. He then told her about the layout of the scene in the Healy house, where the bodies were found, how they were dressed and the wound on Cameron Healy’s wrist. ‘He died first, according to the pathologist.’
‘Oh God. Did his wife… did she kill them and then herself?’
‘Not unless she had mastered the art of self-strangulation. And it wasn’t a sex game gone wrong.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I don’t, but there was no sign of a struggle, no evidence pointing to sexual intercourse having taken place, consensual or not. Anyhow, I can’t see her being able to overpower Cameron.’
‘What if she drugged him but then he attacked her?’ Chloe asked. ‘Oh, I don’t know.’
‘We’re exploring everything. Toxicology reports tell us that sedatives were in all three systems. But why would she slit her husband’s wrist then strangle her child before somehow strangling herself?’
‘Seems an impossible scenario.’
‘By the way, the child was already dead when she was strangled. I think the killer was making a point, though I’ve no idea what.’
She could see his pate glowing. It was hot in the room. She looked to the white-painted walls with their stock paintings, but couldn’t see an air-con switch.
‘Any sign of a break-in?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Therefore, unless someone had a key or was admitted to the house, the killings were perpetrated by someone who was already inside.’
‘Do you have photos of the scene?’
‘I do, but I’m not sure I should be sharing them with you.’
‘I’m not going to sell them to the papers, if that’s what you’re thinking. I want to have a look for myself. It’ll help my assignment.’
‘Pinky promise?’
‘Jesus, what age are you?’ She was beginning to tire of his childish quips.
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ He took out his phone and tapped a few times, and she heard a whoosh to her phone. ‘AirDropped them to you.’
‘Thanks.’ She was dying to steal a look at them, but she also wanted to leave. Just a few more questions and then she was out of there. ‘There was a birthday party for Freya earlier that day, so what about the guests? Were they all children, or were there adults there too?’
‘Both, and they’ve been interviewed and eliminated. The odd thing, if you want to call it odd, is that the Clarkes were good friends of the Healys and were at the party.’
‘The Clarkes?’
‘Their daughter, Lily, vanished on Monday morning, and now her mother has gone AWOL.’
‘Are they suspects? Gone on the run? Were they involved in the murders? Or have they been abducted? Could they have witnessed something on Sunday? Or maybe—’
‘Slow down, Chloe. Every single theory is being examined and analysed. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re dead too.’
‘But why? What’s the motive?’ Chloe felt thirsty and was sorry she hadn’t brought a drink with her. She could make tea, she supposed. Feck it, she’d be leaving in a few minutes. What he had told her so far just muddied her theories.
‘Motive?’ He ran his hand over his sweaty head. ‘Haven’t come up with one yet. We’re examining their phones and other tech equipment. And of course all their finances. The Healy deaths are a bit of a conundrum.’
‘It’s like someone wanted it to appear to be a murder-suicide, and if one of the Healys wasn’t involved, then it points to these Clarkes. Is there a Mr Clarke?’
‘Yes, Thomas. Your mother doesn’t like him, but I found him to be okay.’
That didn’t reassure Chloe. There was a vibe pulsing from McKeown and she felt a need to get away from him. Far away.
‘I better go.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘Thanks for the information. I’ll keep it to myself.’
‘Does it help?’ He stood too, and she felt smothered in the tight, airless room.
‘Help how?’
‘With the assignment you said you were doing?’
‘Oh, that. I’m not sure. By the way, who found the Healys’ bodies?’
‘Some dude who’d come to collect the bouncy castle after the party.’
‘Did he make the 999 call?’
‘Yeah. He was a mental wreck by the time Kirby and myself got to him.’
‘Had he been in the house?’
McKeown raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Like, did he find all the bodies?’
‘No, he looked in the window and saw Cameron Healy lying there on the couch, surrounded by blood.’
‘Has this bouncy castle man’s DNA turned up inside the house?’
McKeown squinted at her. ‘I’ll be sure to check that out.’ He moved into her space, looming over her. Chloe shivered. ‘You’re turning into a right Miss Marple, aren’t you?’
‘I am going to be a guard.’ She made to move around him, but he was blocking her.
‘Tea lady, more like.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You have to start at the bottom, and that means being a gofer.’
‘I have to start somewhere, and hopefully one day I’ll be a detective.’ But nothing like you, she thought. ‘Thanks again. I better be off. Long drive back to base camp.’
Once again she made to scoot by him, but he was big and the room space small. He caught her wrist and pulled her closer, pinning both her arms by her sides. She could feel his breath on her cheek as he bent down to her. He was a monster. A hulk.
‘Stop,’ she said. ‘I want to leave.’
‘You came up here with me. I didn’t force you.’ His voice was like chalk on a board, grating through every sinew of her being.
Chloe struggled, but before she could knee him in the groin, he pushed her down onto the bed.
His weight threatened to smother her. She felt herself burning up and tried to scream, but his mouth covered hers.
She twisted and turned. Contorted her body to escape his bulk, but it was useless.
She felt his hands travel over her breasts, and a wave of hysteria brought bile to her throat.
She was suffocating, unable to breathe and she had a mad notion that this was how little Freya Healy felt as she was murdered.
Powerless.
Should she play dead? Would he leave her alone then and she could escape? There was little else she could do, so she allowed her body to go limp, even though every fibre in her being was yelling for her to fight. To not give up. She wasn’t giving up. She was using her head.
‘Ah, so now you want it,’ he croaked, misinterpreting her limpness for supplication.
‘Never, arsehole,’ she managed to gasp, though she didn’t know how she had a breath left in her body.
The room went dark, his bald head and ruddy face fading into the distance.
As shock set in, Chloe Parker felt herself falling into a state of unconsciousness. Then, oblivion.