Bloodstream: A gripping, unpredictable and shocking thriller

The process of taking the case over from Wirral CID had run more smoothly than Murphy had thought it would. It was as if they were happy to have one less thing to do, something else not to worry about. DS Brannon left the station not long after handing over the paperwork to Murphy, the fetid air he had brought with him disappearing from the office soon after.

‘I hope we don’t have to see him again too soon,’ Rossi said to Murphy once he’d gone. ‘Not sure I can take even small doses of him these days.’

‘Forget about him,’ Murphy replied, picking up a crisp packet left on one of the desks like it contained some sort of plague. ‘Pass me the bin over.’

Rossi duly obliged, Murphy wiping his hands on his trousers. ‘What’s your plan then?’

‘The drug we’re looking for belongs to a group of opiates used during surgical procedures for anaesthetics . . .’

‘So, we’re thinking about a doctor or something?’

‘Maybe, but it could be anyone working at a hospital. And then it’s working out which hospital it is. We’ve asked all the local ones to report any missing drugs, of course.’

‘What’s your thinking then?’

‘Well, we need to know more about them. If there’s a way we can narrow it down, that sort of thing. I thought we could ask Darren as obviously he’d know more. He’s working late today.’

‘Are you sure this isn’t just a way of nipping off during work hours, so you can go see lover boy?’

Rossi didn’t blush, but Murphy was worried for a second that his own health was in danger. ‘No. Of course not. I just think it’s a good idea to find out as much as possible. And I’m not reading any more Wikipedia articles. They’re boring the life out of me and I’m learning nothing.’

‘It’s also doing wonders for your grasp of grammar. What’s he do?’

‘He’s an anaesthetist, working in the Royal. I didn’t really listen to the details when he was telling me. Load of boring medical stuff, I imagine.’

‘Sounds classy,’ Murphy said, raising his hands in mock surrender as Rossi turned on him. ‘Not that you’re not a classy bird yourself or anything.’

‘Bird?’

‘I’m sorry. Sometimes the Scouse slips out. So, he’ll help us out?’

Rossi nodded, leaning against his desk. ‘Happy to. Texted him earlier and he’s in work at the moment. Said we could meet him there.’

Murphy checked the time. ‘Well then. Let’s go see the man who has stolen my DS’s heart.’

Murphy drove them to the hospital, the traffic beginning to build as rush hour took hold. Whilst the Royal was only a mile away from the station, the five-minute journey took treble that; every light was against them and cars were backed up in every direction.

Once parked up next to the hospital, Murphy followed Rossi through the reception area. The building looked more run-down by the day, he thought. He hoped the new premises being constructed a few hundred yards away would be more impressive than the dingy-looking block that was currently being used.

‘Do you know which floor?’ Murphy said, looking towards the information desk situated in the middle of the vast reception area.

‘Second, I think he said.’

They used the lift, eventually getting out on the eleventh floor after checking the list of departments. Drab corridors stretched ahead of them, yellow signs pointing the way to different areas of the hospital. Murphy took the lead, reaching the surgical unit within a few minutes. The double doors were locked; Rossi pushed a green call button on the wall after Murphy had given up trying to pull the doors open.

‘Hi, we’re here to see Darren . . . Darren Logan. It’s Lau— Detectives Rossi and Murphy.’

They were buzzed through a few seconds later, Murphy walking after Rossi as she pushed through the doors.

‘Hey, come in, come in,’ a voice called from further down the corridor. ‘Great to see you.’

There was an awkward moment, when Rossi and Darren Logan met, not knowing how to greet each other. They settled for a lingering handshake. Rossi scowled at Murphy as she turned round to see him smirking at her.

‘This is DI Murphy,’ Rossi said. Darren stepped forward, shaking Murphy’s proffered hand.

‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’

‘I’ve got an office of sorts up here,’ Darren replied, glancing at Murphy but turning back to Rossi. ‘Have to share it with a few people, but it’s better than nothing.’

‘Lead the way.’

Murphy stayed a little behind Rossi and Darren as they walked, seeing the chemistry between them even in their current environment. There was a frisson between them; the fact they weren’t able to touch each other noticeable. Murphy took in Darren’s appearance, deciding the younger man was about what he’d expected. A few inches smaller than himself, but over six foot tall. Athletic, but not overly bulked up. There was a slight wideness to his mouth, which looked a little odd on someone with such a sculptured face, but Murphy supposed it all added to the charm.

‘Ah, here we are,’ Darren said, a hand guiding them into a room. ‘Do you want me to get rid of these two reprobates?’

Murphy walked inside to see two other men sitting inside. ‘Well . . .’

‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ Rossi said, cutting off Murphy before he had a chance to finish his sentence. ‘Maybe they’ll be of use as well.’

‘Excellent,’ Darren said, introducing Murphy and Rossi. ‘This is Ben, he’s a fellow anaesthetist, and this is Sam, our resident nurse who is visiting us.’

Murphy settled for raising a hand at the pair. Sam barely looked up at them before returning to whatever he was reading. He was the older of the two, and by some margin, Murphy guessed.

‘You’re wondering if I’m old enough, aren’t you?’ Ben said with a smile. ‘Honestly, I am. Got my boyish good looks from my dad.’

‘I wasn’t,’ Murphy began to protest. ‘I assumed it was me. Everyone looks a lot younger than they used to.’

‘What’s going on then? Not often we have the police drop in.’

Darren stepped forward, cutting in between Ben and Rossi. ‘You said it was about anaesthetics . . .?’

Murphy realised Darren had noticed the lingering look Ben had given Rossi when she’d walked in. Protective or jealous . . . Murphy wasn’t sure.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Rossi said, either unaware or ignoring Darren’s reaction. ‘We’re dealing with a case at the moment that is proving a little difficult with regard to which drug was present in the victim’s body. We know some sort of opiate linked to anaesthetics was used, but we can’t find out which one.’

‘Well, that’ll be because they don’t hang around for very long,’ Darren said, leaning against a filing cabinet and staring at Rossi. ‘They flush through the system very quickly.’

‘What kind of drugs are we talking about here?’ Murphy said, moving round to stand opposite the two.

‘Well, for general anaesthetics we use Propofol and Fentanyl, which are highly effective drugs. Keeps the patient under and maintains the sedation.’

‘Propofol? Isn’t that the drug that killed Michael Jackson?’ Rossi said, staring up at Darren. ‘Think I remember that was what it was called . . .’

‘That’s the one,’ Darren replied, flashing a wide grin at Rossi. ‘He needed it to sleep at night, according to the doctor who was “looking” after him. Apparently Night Nurse just isn’t enough for some people. Not only is it highly effective, it’s also highly volatile if used incorrectly.’

‘So, easy to overdose on then?’

Darren nodded at Murphy before turning back to Rossi. ‘It wouldn’t take much at all. It’s a powerful drug, which slows down all the processes to do with respiration, things of that nature. Once you up that dosage, it would be just like going to sleep.’

‘It’s not easy to get a hold of, though,’ Ben said from the other side of the room. ‘You can’t just walk into a chemist and buy it.’

‘You’d be surprised what you can get if you really need it,’ Sam said, flicking over a page and not looking up.

‘Quite,’ Darren said, frowning at the two men and then turning back to Rossi.

Murphy began to wonder what they were doing there, checking the time on his phone as Rossi continued to talk to Darren. As he went to put his phone back in his pocket, it began buzzing in his hand.

‘Excuse me a minute,’ Murphy said after looking at the incoming caller. He left the office, answering the phone as he did.

‘Hey, Murphy, it’s Nick Ayris from Liverpool South.’

Murphy looked up and down the corridor outside, and began walking away from the office. ‘Thanks for calling me back. What’s the latest on that Amy Maguire case?’

‘Not much to tell you. Solicitor has come in for that Keith bloke who confessed to killing her. Turns out he’s well known in the area to the uniforms. Guy has some mental health issues or something.’

‘Twenty-four hours is up, isn’t it?’

‘We got an extension, but I don’t think it’s going to make a difference anyway. The guy is obviously confused. We have no evidence whatsoever and everything he said about how he supposedly killed her doesn’t make any sense . . .’

‘He knows everything about her,’ Murphy said, stopping at the end of the corridor and leaning against the wall. ‘It’s clear he has some knowledge of her at least.’

‘Well, yeah, he lives very close to the shop. My thinking . . . he did see and speak to her every day. We know she was good with the customers, just from the reaction locally since she went missing.’

‘And that can’t turn into something more? She rejected him and something else happens?’

‘It’s a big leap,’ Ayris said with a heavy sigh. ‘Nothing he says about the supposed murder makes sense. We’ve got nothing and his solicitor is pushing for a release.’

‘Who’s his solicitor?’

Murphy heard a hesitation on the phone, then silence.

‘What?’

‘Well . . . it’s just that I’m not supposed to tell you. We were asked to keep the information away.’

‘It’s Jess White, isn’t it?’ Murphy said, thinking about his damned luck again. The conversation with Sarah from the previous night had not really convinced him that their relationship was on its way to being repaired, no matter what Sarah thought. Murphy knew Jess better than that.

‘I didn’t say anything,’ Ayris replied, stuttering a little. ‘He’ll be out by the morning, I imagine.’

‘There must be something more that can be done here, Nick? He knows something about Amy’s disappearance.’

‘I’m sorry, my hands are tied here. I wouldn’t worry about it anyway. She’s probably living it up somewhere or in some dosshouse doing God knows what. She’ll turn up at some point, I reckon. They always do.’

Murphy sighed and thanked him. He ended the call and looked back down the corridor to see Rossi waiting outside Darren Logan’s office. She was staring at him, lines creasing her forehead.

He headed towards her, fixing a normal expression on his face and preparing to pretend.

*     *     *

They were back across the Wirral again, the tunnel journey more difficult at that time of day. Constant traffic slowing them to a crawling pace at some points, as they navigated their way back over as the rush hour still kept hold.

‘How far away are we?’

‘Not long,’ Murphy said, glancing over at Rossi and smiling. ‘Only a short drive once we get away from the tunnel. Traffic will be easier then.’

He was right, in that it took just a few minutes to reach the house, but that was only if you knew where you were going. Murphy got lost at two roundabouts and the trip took twenty minutes longer than it should have. Eventually, he found the right address and parked up outside the house where Jane Piper’s parents lived.

One of the first victims.

‘Quiet around here,’ Rossi said, getting out of the car. ‘Where are we again?’

‘Just outside Birkenhead,’ Murphy replied, looking down the street and crossing the road. ‘Bit nicer round here than it is as you get closer to the centre of the town.’

‘Think I’ve only been to Birkenhead once.’

‘That’s usually the right amount of times to visit.’

The house was set back from the road and had a small front garden of paving stones surrounding a patch of grass. A large potted plant stood in the middle, leaves spreading across onto the stones.

‘At least it’s not a death knock,’ Rossi said, standing to one side as Murphy rang the doorbell. The family liaison officer – sent over as soon as the connection to the Chloe and Joe case had been made – let them in, excusing himself once they were sitting in the dining room.

‘We won’t keep you long,’ Murphy said, resting the file on his knee. ‘We just want to update you on what’s been happening.’

Simon and Carole Piper were sitting opposite them, their hands on the table almost touching. ‘Thank you for coming so soon,’ Simon said, nodding to himself as he spoke. ‘We’re a bit shocked, as you might guess.’

They were older than Murphy had expected, in their early sixties, he guessed. Simon had grey hair, but only round the sides. The rest of his head was devoid of anything other than a few brown spots. The dark wood furniture in the room matched nicely with Simon’s skin pigment, which was the colour of leather; brown and rusty. Murphy glanced at the photographs on the walls; a montage of different holiday destinations surrounded him. Carole was meeker than her husband, her hair darker, almost as short. Murphy thought if he’d known her a few weeks earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to guess her age. Now, she was beginning to wear down.

Losing a child – no matter what age you are – will probably have that effect.

‘We’re looking into your daughter’s murder as part of a larger investigation . . .’

‘The ChloJoe one,’ Simon said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. ‘We’ve seen the news.’

‘Yes,’ Rossi replied, from the end of the dining table. ‘We’ve heard what Stuart – or James as we now know he was called – was keeping secret.’

‘We never knew,’ Simon said, almost banging his fist down on the table, ‘if that’s what you’re thinking. If we had, we never would have accepted him.’

‘We’re not for one minute suggesting you did,’ Murphy said, fixing a stare on the older man. ‘We think it may be a reason they were targeted, however. Do you think Jane knew?’

‘She had no idea,’ Carole said, speaking for the first time. Her accent was harsher than her husband’s. Murphy had her pegged as someone who had grown up in Liverpool, then moved across the water. ‘She was too proper for anything like that. Very into her feminism as well. She wouldn’t have been able to be with someone who had raped a child.’

‘Rape is a strong term for it—’ Simon began, before stopping as his wife glared at him. ‘It’s not important though. What’s important is that he kept something away from Jane.’

‘Tell us about her,’ Rossi said, leaning forward and speaking to Carole directly.

‘She was a good child, went to university and excelled. Always wanted to learn. Jane always cared about others, before herself even. That’s why she wanted to work at the hospital. She wanted to be a part of making people better. I can’t believe she’s gone.’

Rossi continued talking, as Carole’s breath began to hitch. ‘Jane worked at the Royal in Liverpool, right?’

‘Yes,’ Carole said, looking at Rossi and Murphy in turn, before looking back down at the table. ‘She was a nurse there. A damn good one as well, I bet.’

Murphy listened as Rossi and Jane’s mother continued to discuss the person missing from the room. That weight of loss evident from every corner. There wasn’t much else they could do to help the couple, other than hope that the fact their daughter’s death was now being investigated as part of something bigger might result in a conviction.

‘I hope that means you’ll find the . . . thing that did this to our daughter.’

‘We’ll do everything we can,’ Murphy said, holding on to Simon’s proffered hand. ‘We know your daughter deserves that.’

There was a shared look between the two men, standing there with hands still grasped.

‘I believe you,’ Simon said, letting go of Murphy’s hand. ‘She was a good woman. An exceptional one. She never had us worried or disappointed. Jane was one in a million.’

They all were, Murphy thought. Everyone’s child, or parent. Always exceptional or different from everyone else. Placed on a pedestal in premature death, forever treated as something more than the norm.

He knew only too well how that worked. It was also what made him work that little bit harder to deliver justice.

Even if it made little difference to how those families would survive after.

Greg and Hannah

Greg had known all along. Deep down. The truth had been there from the beginning. It was nothing to do with him. It wasn’t his fault. Nothing to do with the way he was, or the way he had been with Hannah. It was her. All her.

‘Would you have ever told me if it wasn’t for this?’

She still wasn’t speaking to him. Stopped answering his questions once the man had begun hurting her. At first, Greg had been disgusted. Tried to stop it happening. Then, he’d heard two words which told him everything he needed to know.

‘I can’t.’

Two words that made the bottom of his world drop out. Now he knew there was something. That it was something she didn’t want him to know badly enough that she was willing to go through pain not to tell him.

The man stopped, moving away from Hannah and allowing Greg to see what had happened to her. Greg ignored the blood, the bruises already rising up on her skin. The shaking of her body. ‘Tell me, Hannah. He’s going to hurt you again if you don’t tell me.’

‘You should listen to Greg,’ the man said, moving in front of Greg, his back to him. ‘He knows what he’s talking about. I’m just trying to help you. Can’t you see that? I’m stopping your lies.’

Hannah’s words were almost quiet enough to miss. ‘Don’t. Please.’

Greg could see everything now. His eyes had become accustomed to the dark, enough so he could see the man move forward and slap Hannah across the face with an open palm. The crack in the silence making Greg jump in the chair a little.

His right hand slipping further out of the bonds which tied them.

Hannah screamed again, cut off by the stretch of duct tape placed across her face.

‘You’re good, Hannah,’ the man said, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her head up. ‘I really didn’t think you would hold out this long.’

Greg was done crying. Tears no longer springing forth as he watched the woman he loved in pain. It had gone too far. There was something she was keeping from him. And he wanted to know what it was.

He watched as the man hit Hannah across the face again. This time with the back of his hand, snapping her head backwards with force as he struck her. Clumps of Hannah’s hair fell to the floor as he grabbed at it again, producing something Greg hadn’t seen up to that point.

The blade was silver, catching the light as it shone through a gap in the almost closed curtains; almost sparkling as the man held the knife in front of Greg, before turning and showing Hannah.

Greg lowered his head as he heard the noises behind Hannah’s gag grow in volume, pleading and crying.

‘Stop, please. Let her talk.’

The man stepped back and turned towards Greg. ‘You think she’ll talk now?’ He revealed Hannah again as he moved away unblocking Greg’s line of sight.

A line of blood, rapidly growing and criss-crossing with others, stretched out across one side of Hannah’s face. Greg imagined the blood hitting the ground in droplets, disappearing into the darkness and pooling at her feet, the gashes across her face widening around a mess of tears and red.

‘Please, Hannah,’ Greg said, tears finally beginning to form once more. ‘Just tell me so he stops hurting you.’

There was nothing for a few seconds then Hannah’s shoulders slumped further still and she began to nod.

‘Good, good,’ the man said, the glee in his voice causing Greg’s stomach to flip. ‘Let’s see if you can get through this. If I take this off and you scream, Hannah, I’m going to find and kill your child. She might not be here right now, but I’ll find her. Do you understand?’

The man and Greg waited for her to nod again. Greg breathed in deep, as he watched the man rip the duct tape off Hannah’s mouth, a cry escaping as he did so.

‘Now,’ the man said, throwing the duct tape to one side and standing between them. ‘This is how things are going to go. Hannah, you are going to tell him what we both know you’ve been keeping from him. No big explanations. No pleading forgiveness, or going all round the houses before slipping in the truth. You have ten seconds to say your piece, and if you haven’t in that time, I’m going to take this little knife here and slice right into your legs, your hands, then finally your throat. Are we clear?’

‘Yes.’

Greg almost didn’t recognise her voice. In a single word, he heard the difference such a short amount of time spent in extreme fear could have on a person. Hannah was broken, wrecked. Scared.

‘Excellent,’ the man said. ‘Are you ready, Greg?’

Greg swallowed, his mouth dry. He tried to speak, but the growing lump of bile at the back of his throat wouldn’t allow it. He nodded instead.

‘Then, Hannah, talk.’

There were a few moments of silence before Greg’s life as he’d known it ended. His previous existence hadn’t been blissful, but it was still preferable to what came next.

‘Millie isn’t yours,’ Hannah said, her voice still betraying her. ‘I . . . I slept with someone else. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m . . . I’m sorry.’

Greg had known it was coming. But the shock of the words spilling from Hannah’s mouth still made him recoil despite being strapped to the chair.

‘No. No, no, no. Not that. Not my daughter.’

‘I’m so sorry, Greg. I’m so sorry.’

He didn’t want to hear it. Not the apologies, not the continuing lies.

‘I can’t . . . why would you do this to me? I gave you everything. I loved you. Our little girl . . . how could you do that to me?’

‘It was a mistake.’

Greg shook in the chair, every hair standing on end as the realisation hit him – everything had transformed in an instant. His life was irreparably changed with just a few words of truth.

‘You fucking bitch.’

Once the words were out of his mouth – the way they hit Hannah and made her look even smaller in the chair opposite – he had a sudden realisation.

He wanted the man to hurt her more.

‘I can’t believe you did this to us. Was it worth it? Did he fuck you good enough to make up for what’s happening now?’

Hannah didn’t answer him. Greg thought of every instance he’d held what he’d thought of as his daughter in his arms and felt overwhelming love for her. Gone. The idea was alien to him now. The thought of loving another man’s child, caring for it, cuddling and kissing it, allowing it to become his world, all of it repulsed him.

Greg leaned over to one side as the bile came to the surface finally, splattering over the carpet. A new stain added to go along with the rest. His throat burned as he retched, tears streaming from his eyes as he choked and spluttered onto the ground. He lifted his head slowly, unable to wipe his mouth or face. Desperately wanting to.

‘Fucking whore,’ Greg said, his voice not as strong as he wanted it to be. ‘That’s what you are. You’ve destroyed me. You know that? Do you care?’

‘Of course I do,’ Hannah replied through tears. ‘I never wanted to hurt you.’

‘Well you fucking have.’

The man stepped between them, facing Greg. ‘That’ll do, you two. Now, what happens next?’

‘Hit her again,’ Greg said, saliva and bile spraying from his mouth. ‘She deserves it.’

‘Can you forgive her?’

‘No, not for this.’

‘What am I supposed to do here, Greg? I have exposed her lies and it means nothing to you? Can you not move on from this?’

Greg shook his head, rocking the chair with the violence of the movement. ‘I want her gone.’

The man sighed and turned away. ‘This is what lies can do, Hannah. This is what happens when love isn’t done correctly. You don’t deserve it. I’m going to have finish it, aren’t I, Greg?’

Greg shook in the chair. ‘She’s a fucking slut bitch who deserves all she gets.’

The man nodded once, then moved quicker than Greg had seen before. In one swift movement there was duct tape across Hannah’s face again, her eyes straining out of their sockets as she screamed behind the tape. Her stare locked with Greg’s as the blade reappeared.

He wanted her dead. She deserved it. That was all he felt. He wanted her to feel more pain than he was experiencing.

‘You’ve taken my life,’ Greg said. ‘You deserve this.’

It wasn’t until the blade of the knife went into her neck that he realised his mistake.