Bloodstream: A gripping, unpredictable and shocking thriller

Murphy pulled his car to a stop, checked he was within the parking bay then, realising he wasn’t, reversed out and drove back in again. His hands were shaking on the wheel a little, so he left them there for a few moments longer once he’d parked. The fog which had spread over town that morning was beginning to lift, leaving behind tendrils of mist in the air, which dissipated the longer you looked at them.

He hadn’t spoken to her in almost two years.

Murphy got out, walking away before stopping, turning back and pressing his fob to lock his car. The café was situated a few shops down from where he’d been able to get a parking space, but the short walk wasn’t far enough for him to gather his thoughts coherently.

What was he supposed to say?

Almost two years since a shared word between them. Over twenty years of non-stop conversations grinding to a halt after what had happened on a dark and bitter evening all that time ago.

He picked an empty table off to the side. Only a couple of other people were sitting in there at that time of morning – a few hours before the lunchtime rush would start. He asked for coffee and promised to look at the food menu when the waitress brought it over, but he wasn’t expecting his appetite to show up at any point.

Jess came into the café. She spotted him immediately but made no move to greet him. She called the waitress at the till over as she headed towards the table and sat down.

‘Hey,’ Murphy said, trying to make eye contact with her, but failing as she looked back towards the waitress. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘Don’t thank me. Sarah asked me to come and meet, mentioned it was a work thing. That’s the only reason I’m here.’

Murphy opened up another sugar packet and emptied it into his half-empty cup. ‘Okay.’

‘I can’t stop for long. Got a lot on, you know.’

The waitress arrived, a tired smile on her face and a notepad in her hand. Jess ordered a cup of coffee and refused a menu.

‘I don’t know where to start . . .’

‘Then don’t,’ Jess replied, finally looking towards him before turning away again.

‘Look, you know I’m not good with this sort of situation.’

‘Situation?’

‘Whatever you want to call it. I’ve tried to get in contact before, but Sarah made it clear you weren’t interested in seeing me.’

Jess took a packet of sugar from the bowl between them and shook it a few times. ‘I’m still not. Not right now.’

‘It can’t go on like this forever, Jess. How long are you thinking about punishing me for?’

‘About as long as it takes for my son to magically reappear.’

Murphy dropped his head into his chest. ‘I tried everything to save him,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

‘It wasn’t enough, though, was it? And you know it isn’t just about that. It was your case, David. You didn’t do things right. If you had been doing your fucking job properly, none of this would have happened.’

Murphy let the words sink in and fester. There was nothing new in what Jess was saying; everything she was throwing at him was just a repeat of things she’d said back then.

What hurt was the fact that even after so much time had passed, the words were still so easy to say.

‘I never meant for this to happen,’ Murphy said once he thought enough time had gone by. ‘You have to believe that. Peter was family to me.’

‘And we all know what happens to your family, don’t we?’

‘Really, Jess? You’re going after how my parents died now? Come on . . .’

‘I knew this was a mistake . . .’

Murphy held his hands palm up. ‘I’m sorry, really. We’re not here to talk about that.’

‘Fine,’ Jess said, accepting the cup of coffee from an eavesdropping waitress. ‘Were we talking loud enough for you, love?’

The waitress went the colour of LFC and scurried off without a word. Murphy allowed himself a small grin.

‘You’ve not lost your common touch.’

‘What can I say,’ Jess replied, stirring sugar into the cup. ‘I’m happy not to disappoint.’

‘Amy Maguire. I heard you were brought in for the guy who confessed?’

Jess banged her spoon against the rim of the cup a few times. Then a few more times.

‘Stop stalling, Jess. I know you can’t go into specifics. I just want to know if you’re the one getting him to recant?’

‘Keith Hudson’s confession was given at a time when he had many personal issues going on. He wanted attention, you gave it to him.’

‘I know he didn’t do it, Jess. I just want to know how he came to be in my station, my interview rooms, telling me he killed Amy.’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you any more than that. He doesn’t know anything.’

‘That’s not true,’ Murphy said, his grip tightening round his coffee mug. ‘He knew some details. Not enough for me to believe he killed her, but enough for me to believe he knows something.’

Jess shook her head and picked up her coffee with a steady hand. ‘You’ve been wrong plenty of times in the past, David. Not least in that case two years ago, when my eighteen-year-old son was shot and killed. You’ll forgive me if I don’t put much stock in your instincts.’

This was all it was ever going to be, Murphy thought. Going round in circles, always coming back to that one night.

‘It wasn’t all my fault, Jess. Sometimes, there’s just nothing we can do. Other people are still grieving, and as a division we have had to take that hit. But we tried, honestly we did. We’re human, we made mistakes and paid for them. Not as much as you and so many other families did, but we paid and still do.’

Jess banged her cup back onto the table. ‘You were there, David,’ she replied, her voice no longer loud, but a hiss. ‘I couldn’t give two shites about everyone else. You were in that house with that fucker and my son. You could have done something. You’ve been trained for those situations, for fuck’s sake. Why didn’t you save him? Tell me that. Why couldn’t you save my son?’

Murphy waited for tears that were never going to appear. Jess’s face had gone as red as the waitress’s had earlier, but there was no upset there. Only anger.

‘I tried.’

‘Well, you didn’t try hard enough. I’m going.’ Jess rose from her seat, throwing a five-pound note on the table. ‘Tell that nosy cow to keep the change.’

‘Wait,’ Murphy said, getting out of his seat. ‘I need to tell you something. This Amy Maguire thing . . . you know who her mother is?’

‘I’m not interested—’

‘Stacey Maguire. Remember from when we were kids? There’s something she told me,’ Murphy said, walking round the table towards Jess. He could feel the eyes and ears of the three other patrons in the café focused on the two of them. He dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘I don’t know if it’s true, but there was one night when we . . . you know . . .’

Jess shook her head, laid a hand on Murphy’s elbow and forced him back. ‘You’re a soft shite, but not an idiot.’

‘There is . . .’

‘And she is supposed to have got up the duff eighteen years ago and is only now getting in touch? It’s because her daughter has gone missing and she doesn’t know what to do. She’s using you, David.’ Jess lifted her bag onto her shoulder and began to turn away. ‘Stacey Maguire wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked her in the face. Don’t be stupid. You know why she’s doing this now.’

‘What if it is true, though? I’ve got to do something, haven’t I?’

‘Have you told Sarah?’

Murphy looked away and hesitated.

‘Fucking hell, David. You’re going to hurt that girl.’

‘If Amy is my daughter and I haven’t done everything I can, what do you think that’ll do to me, never mind Sarah?’

Jess looked Murphy in the eyes for the first time since arriving at the café. ‘Then maybe you’ll know what it’s like for me.’ She half turned, then faced him again. ‘You need to tell Sarah.’

‘I will . . . eventually.’

‘She doesn’t deserve this. None of this. Stop believing idiots from back when we were kids and sort yourself out. Tell Sarah. All she talks about is how good things are between you two now. Don’t fuck that up.’

Jess turned away fully this time and left the café. Murphy watched her go. He went back to his coffee, stirred more sugar into it and gulped it down.

*     *     *

Rossi was daring to dream. A normal bloke, with a good sense of humour and a tidy body. Not footballer or boxer fit, but tidy enough. He was no Alessandro Del Piero, but he would do nicely.

‘He’s fallen head over heels, Laura. I think this is “The One”.’

It was this that she didn’t want, though: people asking questions, making assumptions.

‘Christina, it’s not about that. It’s the fact that I’m busy at the moment and I’m sure he is . . .’

‘Oh, don’t give me that,’ Christina replied, her voice almost at a squeal, making Rossi hold the phone away from her ear for a second. ‘Don’t try and ruin it now by over-thinking it. You’re always bloody busy. It’s plain to all of us that you both like each other a lot. This is the perfect guy for you. He works in the same type of job—’

‘Hardly.’

‘In the same type of job. None of us do what you do, Laura. That’s not the point. He’ll understand the pressures and all that. There’ll be no surprises. You can’t tell me you’re not into him.’

‘Well, yeah,’ Rossi said, squirming in the driver’s seat of her car, wishing she hadn’t answered the phone at all. ‘It’s going well. But that’s not really . . .’

‘There you go then. And you can’t tell me he’s not good-looking enough for you.’

‘Chris, just let me talk.’

A huff over the phone, Rossi squirming harder in her seat.

‘Fine, go on.’

‘I’m . . . I’m just not in the right place for this. You understand that, right?’

‘No.’

It was Rossi’s turn to huff. ‘Come on . . .’

‘You come on, Laura. Who knows what’ll happen if you sack him off now. Someone else comes along and you’ll be left on your own with a Pot Noodle and a box set on a Friday night. Just go with it, girl. Embrace the falling head over heels for each other part, before it turns into putting up with each other.’

Rossi placed her forehead on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. ‘Okay, okay, I will. But I really don’t think it’s going to work out.’

‘That’s the spirit, girl. I’ve got to go. I’ll speak to you later, yeah?’

Rossi murmured her agreement and ended the call. She wondered how she’d been talked into the whole thing in the first place. She was a walking contradiction. Arguing against something she was quite happy with, for no reason other than timing.

She checked the clock on her phone and swore loudly at the windscreen.

A few minutes later she was taking the stairs two at a time and bursting into the office. ‘Where is everyone?’ Rossi said, looking around and seeing only a smattering of people. She shook her jacket off and placed it on the back of her chair. ‘Usually bustling in here by now.’

‘No idea.’ DC Harris shrugged. ‘And as I keep saying, you shouldn’t put your coat on the back of the chair, remember? Health and safety regs and that.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I’ll move it. Murphy called in?’

‘Half an hour ago. He, erm . . . has some meeting or something arranged first thing. Will be in soon.’

‘Amy Maguire?’

DC Harris wheeled his chair back and away from his desk and Rossi. ‘Amy . . .?’

‘The missing girl from Speke.’

‘No idea.’

‘Course you don’t,’ Rossi replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Never mind. Have we got anything from the CCTV at Chloe and Joe’s apartment yet?’

DC Harris wheeled back to the desk, a couple of pieces of paper fresh from the printer under one arm. ‘Nothing that jumps out for the Friday afternoon they went missing, but I’ve got the final sweep of the house contents and forensics report here.’

‘Throw it over.’

Rossi reached for where the papers fell, a few feet from their intended target. She sat back in her chair and read through. ‘This is shite. Loads of partials, nothing that matches on system . . .’

‘Good for ruling out though . . .’

‘Grazie, Harris. I know the score. Just would have been easier to rule people in at this point. Anyone would have done.’

‘We’re only on day three. Forty-eight hours. Could be a long wait yet.’

Rossi ignored DC Harris and continued to read. ‘Pritt Stick used to attach the magazine covers to the walls. What adult uses that?’

‘One who knows about DNA and fingerprints?’

‘Suppose so,’ Rossi said, not looking up. ‘There’s bugger all else on here though. Nothing we can use at all. What about over the water? Have we got their reports handy?’

‘More of the same, I think,’ DC Harris replied, rooting through paperwork on his desk. ‘They have the same drug type as was found in Chloe’s system, but . . .’

‘It’s been flushed from her system too quick to find an exact drug. Yeah, we know that score as well.’

‘We’re still waiting on a few hospitals to let us know about missing drugs.’ Rossi tapped the Biro she’d picked up against her teeth. ‘You know what these people are like. It’ll probably take a couple of days to get all that info. Can you hurry them up?’

DC Harris nodded and returned to his desk.

Rossi continued to think, clicking on a few pages on the internet before closing the browser.

‘Thank God you’re here!’

Rossi spun in her chair as the voice landed on her back. ‘Bastardo! You scared the shit out of me . . .’

‘Really sorry,’ a red-faced DC Hale said, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. ‘But something’s going on. I think we’ve found another couple.’