Helen Phifer - The Face Behind the Mask

Will felt his heart sink; he didn’t want to be the bloody officer in charge. It always fell on him whenever there was a murder or unexplained death. He’d had more than his fair share of murder cases the last three years. Why the hell couldn’t they let someone else run with it?

‘Don’t look so happy about it. With your track record this should be a breeze. I’m hoping you’ll have the case closed in the next twenty-four hours. Especially if we keep your lovely wife away from it.’

The Super began to laugh at his own joke and Will felt his hands curl into tight fists as the blood rushed to his face. He’d never liked the pompous man standing in front of him. He wanted to stand up and punch him. The urge was so strong that he had to shake his head to get the image out of his mind. Instead he stood up, marched across the room to the Smart Board and stared at the Super, eye to eye. The man was no longer grinning.

The room was silent as everyone watched the exchange between the two men. One of the response officers standing next to Adele whispered, ‘A fiver on Will taking him out with one punch.’

Adele smiled, clearly hoping Will would. She could tell what an arsehole that man was and she’d only just seen him. Instead, Will looked back at everyone and smiled. He could tell by their faces this was the most exciting briefing they’d ever attended because they wanted to see the Super knocked on his arse. As much as he wanted to hit him, he wouldn’t give him the pleasure.

‘Well then, you might as well leave now, Chief. You normally do once the actual police work starts.’

The whole room exploded into laughter. It was the Super’s turn to bunch his fingers into fists and his cheeks flared red. He glared at them all, then turned to Will, who by now had realised, with some regret, that he’d just started the biggest pissing match of his career. But he didn’t care. He was tired of the bullshit. What happened to coming to work and looking for the latest burglar who was doing the rounds? Why had this relatively quiet town decided to become the murder capital of England? And why was he always the officer in bloody charge?

‘Seeing as how I was at my friend and colleague’s funeral yesterday, I’ve missed out on what actually happened. So for now I want OSU searching…’ He looked across at the grainy, faded photo of the woman who had been brutally murdered. Her name was there in bold black print underneath it. ‘I want them searching Pauline Cook’s house and garden, until I’ve caught up. I take it CSI have finished? Unless the search turns up anything that might have missed?’

The OSU sergeant nodded.

‘I want the whole street sealed off until we’ve determined how our killer arrived at the scene. Do we know if he was on foot or in a car?’

Everyone shook their heads.

‘Tell the PCSOs to take over scene guard – they know the drill – and someone make sure that you rotate them. I don’t want to find out they’ve been left there for hours without any breaks.’

The community sergeant nodded.

‘Once the search has been done I want the house-to-house started. I’ll draw up a map of the area I want checking. Then I want all the shops in the area visited to see if they have working CCTV, and I want the footage downloaded straight away, not in a week’s time. If they can’t do it immediately then seize the hard drives and bring them back for Barry to go through in the video imaging unit. That’s it for now. We’ll meet back here in a couple of hours and take it from there.’

Will was pleased to see everyone scribbling notes. Adele was standing at the back, her arms crossed. She nodded at him and he felt a little bit better.

‘Before you go, I’d like you to meet DC Adele Dean. She’s transferred from Carlisle and, although she hasn’t replaced Stu – nobody could do that – she will be working from his desk. So if you need anything and can’t get hold of me, speak to her.’

He walked out of the room before he had to look back at the Super, who was still glowering at him. Will could feel the man’s eyes burning through the back of his head. Let the games begin. He felt someone rushing up to him and turned to see Adele smiling at him.

‘You know you would make an excellent Chief Super? What an idiot he is. How come he’s still got a job? I bet he pisses people off on a daily basis.’

Will laughed; he looked down at his watch.

‘Not bad, it took you less than five minutes in the station to come to the same conclusion as the rest of us. I have no idea how he still has a job, but I’d bet a hundred quid it’s because he’s part of the Masonic Lodge. If I give you the CCTV inquiries is that okay? I could give it to some uniform, but they’re already short-staffed. Normally I’d use the PCSOs because they’re really good at all this stuff, but I’m going to get them to do the house-to-house once the area’s been searched because they’re also very good at that.’

‘You like your PCSOs then?’

‘Like them? I bloody love them. They make my job so much easier because when you ask them to do a job they get off their arses and do it.’

‘Ours were all right, but I wouldn’t say they were amazing.’

‘Well, mine are and I won’t have a bad word said about them.’

‘No, I wouldn’t say a thing.’

Will led her across the landing to the large, open-plan office that he hated. There was no privacy whatsoever and it was right next to the canteen, which was a nightmare: having to smell sizzling bacon every morning when you were trying to still fit into your trousers.

‘These desks are supposed to be anybody’s, but we kind of tend to stick with the same ones.’

He pointed to an empty one.

‘That one would have been Stu’s had he moved here, but he never recovered from his accident. So you might as well have that one because it hasn’t got anyone else’s crap on it.’

‘Are you sure? It must be difficult for you all. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.’

‘No, you’re not. Stu’s gone and, as hard as it is to believe or accept, we need to move on. No one will mind.’

Will walked into his office and shut his door. His head was banging. He was still fuming about the Super’s snide remarks, but he had a job to do and he would do it. He wanted to read the log as it had come in, read the reports they had up to now, go through the crime scene photos and decide how he was going to catch the murderous fucker who had broken into Pauline Cook’s house and killed her in such a sick, violent frenzy.

Summer 1950

The huge red and white striped tent had been erected on the field. Almost every person had helped to pull the guide ropes to lift it up and get it into place. It was something that needed as many of the labourers and performers as possible. Fresh sawdust had been scattered on top of the grass inside the tent, giving it a softer floor. Gordy loved this part: when the centre ring was empty and the circus hadn’t been tainted by thousands of men, women and children, all eagerly waiting to pay their money and file through the gap in the tent to take their seats.

Tomorrow, when it opened, the smell of popcorn and candyfloss would fill the air, mingling with the fresh sawdust and toffee apples. There was no better scent. The loud humming of the generators in the background was like music to his ears, blocking out the memories that were trying to fill his mind. It kept wandering back to his miserable childhood. The times he’d listened as his parents had argued, his mother’s shrill voice carrying up the stairs until a loud thud would silence her.

More often than not his father – who liked to drink – would then come up and start on him, beating him for no reason. Gordy would go to school and make up the most intricate lies about the bruises. He hated his parents, but he hadn’t wanted to go into a children’s home. He became so good at telling lies that he almost believed them himself.