Maggie Jamieson Crime Thriller. Noelle Holten
wasn’t going to be happy today, in fact, his mood may end up being worse than hers.
DC Maggie Jamieson woke with a start, drenched in sweat. The nightmares had been happening more frequently now, even though she knew Bill Raven was safely behind bars. Bill Raven, also known as The Chopper thanks to the creativity of the news media, was convicted on his confession alone. Three missing women brutally butchered, their body parts strewn across unknown locations in Staffordshire and the surrounding areas. Maggie shuddered and threw back the covers.
After his confession, forensics used luminol in Raven’s flat and had found a huge amount of blood, covering the floor, walls, and bathtub. However, the bleach and other industrial cleaners he’d used had deteriorated the samples so that they couldn’t state, with one hundred per cent accuracy, who it had belonged to , whether it was more than one person or if it was even human. The police had had to go by what Raven had told them during interviews and match his statement to those women reported missing at the time. Fortunately for the police The Chopper was so concerned with infamy that he gave them full disclosure of his gruesome crimes.
Raven’s roommate, Adrian Harrison, was also questioned during the initial investigation. Both men were as odd as each other in Maggie’s opinion but, despite her gut feeling, the evidence had all pointed at Raven and eventually he confessed, leaving Adrian in the clear.
Maggie had learnt recently that Raven had suffered a breakdown following his sentence and was currently on a hospital order until the doctors deemed him fit to return to prison.
She sat up and ran her fingers through her knotted hair. She groaned; it was only 5:30 a.m. and way too early to head in to work. Although she was keen to start her new post with the Domestic Abuse and Homicide Unit – or DAHU – she didn’t want to appear overeager or tire herself out before the day had even begun. Maggie still cringed at the use of the word ‘homicide’. When she had queried it with her boss, DI Abigail Rutherford, she’d been advised that as homicide covers the offences of murder, manslaughter, and infanticide, the Police and Crime Commissioner, or PCC, was keen to use it to describe the newly formed team.
Hearing the patter of tiny feet across the laminate flooring, Maggie looked down to find Scrappy staring up at her. A big meow made her laugh and she picked him up for a cuddle. Now that Scrappy knew she was awake, there was no way his belly was going to let her get another twenty minutes under the covers.
‘OK, cat, let’s go get you some brekkie.’
Maggie put Scrappy down, grabbed the sweatshirt she’d thrown on the floor last night, and pulled it over her head. With Scrappy leading the way, she headed into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle.
‘Coffee first, Scrappy-boy, or I’m going to be grumpier than usual today!’
Once she’d sorted the cat out, Maggie sat down at the breakfast bar and turned on her iPad to browse the news. She had this fear that Bill Raven would try to gain more notoriety with a story and she’d be pulled back into something that she was desperately trying to forget. The case was officially closed based on his confession, but if more bodies were discovered and linked to him, Maggie could find herself back with the Major and Organised Crime Department, or murder team as she preferred to call it. Maggie hated labels – keep things simple was her motto. She let Scrappy out and started to get ready. She had enough struggles of her own to worry about without repeatedly going over Raven’s case in her head. The best thing about starting with a new team was the chance to move forward and leave the past behind.
After a quick shower, Maggie donned her usual black trouser suit and white blouse, opting for her low-heeled court shoes in case the day entailed any physical activity. She looked at herself in the mirror.
‘That’s as good as it gets.’
Not really one for a lot of make-up or accessories when it came to work, Maggie pulled her shoulder-length, auburn hair back into a loose ponytail and straightened her collar.
She grabbed her coat from the hook by the door and headed out.
OK, DAHU – let’s see what you have in store for me.
Robert Millard was what was known in the criminal justice arena as a domestic abuse perpetrator. Each agency used a lot of different acronyms, which Lucy found hard to keep track of at the best of times.
She was currently supervising Robert on a two-year suspended sentence order, after a judge felt his years of sustained abuse against his estranged wife more than warranted the threat of custody if he breached the imposed requirements. Robert’s wife, Louise, was also granted an indefinite restraining order – which meant that he could have no contact with her unless it was removed.
Lucy made her way to the reception area and called out for Robert. He looked exhausted and unkempt as he dragged his feet and followed her into the interview room designated for the riskier, more volatile offenders. Pointing at the chair across from her, Lucy asked Robert to sit down.
‘Why are we in here? We usually go upstairs.’
She could feel the paranoia and edginess emanating from him as she asked him again to sit down; the last thing she wanted was for Robert to be standing up when she confronted him with the information she now had. She waited as he pulled the chair out and sat down.
‘Do you want to tell me what happened the other night, Robert?’ Lucy had learnt over the years that if she gave her offenders the opportunity to come clean, they were less likely to lash out when challenged. She had been supervising Robert on and off for three years now and wanted him to be the one to tell her. This would also give her a better idea of where his risk status was at.
Robert’s face darkened. He clenched his fists tight and his eyes began to glaze over. Suddenly he snapped.
‘Who the fuck do you think you are, you fucking bitch?’ The spittle from his lips hit Lucy’s face like toxic raindrops. Grabbing a tissue from the drawer, Lucy wiped her face without losing eye contact with Robert. She’d not let him get the better of her.
Lucy raised her hands to her ears to lessen the painful sound of metal screeching as Robert pushed back his chair. He leapt towards the wall and Lucy cringed when she heard the crack of his knuckle as flesh met concrete.
‘You’re ruining my life! All you bitches are the same.’
Robert obviously wasn’t going to be forthcoming about the other night. Her hand hovered over the alarm button beneath the desk. Lucy glanced at the camera in the corner and was grateful that reception would be watching. Punching the wall was meant to intimidate her, but she wasn’t impressed. Robert paced the small room then grabbed the back of his chair.
‘Now what the fuck is going to happen to me?’
Lucy waited for his breathing to return to normal. ‘Are you through then, Robert?’ She let the question hang in the air and watched as he calmed down. He nodded his head.
‘Then take a seat and I’ll explain everything.’
Robert reluctantly sat down again, his eyes blazing. She could tell he wasn’t going to trust a word she said, and she prepared herself for another angry outburst.
‘Robert, you broke the conditions of your restraining order. That means, you also broke the requirements. What did you think was going to happen?’ Somehow she kept her voice icily calm.
‘She asked me to come over. Why am I the one getting into trouble?’ He almost sounded like a spoiled child.
‘You know why, Robert. I told you this. You signed the paperwork and said you understood what you were signing. Let’s not kid ourselves here: this is not