She recalled the night he’d frightened them when he’d started to throw up and all this black stuff had come up, making Grace retch too. She could clearly remember the time he’d punched the wall in anger and then wept in her arms at the injustice of having to leave her behind. The times she’d administered his drugs because he’d been too tired to get out of bed. And that one moment when he had begged her to kill him, to put him out of his misery, would be forever etched on her heart.
She’d never had herself down as a nurse, but that’s what she’d become during his last few months, until he was unable to be cared for at home and was admitted to a local hospice. She hadn’t told anyone, but it had made it better for her. She had someone to watch over him all the time she wasn’t there. She didn’t want to be his carer – she wanted to be his wife.
Now, she hated not having to think for two people any more. Holidays, get-togethers, even the food shopping – when she did any – was all for her. It still took a lot of getting used to. Losing her mum as well, less than twelve months after, had almost taken her over the edge.
After a few more seconds, she switched the speed up on the machine. She pushed herself further and further, faster and faster, until eventually she had no choice but to stop.
In the kitchen, Matt’s smile stared back at her as she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. She closed the door and ran a finger over his image. The photo had been taken before the disease had made him into a skeleton with no hair. Here he was healthy, eyes shining with no bags underneath them, glowing skin and a ferocious appetite for life. After two years, the memories of him at the height of his debilitation had faded and this was how she remembered him now.
She moved to the kitchen window. It looked like another nice day ahead, clear blue skies and warmer-than-average temperatures. How she wished there weren’t dark clouds hanging over her. You shouldn’t dwell on the past, her mum used to say to her, but it was far easier said than done when the past had taken away a planned future.
Two hours later, showered and energised but still feeling emotional, she closed the door to the side of her that she didn’t want people to see and headed to work.
Bethesda Police Station was situated in the street of the same name, at the bottom of the city centre. Before 1910, Stoke-on-Trent was made up of six towns. It became a federated city with a merger in that year, Hanley then becoming the main shopping centre of the Potteries.
Grace had already been told by several disgruntled members of the public that Hanley was not, and never would be, Stoke-on-Trent’s city centre as it was known on signposts. Stoke was the centre, it was where the railway station was situated and where the civic centre had been until recently. But to her, Stoke was a drive-through town with a few roads. It seemed that most of the money and resources were focused on Hanley, which was great for where she was based. Some areas had been pedestrianised, making them feel safer and a pleasure to walk around, perhaps sit in to have a sandwich during a work break. At night, like most cities of its size, it had its problems with the homeless and drunk and disorderly. Violence was often rife at kicking-out times, but for the most part it boasted a good vibe.
Coming back had been quite an eye-opener for her. Of course, she didn’t remember much of the city at the age of twelve, but after working for such a large force as Greater Manchester, policing areas in Stoke was a far easier way to learn of the local goings-on. Even after just a few weeks, Grace already had the lay of the land. And she had the previous detective sergeant, Allie Shenton, at her disposal. The woman was a fount of all knowledge, having already helped her out quite a few times with intel.
Filling her shoes was a big ask. She’d met with Allie the week after starting her position. Allie had recently taken up a new role as Community Inspector, heading up six community neighbourhood teams, one in each region of the city. During the meeting, Allie had told Grace about her work colleagues, some of the people she’d meet on her patch and some of the ones she’d want to avoid.
It had been an easy meet, lots of polite chat, but Grace had been thankful for an insight into what she had let herself in for. She had thought long and hard about returning to Stoke and Allie had made it a little better for her. Secretly, Grace realised that Allie was keeping an eye on what was going on at the station. It must be hard to let go after so long working in the same place. But equally, Grace had begun to look at her as a mentor. Allie hadn’t minded when she’d questioned her further about a number of subjects and people.
Grace’s first month in the role had been a quiet one spent with her team of three detective constables, getting to know the community and feel of the areas and also some of its inhabitants. The team were on the first of three floors of the station, along with several soft interview suites and also an area where civvy staff worked. Back in Manchester, Grace had been in a building that was in desperate need of refurbishment, both inside and out. Its layout had meant that she’d been in a room not even big enough to call a cupboard, with a team of four other officers. Here it was open-plan, with about thirty desks, all new, swanky even – although the kitchen was still a health risk with all the leftover food and dirty dishes lying around.
She smiled her thanks when a mug of coffee was plonked down on her desk, her ‘Wonder Woman’ mug a joke present from Matt just before he’d died. Across from her on the opposite desk, Sam Markham sat down with her own drink and clicked her mouse to wake up her computer. Grace now knew she was thirty-seven, living with her partner, Craig, and her six-year-old daughter, Emily, from a previous marriage. Sam was small in build with dimples in her cheeks and wore her long blonde hair mostly tied up in a ponytail, making her look even more baby-faced. But Allie had told her, ‘Don’t let Sam fool you. She’s more than capable of holding her own when necessary.’
Down the room, she could just about see Nick squashed into his tiny partitioned office. An active man in his mid-fifties, he’d mentioned in small talk as he’d got to know her that his wife, Sharon, was begging him to take early retirement. But he enjoyed his job as detective inspector and wanted to stay working for the force because it kept his mind active. He was six foot three and ran several times a week to keep his middle-age spread at bay.
On her first day, as he’d shown her around the building, Nick had mentioned that the DCI thought it best Grace kept quiet about her connection to the Steele family for now. She had asked why but they had been interrupted when a man had walked past who he wanted to introduce her to. Nick hadn’t picked up the conversation again afterwards. She’d wondered why, reasoned perhaps he had his own motives, which she would find out in time.
Nick’s phone rang, and a rush of adrenaline flowed through Grace as she watched him stand up, beckoning her over quickly before putting it down with a bang.
‘I thought you might want a heads-up. Call’s just come in about a body found at Steele’s Gym,’ Nick told her.
Grace groaned inwardly.
‘Someone’s been attacked with acid and then stabbed in the car park. Josh Parker’s car is there.’
‘Josh Parker?’
‘He’s Eddie Steele’s right-hand man.’
‘Ah.’ Grace watched him leave the room.
When she stayed where she was, Nick turned back to her. ‘Are you coming?’
‘Is that wise, sir?’
‘I don’t know but I can’t see another sergeant spare at the moment.’
Grace tried not to let her expression give away her alarm as she followed behind him. Surely her first possible murder investigation wasn’t going to be on family soil?
Grace wiped her sweaty