The Dying Place Read Free Page B

paperwork. At least he wasn’t lying at the bottom of a concrete staircase in a pitch-black cellar, a psychopath looming over him.
    He had to look at the positives.
    Murphy left the bedroom, stepping over paint-splattered sheets, paint tins and the stepladders which festooned the landing.
    The cause of his late nights.
    He’d gone into decorating overdrive, determined to have something to do in his spare time. Started with the dining room, which hadn’t seen a paintbrush since they’d bought the house a few years earlier. Now he was back living there, reunited with his wife after a year apart following his parents’ death, it was time to make the house look decent. Sarah was often busy in the evenings with lesson planning and marking due to her teaching commitments, so he would have otherwise just been staring at the TV, and he’d done enough of that when he lived on his own.
    Sarah had started teaching just as they got married. Her past put behind her, a successful degree course, and a clean CRB check was all she needed. That, and a large amount of luck, given her ability to never actually be arrested for any of the stupid stuff she’d done in the past. Murphy had never expected that last bit to hold.
    Murphy entered the kitchen just as Sarah was pouring out a cup of freshly brewed coffee. ‘Cheers, wife. Need this.’ He brushed her cheek with his lips as she slipped past him.
    ‘I’ve only got half an hour to get ready now, husband. Work out how to use the thing yourself, okay? Or we’re going back to Nescafé.’ She stopped at the doorway. ‘Oh, and remember you promised we’d go out tonight.’
    Friday already. The week slipping past without him noticing. ‘Of course. I’ve booked a table.’
    She stared at him for a few seconds, those blue eyes studying his expression. ‘No you haven’t. But you will do, right? Tear yourself away from your paintbrush, Michelangelo, and treat your wife.’
    Murphy sighed and nodded. ‘No problem.’
    ‘Good. See you later. Love you.’
    ‘Love you too.’
    They were almost normal.
    The commute was shorter now than it had been in the months he’d lived over the water, on the Wirral – the tunnel which separated Liverpool from the small peninsula now a fading memory. Still, it took him over twenty minutes to reach the station from his house in the north of Liverpool, the traffic becoming thicker as he neared the roads which led into the city centre.
    After parking the car in his now-designated space behind the station, Murphy entered the CID offices of Liverpool North station just after nine a.m., the office already bustling with people as he let the door close behind him.
    Murphy sauntered over to his new office, mumbling a ‘morning’ and a ‘hey’ to a few constables along the way. Took down the note which had been attached to his door as he pushed it open.
    Four desks in a space which probably could have afforded two. Their reward for months of complaining and reminding the bosses of the jobs they’d cleared in the past year. A space cleared for Murphy, his now semi-permanent partner DS Laura Rossi, and two Detective Constables who seemed to change weekly.
    ‘Morning, sir.’
    Rossi looked and sounded, as always, as if she’d just stepped off a plane from some exotic country, fresh-faced and immaculate at first glance. It wasn’t until you looked more closely – and in a space as tight as their office, Murphy had been afforded the time to study her – and noticed the dark under her eyes, the bitten-down fingernails, and the annoying habit she had of never clipping her hair out of her face.
    He said his good mornings and plonked himself down behind his small desk, checking his in-tray for messages. A few chase-ups on old cases, a DS from F Division in Liverpool South who wanted a call back ASAP. Routine stuff.
    ‘Anything new overnight?’
    Rossi looked over from her computer screen, eyebrows raised at him. ‘Nothing for us.’
    ‘Come on. There must