Chapter Eleven

Goodbye, Grandmother

On a frosty Sunday morning, the sole place Detective Ryan Bradshaw desired to find himself was wrapped in his duvet, being awoken by his dog licking his face. Instead, he was aggrieved to find himself at the home of an elderly lady who had been found murdered two hours ago.

God, he regretted taking this shift - it always seemed to be the case that nothing happened in this damn town any other day of the year. Drama and murder was a privilege exclusively reserved for days that he elected to do some overtime. All hell seemed to break loose whenever he took extra hours.

He pulled up in his car and braced himself. His eyes dipped shut, the gloom tempting him to fall back to sleep. To his annoyance, there was a sharp rapping on the passenger side window, erasing all possibility of this. With a groan, he left the car, waving to his partner, Patricia Robertson, as he did so.

‘Morning, Ryan,’ the young woman said with little enthusiasm. ‘Happy to be here?’

He threw her a dirty look, to which she responded with a curt nod. ‘Me too.’

Together, they approached the compact, red-brick terraced house which was rather quaint for the single, aged inhabitant. They ducked under the police tape surrounding the scene and were greeted by the forensic expert: an old, rugged, lean gentleman named Tom Walkins.

‘Mornin’, folks,’ he said in his gravelly voice. ‘Pretty nasty ‘un today, I’m afraid.’

Walkins led them into the hallway.

A thin layer of dust covered everything from the well-trodden rug to the expensive oak cabinets. Old family photos stood on the cupboard to their right, as well as hanging in frames from the walls. The odour all elderly people seemed to present with wafted up his nostrils. This time, the smell was contaminated with an awful, copper tang that clung to the back of his throat like a needy child would his leg.

The other blemish on the scene was the tall, olive-skinned, slim lady who would probably have been quite spritely despite her age were she not spread-eagled on the floor in a pool of her own blood.

‘One knife wound, directly t’ the chest,’ Walkins said, crouching next to the body and pointing at the incision. ‘Poor biddy didn’ ‘ave a chance - blade nicked ‘er ‘eart, see. Well, I say ‘nicked’ - hit bang on, more like. No sign of a struggle - indicates t’ me tha’ she knew the person who did it. But, I’ll leave the detectin’ to the detectives, shall I?’ He shot a toothless grin to Bradshaw.

Nose creased, Bradshaw crouched next to Walkins and lifted the woman’s arm, examining her hand. ‘No cuts on her hands,’ he said to Robertson, raising the other hand to check. ‘So, it would seem Walkins’s assessment is correct - can’t see any indication she put up a fight, the poor thing.’ He inspected the rest of her rigid, lifeless form. ‘Her clothes aren’t even ruffled…’ Bradshaw stood up and examined the doorframe. ‘No obvious signs of forced entry, unless there’s a smashed window no one’s noticed yet… seems to me the killer came through the front door under the guise of visiting her. Then, obviously known to the vic’, the killer was guided into the hall where they stabbed her in the chest. Look at everything - nothing’s been touched, moved or disturbed, as far as I can see.’

Robertson paused, looking up from the notes she was taking. ‘You know what jumps immediately out at me?’ She pointed at the knife wound. ‘The precision. It’s unnerving. How did they hit her directly in the heart, even without her putting up a struggle? There should be more wounds.’

Bradshaw circled the body. ‘Says to me that even though they knew her - only my assumption at this point - this killing wasn’t emotionally driven. If it was, I’d expect this would be messier, more rushed. I completely agree; it’s almost like we’re dealing with a well-executed - assassination, rather than a murder. More to the point,’ he moved to stand at the body’s head, examining her full form. ‘Look at her. Why kill her? She’s old and… clearly, wasn’t long for this world. So, what on earth’s the motive?’

‘Um,’ Robertson chewed her pen between her teeth. ‘Maybe she… was wealthy? I don’t know, Ryan, I can’t see why anyone would kill an old lady.’

Bradshaw’s mouth became a line. ‘Me neither. I mean, hell, look,’ he gestured at the frames on the wall and cupboard. ‘These clearly show she was a well-liked woman. Yes, the motive could well have been to get her wealth, but... I keep coming back to - why kill her when she’s so close to her end?’

Robertson addressed Walkins. ‘Who found her?’

‘Nex’ door neighbour, said they go to church together. She had a spare key and when the vic’ didn’ answer the door, she entered an’ found…’ Walkins jerked his head, morose, at the body.

Robertson wandered into the living room. The sound of her rummaging through drawers reached Bradshaw’s ears.

‘Did she give you a name?’ Bradshaw asked Walkins.

‘Wha’, of the vic’? Naw, she froze. Shock n’ tha’. Couldn’ bring hersel’ to say it, bein’ a close friend an’ all.’

Robertson called through, ‘no matter, I’ve found her passport. Weird name, like. Katerina An-Ad-Andrianakis? I’ll ring up the station and get Becky to search for a next of kin.’

Bradshaw held up his hand and Robertson stopped in her tracks. ‘No need. I know who the victim is, now,’ he said, massaging his temple. ‘Fuck.’

Bradshaw gazed around the hallway, distracting himself from the next of kin issue by attempting to find any indication they’d be able to locate the killer’s DNA on the scene - a difficult task, for the thin sheen of dust that coated everything was undisturbed.

‘You got a rough time of death yet, doc?’

Walkins lips pressed together in a small grimace. ‘Well, I didn’, bu’ now you ask… see the way the neck, jaw n’ chest are stiff? Rigor mortis ‘as set in, so from that progression I’d say… me’be 8-10 hours ago? So,’ he checked his watch. ‘Between 12 am and 2 am pal, but I’ll get an exac’ time t’ you later. So… who is she?’

Walkins and Robertson trained their eager eyes on Bradshaw.

‘Andrianakis. It’s not exactly a common name in this country, is it?’ Bradshaw asked.

The realisation hit Robertson. ‘Oh- fuuuck.’ She leaned back against the doorframe.

‘Wha’? Wha’?!’

Bradshaw stared at Katerina’s lifeless body. ‘Walkins, that right there… is Lyra Andrianakis’s mother.’

*

Savannah woke on Sunday morning to find Lauren snoozing beside her in bed. She’d told Lauren that she could go home, insisting that she’d be fine and wouldn’t freak out about the ‘not-magic’ display while on her own. Regardless, Lauren insisted she wasn’t leaving. Savannah had relented and appreciated it more than she could express.

Savannah let the silence absorb her and stared at a crack in the ceiling. Sleep was no longer easy to come by - she’d only fallen under two hours prior and her dreams had been anything but soothing. Each one was filled with images of Jeremy with a knife. She’d had a repeat of the battlefield dream as well, though this one was more detailed. She could recall that this time, she’d been holding a bizarre, unidentifiable, double-edged blade and was kitted in striking, unfamiliar black, red, and gold armour. What remained unaltered was her presence there as the sole living creature.

I need to stop watching films, Savannah thought.

In the silence of the cold light of dawn, she allowed herself to reflect on recent events. She no longer felt as terrified as she had in the immediate aftermath of Jeremy’s first attack. Perhaps because he’d now done it a second time and she was becoming numbed out to the behaviour; it was now the expected standard of abuse. Or, perhaps it was her awareness of a newfound defence mechanism bringing her comfort, thus her overall fear was reduced, despite her overwhelming desire to ignore that mechanism’s existence.

Whichever it was, her overriding feeling towards Jeremy was no longer fear, but disgust once more. That could only be a positive shift.

She turned onto her side and watched Lauren, examining the manner in which her eyes roved beneath the lids as she dreamed, the minute creases in her forehead, the elegant way her scar spread through her eyebrow and lid and extended the length of her cheek before ceasing at her chin, her serene, expressionless face, the rise and fall of her chest…

She smiled. When all the pain and the trauma of her life was stripped away, in the moments like these where it was just the two of them and the world seemed to fall away… having Lauren in her life was a complete blessing. She didn’t believe in a god, but the universe had seen fit to send her an angel, and she could not be more thankful for her.

Additionally, she was truly astounded at how far Lauren had come despite all the pain that she’d been through herself.

All she could hope for was that one day, when this was all over… she’d be even half as strong.

*

To Savannah’s surprise when she left her room at midday, Lyra was home and preparing a Sunday lunch. She hummed to herself and moved around the kitchen with the grace and composure of a ballerina, possessing a glow of the like Savannah had rarely witnessed in her mother.

‘Hey, Sav,’ Lyra said when Savannah entered the kitchen. She stopped bustling over the oven for a moment and went to hug Savannah. Savannah accepted the hug, albeit with resistance.

‘Where’ve you been?’ she asked, feigning aggression in her tone.

Lyra went back to the oven. ‘I’ve been at a friend’s, that’s all. Sorry I didn’t reply, my phone died and I didn’t take my charger with me. I’ve only just found your message this morning. I just… went for a little... headspace. I’ve got some big news for you all, but… that can wait until after lunch.’

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Savannah opened her mouth to argue - keeping up appearances, for she couldn’t be sure the news Lyra was going to impart was news of the divorce, so telling Lyra she already knew about it was a risk - but Lyra continued speaking before she could. ‘No, Sav, you can wait till after lunch.’

‘Now, is Lauren here? Am I making this for six?’

Taken aback by this assertiveness, all appearances of passive aggression flew out of the window. ‘Er-er- yeah, yeah she is. She’s playing a video game with Aaron. She stayed the night. I was going to ask you if that was okay, but… you weren’t here.’

Lyra smiled. ‘That’s good. I’ve always liked how well Aaron and Lauren get on - she’s like another big sister for him. Not that she could match you in that regard, of course,’ she finished with a wink. Savannah jerked her head. For Lyra to be complementary and happy in the same mood was a rarity.

Theo waddled into the kitchen and Lyra picked him up and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Hey, little guy. Can you do me a big favour?’ He nodded, yet avoided Lyra’s eyes. His own were squinted, a hint of distrust there.

‘Can you go and get the others?’

He nodded again and she put him down. ‘Good boy. Oh and… I got your favourite for dessert - chocolate ice cream!’ Lyra said.

Theo let out a gasp of delight and scarpered from the room. Savannah watched him leave with her brow furrowed.

‘Mum…’

‘Sav?’

‘Don’t take this the wrong way, right, but… why are you so happy?’

Lyra grinned. ‘Ah, don’t worry, my dear eldest, all will become clear shortly. Help me set the table, will you?’ Though still acting suspicious, throwing the occasional side eye at Lyra, Savannah did as she was asked

An hour afterwards, the family was around the table after a fantastic home meal; all but Theo, who’d eaten a great deal for a change. He removed himself from the dining room with his bowl of ice cream to watch TV.

Alexis, without the knowledge that Savannah possessed, was even warier of Lyra’s change in mood, observing her mother with narrowed eyes, trying to get to the root of her improvement without having to ask. Aaron, on the other hand, was more engaged and happy than usual, finding Lyra’s cheerfulness contagious. If Lauren had noticed the difference in Lyra, she was yet to let on.

‘Right, mum,’ Savannah said. ‘You said you’d tell us what’s going on.’

Lyra sighed and looked at her plate. The moment couldn’t be delayed any longer. ‘Well… I didn’t want to tell Theo until I’d told you all first… primarily because I’m not sure how to word it in a way he won’t get upset, but…’ She took a deep breath.

‘Go on, mum,’ Aaron probed. ‘Whatever it is, we can take it.’

‘Well… I’ve started divorce proceedings… against your father.’

Alexis's jaw dropped, Savannah feigned surprise by mimicking her, and Aaron let out a gasp. Even Lauren raised an eyebrow.

‘You fuckin’ what?!’ Alexis shouted, slamming her hands onto the table.

‘Shush!’ Lyra whispered. ‘Don’t let your brother hear, for goodness’ sake.’

‘What?!’ Alexis said in a more hushed tone. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘What made you decide to file now, after all this time?’ Savannah asked, regarding Lyra with a mix of feigned confusion and genuine pride.

‘Well… I started thinking about it after we’d all discussed it. I wasn’t convinced. I wasn’t going to leave your father. All the same, it was on my mind. Then… he attacked you,’ she said to Savannah, a breath hitching in her throat. ‘I… there’s a lot of things I’ve tolerated and put up with from that man. I’ve spent a long time… trapped, scared and helpless because he made me feel so worthless and dependent… I deluded myself into believing I couldn’t manage without him. Then… there was a voice at the back of my brain telling me that I did have the strength to leave him, but the control and power he’s had over me shut that down. But then… he attacked my child. It made me realise… many things.’

Savannah’s lip quivered. She reached across the table and grabbed Lyra’s hand.

Lyra met Savannah’s eyes and a tear rolled slowly down her cheek, though her glow and smile did not fade. ‘It made me realise that… first of all, I couldn’t allow him to put you all in danger. Before, I thought… staying together was the best thing because it ensured that you all still had a father but… his actions enlightened me about how much of a risk keeping him in our lives was.

On top of that, we’re worth a great deal more than him, and we’ll be monumentally happier without him. He’s brought nothing but pain to us and all he’s done is take and abuse. I see the impact childhood abuse has every day in my job and I despise myself for allowing you to be subjected to it…’

She trailed off and her voice broke, as did the barrier holding back the waterworks. Savannah even wept herself; Aaron took hold of Lyra’s other hand; Alexis rose and went over to Lyra. She sank into a crouch, wrapped her arms around her mum, and held her in a most non-Alexis fashion.

‘We’re here for you, and we don’t blame you. We blame that monster,’ Alexis mumbled.

After a few moments, Lyra stopped crying and Alexis returned to her seat.

‘Never,’ Alexis said, snarling at each of them in turn. ‘Tell anyone that ever happened.’

Lauren rolled her eyes and spoke to Lyra. ‘I know you aren’t my mother, but… you’ve made me a part of this family. No one’s done that for me. My Aunt… though I love her, she never made me feel as welcome as you have. You are among the strongest women I have ever met. You’ve done the best by all of us and we won’t ever forget that. A lot of people never have the strength to do what you’ve done, especially after all you’ve been through.’

‘Thank you, Lauren,’ Lyra said, voice shaking. ‘You… you’re as much a part of this family as we are, and we’re all… honoured to have you in our lives.’

The Glasco-Masons huddled together and held each other as one.

Theo entered the room. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Get in here, you,’ Lyra said through a choked laugh. He obeyed and joined the group hug.

The doorbell rang and Lyra groaned, pulling herself away and wiping her eyes. ‘Damn… why’d they have to ruin the moment?’

‘Oh, thank god, another second and I think I’d have suffocated,’ Alexis said, clutching her chest.

They all laughed and left the dining room. Theo returned to the living room, Alexis and Aaron went upstairs to their rooms, and Lauren and Savannah waited in the hallway while Lyra went to answer the door.

‘Ah, good afternoon, Lyra,’ a man’s voice said.

Savannah stood on her tiptoes to get a look at him. He was tall and had brown hair cropped short with a well-groomed beard to match. He was toned and fit - here was a man who took pride in his appearance and put effort into it. Beside him was a shorter, athletic, young ginger woman who appeared only a few years older than Savannah.

‘Ryan? What are you doing here? You’d better not be bringing me work. On a Sunday, of all days,’ Lyra said, her head bouncing.

‘No. I-I’m afraid it’s more serious than that,’ the man named Ryan said in a sombre tone.

Savannah watched her mother’s body sag. The news they brought was dire; all three of them sensed it. ‘What is it?’

Lauren and Savannah walked up and stood behind Lyra. Savannah nodded a greeting at the pair.

‘Ah, who are you two?’ Bradshaw asked.

‘I’m Savannah, Lyra’s daughter,’ Savannah said, her voice slow and cautious. ‘And that’s Lauren, she’s a family friend. What’s going on?’

‘I’m sorry, Lyra. Savannah. Lauren. I bring bad news. Lyra… this morning, we found your mother. I’m dreadfully sorry to tell you… she’s been murdered.’

*

Savannah and Lauren sat on either side of Lyra on the living room sofa, comforting her as she sobbed. All positivity and energy Lyra possessed had dissipated.

Detectives Bradshaw and Robertson stood in the centre of the room; Bradshaw’s eyebrows were creased in sympathy while Robertson shifted on her feet.

‘I am so sorry for your loss, Lyra’ Bradshaw murmured. He and Lyra were on first name terms, for they’d worked on multiple cases together over the last decade. ‘When you feel ready, we have some questions to ask you. Just a couple, I promise, and we’ll be out of your hair.’

‘What happened?’ Lyra’s voice was strained.

‘Well,’ Bradshaw hesitated. ‘All we know at the moment is that your mother died of a single stab wound late last night. Beyond that… it’s speculation.’

Lyra let out a harsh laugh through the tears. ‘Don’t give me that bullshit, Ryan. I know you, you already have a working theory, so tell me what that is as well.’

Bradshaw and Robertson looked at each other. ‘I’m not sure I’m at liberty to…’ He quailed under the look Lyra gave him. ‘Alright. Well, there were no signs of a struggle, which indicates Katerina likely knew her killer. There was, as I said, one single stab wound, straight to the heart, so the killing was clinical. The problem is… we have no theory for a motive, so we were hoping to get that from you.’

‘Did she go quickly?’ Lyra whispered.

Bradshaw’s dry washed his hands. ‘Yes, Lyra. She went very fast, and likely painlessly as well, once adrenaline had numbed the initial pain.’

‘Good.’ She cried for a minute more before speaking again.

‘Ask away, Ryan,’ she said.

‘Okay,’ he threw Robertson a sideways glance before elaborating. ‘I know Katerina was a very popular and lovely lady. However… even the best of us have people in our lives who wouldn’t hesitate to bring us down and hurt us, physically or otherwise. Can you think of any such people, who would want to hurt your mother?’

‘No,’ Lyra responded without pause. ‘Everyone loved her and she’d never hurt a hair on anyone’s head.’

Bradshaw inclined his head. ‘Okay. What about… your father, or any other lovers your mother may have had? Is there anything there?’

Lyra shook her head. ‘No, Ryan, there isn’t. My father left three months into my mother’s pregnancy with me. I’ve never met him, or heard from him, and to my knowledge, my mother hadn’t had any contact with him since then, either. And… there was never anyone after him for my mother.’

Bradshaw lowered his head. ‘Okay… Lyra, what about your husband?’

Lyra’s eyes shot back to Bradshaw. Savannah stared at him too. Lauren, however, monitored the shadows around Savannah - they constricted and writhed in line with her temper, mercifully unnoticed by the others in the room. Lauren reached for Savannah’s hand resting on Lyra’s shoulder and caressed it. Savannah (and the shadows) relaxed.

‘What about him?’ Lyra asked, scepticism dominating her tone.

‘I don’t know how to word this… erm… I know your husband’s been violent with you… how was his relationship with your mother?’

‘Ha,’ Lyra scoffed. ‘He hasn’t spoken to her in 17 years. She despises… despised him.’

‘And… other than yourself, has your husband ever been violent with anyone else?’

Lyra’s eyes dropped to her furled hands. ‘No, he hasn’t. You don’t suspect him, do you? My mother and Jeremy didn’t have enough of a relationship for there to be a link, I’m afraid.’

‘Yeah, but… it’s all we have for the moment. He’s not a suspect,’ Bradshaw added. ‘But… we’d like to question him, all the same. Is he home?’

Lyra sighed. ‘No, Ryan, he’s not. He… hasn’t been home in a couple days. If you want to find him, he’ll probably be in the pub by now, but don’t expect him to be accommodating.’

Bradshaw chuckled. ‘I never would.’

He approached Lyra and placed his hand on hers. ‘You have my number, should you need to call me - for anything whatsoever - Ms A. We’ll put the twat that did this behind bars, I promise you.’

With that, he and Robertson left the house. For a while, there was no sound except the great, heaving sobs of Lyra. Eventually, she took herself off to bed for space, a lament, and an hour’s sleep, leaving Lauren and Savannah alone in the living room. A pit formed in Savannah’s stomach as she watched Lyra depart.