by D. S. Butler
‘All right, I’ll meet you there.’
The restaurant was constructed from the local limestone, and the building was so old it looked like it had sunken and settled into the street. It was part of the scenery.
Inside, it was warm and cosy, and although it was busy she did manage to get a table for two. She sat down and looked at the wine list. She’d already had two margaritas, and hesitated, wondering if she should order a bottle or just a glass. In the end, she opted for the bottle. It had been a long day and a frustrating evening.
Maybe there was something wrong with her, but she was almost glad the date had ended abruptly. It was a relief to get out of there. She wasn’t ready. Perhaps she never would be. Anyway, growing old alone wasn’t the end of the world.
After all, it could be worse. She could be married to someone like Tom!
No one would ever come close to Josh, and she’d just have to accept it.
Her mobile buzzed in her handbag, and when she pulled it out, she saw she had a text from her sister.
How’s the date going?
It’s not.
What do you mean???
It didn’t work out.
:-( I’m sorry. I thought he seemed really nice.
First impressions can be deceptive.
Was he that bad?
I caught him on the phone to his wife or partner telling her to give the kids a kiss good night from him.
Seriously? He said he was single! He didn’t mention kids either!
I get the impression he does this sort of thing a lot.
I’m so sorry!
I’ll let you off if you promise to stop nagging me about dates.
:-( You can’t just give up.
Yes, I can.
We just need to find you someone nice. One of Mallory’s teachers is single . . .
NO.
Maybe just think about it.
NO.
He’s really lovely. You’d like him, and he’s definitely not married.
I’m putting my phone back in my bag now, Emma.
Are we still on for the weekend?
Yes. You’re buying me lunch to make up for my awful evening.
Fair enough. See you Saturday xx
As she waited for DI Morgan, Karen occupied herself by people-watching and creating backstories for the diners sitting close by. There were a group of men on her right, and she guessed they were out for some kind of work-related evening.
The waiter brought the wine, an Australian Shiraz – one of the cheapest on the menu, as a detective sergeant’s salary didn’t go that far. She tasted it, and then nodded at the waiter to continue to fill her glass. She’d already looked at the menu and decided on the sea bass by the time DI Morgan entered the restaurant.
He saw Karen straightaway and walked over to join her. Turning down the offer of wine, the waiter poured him some water.
‘Right,’ he said, turning to Karen after the waiter had left. ‘Are you going to tell me how the date went?’
Karen frowned and put down her wine glass. ‘No, and I told you not to ask. I thought you were spending the evening unpacking.’
‘So did I, but something came up.’
Karen topped up her glass. ‘Work?’
‘Not exactly,’ DI Morgan said, reaching for his water. ‘Although I did contact Superintendent Murray for permission to bring Martin and Stephen Fox in for questioning tomorrow, but she was dead set against it. After my visit with Elizabeth Fox, the superintendent received a phone call from Robert Fox, crying harassment.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
DI Morgan sipped his water. ‘Yes, I agree. She’s trying to handle him with kid gloves, but it won’t work. He’ll never be satisfied with the way we’re handling the investigation. Right now all we have is a series of letters, and the only strong suspects we have for sending them are Oliver Fox’s sons. It has to be either Martin or Stephen.’
‘It’s possible they went further than sending letters,’ Karen said. ‘If Albert Johnson really was pushed down the stairs, that’s attempted murder at the very least.’
DI Morgan lifted his shoulders and shrugged. ‘But can we trust what he said? It wasn’t an official statement. Just a few mumbled words to Rick before he died. Plus, there was no evidence there was anyone else at the scene.’ He sighed. ‘I really think we need to question Stephen and Martin.’
The conversation paused as the waiter came back to take their orders. Karen requested the sea bass, and DI Morgan asked for rib of beef.
When they were alone again, Karen leaned forward. ‘I have to agree. It makes sense that it’s one of the sons sending the letters. Somehow they found out how their father died, and this is some kind of weird revenge.’
‘It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. I’m tempted to go and talk to them tomorrow anyway. Even if I can’t bring them in, it might help to put some pressure on.’
Karen smiled.
‘What?’
‘It’s just you’re normally very by the book. It’s strange to hear you say that you’re going to go against the superintendent’s instructions.’
DI Morgan thought for a moment. ‘I know you think I’m a little . . . controlled, but I wasn’t always so careful.’
Karen rested an elbow on the table, interested. ‘Really? I can’t imagine you taking any risks.’
‘I wouldn’t say I was a risk-taker, but I wasn’t quite as careful then as I am now.’
‘So what happened to make you risk-averse?’ Karen asked, trying to keep the tone light. She didn’t want to seem like she was prying, but she’d been curious about DI Morgan’s past and his reason for moving to Lincolnshire.
‘I messed up on a case back at Thames Valley,’ DI Morgan said. ‘It’s no big secret. There was an internal investigation, and I was placed on gardening leave for a while.’
Karen didn’t dare say anything. This was the closest DI Morgan had come to confiding in her since he’d arrived in Lincolnshire.
He sighed. ‘I nearly lost my job over it. By rights, I should have. Our team had been tracking a young man called Jason Starkness. He was a joyrider and had been in trouble for years. His mother was an alcoholic, and he had a younger brother, Harry, who was living with a foster family.
‘We’d had a tip-off that Jason was in a residential estate. If we’d have gone to the right address, we would have picked him up. He would have spent the night in lock-up and then probably been given a suspended sentence. But I screwed up. I gave the wrong address. Instead of 13 McCarthy Way, I said 30 St Andrews Close. I hadn’t written it down, and our logbook wasn’t up to date.
‘I couldn’t believe I’d screwed up at first, but three other team members confirmed I’d said the wrong address.’
Karen waited. It didn’t sound too bad to her. She’d done worse on many occasions. It was drummed into them during training to make detailed notes because sometimes things that didn’t seem very important at the time could have far-reaching consequences.
DI Morgan took another sip of water and continued. ‘We went to the wrong address, so Jason wasn’t arrested. Instead, he stole another car and decided to pick up his ten-year-old brother, Harry.’
His grip tightened around the glass, and Karen sensed what was coming.
Her mouth was dry, but she didn’t reach for her wine.
‘Jason lost control of the car, and Harry died at the scene. He was ten years old, and he died because I gave the team the wrong address.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Karen said. It sounded completely inadequate, but she just didn’t know what else to say.
‘You’re probably thinking I should have lost my job, and you’d be right. My notes weren’t written up. We were busy that evening and everything else seemed more important than catching up on the logs. I put it off, intending to do it later when we had more time.’
He finally raised his gaze to meet Karen’s.
She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You weren’t dr
iving the car.’
‘No, but if we’d gone to the right address, if I hadn’t screwed up, Harry would still be alive.’
It was hard to argue with that logic, and Karen sensed he didn’t want her to. He didn’t want reassurance or to be consoled. She reached for her wine and took a long gulp.
It seemed once he’d started to talk, he wanted to tell her everything. ‘After the investigation, I stayed at Thames Valley. I’m not a quitter. But then my marriage broke down. I was paying maintenance, and houses are so much more expensive down there, so I figured it was time for a transfer, a fresh start. There was nothing but stubbornness keeping me down there.’
But there was something else. Something Karen couldn’t quite put her finger on.
‘Scott,’ she said. It felt strange calling him anything other than ‘sir’ or ‘DI Morgan’. ‘Is there something else you’re not telling me?’
He smiled. ‘Can’t get anything past you, can I, Karen?’
‘I don’t mean to pry.’
‘You’re not. If you had done some digging, you would have found out about the disciplinary action and the internal enquiry. The records are out there in the open for anyone to find.’
‘We’ve all made mistakes, but I can see that would have been a very difficult one to live with.’
DI Morgan nodded. ‘It is, and the reason I’m telling you now is I had a visit last night from my old team leader, a man called Rob Miller. We never got along well. He’s not a nice guy.’
‘What did he want?’
‘He wanted me to keep tabs on his ex-girlfriend and tell him what she was up to. In exchange, he wouldn’t mention my past screw-up to my new colleagues.’
‘What a complete and utter . . .’ Karen trailed off after she noticed her raised voice had made the people at the next table turn.
DI Morgan smiled. ‘Yeah, like I said, he’s not a nice guy.’
Karen was dreaming when the phone woke her the next morning. It had been a nice dream. She’d been sitting in the garden, watching Tilly splash about in a paddling pool.
But the ringing of her phone caused the dream to fragment and drift away.
She fumbled for her mobile on the nightstand, but still groggy with sleep, she knocked it on to the floor. Cursing under her breath, she leaned over the side of the bed, groping for the phone.
She blinked at the screen. Six thirty a.m. The number was displayed as the control room at Nettleham headquarters. She frowned. She wasn’t even on call.
She fell back against the pillows. ‘DS Hart,’ she answered sleepily.
‘DS Hart, this is Sergeant Matthews. I’m calling to report an incident involving a person of interest in one of your current cases.’
Karen sat bolt upright. Now she was wide awake. ‘Who?’
‘William Grant.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t have all the details. I can tell you he’s deceased.’
Karen leaned back against the headboard, desperately trying to fit things together. She didn’t function well when she’d just woken up.
How could William Grant be dead? They’d spoken to him yesterday . . . But the solicitor had said he was feeling unwell. Had the pressure been too much for him? She kicked back the duvet. Damn. Her first thought was pity for the old teacher, followed by a fervent wish they’d questioned him for longer yesterday. Now all his answers would die with him.
‘How did he die?’ Karen asked.
‘Just a second.’ There was a pause, and Karen suspected Sergeant Matthews was reading through the report. ‘He was attacked at 82 Fallowfield, North Greetwell, last night. His body was found early this morning. Emergency services were called at five fifteen a.m.’
‘You said 82 Fallowfield?’ Karen tried to focus. William Grant’s home address was Westfield Drive, so he must have taken her advice and stayed with family or friends.
‘Yes.’
‘That’s not his primary address. Was he staying with friends or family?’
‘According to the information I have here, it’s his daughter’s house.’
‘Thank you. I’ll go there straightaway.’
Karen hung up and quickly got out of bed. She didn’t bother to shower, and only paused to splash some water on her face and clean her teeth before pulling on a fresh set of clothes.
She reached for her deodorant. What the hell had happened? She’d advised William not to stay at home, just in case Albert Johnson had been telling the truth when he told Rick he’d been pushed, but she hadn’t seriously thought he was in danger. None of them had.
Karen’s heart was thudding as she grabbed her keys. She had advised William to stay with someone else. They should have moved him into protective custody, or assigned officers to watch over him. This was their fault. Her fault. She should have seen this coming. Because it was an old case, they’d underestimated the risk.
They’d let their guard down, and William Grant had paid the price.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
It was just after seven when Karen pulled up outside William Grant’s daughter’s home. Fallowfield was a quiet residential cul-de-sac, or it would have been quiet if it hadn’t been full of emergency vehicles. Three marked police cars were lined up outside the residence, as well as an unmarked van. Karen guessed the van belonged to the crime scene officers. There was crime scene tape all along the perimeter of the property.
Karen walked up to the uniformed officer standing guard at the front of the driveway, showed him her warrant card and then signed in. ‘Who’s in charge?’
‘DI Freeman was the duty SIO, ma’am. But due to the victim’s involvement in one of DI Morgan’s cases, he showed up a little while ago to take charge.’
Karen nodded. ‘Is the pathologist here?’
‘Yes.’
He lifted the crime scene tape, so Karen could duck beneath it, and she walked towards the semi-detached house. The adrenaline that had flooded her system after the phone call hadn’t completely dissipated. She felt light-headed and sick.
In the upstairs windows on the left there were bright-pink curtains with a teddy-bear print, and hanging in the top-right window were blue curtains with what looked like a spaceship pattern.
Karen took a deep breath and hoped the children hadn’t witnessed the attack on William Grant.
She paused near the front of the house, and put on some blue shoe protectors from a cardboard box and then a pair of gloves. Blood rushed in her ears as she followed the trail laid out by the crime scene team. Halfway around the side of the house, she saw Raj walking towards her.
‘Are you finished already?’ Karen asked.
He shook his head. ‘Just getting started.’
‘Right.’ Karen squared her shoulders and prepared to pass Raj to head into the house via the back door, but he put a hand up to stop her.
She looked up and met his steady gaze. ‘Brace yourself,’ he said. ‘It’s not good.’
He strode away towards the van, and Karen swallowed hard and continued to move towards the back door. Raj was an experienced pathologist. If he said it was bad, then it really was.
The door to the kitchen was open, but Karen didn’t step in straightaway. The first thing that grabbed her attention was the bloody footprints. Adult-sized bare feet. Immediately, her mind went into overdrive, imagining what must have happened. Had William Grant’s daughter come downstairs? It would have been dark, perhaps she didn’t turn on the light straightaway and then stepped on something sticky . . . maybe still warm . . . and it wouldn’t be until she’d switched on the light and looked down that she’d have seen the blood.
Inside, a crime scene officer dressed in a white paper suit was taking photographs.
‘Is it all right to come in?’ Karen asked.
The crime scene officer looked down, noting her protective footwear, and then said, ‘Stick to this side of the kitchen.’
Karen stepped inside and was immediately hit by the coppery smell of blood. But it was
n’t only the smell. She could almost taste it in the back of her throat.
The floor was covered with sticky, dark-red smears. The pool of blood near the refrigerator was so dark it looked black. William Grant lay on the floor, a shell, so pale he didn’t look human. From the amount of blood splattered, smeared and pooled around the room, Karen guessed there must be no blood left in the elderly man’s body. A large gash ran across his throat, and beside him lay a long, thin kitchen knife.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there taking it all in, maybe too long, because the smell finally got to her and her stomach rolled. She moved quickly, staggering outside, and then stood in the garden, hands on her knees, bent over gasping for breath, hoping she wouldn’t vomit like some rookie seeing their first body.
He had been sitting across the table from her yesterday. Looking tired, worn out and scared. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? Why hadn’t she done more to protect him? She’d been so busy with this stupid date business last night, and someone had been plotting and planning to commit this evil act.
She should have paid more attention to the threatening notes. There had been something dark and sinister about this case from the start. Why hadn’t she paid attention to her instincts?
‘Karen?’
Karen straightened up and turned around to see DI Morgan standing beside the back door.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Not really,’ Karen said. ‘How the hell could this have happened?’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t see it coming.’
She looked back towards the kitchen and felt her stomach roll again. ‘Who found the body?’
‘His daughter. Thankfully, she managed to keep the children from seeing their grandfather like that. They’re with a neighbour now.’
‘That’s something, I suppose.’
‘Look,’ DI Morgan said, ‘I can handle things here. You should get back to the station and bring Rick and Sophie up to date. The superintendent will want to be brought up to speed, too. If you get the chance, drive home the point we really need to speak to both of Oliver Fox’s sons as soon as possible. It’s even more important now.’
Karen nodded and turned away, thankful to get away from the gruesome scene.