Make You Sorry

by Christine Rae-Jones

  She got out of the taxi and closed the door as quietly as she could but with the extra tip safely tucked away, the driver revved the car and tooted the horn as he departed, spraying her legs with wet gravel.

  No point now in trying to be quiet. Samantha unlocked the door and went in. The room was empty, the only light coming from a table lamp which Nick had moved nearer the window. She was touched by his thoughtfulness. She took off her shoes and tiptoed into the kitchen in her bare feet. The tiled floor was arctic cold and it shocked her. She ran the cold tap for a few moments before filling a tumbler and downing the contents greedily. How many brandies had she drunk in the end? She couldn’t remember, and although the headache hadn’t yet started, she expected it to be bad.

  The door to the hallway was closed and she hoped that the taxi driver’s attempt to waken her family had failed. She started to undress in the living area, convinced that she could slip into bed without waking Nick. Her black dress was heavily creased. She unzipped it and let it slither to the floor. When she lifted a leg to step out of it, her head started to spin and she knew she was going to be sick. She made it to the kitchen sink before throwing up the four course meal and the accompanying wines and brandy. Coughing and spitting out the thick saliva which had protected the mucosal cells of her mouth, she heard the hall door open.

  Nick Morgan stood in navy pyjama bottoms drawn in below his waist with a white cord. Even now, his upper body retained the tan he had developed when building the extension to their south London home last summer. His arms were muscular although he no longer boasted the well defined abdominals of his younger days. When she turned, he was staring at her without moving or speaking.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nick. I know it’s late, but Mum turned up and we got chatting. I’ve had too much to drink.’ She was holding on to the edges of the sink for support.

  Nick’s face softened as she took an unsteady couple of steps in his direction and he reached out to support her upper arms. He inspected her face in the light of the table lamp. She closed her eyes and was about to fall into his welcoming embrace when she felt herself propelled backwards. Her hip collided with the sink unit and she yelped. When she opened her eyes, he was pointing to the congealed mess which was blocking the plughole. ‘Clean that up, then sleep on the sofa. You need to be up and showered before taking the twins to school and you’d better do that by taxi. I have a briefing at seven thirty.’

  ‘I’m sorry Nick. I really am.’ She reached out to him.

  ‘I can smell him on you.’ He left without looking back.

  Chapter 39

  Monday 17th February

  Nick Morgan lay awake until five o’clock then got up, showered, dressed, and took Truffles for a walk. When he returned, he changed into his shirt and suit and kicked Sam’s discarded clothes to one side on his way to the kettle.

  She was huddled under a pile of outdoor coats and he heard her soft snoring. It was a sound he usually found endearing. Not today. Deciding that he would grab breakfast on his way to work, he took his leather jacket from where it lay across Sam’s legs. He put it on and started to shake her, tilting his head to one side to avoid the smell of garlic, stale brandy and vomit.

  ‘Samantha, wake up.’ She didn’t respond so he shook harder until she started to groan. ‘Wake up, Samantha,’ louder this time. Her eyes opened and she cowered from him. ‘You need to get cleaned up and dressed. It’s Monday and you have to take the children to their new school. Whatever you were last night, today you need to pretend you’re a loving wife and mother.’ He grabbed his keys and left.

  The morning was cold and dark and his mood was not improved by having to scrape frost from his windscreen. His car windows had misted up and it took ten minutes with the blowers turned on full before it was safe to drive.

  The roads around the estate were dark until he reached the reception building which was bathed in the brightness of a security light. He saw Maisie struggling with an A-board pavement sign He stopped the car to help her.

  ‘Well, thank you. I knew you were a gentleman. Can you put it over by the entrance to the main car park please? We’ve got a shareholder meeting in the ballroom and they’ll need to park there.’

  ‘How many shareholders can this place have?’ he asked.

  ‘Not our shareholders. It’s a healthcare company. They come every year and we put on a spread for them. The income helps us through our quiet period.’

  ‘I hope my wife’s arrival in the early hours of the morning didn’t disturb you.’ He’d said it before thinking and immediately wondered why he’d even mentioned it.

  ‘No. I sleep the sleep of the innocent,’ she replied following it up with a throaty laugh.

  ‘Lucky you. There aren’t many can say that.’

  ‘Well, perhaps not all that innocent.’ Her right eyebrow arched Was she flirting again?

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have told me that because I need someone to come and talk to you about Abigail Slater.’ It had been in Morgan’s mind that finding Abi’s body on the estate may not have been entirely random. Whoever left her there might have been familiar with the territory.

  She looked puzzled now. ‘Come yourself. Save someone the trip. You’re here anyway and I don’t have a problem with talking to you about Abi Slater.’ When he didn’t reply, she continued, ‘Although you should know that I never really considered her a friend. She was just someone who came here sometimes. I’m going in now. It’s bloody freezing out here. Thanks again for helping.’

  In the short time he had left his car, the windows had misted over again and he sat in the dark with the engine running. Why had he thought it might be better to have someone else question Maisie? It’s not as if there was anything going on between them. He shook his head, put the Volvo into gear and set off towards the main road.

  Chapter 40

  Monday 17th February

  DI Nick Morgan sat at his desk, his eyes on the computer screen but his concentration on the thought of his wife with Graham Fletcher.

  He opened his decision log for Operation Siren and read through his justifications for the way he had steered the enquiry so far. He looked at the photos of Abigail Slater before jotting some notes on the information his team was still chasing. He retrieved his personal mobile from his pocket. No messages. He hoped that Samantha would be able to pull herself together in time to deliver the twins to their new school. He pocketed the phone. In ten minutes, he was due to update DCI Johnson with progress in his cases. At least with two high profile investigations going on and a DCI turning up the heat, his day would be full enough to distract him from brooding over her betrayal.

  DI Maggy Patel strode into his office. Since Johnson had moved Dave Spence from Patel’s team to his own, he had seen little of her. He told himself it wasn’t that he was avoiding her, he just wasn’t seeking her out. Anyway, she was still wrapped up in the investigation at Cliffside House and his instructions to keep out of that had been very clear.

  ‘You’re due to see Johnson in a minute,’ she said. ‘He’s going to speak to us both together. Come on.’

  Morgan frowned. ‘Why together?’

  ‘No idea. Come on, he said ten o’clock.’

  They walked down the corridor.

  ‘Any news on Cliffside?’ Morgan asked.

  Patel hesitated before replying. ‘Frankly, I’m at a loss where to go next. Nobody seemed to know that Raynor was staying at Cliffside. We can’t find who sold him his last fix either. He’s not on any of the shops’ CCTV. It’s as if he didn’t exist before you found him. I don’t suppose you’ve had any thoughts?’

  Morgan shook his head. ‘My wife and I went to the house at Christmas when we were down here visiting Dotty and there was no sign of him then.’

  Patel gasped and laughed. ‘You call Mrs Dorothy Cooper, venerable aristocrat of this parish, Dotty? I know you have awards for bravery but that’s pushing it.’

  ‘She’s a card-carrying, class “A” bitch who calls me
Plod. Calling her “Dotty” out loud is almost affectionate by comparison to what I call her in my head.’

  They were making their way up the second flight of stairs to Johnson’s office before Patel spoke again. ‘Do you think Johnson sees a link between the cases? I can’t say I’ve spotted one, but why else would he want to speak to us together?’

  ‘I have no idea. MOs are different. Raynor and Crook were into drugs, but Abi Slater has no history of drug abuse. She may have defended them both. She may even have been sexually involved with one or other, or perhaps both. She seems to have been quite a free spirit where sex was concerned.’ As he said it, he felt a sharp pain in his gut. ‘Anyway, I don’t officially know enough about your Raynor case to make connections.’

  They arrived at Johnson’s office and Morgan followed Patel in. They sat in the two chairs drawn up to his desk. The DCI’s face was stony, and although he had a cup of his special coffee beside him, still hot enough to be releasing its aromatic steam, he did not offer refreshment to his subordinates.

  ‘I cannot understand why there is so little progress in the three cases you are both working on. What is taking so long?’

  Morgan glanced to his left to check whether Patel was going to speak first. She was fixing Johnson with a glare and he could see the muscles in her jaw twitching before she spoke.

  ‘Operation Heartwood was set back by at least a couple of days after you transferred DS Spence to DI Morgan’s team. I had to brief outsiders from scratch. And, being outsiders, they had next to no knowledge of the ground and the drug culture. Where Dave Spence would have known who to speak to and what to ask, the transfers-in had no idea... sir.’

  Johnson returned her stare. ‘You should have explained the negative effect of my suggestion when I made it.’

  ‘It wasn’t a suggestion, sir. It was an order. And I did try, you were very determined.’ She continued to stare at him, her lips pursed.

  ‘What’s your take on this? Why is Abigail Slater’s killer not downstairs?’ Johnson’s attention was now directed at Morgan.

  ‘I have no take on the operation at Cliffside. I will say that DS Spence’s input into both my on-going operations has been invaluable so I can see what a loss he would be to DI Patel. He has his finger on the pulse of the community and he knows where to go for information. I’ve had an email this morning telling me that Abigail Slater’s fiancé, Joseph Kendrick, is coming in later with his solicitor. We are also trawling the local clubs to see if anyone knows what might have happened to her. And DC Smart is working through a list of clients Abigail Slater has defended. We have prioritised those where she lost the case and particularly those where the defendants were imprisoned. There are six of those who completed their sentences and were back in the community in time to have been responsible for her death.’

  Johnson continued to glare at him. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’

  ‘She was only found seven days ago.’ Patel jumped into the exchange. Morgan held a hand out, palm towards her. He was grateful for her support, but angry enough to fight his own corner.

  ‘DI Patel is correct. It has been seven days and we have uncovered a significant number of individuals who were in personal relationships with her. We are tracing and interviewing them. It seems that every interview generates another half a dozen names. It’s taking time.’

  ‘And what about the body in the garden?’ Johnson changed the subject again.

  Morgan tightened his fists and slowed his speech to retain his patience. ‘There’s a notice around Wesley Crook’s neck and possibly, we believe, the remains of a notice in Abi Slater’s lap. Maybe a connection, maybe not. And there was a letter sent to Crook’s home address which says something about his offending. As you know, sir, the team has been prioritising the Slater death as you instructed.’ Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Patel nod emphatically.

  Johnson cleared his throat. He leant back, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, fingers steepled and touching his lips. ‘But that’s not all, is it DI Morgan?’ Morgan waited for him to clarify. ‘I understand that there was a close, physical relationship between Abigail Slater and a certain...’ he looked down at a printed sheet on his desk ‘Steven Ian Cooper. How far have we progressed with investigating him? Or have you let the fact that he is your brother-in-law cloud your judgement on his potential culpability?’

  Chapter 41

  Monday 17th February

  ‘I seem to be waiting for an answer, DI Morgan, so let me ask an easier question. It’s my information that nothing has been done to look into this relationship. So, how does an experienced officer such as you, drop the ball in such a high profile investigation?’

  Morgan was speechless. He tried to remember who had mentioned Steven Cooper’s relationship with Abigail Slater and failed.

  Maggy Patel cleared her throat. ‘Sir, if you’ve finished discussing my investigation...’ She rose partway out of her chair.

  ‘Please remain seated DI Patel. I’ve not finished with either of you.’

  During that short exchange Morgan remembered Graham Fletcher’s words “and by seeing, I mean fucking, even as the wedding banns were being read.” He had allowed the smug grin on Fletcher’s face when he told him about the charity dinner, to distract him from Steven Cooper’s potential involvement. And then, when the body had turned up at the bungalow, it had slipped his mind. It was obvious that someone else knew about the relationship between Abi and Steven and had thought it more appropriate to contact Johnson than to have a quiet word with himself. Of course - the ambitious DS Dave Spence. He’d been at that interview. Traitorous bastard!

  ‘It came up when I interviewed Graham Fletcher and I didn’t prioritise it, sir. I can see how that looks, but there was no intention on my part to overlook a potential lead. Fletcher told Spence and me that Ms Slater had formed relationships with a number of clients and that’s the route I took the investigation down.’

  ‘So, where is Cooper now?’

  ‘I believe he is away from home at the moment. He’s not been at work for a couple of weeks.’

  ‘By my reckoning, that means he must have gone missing at about the time Abigail Slater vanished. A copper in his first days in the job would see that was suspicious.’ Johnson’s stare was hard and uncompromising. ‘Can you give me any reason why I shouldn’t just suspend you now, DI Morgan, pending enquiries into your behaviour?’

  Morgan felt a chill grip his spine. He had never before been threatened with suspension, but then he’d never before made such a monumental cock-up. ‘I’ve no excuses, sir. I know I can contribute to the successful resolution of these investigations but I understand how my oversight may well have compromised me, and I apologise.’

  Johnson sighed. ‘I’m short of senior staff as it is so here’s what’s going to happen. DI Patel, you will continue with Operation Heartwood. We don’t know if Raynor’s murder is an isolated case or if there may be some loose connection with Abi Slater’s death. You will also take responsibility for the investigation into Steven Cooper’s involvement with Ms Slater. Find him and bring him in. If he had issues with her engagement, we need to know how resentful it made him. Morgan, you stay out of that line of enquiry. Don’t try to contact Cooper and don’t speak to your family about it. And stay out of the Cliffside investigation. You will continue to hold separate briefings for the operations and if there is any potential that you may trip over each other out there, you come to me. Do you both understand?’

  ‘Sir.’ They rose from their chairs together and Morgan held the door open to let Patel pass through. In the corridor, they looked at each other and exhaled.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Patel. ‘You’re very pale.’

  ‘I’m not sure. Bloody Steven Cooper.’ He gathered his thoughts. ‘I’m sorry that my oversight has added to your workload.’

  ‘I thought we had him, until the Cooper thing came up. We were working well together. Who do you think told him?’

  ‘Spence. H
e was with me when I interviewed Fletcher.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s his style. He’s belligerent and up-front, not sneaky. Can I borrow him to help find Steven Cooper?’

  Morgan agreed. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you can keep him. I can’t work with someone I don’t trust.’

  ‘Don’t be too hasty to judge him, Nick. Innocent until proven guilty and all that.’

  ‘He’s made no secret of the fact that he was a shoe in for my job and he resents me for blocking his promotion.’

  ‘He’s young and in a hurry. We’ve all been there. Anyway, he wouldn’t have got the job this time round because he’s not sat the exam. He knows that. Do you want me to speak to him?’

  ‘No, you’re okay.’ Morgan sighed as he started to walk away.

  ‘Before you go...’ she called after him. ‘Do you know where Steven Cooper is hiding?’

  ‘No... sorry.’ He closed his eyes and shook his head as he spoke. He was overwhelmingly tired.

  ‘Where would you start if you were looking for him?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d start with Dorothy Cooper. She’s the puppet master in that family. I’d be amazed if he took off without getting her permission.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks for that. I’ll get Spence to go and see her. And Nick? Have you thought that it might be Fletcher himself who told Johnson about Abi and Cooper? Has he any reason to make trouble for you?’

  ‘You mean apart from him spending last night fucking my wife.’