Make You Sorry

by Christine Rae-Jones

  Spence helped her wheel the board past randomly scattered tables and chairs. He aligned it with the other boards at the front and taped two photos to the top, taking care to ensure they were level. ‘This is Angus and Michael Maguire. Father and son.’

  ‘We just need the Holy Ghost now,’ said one of the DCs who had been drafted in. It earned him a scowl from both senior officers.

  ‘Gus and Mickey are well known to us,’ continued Spence, ‘In fact both were in court recently for thefts from the student halls in the town centre. They pleaded not guilty and were on bail pending trial. Father should have been at Crawley for sentencing today. He was likely to go down, or to be remanded for sentencing at the Crown Court, depending on which magistrates he got.’ He picked the next photograph from the top of the file open on the table in front of him. ‘This is today’s message. It was sandwiched between the bodies.’ He taped it under the men’s pictures and stepped back to look at the board.

  ‘We can’t read the sign at this end of the room,’ said DC Leo Jenson.

  ‘It says “Now I’m sorry and Mickey’s sorry too,”’ said Morgan. ‘And I have to applaud the grammar. It’s not everyone who’s mastered the correct use of the word “too.”’ There were a few nods of acknowledgement around the room and Morgan saw Smart make a note. She looked up and caught his eye. ‘Go ahead, Jenny,’ he said.

  ‘I’m wondering what happened to the concept of M.O. If we’re grouping all these cases together, it’s all over the place. Drugs, stabbing, suffocation, strangulation and now blunt force trauma.’

  ‘Times two,’ chipped in a voice. ‘Two PPOs. One on top of the other. A real shit sandwich.’

  ‘Whether these men were Prolific and Priority Offenders or ministers of the church, they didn’t deserve to die like that,’ said Morgan. ‘Nobody deserves to die like that, so let’s remember what it is to be professional and if you’ve nothing to say that moves us nearer catching them, please keep quiet. And Jenny, I’m not sure we are grouping them together at this stage.’ Jenny Smart shrugged her shoulders and Morgan continued.

  ‘Father and son appear to have been disturbed while breaking into a couple of shipping containers in the car park of DIY Deals on the outskirts of town. The store has a contract with a mobile security company but it seems that the guard was twenty minutes late on his rounds. When he arrived, there was a Transit van beside the two containers, one of which had been forced open. The two bodies were to one side, laid, one on top of the other, with the cardboard sign sandwiched between them. Apparently the containers were being used to store high end garden and DIY tools ready for the Easter trade. Some of those boxes were already stashed in the Transit, and some were scattered across the car park.’

  ‘Any of the stock missing, sir?’ asked Jenson.

  ‘The store manager will let us know for definite, but he didn’t think so,’ said Morgan.

  ‘So we’re not looking for a gang who planned to knock off another gang’s loot?’

  ‘We shouldn’t rule anything out at this stage,’ said Spence, looking across the room for Morgan’s reaction.’

  ‘I agree.’ He started to jot down some of the things they already knew about the case on the whiteboard. Each of the Maguire men had an extensive criminal history in which theft featured predominantly. Neither record mentioned drugs. Both had been hit from behind and Mackenzie’s provisional examination had neither included nor excluded the bolt cutters left at the scene, as the weapon. There was little chance of any witnesses and not much to go on until the lab reported back. The technicians had also found tyre marks in an area of mud which looked fresh, but offered no way to confirm that they were from a vehicle used by the killer.

  When the briefing was over, some of the team left to get on with tasks from previous cases whilst others came to the front of the room and stood with Spence and Morgan staring at the white boards, searching for inspiration.

  ‘For what it’s worth, I don’t think Councillor Kenneth Wyatt links to any of this,’ said Spence throwing an arm out in the direction of the board from which Wyatt’s veined red face smiled confidently. ‘No drugs, no letter, no connection with theft. I think we’re looking for a father, or brother, or maybe boyfriend who saw the footage from that dinner and went round to have a word.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Morgan. ‘I’m open to all ideas.’

  ‘Had Abigail Slater defended either of the Maguires?’ asked DC Smart.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Morgan. ‘Can you get in touch with the solicitors again and ask please, Jenny?’

  ‘Wesley Crook’s tox screen isn’t back yet, but if his mother’s right and he’s clean then the only mention of drugs is Carl Raynor,’ offered Spence. Morgan’s mobile rang and he moved away from the group to answer it.

  When he finished the call, he rejoined his colleagues. ‘Forensics say they’ve got prints. There’s a partial thumb and even more partial index finger on the Transit key and the same finger on the van light switch. They’ve done a comparison with the Maguire records and there’s no match. They’ll let us know if it puts anyone in the frame.’

  They exchanged glances. If the prints were already known it might be the breakthrough they needed.

  The briefing room emptied leaving only Morgan and Smart who was looking at her notes. ‘After I’ve spoken to the solicitors to check if Abi defended the Maguires, I’d like to speak to the lab about the bolt cutters.’ She looked up as if suddenly aware that she was speaking out loud rather than thinking. It flustered her. ‘Unless there’s something else you had in mind for me to do?’

  Morgan nodded his approval and his eyes followed her out of the room. He knew she had only been a DC for a few months but her confidence impressed him. He didn’t remember having that level of self-assurance when he was new to the rank of Detective Constable. He hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite her.

  Chapter 62

  Tuesday 25th February

  When he got back to his office he closed his door and took out his personal phone. The dialled number rang out. ‘For God’s sake, Andy, get Voicemail,’ he said and was about to end the call when it was answered.

  ‘Andy Gillingham.’

  ‘Andy, Nick Morgan.’

  ‘Hi Nick. I’m late for a psych assessment. Can I ring you back?’ Morgan could hear that his friend was hurrying.

  ‘Okay. I know from the ring tone that you’re in this country, for once. Fancy a few days by the sea?’

  ‘Work or pleasure?’

  ‘Work... but you might get a case paper out of it, and I know that Sam would love to see you.’

  ‘Let me get back to you in two and a quarter hours. Bye.’

  And that was typical of Dr Andrew Gillingham, thought Morgan. When anyone else would say “later,” Gillingham would say “two and a quarter hours” and Morgan knew that was when to expect his call.

  Morgan was aware that he was pre-empting confirmation of Gillingham’s availability but he emailed DCI Johnson anyway. He suggested that the opinion of a criminal psychologist might be of value to the current cases which had both commonalities and discrepancies. He was sure that the words “budget” and “overspend” would feature in the response but by documenting the request, he could add it to his decision log. ‘CYA,’ he murmured as he pressed the send button. ‘Cover Your Arse.’

  Johnson’s immediate reply invited Nick to his office to discuss where the investigations were going. When he read it, Morgan smiled. He had been outsmarted by a senior officer whose years of playing police politics had taught him how to swerve the traps. Now the response to his request would not be documented and could not be proven.

  Morgan delayed his discussion with Johnson until he had taken Gillingham’s call, a surprising four minutes ahead of its expected time slot.

  ‘I thought I’d try to catch you out,’ said Gillingham. ‘What do you need?’

  Morgan summarised the cases.

  ‘And your DI gut feel says what?’

  ‘Every
time I get that, another body turns up with another couple of anomalies and I’m back to the drawing board.’

  ‘I did simplex optimisation as part of my first degree. You should try that.’

  ‘I really don’t want you to tell me, but I need a favour, so I’ll ask as if I’m interested,’ said Morgan, looking at his watch in anticipation of a lecture he did not have time for.

  ‘You plot variables in multi-dimensional vector space to find the minimum or maximum of an objective function and...’

  ‘Stop! Just stop... or I may have to kill you.’

  ‘You’d have to innumerate the variables, of course,’ Gillingham was laughing.

  ‘Can you come? Even a couple of hours would be better than nothing. I need a friend.’

  ‘How is your mother-in-law?’

  Morgan sighed, ‘I’ve tried tampering with the brakes on her broomstick, but she’s still here. If anything, having Sam back here has added a new spring to her step. When she came for dinner on Friday, she looked ten years younger. They’re like naughty schoolgirls when they’re together.’

  ‘I’ll come, if only to redress the testosterone balance. Is Thursday lunchtime okay?’

  ‘I can’t promise the budget.’

  ‘I’m sure we can work something out,’ said Gillingham. ‘I must go. I’m having dinner this evening with the producer of my next series.’

  They said their goodbyes and Morgan hurried upstairs for his meeting with Johnson. When he got there, the DCI was leaving his office, briefcase in one hand and turning out the lights with the other.

  ‘I’ve got a Rotary dinner so I need to get home to change. Can you walk with me, or will it wait till tomorrow?’ Morgan opted for the former.

  ‘I need these cases concluded,’ said Johnson. ‘Especially the solicitor and the Councillor. I get a lot of phone calls from... well, I’m sure you can guess. And have you seen what the papers are saying about the investigations? I need these cases solved immediately.’ Morgan thought it imprudent to reply. Why did senior officers say they needed cases to be solved immediately? Did they think their demands had any effect on the time it took to investigate a murder? Had they worked their way up through the ranks or arrived from another planet? Johnston had stopped talking and was waiting for a response to a question he had missed.

  ‘I’m sorry sir, I didn’t catch that.’

  ‘I asked how many hours of consultant time you would need me to pay for.’

  ‘I don’t know. I can’t know until they have a look at what we’ve got already.’

  ‘And you believe it’ll speed things up?’

  ‘I can hope,’ said Morgan. They were at the door to the car park and Johnson gave him the name of someone they had used before. Morgan replied that he had worked with Dr Andrew Gillingham on half a dozen cases and that he valued and respected his opinions.

  ‘My budget won’t stretch to TV personality rates.’ Johnson’s tone was clipped.

  Morgan nodded. His friend Andy Gillingham was something of a polymath. He lectured at venues around the world, wrote both fiction and non-fiction, and appeared as a consultant on true crime programmes across terrestrial and satellite channels. When they’d last worked together, he was co-writing a film script which had nothing to do with crime or psychology and was enjoying the challenge. Although he was contractually obliged to deliver a number of lectures at universities in England each year, Gillingham was now in a position of financial security which allowed him to choose the work he took on. ‘I’ll have a word, sir. He won’t do it for nothing, but if his curiosity is piqued, he may give us a bit of a discount.’

  Johnson told him it had better be a hell of a discount.

  Chapter 63

  Thursday 27th February

  Two days later, Joseph Kendrick sat in Interview Room 2, again with his solicitor, Neville Wicks. He had attended voluntarily, but he looked wary. Morgan and Spence took their seats opposite and Morgan led by telling Abi’s fiancé that he was to be interviewed under caution this time. The recording system was started and, after the words of formal caution, Morgan started the questioning.

  ‘Can you remind us when it was you last saw Abigail please, Mr Kendrick?’

  Kendrick looked towards his solicitor. ‘I think I answered that when I was here before.’

  ‘If you could answer it again, for the recording, please.’

  ‘I met up with Abi at the Magistrates’ Court, the day before she disappeared. We had a sandwich together in town, then she went back to work.’

  ‘So you weren’t at work that day?’ asked Morgan. ‘Because you work in London, don’t you?’

  ‘I had holiday owing and I took it to help with the wedding. Abi had done most of it, but I wanted to take a share.’

  ‘Did you see her after the sandwich break?’ asked Morgan.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean. I walked her back to the court and watched her go in. I think I sat on the wall outside for a bit, before going in myself. I asked an usher which court Abi was in but he wasn’t sure, so I wandered round and looked through the glass windows in the court room doors. When I found her, I went in and sat at the back.’

  ‘Had you watched her at work before?’

  ‘A couple of times maybe? I’m not sure. Look... where is this going, and why am I under caution?’

  ‘Are you telling us that the last time you saw your fiancé, Abi Slater, was when she was defending a client in the Magistrates’ Court?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t wait until she’d finished work and leave with her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You didn’t meet up later?’

  ‘No, I er... I don’t think so. Why are you asking?’

  ‘Yes, DI Morgan,’ the solicitor interrupted, ‘why are you asking?’

  Spence opened a document wallet and produced a photograph which he placed on the table in front of Kendrick. ‘For the recording, I’m showing Mr Kendrick a still, taken from CCTV outside the Golden Palm Club. Is this you, Mr Kendrick?’

  Kendrick reached into his pocket and took out a pair of metal rimmed glasses. He picked up the photograph and studied it closely. ‘It could be anyone,’ he said, handing it to Neville Wicks.

  ‘We believe it’s you. And it’s the first of a series.’ Spence opened the wallet again and counted as he laid six photographs on to the desk with the skill of an experienced croupier. ‘We believe it’s you, and we believe that the woman you are with is Abigail Slater. The second last photo shows you with a raised open hand and the final one shows Abi holding her face.’

  ‘Why did you hit your fiancée, Mr Kendrick?’ Morgan asked. ‘Why would you want to hurt the woman you were about to marry?’

  Kendrick looked up from the photographs. ‘I loved her,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You won’t be the first man to kill the woman he loved,’ said Morgan.

  ‘I didn’t kill her. We argued, and I lashed out. I was sorry the minute it happened. It was the wedding... the pressure... I didn’t mean to hit her.’

  ‘The CCTV shows you walking away and leaving her on her own, in a dodgy area, in the middle of the night. You don’t look sorry, you look angry. Were you angry enough to hunt her down two days later and kill her?’

  ‘No!’

  Spence reached again into the wallet, this time producing an evidence bag.

  ‘Is this the ring you gave Abigail Slater to celebrate your engagement?’ asked Morgan.

  ‘May I?’ Kendrick reached out for the bag which Spence handed over.

  ‘It’s difficult to tell through the plastic, but yes, I think it is. It was left to me by my grandmother. I’ve never looked really closely at it, but I think this is the one.’ He looked up at Spence who was holding out his hand for its return. ‘Where was it? Can I not keep it? It’s mine again, now.’

  ‘For the moment, it’s evidence, Mr Kendrick, so we’ll be keeping it. Tell me, did you ever visit Gullhaven Park with Abi. It’s an estate of park homes over
in East Gullhaven?’

  Kendrick shook his head before turning to his solicitor. ‘Never been there. Never even heard of it,’ he said.

  ‘I think Mr Kendrick and I need to have a consultation, gentlemen,’ said Wicks, closing his binder. Spence stood and made the announcement for the recording before closing it down and making for the door. Morgan followed him out.

  Spence was waiting in the corridor. ‘He’s going “no comment” when we go back, isn’t he? But we can see he’s got a temper. God, I hate men who hit women.’

  ‘Hitting her doesn’t mean he killed her. We’ll see what he says once he’s had a bit more legal advice. Meantime, can you have a word with CPS and make sure we can charge him with the assault. That’ll show him we mean business.’ Spence started to walk away but Morgan was still speaking. ‘I can’t get past the fact that he turned up to marry her. I know he could have done that to try and cover his tracks, but I just...’

  ‘I’ll speak to the CPS,’ said Spence. ‘He lied about when he last saw her. He could easily be lying about killing her.’

  Chapter 64

  Thursday 27th February

  Dr Andy Gillingham drove to Gullhaven and booked into a small bed and breakfast, just off the cliff road. He left his car there and took a taxi to the police station. When he arrived, he pinned the security pass to his jacket and followed a PCSO to the briefing room which was locked.

  The uniformed officer mumbled her embarrassment and left him outside where he lowered his backpack to the floor, retrieved his phone, and proceeded to work his way through texts and emails which had arrived during the drive.

  When DC Lynn Greenfield arrived with the key she found the tall, thin, athletically built Gillingham leaning against the wall. ‘Excuse me,’ she said. He raised his eyes without moving his head. ‘DI Morgan asked me to offer you tea or coffee. I’ve got Hobnobs too - the proper ones, not the cheap ones.’ He shook his head without speaking then murmured a distracted and barely audible thanks as she entered the room.