Make You Sorry

by Christine Rae-Jones

  Spence held the door open for DI Maggy Patel before taking the seat next to her, and opposite Gillian Easton. She leant forward, tapping the desk as she spoke. ‘When are you letting my Danny go? He hasn’t done anything.’

  Spence ignored her question. ‘Mrs Easton, this is DI Patel. She is leading investigations into the death of Kenneth Wyatt. I am part of a team involved in a separate investigation in which Danny is a person of interest. I’d like to remind you that you are attending the station voluntarily to help us with our enquiries. Our conversation is not being recorded. You can refuse to answer any question and you can leave at any time. Are you okay to proceed?’ He deliberately hadn’t said “happy to proceed.”

  Gillian Easton stayed silent, resentment radiating from her.

  ‘When we came to your house yesterday...’

  ‘You mean when you and your bullies ransacked my home,’ she interrupted.

  ‘... we had a short conversation about your son, Daniel...’

  ‘Danny.’

  ‘... and you were telling me how the death of his father has affected him.’

  Both officers watched her and Spence hoped she would pick up from where she had been interrupted during the search.

  She didn’t.

  He tried again. ‘You told me that your husband had committed suicide and that Danny had found his body. How did that come about?’

  She opened her mouth to speak but tears came before words. She plucked a plastic pack of paper hankies from her scuffed handbag and used one to dab at her eyes. ‘He’s getting better now. He got a girlfriend, and that helped for a while. They’ve split up now. He’s grieving for his dad. We all deal with that differently.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Spence, ‘but it’s important we get to the bottom of what happened... if we’re going to be able to help Danny.’ He knew he was deceiving her, but he needed the information.

  She took a deep breath which developed into a hiccup.

  ‘Frank had been gardening... getting things ready for winter. He’d always hated winter but when he got diagnosed as clinically depressed, it was worse. He’d recently stopped work because the drugs they gave him made him tired and he didn’t feel safe to drive. We started to get short of money, so I was picking up bar work and waitress jobs where I could. He hated that. He got more withdrawn. Moody, even. I thought he was going to hit me once!’ She shuddered at the memory looking anxiously at Patel and Spence in turn. ‘I know he wouldn’t have, but he wasn’t himself anymore.’ The crying became more persistent and Spence offered to fetch her some water. She shook her head.

  ‘When I got in from work that day, he wasn’t in the house. I was glad. I’d had a busy day and was starting a headache. I put a lasagne in the oven. It was Frank’s favourite and I bought it often, just to please him. I was bloody sick of lasagne. When Danny came in, he asked where his dad was and I realised I hadn’t even cared where he was. Danny looked down the garden and said that Dad’s shed was open and he was off out the door before I even thought. I hear that howl every night when I turn my bedside light off.’

  ‘He was in the shed?’ asked Spence, feeling the need to say something.

  ‘Antidepressants, whisky and a supermarket carrier bag over his head. Rubber band holding it tight to his neck. “Suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed,” or so the coroner said. I still can’t believe he didn’t care who found him like that. Danny is destroyed.’

  The three of them sat in silence and Spence felt that the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

  ‘Did he leave a note?’ asked Spence.

  ‘He left a note for Danny. I’ve never seen it.’

  ‘Did the coroner’s office not return it to you?’

  ‘Danny said it was written for him and he didn’t want anyone else to see it. He said nobody had come when we were burgled and we weren’t going to help them now. I never saw the note and I’ve never told anyone about it. Is there anything else? I have to get to work.’ She bent down to pick up her bag and stood up.

  DI Patel had stayed silent until now. ‘When we came to your house yesterday, you mentioned that you had spoken to your son about Kenneth Wyatt. Can you tell me how that came about?’

  Gillian Easton sunk back into her seat as if an invisible force had pushed at her chest.

  Chapter 81

  Wednesday 4th March

  In the short time he had worked with him, Morgan felt he had the measure of his senior officer. Johnson was a safe pair of hands who would never step out of line. He would also never achieve the impossible by stretching or bending the rules. He knew before he asked that Johnson would not speak to the Superintendent about extending Danny Easton’s detention, but that wasn’t going to stop him asking.

  Johnson listened when Morgan explained the need for more time to look at what had been seized from the family home and Easton’s workshop. He continued to listen when Morgan said they had more questions for Easton about his prints being found on the keys to the Maguires’ van. When Morgan fell silent, Johnson asked the one question he’d been afraid of.

  ‘What does the CPS say?’

  ‘They say that, as it stands, we haven’t got enough.’

  ‘Release him under investigation for the Maguire case. He’s still on court bail. We know where to find him.’ He turned back to his laptop screen and jiggled the wireless mouse to reactivate it.

  Morgan took this as a dismissal and left without saying anything else. He saw there were only ten minutes remaining on Easton’s custody clock and hoped that Patel and Spence were getting something out of the mother.

  Gillian Easton sighed. She seemed resigned now.’ I told Danny something about Kenny and he got angry. It was something or nothing. Not important.’

  ‘Kenny?’ Spence picked up on the familiarity.

  ‘That’s what he was called at school. Kenny.’

  ‘You were at school with Kenneth Wyatt?’ asked Patel.

  ‘Yes, but only primary. I’ve not seen him since.’

  Patel’s brow furrowed. ‘Then why have a conversation with Danny about him? I don’t understand.’

  ‘He was at the football club dinner... you know, the one that’s all over the papers.’

  ‘And..?’ Spence was getting impatient. He wanted to speak to Morgan about the suicide note before Danny Easton had to be released.

  ‘It can’t harm him now, I suppose.’ She dropped her bag back on the floor and faced them. ‘I was waitressing. I need the money. I didn’t notice Kenny until he followed me outside when I went for a fag break. He was drunk and he said some horrible stuff about my husband. He groped my boobs. Stuck his hand between my legs. He told me I needed a man.’ Her face flushed and tears of outrage sparkled in her eyes. I stubbed my fag out on his pudgy little hand and he ran away.’

  ‘Who did you tell?’ asked Patel.

  ‘I wasn’t going to tell anyone, but Danny saw I was upset and he wouldn’t let it go. He’s been very protective of me since his dad died.’ Patel’s head sank and she nodded. ‘I spoke to Danny when I saw Kenny’d been found like that. He swore it wasn’t him. Swore on his dad’s life, and I believed him.’ She looked back and forward between the officers. ‘That’s all I know. Now, I really need to get back to work.’

  The officers escorted her to the main desk and Spence arranged for a patrol car to drive her. When he came back in, Patel was waiting. ‘They let him go fifteen minutes ago.’

  Chapter 82

  Thursday 5th March

  Morgan convened with Spence and Patel in his office to discuss yesterday’s progress.

  ‘I’ve asked the lab to prioritise the DNA work on Wyatt’s shirt,’ said Patel. ‘If it’s Danny Easton’s, I’m bringing him in.’

  Morgan grunted. Sam had told him at breakfast that she was visiting her mother this morning and that her return to work was likely to be discussed. They had argued.

  ‘We’ve seen him leap to the defence of his mother,’ said Spence, pointing at Morgan
and himself, ‘but I still don’t see how it connects to targeting criminals.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Morgan, reaching to pick up his ringing phone. The conversation was short and when he ended it, they were looking at him expectantly.

  ‘Danny Easton didn’t go home last night, and he’s not turned up at Silver Sands today. His mother rang in to ask if we’d re-arrested him after she spoke to you. Apparently, she’s beside herself with worry.’

  After dropping the twins off at school Samantha Morgan picked up a couple of chocolate croissants at the new artisan bakery and headed for home. She was cross with Nick’s reaction at breakfast. It wasn’t as if she really was visiting her mother, so the argument had been pointless, but she could hardly tell him, could she?

  She was expecting Graham at ten. There was just time to shower and put on the dress he’d specifically requested. As she walked past the elderly residents who were chatting outside the library, she felt a delicious shiver of anticipation. A small woman who was well wrapped up against the cold looked at her with concern. ‘You need a thicker coat, dear,’ she said disapprovingly.

  She got back to her car and was removing her resident’s parking clock from the windscreen when her phone rang. Please God, don’t make it my mother, she thought. The screen showed it was Graham. ‘Please don’t be cancelling,’ she whispered.

  ‘Change of plan,’ he said. ‘Can you come to my flat?’

  ‘I’m on my way home to get ready,’ she said. ‘I’ve bought croissants.’

  ‘Just come as you are... you won’t be in your clothes for long. And bring the croissants.’

  ‘I don’t even know where you live.’

  He gave her the address and a pass code to open the security barrier. ‘Park in bay seven,’ he said. ‘It’s my neighbour’s but she’s away at the moment.’

  There was a knock on Morgan’s door and Jenny Smart appeared, carrying a brown envelope. ‘Morning, sir. This has been dropped off. Photos of the evidence collected during yesterday’s searches.’ Spence retook his seat and Patel held the door open.

  ‘Christ, was it only yesterday?’ said Morgan, reaching out for the envelope.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Patel and followed DC Smart out.

  Morgan tipped the sheaf of photos on to his desk and split them into two piles, handing one to Spence. ‘I’m particularly interested in the suicide note if you find it,’ he said. He squinted at the photograph of Easton’s wall planner but the print was too small to read. They would need the original.

  ‘I’ve got it,’ said Spence holding out a photograph of a letter. Morgan took it and began to read.

  Danny,

  I’m sorry to do this to you both, particularly after what you went through with the burglary, but I can’t take any more. It is a husband and dad’s duty to protect his family and when they ransacked our lovely home I knew I’d failed you both. Since then, a little bit of me dies every day. I can’t stand it when you look at me and it’s worse when your mum cries.

  When you were little you wanted to be a policeman and I hope it’s not too late for you to try. Victims like us need a voice. We need justice, not a crime number for the insurance. If the thieving bastards aren’t made to be sorry, nothing will change. Join the police and make them sorry.

  Your mother will need you more than ever now and I trust you to protect her.

  Be a better man than I was.

  Love

  Dad

  ‘“Join the police and make them sorry,”’ quoted Spence. ‘I wish it was that easy.’

  ‘Tell them to change their ways or they’ll be sorry, and when they don’t, make them sorry by killing them. Is that what it’s about?’ asked Morgan.

  Spence took the photo back and read it again. ‘Seems a bit drastic, doesn’t it?’

  ‘You said his mother told you he was distraught and was struggling to get over it. Maybe he decided that he couldn’t be bothered to do the police training and he’d take a short cut to fulfil his dad’s wishes.’

  ‘You mean police, judge and executioner?’

  Morgan gathered the photos together. ‘We need to compare his days off with times when Crook and the Maguires were at court. And that other one who got a letter, the one in prison. I’ve forgotten his name.’

  Spence thought for a moment. ‘Drake, but I can’t remember his first name. The nice house with the old dog.’

  ‘I’ll have it in my notes. Let’s find out when he was at court.’

  Morgan’s phone rang again. ‘DI Morgan,’ he snapped at the unwelcome interruption. He listened and then looked up at his office clock. ‘How long’s it been going on?’ There was unmistakeable panic in his voice.

  Morgan’s eyes met Spence’s and he saw the alarm in the DS’s face. ‘Okay, Spence and I will get over there now. Who’s in charge of the situation? No, don’t worry, I’ll find out when I get there.’

  He ended the call and immediately rang Sam’s mobile which diverted to Voicemail. ‘Ring me, Sam, the minute you get this message. It’s important.’ He faced Spence his voice now even and controlled, ‘We need to get to Silver Sands House. It seems Danny Easton has turned up taken my mother-in-law hostage. He’s asking for me.’

  Morgan got to his office door before glancing back to see that Spence had not moved. ‘Come on, Dave. We’ll go in my car. He’s got my wife as well.’

  Chapter 83

  Thursday 5th March

  Samantha backed her car into the parking bay. Her phone rang. It was Nick. She looked up at the windows of the apartment block and saw Graham watching. She rejected the call and turned her phone off.

  Her heart was beating hard by the time the lift stopped on the third floor. She sucked in a large breath of air and exhaled through pursed lips. She wiped her clammy hands on her jeans and wished she’d insisted on going home to shower first.

  Graham opened the door before she reached it. He was wearing black low waist jeans which were tighter than the current fashion. He looked good in them. His hair was wet and his torso and feet were bare.

  ‘You’ve had a shower then,’ she said. ‘Why wouldn’t you wait for me to have one?’

  ‘You can shower here while I shave,’ he replied.

  She dragged her nails slowly through the bristles on his cheeks. ‘Shave afterwards. I fancy you a bit rough.’

  ‘Not a good idea. Your skin is so soft, you’ll get a rash and Plod will get suspicious.’

  She tutted. ‘He’s rung already this morning. I wonder if he’s checking up on me.’

  Graham looked taken aback but didn’t say anything. He took her hands in his and raised them to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles, his soft brown eyes looking up at her. ‘He wouldn’t check up on you if you left him and came to be with me.’

  She pulled her hands away. ‘This is a fling, Graham, for you and for me. It’s a trip down memory lane until one of us gets bored, so don’t spoil it. Show me round, and put the kettle on while I shower.’

  The flat was an ultra modern bachelor pad. The living area was open plan with use of space designated by differences in the flooring; sparkly tiles for the kitchen, and parquet for the living and dining areas. The latter reminded her of Cliffside and made her think of Nick and the hard work he was doing to make a home for his family. Why he had rung her that morning? Especially after their argument.

  ‘Penny for them, Sammy.’ He took her hand and led her to a large room with a king sized bed in the middle. The room was dimly lit by purple and blue wall lights. Samantha screwed up her eyes. There was something strewn across the bed but she couldn’t make out what it was. She bent down, unzipped and removed her boots, then padded across the deep pile carpet.

  ‘Are these real?’ she asked, picking up a few of what she now could see were rose petals scattered across a black bed cover. She rubbed a few between her fingers and inhaled their fragrance.

  ‘They are. They represent that your life with me would be a bed of roses.’

 
She stared at him. ‘I’m going to need a sick bucket,’ she said and he laughed.

  ‘I might too.’ He gathered up the cover and tossed the bundle to the corner of the room. ‘This was how the younger me was going to propose marriage to you until you came home from university wearing an engagement ring. It’s all here as I envisioned it. Me, freshly showered, and low lighting too, although today’s effect is a bloody sight more expensive than I could have afforded back then. And my best idea of all was using the petals and that line. You would have been putty in my hands.’

  He wrapped her in his arms and held her until she pushed him away. ‘Where’s the shower?’ she asked. ‘I need to be back by two for the scaffolders.’

  ***

  Winter sun filtered through the bare branches of the trees surrounding Silver Sands House. The scene reminded Morgan of childhood visits with his mother to the cemetery where her parents were buried. The memory was invaded by disjointed voices from police radios. A uniformed officer appeared from behind the marked police van which blocked the drive.

  ‘I’m DI Nick Morgan,’ he said holding out his ID. ‘And this is DS Spence.’ The officer stared at Spence until he produced his own ID wallet.

  ‘Who’s Bronze Command?’ asked Morgan. The officer pointed to a slender woman with cropped auburn hair which framed a serious face. She was deep in conversation with four other officers, two of whom were wearing bullet proof vests, heavy boots and police baseball caps. They were armed. Morgan heard Spence swear under his breath.

  ‘DI Nick Morgan,’ he said again as he caught the female officer’s attention.

  ‘Inspector Bairstow,’ she replied, extending a hand, ‘Fiona.’ Spence introduced himself and Bairstow guided them away from the other officers. ‘You understand that you have no role here, DI Morgan? This Operation is under my command. You are here only because the subject asked for you when he made contact with us.’