Deadly Fallout (Detective Zoe Finch Book 6)

by Rachel McLean

  “Hamm was just that little bit too close to the knuckle for him, then?”

  “We’ll never know.”

  “Will she testify?”

  “We’ve got CCTV, forensics and phone records to corroborate it. Hamm kept weapons, documents and phones in another room through that cellar I found him in.”

  “So he was using that house all along.”

  “With Margaret Brooking’s help. She was more than just a housekeeper.”

  Zoe raised an eyebrow.

  “She was his long-term partner. Business and bed. Irina and Sofia were just extras.”

  “Poor woman.”

  “According to Sheena, it was all Margaret Brooking’s idea. The housekeeper thing suited her, gave her a cover.”

  “So she’s in custody too?” Zoe asked.

  “She is. DS Griffin and DC Solsby are interviewing her as we speak.”

  Zoe nodded. “It’s going to be odd.”

  Mo’s eyes crinkled. “Without your mum.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “I meant with Hamm in custody. Randle off the force.”

  Mo chuckled. “Odd. But better.”

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  The van door opened and the constable guided Ian out. His muscles felt tight from being immobile for so long. He was used to moving around, to going running after work and when he was at work, to being active. The six weeks in prison had piled on extra weight.

  The officer watched as Ian unlocked his front door and shoved it open. A pile of junk mail was mounting up inside. So Alison was still at her mum’s.

  He scooped it up and dumped it on the counter in the kitchen. He ran water for the kettle.

  The constable gave him a nod and walked back to the van. Ian knew most prisoners didn’t get a lift home when they were released, but this guy had once worked for him in Kings Norton.

  Ian stood in the doorway. He waved as the van drove away. The street went quiet, and Ian’s body drooped.

  This house should have been full of life. Maddy and Ollie, running up and down the stairs, fighting over some toy. Alison, singing to herself as she cooked their tea. The TV blaring. Even her mother’s godawful voice was better than this silence.

  A car crawled along the road: Alison’s mum’s Corsa. Ian gripped the doorframe. He looked terrible; he hadn’t shaved and the trousers he’d been arrested in were too tight.

  He rubbed his stubble and held his head as high as he could manage. He’d been married to Alison for five years, with her for two before that. She’d seen worse.

  The door opened. Alison emerged, her back to him. She leaned over to talk to the person inside: her mum.

  Ian felt his lip rise in a sneer. Stop it.

  He forced a smile as Alison turned to him. The car drove off.

  “Where are the kids?” he asked as she reached their front path.

  “They’re safe,” was all she said.

  “I want to see them.”

  She stopped walking. “Can I come in?”

  “It’s your house.” He backed up and watched as she slid past him, careful not to make contact. She continued through into the lounge and he followed.

  She sat on the sofa.

  “So they let you off.”

  “There wasn’t enough evidence to convict.”

  “Doesn’t mean you didn’t do it, though.” She looked down the garden, not meeting his eye.

  He knelt in front of her. Her cheek twitched.

  “Alison, love. I was a bloody idiot. I gave them information, I let them do that work to the house. But I didn’t know they were going to set off a bomb. If I had…”

  “If you had, you’d have turned them in?”

  “I’d like to think I would.”

  She turned to him. “I’m not sure you have the courage. And you haven’t denied planting evidence on that poor dead man.”

  He pulled in a breath. “I don’t want to lie to you, Alison. Randle told me to leave something on one of the victims. I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t know…”

  He did know why; of course he did. He was a detective.

  “I was scared of him, love. The Super. Of the men he was working for. They would have hurt me, you. The kids.” He paused. “I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”

  She looked away, her eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “I didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Mum says—”

  “Your mum has always hated me. Don’t listen to her.”

  “You put the kids at risk. Colluding with organised criminals like that.”

  His chest tightened. “Alison, I don’t want to be hard on you. But the kids were taken because of your past. It was nothing to do with me.”

  Her head shot round. “Don’t you dare accuse me of—”

  He put a hand on her arm. She didn’t push it off.

  “I know,” he said. “It was no one’s fault. That insane woman who thought she could be their mum.” He squeezed. “You’re their mum. No one could have a better mum.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I love you, Al. I want us to give it another go. You can’t be happy, all of you cooped up at your mum’s?”

  Her face hardened. “It isn’t always easy.” She stood up. “I don’t know, Ian. I don’t know what to do.” She shook off his hand and walked past him to the door.

  “Please can we just give it a try?” he asked her. “You don’t have to commit. Just try.”

  “It would confuse Maddy and Ollie. I can’t do that to—”

  “You don’t have to move back in. Just see me. Let’s spend some time together. It can be like when we first met.”

  “When we first met, I was with Benedict.”

  He smiled. “OK, so not exactly like when we first met.”

  She walked through to the hall. He followed.

  “Please, Alison. Let’s just try, please?”

  She opened the front door.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Chapter One Hundred

  The house was in a quiet cul de sac in a town somewhere in Shropshire. Randle hadn’t bothered to find out any more than that. He reckoned it was safer not to know.

  He knew how these things worked. He would be moved a few times more. There was Hamm’s trial to get through, he’d be moved around during that. And then, when the dust had settled, they’d put him somewhere permanent.

  This place was modern, a nondescript red brick box with two bedrooms and the smallest kitchen he’d ever seen. Even so, he rattled around in it.

  He hadn’t seen Anita since the day after he’d got her back from that gym. He’d arrived home to find her gone, suitcases missing and the wardrobe half empty. The girls were gone too, Maria’s blazer still on the floor outside her room and enough of their belongings vanished with them. Their posters, books and computer games were still in their rooms. He’d tidied up, hoping she might bring them back. That she might at least let him have time with them.

  But the next day Sergeant Connell, his new handler, had arrived, and that was the last time he’d seen the house.

  Two weeks, and he was starting to feel at home in this quiet corner of the Midlands. Maybe he needed the rest. The years of being at first at Jackson’s and then Hamm’s beck and call had taken their toll. He was only fifty-one, but his hair was almost entirely grey and he had high blood pressure.

  He would get fit. He’d asked Sergeant Connell to provide him with running gear so he could explore the woods behind the housing estate. She’d resisted, she resisted everything that involved him leaving the house. But he hadn’t visited any places with people around, he had his groceries delivered and didn’t go to the door to collect them. Those woods would be quiet.

  He opened the back door. Birds were calling from the trees at the bottom of his tiny garden. He was lucky to have a house at the edge of the estate; the ones in the middle would drive him insane with claustrophobia. He imagined Connell liked this one better, it was more secl
uded. No one overlooking him.

  He stepped outside, hands wrapped round a can of beer that had come in his last grocery delivery. At least they allowed him that.

  He lowered himself to the back step and took a swig. Being here felt like a kind of nothingness, an empty part of his life that he would suffer until he was able to find Anita. But at least he wasn’t in prison. A corrupt senior police officer in there, it didn’t bear thinking about.

  A blackbird landed on the lawn and dug its beak into the grass. He watched it, swigging his beer. Small pleasures. That was what he had to focus on now.

  He could do it. Not for ever, but he could. He’d get by.

  Chapter One Hundred One

  It was inappropriately sunny on the morning of Annette Finch’s funeral. Zoe had tried on almost all her clothes, attempting to figure out what was most appropriate. In the end she’d decided on the white shirt and black trousers she hadn’t worn since ACC Jackson’s retirement party.

  Nicholas wore the dark blue suit she’d bought him for university interviews. Zaf was at his side throughout the service, also wearing an interview suit. Zoe stood next to them, proud of her son. Connie and her mum were in the row behind, along with Mo, Rhodri and Nicholas’s dad Jim.

  At last the service ended and they filtered outside. There was a row of wreaths to pass, handshakes and hugs to be shared. Zoe wished she could cry. She knew it was expected of her. And it wasn’t because she didn’t feel grief. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was grieving for, but she knew it was something.

  Nicholas, walking behind her, was convulsed with tears. He clung to Zaf, occasionally turning to grab her and cry all over her shirt. She pulled him in close, wanting to make it easier for him.

  They reached the end of the wreaths. There was no burial site to walk to, Annette had wanted to be cremated. Zoe wondered if she would burn more easily with all that alcohol soaking her organs, then pushed the thought from her mind, ashamed of herself.

  Carl stood at the end of the row of wreaths, his eyes sparkling in the way she’d noticed when they’d been investigating Bryn Jackson’s death.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  She leaned into his embrace. “Sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “Mo called me.”

  “Good old Mo.”

  “She died the day before you…”

  Zoe buried her face in his jacket. “Let’s not talk about it, yeah?” She regretted not telling him about Annette when she’d gone to Lloyd House to make her statement. But she’d wanted to be dispassionate, professional. She didn’t want anyone thinking emotions were clouding her judgement.

  Carl nodded towards Nicholas, who was sharing a hug with Jim.

  “Glad DI McManus made it.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed. She noted that Jim was alone; he hadn’t brought his wife Shula or their son Geordie.

  “How does it make you feel, seeing Nicholas with him?”

  Zoe considered. She was about to reply when she saw a woman getting out of a car up ahead.

  “The DCI.”

  Carl followed her gaze. She stumbled across the car park. DCI Lesley Clarke took her hands.

  “Ma’am. How are you?”

  “How are you, more like? You look like shit.”

  Zoe laughed. Trust Lesley to be matter of fact at a funeral.

  “Thanks, ma’am.”

  Lesley shook her head. “None of the ma’aming, yes? I’m not even based in the same force as you now.”

  “You’re definitely going to Dorset?”

  “Next month, God help me.”

  “It’ll do you good.”

  “That’s what they say.” Lesley had been on sick leave for the last two months after suffering injuries in the New Street bomb.

  Carl appeared by Zoe’s side and shook Lesley’s hand.

  “Glad to see you two have decided to be friends again,” the DCI said.

  Carl put an arm around Zoe’s waist. She grabbed his hand.

  “More than friends,” he said.

  Lesley winked at Zoe. “He’s a catch. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.” She walked off towards Mo.

  Zoe turned to Carl. “Thanks.”

  “I’m just sorry I wasn’t here earlier.”

  Nicholas tapped her on the shoulder. “D’you mind if I get a lift with Dad to the wake?”

  She bit down the immediate urge to refuse. “Course not.” She watched him walk to Jim’s car.

  “You find it tough, don’t you?” Carl said. “Jim not being here when he grew up, but wanting to be the doting dad now.”

  She shook her head, thinking of her own dad. His funeral had been at this crematorium, nineteen years ago. She’d cried herself hoarse, worried she might hurt Nicholas, still growing inside her.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t. Not anymore.”

  “Sure?”

  She gazed at her son. Jim stood on one side of him, Zaf on the other. Zaf and Nicholas’s hands kept brushing each other, even when the two of them were talking to other people. They might be going to different universities, but she felt confident those two would remain solid.

  “He needs two parents,” she said. “Not just me.”

  “That’s very mature of you.”

  Zoe leaned back against Carl’s chest. He was warm and solid. “I’m trying my best,” she replied.

  He planted a kiss on the back of her head. She closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her skin. She felt his hand run down her back and turned to him.

  Carl put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You OK?” He wiped a tear from her cheek.

  She put a finger to his wet one; so she had managed to cry, after all.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said as she moved in to kiss him. “I’ve got you.”

  Read Zoe’s prequel story, Deadly Origins

  It’s 2003, and Zoe Finch is a new Detective Constable. When a body is found on her patch, she’s grudgingly allowed to take a role on the case.

  But when more bodies are found, and Zoe realises the case has links to her own family, the investigation becomes deeply personal.

  Can Zoe find the killer before it’s too late?

  Find out by reading Deadly Origins for FREE at rachelmclean.com/origins.

  Coming in Summer 2021 - the Dorset Crime Series

  DCI Lesley Clarke has been sent to Dorset for some peace and quiet. But it’s not long before she finds herself at the centre of a double murder investigation.

  Join the Rachel McLean bookclub at rachelmclean.com/bookclub to be alerted when Book 1, The Corfe Castle Murders, is released.

  Copyright © 2021 by Rachel McLean

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Ackroyd Publishing