Kate squinted at it. She wished there wasn’t quite so much alcohol coursing round her bloodstream. It hadn’t just been seeing its pair that had jogged her memory; she had seen it somewhere else before. But where? She stared at the whiteboard, and the stern faces of Ryan Holmes, Steve Morgan and Mortimer Breslin looked back, along with Harry Becker. Harry Becker. What the hell was going on there?
He’d looked confused when she’d sprinted out of the pub, but she hadn’t had a call or text since. She assumed he was still there, drinking himself into oblivion. Thinking about him caused her stomach to flutter, although she wasn’t sure whether it was the fear at being found out or something else. There was something about Harry that she couldn’t put her finger on. The physique and the cool blue eyes and the hands and the – oh – she felt her cheeks turning red just thinking about it. But there was something else, too. The traumatic past, the damaged soul. It was too much of a cliché for Kate to admit, but some part of her wanted to look after him, to be the woman that fixed him. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Emily Davison hadn’t thrown herself under a horse for this shit.
She remembered their conversation in the pub, talking about his mum and the murders, and pulled the case file back up on the screen. Finding no more insight in the black and white images, she typed Harrison Becker Robert Madeleine Patterson into Google. While the murders had been committed in the early days of the internet, someone had obviously gone to the trouble of uploading information since. She clicked on the images tab and looked through the photos of Gabriella and Thea’s mother.
Madeleine Patterson was clearly beautiful, the sort of woman to turn heads in the street. Dark hair in disarray, big lips, big breasts. A casual messiness to her appearance that suggested an easy-going attitude to life, and probably sex. Long flowing skirts, bare feet, bright colours, gorgeous dresses any vintage shop would pay a fortune for nowadays.
Kate picked up the button and held it in her hand, rolling it around in her fingers. As she did so, a photo appeared on the screen. Madeleine, her arm awkwardly around Robert, standing in their garden. She looked amazing, wearing knee-high brown boots, a short skirt, a black roll neck jumper and a coat over the ensemble. A purple coat. With silver buttons.
She clicked the zoom button and squinted at the screen.
‘Fuck me,’ she muttered under her breath.
There was no doubt in her mind. The button used to belong on a purple coat, owned by Madeleine Patterson. She looked at the one in her hand, the one found on the common. Miles away from Thea Patterson’s house, but close to where she’d been attacked. The same button. But what did this mean? Could it be that the double murders fifteen years ago were linked to the attack on Thea Patterson?
Kate grabbed a pen and started to scribble theories on the notepad in front of her. Did Thea know something? she wrote. Did Gabi? Was there something about the murders that someone wanted to cover up? Is Harrison Becker innocent???
Kate gasped and looked at the words on the page. She underlined the name Harrison Becker three times, then picked up the phone, scrolling through numbers in her contacts list, looking for the one she needed. It was time to call in a favour, she thought as she dialled. There was someone she needed to talk to. Someone who held the key to this whole sorry mess.
Monday
37
The boxes arrived. Stack by stack of old case files were deposited in the office, wheeled in by grumpy men with trolleys. When the last one was unloaded, Kate stood back and looked at them, Briggs and Yates behind her.
‘Well, that’s my week gone,’ Briggs muttered.
Kate turned to give him a look, and caught the eye of DCI Jennings standing in the doorway. He beckoned her into the corridor with his forefinger.
‘What’s this?’ he asked, pointing towards the boxes. ‘This is a closed, convicted case, Kate. Someone’s in prison for this.’
She plastered a smile on her face. ‘I know, but something tells me it’s connected to this girl’s attack. You told me to be creative,’ she grinned. She didn’t dare mention the button, sitting in her desk drawer. A piece of evidence, an unrecorded exhibit that she knew she couldn’t use in any court case. But they would need something tangible to link the two cases if her hunch was correct – and Kate hoped these archives held the key.
‘It was nearly fifteen years ago.’
‘It was their parents, sir. Either they’re unlucky or the two crimes are connected.’
Jennings looked back at the boxes. ‘Fine. Do your digging. But this is it – paperwork only. For God’s sake, don’t unearth something that challenges the conviction. Everyone knew who did it, he confessed, and it was wrapped up in a matter of hours. People got promoted on the back of this, if you know what I mean.’ He looked back at Kate, his stale coffee breath in her face. ‘Don’t make me look bad.’
She nodded and he shuffled away, back to his office.
In the operations room, Briggs and Yates had started prodding round the boxes, opening lids and tentatively poking at the paperwork inside. Kate came back into the room, picked up her bottle of water and took a large swig. She frowned.
‘Jamie, go and get some coffees, on me. Large, double shot.’
Briggs took the money cheerfully and headed off down the corridor.
Kate looked at Yates. ‘Search for anything odd, any loose ends that don’t make sense. Let’s crack on – we have a case to review.’
Hours later, they were all still in the office, surrounded by paper and photos and brown files. An array of coffee cups littered the tables, with sandwich cartons and chocolate wrappers in between. Kate sat on the floor, her shoes discarded, two files on her lap, while Yates and Briggs reclined on chairs. Outside the sky was dim, the fluorescent lights hurting her eyes.
She leaned back and stretched her hands in the air.
‘What do we have?’ she asked, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
Briggs tapped his hand on one of the piles of paper. ‘Same as we had at the beginning – a cast-iron conviction.’
‘Except for the missing gun,’ Yates added.
Kate pointed a finger at Yates. ‘Yes, that. Where did it go? How did he have time to hide it? It couldn’t have gone far.’
‘Police searched the house and the garden. Metal detectors, dogs, the lot.’ Yates waved the search report and Kate gestured to her to throw it over. It headed her way with a flutter of pages.
‘Those poor kids,’ Yates continued. ‘They were barely eighteen and their parents got shot. I can’t imagine what that does to an adult, let alone a teenager.’
‘At least they didn’t see it,’ Kate said. ‘They were in the garden when it happened. They couldn’t even get in; everything was locked when Armed Response showed up. See?’ She pointed to the report in her hand. ‘They had to bash down the doors.’
Kate looked up at the row of photos on the board, at Harry Becker, then Gabriella. What does that do to a person? Does it make them more likely to do something similar later on?
She heard an email ping in her inbox, and pulled herself up on aching legs. She opened it and smiled, picking up her coat.
Briggs and Yates looked at her expectantly, both keen to get out of the office.
‘You two stay here, I won’t be long,’ Kate said, receiving groans in response. ‘But go back to the Patterson attack. Chase up forensics – it’s worth a try – and finish off that CCTV. See if the tech department can’t clean up the images from the street cameras.’
‘Where are you going?’ Briggs asked.
Kate tapped the side of her nose, deliberately annoying. She knew she probably shouldn’t be going, and didn’t want to get the other two caught in any fallout from above. She’d noticed the name written at the bottom of many of the reports: DC Jennings. She knew exactly who had been promoted as a result of Harrison Becker’s conviction.
‘I’ll let you know when I get back,’ Kate said. ‘Just keep your fingers crossed.’
She grabbed her car keys and
rushed out of the police station. It was going to be an interesting day.
38
Kate tapped her fingers on the steering wheel of her car, running through questions in her head. She had one shot at this. She wanted to get it right.
The building in front of her was smart red brick, with rows of identical rectangular windows. She looked back at the white security gates, slowly lifting and closing as visitors showed their identification and drove inside. A large official sign stood at the entrance: HMP Winchester.
Looking through the case files that morning, they had a lot of evidence to convict Harrison Becker, including an admission of guilt. But Kate had her reservations. Once Harrison had confessed, it seemed the investigation had stopped. Jennings and the team had their man; nothing else mattered. But the loose ends bothered Kate. Where had the gun gone?
She climbed out of the car and smoothed down her jacket. She took a deep breath and started walking.
She had been here many times before, always in an official capacity, but this was the first time she had gone under her own steam. When her email had pinged, she’d found the approved Prisoner Production Form she had applied for last night. Quick work, a favour called in by the warden, a man whose son’s drug habits had eventually led to a visit to rehab rather than a custodial sentence, an action recommended by a certain DS Munro.
Kate made her way to the visitors’ centre, through the metal detector, past the intimidating dogs, handing her personal property in along the way. She showed her official police identification and authorisation, signing her name on the form.
She’d been allocated a private room, and the prison officer stopped at the door, pointing towards the man sat facing her.
She walked over, taking in the grey hair, the stooped posture. As she came closer, he looked up at her and she saw the resemblance. He had the same frame, tall and slim, but he was skinny where Harry had muscle. His hair was shorter, greyer. But when he looked at her his eyes were the same dazzling blue.
He held out a hand as Kate sat down. ‘Harrison Becker,’ he said. ‘But you know that.’
‘DS Kate Munro,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
She’d been warned by the warden that Harrison was not well and now she was here, she could see the ravages of the illness clearly on his body. His bones protruded, cheeks hollow. He held himself gently, as if every movement brought him pain.
‘Not great,’ he said. ‘Cancer. Not got long to go.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Kate said.
‘Not your fault.’ He shrugged. ‘How can I help you? It’s not often I get visitors.’
She paused. ‘Someone you know was attacked a week ago. Thea Patterson.’
‘One of the twins? Is she okay?’ He stopped, a half-smile on his face. ‘I assume I’m not a suspect?’
She smiled in return. ‘No. And she’s fine, well on the road to recovery. We’ve been investigating, and—’
‘And you wondered if two violent incidents fifteen years apart are related?’ Harrison cut in.
Kate nodded. Fifteen years in prison had obviously not dulled his intellect. ‘I wanted to talk to you about that day. Could you tell me what happened?’
He furrowed his brow. ‘I assume you’ve read the file.’
‘Yes …’
‘So you’ve read my statement.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘What more is there to say?’
‘What did you do with the gun?’
He sighed. ‘As I said to your colleagues at the time, I don’t know what happened to it. We were arguing, about lots of things, and I fetched the gun.’ Harrison shook his head. ‘I don’t remember why. To show Maddy, I think. To prove that Robert wasn’t such a good guy, because he hadn’t turned it in to the police station.’ He leaned forward onto the table and rubbed his eyes. ‘I don’t know what happened. I had the gun in my hand and I shot Robert and Maddy. I must have slipped and fallen. Next thing I know I’m on my front, my hands behind me with someone pressing their knee into my back. If the police couldn’t find the gun, then I have no idea where it went.’
She looked at him. It was hard to remain objective when Harry’s dad looked so much like him. It was like seeing Harry in another twenty years, except where life hadn’t been kind. ‘Why did you do it?’
Harrison took a sip from the plastic cup of dark brown liquid in front of him. He winced. ‘Robert knew about me and Maddy, about the affair, and he was angry, shouting. He wanted them to leave, to sell the house and get away. I …’ He stared down into his coffee. ‘It had been nearly eight years. All that time sneaking around, pretending. I wanted to be with the woman I loved, but when Madeleine agreed with Robert? I had this strange feeling come over me.’
‘You were angry?’
‘Furious. But it was different to that. It was like I wasn’t even thinking any more – emotion completely overtook me. I had the gun …’ He paused. He looked up at Kate, his eyes bloodshot. ‘Look, what exactly are you after, DS Munro? This is all done with. I’m in here, probably for the rest of my life. However short that may be. What else do you need to know?’
‘Where were the twins? Where was Harry?’ Kate asked.
‘They were in the garden,’ he said quickly.
Kate looked at the man in front of her, barely more than a shell, searching his face for any signs of a lie. But his eye contact was constant, his body language open. ‘That’s all,’ she said. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’ Kate closed her notebook.
Harrison grabbed her arm, stopping her. ‘Have you met my boy? How is he?’
‘Harry’s good. Do you want to see him?’
He let go of Kate and shook his head. ‘I don’t expect him to forgive me. I don’t expect to ever forgive myself. Just knowing he’s doing well is enough.’ He looked down at the table. ‘It scared me. I never knew I was capable of such a thing. And yet, here I am.’
‘Thank you, Mr Becker,’ Kate said, and stood up to leave. Harrison stayed, his head bowed, not moving.
Outside, it had started to rain. Kate made no attempt to avoid getting wet, and walked slowly back to the car. Rain soaked her hair and trickled down the neck of her jacket as she climbed into the driving seat.
She couldn’t imagine what that had been like, what Harry had lived through. Barely eighteen, and suddenly he’d been alone. And the twins, too. No wonder they were so strange.
She turned her phone back on and it instantly sprang into life with a rapid succession of beeps. A voicemail from Yates and a text from Harry. Yours tonight? The text said. I’ll bring vodka.
Kate stared at the message. She hadn’t heard from him since yesterday and she’d told herself no, leave it be, enough was enough. With all the theories washing around in her head, she wasn’t sure what to make of Harry Becker. But now he had got in touch …
She listened to the message from Yates: they’d had the detailed results back on the rock. More than just blood type now: the DNA was a definite match to Thea. There was no doubt it was the weapon used that night. Yates asked a question to Kate’s voicemail, Where are you? then confirmed that she and Briggs were heading home.
Kate glanced at the clock. It was getting late – she’d do the same. Pick up a bottle of wine on the way, something to enjoy while she waited for Harry. She replied to his text: Sounds good. So that was that, then. Something about him was addictive; she couldn’t stay away. The attention, the rush, the risk? She didn’t want to think about it any more. She’d have a few glasses, suppress the niggles in her head. Silence the voices telling her the one thing she knew for sure: she was playing a dangerous game, and it would only be so long before she was caught.
39
Kate knew she should have stopped hours ago. She should have put the glass away, hidden the second bottle, had a nap – anything. But she’d been bored and restless and worried; the hours had rolled around and now he was ringing on her bell. She got up from the sofa and steered herself to the front door, holding onto the backs of
chairs, the table, the walls.
Harry stood on her front step, wearing a dark blue suit, light blue shirt and a navy tie. She thought he looked amazing. He pulled at the tie, taking it off and rolling it into a ball. He stared at her.
‘Are you drunk?’ he asked. He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s nine o’clock.’
Kate wobbled in the doorway. ‘You’re late. Are you coming in or not?’
She moved out of the way and he walked past her into the living room, draping his jacket over the back of the sofa.
‘I went to check on Thea. Looks like we won’t be needing this now,’ he said, holding up the bottle of vodka. Kate went to take it and he moved it out of her reach.
‘Who are you to say when I’ve had enough?’ she slurred.
Harry looked at her, then shrugged. ‘Fine, do what you like.’ He handed her the vodka and Kate unscrewed the lid, taking a large swig straight out of the bottle. The vicious taste hit the back of her throat like a sledgehammer, and her body decided enough was enough. Hand over her mouth, Kate ran to her downstairs toilet, barely making it in time to empty her aching stomach into the bowl.
She felt the acid burn her throat, the automatic reflex efficiently doing its job as she knelt in front of the toilet, vomiting violently.
She slumped down on the carpet, out of breath and retching, spitting the last of the sour bile away. Despite the cold of the room, her body felt hot and sweaty. She could hear Harry moving around in her kitchen, opening the fridge, probably putting away the last of the wine.
Then silence. She listened and heard the rustle of paper, then heavy footsteps walking towards her. She winced as he appeared in the doorway. Kate knew she looked a state: her hair was over her face and there were flecks of vomit on the carpet and the wall. The smell was disgusting.
‘What the hell is this?’ he asked. He waved the bit of paper in her face. ‘Have you been to see my father?’
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