Harry pulled himself up, shaking his head. ‘Gabi …’
‘Leave!’ she shouted, and pushed at his chest. She knelt up on the bed and pushed again, her tiny frame forcing him away with surprising strength.
He stood up and backed away from her, putting on his clothes.
‘I’ll go now, but I’m coming back tomorrow. This isn’t over, Gabi. I’m not going to let you disappear again.’
He watched as she turned her back on him, pulling the duvet over her head.
Harry resolved to go back, to apologise. Again and again, if needs be, until he made things right. Harry knew he couldn’t lose Gabi again from his life, he just couldn’t. But the next day the door was unlocked, keys hanging on a hook inside, no forwarding address.
She’d gone, again.
Harry lay back down in the grass. Yes, it had gone wrong then, but she was home now. For good. Things were different. He could be different: the person before the shooting. She had never seen the frightened, cowering wreck Thea had put up with for all those years. He still felt the shame, the humiliation of being such a burden to her. Of being so weak.
Gabriella hadn’t known that Harry. She remembered him how he was. He wanted to be that again. He pushed all thoughts of her husband out of his head. He and Gabi had history. There was more between them than the few short months Mortimer had known her.
Gabriella had loved him before; she could love him again.
He felt sunshine fall on his eyelashes and his face. He closed his eyes.
56
Kate was surrounded by paper: search reports, witness statements, photographs. So many photographs. Some stuck up on the wall, some covering the table, others discarded on the carpet. She was sat in the centre, cross-legged, notebook in hand.
Since Gabriella’s call yesterday she’d been frantically sifting through the case again. Kate wanted to know everything before she sat down with her. She didn’t want to miss any opportunity.
‘Bring what you have on the murders,’ was all Gabi had muttered on the phone, then refused to say any more. But Kate had no idea what Gabriella could possibly add. For hours all she’d done was read the file, going through the slightest detail over and over again. And she couldn’t see any holes in the conviction of Harrison Becker. Other than the fact Harry had told her that he and the twins were there when the murder took place, there wasn’t a single discrepancy. Harrison was guilty.
Regarding Thea’s attack, Steve Morgan was locked in a police cell while they waited for confirmation from the CPS to make the charge. But he was silent. His solicitor had been and gone; he was expected back today. Until then things were on pause.
Kate started moving round the room, collating the paper. She grabbed the main summary file to take with her, adding the post-mortem report and the transcripts of the interviews to the death certificate already in there. She picked up the filing box, about to put the pile of photos back into it, when a few pieces of paper caught her eye. They were caught in the bottom, obviously stuck when she’d initially dumped the contents onto the floor.
She picked them up. Southampton General Hospital, they said in big bold letters. There were three reports, dated the day of the murder. She flicked through them: Thea Patterson, Gabriella Patterson, Harry Becker. Okay, so all three teenagers had been admitted to hospital the day their parents were killed. So far, so unsurprising. Shock, dehydration, recommend counselling. Displaying extreme emotional blunting and potential derealisation. Possible warning signs of PTSD. Thea’s detailed superficial scratches to her forearms, Gabi’s talked about grazes to her elbows and hands, but otherwise they were the same. The twins were discharged the day after, Harry following them two days after that. Two days? She looked closer at his report, taking in the same diagnosis as the girls and then, at the bottom, an additional note: second-degree, partial thickness burn to fingers and palm of right hand.
She stood up straight and put the report down. Why would he have a burn on his right hand? What was he doing …? Unless … She took a sudden breath in, then looked up at the clock. Shit! She threw the hospital reports into the file and shoved it all into her bag.
It was time.
Gabriella was late. The meeting had been agreed for midday at the local coffee shop. Gabi had wanted somewhere busy, a generic location where they wouldn’t stand out, and Kate had to come alone. But she wasn’t here. Kate had chosen a table on the far side of the room, away from the main bustle, and waited impatiently, drinking one coffee then another as the minutes ticked by. And then, there she was. As always, her hair was immaculately blow-dried, but she looked tired and drawn, grey smudges under her eyes, her face pale. She joined Kate at the table, taking off her coat, then waiting, her hands clenched together in front of her.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ Kate asked and Gabriella shook her head.
‘This won’t take long,’ she said. She looked at the file in front of Kate. ‘Is that it?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but I can’t just hand over a homicide file,’ Kate replied. Ever since Gabi had asked her to bring the notes with her, Kate had wrestled with what she was going to do with them. As much as she had screwed up this investigation so far, she knew giving confidential information on an investigation to someone at the heart of the conviction was a big no-no. ‘Tell me why you’re here, and I might be able to help.’
Gabriella shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t have come,’ she muttered and went to stand up again, but Kate caught her arm.
‘Gabriella,’ Kate said firmly. ‘Something made you call me yesterday, something important, I’d guess. It’s obviously been playing on your mind, so tell me what it is and I guarantee you’ll feel better.’
Gabi paused, and to Kate’s relief sat back down. She looked at Kate and she could see tears in her eyes. ‘It’s not as easy as that, DS Munro,’ she said. ‘This is my family you’re talking about.’
Kate paused. Perhaps sharing what she suspected would encourage Gabi to talk. ‘Harry Becker is not related to you,’ she said quietly.
‘Family isn’t just about blood and DNA, DS Munro,’ Gabriella said. She looked at her hands, picking at the edge of one of her nails. Kate remembered her doing the same the first time she’d met her, in the interview room at the police station, while she was pretending to be Thea.
‘So how do families behave, Gabriella?’ Kate asked, pushing at her, trying to get a response. ‘Is it lying to them, like you did, Gabi, when you pretended to be Thea? Is it obsessively stalking someone, like your husband did to you?’
Gabi looked at her, her eyes narrowed. ‘You wouldn’t understand, Kate,’ she said, her nose wrinkled with disgust, leaning forward in her chair. ‘You probably grew up in a nice little cul-de-sac, with two parents who doted on your every move. I bet you never had your teachers ask why your mum and dad didn’t turn up for parents’ evening, or knew what it felt like to come home from school and find nobody there, day after day. Harry and Thea were all I ever had, growing up.’ Gabi took a juddering breath in, then let it out slowly. Kate could see her gathering herself, before she continued: ‘Family is about trust, and love, and doing the very thing you don’t want to do, even though you know it’s the best thing for them. Even though it breaks your heart to do it.’
Kate made a split-second decision. ‘I’m going to get up now,’ she said, slowly. ‘And go to the toilet. I’m going to leave this file here, and trust that you won’t look in it. And when I get back, I want to hear everything you know. Otherwise, Gabriella, I’ll have no choice but to arrest you for obstructing a police investigation.’
She stood up without another word and left Gabriella at the table. Kate didn’t look back as she shut the door to the bathroom, knowing that this could be it, this could be the decision that finally ended her career. If she opened that door again and the file had gone, she was in deep shit.
She counted thirty seconds, then, with her heart in her mouth, did it again, forcing herself to take her time. To let Gabi do whatev
er she needed to do. But after the second set she couldn’t wait any longer, and opened the door.
‘Fuck,’ Kate muttered.
Gabriella had gone. But the file was still there.
She walked back to the table and sat down, pulling the folder towards her, thumbing through the paperwork. She looked at it and frowned. The contents were all inside, but the pages were in a different order. Where before the summary document had been on the top, now there was something else. Post-mortem, it said in big letters. Madeleine Patterson. The pathologist’s report for Gabriella and Thea’s mother had been pulled out, the punched holes ripped, and placed on the top.
Kate knew that whatever Gabriella wanted her to see was hidden in the pages of that report.
In front of her, her mobile rang. It was Yates.
‘Sarge, where are you?’ she asked, but before Kate could answer, Yates cut back in. ‘We’ve got a problem with the charge for Steve Morgan. And the chief wants to see you. Now.’
57
Thea couldn’t concentrate. She was trying to work, flicking through photographs on the screen.
The last job had been a corporate shoot; formal, boring, but good solid money. Thea had resolved to get the shots finished as soon as possible, knowing how delayed they’d already been, but she couldn’t focus.
She was worried about Harry. He had the gun, and Thea didn’t like to think about why. To get rid of it, to give it to the police? Or what? To use it? On himself? Thea tried to quash the churning in her stomach. He’d gone back to work that afternoon, a good sign, Thea thought, so she’d call him when he got back. She wouldn’t let things get that far.
Thea turned her attention back to the computer and saw the few photos she had taken the other day at the house. They were darker, and the natural light had cast weird shadows across Gabi and Harry’s faces. She clicked on one of Gabi, studying it closely. As a child she used to stare at photos of the both of them, looking for differences, looking for the subtle changes that made one of them more attractive than the other. Back then, she’d not seen much – the identical features were still striking; only their expressions were different.
In this photo, Gabi was looking away from the camera, out of the window into the rain outside. Her expression was pensive; she looked like she was considering something far deeper than a mere mortal could comprehend. Thea knew that when she wore the same expression it was more like a scowl. ‘Stop sulking, Thea,’ her mother used to say. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’ It did suit Gabi, it seemed.
She moved on to a shot of Harry. He was standing in the doorway, looking away from the camera, towards something in the kitchen, out of shot. The light from the open door caught his cheekbones and lit up his eyes, showing him to his best advantage. His hair was longer and tousled, just the slightest bit of stubble on his jaw. She’d never considered him handsome before, but here in this photo there was no mistaking it, especially given the look on his face.
He was smiling, his eyes creasing on the edge of laughter. It was clear he adored the person he was talking to. And it had been Gabi.
Thea had known, of course. She’d known from the beginning, but she’d accepted it, in the same way she tolerated that everyone was more attracted to Gabriella, boys and girls alike. She remembered things changing between Harry and Gabi. That summer, that last fateful summer, Gabi had been teasing Harry, tickling his ribs, both of them play-fighting, pushing each other into the long grass. She had watched them, puzzled at the time, everything clear now.
She was tired of being alone. She missed Harry. Before the attack he’d been a constant resident of her home: after work for dinner, sometimes staying the night in the spare room when he’d had too much to drink. But now there were gaps. There was space in the house he’d normally be there to fill.
Thea felt the silence suffocate her.
She wondered what had changed. She wondered if it was something she had done, if he was angry with her for going out that night. She raised her hand to the back of her head and felt the last bit of scab, the slight bump that remained. She didn’t have the bandage any more, and the few bits of shaved hair were barely noticeable. And Thea was feeling better, there was no doubt about that. Her headache still clung on, but she was getting strength back into her bones. Her initial fear after the attack was fading. Gabriella was home; everything could go back to how it was, just the three of them. That was all she’d ever wanted.
And Harry was going to be okay. She would make it right. She couldn’t watch him fall again. She just couldn’t.
58
Kate shifted from foot to foot outside the chief’s office. She flipped through the pages of the file in her hand, excited.
The door opened and DCI Jennings looked at her.
‘DS Munro,’ he said, sighing. ‘Just what I need at the end of a long, tiring week.’
He grudgingly held the door open and Kate went inside, standing in front of his desk. She waited until he had settled his large bulk back in his chair.
‘Guv, I—’ she started, but he held up his hand and silenced her.
‘I don’t want to hear it,’ he said. ‘This whole episode with the house search has been a total nightmare. Professional Standards got back to me this morning; luckily nobody outside has caught wind of what you’ve done so they’re prepared to overlook it, just this once. I assured them you’ve dropped the case from fifteen years ago and will be on your best behaviour from now on.’ He placed his hands on the desk and leaned towards her. ‘Because that’s what’s happened, isn’t it?’ he said slowly.
Kate took a deep breath. Here was her opportunity to roll back the clock. To restore good graces with the boss, all sins forgotten. But something niggled; the file felt heavy in her hands.
‘Guv, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me …’ she started and he leaned back in his chair, satisfied. ‘But I’ve been reviewing the files and I found something.’ She thrust the piece of paper from A&E in front of him.
‘What am I looking at here, Kate?’ he asked, through gritted teeth.
‘It’s a report from the night of the double homicide,’ she said quickly, words rushing out. ‘See here, it says Harry Becker had second-degree burns to his right hand.’
The chief looked at her, his head on one side, his lips pursed. ‘And the boy burning his hand means what, exactly?’
‘It means he had the gun. It means he picked it up.’
‘A gun fired twice wouldn’t cause second-degree burns—’
‘No, but an old World War Two gun, malfunctioning, might. They would have been old bullets. What if it misfired? What about muzzle flash? What if—’
‘Might?’ the chief thundered, hauling himself out of his chair. ‘What if? Now you listen to me, and you listen well. This case is closed. Got it?’ He waved a fat finger in front of her face. ‘I don’t give a flying fuck if that bloke has the gun shoved up where the sun don’t shine, you are not to go near it any more. Now get the hell away from me before I change my mind.’
He stopped and Kate nodded slowly, her breathing shallow.
‘Get out of here.’ He held out his hand and she reluctantly went to pass him the file. But then she paused, remembering her conversation with Gabriella, knowing there was more to this case than they were seeing. She pulled the folder back and he looked at her, astonished, his hand still outstretched.
‘Sir,’ she said, her voice bitter. ‘With all due respect, I am a good detective. I work hard, I solve cases. Yes, I have made mistakes but because of me and my team, we have a solid case against a nasty sexual predator and I won’t stop until we have him for attempted murder as well.’ Kate spoke deliberately, determined to get the words out. She needed to say this. She wanted to be heard. ‘But I know how to do my job. I know when something isn’t right and I will pursue it all hours of the day until it’s sorted. And if that affects an old case of yours, or whether your buddy from school gets his burglary solved, I don’t give a shit. From this point on, if you priori
tise your own personal gain over the needs of our victims, I will report you to Professional Standards.’ She stopped talking, feeling her face go red, her body sweaty.
Kate could see him clamp his lips together, then take a deep breath in, letting it out of his nose with a high-pitched whistle. ‘Your comments have been noted,’ he growled at last and she turned, retreating quickly out of the room.
She fled down the corridor, pushing the toilet door open with a bang. She sat down in one of the cubicles and locked the door as embarrassing tears started to flow.
‘Damn it,’ she muttered. She’d really fucked up this time, talking to her boss in that way. But at least if she was going to go down, she was going in a blaze of glory. It felt good, telling him exactly what she thought after all this time, although – shit – she wasn’t sure she was going to have a job by the end of the day.
But he had made her mad. So mad. She wanted to know what had happened fifteen years ago, she wanted to know what Gabi had indicated about that post-mortem report, and most of all she wanted to know what had happened to that damn gun. Kate pulled out a piece of toilet roll and dabbed at her eyes. She tried to get control of her emotions, flooding over into hot, snotty tears, and looked at her shaking hands.
What had Harry said? Not everything is a mystery to be solved. It’s not all about right and wrong, black and white. Maybe he was right. Because that’s what she had always believed, and look where she was now. Career in ruins, marriage destroyed.
She stood up and left the toilet, standing at the mirror and wiping off misplaced mascara. Kate heard another cubicle door open.
‘Sarge?’ Yates stood behind her. ‘Are you okay?’
Kate sniffed loudly and stood up straight. ‘Yes, I’m fine, Rach. Just been in to see Jennings.’ She smiled with a sincerity she didn’t feel.
Yates reached over and gave her a hug. Kate was surprised by the contact, standing stiff in her embrace. ‘What did he say, the grumpy bastard? Is he whingeing about the attempted murder charge? Because, you know, I’m not feeling so great about it either.’
Ask Me No Questions Page 22