by Paul Gitsham
“OK, it’s something. Keep at it.”
Sutton looked thoughtful. “If he was abusing his grandkids and the parents got wind of it, that’s a bloody big motive to kill the bastard. We should take a look and see what Kathy Mackay’s husband was doing that evening also.”
Warren nodded his agreement. “According to Kathy he works night shifts. I’ve sent Gary out to his workplace to check out his alibi. We’ll bring him in for questioning as well. We also need to see if Kathy Mackay’s alibi holds up. She was supposedly at home with her kids but she could have sneaked out after she put them to bed.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“If he was somehow being deliberately poisoned and they knew about it, then the fall may not have been accidental. A shove in the dark and he goes down, smacking his head on the fireplace. His blood is so thin that if he doesn’t bleed to death from a cut, he dies later from a brain haemorrhage. A bit convoluted, I grant you, but it would look at first glance like an accidental death.”
The room was silent as the assembled detectives mulled over the scenario. A few frowns suggested that the idea still needed a lot of work. Motive, Means and Opportunity. Establishing the triumvirate wasn’t enough for a conviction, but it was a good start. If Kathy Mackay or her husband had suspected that Charles Michaelson was abusing his grandchildren then that was a pretty powerful motive. Now they just needed means and opportunity.
One of the civilian support workers popped his head around the door. “DCI Jones, DC Hastings is on the line. He says it’s urgent.”
Excusing himself Warren left the room. He returned barely two minutes later, his face flushed with excitement.
“We need to bring in Ian Mackay immediately. Gary is on his way back from Anyjob Package Delivery—they haven’t seen him for a month since he was made redundant. Wherever he was Monday night, it wasn’t at work.”
Leaving Tony Sutton to organise the pickup, Warren headed back to his office, a sudden lightness in his step. They had motive and now they had opportunity. Would further investigation provide the means?
* * *
The lightness in Warren’s step practically became a spring with a phone call from Tony Sutton. “I’m at the Mackay’s place now, boss. It looks as though Ian Mackay’s done a runner. His wife hasn’t seen him for over twenty-four hours.”
“Bring her in and let’s start turning their lives inside out.”
Hanging up, he walked the few steps down the corridor to DSI Grayson’s office. Grayson was as pleased as Warren at the turn of events.
“Get an alert out for Ian Mackay. I’ll authorise a warrant for their bank accounts. Let’s see how badly the redundancy affected them.”
“Inheritance? The thought’s crossed my mind.”
Grayson nodded. “As motives go, it’s a big one. If Michaelson was fiddling with his grandkids and that was why they stopped visiting, then why has it taken them a year to plan the murder? It may be that the redundancy was the last straw.”
Warren nodded his agreement.
“What about the brother?”
“Bring him in as well. The whole bloody family could have been in on it.”
* * *
Bringing Kathy Mackay in for questioning wasn’t quite as straightforward as Warren had hoped. By now it was late evening, and with their father missing she had no one to look after her children. Warren placed a call to social services, suggesting that they take the opportunity to talk to Callum about why he had suddenly decided that he didn’t like his grandfather. The caseworker vetoed that as impractical at such short notice, insisting that such a delicate procedure would need detailed preparation by specialists. In the end, Warren decided to conduct the interview at the family home whilst the social worker “babysat” the children and did a quick preliminary assessment to see if they were in any obvious immediate danger.
Warren started the interview by asking about the whereabouts of Kathy Mackay’s husband.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since Tuesday night.”
“When he left for work?”
She nodded. Since Warren had last seen her on the morning of her father’s death she had aged even more. Thirty-one years old, said her file, but her face carried another ten years. The bags under her eyes were now more like bruises, rather than the smudges less than two days previously.”
“That would be the Anyjob Package Delivery firm?”
She nodded. “He’s been there about five years.”
“Does he always work the night shift?”
She nodded again. “Neither of us like it, but the pay’s better and there’s always overtime going.”
“I guess the extra money must be useful with two kids.” Warren smiled sympathetically. He shuffled his paperwork casually. “You don’t work do you, Mrs Mackay?”
“No, I look after the kids and Dad, so we have to live off Ian’s earnings.”
“Did you ever get any help from your father?”
She shook her head. “No. Dad always taught us to be self-sufficient. He said that you should always earn your keep and that the world doesn’t owe anyone a living.”
“So he didn’t give you or your brother anything for your trouble?”
Her face twisted slightly. “No, that was duty. ‘Blood is thicker than water,’ he always used to say. It was the cycle of life: parents look after their kids for the first part of their life and the kids return the favour later.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, conservative with both a big and a small ‘C’, my father.”
Perhaps it was the stress and strain of the past few days, but Warren could see that the pent-up frustration he’d glimpsed earlier that week had started to bubble; like a kettle on the cusp of boiling it would need a little extra time and energy to tip it over the edge.
“I don’t envy you. Parents can be difficult.” Warren looked wistfully into space. “You want to do the right thing, but it can be so hard. And they can be so stubborn.”
Kathy Mackay nodded her head vigorously.
“When I used to do my mum’s shopping, I’d try to slip something extra in as a treat and she’d insist on paying me for it, even though her pension was two-thirds of sod all,” said Warren.
“Hah! No such problem with Dad. He was so tight he used to give us a shopping list and would tick the items off when we came back from the supermarket. We even had to use his Clubcard to get him the loyalty points and money-off vouchers. He’d literally pay us to the nearest penny.”
“How much is a state pension these days? I remember it barely covered Mum’s rent and groceries.”
Kathy Mackay shook her head. “I’ve no idea; it wasn’t really a consideration. Dad was an engineer before he took early retirement and paid off the mortgage. His pension is more than Ian’s wages.” She looked sad suddenly. “He and Mum were supposed to spend their golden years living it up. Of course it never happened.”
“Your mum died?”
She nodded. “Breast cancer. It came right out of the blue. She was diagnosed six months after they retired; she was dead before the end of the year.”
Warren paused respectfully for a moment. The Mackays were clearly struggling financially and resented Charles Michaelson’s uncharitable nature. So much for blood being thicker than water. The question was, how much of a motive might this be?
Warren decided to turn the conversation back to her husband. “Do you have any idea where Ian is at the moment?” Warren watched her reaction closely.
She shook her head; her expression looked more worried than guilty he decided.
“No. He went to work as normal Tuesday night but didn’t come home this morning.”
“And you haven’t had any contact? Did you try and call him?”
Now she looked guilty—perhaps even ashamed. “I’ve left messages on his voicemail, but he hasn’t picked up.”
Warren looked at her closely; she looked furtive. What was she hiding? What did she know?
> “It’s been over twelve hours, more if you count last night, but you haven’t reported him missing. Is this normal behaviour?”
She chewed her lip, a mixture of emotions flickering across her face too quickly for Warren to interpret them.
When she finally spoke, her voice was halting, the tone more ashamed than guilty. “It has happened before, but not for many years. He usually turns up after a few days.”
“Where does he go? What does he do?”
She lowered her head, “Ian had—has—a drink problem.”
“I see.”
“It’s been a long while—he’s been sober for five years. But before he got help he’d sometimes disappear. He’d usually turn up again a few days later, hung over and stinking of booze. It happened when he was stressed. It was his way of coping.”
Warren thought back to his conversation with social services; they were unaware of the family according to their files. “What was he like when he drank?” Warren’s tone was soft.
She shrugged. “We never really saw it. Ian was ashamed of it; I guess that’s why he would disappear. He didn’t want to be around us.”
Warren picked his words carefully. “Was Ian ever violent when he drank?”
She shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not. He never laid a finger on me or the kids. He was a maudlin drunk. On the few occasions he didn’t disappear, he’d lock himself in the bedroom and wouldn’t come out.” Her voice cracked slightly. “I never feared for myself or the kids, just him.”
“OK. I know this is difficult, but do you know where he went when he drank?”
Again she shook her head. “I don’t think he went anywhere. When he came home his clothes would be dirty. I think he slept rough.”
“And you think this may have happened again?”
She nodded. “He’s been under strain for a long while. He usually sleeps during the day, but a few times recently I’ve come home to find him sitting downstairs, the bed still made.”
“Do you know what was upsetting him?”
“No. He isn’t very good at expressing his feelings. I’d ask him what was bothering him and he’d just say work stuff.”
Again, Warren felt a flash of sympathy for her, which he quickly supressed.
“Kathy, were you aware that your husband was laid off a month ago?”
She put her hand to her mouth. The surprise seemed genuine. After a few seconds, she asked the same question that Warren wanted answered.
“If he hasn’t been working, then where has he been going every night?”
* * *
The revelation about her husband’s redundancy had clearly shaken Kathy Mackay and Warren decided to take advantage.
“Kathy, we’ve been talking to some of your father’s acquaintances and local neighbours. We’ve been hearing some rumours about his conduct towards young people.”
The woman’s lip curled in disgust. “Not that again. People are so cynical and suspicious. When Mum died, Dad was at a loose end so he decided to do some volunteer work with the scouts. Is that so wrong?”
Warren said nothing, letting her fill the silence. She continued, her face flushing pink.
“My father is lying in the mortuary. He’s been dead less than two days and already you’re raking up the dirt.” Her voice started to rise. “Check your records. You won’t find so much as a whisper. There was never anything to report. It was just mean-spirited stories from years ago. Why are you even asking about it? Can’t you just let him rest in peace?”
Warren gave her a moment to compose herself. “I’m very sorry to ask you this at such a difficult time, but we need to make a thorough investigation of the circumstances surrounding your father’s death.”
Now the anger gave way to confusion.
“What circumstances? It was an accident. He tripped and fell.”
Warren chose his words carefully. “At the moment it’s still an unexplained death. I’m just making sure that we have all of the facts before we draw a final conclusion.”
The slight dissembling calmed her somewhat. Warren had no intention at this stage of admitting it was being treated as suspicious; he didn’t want her to go on the defensive.
“Why did you stop taking your children around to visit your father?”
Kathy Mackay blinked in surprise and Warren studied her carefully.
“It was easier to leave them with their dad. They hardly get to see him otherwise.”
The answer was smooth, practised; it might even be true.
“Witnesses say that about a year ago Callum had a massive temper tantrum outside your father’s house, refusing to go in, saying that he hated his grandfather. Do you know the reason for his outburst?”
A flicker passed across her face, again too quick for Warren to identify it.
“I can’t remember. You know how kids are. Sometimes they just get their knickers in a twist and there’s no reasoning with them. It was probably nothing.”
“But it was enough for you not to take them around to visit him again. Did he say why he no longer wanted to visit his grandfather? My understanding was that they were quite close.”
The flicker appeared again.
“No idea. And it was just a coincidence. Like I said, it’s the only time Ian gets to see the kids.”
She was closing down. Warren had clearly struck a nerve. He decided to back off. They’d try again later.
Before he left, Warren excused himself. He met the social worker in the hallway.
“The kids appear to be well cared for. I had a quick poke around and the flat is clean and tidy, their bedrooms are full of toys and the cupboards full of food. They appear well fed and healthy.”
“How are they to talk to?”
“A bit confused and upset at all the strangers and police, but I’m not prepared to ask difficult questions in an uncontrolled situation.”
“Fair enough. In your opinion, are they at risk of harm if they stay in the home with their mother.”
“I’ve seen no evidence to suggest that they are in any danger.”
Warren’s gut was telling him the same thing. If there had been any abuse, the perpetrator was probably dead. Nevertheless, he wanted them in for questioning as soon as possible.
After taking his leave, Warren climbed back into his car. His phone rang.
“Tommy Michaelson’s arrived.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
* * *
Thomas Michaelson was his father’s son that was for sure. The man sitting opposite Warren and Tony Sutton in interview room one could have stepped out of one of the black-and-white photographs of a young Charles Michaelson that had once stood above the fireplace.
After establishing that Kathy Mackay’s younger brother was maintaining the same alibi as he’d previously given, Warren decided to broach the difficult subject of Charles Michaelson’s relationship with the scouts.
His reaction was almost identical to his sister’s, with indignant denials followed by confusion at why the police were so interested in long-ago rumours about their father and then anger about the appropriateness of the question.
When asked if he knew why Callum Mackay had suddenly decided that he no longer wished to visit his grandfather, Michaelson’s response was a similar denial.
Warren moved the questioning on.
“Tommy, do you know the whereabouts of your brother-in-law?”
He shook his head sadly. “No, I wish I did. We thought we had this problem of his sorted. But I guess it’s true what they say about once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic.”
“Are you close to Ian?”
“Yeah. I actually knew Ian before Kathy did. We were in the same year in school. We used to play football together. He used to come around in the evening.” A slight smile crossed his lips. “I wasn’t impressed when he started dating my sister. But he’s treated her well and I guess if anyone was good enough for her it was Ian.”
“Did you know that Ian had been m
ade redundant?”
Michaelson swore. “I guess that explains why he’s been so stressed lately. Dad’s death must have been what finally tipped him over the edge.”
* * *
The following morning found Warren, DS Pete Kent and Karen Hardwick poring over six months’ worth of bank statements for Charles Michaelson and his children. They took up most of the large table in briefing room one.
“Well if you were looking for a financial incentive, Chief, then here it is.” Kent was holding up the deeds to Michaelson’s house. “He paid off his mortgage about thirteen years ago when he took early retirement.” He grimaced. “Bugger got a better lump sum than I’ll ever see.” Kent was nearing retirement himself and spent a lot of time grumbling about it.
“I just went on the net and I reckon that even with tax, assuming the kids inherit it all and split it between them they’ll clear at least a hundred thousand each.”
“And don’t forget the rest of the estate.” Hardwick slid another sheet across the desk towards Warren. “He had a damn good pension, which he pretty much banked each month. He really was a tight old sod. He could have at least afforded a cleaner and someone to give his poor kids a break.”
“So leaving aside greed, how badly did his kids need their share of the inheritance?”
“The Mackays didn’t have a pot to piss in,” said Kent. “They were barely surviving before Ian lost his job. Since then, we’ve got no income at all. It doesn’t even look as if his statutory redundancy has kicked in yet. They had a modest savings account they’d nicknamed ‘Holiday Fund’ that they were putting a hundred or so a month in, but it looks as though whoever is in charge of the online banking pretty much emptied it a few days ago to pay off the mortgage and bills.” He winced in sympathy. “I’m no financial guru but unless they get their hands on some cash pretty soon, next month is going to be a choice between mortgage and food bills. There isn’t a lot of slack for them to cut.”
“What about Tommy?”
This time it was Karen who spoke up. “It looks as though little brother is in a completely different place.” She shuffled the stack of papers in front of her. “He’s earning a serious wage, well north of fifty thousand. He’s like his father in one respect: it doesn’t look as though he fritters it away. Mags says he’s renting a nice flat, but he’s got a savings account called ‘House Deposit’ with about eighty grand in it that he’s adding significant amounts to each month by standing order.”