‘You saw her, or you watched her?’
‘Watched her, obviously. Me and Kyle.’
‘Kyle is your younger brother?’
‘You know he is.’
‘For the benefit of the tape,’ Thorne said.
‘Oh right, cool beans.’ Smedley grinned. ‘Yeah, he’s my annoying little brother.’ He held up a hand. ‘Sorry.’
‘That’s OK.’ Thorne glanced at Kitson. As he had suspected, it looked as though there would be little need to go too far around the houses.
The boy had come to tell them, simple as that. Not because he thought it might save his life, as Muldoon had done, but because he wanted them to know.
‘Why were you watching Susan Best, Ryan?’
‘So we could get her. What else would we be doing it for?’
Even having sensed that the admission was coming, the calmly spoken words and the half-smile that went with them caught Thorne a little off guard. He took a breath and Kitson stepped in.
‘What do you mean by “get her”?’
‘Get her… like we got her. End her, right?’ He rolled his eyes, then leaned towards Thorne, jabbing a thumb in Kitson’s direction. ‘Jesus, this one’s a bit slow on the uptake, isn’t she? I bet she only got the job because she’s a woman, right?’
‘Tell me what happened,’ Thorne said, ‘when you went to Susan Best’s house.’
‘You know what happened. It didn’t go well for Miss Best, did it?’
‘I want to hear it from you.’
‘The last time, you mean? We’d been there a few times just to check it out or whatever.’
‘The last time.’
The boy said, ‘Cool beans,’ and smiled, enjoying the game. ‘We waited behind the trees opposite, playing on our phones or whatever until she got back. Me and Kyle.’
‘Why did you take Kyle?’
‘Well, I thought it might need both of us, in case she struggled. Because she wasn’t small, you know. She was big, like a lot of them.’
‘A lot of what?’
The boy looked at Kitson. ‘Lesbians.’
Kitson looked right back at him. ‘Kyle didn’t want to go though, did he?’
Smedley shrugged. ‘He does whatever I tell him. I swear, if I want him to do something, he does it. He stubbed a fag out on his cock once, because I told him to.’ He chuckled. ‘Honestly, he’s such a plum.’
‘What happened in the house?’ Thorne asked.
‘Well… once we’d got in there it was pretty easy really.’ The boy’s face hardened suddenly and he rounded on his solicitor. ‘Oh, and by the way, what the fuck are you talking about “physical evidence” for?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘There wasn’t any “physical evidence”. Seriously, do I look like an idiot? Do you not think we wore gloves? I mean… duh!’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know how much my parents are paying you, but it’s clearly far too much.’
The solicitor blanched as though he’d just been given a dressing-down by the Attorney General. He stared down at a notebook which was still blank, pens that remained untouched.
Smedley turned back to Thorne, the temper tantrum over as quickly as it had begun. ‘I mean, the gloves made it a bit harder to use the water pistols, but it wasn’t a problem.’
‘Water pistols?’
‘For the bleach. Deadly accurate they are, if you know what you’re doing.’ He turned to mime firing at the social worker, who flinched and leaned away. ‘Wicked little jets, you know? I practised shooting at birds and the cat next door.’
‘Who had the knife?’
Smedley stared as though he wasn’t expecting such a daft question. ‘Me, obviously. Kyle would have probably ended up cutting his own fingers off or something.’
‘You stabbed Susan Best.’
‘Yeah, course. That was the fun bit, wasn’t it?’
Thorne could feel Kitson relax a little next to him. Job done. He watched the solicitor finally start to write something in his notebook, though he could not see what.
A letter of resignation? A suicide note?
‘Why, Ryan?’
Smedley leaned back, tipping the chair on to its back legs, staring up at the polystyrene tiles on the ceiling. ‘Why not?’
‘Come on… and don’t say it was just because you could. There must have been a reason. I mean, why her and not one of the other teachers? Why not a stranger at a bus stop?’
The boy eased the chair slowly back down and reached to pull up his hood. ‘She was on my case, wasn’t she? Always telling me how clever I was, how much potential I had.’ He cocked his head, put on a high, whiny voice. “You’ve got such a good brain, Ryan, but you’re letting yourself down by not using it and not working hard enough”. She told me I was lazy, basically. I’m not lazy.’
‘Really?’ Thorne leaned across the table. ‘That was why you blinded a woman with bleach and stabbed her to death?’
Smedley sniffed, rolled his head back and around. ‘I did this geography essay, right? Agents of coastal erosion. You know, sea and weather and all that, and I did this whole bit about people… about people being agents of erosion, which was pretty clever, I reckon. Guess what mark I got for it?’
He waited. Thorne shook his head.
‘C. I got a fucking C… because Miss Best said she could hardly read it. Said it looked like it had been scrawled by a pig or a five-year-old or something. She told me I had appalling penmanship… I mean, who uses words like penmanship?’ He smiled. ‘Someone who needs teaching a lesson, that’s who.’ He nodded and looked around the table. ‘You see? I mean, fair enough, yeah?’
Thorne began gathering his papers together. The statements from investigating officers, the crime-scene photographs he had not needed to produce.
‘Oh yeah,’ Smedley said, ‘and you can tell that copper, the one I gave the painting to, that we didn’t do any… other stuff or whatever. You know, that it was quick and poor old Miss Best couldn’t see shit by then anyway.’ He looked around, seeking approval for his generosity and compassion. ‘So tell her if you see her, because there’s no point her feeling bad. I mean it’s not her fault her girlfriend was a bitch, is it? Will you tell her?’ He waited, but did not seem bothered when he got no response.
He said, ‘Cool beans.’
Thorne began to terminate the interview for the tape, even though Ryan Smedley was still muttering, something else about pigs and potential. The solicitor was already on his feet. Anderton, the social worker, was staring at the floor, but Thorne could see the tremor in her fingers.
Thorne pushed his chair back, thinking about the call he would need to make to Nicola Tanner. To let her know that she and everyone else had been wrong to assume Susan’s murder had been a case of mistaken identity, and that a child named Ryan Smedley had targeted her very carefully.
That she had died because a fourteen-year-old psychopath had terrible handwriting.
SEVENTY-FIVE
The landlord had taken on an extra member of staff for the afternoon, but the extra wage was more than made up for by the increased takings across the bar. It was always the case when everyone in the pub was wearing black.
Tanner turned from the buffet table and saw Phil Hendricks marching towards her. She popped the sausage roll into her mouth just a second before he wrapped her in his arms, a few seconds before she put her arms tentatively around him.
Patted his back.
When they separated, Hendricks turned towards the man who stood waiting just behind him. ‘This is Liam.’
Tanner stepped forward to shake hands.
‘Lovely service.’
‘Not really,’ Tanner said.
Hendricks laughed at his partner’s effort to mask the shock. ‘I told you what she was like,’ he said.
‘All a bit… Goddy, if you ask me.’
‘Why didn’t you do the humanist thing?’ Liam asked.
‘This is what Susan’s mum and dad wanted.’ Tanner half turned
towards the food. ‘Didn’t even get much of a say in the buffet. I’d have been happy with Nando’s, to be honest, and so would Susan.’
Hendricks nodded down towards Tanner’s two walking sticks. ‘So, how’s it going, Hopalong?’
‘Pretty well,’ Tanner said. ‘Another few weeks’ physio and I should be off these things. It won’t be much fun going through metal detectors at the airport, but my arms are a damn sight stronger than they were, and I’ve got calves to die for.’
‘Yeah?’ Hendricks crouched down to check for himself and moaned approvingly as he squeezed.
‘Really?’ Liam said. ‘At a funeral?’
‘Oh, shut it.’ Hendricks straightened up. ‘I’ve always said, if I’m ever tempted across to the dark side, it’ll have to be a lesbian.’
‘Piercings might be an issue,’ Tanner said.
‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure we can get you a few.’ He smiled when Tanner laughed, and leaned forward to rub her shoulder. ‘Just think, a couple of months ago you were still calling me Philip.’
She said, ‘A couple of months ago, a lot of things were different.’
Hendricks saw that someone else was waiting to speak to Tanner, so he ushered Liam towards the bar. As he passed the man, he dropped a hand on to his shoulder. ‘Don’t bother with the “lovely service” stuff. We’ve covered that.’
‘Ignore him,’ Tanner said.
The man stepped forward, smiling awkwardly. ‘How you doing, ma’am?’
Tanner reached and took Chall’s hand in both of hers. ‘No need for that, Dipak.’
Chall nodded, the smile widening. ‘Yeah, sorry. Bit daft.’
‘I never really thanked you properly.’ Tanner had not let go of his hand.
‘Now you’re the one being daft.’
‘Stupid really, what you did. What you let yourself get talked into doing. But thanks for doing it.’
‘He didn’t need to talk us into anything,’ Chall said.
Tanner let go of Chall’s hand, smoothed down the black dress she had last worn for her mother’s funeral. ‘How’s Desai?’
‘Oh, Charita’s fine,’ Chall said. ‘She’s great.’
‘Well, thank her again next time you see her.’
Chall said that he would.
‘I sent her a note and I’ll thank her in person when I can get around a bit more easily.’
‘There’s no need, honestly.’
Tanner picked up a glass of wine, watched Chall sip at his orange juice. ‘I heard that she was the one who wrote the fake diaries.’
‘Yeah.’ Chall’s expression darkened momentarily. ‘She never said as much, but I think she knew what she was talking about, if you know what I mean.’
‘You both deserve medals,’ Tanner said.
‘Yeah, well.’
It had been more than a turn of phrase. Both Chall and Desai had been put forward for the Queen’s Police Medal for their actions in the sting operation against Martin Muldoon and his partner. No decision had yet been made as to whether the medals would be awarded.
‘Seems to me like DI Thorne should be up for one as well,’ Chall said. ‘Going after them on his own.’
‘Don’t think he’s the type for medals.’ Tanner knew it was Thorne who had put Chall’s and Desai’s names forward. She was smiling because, when the suggestion that he might be in the running for a medal himself had been made, she was there to witness his reaction.
‘They know where they can stick it,’ he had said. ‘I’ve got a gold life-saving medal, so why would I want another one? Chasing two arseholes in an old Astra with three good tyres is bugger all compared to diving for a rubber brick in your pyjamas.’
Sitting with Helen at a table in the corner, Thorne watched Tanner talking to Dipak Chall, saw her glance in his direction more than once. She was looking well, he thought. Handling it all better than he had expected.
He couldn’t think of anyone who surprised him so consistently.
‘Phil looks good in a black suit,’ Helen said. ‘Don’t you reckon?’
Thorne looked across to the bar, where Hendricks and Liam were deep in conversation with Soran Hassani. ‘Looks like that bloke out of Hellraiser got a job as a bouncer.’
‘Your suit’s still holding up.’
Thorne studied a sleeve. The suit was starting to get shiny in places and it was no less tight than when he’d last had it on. The suit he’d been wearing the first time he’d met Nicola Tanner.
Helen said, ‘I’m still a bit pissed off with you.’
‘Only a bit?’
‘For God’s sake. Working late because of some non-existent body in a reservoir.’
Thorne’s beer glass wasn’t quite big enough to hide behind. ‘I thought you’d tell me it was a stupid idea.’
‘It was a stupid idea, but since when have I been able to stop you doing anything? Yeah, I’d’ve been worried.’
‘Well, I didn’t want you worrying,’ Thorne said. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like it that you worry, because I think it means… I don’t know… maybe it’s more than just normal worrying, because of how well I get on with Alfie and everything.’ He let out a long breath and took another drink, struggling to find the right words. ‘You know, with Alfie’s dad not being around any more.’
‘I don’t know what you’re wittering on about.’
‘OK… so say you’re on some girls’ trip to the Maldives or whatever.’
Helen laughed. ‘Like that’s going to happen.’
‘OK then, Glasgow… doesn’t matter where. Say the plane goes down, or there’s a car accident. Or what if something happens to you at work? I mean, let’s not kid ourselves, that’s a bit more likely, right? It happens.’
She leaned forward, serious suddenly. ‘Where’s this going?’
‘I just wanted to know, if anything happens to you… if you’d thought about who you’d want to take care of Alfie. That’s all. I mean your sister’s probably the obvious choice… and it’s not like your dad’s ancient, is it?’ He lifted his glass again. ‘I just thought I should ask.’
Helen leaned back hard. ‘Shit.’ She shook her head and looked over at the bar again. ‘I’ve already asked Phil.’
‘What?’
Helen stared at him, but could only manage a few seconds before cracking and beginning to laugh. ‘You are so easy to wind up sometimes.’
Thorne’s head dropped and he let out the breath it felt as though he’d been holding for minutes. ‘You are properly evil.’
‘Of course I want you to look after him.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I mean we can put it in black and white if you think we need to.’
‘I think it’s best to get things sorted,’ Thorne said. ‘Make arrangements.’
‘Fair enough.’ Helen nodded, then pulled a face. ‘I mean… my sister? Really?’
Thorne sat back and finished his drink. He stretched out a foot to touch Helen’s leg and wondered just how much grinning you could get away with at a funeral.
Tanner came over and sat down while Helen was at the bar. She said, ‘I know what you were up to, Tom.’
‘What was I up to, Nicola?’
‘Misdirection.’
‘You think?’
‘I know. All that messing around at the AHCA meetings, getting in their faces, while you and Dipak were busy setting everything up.’
‘Dipak did the donkey work,’ Thorne said. ‘He might even be a better actor than he is a copper, and he’s a good copper.’
It was not quite the look Tanner had given him when he’d told her about Muldoon, but it was not a long way off. ‘You were misdirecting me as well, though.’
‘Only a bit.’
‘Did you think I’d try and talk you out of it?’
‘I thought that you needed to do nothing but lie there and heal. I knew you’d try to get involved and I didn’t want you to be.’
‘What the hell could I have done in that state?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t.’
They sat in silence for a minute or so, drinking and watching the mourners mingle. They saw Susan’s parents chatting to the priest who was making his third visit to the buffet table. The neighbour, who was still taking care of Tanner’s cat, propped up the bar alongside the headmaster and several other teachers from Susan’s school.
Tanner stood up and said, ‘I think I’m going to go.’
Thorne said, ‘Oh,’ and stood up too. ‘Can you do that? Be the first to leave? I mean obviously you can do whatever you want, but…’
Tanner looked around. ‘This is for everyone else,’ she said, leaning close to touch Thorne’s hand. ‘I’ve already said goodbye to Susan.’ She blinked. ‘Anyway, there’s still plenty to do at the house before I can move back in.’
‘Right.’ Thorne knew that Tanner’s brothers had done sterling work in making her house fit to live in again. They had carried out a full structural survey and done whatever repairs had been recommended. They had redecorated from top to bottom and replaced damaged furniture. With luck Tanner would be at home again within a few days.
‘Carpet fitters are coming first thing tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Second time in as many months.’ They walked slowly away from the table towards the door at the far end of the pub. ‘I should have some kind of loyalty card at Carpet Express.’
‘Same colour as the last one?’ Thorne asked.
Tanner glanced across at him, eyes wide, half smiling. ‘No, something different this time,’ she said. ‘Something bright.’
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Because so many crimes are unreported due to the fear of reprisals, it is almost impossible to get accurate statistics for honour-based violence in the UK. According to ‘Honour’ Killings In The UK by Emily Dyer, a report published by the Henry Jackson Society in 2015, twenty-nine murders were reported in the media over the previous five years. In 2010, the police reported a minimum of 2,800 cases of honour-based violence, including abduction, mutilation, acid attacks, beatings and murder. The Association of Chief Police Officers estimates that the number of victims of HBV may be up to thirty-five times higher than that reported and warns that the annual figure is closer to 20,000 offences. The Crown Prosecution Service claims that approximately twelve honour killings are carried out in the UK each year, but accepts that the actual figure is likely to be much higher. Karma Nirvana, a UK charity that supports victims and survivors of forced marriage and honour-based abuse, has a helpline that currently receives over 850 calls per month, the majority of which are from victims themselves. Between 2010 and 2013, the number of calls received by the helpline increased by forty-seven per cent.
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