Watch Over You

by M. J. Ford

  ‘Wait!’ she said. ‘What are you doing next?’

  ‘I’m going to talk to Ms Matthis once she’s stopped wheezing,’ said Dimitriou. ‘Convince her that it’s her darling angel who’s got her into this mess, and it’s in everyone’s interest for him to hand himself in.’

  ‘Think she’ll bite?’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Dimitriou.

  Jo heard wild barking in the background. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At the fucking vet,’ he said. ‘Someone had to bring the dog in, and let’s just say I’m a softie.’

  ‘And a man of many surprises,’ said Jo.

  * * *

  Jo didn’t think she’d be able to tear her thoughts from the case, but the process of sifting through her mother’s possessions was actually more emotional than she had anticipated. Most of it had been in boxes since the time Madeleine Masters had gone into care a few years ago, and Jo hadn’t anticipated finding a single item she might want to keep. Her mother’s taste in jewellery was distinctly Victorian, and Jo rarely wore anything more than a bracelet and a silver band she’d bought years ago at a flea-market in Prague. Some of the contents of the boxes were their father’s, though, and the smell of the old suits, as well as the styles, brought back hints of memories that were more a vague nostalgia than actual moments. As well as jewellery, clothes, records, old pictures and ornaments, there were bundles of photos, letters and birthday cards dating back forty years and more. Time flew past for a while as she and her brother sat on the floor of Paul’s spare bedroom, sorting things into piles depending of their destination. By far the most would go to charity shops or to a refuse site, but there was a surprisingly large collection of items neither of them had the heart to throw out. These bits they repackaged and began to stow back in the attic.

  ‘So how is it being back at work?’ asked Paul from the top of the ladder, as she handed him the last of the boxes.

  ‘Harder than I expected,’ said Jo, honestly. She watched him disappear into the gloomy interior of the loft.

  ‘Because of the hours?’ he called to her from within.

  ‘The lack of them,’ Jo replied. She thought about the grinding gears and cogs of the current case. She’d rarely shared anything about the machinations of St Aldates with her brother, even before having Theo. And she was grateful he didn’t bore her with his work, which, as far as she could gather, involved making money from currency speculations. ‘It’s hard to switch off.’

  ‘I bet,’ said Paul. He climbed down and folded the ladder into the loft-space. ‘Criminals don’t respect the nine-’til-five right?’

  ‘Correct. The DCI’s been great,’ she said brightly. ‘He could have insisted I stay on office duty.’

  ‘And wouldn’t you rather that?’ asked Paul.

  ‘A desk job? I can’t think of anything worse.’ She caught herself. ‘No offence.’

  Paul brushed some dust off his shirt. ‘None taken. Anyway, my job isn’t without drama. The old duffer in charge managed to break his hip this week when his chair collapsed. There’s talk that it was sabotage.’

  ‘You want me to send someone over?’ Jo said, edging towards the stairs. Paul smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. He remained where he stood. ‘What’s up?’ she said.

  He gripped the banister. ‘I wondered if you wanted to talk about Lucas?’

  Jo felt herself colour. ‘Not really. There’s nothing to say. He came to the station a couple of days ago.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I tried to talk to him, but he was a mess.’

  Paul looked pained. ‘That’s not going to stop, you know?

  ‘It will when he gets the message.’

  Paul’s eyebrows rose theatrically. ‘And what message is that?’

  Jo didn’t like her brother’s presumption, but this was his house and there was still the prospect of a long and painful lunch if they fell out. ‘That he can’t be part of Theo’s life.’

  ‘Ever?’ said Paul. Jo’s rising anger must have been obvious in her face, because her brother softened his tone. ‘It’s not my business, I know. But people can change. They can get over their problems.’

  ‘He doesn’t strike me as the sort of man who’s moving in that direction,’ said Jo, remembering the sorry figure stumbling around the police station reception. ‘And to be frank, I haven’t got the energy to help him. I’ve got to look after Theo’s best interests, and a drunk, occasional father isn’t one of them.’ She almost added, Have you any idea how hard it is at the moment? But instead turned and headed for the stairs. Sometimes it was easiest just to walk away. And it would give her bother a chance to take a hint.

  In the kitchen Amelia was setting the table. The house had a hatch, leading to the living room, where Emma was sending Theo into giggles of delight by lifting him into the air repeatedly. Will, in contrast, showed no interest at all in the baby, and was playing some game on his phone. ‘She’s a natural,’ Jo muttered to Amelia in the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t say that!’ her sister-in-law replied. ‘I’m barely getting used to the idea of her having a proper boyfriend.’

  Jo recalled Amelia had mentioned it the other day too. ‘Serious?’

  ‘As far as we can tell. His name is Jacob, though Paul insists on pretending he can’t remember it. You’re about to meet him actually.’

  Sure enough, the doorbell rang a few minutes later, and a gangly young man stood on the doorstep. He greeted both Paul and Amelia shyly, but before Jo had chance to be introduced, Emma had whisked him off upstairs.

  ‘You and Jack keep that door open!’ shouted Paul.

  Jo manoeuvred Theo into the high-chair Paul had dug out from the depths of their garage. Will had agreed, under some duress, to set down his game and feed his baby cousin when, while Jo was washing some glasswear in the sink, her phone rang on the table. Will leaned over and read the caller id. ‘Who’s HT?’

  Jo hurriedly extracted her hands, and wiped the soap suds off in time to answer the call.

  ‘We’ve got Blake Matthis,’ said Heidi.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘He’s at the hospital. Visiting his mother, bless him. They called us.’

  ‘So he’s in custody?’

  ‘That’s right. He tried to do a runner, but an orderly got in the way. Dimi’s chomping at the bit.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Jo. ‘Any sign of an injury consistent with a shotgun?’

  ‘Sadly not, though we’ll be making a more thorough assessment when he arrives.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s a little odd that he’d come up for air like that? Hardly the behaviour of a killer.’

  ‘He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer,’ said Heidi. ‘And anyway, boys love their mums, don’t they?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Jo, tickling Theo under his chin. ‘Keep me in the loop.’

  * * *

  As lunch began, Jo attended intermittently to the various conversations at the table, surreptitiously checking her phone beneath the table at intervals, but by the time they reached dessert, she was at breaking point. No news had come through. Excusing herself to use the bathroom, she sent Heidi a message asking what was going on.

  She replied almost at once: ‘Still waiting for his chaperone.’

  Jo guessed she was referring to whichever ‘appropriate adult’ Blake had nominated. Given he was under eighteen, he was entitled to have an adult of his choosing present while he was questioned. Normally it would have been a parent, but with mum in hospital and dad inside, he’d have to nominate someone else, or use a Duty Solicitor. On a Sunday, it could be hours before they managed to bring in the latter.

  She emerged from the toilet with her phone still in her hand, to find Paul waiting. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked.

  Jo slipped the phone into the pocket of her jeans. ‘Er … no.’

  ‘I know my stories can be boring, but you’ve hardly been off that thing.’ Before she had time to make an excuse, Paul added, ‘Is it about Harry Fer
man?’

  ‘You heard?’

  ‘It was on the news last night,’ said her brother. ‘You knew him, didn’t you? From the clown case.’

  She felt her guard sliding up. ‘A little, yes.’

  ‘And you’re involved in this investigation?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jo. ‘I want to find out what happened.’

  Paul nodded doubtfully. ‘Are you in danger?’

  ‘Me? No! What makes you think that?’

  ‘You do have a habit of putting yourself in harm’s way.’

  ‘I’m a police officer,’ said Jo. ‘I catch harmful people.’ She could tell her frivolous tone had pissed him off. ‘I told you, desk-work doesn’t interest me.’

  ‘But it’s not only you, is it? Not any more.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Against her better judgement, she felt the by-now familiar sting of tears. Her body betraying her in a way it never had in the past. Her brother must have seen it too, because he backed half a step away.

  ‘Look, I shouldn’t have said anything …’

  ‘Why not?’ snapped Jo, swallowing. ‘You seem very interested in my job. And my love-life. I’d rather know exactly what you’ve been saying about me.’

  Paul glanced back at the kitchen, and Jo realised her voice had likely carried. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘We just worry about you.’

  ‘And about Theo?’ said Jo coldly. ‘You think the car accident was my fault too, I suppose.’

  Paul raised both palms. ‘No! Of course not!’

  ‘Because you’ve never let either of your kids out of sight for two minutes?’ she asked sarcastically.

  ‘Jo, please,’ said Paul. ‘Come and sit down. This is my fault.’

  She wanted to do as he said. She wanted to wind back the clock and try the last minute over again, but the reset button kept jamming in her head. Failing that, it was fight or flight. ‘I’d better leave,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ said Paul. ‘Honestly.’

  But she really just wanted to be out the door. Gathering Theo’s things, she wiped his face, removed him from his chair, and thanked Amelia for lunch. Emma looked particularly perplexed, Jacob embarrassed, and Will largely oblivious.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, before muttering her farewells, and heading for the door.

  * * *

  She drove, not home, but to the station, and with every metre she put between herself and the argument, the stupidity of it grew more obvious in her mind. Paul was her brother, and though they weren’t as close as some siblings, his concern for her wasn’t unreasonable. Past cases had endangered her life, and even those of her nephew and niece. She’d come out on top, but not without skirting very close to tragedy. By the time she’d pulled into the car park at St Aldates, she’d reached a state of utter dismay at her behaviour. She thought about calling him then, but as she turned the key to switch off the engine, her mental turmoil calmed. She needed space to think.

  From the other vehicles parked up, she saw that Andy Carrick was in the building, as well as Heidi, Dimitriou, and Reeves. The whole squad, bar her. She placed Theo back in his sling. ‘You want to see where mummy works?’ she asked, then strode in like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  Heidi was the only person in the squad room and she did a double-take.

  ‘Hello, little guy!’ she said, standing up. She peered at Theo’s face, stroked his cheek, then added, ‘Didn’t think you’d be in today.’

  ‘I was in the area,’ said Jo lightly. ‘Wanted to make sure you guys weren’t slacking in my absence.’ She threw a glance at the empty workstations. ‘Which, it appears, you are.’

  ‘Au contraire,’ said Heidi. ‘Andy and George are in with Matthis now. Ali’s watching from the AV suite. I’m guessing you might want to have a peep too?’ Her eyes flashed with mischief.

  ‘Well, it can’t hurt,’ said Jo. ‘Anything from the appeal?’

  ‘We got Megan’s phone number from a schoolfriend, but it was a dead end. Ceased emitting a signal three days ago.’

  Jo mulled it over. ‘Bit odd, no?’

  ‘Maybe she didn’t pack a charger.’

  Jo thought of her niece Emma, forever glued to her phone. ‘I think keeping your phone on as a sixteen year old comes slightly higher than food and shelter in the priority list.’

  ‘You think she’s deliberately keeping off the grid then?’

  ‘Could be.’ Though even that seemed not quite to fit.

  Theo was thankfully quiet as she made her way down the short corridor, past the interview rooms, and tapped her code to access the AV suite. Reeves looked up with a start.

  ‘Ma’am!’ she said.

  Jo pulled up a seat in front of the screen. ‘Constable, meet Theo. Theo, Constable Reeves.’

  Reeves stared at Theo as if she’d never seen a baby before in her life, but Jo ignored her and focused on the screen, where Dimitriou and Carrick were sitting opposite Blake Matthis and a smartly dressed young man of about thirty. ‘So what’s happening? Is that guy a legal rep?’

  ‘Jordan Tomasz. “Family friend”, apparently,’ said Reeves.

  ‘Looks like dad’s keeping an eye on junior,’ said Jo.

  ‘Not a lot we can do about that,’ said Reeves.

  ‘Think he’ll talk?’

  ‘Not usefully,’ said Reeves. ‘He’s a cocky little bastard.’

  On the screen, the body language said it all. Blake Matthis was practically reclined in his chair, hands over his crotch, and an angled baseball cap on his head. There were already a large number of papers on the table between himself and his interrogators.

  ‘And how it make you feel when you heard?’ asked Dimitriou.

  ‘I dunno,’ Blake replied. ‘Bad, I s’pose’

  Then Dimitriou again: ‘And how well did you know Xan?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘You had his phone number though.’

  ‘Got lots of numbers.’

  ‘And the nature of your friendship?’

  ‘We weren’t friends.’

  ‘So it was strictly business?’ Dimitriou stated.

  Blake didn’t respond.

  ‘You rang him four times the day he was killed. Seems like more than a passing acquaintance. From our data, it looks like you were the last person to speak to him, in the late hours of April 12th.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘It’s not me who says so – it’s the triangulation data. Which is admissible in court, by the way.’

  Matthis played with the waist elastic on his tracksuit bottoms.

  ‘Did you have an argument?’ asked Dimitriou.

  ‘Nah – we were good,’ said Blake.

  ‘About drugs maybe?’

  Blake didn’t answer.

  ‘When did you find out he was dead?’

  ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘You made a call straight after he was shot. Then another the next day. Both to the same number. Remember what they were about?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘The number you rang wasn’t registered, but the phone was located at HMP Long Lartin. Telling daddy you’d done what he wanted?’

  Matthis laughed, and to Jo it seemed a comfortable gesture rather than a bluff. Dimi’s off here …

  ‘Our ballistics guy says Xan was shot with a nine mm bullet that came from a Makarov. That’s exactly the sort of gun your father once threatened an undercover officer with.’

  ‘Better talk to my old man then.’

  ‘Your old man won’t be in the dock with you,’ said Dimitriou. ‘It’ll be you, on your own, and what you say in here today can and will be used in evidence against you. But if he told you to do it, that changes things. If he’s keeping an eye on you now’ – Dimitriou turned a pointed gaze on the strange man beside Blake – ‘well, that changes things a lot. You wouldn’t be as culpable.’

  Blake was switching off, looking at the floor to one side.

  ‘Okay, let’s mov
e on,’ said Dimitriou. ‘Do you remember what you were up to the next day, April 13th, Blake?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘See, the same set of triangulation data puts the same phone – your phone – somewhere else at 19.40 that night. Can you guess where?’ Blake didn’t answer. ‘No?’ said Dimitriou. ‘It tells us you were in the village of Stanton St John – specifically at the house of a Mr and Dr Bailey. Do you remember anything about that maybe?’

  ‘Never heard of them.’

  And it’s not the day they were killed, thought Jo. Dimi’s fishing here …

  ‘Gosh,’ said Dimitriou, sorting through a file. ‘That’s odd. Here’s a refresher.’

  Jo couldn’t see the pictures well through the feed, but she saw Blake recoil. At the same time, Carrick looked sideways at Dimitriou. She knew what he was thinking – there’d be a procedural question mark over the legitimacy of sharing the images with a juvenile, however streetwise he was.

  ‘They’d been there a while by this stage,’ said Dimitriou, covering the images again. ‘We know you were at the house. The phone data doesn’t lie.’

  ‘Someone must’ve nicked me phone,’ said Blake.

  ‘And gave it back again?’ said Dimitriou. ‘How civil.’

  Tomasz puffed up his chest. ‘You don’t have to say anything at all, Blake.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t,’ said Carrick. He leant forward. ‘Blake, you’re not helping yourself. The phone data puts you near Xan on the twelfth, just before he was killed, and at the house of the Baileys, who were also, coincidentally, murdered. That alone will be enough for us to hold you for seventy-two hours while we gather more evidence. When we find your fingerprints and DNA at the Baileys’ house, it’ll be enough to charge you. And you’re not going to end up somewhere your old man can look after you. The only way you make things easier for yourself now is to tell us what you know about all this, because I’m having a hard time believing you did it single-handedly.’

  Matthis rubbed the side of his face as if there was dirt there. ‘No comment.’

  Dimitriou moved his gaze to Tomasz, but when he spoke, it was addressed to Matthis. ‘You know, Blake, the decisions you make in here will have repercussions. The prosecution service look very kindly on people who help investigations rather than hinder.’