23 Cold Cases (The Mac Maguire detective mysteries Book 5)

by Patrick C Walsh

  Patrick C. Walsh

  23 Cold Cases

  The fifth ‘Mac’ Maguire mystery

  Garden City Ink

  A Garden City Ink ebook

  www.gardencityink.com

  First published in Great Britain in 2017

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2017 Patrick C. Walsh

  The right of Patrick C. Walsh to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright holder.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely co-incidental.

  A CIP record for this title is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978-0-9932800-5-4

  Cover art © Seamus McGuire 2017

  Garden City Ink Design

  “The secret of being miserable is to have leisure to bother about whether you are happy or not. The cure for it is occupation.”

  George Bernard Shaw

  For the one and only Walter Spencer

  Two weeks before

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Twelve years earlier

  Two weeks before

  He was suddenly awake and the dream was still freshly imprinted on his mind. He sat up and looked at the other side of the bed. There was no-one there and, for once, he was grateful for that.

  He stood up, opened the curtains and looked out of his hotel window. Skyscrapers surrounded him and for a few seconds he had no idea where he was. He saw a huge Ferris wheel and he thought he must be in London but, if he was, he had no idea what he was doing there. Then he remembered. He was in Singapore, yes of course, they were shooting the car chase scenes tomorrow.

  He looked down at his hands and expected to see blood on them, her blood. There was none, his hands were spotlessly clean but he knew the blood was there anyway. He hadn’t thought about her for a while so why now?

  In the dream he had been with her. She’d been so beautiful and so real, so real that he still had the smell of her body in his nostrils.

  Even after all these years he realised that he still loved her and the pain he felt was almost physical.

  Why now though? he thought.

  He had a sort of premonition. It was all going to come back to haunt him somehow but he found that he didn’t care.

  Perhaps it would be a relief.

  Chapter One

  Each tiny crack in the ceiling was becoming familiar now. Mac had a pile of books within reaching distance, books he’d promised himself that he’d read when he had the chance but he made no move towards them.

  He sighed at the realisation that he was bored rigid and he knew that he needed something more than books to take his mind off his current predicament. In something near desperation he picked up his phone and called Detective Superintendent Dan Carter to ask for a favour.

  The predicament in question was an enforced six week stretch of bed rest after Mac had sustained some damage to his back in what the tabloid press had dubbed ‘The Girl in the Cellar’ case. Just soft tissue damage his doctor had told him but, whatever it was, it hurt like hell.

  His daughter had bought books for him to read and she’d also suggested that he might want to start writing his memoirs. However he found that, even with the best will in the world, he just wasn’t interested. In order to push back the pain he had to be doing something, something real.

  The ‘favour’ arrived an hour or so after his call. A uniformed policeman delivered a memory stick with the complete files of twenty three cold cases going back some fifteen years. He gratefully plugged it into his laptop. After a few minutes he began to get absorbed in the files and the pain started to tune out a little.

  Eventually he made the mistake of moving and red hot spears of pain radiated out from his lower back. He couldn’t stop himself from letting out a loud grunt. A second later the door opened and his new nurse hurried in.

  ‘Are you alright Mr. Maguire?’ she asked with some concern.

  He had to wait a few seconds before he could speak.

  ‘You know that’s the really strange thing about pain. I’ve lived with it for years now yet it always comes as a surprise. God you were quick! Were you waiting outside the door or something?’

  His nurse nodded.

  ‘I didn’t want to interrupt you. I had a peek in the door a while back and you seemed so interested in what you were doing that I thought you were best left alone for a while.’

  Mac looked at her closely. She was in her fifties and had a kind face, a face that Mac had immediately warmed to. She had jet black hair with no trace of grey and she was wearing a bright blue sari with a lighter blue scarf around her neck. She wore sandals that were decorated with bright stones that glinted when she walked. Nurse Amrit had worked with his daughter Bridget when she was training to become a doctor and she had come highly recommended. Another reason why Mac thought they would get on.

  ‘Nurse Amrit, please sit down and talk to me for a bit,’ he said waving towards the armchair.

  ‘Oh, please just call me Amrit, after all I’m not a nurse anymore.’

  ‘And please call me Mac. When anyone calls me Mr. Maguire I still look around for my dad. Okay as this is our first day together I was just wondering if there was anything you wanted to know about me?’

  She thought for a moment and then smiled.

  ‘Bridget told me that you’re a private detective these days. What’s it really like?’

  ‘I take it that you’re a fan then?’

  ‘Oh yes, I watch all the shows on TV,’ she said excitedly.

  ‘They run around a lot on the TV, don’t they?’ Mac said with a frown. ‘Well, I’m not exactly up for much of that these days so I’d guess it would be quite different. Then again I’ve only had a handful of cases so far and most of those were helping the police so, if I’m being honest, I’m not really sure what being a private detective is like yet.’

  ‘Not as exciting as on the TV then,’ she said, looking a bit crestfallen.

  ‘No probably not. For me it’s more about thinking your way through a case than physical action but I find it exciting enough, especially when you begin to sense that you’re on the right track and things start falling into place. That’s always quite exhilarating. I guess it wouldn’t make for good TV though.’

  ‘From what I read in the papers your last case was exciting enough, you saving that poor girl from hanging herself and all.’

  ‘A little too exciting as you can see, anyway it wasn’t just me who saved her. I never like all that ‘hero’ nonsense in the press, in reality it’s alw
ays a team effort.’

  ‘What was it like?’ Amrit asked, wide eyed. ‘You know when you saved her?’

  Mac thought back to those excruciating minutes when his already crippled back had to bear the weight of a whole other person. Before he went unconscious the pain had been the worst he’d ever experienced. Then he woke up in the hospital to find that it was still there, sharp-toothed and waiting to greet him. While he lay there, as the hours and days inched by, it had slowly dawned on him that, for all the doctors and their fine words, for all the drugs and flashing machines they had in that bright shiny hospital, they couldn’t do much to help him. At the end of the day it was just him and the pain and that was the thought that scared him the most. He knew he’d never be able to go through anything like that again. He could only comfort himself that, if it did ever happen again, he had the solution tucked away at the back of his sock drawer.

  ‘Desperate,’ he said tersely as he tried to push the dark thoughts back.

  Amrit had the feeling that she’d overstepped the mark. She got up to go. Mac looked up at the movement and managed a smile.

  ‘I’m sorry, don’t go. I was in a bit of a dark place just now, that’s all.’

  Amrit sat back down.

  ‘No that’s okay. It’s me who should be saying sorry. Life’s not really like the TV at all, is it?’

  ‘No, no it isn’t.’

  Amrit decided to change the subject.

  ‘Do you mind me asking what you’re working on now? As a policeman brought it I take it that its crime related?’

  ‘Yes, it’s definitely crime related. I must admit that, although it’s only my first day at home, I was already more than a bit fed up. I’ve got plenty to read as you can see but I did enough of that in hospital and it didn’t work all that well anyway.’

  ‘Work? What do you mean?’

  ‘I need something that I can lose myself in otherwise…well otherwise I really don’t think I’ll going to be able to cope.’

  ‘Oh I see,’ Amrit said, ‘you’re talking about pain management, aren’t you?’

  ‘Spot on. Anyway I rang the head of the Police Major Crime Unit and asked if there was anything I could help with and luckily for me there was. He’s sent over a load of cold cases for me to have a look at.’

  ‘Cold cases? Yes I’ve heard that phrase on the TV.’

  ‘They’re just old cases that haven’t been solved yet. We never close most cases as such, we just park them, although sometimes that turns out to be pretty much the same thing.’

  ‘And these cold cases will help you? With the pain I mean.’

  ‘Oh most definitely, if all I have to do is to stare at the ceiling it’ll only magnify the pain. Work is the best painkiller.’

  ‘Yes I know. Did Bridget tell you that I used to work in a pain clinic? I always found that the patients who managed pain the best were the ones who kept themselves busy. Tell me have you tried acupuncture yet?’

  ‘Acupuncture? No I haven’t,’ Mac said his face clearly showed his scepticism. ‘I always thought that having someone stick needles in you would be painful enough by itself. I can’t see how that would help at all.’

  ‘You should try it though, one big advantage is that there’s no side effects like you get with a lot of pain medication. It doesn’t work for everyone but, for those it does help, it can really make a real difference.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ Mac said, parking the question. ‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’ Mac asked.

  She shrugged.

  ‘No, go ahead.’

  ‘Where are you from originally?’

  Mac could sense that her defences had gone up.

  ‘Why would you want to know that?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m just curious.’

  She thought for a moment and then gave him the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘Okay, I was born in India and I came to this country when I was two years old.’

  ‘I was one when I came here.’

  ‘Really, you’re an immigrant like me?’ she asked with a surprised look on her face. ‘Where did you come from originally then?’

  ‘From Ireland. My mum and dad came over in the early sixties when there was lots of work here in the car factories. There was nothing in Ireland at the time.’

  ‘Yes your accent, it’s from the Midlands, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes from Birmingham. I’ve lived here in Letchworth for well over twenty five years but it doesn’t seem to have had much effect on my vowels,’ he said with a wry smile.

  ‘I like the accent, it sounds unpretentious and honest.’

  ‘I must admit that moving here was the best thing I ever did though. My wife loved it here too. What about you?’

  ‘Oh I love it here as well. I was brought up in Letchworth and when I go and visit relatives in places like Luton or Watford I always feel a bit sorry for them. I mean Letchworth is such a lovely place, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is but, like most other places, it can have its dark side too.’

  Amrit looked at her watch.

  ‘Anyway it’s nearly twelve thirty now. What would you like for lunch? Bridget’s made sure you’ve got lots of food in the fridge.’

  ‘I don’t know. What are you having?’

  ‘Me? I’m okay, I brought my own.’

  ‘And what’s that then?’ Mac persisted.

  ‘Just some Tarka Dal and rotis, that’s all.’

  ‘Tarka Dal and rotis?’ Mac said, his mouth already salivating.

  ‘Do you like Sikh food?’ Amrit asked with some surprise.

  ‘No,’ Mac replied. ‘I love it. Is there enough for two?’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied with a wide smile. ‘I’ll get it started then.’

  Chapter Two

  ‘I take it that you’re finished then?’ Amrit asked as she looked at his empty plate and a bowl wiped clean.

  ‘That was wonderful,’ Mac replied. ‘Can you bring some more tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes of course, no problem. So how are your cold cases coming along?’

  ‘I’ve skim read a few and they should definitely keep me busy for quite a while but I’ve only looked at the one case in any depth so far. To be honest I’m not sure what I make of it yet. Are you busy right now?’

  ‘No, of course not, I’m here for anything you need.’

  ‘Well, what I need right now is someone to bounce things off.’

  ‘Bounce things off?’ Amrit asked with a puzzled expression.

  ‘Yes, I always find it easier to talk through the cases with someone else. I often get ideas that way.’

  ‘You want to talk through your cold cases with me?’ she asked with some surprise.

  ‘Yes, why not?’

  ‘Well, I’m not in the police or anything.’

  ‘But you are a nurse and I’d guess you’ve had to keep lots of things confidential that you’ve come across in your working life?’

  ‘Of course, why would you even ask?’ she said, looking slightly affronted.

  ‘So just a few more things for you to keep confidential then.’

  She thought on this for a few moments and then gave Mac a quizzical look.

  ‘So you’re really going to discuss your cases with me?’

  ‘Yes really.’

  ‘Oh goody!’ she said with an excited smile. ‘Just let me sit down and get comfortable.’

  ‘Okay, the first case. Alex Paterson was a forty five year old male, a refuse collection driver who lived in an ex-council house just off Shephall Way in Stevenage. He was single at the time having split up with his partner of fifteen years some five years before. There were no children and the split was amicable or so it says here.’

  ‘Do you doubt that it was amicable then?’ Amrit asked.

  ‘I’ve always found it best to. I’ve come across very few parting of the ways where there hasn’t been at least some resentment on one side. Unfortunately his ex-partner has a really good alibi, she was two thousand m
iles away at the time sunbathing on a beach.’

  ‘So how was he killed then?’ Amrit asked. ‘Was it a gun, a knife or poison?’

  ‘No none of those, he was run over.’

  Amrit gave Mac a puzzled look.

  ‘He was just run over?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, couldn’t it have been as accident then?’

  ‘Not according to the investigators, they were pretty sure it was murder. From what they learnt Mr. Paterson’s life ran pretty much like clockwork. He started work early in the morning and finished early in the afternoon. After that he would shower and change and go to his local pub where he’d drink more than he probably should. Even so he always left the pub no later than nine as he had to get up early the next morning and he always took the same route home. It was a walk of around seven or eight minutes which took him across one main road. So, regular as clockwork, at just after nine in the evening he crossed the main road using the same pedestrian crossing. On this particular occasion three witnesses saw a car driving in his direction but rather than slowing down it speeded up. Mr. Paterson was on the crossing when the car swerved across the carriageway and hit him square on at over fifty miles an hour. The car didn’t stop.’

  ‘So it definitely looks like murder then?’

  ‘Yes, possibly but if it was murder the big problem is the motive. The investigators never found any credible reason why someone might want to kill that particular dustman. As he was a driver he rarely came into contact with his customers and he seemed to be well liked at his local pub. I’ve checked his run but it was nothing out of the ordinary.’

  ‘What do you mean ‘his run’?’ Amrit asked.

  ‘You know, where he picked up rubbish from.’

  ‘Why would that be important?’

  ‘I suppose because of a case some years ago where another dustman was murdered.’

  ‘Can you tell me about it?’ Amrit asked with an expectant smile.