by Menon, David
Matt grimaced. ‘ Charlie wants to sell his half of the practice.’
‘What?’ his mother exclaimed as she came through and joined them.
‘You’re kidding us?’ said his father.
‘I wish I was,’ said Matt, ‘I really wish I was, Dad. But it seems the lady Natasha, who apparently must always be obeyed, wants him to move out to a practice in Cheshire where his patients will be more to her liking.’
‘I hope Charlie realises how much hard work she’s going to be,’ said Bill who didn’t like Natasha at all. Charlie had brought her round to the party when Susie got engaged to Angus and Bill hadn’t taken to her. He’d met many girls of her type in his time. She’d end up thinking herself as important just for being Charlie’s wife.
‘All fur coat and no knickers that one,’ said Ann.
‘Yeah, well, she’s got her claws into Charlie alright,’ said Matt.
‘Will you be able to afford to buy him out, Matt?’ asked Ann.
‘I might need to borrow some, Dad.’
‘Well we’ll sort you out there, son,’ said Bill.
‘Of course we will’ said Ann. ‘ But I can’t believe that someone like Charlie would turn his back on you and the practice for the sake of that pretentious madam.’
‘Well I’ve tried talking to him but it doesn’t make any difference.’
‘Do you think you’ll find another doctor alright to replace Charlie?’ asked Bill.
‘Oh I don’t think that’ll be a problem, Dad’ said Matt. ‘A lot will jump at the chance of working in a busy inner city practice. Unless of course they’ve got an air stewardess girlfriend called Natasha who only works in first class and who looks down her nose at what she considers to be poor people.’
The telephone at the presbytery rang and when Ann Schofield answered it she was deeply shocked to be told that Rita Makin was dead.
‘Who was that?’ asked Brendan, who’d just come back from hearing confession in the church.
‘It was the police’ said Ann, tearfully.
‘Whatever is the matter, Ann?’ asked Brendan. ‘What’s happened?’
‘They’d been asked to contact us by Rita Makin’s family’ said Ann who could barely get her words out. ‘Brendan, Rita is dead.’
‘What?’ Brendan questioned in a state of complete disbelief. ‘But I only saw her last week. She didn’t look ill. In fact she looked the picture of health and happiness.’
‘She wasn’t ill, Brendan’ said Ann, gently. She could see that Brendan was clearly very distressed by the news. ‘Apparently, Brendan, Rita was murdered.’
‘ Murdered?’ Brendan gasped. He made the sign of the cross on himself. ‘Oh for the love of God, no! Not Rita? Who on God’s earth would want to murder her?’
‘They found the body just this afternoon’ said Ann. ‘ They said… they said that her throat had been cut.’
*
Rita Makin’s kitchen had never been anything other than ordinary. As DCI Sara Hoyland stood in the small room at the back of the terraced house she took in the pink wallpaper with vertical broad cream stripes, the fake wood faced units, the automatic washing machine, the gas cooker that didn’t seem to have a grill, the tall fridge freezer that had probably helped Rita Makin to budget her food bill. There was only just enough room for the table and four chairs in the corner.
‘That wallpaper would have to go if I lived here,’ said Sara when DI Tim Norris came into the room. The house, which had been cordoned off with uniformed police positioned both in front and behind the house, was full of forensics officers taking samples from anything that might be useful.
‘Yeah, I guess it isn’t really you,’ said Tim who was really doing his best to get on with Sara and put their past behind them. It wasn’t always easy but they were both trying.
‘How did someone manage to kill her in here? There’s hardly enough room to swing the proverbial.’
‘No wonder there was blood everywhere’ said Tim. ‘It couldn’t have been avoided.’
‘So what do we know about Rita Makin?’ asked Sara.
‘She was a widow’ Tim answered.
‘Children?’
‘One daughter.’
‘Did she raise the alarm?’
‘No’ said Tim. ‘Her daughter’s married and lives up at Radcliffe with her husband and three sons. It was her son-in-law who discovered the body’
‘Her son-in-law?’
‘He’d popped round on the off chance that she might be in but instead of tea and biscuits he found something else.’
Sara stood in the small kitchen looking out the window at the view of several allotments beyond the back yard. Inside this small insignificant little space in the world a woman who’d led a no doubt pleasing but unremarkable life had met with a rather brutal and unpleasant death.
‘Isn’t it a bit unusual?’ Sara posed before turning her eyes back to the room.
‘What?’ Tim questioned.
‘A man to call in on his mother-in-law on his own?’
‘I don’t think it’s that unusual outside the world of seventies comedians,’ said Tim, ‘I mean, I get on fine with my mother-in-law.’
‘But would you call in and see her if you were passing?’
‘Yes’ said Tim. ‘I mean, I haven’t but I would.’
‘And what does the son-in-law do for a living?’
‘He’s a butcher.’ said Tim. ‘Got his own shop in Newton Heath.’
‘So he’d be good with knives then?’
‘Sara, the man is in shock.’ said Tim. ‘Why are you going for his balls?’
‘I’m not.’ said Sara. ‘I’m just throwing out ideas from what we know. At the moment he is all we know.’
‘But why would he want to kill her?’
‘I’m not saying he would, Tim.’ said Sara. ‘I’m just saying it’s possible.’
Sara walked through into the lounge with it’s two low brown leather sofas. There was an alcove either side of the old fireplace that had been bricked in and a gas fire was attached to the wall. There was a flat screen television sat on a free standing unit just under the window and there was a multi-coloured rug in the middle of the floor to break up the monotony of a plain beige carpet. It all reminded Sara of her Aunt’s house in Leigh.
‘So there was no sign of a forced entry?’
‘No.’ said Tim. ‘The kitchen was the only room that had been disturbed.’
‘So this wasn’t part of any burglary that went wrong?’
‘It doesn’t seem like it, no.’
‘He came to kill her,’ said Sara, ‘he came specifically to kill Rita Makin.’
‘So far it certainly looks that way,’ said Tim. ‘Look, Sara, I know this is not a good time…’
‘…but?’
‘ I need to speak to you about something’ said Tim. ‘It can’t wait, I’m afraid.’
‘Well here is not the best place,’ said Sara. ‘Come and see me after the team meeting tomorrow. Am I going to like it?’
‘Well it’s not about you and me if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘There is no you and me.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Sara, ‘and whatever the problem is I’ll do my best. Okay?’
‘Okay.’ said Tim, ‘Thanks.’
The house was at the end of a row of terraces which had made it easier to be cordoned off. Sara looked up and saw that one of the uniformed officers outside was having a conversation with a priest who was looking anxiously towards the house. Sara went out to speak to him.
‘Father?’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘I’m DCI Sara Hoyland.’
‘Brendan O’ Farrell’
‘I take it you knew Rita Makin?’ The poor man looked utterly crestfallen. They must’ve been close.
‘Yes,’ said Brendan. ‘I’m here about this terrible business.’
‘Were you Rita Makin’s parish priest, Father?’ Sara asked.
‘Yes’ said Brendan, barely able to hold back the tears. He held out his arm and Sara linked hers with it. ‘I’m sorry’ he said, ‘you must think I’m a stupid old man.’
‘On the contrary, father,’ said Sara, ‘you’re clearly very upset.’
‘Rita and I were very good friends who went back a long, long way.’
‘Do you have any idea who might’ve done this to her?’ asked Sara.
Brendan looked at her as if he was utterly bewildered at her question. ‘No’ he said, emphatically. ‘Rita could never have harmed anyone. She was kind, she had a good heart. She lived for her family. I’m sure that if I pray to God for the rest of my days I’ll never understand it. It’s beyond all reason.’
*
Natasha was over the moon now that Charles had finally popped the question. Of course she hadn’t given it a moment’s thought. Things were beginning to work out just as she wanted them to but there was some way to go before she’d managed to completely shape his life her way. There were a number of items on her list but one thing at a time. When she joined the airline a few years ago and discovered pilots who earned the kind of money that could well service her idea of a meal ticket, she’d gone all out to get herself one. But it hadn’t quite worked out. She’d never met one who’d been willing to fall victim to her charms. One had even accused her of being a gold-digging slag. Well she’d decided that maybe these men and their flying machines were too clever for their own good so she’d hit the pubs and wine bars of Cheshire and that’s where she’d met Charles one summer Friday night.
Some pilots were in her Wilmslow social circle and even though she no longer needed to look for a suitable husband she kept them in her social circle because they were the right kind of professional types she wanted to be surrounded by. Her job in flying also meant that she had to be away for several days at a time and that meant having to find a pilot to treat her like his special girl for the trip. She needed the attention of well off men. But her games were no longer motivated by the serious need to search for the right one. She wouldn’t ever be unfaithful to her Charles. Not when he could provide her with so much. There was a moral line to be drawn after all and he was a poor darling having to stay at home whilst she was away. At least it gave him time to be with his kids. That was the only fly in the ointment as far as her relationship with Charles was concerned. She had no desire to be step-mother to his boys and quite frankly if she could wipe them out of the picture she would.
As they sat across from each other at the breakfast table she held her hand out in front of her that had been adorned by Charles’s engagement ring.
‘It’s beautiful, darling. Thank you so much.’
‘It looks fantastic on you, I must admit,’ Charles gushed.
Natasha leaned over the breakfast table and gave him a kiss. ‘I’m such a lucky girl.’
‘Well don’t flash your ring too much in front of Matt,’ said Charles, ‘he’s got a real thing about what are called blood diamonds.’
‘Blood diamonds?’
‘Diamonds that are mined in poor African countries with the proceeds used to buy weapons that kill innocent people in civil wars.’
‘And what’s that got to do with me exactly?’
‘Matt thinks it’s immoral for anybody to buy a ring with a diamond in it that could’ve been mined under those circumstances’ said Charles. ‘But I liked the ring so much and knew how fantastic it would look on you that I just went ahead and bought it without asking the guy in the jewellers anything about where the diamond had come from.’
Natasha stroked Charles’s hand. ‘Darling, I really couldn’t care less about where anything comes from or who makes it or any of that kind of stuff. I just like what I like and that includes this gorgeous ring and you. So don’t go concerning your handsome head about anything other than me.’
Charles kissed her and she wiped a crumb from the corner of his mouth before buttering him another slice of toast and handing it to him.
‘And as for your friend Matt he can keep his bleeding heart to himself,’ Natasha went on.
‘Now don’t be like that, darling,’ said Charles.
‘Like what?’
‘Matt is my best mate,’ said Charles.
‘Yes, I know but I’m your baby girl.’
‘And it’s important to me that the two of you get along’ said Charles. ‘Matt has always cared about stuff. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about him.’
‘Yes, well, there are those that care and those who employ accountants to get out of paying tax. I’m glad to say that we’ll be falling into the latter category.’
‘It wouldn’t do for us all to be the same, darling,’ said Charles.
‘Yes, quite,’ said Natasha who now wanted to move things on to a matter she’d been wanting to target since she and Charles had got serious. ‘Anyway darling, we need to sort out our finances before we’re married.’
‘Our finances?’
‘Well yes,’ she said as she scooped the last drop of yogurt out of the container with her spoon. ‘I know a lawyer. He lives down the road here. He specialises in re-negotiating divorce settlements.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Well don’t look so surprised, darling’ said Natasha. ‘Wendy has got away with it for far too long.’
‘Got away with what?’
‘Sponging off you,’ said Natasha, ‘she doesn’t go to work.’
‘She used to before she had the children.’
‘And so she can go back again,’ said Natasha, ‘and that house is far too big for her and the children. You’ve said so yourself.’
‘Yes but without any intention of doing anything about it, Natasha.’
‘Even so,’ said Natasha, ‘now that I’m around to fight your corner, the former Mrs. Baxter has got something of a shock coming. You’re paying two mortgages after all.’
‘And I can well afford it.’
‘That’s not the point, darling,’ said Natasha. ‘I really think you’ve let her get away with emotional blackmail for too long, Charles.’
‘She’s never emotionally blackmailed me’ said Charles, nervous about where all this was going. ‘She’s always been very reasonable. More reasonable than I deserved and I pay two mortgages to keep a roof over my children’s heads and so their mother can take care of them.’
‘Oh’ said Natasha, ‘so what I want doesn’t matter?’
‘I didn’t say that, darling…’
‘…I should hope not, darling. I should certainly hope not.’
*
Brendan had moved one of the armchairs in the sitting room into the space provided by the open French window and sat there in the semi-darkness smoking a cigarette. He’d had one on the go almost constantly since he’d heard about Rita’s horrific death. It was almost nine o’clock and the summer evening air had grown heavy as if a storm might be approaching. It would never be like this once he’d retired and moved to County Clare. The fresh power of the Atlantic Ocean always kept the air clean and that pleased him. He’d never been one for the heat. He’d once gone out to Zambia to see a friend who was a missionary out there and the heat had almost finished him off. He liked the temperature to be warm enough to be able to walk around in shirt sleeves but not so bad that just the placing of one foot in front of the other brought him out in a sweat. And he didn’t have the skin for tanning. Too many Irish freckles, the skin too white, the hair now too grey. If it hadn’t been suitable before it certainly was never going to be now.
Brendan and Rita had been almost the same age. He’d first met her when her daughter Michelle was only tiny and he’d been there for her throughout all the ups and downs of her marriage to George. He’d ministered to George too. Brendan knew that Rita was no saint and that their problems, just like any other married couple’s, were often a case of six of one and half a dozen of another. But Rita was different. Rita had been a true and valued friend, someone he’d come to concur with on many issues.
/> He looked up when Phillip came into the room. ‘Sorry’ he said, holding up his cigarette. ‘I know I shouldn’t, Phillip, but I’m relying on your Christian charity.’
‘Don’t worry, Brendan’ said Phillip as he held up the bottle of scotch in his hands. ‘I don’t mind if you don’t.’
Brendan smiled before getting up and, assisted by Phillip, he moved the armchair back into the room and sat down. Phillip sat on the sofa beside him.
‘Then let’s indulge each other in our respective vices,’ said Brendan.
‘You’ll be in trouble in the morning when Ann Schofield comes in and smells the smoke,’ Phillip teased as he poured himself some scotch.
‘Yes, well I’ve got more on my mind than a telling off from Ann.’
‘Who could’ve done such a wicked thing to Rita Makin?.’
‘I shudder at the thought of what happened to her,’ said Brendan. ‘I can barely imagine her going through such evil.’
‘We must pray too for the perpetrator,’ said Phillip. ‘We mustn’t forget that.’
‘Yes, well I’ll let you do that,’ said Brendan. ‘I’m about to hang up my collar. I’ve been as good a priest as I could’ve been these decades. I think I’ll be forgiven if I don’t pray for the soul of someone who took the life of one of my best friends, Phillip. It’s a challenge to my faith that I’m unable to meet just now.’
‘What would you like to see happen, Brendan?’
‘I’d like to see them catch the bastard and throw away the key.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘You’d been taken to the other side of the world, Paddy, and you were still a child whose mother had abandoned you,’ said Angela as she sat with Paddy during another session at the prison. She was beginning to appreciate just how to handle him. If she pushed him too much he’d close up and ask to go back to his cell which would be a pity seeing as they were making great progress. He seemed more tense than usual this morning. Maybe recalling his past was taking more out of him than he’d thought it would. He certainly looked like he hadn’t had much sleep. ‘I need you to tell me how that felt because I can’t imagine.’
‘You had good parents?’
Angela felt a little guilty answering that one. ‘Well yes I did.’