Deadly Wishes (Detective Zoe Finch Book 1)

by Rachel McLean

  Darling,

  I tried to make it work. I stopped writing to you and I threw my all into this marriage. I had to make it work. You’re with her now, and I can see you’ve been happy.

  I wonder how things might have been, if it weren’t for your daughter. She’s a lovely young woman now, you should be proud of her. But I sometimes look at her and wish she’d never been born. That you weren’t forced to marry her mother. Does that make me a bad person?

  Since the children left home, things have been getting worse. He doesn’t have to pretend anymore. He never cared what Winona thought; my heart ached at the way he talked to her, criticising her weight all those years and telling her she looked ill. Paul he’s always been more careful with; there’s an intelligence to Paul, an inscrutability that makes you unsure what he’s thinking. So Bryn put on an act for him. Now he’s at university, Uni they call it, and it’s just me and Bryn. Well me, most of the time.

  I can’t tell you what he does. The things he says. You were watching him, when I saw you last weekend. I know you were. Can you see it in him? Do you know what you left me to?

  I’ll have to burn this letter. I can’t have him finding it. I’ve lost count of how many of these things I’ve destroyed.

  Till next time, always

  Yours,

  Margaret.

  Zoe slid the letter into place in the pile of evidence bags. This had opened the floodgates; there were thirteen more in 2008. Then a gap of six months, followed by two more. There had been complaints about Bryn’s increasing use of bad language, declarations of love for the unnamed addressee, and veiled references to emotional abuse. Nothing concrete, though. Nothing that would make a defence lawyer’s ears prick up.

  She didn’t talk about killing him in any of the letters. Not till the last one.

  Darling,

  He retires in a month. I’ll be a prisoner. You can do something about it, I know you can.

  If he’s with me all day, every day, I’ll go insane. I can’t face it.

  I’m going to kill him, and then myself. Our children deserve better.

  I hope you understand, when you find this.

  Yours always,

  Margaret.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  David Randle sat in his car in the hotel car park, watching the solicitor leave. He’d asked the man if he could find somewhere for Margaret to stay, away from the house. He’d said it was for her protection, but they both knew it wasn’t.

  He’d hated talking to her like that in the interview room. She was a delicate woman. Incredible she’d stood up to Bryn all these years, really. God knows he knew how much she’d regretted her marriage. But there’d been two sides to the story. He knew how unhappy his old boss had been.

  David had ridden on Bryn Jackson’s coat tails since he’d been a new DC. Bryn had been a DS then, loud-mouthed and confident and throwing his weight around like he didn’t care what the high-ups thought of him. He’d learned to tone it down when he’d been promoted to Inspector three years later. The public Bryn Jackson had become a man who could read the mood of a room and respond accordingly. Sometimes it was suspects; often it was top brass. He was an expert at making them think he was doing exactly what they wanted of him. Even when he wasn’t. Especially when he wasn’t.

  Still, David couldn’t complain. Bryn had put in a word when he’d sat the sergeant’s exam, and he’d given him a key role on the next murder case. Nasty business, a new Eastern European drugs gang impinging on the territory of the locals. Fifteen years it had been before they’d managed to calm that one down.

  And now the man was dead. Randle had always expected Bryn Jackson to die at the hands of a drugs boss, or maybe a clogged artery. But his wife? The once lively woman who’d grown into the drab figure sitting at the party last night and saying nothing, not even to the other wives?

  It didn’t fit. But his team believed it, and that was enough for him.

  The car park was filling up. People arriving for drinks, or dinner. Businessmen embarking on a lonely night away from home, hotel TV porn and mini bar whisky. He heaved himself out of his car and smoothed down his hair.

  This was not going to be easy.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Ichi.”

  Zoe took a careful step forward, planting her right foot in front of her left. Her knee was bent and her front arm raised up in front of her face. Her hair was scraped back into a rough ponytail and she was sweating.

  “Ni.”

  She stepped forward with her left leg and punched, partway through the Kushanku kata. Karate practice helped her wind down from work, clear her head. And it kept her fit and alert.

  She closed her eyes, listening to her sensei’s voice from across the room. The group had three adults and twelve kids aged between eight and sixteen. She’d tried to talk Nicholas into joining with her but he’d wrinkled his nose and refused. His loss.

  As she worked through the moves, her mind dropping into the usual stillness and focus, she felt the case push its way in. The image of Bryn Jackson’s body, surrounded by blood. That house, so grand and yet so bare. And Margaret Jackson’s face in the interview. She’d looked tired and hard at the same time, like a rock that the sea had scraped bare. Poor woman.

  Zoe breathed in, feeling her chest expand. She pushed the breath out, pursing her lips and enjoying the feel of air leaving her body. An image of Jackson being attacked flashed in front of her eyes, the breath leaving his body for the last time.

  She flinched.

  “Zoe. Right leg.”

  She opened her eyes to see Sensei Asha staring at her. She was two moves behind the group. She shifted into the correct stance.

  “That’s better.”

  Focus, Zoe told herself. She’d been a black belt for thirteen years, her training starting not long after she’d joined the force. It had got her out of more than her share of scrapes.

  “Zoe!”

  She was out of step again. “Sorry.”

  “Concentrate. You can do this.”

  She could. She had her Third Dan test in six weeks and needed to get this kata right. That was, if work didn’t get in the way. She’d been scheduling this test for eighteen months, but she’d never managed to make the date.

  She stopped moving. Another image had flashed into her mind, a more recent one. It made her think of Canary.

  Her left leg, which had been lifted in front of her right leg, dropped to the floor. She stumbled.

  “Take five, Zoe. Everyone else, carry on.”

  Zoe nodded at her instructor and hurried for the door, grabbing her kit bag. Asha was a sergeant in Coventry. She’d understand.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The office was dark, the only light above Zoe’s head. This building worked on motion sensors. More environmentally friendly, they said. It meant that if you worked late, you sometimes had to get up and dance around the office to turn the lights back on.

  Zoe had a good memory. She knew which box she needed to dig out. Not so lucky was the fact that it was at the bottom of the pile. She shifted the other boxes to one side and dragged it out. She heaved it onto her desk.

  There were bank statements going back two years. Three credit cards, two current accounts and an ISA. Nothing had caught her eye in them. Jackson’s salary went in, there were household bills, supermarket trips, cash machine records. She’d been struck by how little Margaret seemed to spend, for a woman living in such an expensive house. The cash machine transactions were once a week for fifty pounds. Never more, never less.

  Zoe scanned the statements again, checking she hadn’t missed anything. Everything was regular, one month the same as the rest. No big expenses.

  She tried to remember the second box. It was one of several she’d gone through in the box room before they’d brought the paperwork into the office.

  “Zo.”

  She looked up to see Mo hanging his coat on the hook on the back of the office door.

&nbs
p; “What are you doing here? It’s gone ten.”

  “You know what it’s like. Couldn’t get the case out of my head. Thought I’d go through some of the statements from the neighbours. Better than sitting at home wasting time thinking about it. You?”

  “I remembered something,” she said.

  “Oh yes?” He crouched next to her.

  “Blimey!”

  They turned in unison to see Connie clattering through the door.

  “You follow me in?” asked Mo.

  Connie shook her head. “I thought the place would be empty.”

  “Never, with a big murder inquiry.” Zoe pushed the boxes to one side and stood up. She placed her fists in the small of her back and stretched, remembering the move she’d stumbled over in karate earlier. “How’s it going with the CCTV?”

  Connie looked pleased with herself. “We finished. Me and Rhodri, and a guy called Teek. Or at least that’s what he said his name was.”

  “We know him,” said Mo. “His real name’s Terry. He likes to come across mysterious to women. Watch out for him.”

  “Will do, sarge.”

  “So did you find anything?” asked Zoe.

  “Not on the tapes, no. But I’ve managed to match up the people to the codes.”

  “And?”

  “There’s a cleaner, like you said. A guy who does decorating and building work for them.”

  “Is his name Reynolds by any chance?” said Zoe.

  “How d’you know that?”

  “There’s a quote from him. In the house file. That’s what I’m looking for.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure yet…” Zoe pulled out more boxes and flipped them open.

  “What’s the quote for?” asked Mo.

  “Building work on the box room. They bricked a door up. And there was roofing work.”

  “Exciting stuff. What’s the connection?”

  “According to Margaret, the door was bricked up. She said it was done years ago. But the quote was eighteen months old if I remember right. And the roof work was six months ago. I want to know if it was actually done.”

  “Why does that matter?” asked Connie.

  “Not sure yet. But this kind of thing can be the beginning of a trail.” Zoe grabbed another box. It was the right one. She dumped its contents on her desk and started thumbing through. “Tell me who else had a code.”

  “Oh, yeah. There were the two kids. Not kids. In their thirties. Winona and Paul. And the gardener. That’s it.”

  “So, seven people?” asked Mo.

  Connie shook her head. “Six.”

  Mo counted off on his fingers. “Bryn Jackson, Margaret Jackson, two kids, gardener, cleaner and builder. Seven.”

  “That’s exactly it. Mrs Jackson didn’t have one.”

  “She what?” said Mo.

  Zoe found the file she was looking for. The document she remembered was at the back. She flicked though the rest, looking for a pattern.

  “She didn’t have access to the security system,” said Connie.

  “That can’t be right,” said Mo. “It was her house.”

  Connie shrugged. “It was her husband’s house.”

  “Got it,” said Zoe. The others turned to her.

  She held up four sheets of paper, all from Reynolds Contracting, going back four years. All dated the first of May. Exactly a year between each one.

  “Three years ago, a new kitchen. Two years ago, replastering the hallway and decorating the lounge. Last year, the doorway. And this year the roof.”

  “Sounds like they were doing the house up,” said Mo.

  “But how did they pay for it?” asked Zoe. “There’s nothing in the bank accounts.”

  Mo reached for the quotes. “These are only quotes. Maybe they didn’t do the work.”

  “I think they did. That kitchen is immaculate. The hallway’s like an art gallery. I can’t find invoices, or receipts. I can’t find records of payment. How did they pay for it all?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Margaret lay on the vast hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling and wondering why she didn’t feel hungry, when there was a knock at the door.

  She sat up. Press? She hadn’t seen a newspaper yet, and her phone was still with the police. She had no idea what was being said about her and Bryn.

  She looked at her reflection in the blank TV screen. She couldn’t hide in here forever.

  She went to the door and peered through the viewer. She snapped it shut and turned to put her weight against the door.

  There was another knock.

  “Margaret, I know you’re in there. I need to talk to you.”

  She smoothed down her trousers and rubbed her face. She’d been crying and there would be mascara on her cheeks. Then she caught herself. Why should she care what David Randle thought about the way she looked? She was newly widowed. She was entitled to cry.

  She slid the chain into its holder and opened the door a crack.

  “Do you need me to come back for another interview? Can it wait until the morning?”

  He had a hand on the door but he didn’t push it. “I wanted to talk to you myself.”

  “Is that young woman with you?” She hadn’t seen anyone else through the viewer.

  “It’s just me. Can I come in?”

  She squared her shoulders and pulled the door open, shrinking back to let him past. He wore the same aftershave Bryn had used: Aramis. It had always made her sneeze.

  He looked around the room. “Are they looking after you?”

  “I haven’t spoken to anyone since I arrived.”

  He arranged his face into a look of concern. “I’m so sorry, Margaret. About Bryn. This is brutal. And us bringing you in for questioning. If I could do this any other way, I would.”

  David Randle was a man who never baulked at brutal, as far as Margaret knew. He’d probably enjoyed watching her squirm.

  Margaret said nothing, closing the door but staying close to it.

  “You’re using Bryn’s lawyer,” he said.

  “How do you know he was Bryn’s lawyer?”

  He took a step towards her. She took one back.

  “Bryn and I were close friends for almost forty years. Of course I knew who his lawyer was.”

  “Why did Bryn need a criminal lawyer?” she asked.

  “Bryn used Startshaw for financial advice.”

  “Why? Was he hiding money?”

  David gave her a don’t be ridiculous look. “Bryn was a sensible man. He wanted to make sure his money was well looked after. For you and the children.”

  “Still, a lawyer…”

  “There’s nothing illegal about it, Margaret.”

  “I never said it was illegal.”

  “No.” He sat on the edge of the bed. He looked small against its bulk, his feet only just remaining on the floor. He’d never been a tall man. Like Bryn. Maybe that was why they warmed to each other, both right on the limit of the height restrictions.

  “Is there something specific you need to ask me about?” she said.

  “When you found him,” David replied, “was there anything unusual in the room? On his desk?”

  She frowned. “What kind of unusual?”

  A shrug. “I don’t know. Anything you wouldn’t have expected to see there.”

  “Bryn never allowed me into his study. I have no idea what should and shouldn’t have been in there.”

  He stood up and approached her again. She held her ground, her breathing shallow.

  “I’m so sorry, Margaret.”

  She blinked, her skin fizzing.

  “For everything you’ve been through. All this. It must be hell.”

  “You could say that.”

  “If there’s anything I can do.”

  There was so much he could do. But he had to do his job.

  “I just want to go home,” she said.

  “Of course. I’ll tell the FSM to hurry things up.”

  �
�Thank you.” Her voice was pinched, her chest heavy.

  “I’ll leave you alone, now.”

  She nodded. She was used to being left alone. As he passed her to leave, he held an arm out momentarily, as if wanting to hug her. Then something passed over his face and he dropped it.

  “I’ll be in touch, Margaret.”

  I’m sure you will, she thought as she bolted the door.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The briefing room was full this morning. Zoe sat to one side and watched as Carl Whaley and his team filed in. He looked annoyed, as if he knew he’d been excluded last night. Lesley followed him, her expression tight. She avoided sitting next to her DI but instead took the seat next to Zoe. Zoe had been keeping it for Mo.

  “Morning,” Lesley said. She had one of her yoghurt pots and was peeling off the lid.

  “Morning.”

  “Get any sleep last night? I imagine you needed it after the night before.”

  Zoe imagined Lesley in her bed after the party, sleeping off the alcohol and oblivious to her phone ringing.

  “Yes thanks,” she replied.

  “Good. He’s got you doing a lot on this case.”

  “David?”

  “Who else?”

  So that was it. Lesley was jealous. As the senior officer she should have been at the centre of things. But Zoe was part of David’s team, and Lesley was his colleague. Their styles were wildly different.

  David prowled in, his hair neat and a different suit today. It was blue and looked new. Beneath it he wore a white shirt and a tie in shades of blue and aqua that made him look like he’d been on holiday. This was a man who spent time in front of the mirror.

  “Everyone here? Good.” He nodded towards the door. Rhodri jumped up to close it then slid back to his seat, giving Zoe a thumbs-up that made her cringe.

  “Let’s recap on where we are.” Randle fired up the laptop and brought a photo of the Jackson house up on the wall behind him.