Again he looked past her out of the window. Zoe craned her neck to see if there was something she was missing.
“I’m about to tell you something in the very strictest of confidence,” he said. “You can’t tell your team. Not even Mo.”
“I tell Mo everything.”
“I know.”
She stopped eating her crisps. Had Mo said something to Carl about the letter?
“What?” she snapped, wishing she hadn’t let him bring her here.
“It’s about Randle.” He brought his face close to hers. He smelled of lemons. “I think he’s got connections to the Canary case.”
“You weren’t even here for the Canary case. He was the SIO.”
“Very convenient for him.”
“Convenient? He was the SIO because that’s his job.”
Carl shook his head. He was striking, those bright blue eyes matched with light brown skin. She wondered if he was a womaniser.
“The receipts you found,” he said.
“The ones that linked our three guys to Forelli’s.”
“Those are the ones. There are matching ones in the police expenses system.”
“What?”
“Well, just the one. But he was there, same time as one of their meetings. Before you put the three of them together.”
“Maybe he was watching them.”
“Like I say, it was before the connections were made.”
“He was investigating Oulman. That was from months back.”
“He wasn’t put on that case until two weeks after the date he was at the club.”
She downed her Coke. “You’ve been here five minutes and you’re going around slinging mud at the DCI. You need to slow down.”
She had that letter. She thought he might have something to do with the Jackson case, but no idea what. But the two men were best mates...
“You don’t think Randle killed Jackson?”
Carl frowned. “Why would I think that?”
“No reason.”
“Tell me, Zoe. Why would I think that?”
“I’m on the Jackson case. Canary is over. The only reason you’d come to me right now is to do with this case.”
“Not necessarily. You work for Randle, but you didn’t then. I thought...”
“No way. You’re talking bollocks.” She slammed her glass on the table. Next to her, two male students turned and stared.
“I might be. I might not.”
“Leave it, Carl. Randle’s a good copper.” She caught his raised eyebrow. “He is.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at him. You’ve got your suspicions too.”
“No. I don’t.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “David Randle has nothing to do with Canary apart from being the guy who took them down. If you try to make out any different, you’re lying.”
Carl shrugged. “Sorry. I hoped you could help me.”
“He’s my boss.”
“Fair enough. I need you to keep quiet about this, though. With Mo. And Lesley.”
She thought of the letters, and the way Randle had flip-flopped between suspecting Margaret Jackson and wanting to leave her alone. But she wasn’t about to tell Carl any of that.
Hell, he might even be suspicious of her.
She yanked her jacket over her shoulders and threw a tenner onto the table. “For my crisps.”
“It was nowhere near—”
“I don’t care. Keep it.” She slammed out of the pub, raking at her palm with her fingernails.
Chapter Forty-One
Café Face was not far from Zoe’s house, known for its bacon butties and homemade cakes. Zoe was a regular.
She waved at Tracy behind the counter then took a table towards the back. This place was quiet at this time of the morning, the occasional commuter popping in for takeout coffee and not many students awake yet. And she’d never caught a sniff of police in here.
Mo weaved between the tables and sat down opposite her. “Morning.”
“Morning.” Zoe scanned the menu. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Right. Halal fry-up it is then.” She went to the counter to order then returned with cutlery and ketchup.
“Manage to catch up on your sleep?” he asked.
“Pretty much.” There was an argument going on between two students at the front of the café, something about a card game. The staff here, despite knowing her by name, had no idea what Zoe’s profession was, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to step in.
She leaned back and stretched her arms, brushing the wall with her fingertips. “Ready for another day?”
“I will be after I’ve had my breakfast.”
“How’s Catriona?”
“Busy. They’ve taken on a new manager at her practice and he’s shit.”
“Aren’t they all?”
He laughed. “According to Catriona, yes. She hates non-medics running the show.”
“Can’t blame her. Imagine if those numpties were put in charge of the police.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Tracy plonked their breakfasts in front of them. “Enjoy!”
“Thanks,” said Zoe.
Mo stuffed a serviette in his collar. He was wearing a clean blue shirt, so crisp it looked new. She regularly teased Mo for his ironing skills.
“So did you have any more thoughts about that letter?” asked Mo.
Zoe swallowed the slice of sausage she’d been chewing. “Plenty of them.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I’m stuck. For starters, this David in the letters might not even be Randle.”
He gave her a doubting look. “He’s your boss, Zo. That doesn’t mean you have to wear blinkers when you’re around him.”
“For seconds, it’s over thirty years old. It could be irrelevant.”
“Thirds?”
“Thirds is if I banjax his career with this, it could get nasty.”
“Catching the killer is more important than you staying on as DI.” He shoved a pile of beans in his mouth, not meeting her eye.
Zoe felt her face grow hot. “You make me sound like an ambitious bitch.”
“You are, aren’t you?”
She kicked him under the table.
He dropped his fork and pinched her arm. “I’m joking, Zo. You’re not. But watch it doesn’t change you.”
She pushed back her empty plate and swigged her tea, grimacing. She’d forgotten to order a coffee.
“We need to get moving.” She’d been considering telling him about Carl. She wasn’t so sure now.
“Hang on a minute. I don’t eat as fast as you.”
Zoe watched as Mo worked through his eggs. He steered a tomato to the side of his plate and left it. She looked towards the front of the café, which was empty now.
“You OK, Zo?”
“Hmm?”
“You’ve got that look in your eye. Faraway.”
She shook herself out. “Oh. No. It’s fine.”
“What is it? The letters?”
“Not just that.”
“What then?”
She’d trusted Mo with everything throughout her career. He’d been there on her first CID case. He’d held her hand when she’d discovered Jim was married. He’d even been there when Nicholas was born, although she made damn sure he stayed by her head at all times.
“Nicholas was dumped,” she said.
“That’s rough.”
“Yeah. He told his dad. Not the standard way to come out, but it seems to have gone OK.”
“Jim was alright with it?”
“Fell over himself to prove how modern he was, apparently.”
“Sounds like Jim McManus to me.”
“Inspector Jim McManus, you mean. Have some respect.”
Mo raised both eyebrows.
“Yeah. I’m talking bollocks. Thank God he’s Uniform, and we don’t have to work with him.”
Mo crossed himself. “Hallelujah to that.”<
br />
“Anyway, are you going to eat that tomato, or are we going to the station?”
“Station.”
“Good.”
Chapter Forty-Two
“OK, Lesley’s got something new we need to look into.” David Randle ran his fingers over his laptop and the wall behind him went blank.
“Oh, Jesus. Carl, can you fix this thing for me?”
Carl pursed his lips and heaved himself out of his chair. Zoe watched as he fiddled with the laptop, Randle standing over him with a bemused expression. She should put Carl and Connie in a room together. They could bond over their shared geekiness.
Except she was keeping Carl Whaley well away from her team.
A photo flashed onto the whiteboard. Randle gestured for Lesley to speak.
“Irina Hamm,” she said. “Admitted to the QE early this morning with severe injuries to her back and head. She’s saying someone broke into her flat and attacked her.”
The woman onscreen was young, with wispy blonde hair. She would have been pretty, were it not for the injuries. Her lip was swollen and one eye was partially closed. Her chin had been scraped raw.
“What’s it got to do with the Jackson case?” asked Carl.
“There’s a connection to the painting, the one nicked off Jackson’s wall. Organised Crime think the man we found with it worked for this woman’s husband.”
Simon Adams. The ‘no comment’ guy Zoe had interviewed with Sheila.
“And where’s he?” asked Randle. “The husband.”
“We can’t find him. His wife says he’s away on business, and he’s not answering his mobile.”
“So you think the fact we found those paintings with one of Hamm’s employees means that whoever broke into his flat was something to do with Jackson’s death.”
“It’s not the strongest of leads, I know,” said Lesley. “But it’s worth investigating.”
“Hmm.” Randle flicked the picture to one of the stolen paintings. “Has the painting been matched yet? Has Margaret Jackson been able to remember it?”
“No,” said Carl. “We still don’t know if it’s the same one. But the FSIs have taken measurements and it fits the pale spot on the wall in Jackson’s study.”
“That’s not exactly conclusive,” said Randle.
“What about the kids?” asked Zoe. “The Jackson kids. Does either of them remember it?”
“I interviewed them both,” said Randle. “Winona’s head was full of marshmallow and Paul had a vague memory of a painting but nothing we can use.”
“Anything else from them?” asked Lesley.
Randle wrinkled his nose. “Paul Jackson’s a cold fish. Grown up bitter. Blames his mother. He couldn’t give me any solid reason why. He just hates her.”
“Nice,” said Zoe.
“And Winona hated her father. Seems relationships were split on gender lines.”
“What did they say about their parents’ marriage?”
“Paul was cagey, said he’d lived away for too long to have any idea. Winona was barely coherent.”
“I got that impression at the house,” said Zoe.
“She came to the house?”
“When we were going through the CCTV. Throwing her weight around and insisting on seeing her mother.”
“Sounds about right. I couldn’t get anything concrete out of her either, apart from she needs to spend a lot of time with a very good shrink.”
“Her dad did just die,” muttered Carl.
Randle looked at him as if he’d only just remembered he was still here. “True.”
Lesley leaned in. “The Hamm flat was full of expensive artwork. I think we should follow it up.”
“I thought we were still focusing on Margaret Jackson?” asked Zoe.
“We’ve got the FLO watching her,” said Randle. His gaze lingered on Zoe and she looked away.
“We need to check this angle out too,” said Lesley. “Spying on Margaret Jackson isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
Randle sighed. “OK. Zoe, I want you to interview Irina Hamm. See if she can identify her attacker.”
“I thought you wanted me on documents and CCTV.”
“CCTV has been covered. And you’ve gone through all the documents. I take it you haven’t found anything else? Any more bank statements?”
“No bank statements, sir.”
“Go to the QE and talk to this woman. Find out who it was that broke in. Maybe we’ve got a violent art thief on our hands.”
Lesley leaned over the desk. She was wearing a burgundy jacket that made Zoe feel like it was 1984.
“Why are you putting Zoe on this?”
“I think she’s the best person for the job.”
“It’s not because she’s a woman? Maybe you should put Carl on it.”
“I know Zoe can do this stuff.”
Zoe’s forte was physical evidence and joining the dots. It was never interviewing witnesses, although she knew that was something she’d have to remedy.
“It’s alright, ma’am,” she said. “I can do the touchy-feely stuff too. I’ll talk to her.”
“If you think so.”
“Yes.”
Randle nodded. “Right. What else?”
“The full pathology report is in,” said Carl. “They’ve conclusively matched the knife to Jackson’s wounds. It belonged to the Jacksons, but it wasn’t kept in the study. It had been stored in a bedroom.”
“A bedroom?”
“The master bedroom, that the Jacksons slept in. Forensics found a case that fitted it perfectly in the bedside drawer.”
“Whose side?”
“The ACC’s.”
“Right. Do we know if Margaret knew it was there?”
“She says she didn’t.”
“How many people would have known about that knife? See what you can find out. Did Jackson have it in his study before?”
“I’m not sure how I’m—”
“Find a way, DI Whaley. Impress me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anyway. Get on with it, you lot. We need to do better. Move!”
Randle snapped the laptop shut and strode out of the room, Carl following. Zoe headed for the door but Lesley grabbed her arm.
“You OK?” she asked.
“Of course I am. I really don’t need you to fight my battles though.”
“I wasn’t fighting your battles.”
Zoe shrugged her arm off.
“You don’t like me, do you?” said Lesley.
Zoe took a step back. “I never said that.”
“I’m not stupid. You’ll need to work with people you don’t get on with, if you’re going to make this promotion permanent.”
“I know that.”
“Good. So play nice. And stop looking at David like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you think he’s something you just peeled off your shoe. I thought you respected him at least.”
“I do respect you, Lesley. I respect you a lot.”
“You need to try harder.”
If Zoe was going to tell anyone about the letter Rhodri had found, it had to be Lesley. And now was her moment. But she was annoyed with her.
“What?” snapped Lesley. “You’re looking at me like I’ve grown an extra head.”
“Sorry. Tired.”
“It’s been three days. You should have caught up on your sleep by now. Unless you’re shagging someone we don’t know about?”
Zoe felt heat rise up her neck. “No.”
“Good. Can’t have you distracted. Now go see Irina Hamm, and tell me how you get on.”
Chapter Forty-Three
“Connie,” Zoe said, poking her head round the door to the office. “I want you to come with me.”
Connie stood up, knocking a stapler off her desk. “Yes, boss.”
Rhodri shot her a jealous look.
Connie threw him a smile. “I’m sure you’ll be up next time, Rhod, don’t worry.”<
br />
Mo emerged from the side office. “Everything OK?”
“I’ve got a witness to interview.”
“In the Jackson case?”
“No. Victim of aggravated burglary.”
“What’s that got to do with the price of cheese?”
“Lesley thinks there may be a connection. Can you check it out, while I’m gone? Irina Hamm. Wife of Trevor Hamm. Find out what you can about them. Especially any artwork they might have.”
“So that’s the connection.”
“Maybe.” Zoe looked at Rhodri. “Which is why I need Connie.”
“Yes, boss.” Rhodri gave her a nervous smile. He was OK really, as long as you didn’t take him too far out of his comfort zone.
In Zoe’s car, Connie brought out her phone.
“Making a call?” Zoe asked.
Connie screwed up her face. “No.”
“Sorry, I forgot. You millennials don’t make phone calls.”
“It’s not that. I’m texting Zaf. Checking if he’s around.”
Zoe checked the clock on the dashboard. “Nine thirty am. Won’t he be at school?”
“They let them use their phones at break. And he’s got an Android watch.”
“What’s one of those?”
“It’s a watch, that hooks up to your phone. Like wearing a small version of your phone on your wrist.”
Zoe shook out her arm. Her watch was large, on a thick leather strap. “That was my dad’s.”
“Was?”
Zoe kept her eyes on the road. “He died.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It was a long time ago. Just after I joined CID.”
“That must have been rough.”
“Yeah. Anyway. When will your little brother be around?”
“Between eleven and eleven twenty.”
“That’s very precise.”
“It’s break time. If we can wait till one, he’s got an hour. And he’s allowed off the school grounds.”
“We’ll be done well before that.”
They pulled off the dual carriageway that led towards the hospital. Zoe turned a few corners then found herself at a dead end.
“Bugger.”
She turned in her seat and reversed back towards the dual carriageway.
“Everything OK, boss?”
“I always get lost here. When will they stop changing the road layout?”
Deadly Wishes (Detective Zoe Finch Book 1) Page 14