She walked towards it. “Nicholas, please don’t be pissed off with me.”
Nothing. She heard music come on upstairs: Rihanna. She tensed, entering the kitchen.
There was a man standing in the middle of the room, opening drawers. He was tall with a thick neck and a scar below his right eye. She stared at him.
“What the fuck are you doing in my house?”
The man pulled a drawer out and threw it at her. She batted it off, almost slipping on the floor, which was slick with liquid. She looked down: milk. The fridge door was open. What kind of burglar raided the fridge?
The man brushed past her, catching her elbow. She brought her leg up sharp. Her foot caught his leg, propelling him towards the open doorway.
He stumbled then grabbed the door handle and pulled himself out of the room, running towards the front of the house. Zoe grabbed the first thing she could, a bread board, and ran after him.
“You’re not going anywhere! Come back here, you bastard.” She ran through the living room after him. He pushed the coffee table at her. It hit her in the shins. She stumbled over it and carried on going.
He was at the front door just as it opened. Nicholas was on the threshold. Zoe dropped the bread board.
“No!”
Nicholas jerked back as he saw the man coming for him.
“Grab him!” Zoe shouted. But Nicholas had been taken by surprise and he didn’t have her training. He shrank back, dropping his keys. The man shoved him to the ground, jumped over him and sprinted into the street.
“Are you OK?” She bent over her son.
He was panting. “I’m fine. Get him.”
“Wait there.” Zoe sped out into the night. The man was running towards a car, its engine idling.
“Get back here!”
She stopped and fumbled in her back pocket for her phone. She could get the plates. But it was too late. The man was inside and the car was gone.
Chapter Fifty-One
“Are you OK?”
She pulled Nicholas up from the front step. He didn’t have any bruises, but was pale.
“I’m sorry, love. Crappy timing.”
“Yeah.” He put his fingertips to his forehead and prodded. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. Come in, let’s get inside.”
Neighbours had started to collect in the street, disturbed by the noise. Zoe waved them away.
“You alright, Mrs Finch?”
She rolled her eyes. Ollie, the youngest in the student house next door, was a bit of a suck-up.
“I’m fine thanks, Ollie. And stop calling me Mrs Finch. I’m Zoe.”
“Sorry Mrs Finch. Did he hurt Nick?”
“I’m fine,” grunted Nicholas. “Go back inside.”
“I took a photo of the car, if that’s any help,” said Ollie.
Zoe turned to him, feeling guilty. “It is. Thanks.”
He brought up his phone. The image was grainy but she could just about make out the plate. She got her phone out and took a picture of the screen. “Can you WhatsApp that to me?”
“Er, yeah. I didn’t know you were on WhatsApp.”
“I’m not as old as you think. Here’s my mobile. Send it over as soon as you get inside, yes?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. Well done.”
He beamed at them and retreated into his house. The sound of a video game boomed through the door as it opened, then quieted again.
“Come on,” she said to Nicholas. “Let’s get you inside.” The street had quieted, the excitement over. Zoe wondered if she’d be getting Uniform to knock on her neighbours’ doors in the morning.
She guided Nicholas to the settee and sat next to him. “I need to check if he took anything. You be alright for a minute?”
He leaned back. “Stop fussing.”
“I’m your mum. It’s my job.”
He rolled his eyes and started jabbing at the remote, picking up her earlier activity of browsing Netflix.
Zoe made for the kitchen. The drawer that he’d thrown at her was in the middle of the floor, cutlery everywhere. She pulled a forensic glove from her pocket then opened and closed the other drawers. It was as messy as ever, no sign of anything taken.
How long had he been here?
She headed up to the loft room, which she sometimes used for work. It was in chaos. Papers and files were strewn across the floor and books had been torn down from the shelves and dumped on top of them. The charity shop chest of drawers had been pulled open, the sticky drawers still wedged inside. As far as she could tell, nothing had been taken.
She kept nothing of value in here. She was careful not to bring sensitive documents home, or at least not to leave them at home. Any paperwork was returned to the station the next day. She knew she shouldn’t even do that, but as a single mum sometimes it was the only way.
She rooted through the papers on the floor, tidying them into rough piles. She lifted the books back onto their shelves. A bracket had been yanked loose and the whole thing was in danger of coming away from the wall. She sighed. Another thing to fix.
She went down to her bedroom. The wardrobe was open and her bedside table had been pulled to one side. Her jewellery, what little she had, was all where it had been. The cash she kept in a tin at the bottom of the wardrobe was still there.
In Nicholas’s room, his PC had been moved and the contents of his desk swept to the floor. She’d have to check with him if anything was gone. But the PC was still there, along with his iPad.
She trudged back downstairs.
“Anything gone, Mum?”
“Nothing.”
“What about my computer? My iPad?”
“All there. I’ll need you to check your room though, to be sure there’s nothing missing. But none of the obvious stuff has gone. Jewellery, cash. The TV’s still here.” She eyed it, half wishing it had been stolen. It was old and unreliable and she’d been looking forward to buying a new one once she got her first pay check as a DI.
“D’you think you disturbed him before he took anything?”
“No. He clearly went upstairs. He went through all the rooms. He gave the whole house a thorough going over. He was looking for something.”
“What?” He jabbed the remote and Brooklyn Nine Nine came on. Another cop show. She hated them. He laughed at the screen.
“I don’t know, love. But we need to be careful. I don’t want you at home alone for a few days. I’ll have a word with Jim. His wife’ll just have to put up with it.”
“Shula’s OK,” he said. “But Geordie makes me nervous.”
Geordie was Jim’s son. Two years older than Nicholas and a toddler when his dad had met Zoe. He had a learning disability and could lash out when overwhelmed.
“It’ll be fine,” she said. “I’ll try to cut down my hours.” She raked a hand through her hair. How was she going to do that, with a live murder investigation?
She stared at the TV. Could this be related to the Jackson case? Had her burglar been looking for evidence, something he thought she’d brought home?
If so, who was he working for? She’d never seen him before. Was he one of Hamm’s goons?
Her phone pinged. Ollie, with the high res photo. She pinched the screen to zoom in. It was clear. Good.
She dialled the station.
“Harborne Police Station, how can I help you?”
“Hi Amanda. It’s DI Finch.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I need a PNC check. Registration plate.”
“Fire away.”
She read out the number from the screen. There was a pause.
“That was reported stolen two days ago. By a Jo Gates in Sutton Coldfield.”
Of course it was.
“You found it?”
“No. Well, yes. But it drove off.”
“Where did you see it?”
“Selly Oak.” She was about to say right outside my house but thought better of it.
“
I’ll log it. Any idea where it went?”
“None whatsoever.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Margaret lay in the bath in the ensuite bathroom. She’d moved back into her bedroom, determined not to let Bryn spook her from beyond the grave. Her dressing gown was laid out on the bed next to her favourite nightie.
She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, but she couldn’t push that woman’s voice from her head.
Irina. Who was she? And why had Bryn kept a hidden phone with her number in it?
She’d scanned the address book but there’d been nothing. Just the call log, with that number again and again.
She pushed out a long breath. She should have predicted it, really. Bryn was away from home a lot. She was dull, he didn’t allow her to be anything else. So he’d had an affair. How predictable.
But keeping a secret phone, just so he could call his mistress? That was verging on paranoid, even for a policeman. It wasn’t as if he’d let her anywhere near his official mobile, or even let her have one of her own.
She wondered where his phone was now, and if it had traces of his affair. If some grubby DS was going through it, discovering her family’s dark secrets.
“Mother. What the hell are you doing?”
Paul was in the bedroom, looking at her through the open bathroom door. PC Bright had gone home half an hour earlier and she’d expected to be alone for the night.
She clasped her hands over her chest, mortified. “Paul. Don’t creep up on me like that.”
He sank onto on the vast bed, creasing her nightie. She eyed the dressing gown. She should have brought it in here with her.
“Elaine sent me.”
“Oh. Why?”
“She says I should be looking after you.” He lifted his head. “Do you need looking after?”
“Of course I don’t. But I do need you to go downstairs while I put some clothes on.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” He lifted off the bed and plodded to the bedroom door. She needed to be more sympathetic.
The lounge felt bare and soulless. She hadn’t been in here since the interview with David. Paul had poured himself a gin and tonic and was staring into the empty fireplace, sipping it. She sat on the sofa behind him.
“How are you, sweetheart?”
His shoulders rose and fell. She longed to put her arms around him. At least to touch him.
“I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“No.”
He turned. “Who did it, Mum?”
So he wasn’t blaming her anymore.
She squared her shoulders. “I think you owe me an apology.”
“Why?”
“The way you spoke to me earlier.”
He frowned. “Oh, that. Yeah. Sorry, I guess.”
Well, that was something, she thought. Paul hadn’t apologised to her since he was three years old.
“Thank you. They seem to think that it was someone after the artwork. Your father disturbed them.”
“It all seems a bit much, for a couple of paintings.”
“Only one.”
“Huh?”
“There’s one missing. A Diebenkorn, they say.”
“What’s a Diebenkorn?”
“You mean who. He’s an artist. Was. American. The two paintings in the hallway are by him as well. Your father bought them, after getting some sort of bonus at work.”
A small smile came to Paul’s lips. “Like my car.”
“Sorry?”
He looked up. Sometimes he looked so much like his father it frightened her. “My car. I bought it when I got a bonus. But I haven’t heard of police getting bonuses.”
She shrugged. “Seems they do.”
“No. They don’t.”
“Well, maybe he got a pay rise then. You know your father didn’t talk to me about that kind of thing.”
“No.”
He downed his gin and headed back to the drinks tray.
“Paul, is that wise?”
“Hmm?” He half filled the glass with gin and topped it up with tonic water.
“I assume you’ve driven here? Do you think you should be drinking?”
He looked into his glass. “I’ll stay over, if I can.”
“Of course you can. You can have your own room.”
“That’ll make Elaine happy. Looking after my old mum, and all that.”
She smiled. “Less of the old, if you please.”
He sipped his drink and wandered to the window. She tugged at her dressing gown, wishing she’d put proper clothes on.
“You’ll need to apologise to your sister, too. She’s very upset.”
“Bloody Winona. Always has to be the centre of everything.”
“Don’t be horrible. She just finds life more challenging than you do.”
“Hmpf.” He continued drinking and gazing into the garden.
“Paul, did your father let you into his study?”
“Yes. A few times.”
“Do you remember there being a painting in there?”
“The one that was stolen?”
“Yes.”
A shrug. “No idea. Not my bag, I’m afraid.”
“No.” She went to the drinks tray. Might as well join him.
“But surely you remember it, Mum?”
“Your father was very private when it came to that room. I never went in.”
“Seriously?”
She turned to him. “Did you never notice the way your father treated me?”
Redness seeped up his face. “No.”
“I was a prisoner. In this house. He didn’t let me out. I had no friends. I wasn’t even allowed to see your grandmother more than twice a year. Come to think of it, I should call her. Visit her. I can now.”
“You’re glad he’s dead.”
“Don’t you ever say such a thing.”
“It’s so unfair.”
“I know, Paul. And no, I am not glad your father is dead. He wasn’t an easy man to live with. And I had my worries about his retirement. But I miss him. I miss him like you wouldn’t know.”
He took a step towards her. “I do know, Mum. I miss him too.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Zoe picked up her phone, expecting it to be someone from the station. Maybe they’d found the car.
“Zoe, what the hell is going on?”
She bolted upright. “Who is this?”
“It’s Jim.”
She clamped a hand over the phone and looked sidelong at Nicholas, who was intent on the TV.
“One moment. Work,” she whispered, and headed into the kitchen.
She leaned against the counter, her heart racing. “What d’you want, Jim?”
“I heard you were burgled tonight.”
“How the hell d’you know about that?”
“You’re putting him at risk, you know that?”
“I was going to ask him to stay with you for a bit. Has he already called you?”
A pause. “You need to be more careful.”
She glanced out at the living room. Nicholas was looking at her, raising his arms in a who is it? gesture.
“It’s eleven o’clock,” she said. “Can’t this wait?”
“I’ll be round in the morning. He can stay with me and Shula.”
“Good. Thank you.”
“But I mean it. Be careful.”
Zoe gritted her teeth. Jim had been absent from Nicholas’s life until her son had turned eleven, despite knowing she’d been bringing him up on her own all that time. He’d only told Shula about Nicholas’s existence when Nicholas was thirteen. And he’d kept it a secret from his colleagues.
“Don’t boss me around,” she said. “You lost the right to do that a very long time ago.”
“Getting big for your boots now you’re an acting DI, are you?”
She cupped her hand around the phone. “We’re the same rank. You can’t tell me what to do.”
“When it comes to our son’s safety, I can
.”
She resisted an urge to yell down the phone. Nicholas had paused the TV and was looking at her.
“We’ll speak in the morning.” She hung up.
She flung herself back onto the sofa.
“Who was that?”
“My boss.”
“Do you always shout at him like that?”
“I wasn’t shouting.”
“Er. You were.”
“Sorry.”
“Poor bugger.”
She gave his knee a flick. “Yeah.”
He unpaused the TV and she settled back. She’d left a coffee on the table. It was going cold but she grabbed it anyway.
“Did you call your dad?” she asked.
“No. Why?”
“Just thought you might’ve told him you were going to stay with him.”
He shook his head. “Thought it could wait till the morning. You want me to?”
“No. You didn’t text him then? Or WhatsApp?”
“No. Nothing. What’s up, Mum?”
“Nothing. This is nearly finished. Then time for bed, I’m knackered.”
A shiver ran across her skin. If Nicholas hadn’t told Jim about the break-in, who did?
Chapter Fifty-Four
Zoe sat at Connie’s desk, the two of them watching CCTV on Connie’s computer. It was from outside the Hamms’ flat at the time Irina said the burglary had happened. The picture was dark and fuzzy. Connie kept pausing it and zooming in, but so far there was nothing helpful.
Mo passed en route to his desk. “Morning.”
Zoe looked up then returned to the screen. “Morning.”
“Everything OK?”
“Yeah.”
“You weren’t at the café.”
“Sorry. Wanted to get a crack on with this. You get my message?”
“I did. I’m hungry now. Was looking forward to one of Tracy’s egg sandwiches.”
“You should’ve had one.”
“I wasn’t going to sit there without you, the only guy in a suit, was I?”
“I guess not. Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
Zoe didn’t have time for this. If Mo was pissed off with her, it would have to wait.
Connie paused the screen again. Zoe rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Can you finish this up? I need to be in the briefing.”
Deadly Wishes (Detective Zoe Finch Book 1) Page 17