Deadly Wishes (Detective Zoe Finch Book 1)

by Rachel McLean

  “He’s back home,” said Zoe. “He says he’ll be back at work tomorrow.”

  “Is that wise?” asked Lesley.

  “He hates being stuck at home. And he’s married to a GP. If she says it’s OK, then I guess it’s OK.”

  “Good. We need all the goddamn bodies we can get, with two murder enquiries.”

  “So she was definitely murdered?” asked Carl. He was wearing a blue shirt that reflected his eyes. Zoe wondered if he’d spoken to Paul Jackson, and what he’d found out.

  “We don’t know yet,” said Randle. “Waiting for pathology. But given that she was assaulted only three days ago, we need to assume the worst. Zoe, I want your team focusing on this. I’ll stay on the Jackson case, with Lesley’s team. We’ll bring in a couple of bodies from local CID to pad things out.”

  “You’re taking me off the Jackson case?” asked Zoe.

  “I’m putting you on the Hamm case. You’ll be SIO.”

  Zoe sat back, considering what Lesley had said before. If he was involved with whatever Jackson had been up to, he might think she was on his trail. And he knew she had the best chance of finding those letters. Maybe Margaret had warned him.

  But then, SIO on a murder case…

  “Alright,” she said. “I’ll get Connie looking at CCTV in the area. Rhodri can talk to pathology. I’ll liaise with Adi and try to find Trevor Hamm.”

  “Good.” Randle pressed a key and another photo of Irina appeared, this one very different. She was pale and bloated, her skin bulging in places and her lips blue.

  “She was found floating in the canal right by her building. We can only assume there was another break-in, or maybe someone grabbed her when she was going out or coming home.”

  “Or maybe a domestic,” said Lesley.

  “Pushed in the canal?” said Randle. “I doubt it.”

  “Anything on time of death?” asked Zoe.

  “Not yet. You’ll need to get that from Pathology. Uniform are knocking on doors already, but it’s not easy. Most of those flats are owned by corporations, used to put up visiting businessmen. A few Airbnbs. We’ll have to be quick.”

  “Right.” She scribbled in her notepad.

  “Do you think there might be a link to the Jackson case?” asked Carl.

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Only, what with the art thefts, and Adams…”

  “They’re two separate cases. We work them separately.”

  Carl shrugged, then gave Zoe a look. She wrinkled her nose at him.

  “Make sure you do this properly, Zoe,” said Lesley. “Your team and my team completely separate. We don’t want any cross contamination of evidence. If there is a link, it can’t be one that’s introduced by us.”

  “There isn’t a link,” said Randle.

  “And there won’t be, if we do this properly,” replied Lesley.

  “Very well.”

  “Carl, how did you get on with Paul Jackson?” asked Zoe. “Did he remember the painting?”

  “I already said these were two separate cases,” said Randle.

  “I’m just curious,” said Zoe. “Carl?”

  “Truculent sod, he was. Reluctant to tell me anything. But I managed to get a description of what he remembered. It was a landscape. Blocky shapes and a bright blue sky. The one Adams had, that’s a portrait. I already knew it didn’t fit his description, and he confirmed it when I showed him a photo.”

  “Pleased to know we have an art connoisseur on the team,” said Lesley, not returning Zoe’s gaze. Carl shrugged.

  “So there’s no connection,” said Randle. “Maybe the painting was never there in the first place. How long ago did Paul Jackson say he’d seen it last?”

  “He couldn’t be sure. But he hadn’t been in the study for months.”

  “Exactly,” said Randle. “It’s a dead end. Ignore it. I’m going to speak to Margaret again, see if she’s got anything else to say.”

  “You’re ready to bring her in?” asked Lesley.

  “I’m going to visit her. Offer my condolences.”

  I bet you are, thought Zoe.

  “What are you staring at, DI Finch? Get onto Pathology. Move it.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Zoe sat at her desk and took a moment to compose herself. Connie was already on the phone, tracking down CCTV from the buildings overlooking that stretch of canal. Rhodri was waiting for instruction, tapping his pen on his desk.

  “Rhod,” she said. “I’ve got a job for you.”

  “Zoe, can I have a word?” Carl poked his head round the door, smiling. Rhodri screwed up his face.

  “One moment.”

  “I’ll be right outside.” Carl disappeared.

  “I don’t like that guy,” said Rhodri. “Shifty.”

  Zoe gave him a look. “You like to pronounce judgement on people, don’t you? Randle is some kind of superhero, and Carl is untrustworthy.”

  “I say it as I see it.”

  “Yeah, well keep it to yourself. Carl Whaley is our colleague, and we never know when we’ll have to work alongside him.”

  Zoe looked at the closed door. She didn’t like Carl much either, but she wasn’t about to tell Rhodri.

  “Anyway. I need you to go to the morgue.”

  Rhodri blanched. “Seriously?”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never been before.”

  “Oh yes, I’ve been before.”

  “Good. You know where to go then.”

  “I upchucked big time. It was bloody embarrassing.”

  “You sat in on a post-mortem?”

  “They dragged me in for five minutes. Some sort of initiation ritual.”

  “Good, so you’ve got it over with. I don’t imagine you’ll be dragged in again this time. I just need you to talk to the pathologist and find out what you can about Irina Hamm. Cause of death, time of death. You know the kind of thing.”

  “I’d have thought cause of death was pretty clear.”

  “Just because she was found in the canal doesn’t mean she wasn’t dead before she got in there.”

  He paled even more and raised a hand to his mouth. “Eww.”

  Zoe patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. It gets easier every time. And like I say, all I need you to do is ask questions. You’re not expected to cut open the body or anything.”

  “Don’t.” He belched.

  Zoe sprang back. “You’re not going to puke on me, are you?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “Good. Come on.”

  She stood up and waited for him to drag on his coat. Outside the office, Carl was waiting. Zoe nodded to Rhodri and he walked away.

  “Quickly!” she called after him. “No dawdling.” He waved, not turning.

  “What’s all that about?” asked Carl.

  “I sent him to the morgue. He’s a bit queasy.”

  “Poor guy. I remember my first…”

  “Anyway, Carl. I thought the two teams were supposed to be keeping a strict distance. Does Lesley know you’re here?”

  “You came to see her earlier.”

  “She told you?”

  “A mate from Uniform let something drop.”

  Zoe clenched her fists. You couldn’t do anything in this building without people knowing about it. “Yeah. I went to see her. What about it?”

  “I think you’ve got suspicions about David Randle.”

  “Not this again. That wasn’t what I went to Lesley about.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “If it was anything else,” he said, “you’d have gone to Randle. He’s SIO. He’s your boss.”

  “Maybe I wanted to talk to her about girly stuff. Dresses. Make up.”

  He snorted.

  “Yeah. Anyway. It’s none of your business.”

  “You need to reconsider helping me.”

  “Does Lesley know what you’re up to?”

  “No.”

  “She doesn’t know you’re sniffi
ng around her colleague when you should be working the case?”

  “It’s not quite...”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  He tensed. “You know Randle’s dodgy, Zoe. You’ve found something, and you aren’t telling me about it.”

  “For the love of Tony the tiger, just leave me alone. Alright?”

  “You’ll regret this.”

  “That’s for me to worry about.”

  Zoe turned and yanked the office door open, not waiting for him to reply. She slammed it behind her and marched to her desk.

  “Everything alright?” asked Connie.

  “No. That bloody Carl Whaley…”

  “He’s cute.”

  “He’s as cute as an elephant’s backside. He’s a pain in the arse.”

  Connie shrugged. “He fancies you.”

  “Oh God, don’t you start. He really doesn’t. Don’t go spreading rumours like that.”

  “I would never—”

  “I know you wouldn’t. Just ignore me.” Zoe grabbed her jacket. “I’ve got to go to Brindleyplace. See what Adi’s got.”

  “Want me to come with you?”

  “No. You stick with that CCTV.”

  “Right, boss.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Margaret had never tried retail therapy before and she wasn’t convinced.

  She tapped her foot on the shiny floor as Winona thumbed through the racks of dresses in Selfridges. Bland music played over the speakers and shop assistants bustled around them. Pretending to be busy, but in reality waiting to pounce.

  “Surely you’ve found one by now?” she asked her daughter.

  “Why would I just need one?” Winona looked her up and down. “And you need some new outfits too. Look at you, you’re so dowdy.”

  Margaret looked down at her outfit. She wore a sensible blue skirt that fell just past her knees and a silk blouse under her favourite Marks and Spencer coat.

  “What’s wrong with this?”

  “How old are you, Mother?”

  “You know how old I am.”

  “Sixty-three. Exactly. You dress like you’re eighty-three. You need a bit more style. A bit more élan.”

  “What on earth is élan?”

  “Panache. Flair. Like me.”

  Margaret clamped her lips shut. Winona had always had eclectic taste. Nothing she wore ever seemed to match. If this was élan, she didn’t want any of it.

  “Let’s go and get something to eat,” she said. “There’s a nice coffee shop downstairs.”

  Winona grabbed her arm. “We’re not going to some dreary coffee shop, Mummy. We’re going to the champagne bar at the top of the Cube.”

  “Are we? Why?”

  “Because I say so.”

  “I really don’t think that’s appropriate.”

  “Hang appropriate. You’re the merry widow, and we’re both about to be rich.”

  Margaret’s vision blurred. “I am not the merry widow. How can you say such a thing?” Tears came to her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Mummy.” Winona loomed in, batting her eyelids. “But you should be. Look at how much freedom you have now.”

  “Freedom to traipse around after my spoiled daughter and look at clothes I have no intention of buying and that if I did, I would never wear.”

  “If I’m spoiled, it’s because you spoiled me.”

  “And why are we both about to be rich?”

  Winona dropped the dress she’d been holding up against herself. “Do you have any idea how much Daddy was worth?”

  “We had the house, and his pension. He’ll get a death in service benefit. Paul told us about that.”

  “You don’t know the half of it, Mummy.”

  “You’re talking nonsense, darling. Come on, let’s go for that coffee.”

  “I don’t want coffee. Can’t you understand?” Winona’s voice was sharp. The girl had been prone to mood swings since she was eight years old. Ignore them, and they would fade.

  “Alright. We’ll go to that rooftop place you’re so keen on. Is it near your flat?”

  “It’s on the way. And it’s a champagne bar.”

  “Not for me, sweetie. Not in the afternoon.” She looked at her watch. She should be getting home. But for what? No one was tracking her movements now.

  “Drink with me, Mummy. You’re rid of him. He was a cancer.”

  “Winona. Don’t talk like that!”

  A male shop assistant looked their way. Margaret grabbed her daughter and started dragging her towards the lifts.

  “Come on, we’re attracting attention,” she said. “Take me to your champagne bar.”

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The side canal was surrounded by a police cordon. Irina’s body had been dragged out in the small hours, but there was still a crowd of gawkers. Two uniformed constables guarded the perimeter.

  Zoe flashed her warrant card and dipped under the barrier. Inside, Adi and his team were examining the ground around the water’s edge.

  “Zoe! My favourite detective.” Adi pulled off his gloves and approached her. She shook his hand. “I hear you’re SIO. Well done.”

  “What have you got so far?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. No sign of a struggle. No footprints, nothing out of place. Why the hell do they build these canals without any sort of barrier?”

  “Because they built them two hundred years ago,” she replied.

  “Maybe. We’re still trying to work out where she went in. She might have washed in from further up, got stuck here.”

  “Will you need to search the whole stretch?”

  This stretch of canal was quieter than the busy sections up near the Mailbox. It was gloomy today, making the skin on the back of Zoe’s neck bristle.

  “Not much point,” Adi told her. “So many muggles along here. We’ve cordoned off the path upstream, as far as possible. Did you know how many people live along this canal?”

  “No idea.”

  “Six hundred at least. These buildings have got a lot of pokey little flats in them. And all of those buggers want access.”

  “Anything you need from me?” Zoe asked.

  “Any eyewitness accounts that tell us where to look. We really need to narrow things down here.”

  “Uniform are already knocking on doors.”

  “Yeah. They hate you.”

  “Why?”

  “You try knocking on doors in these buildings, and you’ll know why.”

  She shrugged. “Got to be done. We’ll get a team searching the bushes around the canals too. In case our killer dropped anything.”

  “We still don’t know there was a killer,” said Adi. “Not until the post-mortem.”

  Zoe sighed. “I’ve sent Rhod to check that.”

  “It’ll be at the QE.”

  “Yeah.” Same hospital as after Irina’s attack, Zoe thought.

  Her phone rang and she grabbed it without checking the display.

  “Detective Inspector Zoe Finch.”

  “Hey, Mum.”

  “Nicholas. I’m a bit busy right now, love.”

  “Sorry.” His voice sounded flat.

  She nodded at Adi for him to carry on. He went back to his team.

  “Sorry,” she said. “How’s things at your dad’s?”

  “Geordie’s being a dick.”

  “He’s not being a dick and you know it. It’s just the way he is.”

  “He lamped me this morning. He was with Jim when he came to pick me up. Five minutes in, he had a go at me in the back seat.”

  Zoe sighed. “Nicholas, you’re seventeen. I know he’s bigger than you, but he doesn’t mean anything by it. I’ll have a word with your dad. It won’t be for long.”

  “Hope so.”

  “Just until I know who it was that broke into the house.”

  “You found out yet?”

  “No. But I reckon it’s to do with a case I’m working on.”

  “That senior guy who was stabbed.�
��

  “You know I don’t like to tell you which cases I’m working, love. Just trust me.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Please?”

  “Yeah. Alright. But bring my PC, will you? I’ll go insane in that house without something to do.”

  “No problem. And you need it for your revision, too.”

  “Yeah, that too.”

  “I’ll miss you, Nicholas. You’ll be home as soon as I can be sure it’s safe.”

  “Yeah.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

  She headed for her car. Might as well go to the morgue, see how Rhodri was getting on. It was getting dark and the canal reflected lights from the flats and a solitary restaurant, none of its tables occupied. Not much in the way of streetlights. Who would choose to live here?

  Her phone rang again as she climbed the ramped steps up to street level.

  “Nicholas, I told you—”

  “Who’s Nicholas?”

  “Sorry?” Zoe checked the display. “Connie. I was talking to my son.”

  “Boss, there’s something new. With the CCTV.”

  “From outside the Hamms’ flat?” She looked back towards the building overlooking the inlet where Irina had been found. She couldn’t have died any closer to home without being inside.

  “Yeah. The other guy. Not Adams.”

  “You identified him?”

  “Sure did.”

  “Go on then.”

  “His name’s Kyle Gatiss.”

  “Kyle Gatiss.” Zoe whistled. “Well, well.”

  “He worked for Howard Petersen.”

  “I know who he worked for.” She’d seen that name on order forms, receipts and witness statements. His job had been to cover for his boss, yet somehow they’d never managed to make anything stick to him. Mr Teflon.

  “You sure it’s him?” she asked.

  “We’ve got him coming out. Both of them. He looks right into the camera. Hood down. I don’t think he knew there was one pointing into the foyer.”

  “Well done. I owe you one.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Zoe headed back to the station, determined to check the CCTV for herself. She’d interviewed Gatiss with Mo and would remember his face anywhere. Ugly, with a twisted nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. But he had an insouciance that clashed with his looks, a way of carrying himself that suggested extreme confidence. She’d hated him on sight.