Deadly Wishes (Detective Zoe Finch Book 1)

by Rachel McLean

  “Not easy, cuffed together.”

  “It’s the only thing I can see.”

  “Sorry, Connie. You’re right. That’s the only way I can see too.”

  The skip was on the far side of the site, just beyond a pool of light. He picked up pace. She responded, matching him perfectly.

  He felt the cuffs tug on his wrist. They’d deliberately cuffed his injured wrist, the bastards.

  Connie was right, she was fitter than him. She was abreast of him, taking confident strides towards the skip.

  “Keep to the edge,” he panted.

  “Right.”

  He gestured with his unattached arm and she started running the way he’d pointed. It was further, but more sheltered. A rumble sounded behind them. The dogs. Mo felt ice travel down his back.

  At last they were at the unavoidable patch of light.

  “Stop!” came a voice.

  “Keep running,” Mo told Connie. “Don’t look back.”

  She sped up. He struggled to keep up, feeling the cuffs tense between them. She slowed a little and he put as much effort as he could into running faster. If she was hurt because he wasn’t fast enough…

  He shook his head to clear his mind. They were at the skip. He could hear voices behind. The dogs, panting.

  Connie hauled herself up to the side of the skip and lay on its edge. It was full of rubble. Something to break their fall.

  She turned and grabbed his free hand. He let her haul him up. They were both on the edge of the skip. He pushed out short breaths, trying not to think about falling.

  “This way, sarge.” She shuffled towards the fence.

  He allowed himself to look round and regretted it. The dogs were almost on them. “Hurry,” he said.

  Connie pulled up on onto the fence, gripping the top of it and slinging an arm over. Her other arm trailed down, attached to his. The pain was running through his entire arm now, leaking into his body.

  “Come on, sarge.”

  He let her help him up to the fence. They were both astride it, facing each other with one leg on either side.

  “You go first, sarge. You’re injured.”

  “No, Connie. I can’t let you—”

  “Just go.” She pushed him towards the ground on the outside, the expression on her face as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was doing.

  She yelped. Her arm jerked downwards, pulled by his. He focused on staying upright, holding his arm high.

  “Jump, Connie!” He managed to hold his balance. He stood up from the squat he’d landed in.

  She looked back towards the dogs. She screamed.

  “What is it! Hurry!” he yelled. A man was approaching from the canal. Mo hoped to God he wasn’t one of Hamm’s thugs.

  A sound came from Connie’s mouth that was like nothing Mo had heard before. His heart racing, he tugged her towards him and reached up to grab her, the pain nothing to his fear. There was a moment when her body resisted, then she tumbled into his arms.

  They fell to the ground in a pile of limbs and panic. Connie moaned. Her eyes rolled in her head.

  “Connie. Did they get you?” He swallowed. Her trouser leg was ripped, blood soaking through the fabric.

  “Oh my God.”

  He looked around. The man was walking away.

  “Help!” he cried.

  The man sped up, hurrying away from them. Mo squeezed his eyes shut. He raised himself up. He had to get someone’s attention, before those men came out.

  “Someone help us!” he cried. “We’re police! Call 999!”

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  Randle had a key to the double doors leading to the study. Jackson had given it to him in a solemn mini-ceremony inside that study, two and a half years ago. He’d considered getting rid of it after the murder, tossing it into a wheelie bin somewhere, but hadn’t had the heart.

  He crept towards the study doors. A light came on inside the house, dim and faint. The hallway?

  “DCI Randle, are you still there?”

  “I’m hanging up now,” he whispered. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Please, stay on the line. Is the attacker still at the property?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  He hung up without waiting for a response. There would be backup here soon. He had to get in there, find Margaret, and arrest her. He only hoped she would still be alive for him to do it.

  He eased the key into the lock and turned it slowly. The study was dark, the curtains drawn. He couldn’t tell if the door to the hallway was open. He pulled one of the double doors open and slid inside, staying behind the curtain as he pulled the door closed behind him.

  He tweaked the curtain aside to look in. The door was closed. Good. He stepped out and looked around.

  The desk dominated the room, ugly, heavy thing that it was. There was a drawer pulled out, lying on the floor. He ignored it and went to the door.

  He leaned against the wood and listened. There was the faint sound of voices, but they weren’t close. He opened the door a crack and peered out. The hall was empty, but the living room was occupied. DI Finch, with one of her DCs. And Winona Jackson.

  He watched as Winona indicated for Zoe to take a seat. Zoe sat, reluctantly. Her DC sat next to her, looking sheepish. Randle couldn’t hear what they were saying. Was Margaret in there with them?

  Winona had her back to him, but Zoe was facing him. The living room was brightly lit and the hall less so. But it wasn’t dark. If Zoe glanced his way, she would see him.

  He closed the door and weighed up his options. He was her senior officer. He was here to make an arrest, she should support him in that. But if she was here, it meant she’d found evidence of her own. Despite him telling her to back off.

  He had no choice. He had to walk out there, bold as brass, and order Zoe to assist him in making the arrest. Margaret was in the building somewhere. Winona didn’t strike him as the kind of woman who knew her rights.

  He rubbed his fingers against his palm. He put his hand on the doorknob and pushed his shoulders back as he opened it.

  The hallway was dim. The living room door was shut. He heard raised voices beyond, and the sound of people moving around.

  He turned to the kitchen and ran.

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  “Miss Jackson,” said Zoe. She glanced at Rhodri, willing him to keep quiet with her eyes. “Is your mother in?”

  “She’s gone out.”

  “Her car’s in the drive.”

  “She took a cab.”

  “OK. I need to talk to you anyway. Mind if I sit?”

  Zoe didn’t wait for an answer but instead sat on the long peach settee in the living room. Rhodri perched next to her, looking nervous. She put her phone in her lap, wondering when Mo would return her calls.

  Winona paced on the other side of the coffee table, her hands on her hips. Her hair was even wilder than last time and her blouse was pulled out of her skirt. There was a tea stain on her hip.

  “Are you alright, Winona?” Zoe asked. “You look agitated.”

  “I’m fine. What do you want? I haven’t got long. I need to get home.”

  “I’ve got questions about the night your father died. I suggest you sit down.”

  Winona stopped pacing and turned to her. “I’ll stay standing.”

  “Did Penny Bigton, your parents’ cleaner, let you into the house after they went out that night?”

  Winona twitched. “I can’t remember.”

  “She told us that you came here after your parents went out to the party. And that you were still here when she left.”

  “I come here a lot. I can’t remember which nights I came, and which I didn’t.”

  “I’d think you’d remember the night your father was murdered.”

  “You’ve got no right, coming in here and throwing your accusations around.”

  Zoe raised her hands, palms out. “I haven’t made any accusations.”

&n
bsp; “Should she?” asked Rhodri, looking at Winona.

  Zoe looked sidelong at him and gave her head a small shake. He blanched and mimed zipping his lips. She gritted her teeth.

  “Penny says you were looking for something in a bedroom.”

  Winona shrugged. “I keep half my stuff here. My flat’s tiny.”

  “What were you looking for?”

  Another shrug. “Clothes, probably.”

  “In your parents’ bedroom?”

  “Of course not. I keep clothes in my own bedroom.”

  Zoe waited. Sometimes it was better to let suspects talk, not to interrupt.

  “Maybe I was borrowing something from Mummy.”

  “It doesn’t look like you and your mum share the same taste in clothes. Are you sure?”

  A sigh. “I can’t bloody remember, can I? My father died that night. My brain’s mush.”

  In her lap, Zoe’s phone buzzed. She glanced down. Mo. She felt tension leave her body.

  She handed the phone to Rhodri.

  “My colleague needs to take this. He’ll be in the hall.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Rhodri took the phone off Zoe and gave her a questioning look. She jerked her head towards the door and mimed talking on the phone. He nodded and closed the door quietly behind him.

  Winona slumped into an easy chair opposite her. “I think you should leave.”

  “I haven’t finished.”

  “Do you have a warrant?”

  “No. I don’t—”

  “Well, then. I shouldn’t have let you in in the first place.” She pulled on a fake smile. “I’m just too nice for my own good. You can go now.”

  “Before I go, just one more question. Did you know that your dad kept a knife in his bedside drawer?”

  Winona paled. “No. Of course not. Why should I?”

  “You weren’t looking for it? When the cleaner let you in, and you were trying to find something in his room?”

  Winona stood up. “I think you should leave, now.”

  But Zoe had seen it. The flicker that ran across the woman’s face when Zoe had mentioned the knife.

  The door opened and Rhodri pushed in. He was flushed. He held out her phone. “Boss. You need to know about this.”

  “What?” She looked back at Winona, who was chewing a fingernail.

  He thrust the phone into her hand. “It’s Mo. He’s using a paramedic’s phone. Connie’s hurt. They’re on their way to the QE. They’ve seen photos of Jackson with Oulman and his mates, at Winona’s flat.”

  She grabbed the phone from him, not taking her eyes off Winona.

  Chapter Eighty-Nine

  Margaret had reached the room closest to the stairs, but it was slow going. Every time she moved, her leg screamed at her to stop, and she could feel sweat pouring from her face. This blouse was made of manmade fibre, which didn’t help.

  She paused to take a few breaths, willing herself not to faint. She’d been eating those pastries, drinking tea. Then Winona had started to sway in front of her and next thing she knew, she was waking up here.

  The doorbell had rung. Just before she lost consciousness. Had someone come in, and attacked her? Had they thrown her down here?

  She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked up. The door to the kitchen would be locked, if whoever it was wanted to imprison her.

  And she had no faith that her legs would get her up there.

  “Winona!” she called, feeling her voice waver. Had they hurt her daughter too, locked her up in another part of the house? This house had plenty of hiding places and secret rooms, she still wasn’t sure she’d found all of them in all this time.

  She lowered herself to the bottom step and traced her fingers over her ankle. The swelling had increased along with the pain. She’d never get up those stairs on her own.

  “Winona!”

  She couldn’t afford to wait. What if whoever had drugged her had her daughter?

  Margaret grabbed the fourth step up and clutched its edge. One by one, she made her way up them, pausing for breath in between. Pushing the pain away.

  At the top, she sank to her knees. She raised a hand to push the door just as it opened. She raised an arm to shield her eyes.

  “Winona? Oh darling, I’m so glad you’re here. Are you alright?”

  “It’s David Randle. Where are you?”

  He’d almost stepped on her. He pulled back then bent over her.

  “David? What are you doing here?”

  “Is there a light switch?”

  “Next to the door.” It was high up and she hadn’t been able to reach it.

  The light came on and she fell back against the wall, blinded. She huddled over to shield her eyes until they grew accustomed. David sat next to her. Her leg spasmed.

  “That hurts.”

  “Sorry.” He stood up.

  “Where’s Winona? What have you done with her?”

  “I haven’t done anything with her. She’s talking to DI Finch and her constable.”

  “What? Why? Who put me down here?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to help you get out.”

  He reached for her and she pulled away. “I want to know why you’re here. Have you found the person who killed Bryn?”

  He leaned against the wall. His tie was loose and his shirt dishevelled. There were bags under his eyes and his hair was a mess. She’d never seen him like this.

  “You look terrible.”

  He laughed. “Says the woman lying on the floor with a sprained ankle.”

  “I’m not lying… do you think it’s sprained? It’s not broken?”

  He crouched in front of her and lifted her foot. She winced. He moved it and she yelped.

  “Sorry.”

  “God that hurts.”

  “It’s not broken. If it was, you’d have screamed the house down.”

  Margaret nodded, her mind full of sludge. “I think I was drugged.”

  “Who by?”

  “I don’t know. I was with Winona. She bought pastries. They were sour…” she stared at him. “No, I’m imagining things.”

  “You think Winona drugged you?”

  She shook her head violently. “No. She’s volatile sometimes, but she’s not… evil. She wouldn’t do that.”

  “So who brought you down here? Who drugged you?”

  “You, maybe.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Why would I do that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was you who killed Bryn.”

  “I’m the last person in the world who would kill Bryn.”

  “Really? What if he found out about what we did?”

  “He never knew.”

  “Then who killed him? For a DCI you really aren’t very good at your job.” She held his gaze, determined not to let him get the better of her.

  “Let’s get you out of here,” he said. “I want to talk to Winona.”

  Chapter Ninety

  Winona was staring back at Zoe, red marks around her eyes like sores.

  “Sit down, please.”

  “You said you were leaving.”

  “Things have changed. Did you search through your father’s bedside drawer after they went out that night? Did you get his knife from there?”

  Winona shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  “I believe that you came here when they were out. That you got the knife from your father’s bedside drawer and you waited until they came home. That you killed him with that knife.”

  Winona sucked in a loud breath. “He was a monster. You protected him! You didn’t do your job!”

  “What?”

  “He knew those men. The Canary case. He was one of them.” She took a step forward. “He defiled those children.”

  Zoe felt Rhodri tense beside her. He was barely breathing.

  “So you killed him cos of it?” he said.

  “We’re better off without him. My mother’s better off without him.”
<
br />   “Winona Jackson,” said Zoe. “I’m—”

  Winona rushed at her. “You would have done the same!”

  Winona grabbed Zoe by the throat. Rhodri barrelled into them, making things worse if anything.

  Zoe stared back at Winona. Her grip wasn’t tight. Tight enough to fix Zoe to the spot, but not tight enough for her to do any real harm.

  Keeping her eyes on Winona’s face, she hooked out her leg and brought her foot round behind the woman. She hit Winona’s calves and knocked her off balance. As Winona started to stumble, Zoe brought her palms together and shoved her hands up between Winona’s arms. She tugged them outwards, breaking the woman’s grip on her throat.

  Winona yelped and went down on her side. Zoe put an arm behind her to control the fall. When Winona was on the carpet, an arm pinned beneath her, Zoe reached into her back pocket. She snapped handcuffs onto the woman’s wrists.

  “Winona Jackson, I am arresting you for the murder of Bryn Jackson. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  Chapter Ninety-One

  David was hauling Margaret upright when his phone rang. He heaved her through the doorway and onto a chair. She bent over the kitchen table and let it take her weight.

  He grabbed the phone. “Yes?”

  She watched the colour drain out of his face.

  “Not yet. I’m at the house. Let me do this my way.”

  She leaned back to stretch out her muscles. She felt stiff. David listened to the caller, not speaking for a few moments. Then he ended the call and swore at the phone.

  “Who was that?”

  He turned to her with a look in his eyes that reminded her of Bryn. She shrank back.

  “No one.”

  He put the phone on the table and grabbed one of the knives Winona had put out with the pastries. He used it to prise his phone open and remove the SIM card. He bent it in two then threw it into the bin.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” He yanked open a drawer. “Where are the scissors?”