Close to the Bone: An addictive crime thriller with edge-of-your-seat suspense (Detective Megan Thomas)

by Susan Wilkins

‘Not really. I assumed he was with her.’

  Barry sighs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Yvonne, Greg was my son and I know he wasn’t perfect. But he adored you and the children. You were the absolute cornerstone of his life.’ His chin quivers. ‘I have no doubt of that and I know in his heart he was always faithful. The rest was meaningless.’ He glances at Penny, she turns away.

  Yvonne’s head feels woozy and relaxed. Most of a bottle of wine has loosened her tongue too.

  ‘Does she know?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m not sure I know who you’re—’

  ‘Oh come on, Barry. His current bit on the side. The Spanish woman.’

  ‘If you mean Elena, I can assure you that she was a business associate, pure and simple. There was absolutely nothing untoward in her relationship with Greg.’

  Yvonne considers this as she takes another mouthful of wine.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she says. ‘You thought she was just shagging you?’

  Barry glances at the wine. Then he gives Penny a reproachful look.

  ‘I think you’re a bit tiddly, my dear,’ he says. ‘Understandable. The stress of it all. I’ve had a few glasses myself.’

  ‘Could Elena have bashed him on the head?’ Yvonne pours the remains of the bottle into her glass. ‘I’ve been wondering about that. Lover’s tiff?’

  He sighs. ‘You’re upset, Yvonne. But you really need to be careful what you say and who you say it to.’

  ‘Do I? Why?’

  ‘Okay. Well, I didn’t want to go into this. Because I didn’t want to upset you more than necessary. But the police know who did it.’

  ‘This detective inspector told you?’ says Penny.

  ‘No. But I managed to have a word with his sergeant. Chap called Ted. I don’t know him that well but he plays golf at the club. We have friends in common. He’s a good, reliable sort. He spoke to me in confidence and has promised to keep me updated. They expect to charge this person very soon.’

  ‘Who is it then?’ says Penny.

  ‘A woman who worked for Greg as a cleaner. Some sort of dispute about money. She lives in Berrycombe, has something of a reputation as a tart. Trust me, you ladies do not want to hear the sordid details.’

  Yvonne takes a large swallow of wine. ‘Well, that’s that, then.’

  He reaches over and puts his paw on her knee. ‘We’re all devastated. I’m not sure his mother will ever recover.’

  Yvonne pictures her mother-in-law. Marion is a strange woman. Hard to fathom. But, like Yvonne, she loves gardening. It annoyed Greg that the two women always had something to talk about. He said it made him feel like he’d married his mother. It wasn’t a compliment.

  ‘Do give Marion my love,’ says Yvonne.

  ‘Of course I will. I don’t know when the body will be released but, don’t worry, I’ll make all the arrangements. You don’t need to be bothered with any of that.’

  The old man likes to be in charge. That was Greg’s view of his father and it turned their relationship into a battleground. They bickered continually about everything from politics to golf.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says meekly. Now she just wants him to go. Leave her in peace. His sheer physical presence nauseates her.

  But he goes on, ‘And I’ll speak to Greg’s lawyer. Wills, money, it’s all going to be rather complicated with his various business interests. But I’ll deal with all that for you.’

  Yvonne glances at her sister. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Penny’s got a lawyer in London who’ll help me sort out my husband’s estate.’

  Penny looks at her with some surprise.

  But Barry stares in disbelief. ‘Really? I don’t see why. That’s totally unnecessary.’

  He glares at Penny. She smiles and follows Yvonne’s lead. ‘You’ve got your own grief to cope with,’ she says. ‘And Marion to look after.’

  ‘I’m not sure it’s what my son would’ve wanted. But we don’t have to come to any firm decisions now. I’m sure we’re all in shock.’ He gets up. He seems annoyed. ‘Would you like me to speak to Aidan?’

  Aidan was in the kitchen earlier but made himself scarce as soon as his grandfather arrived.

  ‘He might be in his room,’ says Yvonne. He’s probably hiding out in the pool house until you leave.

  ‘Okay, I’ll go up. We’ll discuss the estate another time, when you’re in a better frame of mind. I think you must accept, my dear, that I have a better grasp of your husband’s business affairs than you do.’

  Yvonne stares at him. What he’s saying is true but she’s in no mood to give in.

  She says nothing.

  Barry gives them a curt nod, stomps back through the kitchen and disappears.

  Yvonne heaves a sigh. ‘I think I’ll open another bottle.’

  Penny folds her arms and says, ‘Well, that’s certainly rattled his cage. You haven’t said anything to me before about a lawyer. Is that what you want?’

  Yvonne gets to her feet. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘You may think I’ve been sitting here getting pissed but I’ve also been thinking. Can you help me find someone?’

  ‘Of course. Though I suspect, if you don’t want to get screwed over by your father-in-law, we’ll need a firm of forensic accountants too.’

  ‘Fine. Then that’s what I want.’

  Twenty

  Friday, 2.30 p.m.

  On the drive home, Megan and Debbie spoke little. Debbie seemed unreachable in her misery.

  ‘What time is Mark due back?’ Megan asked.

  ‘His train doesn’t get in until seven,’ her sister replied.

  ‘It will be all right, you know.’

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish, Meg. This time I’ve fucked it for good. There’s no way out.’ She turned and gave Megan a pointed look. ‘C’mon, you know that better than anyone.’

  They continued for another half mile in silence. Then Debbie added, ‘Probably better if I had killed him and I went to jail. Easier for everyone.’

  Was that self pity or something more? Megan wasn’t sure she was ready for the answer so she didn’t ask.

  She dropped Debbie outside the house and drove to Torquay for her meeting with the NCA. For the whole journey her brain pecked away at her sister’s last statement. Was it the precursor to an admission of guilt? Was Debbie searching for a way to confess that she’d lied? As a teenager, she was always silent and sullen before finally coming to her big sister full of contrition and fessing up. Was that about to happen here? It sounded like it. Megan wondered if she should start to look for a lawyer.

  Danny Ingram greets her in the foyer of the hotel. Megan has the impression he’s been lying in wait. He has his hands in his pockets and a boyish grin on his face.

  ‘Well, here we are again,’ he says with a big smile. Then he scans her face and frowns. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Not really.’ She has an overwhelming desire to collapse in his arms and sob on his shoulder. But Garcia is approaching.

  ‘We’re all set up in one of the meeting rooms—’ says Garcia.

  He raises an index finger. ‘Hang on, Sash.’

  ‘You may as well both know,’ says Megan. ‘My sister has just become the prime suspect in a murder investigation.’

  It’s out there. Megan scans their faces for a reaction, a judgement. But all she sees is concern.

  ‘Shit!’ says Garcia. ‘Who’s she supposed to have murdered?’

  ‘A sleazebag she worked for. She was doing a contract cleaning job. She asked him for more money. He said only if she gave him a blowjob. She and her husband are in serious debt.’ Tears well in Megan’s eyes. ‘So she agreed.’

  ‘Jesus wept!’ says Ingram.

  ‘You can see where they’re coming from in terms of motive,’ says Megan. ‘That same evening, when the murder took place, she went AWOL from her other job in a pub and can’t really prove where she was. Next morning he’s discovered with his head bashed in.’

  ‘What do you think?’ Ingram asks.


  ‘She says she didn’t do it. She’s my sister and I believe her.’ Hollow words.

  ‘I believe her too,’ says Garcia.

  Megan and Ingram both stare at her.

  ‘You sound very convinced and you don’t even know her,’ he says. ‘Why?’

  ‘Anger leads to violence against others, shame leads to violence against oneself.’

  It sounds to Megan like something she read in a book. But it’s a straw worth grasping.

  Garcia goes on. ‘How do you know about the blowjob? From her?’

  ‘No, he recorded the whole encounter on his phone. I suppose he got off on it.’

  ‘And she only admitted it when confronted with the recording.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Megan. ‘I haven’t heard it. My boss just summarised.’

  ‘Well,’ says Garcia. ‘Killing him draws attention to her shame. It’s the opposite of covering it up. If he says “give me a blowjob” and she says “fuck off, how dare you” and attacks him that’s a much more logical prelude to violence. If she gave him what he wanted, she’s much more likely to keep it secret.’

  Megan ponders this. Then she says, ‘But what if she didn’t know he made a recording? She kills him to conceal what she’s done.’

  Garcia sighs. ‘Yeah, you got me there. Who found the body?’

  ‘She did. When she went to clean the next morning.’

  Garcia opens her palms. ‘There you go then,’ she says. ‘Unless she’s totally stupid, which I’m assuming she isn’t, that’s the last thing she’d do. If she is guilty that draws the immediate attention of the police to her, which she’d want to avoid. It’s a common psychological fault among police officers to over-connect a witness with a crime. Our brains like to join up the dots of what we know. But most perpetrators, unless they’re psychopaths and want to be at the centre of the drama, go out of their way to distance themselves from what they’ve done. Common sense, if you think about it.’

  Megan smiles. Garcia is right. Annoyingly arrogant, but logical. Megan has been so wound up in the emotion of what’s happened to her sister, that she hasn’t been looking at the whole situation clearly. Now Debbie’s attitude and behaviour makes more sense. She’s just deeply ashamed about the blowjob. Of course she is.

  Megan feels a surge of panic. Shame leads to violence against oneself. She left Debbie alone deliberately. But maybe that’s the last thing she should’ve done. There’s no way out. That’s what her sister said.

  ‘Can you give me five minutes?’ she says to Ingram. ‘I need to make a phone call.’

  ‘No problem, we’ll be in the conference room. We’ve got a couple more colleagues who’ve arrived.’

  As he and Garcia turn to go, Megan grabs her arm and says, ‘Hey, thanks, Sasha.’

  Garcia beams. ‘My pleasure.’

  Megan goes out onto the hotel terrace and dials her sister’s number. It rings and goes to voicemail. She presses it again, her anxiety rising. Voicemail again. She presses it a third time. How could she be so stupid? Debbie’s desperation was clear to see and she ignored it. All she was focused on was whether or not her sister was lying to her. She presses the phone again. Voicemail. And again. Her hands are sweating. What if she’s too late? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

  Finally Debbie answers. ‘Meg?’

  ‘Where the hell are you? I’ve called about five, maybe six times.’

  ‘I’m up on Berry Head. The signal’s crap.’

  ‘What are you doing up there?’

  ‘I thought I’d take the dog for a walk. Fresh air, a chance to clear my head.’

  Calm down. She’s not about to throw herself off Berry Head if she’s got Scout with her.

  ‘Listen, Deb. I’ve been thinking all this through. It’s just bullshit, them arresting you. They have not got a case. And we’ll sort it out, I promise.’

  ‘I know it’s bullshit.’

  ‘But I’m worried about you.’

  Debbie sighs. ‘If he divorces me, he divorces me.’

  ‘Mark is not going to divorce you. He’s going to be upset. But he’s mainly going to be upset with himself because you were so desperate for money that you agreed to this.’

  There’s a silence on the line.

  Then Debbie says, ‘You’re probably right. The whole thing’s a fucking mess.’

  ‘But we’ll get through it. All of us. Together.’

  ‘Yeah.’ It sounds as if Debbie’s crying.

  ‘I promise,’ says Megan.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about Amber. What sort of example am I setting to my daughter? She’s just going to think—’

  ‘She’s fourteen. She doesn’t need to know the details.’

  ‘But what if there’s a trial?’ says Debbie. ‘Then it’ll all come out in court.’

  ‘Trust me,’ says Megan. ‘There’ll be no trial. It won’t get that far. I’ll make sure of that. We’re going to prove your innocence. Do you want me to come home now? Are you going to be all right?’

  There’s a sardonic chuckle on the end of the line. ‘Don’t worry, Meg. I’m not going to top myself. I wouldn’t do that to my children.’

  ‘I hope you wouldn’t do it to me either,’ says Megan.

  Twenty-One

  Friday, 3 p.m.

  Megan sits at the oval table. There are five of them; Ingram and Garcia are joined by two colleagues from the National Crime Agency. The room has a high, ornate ceiling. It was once the hotel ballroom and has been partitioned down the middle and repurposed as a conference suite. Danny Ingram is opposite her. He probably thinks he’s being discreet but she can feel his eyes tracking her. She’s not sure if she finds his concern reassuring or intrusive.

  In her lap, under the table, she’s holding her phone. She’s texted Brittney for an update but has received no reply. She’s resisting the temptation to hassle. Brittney and Kitty are on it. They’ll be checking all the CCTV they can get their hands on. But what if Collins has found out and stopped them? Except Brittney is canny. But what if…? Her anxiety is in overdrive. Get a grip.

  ‘Right,’ says Ingram. ‘Let’s start with an update from Bibi.’

  Megan has been introduced to the new arrivals: a young man with a shaved head and a goatee beard, the techie, and a small, stout woman in her fifties.

  Bibi, the woman, smiles. She’s wearing pearlescent pink lipstick. ‘We’ve interviewed Ranim with the aid of a translator,’ she says. ‘The loss of her son is obviously a huge source of distress. However, that seems to have motivated her to help us. She thinks the smugglers could have rescued him and is angry that they didn’t. She regards that as a breach of faith. So we have a co-operative witness, which is unusual. Illegal migrants picked up in these circumstances tend to be unwilling to give information.’

  ‘Has she been offered any incentives?’ says Garcia.

  ‘We assume that she’ll be asking for asylum,’ says Bibi. ‘But as yet she hasn’t mentioned it.’

  ‘So you think her information is untainted?’ says Garcia.

  ‘Yes. I read her as an angry mother who wants to punish those she holds responsible for the death of her son.’

  ‘That should make her very useful to us,’ says Ingram. ‘She may be able to ID members of the gang.’

  Megan is trying hard to stay focused on the discussion. But her mind is wandering. She keeps surreptitiously checking her phone. She thinks about Debbie and the desperation that drove her into Greg Porter’s net. If only her sister had confided in her. Why didn’t she? This is the question torturing Megan. Why didn’t Debbie trust her? What’s happened to the tight bond that’s sustained them since childhood? Is it Megan’s fault they’re no longer as close as they were? Her brain keeps nattering away. If they can just find some CCTV…

  ‘… and so factoring in the timings and the fuel needed that does suggest that the boats being used could be moored, at least overnight, in a local marina,’ says Bibi.

  ‘Megan?’ says Ingram.

 
She starts. Her gaze meets his. He’s smiling.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘Yeah, the boats. We can start with the harbour office. They’ll have a pretty good idea about the comings and goings.’

  ‘The boat that Ranim was on was piloted by a man in his early fifties, bushy beard,’ says Bibi. ‘There were two crew, both much younger men. She thought they might be brothers. All dark-haired, Mediterranean appearance and spoke the same language. The older man gave the orders, the younger ones drove the jet skis that brought them ashore.’

  ‘Family business maybe?’ says Garcia.

  ‘Could be,’ says Ingram. ‘Does she know what language they were speaking?’

  Bibi shakes her head.

  ‘The crossing was from France, so they could be French,’ says Megan. She feels the need to throw something into the mix to prove she’s paying attention.

  ‘We know they weren’t speaking Arabic,’ says Bibi, ‘but Ranim has a smattering of French. She spent time in Lebanon and it’s still widely spoken there because of the former colonial connection with France.’

  ‘Not French then,’ says Megan. ‘What about Spanish?’

  ‘I think that’s a good bet,’ says Garcia. ‘And it would tie up with our intel. If a Spanish crew moor their vessel in a local harbour, how noticeable is that going to be?’

  ‘I’ve really no idea,’ says Megan. ‘But we can certainly find out.’

  As the meeting breaks up, Ingram approaches Megan. They face each other with a degree of awkwardness.

  ‘If you need to slip off—’ he says.

  ‘No,’ she replies. ‘I need to do my job and keep Slater onside. If I go off-piste, I’ll lose her sympathy.’

  ‘You’re quite a strategist,’ he says. ‘I wish I had you on the team permanently.’

  She folds her arms and sighs. ‘Listen, Danny,’ she says, ‘what happened last night was…’

  He holds up his hand. ‘Hey, don’t say any more. You don’t have to.’

  ‘I don’t want you to think… I mean, it was nice—’

  He shoves his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders. ‘Yeah, it was fun, but I get it, you’ve got a lot to contend with. And I’m a grown-up. It’s fine. There’s no need for explanations.’