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

by Susan Wilkins

  Megan feels a stab of excitement.

  ‘They match Ranim’s description of the people smugglers,’ she says.

  Ingram nods. ‘We need to go and see her, show her this. I’m thinking we’ll drive up to the detention centre tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Megan returns to the screen. The pontoon is separated from the jetty by a metal gate with a keypad lock. The first man taps in the code, the gate clicks open and they pass through. The angle of the shot changes. A camera, set higher up at the entrance to the pier, picks them up as they head towards the roadway. The harbour is quiet. There’s no one around. But a car is parked on the road near the entrance to the pier. It’s a darkish Range Rover Discovery. The eerie glow of the street lamps washes out the exact colour. The three men hurry towards the car. The older one climbs into the passenger seat. The other two jump into the back. The car drives off.

  Megan turns to Ingram. ‘Hard to be sure,’ she says, ‘but I’d say that the driver is a woman.’

  ‘I would agree,’ he says. ‘We tracked the vehicle on ANPR.’

  ‘Did you get the number plate?’ asks Megan.

  ‘Yes. Unfortunately, we discovered this morning that it’s a cloned plate. Taken from a Vauxhall Astra scrapped in Southampton a month ago.’

  ‘That tells us one thing,’ she says. ‘Whoever they are, they’re up to no good.’

  ‘They also know how to disappear. We tracked them until they left the main road and drove up onto the moors where we lost them. I’ve put an information marker on the vehicle, so as soon as it pings off another ANPR camera we’ll get an alert. But if they’re careful, and it looks like they are, that’ll be a long shot.’

  ‘Unless they get careless.’

  ‘They’ve probably got more than one vehicle. And that’s why I wanted to meet here in Widecombe. Seems the devil may have taken up residence in the locality again. Rodney’s done a projection. Given the route they took and where they left the main drag, we think they may have been heading for a bolthole round here somewhere.’

  ‘There are lots of farms dotted about,’ says Megan. ‘I could talk to the local uniforms, find someone who really knows the patch.’

  ‘That would help. But I’ve already asked Barker if he can lend us a drone. He’s agreed. We’ll put it up, scan the whole area and see what we can see.’

  ‘You might get the car. But a Range Rover Discovery is going to be a common vehicle round here. Lots of people who live up on the moor have four-by-fours.’

  Ingram sighs. ‘That is a drawback. And we’ve got to wait for the drone. So I’ve got Sasha and Bibi driving round, posing as tourists. It’s a bit of a needle-in-a-haystack job.’

  ‘And we need to be careful not to be too obvious.’

  Ingram chuckles. ‘Bibi drives a decrepit Volvo estate. She’s brilliant at passing under the radar. People tend to assume she’s some mad old bat beetling about. She opens the bonnet and pretends it’s broken down. All kinds of people stop and talk to her and offer help. It’s a great way to gather intel. No one would ever imagine she’s from the National Crime Agency. She’s just a woman out with her daughter.’

  Megan laughs. ‘I’m glad to hear you lot do a bit of old-fashioned legwork. It’s not all whizzy gadgets.’

  ‘I was thinking we could always play at being tourists too, if you fancy it. It’s a nice day for it.’

  A couple driving around, seeing the sights. What could be more normal? That’s how life could be. Part of a couple again. Megan wonders why she finds that so seductive. She was certainly right about Ingram and his many agendas.

  Her phone buzzes. It’s a text from Slater.

  She reads it and sighs. ‘Slater wants me back in the office. Says it’s urgent.’

  ‘Oh well,’ he says sadly. ‘Another time.’

  Twenty-Eight

  Saturday, 2.30 p.m.

  Megan finds the office busy for a Saturday afternoon. A couple of new DCs have been drafted in for the murder inquiry and Brittney is having a cup of tea and chatting to Kitty and one of the newbies. Megan gives them a nod but heads straight for Slater’s office. The DCI is on the phone but she beckons Megan in.

  Hanging up, she says, ‘That was the Crime Scene Manager. They’ve found a hammer in a skip down the road from the Greg Porter scene. It’s got dried blood on it, so there’s a good chance it’s the murder weapon.’

  Megan nods but wonders why Slater is sharing this information with her. She’s not part of the murder inquiry, in fact she’s been specifically excluded from the team.

  ‘You said in your text it was urgent, boss?’

  Slater gives her a chilly smile. ‘We’ve managed to establish the exact route your sister took during the period of time she was absent from her job at the pub,’ she says. ‘I thought you should know.’

  It sounds ominous. But that could be Slater’s manner. She’s a cold fish at the best of times. And Aidan Porter has supposedly confessed to killing his father.

  ‘Okay,’ says Megan. Wait and see.

  Has her sister been exonerated? After Collins’s attempt to strong-arm Mark and Debbie this morning, Megan is not in a mood to trust her colleagues.

  Slater looks at her. She seems about to say something else but hesitates and fiddles with her hair. It’s pinned up in a neat French twist. Is she nervous? Then she walks to the door of her office and calls across the room, ‘Brittney! Have you got a moment, please?’

  Megan is well aware that she must be radiating resentment. Slater can obviously feel it. But Megan doesn’t care. She’s not about to apologise for her attitude. And she’s certainly not going to back off. She continues to stare at her boss.

  Brittney joins them in the office.

  ‘Could you run through the findings for Megan?’ says Slater briskly.

  Brittney pushes the owl glasses up her nose and smiles. Slater stands back and folds her arms.

  ‘We’ve mapped the route Debbie took from the time she left the pub at 8.15 to when she returned at 8.57,’ says Brittney. ‘The security camera in the yard of the pub covers the back door and confirms her exit and re-entry. As she said in her statement, she walked round the harbour to the other side. A council rubbish truck was emptying bins and picked her up on its dash cam. This time of year they do a run every evening to pick up refuse from the day. There’s an ice cream parlour on the far side of the harbour to the pub. She was picked up on their security camera walking past that at 8.26 and back at 8.45.’

  ‘So there’s no record of her walking up the hill towards the flats?’ says Megan.

  ‘We calculate that it’s a brisk ten-minute walk up a steep hill from the pub to the flats where the murder took place,’ says Brittney. ‘And we can definitely place her down in the harbour area for virtually the whole time she was absent from the pub.’

  Megan smiles warmly. ‘Thanks, Brit.’ She ignores Slater.

  Brittney adds, ‘In her statement she said she sat on some steps and we think that we can locate her there too.’

  ‘Next to the Fisherman’s Kitchen?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Brittany. ‘Forensics looked at her phone and it did do a handshake with the Wi-Fi in the restaurant. At 8.38.’

  Megan turns to face Slater. She knows her expression is probably more defiant than it needs to be. She should be glad. Her sister is exonerated. But she wants to hear Slater say it.

  The boss merely turns to the DC and says, ‘Thanks, Brittney. You’ve done some excellent work.’

  ‘And Kitty,’ says Brittney.

  ‘You’ve both gone the extra mile,’ says Slater. ‘And that’s duly noted.’

  ‘Unlike Jim Collins,’ says Megan.

  Brittney beats a hasty retreat. Megan is left facing her boss.

  ‘I understand why you’re upset,’ says Slater. ‘But as I told you before, this is a process in which we follow the evidence.’

  ‘Oh come on, boss,’ says Megan. ‘Collins turned up at my sister’s house at s
even o’clock this morning with uniformed back-up in order to try and pressurise her and prove what was essentially a hunch on his part. Do you really call that proper police work? I’m not sure I do.’

  ‘You’ve never followed a lead based on a hunch? Be honest, Megan. Instinct and guesswork are sometimes the only starting points we have. I totally understand why you would believe and support your sister, but you also have to look at this as a police officer.’

  ‘Why? It’s not my case.’

  ‘I’m not defending Collins’s judgement on this. It was way off the mark—’

  ‘But you still backed him. Luckily you’ve got a DC who can do her job.’

  Slater sighs. ‘Okay. This is not getting us anywhere. You can let your sister know that she is no longer under investigation or a suspect in this case.’

  ‘Shouldn’t Collins go round there and tell her that himself? Possibly apologise?’ says Megan.

  ‘Please, Megan. Don’t be difficult,’ says Slater.

  ‘If I felt like being difficult, you’d know about it. Because I’d be telling them to get a lawyer and sue.’

  The two women stare at each other. Megan knows she’s probably said enough. She has to dial this down. Pushing Slater’s tolerance to the limit is not a smart move.

  But the DCI shakes her head wearily. ‘What am I supposed to do? I’ve got an officer who was seriously ill, nearly lost his life to cancer. He’s trying to get back to the only job he knows. But he needs help. His judgement is off kilter. He struggles with the technology so he reverts to old habits and attitudes. That’s where he feels comfortable. Force him into retirement, is that the only answer? You resisted that for yourself and rightly so. If this hadn’t involved your sister, what would your attitude be?’

  Megan is well aware she’s being guilt-tripped. But she’s nothing like Jim Slater. There’s no comparison. Say that! She doesn’t.

  ‘C’mon,’ says Slater. ‘I’m asking. If you were in charge what would you do?’

  Megan hesitates.

  ‘I’d split him and Ted Jennings up for starters,’ she says. ‘They make each other worse.’

  ‘That’s good advice,’ says Slater. ‘Only that leaves me short of a DS on the murder inquiry.’

  Megan realises she’s walked straight into the trap.

  She glares at Slater. ‘You are kidding me! You want me to be Collins’s babysitter? Can’t you get someone from Exeter?’

  The DCI smiles and shrugs. ‘Your sister’s no longer involved. Why not? Think about it.’

  Megan can think of a zillion reasons. She realises that she’s been snookered. She was angry and emotional and Laura Slater has played her. The boss probably had the whole thing planned out before she even walked into the office.

  ‘I don’t need to think about it,’ she says. ‘I want to stick with the NCA investigation.’

  Hassan. The CSIs lifting his small body from the waves. Ranim. Desperately pleading with Megan to find her son. There’s no way she’s abandoning them to clean up Jim Collins’s mess.

  ‘You can still be a point of contact with the NCA to ensure continuity,’ says Slater. She’s using her reasonable tone. ‘But Brittney can replace you on the day-to-day. The experience will be good for her. And I think you’ll agree she’s earned it.’

  This is classic Slater.

  ‘She has earned it. She should be on it too. But it’s not just about continuity. Boss, we’ve got a dead child. Hassan was his name. I know that because I was the first one to deal with his mother, Ranim. We’ve got some CCTV footage to show her. We’ll be doing that tomorrow. I really want to see this through.’

  Slater sighs. Then she smiles. ‘Okay. Fair enough. But first I’d like your opinion on something.’

  Has Slater just given in? Megan doubts it.

  Twenty-Nine

  Saturday, 3 p.m.

  Megan stands beside Slater in front of the bank of monitors in the murder inquiry incident room. They’re watching the interview with Aidan Porter which is being live-streamed. Vish Prasad is asking the questions. Collins sits beside him, arms folded, looking bullish. There’s a woman next to Aidan. Middle-aged, expensively dressed. And a bored-looking bloke, scribbling in a notebook.

  ‘Who’s the appropriate adult?’ says Megan. ‘Doesn’t look much like a social worker.’

  ‘His aunt,’ replies Slater. ‘The mother’s sister, not the father’s. Her name is Penny Reynolds. When Aidan was offered his call, he phoned her. I didn’t want to hold things up any more than we had to. Seemed like he was busting to talk. I ran it by the interview advisor in Exeter. He agreed. So I pulled in the duty solicitor and they finally started about half an hour ago. But it’s been slow going. I don’t know, maybe when it’s come to it, the boy’s lost his nerve.’

  Either that or Jim Collins glaring at him is freaking him out, thinks Megan.

  Out of the corner of her eye she’s aware of Ted Jennings, at his desk in the corner, pretending to work but with a sulky look on his face. He’s probably not thrilled to see that Slater has got Megan in tow.

  Aidan Porter is pale, a skinny teenager with hunched shoulders. He must be stronger than he looks, reflects Megan, if he beat his father to death with a hammer.

  In the interview room no one is speaking.

  Megan turns to Slater. ‘What has he said?’

  ‘Basically, “I killed my father”. Then he clammed up. I’ve told Vish to break it down and get specific with the questioning.’

  Megan returns her attention to the screen.

  ‘So, tell me,’ says Vish. ‘How did you know where your father would be on Tuesday evening?’

  The boy shrugs and says, ‘I knew he’d be down at the flats. He was getting ready for the launch.’

  ‘The launch?’ says Vish.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Aidan. ‘This weekend. They were having an open weekend to market the flats.’

  ‘What made you decide to go down there?’

  ‘Because it was away from my mum and my sister and brothers,’ says Aidan.

  ‘And that was important why?’

  Aidan shrugs. ‘I dunno.’ He’s avoiding eye contact. He has a multicoloured, plaited band on his left wrist which he twists obsessively.

  ‘Did you want to talk to him?’

  ‘I just felt like going down there.’

  ‘Tell us what happened when you arrived,’ says Vish.

  ‘He was in the show flat,’ says Aidan.

  ‘What was he doing?’

  Aidan hesitates. Megan gets the feeling he’s trawling around for an answer. Does he not know or is he simply filling in the blanks? Everyone fills in the blanks; it’s the unconscious impulse to embellish, make the story sound better.

  ‘I can’t remember exactly,’ says the boy. ‘But I think maybe he was sorting furniture and stuff out. He’d got furniture for the show flat. He was, y’know, making sure it looked all right for the launch.’

  ‘Let’s talk about how you were feeling,’ says Vish.

  ‘Don’t remember,’ says Aidan.

  ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘But you went down there to see him?’

  Aidan nods. Then he adds. ‘Thought maybe I could help.’

  ‘You wanted to help your father prepare for the launch?’

  ‘Yeah. Move stuff around, y’know.’

  Megan transfers her attention to Penny Reynolds. The aunt looks tense. She has her arms folded, and she’s frowning as she follows the proceedings. It’s natural that she’s concerned for her nephew, but Megan has an odd sense of something else.

  Megan turns to Slater. ‘What do we make of the aunt?’ she asks.

  ‘Not sure yet,’ says Slater. ‘I phoned her about coming in. She was very brisk and businesslike.’

  ‘Surprised?’

  ‘Hard to say. You’re wondering if she knows the boy’s guilty?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ says Megan. ‘There’s a vibe. She knows somethi
ng.’

  Slater gives her a sardonic smile. Hunches! The boss doesn’t need to rub it in.

  Megan turns her focus back to the screen. This is the last thing she wants to be doing. She wants to go home and talk to her sister. She sent Debbie a text, short and to the point. Her sister knows that she’s no longer a suspect. But for Megan now that’s the least of it. Her family is in a mess, they need her and she’s stuck here.

  She resents the way that Laura Slater has twisted her arm. There’s also a missed call and a text on her phone from Danny Ingram. He’s set up an interview with Ranim.

  Megan forces herself to concentrate.

  ‘Tell us what happened when you got to the flat,’ says Vish. His questioning of the boy is even and calm. Collins, by contrast, is sitting back in his chair and staring. Cold and hard and unremitting. It’s another old-school technique from his bag of tricks. Make the suspect feel the scrutiny and the pressure. That’s the theory. But Megan wonders if this is what they should be doing with a seventeen-year-old boy. He’s a kid in a trouble, not a hardened villain.

  The prospect of working with Jim Collins fills her with despair. She’s determined to resist it.

  Aidan sighs. He looks at Vish. ‘It was just a stupid fight. He had a go at me. He’s always doing that. Pulls my hair, says it’s sissy.’

  He wears his hair in a topknot, with the sides of his head shaved. He runs a dirty blond hank of hair through his fingers.

  ‘Looks pretty cool to me,’ says Vish.

  ‘He was always taking the piss. Called it a ponytail. Said only girls have ponytails. Said I was a fag. And I just lost it. Grabbed the nearest thing and hit him. I think me fighting back took him by surprise. I was just really angry.’

  ‘What did you hit him with?’

  ‘I can’t remember. I just lost it and then I ran out.’

  ‘How many times do you think you hit him?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’

  ‘And this thing you hit him with, what did you do with it?’

  ‘I chucked it away. I dunno, it was maybe a hammer or something like that.’