Ingram met her in the hotel bar. He bought her a fancy G and T with all the trimmings and listened. She gave him a tightly edited version of her tale of woe. She didn’t want to come over as a complete basket case. He didn’t say much, he let her talk. He was probably bored. After two drinks, he suggested they went for something to eat. That’s when she realised he was trying to take care of her and make sure she didn’t drown her sorrows in booze. He’d researched some restaurants and gave her a choice: Italian, Lebanese or steak. She opted for steak. The bloodier the better, she thought. Bloody suited her mood.
Over the meal she made an effort to move on to other topics. He told her about his ex-wife. They were far too young when they married, he said. He’d thought she was his dream girl but as the years passed her talent for manipulation emerged. She could be selfish and petty and liked everything her own way. She decided she didn’t want to be married to a police officer – not enough money – and he knew that he didn’t want to do anything else. They battled it out for a few more years and finally divorced. He has a daughter, now a teenager, who he rarely sees.
Megan told him about her marriage to Paul but she glossed over the part about the children she wanted but never had.
He said, ‘Sounds like we both did the same thing: chose the job. Stupid thing is I didn’t even realise at the time that’s what I was doing. You turn round and suddenly it’s all gone. And my daughter’s turned into a stroppy teen who doesn’t want to know me.’
The hurt of Debbie and Mark’s rejection began to fade as they ordered another bottle of wine and laughed about the absurdity of it all.
She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to sleep with him again or not. But when it came to it, there was little discussion.
‘Do you want this?’ he asked and her reply was simply ‘yes’.
They were both more tentative than the first time. The impetuousness of a night of sex with a stranger was gone. Now there was a sense that this could become a thing in both their lives. But for her the best part was lying in his arms afterwards. It felt an easy and safe place to be and she needed that as much as she needed raw passion.
The text from Barker demanding her presence the next morning arrived late on Saturday night. She went home at the crack of dawn for fresh clothes. She didn’t know where any of this was going with Danny, but that didn’t really matter. Two divorced lonely forty-somethings who met on the job? It all felt rather desperate. But, even when he was poncing about in his baseball cap and aviator shades, he made her smile. It was something different, a new chapter, and that had to be a good thing.
She managed to shower and change and get out of the house without bumping into anyone. Only the dog saw her come and go. She slipped him a treat.
Now she sits outside the chief superintendent’s office in her best suit. She doesn’t know why she’s been summoned. It’s unusual. Her previous encounters with Barker have always been at the offices of the Major Crime Team. And on a Sunday morning?
The door finally opens and Barker steps out.
‘Sorry to have kept you, Megan,’ he says. ‘A phone call I had to take.’
‘Not a problem, sir,’ says Megan.
The chief super’s office is modern and functional. The bookshelf contains only police manuals and legal tomes. Barker is not a man to display his awards and citations.
He invites Megan to sit down.
‘Sorry to drag you up here to Exeter on a Sunday,’ he says. ‘But getting down to Plymouth wasn’t an option. And this whole situation needs sorting out urgently because we’re on the clock with this latest suspect.’
Situation. She scans him. It’s her default setting to assume that she’s done something wrong. Too many childhood visits to the head teacher’s office and a residual guilty conscience.
Rob Barker’s a burly bloke, a rugby prop forward gone to seed. His ears are mashed and stick out from his balding pate. But appearances can be deceptive. He’s a subtle operator. He manages the Major Crime Teams and his officers with the lightest of touches. And he takes chances on difficult individuals like Megan.
‘This murder inquiry has got completely out of hand,’ he says. ‘If I had the resources I would transfer in a new DI and that would be an end to it. Jim Collins has been a good officer in the past, but he’s made a complete hash of this. And to have allowed DS Jennings to be feeding back confidential information to the victim’s father shows very poor judgement.’
Megan wants to mention what he did to Debbie and Mark but she decides against it. It seems wiser to wait and listen to what he has to say.
As if he’s read her mind, Barker says, ‘I’m aware that your sister discovered the body and I know that Collins went off at a tangent with that.’
‘My sister’s alibi was confirmed by CCTV footage,’ says Megan.
‘And as a result, is there bad blood between you and Collins?’ asks Barker.
Bad blood? Megan wonders how she should answer that.
‘We’ve had words, sir,’ she says.
‘Yes, I heard,’ says Barker. ‘However, I need to ask you to put that whole situation behind you. I want you to join the murder team as Collins’s DS. I’m sure you already know it’s what DCI Slater wants.’
Megan sighs. She’s been bushwhacked. Typical Slater move.
‘Are you aware, sir,’ she says, ‘that Barry Porter, the victim’s father, has made certain allegations concerning my sister? And he’s threatened to go to the press. I may not be the best choice for this inquiry.’
Barker chuckles. ‘I know you don’t want to do it. Laura made that clear. But if I listened to every angry blowhard who starts shouting about police corruption, I’d never solve any crimes. The man has lost his son, so he’s entitled to let off a bit of steam, but that’s as far as it goes. It will not have any bearing on how I run this inquiry.’
Megan wonders what she’s doing there. It’s clear that Barker has already made up his mind. She’s working with Collins. End of story. She didn’t need to drive all the way to Exeter to find that out.
‘However, I’m not going to force you to do this against your will,’ he says. ‘That would be counter-productive, wouldn’t it?’
Megan says nothing. She thinks about Ranim and Hassan. These are the people she should be helping. She couldn’t give a stuff who murdered Greg Porter. He probably deserved it.
Barker laces his chunky fingers and smiles. ‘Where do you want to be in five years, Megan?
She shrugs. Alive? Sane?
‘I really haven’t thought about it, sir.’
‘When are you planning to take your inspector’s exams?’ he asks.
‘I have no plans to do that,’ she replies.
‘Why not?’ says Barker.
‘I don’t think I’m ready.’
‘Bullshit,’ says Barker. ‘You need to stop being frightened of your own shadow.’
Megan bites back an angry riposte. She’s had it in the neck from Debbie and Mark, now Barker’s getting in on the act.
‘I’m still seeing Dr Moretti,’ she says. ‘I’ve still got a diagnosis of PTSD. I do the job as best I can. But at the moment, living one day at a time is what works for me.’
‘Fair enough. You have to take care of yourself. I understand that. Which is why you’re the perfect person to teach Jim Collins to do the same.’
Fuck that!
‘I’m sorry, sir. But our circumstances are totally different.’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve worked with Jim. He’s not a bad bloke. And panic attacks come in different forms.’
How the hell does he know about that? Moretti? Vish or Brittney?
‘In case you’re wondering,’ says Barker. ‘Your colleagues didn’t rat you out.’ He laughs. ‘Probably not the best turn of phrase. Anyway, the whole incident filtered back to me months ago from someone who knows the contractor who was there that day to fix the septic tank.’
Megan stares down at her hands. She has butterflies in her stomach
at the mere thought. The memory of that septic tank, putting her head down the hatch to check out a dead body and seeing the rats, still sends shivers through her. She had thought she was going to die. It had certainly felt like it.
‘Look, I’m not trying to embarrass you,’ says Barker. ‘I’m making the point that you lost your nerve that day. But there’s no shame in that. You recovered and you’re a better police officer for it.’
What the fuck does he know about shame?
‘I don’t see how you get to that,’ she says.
‘Jim Collins has lost his nerve. That’s how I read this. He’s playing tough as a way to cover just how scared he feels. That’s why he’s making stupid mistakes.’
Send him to Moretti then!
Barker is staring right at her. ‘I need an officer capable of getting this inquiry back on track. Someone who can handle Collins. It’s a huge ask. But I think you’re up to it. As SIO Laura will support you every inch of the way.’
That’ll be a first.
Megan sighs and says, ‘What are you saying, sir? You took a chance on me, now you want me to return the favour and babysit Collins?’
Barker opens his palms. ‘Ultimately I think you and I care about the same thing, Megan. Getting the job done. This is a murder case and it’s our responsibility to bring the culprit or culprits to justice. Of the officers available to me, I think you’re the best placed to do that.’
She meets his eye. Cunning old bastard.
Yep, it’s payback time.
Thirty-Three
Sunday, 11.15 a.m.
The holiday traffic is heavy and it takes Megan ages to get back to Plymouth. The industrial park on the outskirts of the city, where the offices of South Devon’s Major Crime Team are located, is choked with lorries and vans, parked up for the weekend. She’s forced to do two circuits before she finds a parking space on a side road around the corner. She’s checking her phone as she walks towards the MCT building and initially doesn’t notice Jim Collins. He’s loitering close to the main entrance, smoking a cigarette. Possibly not the best idea for a man recovering from cancer, thinks Megan.
As she approaches, he tosses it and grinds it underfoot.
‘So are you going to do it?’ he says. Has he been lying in wait? Maybe he saw her drive up?
‘Do what exactly?’ says Megan.
‘C’mon, you know what I’m talking about,’ says Collins. ‘Slater is transferring you to the murder team. I’ve already been informed.’
Megan looks at him more closely. His cheeks are pale and gaunt and there are heavy shadows under his eyes. She needs to find a way to regard him differently. Even to sympathise. But she knows she’d be a fool to forget what a spiteful weasel he can be.
‘I don’t think it’s what either of us wants, Jim,’ she says.
‘Then tell them no,’ says Collins. ‘They can’t make you if you dig your heels in and refuse.’
There’s a whiff of desperation coming off him. His tie may be neatly knotted but his carefully laundered shirt hangs loose on his torso and a fresh notch has been cut on the belt holding up his trousers. He looks as if a strong wind could blow him over.
Megan sighs. ‘Don’t you think that in the circumstances I’ve got more reason to be aggrieved about this than you?’ she says.
Collins dismisses this with a shrug.
‘How the hell was I supposed to know that Ted Jennings was some bloody golfing buddy of the victim’s father?’ he says. ‘Did you know?’
‘No, but I don’t think Ted was exactly advertising the fact.’
‘Try telling that to Slater. He’s been shipped out, back to a desk job in CID. And where does that leave me? Makes it look like I’m either a complete fool or bent, doesn’t it?’
‘I don’t want to get into this,’ says Megan.
‘Why not?’ says Collins. ‘Everyone knows you’re being put in to keep an eye on me. So what’s your opinion, bent or stupid?’ He seems wired and twitchy.
‘I think you should take this up with Barker not with me,’ says Megan.
‘And what did he promise you? A leg-up to inspector?’
He’s standing facing her with hands on hips and blocking her way into the building.
‘For your information,’ she says, ‘I haven’t even taken my inspector’s exams and nobody has offered me a leg-up to anything. But I don’t think they’re pissed off with you just because of Ted. You pursued one suspect and didn’t consider other lines of inquiry. And I think you know that. You want to save your career? Then stop feeling so bloody sorry for yourself. I’m just here to do my job. And if you do yours we’ll get along fine.’
She scoots round him and walks into the building. She takes the stairs two at a time, knowing he won’t be able to follow. When she gets to the second floor she glances down the stairwell into the foyer below. He’s waiting for the lift.
Megan walks into the incident room to find Laura Slater listening earnestly to the Crime Scene Manager, Hilary Kumar.
‘Ah, good,’ says Slater. ‘You need to hear this, Megan.’
Slater must know she’s just driven all the way to Exeter to have her arm twisted by Barker. But it seems she’s not going to mention it.
Megan greets Hilary; they know each other, though not well.
‘Hey, glad you’re going to be on this,’ says Kumar with a big smile. Considering the grimness of her job, she has a cheerful disposition.
Not everyone is, thinks Megan, though she refrains from saying so. It’s hard not to feel tetchy and put upon. But she has to just get on with it. She has no choice. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Collins following her into the room.
Kumar holds up her iPad. On the screen is a picture of lump hammer. ‘We found this in a skip about three hundred metres down the hill from the crime scene. Blood on the head of the hammer will probably match the victim’s. Some hair and tissue from the scalp too.’
‘This is probably the murder weapon then?’ says Megan. She becomes aware of Jim Collins coming up right behind her. He stops inches from her shoulder. She can hear his breathing, shallow and laboured, and smell the tang of his cologne.
‘Jim,’ says Slater. ‘We’re just bringing Megan up to speed with the forensics.’
‘Excellent,’ says Collins. ‘As I’ve just told Megan, I’m really glad she’s going to be on the team. She’ll be a great asset. I think we’re agreed what happened with her sister is water under the bridge.’
Weasel, definitely.
Slater gives him a quizzical look. ‘I hope you two will work well together,’ she says. She glances at Megan.
Megan says nothing.
‘Absolutely, ma’am,’ says Collins with a smile. ‘It’s certainly what I want.’ He turns to Kumar. ‘So did we get lucky on the fingerprints?’
‘There’s a couple of fairly clear prints,’ says Kumar. ‘But I’m afraid they don’t belong to Aidan Porter.’
‘Okay, well, looks like the lad had an accomplice then,’ says Collins. ‘Any hits on the database?’
‘No,’ says Kumar. ‘It’s extremely difficult to tell but looking at the spacing of the ridge patterns, I’m wondering if they could belong to a woman.’
‘A woman?’ he says.
‘I’m only speculating,’ says Kumar. ‘It’s impossible to tell for certain.’
‘But it tells us someone might’ve helped him,’ says Collins. ‘He could have a girlfriend, I suppose.’
‘Or,’ says Megan, ‘he’s confessing to something he didn’t do.’
Thirty-Four
Sunday, 1.30 p.m.
Megan lets her gaze rest on the boy. Aidan Porter sits across the table from her, bony shoulders hunched like angel wings, his eyes downcast. He’s next to his solicitor, Tim Wardell, the local lawyer that Megan met previously with the boy’s grandfather. His aunt, Penny Reynolds, sits in the corner. Megan concludes that she and the old man have come to some kind of accommodation.
‘Tell me about your mum
, Aidan,’ Megan says.
He’s much more sullen than before. The reality and the boredom of incarceration in a cell overnight must be weighing on him; and for a rich kid like him it’s probably been a shock. He twists the plaited band on his wrist round and round.
‘What d’you want to know about her?’ says Aidan.
‘What’s she like? I’ve never met her. How would you describe her to me?’
He huffs and thinks for a moment. ‘S’pose she’s quite particular about the way she dresses. Likes posh stuff.’
Megan notes the regression in his behaviour. He sounds more like a petulant fourteen-year-old than a seventeen-year-old. And his impatience is palpable.
She waits, fiddles with her notes. She’s establishing a deliberately sedate pace with the questioning. Slater has made it clear she wants this done with care and Megan has discussed their approach on the phone with a Tier 5 interview adviser.
Aidan shoots a look at his aunt. She smiles back. An anxiously reassuring smile, thinks Megan. Should they read anything into that?
‘What sort of relationship do you have?’ asks Megan.
He huffs again. ‘Well, she’s just my mum.’
‘Do you get on?’ asks Megan.
He shrugs. There’s definite tension and resistance. He doesn’t want to talk about her.
Megan can see Penny Reynolds fidgeting in her chair. She keeps glancing at her nephew. Megan wonders at her jumpiness. She doesn’t come over as a particularly nervous woman. Is she afraid of what the boy might say?
Vish sits next to Megan. He’s leaning back in his chair and, following the new brief, watching Aidan with an encouraging smile. Collins’s strategy of trying to intimidate has been abandoned and he’s been relegated to the back room.
Close to the Bone: An addictive crime thriller with edge-of-your-seat suspense (Detective Megan Thomas) Page 14