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

by Susan Wilkins

  She turns to him. ‘You really had coffee with my sister? In the kitchen?’

  ‘Yeah. Met Scout. Lovely dog. We had a chat. She said you were angry with her.’

  ‘Me angry with her?’ Typical bloody Debbie. Has to be the victim.

  ‘I obviously didn’t let on that I knew about the murder investigation and her being arrested,’ he adds.

  When Mark left the house to catch his train, there was no sign of Debbie. Megan has hardly exchanged a word with her sister for the last thirty-six hours. Until she spoke with Mark this morning, she’d had a clear feeling that she was no longer a welcome guest in their home.

  ‘Me angry with her?’ she repeats. ‘That’s rich. I don’t know how she’s arrived at that. Well, I do and it’s just annoying.’

  ‘She seemed quite upset. Said you’d been hiding away in your room and avoiding her. Asked me to tell you that she’s really sorry. She just wants to talk to you.’

  ‘You know what,’ says Megan. ‘I think I might just go home and kick her head in!’

  He laughs. ‘How about I buy you breakfast instead?’

  Forty

  Monday, 7.30 a.m.

  Danny Ingram’s surprise appearance left Megan feeling skittish and excited, like being a teenager again. It was a long time since anyone had tried to woo her. His offer of breakfast was carefully researched. A small beachside cafe serving doorstep-sized bacon sarnies and whopping mugs of coffee and all with a sea view. Megan knew the place and applauded the choice. Unfortunately she had to turn him down because she has another appointment. Dr Diane Moretti, her annoying shrink, is back from holiday and expecting her.

  As Megan settles herself in the familiar armchair, she wishes she’d blown Moretti off. She was sorely tempted. A flirtatious breakfast and an escape from her problems feels much more like the kind of therapy she needs. But Moretti is a stickler and cancelling at the last minute is not acceptable in her book. She and Megan have already had a couple of run-ins over this kind of behaviour and Megan has given an undertaking to keep her appointments in future.

  Moretti’s smile is as enigmatic as ever. She looks relaxed and slightly tanned. She’s wearing one of her five professional outfits. These are all in shades of beige or, as she would probably say, taupe, and worn in strict rotation. Her grey hair is less prim than usual but the biggest change is a rather impressive rock on her usually naked left ring finger.

  ‘Nice holiday?’ asks Megan. She doesn’t expect a reply. Moretti’s mantra is: this is not about me, Megan, this is about you.

  However, the good doctor smiles and says, ‘Yes, thank you for asking. It was lovely. I do enjoy Italy at this time of the year.’

  In the fifteen months that Megan has been a patient of Dr Moretti, this is the most personal information she has ever revealed. She must be in a mellow mood. The clue is the stonking diamond on her finger. Who would want to marry Moretti? Is there a man out there with that kind of courage? Or perhaps it’s a woman and the conservative façade conceals a more unexpected private life?

  Megan glances at it and says, ‘Looks like congratulations are in order.’

  Moretti gives Megan her fey, one-sided lip curl. Her version of ‘fuck off’.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘And how have you been in my absence?’

  Megan shrugs. ‘Oh, you know,’ she says.

  ‘No, I don’t know,’ says Moretti. ‘That’s why you’re here. To tell me.’

  The familiar, acidic tone is oddly comforting. Down to business. Moretti has her under the microscope. The least ambivalence, the least hesitation, she’ll be on it.

  Megan decides to come clean.

  ‘Okay,’ she says, ‘well, the thing is, I nearly had a panic attack.’

  ‘Nearly?’ says Moretti. ‘How nearly?’

  ‘I was out on a job.’ Megan sighs. She hates this process. Ripping the dressing off the wound. Anticipating the embarrassment then feeling the shame of her weakness.

  ‘Like before?’

  ‘Not quite. I was riding in the back of a car,’ says Megan. ‘I felt it coming on, but I wound down the window and really focused on my breathing. And I managed to stave it off.’

  ‘That’s good,’ says Moretti. ‘But the back of a car? That’s a very different situation to before, isn’t it?’ The rats with their swishing tails and scratchy claws.

  ‘Well, it was sort of related to my experience in the cellar. I overheard some information. About him.’ She doesn’t even want to say the name.

  ‘You heard something about Zac Yilmaz and it frightened you?’ says Moretti.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Megan. ‘Unnerved as much as frightened. It was a shock.’

  It’s been nattering away in the back of her brain ever since the briefing nearly a week ago. The possible connection between Yilmaz and local villain Dennis Bridger. But when she overheard Ted Jennings talking to Collins about it, somehow it tipped her over the edge. And down she went. A vertiginous drop. Fear and panic combined. The shadow of him, the threat of him stalks her in her dreams. But she’s learnt to deal with that. This is different because it’s concrete. The stark truth that this man, this dangerous killer, will hunt her down and he’s getting closer.

  ‘So was this panic attack anxiety-driven?’ says Moretti.

  ‘You mean is this me being paranoid?’ says Megan.

  ‘I’m not saying it’s paranoid,’ says Moretti. ‘I’m asking if you think it’s paranoia?’

  ‘I think a stone-cold psychopath has just taken one step closer to me,’ says Megan.

  ‘If this is a real threat,’ says Moretti, ‘then you should certainly be talking to Superintendent Barker and your colleagues. But I thought he was in prison and likely to stay there.’

  ‘He is,’ says Megan. ‘But that’s not going to stop him.’

  ‘You seem to be according him a lot of power,’ says Moretti. ‘If he’s securely behind bars, then surely his capacity to do you any actual harm is limited. So, is this paranoia?’

  Megan looks at her. They live on different planets. To smug, middle-class professionals like Moretti, justice is done and the system works. Criminals are put away and become harmless. This is her belief because it’s what most people believe. You have to live in Megan’s world to know how naive that is.

  She considers explaining the far-reaching tentacles of organised crime, which enable a gangster like Yilmaz to continue to operate from within prison. But she decides against it.

  She sighs and says, ‘Maybe you’re right. Also I’ve fallen out with my sister.’

  Moretti smiles. ‘It all seems to kick off when I go away, doesn’t it?’

  Megan smiles back. Now they’re on safer ground, the nitty-gritty of family life. This is Moretti’s stock in trade. Sibling rivalry she can sort out, no problem.

  Megan knows that when it comes to dealing with Yilmaz, she’s on her own. And she always will be.

  Forty-One

  Monday, 9.50 a.m.

  After her session with Moretti, Megan walks into the office in a sombre mood. They spent half an hour chewing over the workings of her little sister’s psyche.

  Megan already knows that Debbie’s default setting is to play the victim. Even though she got angry and blamed Megan for what happened, she’s never going to recognise that. Debbie will have a different story; she reacts to unfair treatment and it’s never her fault. The fact this left Megan feeling used and rejected will not be acknowledged. But this morning Megan has a job to do. For the time being her sister will have to stew.

  As she walks past the DCI’s office, Slater beckons her in.

  ‘Morning, boss,’ says Megan. She tries to inject a little cheeriness into her tone.

  ‘Can you shut the door?’ says Slater. Sounds ominous.

  Megan braces herself.

  ‘So how are things going with Jim?’ says Slater.

  ‘Okay, I think,’ Megan replies.

  Slater nods and sighs. Megan scans her. Her face is tight and she’s
fiddling with her pen, turning it over end to end. Not good signs.

  ‘I’ve had him in here this morning,’ says Slater, ‘and he is not happy.’

  ‘Not happy how?’ says Megan.

  ‘He says you’re making things difficult for him. Undermining his authority with the team. Is this true?’

  It’s tempting to laugh and Megan would, if it weren’t so annoying. She really should have predicted this. No good deed goes unpunished. Collins’s ego is dented so he’s on the attack.

  ‘I don’t know what to say, boss,’ says Megan. ‘I’m doing my best.’

  ‘For Chrissake, Megan, the man’s had cancer. Surely it’s not too much to ask that you just tread a little softly round him.’

  ‘I have been trying to do that.’

  ‘Well, clearly it’s not working. I know you didn’t want to work with him. Okay, he got it wrong with your sister. All I’m asking is that you act like a professional and put personal resentments aside.’

  Megan fixes Slater with a steely gaze. ‘I have been doing that,’ she says. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t just take what he says at face value?’

  Challenging Slater? Wrong move!

  ‘Don’t tell me how to manage the team,’ says the boss tartly. ‘It strikes me that you’re being difficult because you’d prefer to be swanning round with Danny Ingram instead of doing this. I gather you and he get on rather well.’

  So that’s how it is. The gossip mill has been busy. Megan bites her tongue and waits for Slater to say more. But she huffs and backtracks. ‘Anyway,’ she says, ‘that’s none of my business. Just see if you can’t focus on the matter in hand.’

  ‘I’ll certainly try,’ says Megan drily.

  Megan walks out of Slater’s office and crosses the room to her desk. She plonks her bag down. She’s cursing her own stupidity. You think you’re being discreet but these things always get out. Sex with a colleague, always a bad idea. She feels tacky.

  Vish is at the adjacent desk. ‘You don’t look very happy,’ he says.

  ‘Where’s Collins?’ she asks.

  ‘In the incident room preparing for the briefing, I think,’ says Vish. ‘You okay?’

  He’s smiling at her with concern. He’s a nice guy and, she’d like to think, a mate. It’s tempting to have a rant and garner some sympathy. But she reins herself in. Complaining to Vish about Collins may make her feel better, but it will probably make the whole situation worse. She just has to suck it up.

  Megan’s phone buzzes with an incoming call. She glances at it, expecting it to be Debbie and another hassle she can do without. It surprises her when Ted Jennings’s name pops up.

  What the hell does he want? She clicks the phone off. He can certainly take a hike.

  Megan needs to distract herself, so she goes to the coffee station and pours herself a large mug of black coffee before heading for the incident room.

  The briefing is scheduled for ten o’clock. She taps the security code into the keypad and opens the door.

  Jim Collins is carefully arranging Post-it notes on the large whiteboard, which has been set against one wall. His shirt is crisp, silk tie, crease in his trousers. Megan finds herself wondering if he needs the uniform to hold himself together. What’s wrong with Slater? Why can’t she see how physically fragile he is? But perhaps she can.

  He has a red marker pen in his hand and is drawing careful lines linking one section of notes on the board to another. Megan watches him for a moment. He ignores her, pretending to be engrossed in what he’s doing. She came into the room with the intention of challenging him but, watching him for a moment, she changes her mind. What good would it do?

  There are several other officers in the room already, gathering for the briefing. Megan nods to Kitty, the civilian analyst. She’s perched on the corner of a desk, arms folded. She raises her eyebrows in Collins’s direction and goes boss-eyed deliberately. Megan smiles. Some of the team have Collins’s number, which is a small comfort.

  Slater enters, the door held open for her by Vish, who follows her in. No sign of Brittney. Slater has obviously followed through on her plan to send Brittney to replace Megan as liaison officer with the NCA. Megan sighs. Perhaps it’s for the best. Slater’s got a point, when she’s with Danny Ingram her mind is definitely not on the job.

  ‘Morning, everyone,’ says the DCI. ‘Let’s get started. Jim, would you like to bring us up to speed?’ She gives him an encouraging smile.

  Laura Slater’s approach is to continue to placate his ego and Megan finds herself resenting this. Be nice to Jim because he’s been ill. But having cancer doesn’t turn you into a suffering angel overnight. Collins’s illness hasn’t improved him. Try and help him and he goes for the jugular. Megan won’t make that mistake again.

  Collins stands at the front of the room next to the whiteboard, hands on hips in his habitual I’m-the-bloke-in-charge stance. He’s written up the names of all the relevant parties in the murder investigation on the board in a neat, rounded hand. Some also have mugshots.

  ‘Morning, everyone,’ he says brightly. ‘We have an important new piece of intel that’s come to light. We’ve had a chance to look in some detail at the contents of Aidan Porter’s phone. And it contains some interesting video footage.’ He glances across the room. ‘Kitty, you discovered this, perhaps you’d talk us through it.’

  Kitty is a small bundle of repressed energy in leggings and Lycra. She bounces off the desk where she’s perching, seizes the handset for the TV monitor, clicks through the controls at lightning speed.

  A frozen pixelated image appears on the screen next to the whiteboard.

  ‘Okay,’ she says briskly. ‘We found a lot of footage of a similar nature. Adds up to nearly an hour of it, shot on different occasions. These are just a few edited highlights. But you’ll get the gist.’

  She presses play.

  The image on the screen comes to life. The camera is eavesdropping, peering through the narrow gap in a partially open doorway. And a woman can be heard sobbing. A slow steady keening as the camera creeps forward and the woman comes into view. She’s lying prone on the floor, her arms are clutched tightly around her head to protect it. A man is standing over her.

  ‘Get up, you stupid bitch!’ he growls. He grabs her arm and tries to haul her to her feet. She remains limp, like a rag doll. He drags her across the floor and her face comes into view. Blurred at first and contorted but Megan recognises Yvonne Porter. The whimpering continues in short, pitiful bursts as he drags her. First by the wrist, then by the hair. He pulls back his arm and whacks her across the face with the back of his hand. Only his profile is visible. But Megan can recognise him. It’s Greg Porter.

  ‘Thanks, Kitty,’ says Collins. ‘I think we’ve seen enough.’

  Kitty clicks the video off. There’s a heavy silence in the room.

  Megan can feel tension in her chest as the anger bubbles up. She never listened to the recording of Porter abusing her sister. Slater wouldn’t let her. Seeing him beat his wife sickens her. It also makes clear the kind of monster Debbie had to deal with.

  ‘So there we have it,’ says Collins. ‘Conclusive proof that Yvonne Porter was violently abused by her husband. Filmed by their seventeen-year-old son. Any thoughts or ideas on this?’

  ‘I think,’ says Slater, ‘that this can be read in one of two ways. First, as motive for Aidan Porter’s attack on his father. He filmed the domestic abuse in his home and we already know he was disturbed by it. However, his fingerprints are not on the potential murder weapon and his account of what actually happened lacks convincing detail. So, an alternative way to look at this is that Yvonne Porter was the victim of violent abuse, who finally got to the end of her tether and attacked her abuser.’

  Good for her!

  ‘Can I just say, boss,’ says Vish, ‘that when Megan and I interviewed Aidan Porter, Megan said that Aidan’s confession could well be his attempt to protect his mother. Filming his mother being beaten and not being
able to intervene must’ve been really hard for him. So he probably felt really guilty. Lying to protect her is maybe his way of making up for that.’

  ‘Very good point, Vish,’ says Slater. ‘Do we assume he knew what she’d done?’

  ‘Or he thought he knew,’ says Megan. ‘Unless Aidan was a witness – and the fact his account of the murder is vague suggests he wasn’t – Yvonne’s guilt is not proved by this.’

  Megan wants to protect her. It’s a gut reaction.

  ‘I think we’re splitting hairs,’ says Collins. ‘The important point here is that it establishes motive and puts Yvonne Porter squarely in the frame.’

  ‘Domestic abuse is a complicated motive, it produces different reactions,’ says Megan.

  ‘Which is what I’m saying,’ says Collins peevishly.

  ‘Well, she should certainly be questioned again under caution,’ says Slater.

  ‘Exactly, because she’s lied,’ says Collins. ‘Horrible, abusive marriage, yet when questioned she denied vehemently that her husband ever hit her. Why would she do that unless she wanted to conceal the fact she had a motive to kill him?’

  ‘I think the reason for that is fairly obvious,’ says Megan. ‘It’s a pride thing. She doesn’t want to appear weak, she was ashamed of the state of her marriage, maybe even blamed herself. So she lied. That’s what people do when they’re in denial: lie to cover up weakness.’

  Megan stares at Collins. He meets her gaze and looks away.

  ‘Yes, well, good point,’ he says. ‘Shall we move on?’

  Forty-Two

  Monday, 12.30 p.m.

  Yvonne Porter sits at the table in the police interview room. She’s pale and composed, hands neatly folded in her lap. She’s doing this for Aidan. A mother must protect her son. Of course she must. Yvonne has always put her children first. She wanted to come to the police voluntarily but Penny said that wasn’t a good idea. She’s been thinking about it since yesterday morning when she stopped drinking. In the end they came knocking on her door again, said all this you-don’t-have-to-say-anything business and put her in the back of a police car.