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

by Susan Wilkins

  ‘Bingo,’ he mouths. ‘Got an evidence bag?’

  Megan hesitates. They should leave it for a firearms officer and CSI to recover it properly.

  ‘C’mon,’ whispers Collins. ‘Could be vital evidence. We can’t risk leaving it.’

  He’s right. Megan holds open a plastic evidence bag. Collins puts the gun into it then takes the bag and stows it in his jacket pocket.

  Next to the carport is a small space then the side of the building with a half-glazed door. It looks as if it goes into the kitchen.

  Collins points to Megan and mouths ‘back’ then to himself and Vish. They’ll take the front.

  Megan steels herself. They’re relying on the element of surprise.

  Sixty-One

  Wednesday, 9.32 a.m.

  Megan peers through the glass door. Shaker-style units, a butler’s sink, a ceramic hob and a microwave. The door of the microwave is open and next to it is a plate of sizzling, freshly cooked bacon. Megan can smell the delicious aroma. Her stomach growls. She turns the door handle slowly. It opens and she steps quickly into the room.

  A woman is standing with her back to the door, buttering a plate of toast. She turns abruptly.

  ‘Que mierda?’ she exclaims.

  Megan gets her first sight of Elena Lopez close up. She’s a little faded at the edges but still a classic beauty. A mane of dark hair flecked with grey, perfect cheekbones, luminous eyes. The snatched pictures of her don’t do her justice. It’s easy to see how Greg Porter could’ve fallen for her.

  Megan pulls out her warrant card. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Thomas and, Elena Lopez, you’re under arrest.’

  Elena raises her eyebrows and sighs. ‘Really?’ she says. ‘You mind if I finish my breakfast?’ Her accent is hardly noticeable and the tone full of disdain.

  ‘Are you alone in the house?’ says Megan.

  Elena tilts her head and takes a bite out of a slice of toast. ‘Come and see for yourself,’ she says, beckoning.

  Megan follows her down a short passageway to the sitting room.

  Two men are in the process of carrying several large suitcases towards the front door.

  ‘Look,’ says Elena. ‘We have a visitor.’

  The younger of the two men is scrawny with a pock-marked face and a vacant expression. A local lowlife being paid by the hour? The other is Dennis Bridger.

  Bridger is a small man but he stands squarely like a fighting cock, glares at Megan and cracks his knuckles.

  ‘A fucking copper?’ says Bridger scornfully. ‘You lose your way, love?’

  ‘I think at the very least you’re in breach of your licence, Mr Bridger.’

  ‘Yeah? And what you gonna do about it?’

  ‘I suggest you open the front door.’

  Bridger opens the door. Vish is standing there, arms folded, waiting. He marches straight in followed by Collins. It’s a standard plan of attack and, with luck, Bridger will assume that they’re not alone.

  ‘Morning, Mr Bridger,’ says Collins. ‘What are you up to?’

  Bridger smirks and raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’m released on licence,’ he says. ‘But I’m doing nothing wrong. This place is a holiday let that belongs to my wife and we’re just helping this lady with her bags ’cause she’s off home today.’

  Collins nods. ‘Okay. What if I ask where were you on Sunday evening and did you shoot Barry Porter in the head and leave him in the back of his car?’

  Megan is keeping her eye on Elena. She’s finished her toast and is dusting the crumbs off her fingertips. She’s hyper vigilant but the sudden arrival of the police doesn’t seem to have fazed her.

  Bridger guffaws, ‘Oh what? Is that why you’re here, to fit me up with some random murder? Well, all I’ve got to say to you, mate, is no fucking comment. And I want my lawyer.’ He folds his arms.

  ‘Yeah, I thought you might say that,’ Collins replies. He takes the Glock out of his pocket. ‘I think this is probably the gun you used. We may find your prints on it. But you’re a professional, aren’t you, Dennis? You don’t make rookie mistakes like that. You’ve murdered enough people to know.’

  Collins opens the evidence bag and takes out the gun. Megan stares at him in disbelief. What’s he playing at? More macho bullshit? Is this why he insisted on bagging the gun?

  Bridger glares at him. ‘Seriously?’

  Collins pulls back the slider and checks the chamber. ‘Nice gun this, the Glock. I always liked them. Good safety system, means you can keep a round chambered in case you get taken by surprise.’

  Megan’s stomach lurches. She has to stop this.

  ‘Jim—’ she says.

  ‘I’d be careful what you’re up to with that, mate,’ says Bridger. But Megan notices him edging backwards. He can sense the volatility in Collins too.

  She’s at least three metres away. She takes a step forward.

  ‘Stand back, sergeant,’ Collins says sharply. ‘I know what I’m doing. You may think I’m a broken-down old fart, but I did ten years in the Met’s tactical firearms unit back in the day.’

  He raises the gun abruptly and points it straight at Bridger. Megan glances at Vish, who’s staring open-mouthed. He’s further away than her. They exchange panicked looks.

  Oh shit. He wouldn’t, would he?

  ‘We were taught only to go for a head shot as a last resort. Is this a last resort, do you think?’

  ‘Jim,’ says Megan. ‘Stop it! You can’t do this. Lower the gun.’

  Bridger’s expression has changed to one of real apprehension. He’s going red in the face, but he says, ‘Nah, I know your game. You’re not going to intimidate me—’

  ‘That’s not my intention,’ says Collins calmly. ‘My intention is to demonstrate to Mrs Lopez that saying “no comment” is not the sensible option here.’

  ‘Jim, that’s enough,’ says Megan. ‘Lower the gun. Now. Please.’

  ‘I think a head shot is kinder,’ says Collins.

  Megan moves forward. She has no idea what she’s going to do. Grab his arm? ‘Jim, no!’ she shouts.

  But she’s too far away.

  Collins smiles and squeezes the trigger. The bullet hits Dennis Bridger squarely in the middle of his forehead and sends him flying backwards. He’s dead before he hits the ground.

  Sixty-Two

  Wednesday, 9.38 a.m.

  For several seconds no one moves. Megan stares in horror at Jim Collins. She never thought he’d do it. The look on his face is serene. A kind of release. She did suspect him of being corrupt, of helping Bridger years ago. Perhaps Ted did too. But that’s completely wrong. He’s a man driven by righteous anger. And despair.

  ‘Give me the gun, Jim,’ she says, holding out her hand.

  But Collins steps away from her. ‘I’m not finished yet,’ he replies.

  Megan glances at Vish. He’s not close enough to grab Collins either and Collins could turn the gun on him. She can’t risk it.

  Bridger’s corpse is sprawled on its back with blood puddling round the head. His hired hand is cowering in the corner. But Elena Lopez is standing and staring at Collins.

  Collins steps backwards, repositioning himself so his back is to the wall. Then he points the gun at Elena Lopez.

  ‘Not a bad shot after all these years,’ he says. ‘So, Mrs Lopez, I hope none of that got lost in translation.’

  Elena juts out her chin and glares at him. ‘You gonna shoot me?’ she says. ‘Why?’

  ‘You did murder Greg Porter, didn’t you?’

  ‘What?’ she says in astonishment. ‘No, I did not! Why would I do that?’

  ‘And procure the murder of his father?’

  ‘What’s “procure”?’ she says with a sneer. ‘I don’t procure nothing.’

  Megan takes a deep breath and steps between Elena and Collins.

  ‘You can’t shoot her, Jim,’ she says. ‘And any statement she makes under these circumstances will be obtained under duress, so it’s inadmissible.’<
br />
  Collins huffs.

  ‘Money, lawyers. It’s all a fix,’ he says. ‘CPS only prosecute what they think they’ll win. You realise she’ll probably walk away from this. And we’ll still be pulling bodies out of the water from her little family business. Doesn’t that bother you?’

  ‘Of course it bothers me. But this isn’t the answer,’ says Megan.

  ‘Bridger got five years, he’s out in less than three and gets to commit more murders. Ted was a good copper. And he was right. We should’ve done this properly. Instead we rely on a load of high-tech bloody gizmos while Bridger runs rings round us? I’m sick of it.’

  ‘We try harder,’ says Megan. ‘We make a better case. We’re the police, that’s our job. We’re not judge and jury. And we’re certainly not executioner.’

  Collins shakes his head. He’s pale and sweating.

  ‘Why are you standing there and protecting her, Megan?’ he says. ‘Stand aside. Let me finish the job.’

  ‘I’m not protecting her. I’m trying to protect you, Jim. Becoming like them is not the answer. In your heart you know that. It’s not easy, it never will be. But you didn’t become a police officer to murder people. Did you? Think about this, I’m begging you. This is wrong.’

  He shakes his head again and sighs. The energy and the fight seem to have drained out of him. He turns the gun over and offers it to her by the pistol grip.

  ‘You’d better arrest me, sergeant,’ he says.

  Sixty-Three

  Wednesday, 2.32 p.m.

  Megan lounges back in her desk chair. She stares up at the ceiling. It’s been patched and re-plastered in various places. She lets her eye wander over it. Traces of some old water damage maybe, a bodged rewiring job? After the adrenaline rush of the morning, she felt shaky. Now she’s flat and lethargic.

  Could she have stopped Collins? No one has asked her outright. But she can’t stop asking herself. Did she see it coming? Bridger’s death has relieved her of one anxiety. The link with Zac Yilmaz. With Bridger dead, she’s safer. In the split seconds she had to decide, did she realise that? Did it make her hesitate? She has no answer. Only a secret feeling of guilt.

  Brittney walks across the room and places a mug of coffee on the desk in front of her.

  ‘I brought you a refill,’ she says.

  Her colleagues are taking care of her. Although Megan’s not sure she needs any more caffeine.

  ‘Cheers,’ she says. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Elena is still denying any involvement in Greg Porter’s murder. She says they weren’t in a relationship. It was a business connection. She and her husband were investors in the flat development.’

  ‘What about the boats and the people smuggling?’

  ‘Complete denial. She just came over to see the show flat. That’s her line.’

  ‘What does Slater think?’

  ‘She’s hoping Lopez’s prints will match the ones on the murder weapon. Then we’ll have grounds to hold her,’ says Brittney.

  Megan sighs. ‘I don’t think they will,’ she says.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Collins accused her,’ says Megan. ‘Her denial was spontaneous. No one’s that good a liar.’

  ‘You sure?’ says Brittney.

  Megan sips her coffee. ‘No. But usually when people lie, there’s a moment of hesitation, even if it’s just a beat. It’s there. Before they deliver the lie.’

  Brittney grins. ‘You know so much stuff. I’m really envious. How did you learn it all?’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s true,’ says Megan. ‘You just pick up bits as you go along.’

  Brittney continues to beam at her from behind the owl glasses.

  ‘You been out with that bloke yet?’ says Megan. ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Matt. We’ve texted. But I haven’t really had any time off.’

  ‘You should find time,’ says Megan. ‘The job can swallow your life.’

  She gets up. Her limbs feel heavy. ‘I need to talk to Slater. Oh, and thanks for the coffee.’

  Megan finds Laura Slater in her office; she taps on the open door.

  ‘You got a minute, boss?’

  Slater smiles. ‘Certainly. Come in and sit down. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  ‘You really should go home,’ says Slater. There’s concern in her voice.

  ‘No need,’ says Megan. She doesn’t mention that it’s easier for her to wind down here in the office, where she doesn’t need to explain herself.

  ‘I’ve had a word with Rob Barker,’ says Slater. ‘It seems clear that Dennis Bridger killed both Barry Porter and Ted Jennings. Certainly we’re not looking for anyone else.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll ever prove that he killed Barry for the Lopezes?’ says Megan.

  Slater sighs. ‘I doubt it. Also Jim Collins has been taken to Exeter to be interviewed. Totally different team, no connections here. They’ll probably want to talk to you at some point.’

  Megan nods. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I should’ve seen it coming.’

  ‘I don’t see how,’ says Slater.

  ‘He was on a mission. People who need to prove they’re right are dangerous. Also… if Bridger killed Ted. I should’ve told you that Ted was up to something. But Jim said he’d do it and I didn’t want to undermine him.’

  ‘Megan, it’s a judgement call. Collins was much closer to the edge than any of us realised. You did the best you could. Go home and take a break.’

  ‘I will. But first I want you to let me have another crack at Penny Reynolds.’

  ‘Why?’ says Slater. ‘She’s been quite co-operative about how the boat business was set up and the money channelled from the Lopezes through her bank. I’m not sure if it’s quite enough at the moment to charge Elena and hold her. But Danny Ingram’s working on it.’

  Ever since she returned to the office a niggling thought has been growing in Megan’s mind.

  ‘There’s something in the triangle between Penny and her sister Yvonne, and Greg,’ she says. ‘Marion Porter reckons her son only married Yvonne because Penny rejected him. Did Penny encourage her nephew to confess because she thought Yvonne had killed Greg? Or was there another reason? I think we’re not seeing the whole picture.’

  Slater tilts her head and frowns.

  ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Go for it.’

  Sixty-Four

  Wednesday, 3.05 p.m.

  Megan waits outside the interview room for Ingram and Garcia to emerge.

  The door opens. Garcia is first out. She rubs Megan’s arm and says, ‘Hey, how you doing?’

  Ingram joins her. He smiles. ‘I hear you had an interesting morning,’ he says.

  ‘Bit too interesting,’ she replies.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he says.

  She meets his gaze but he immediately looks away. She realises he’s reverted to professional mode. She’d love a hug. That would certainly help. But he has his hands in his pockets and an antsy look on his face. It gives the impression he’s got things to do and being polite to her is a distraction.

  ‘Yeah. I’m fine,’ she says.

  ‘I talked to Vish,’ says Garcia. ‘He says at one point it looked like Collins would shoot you too.’

  ‘That’s an exaggeration,’ says Megan. ‘I don’t think he would have.’

  ‘When a cop loses it like that, you never know,’ says Ingram with a sigh.

  Megan wishes Garcia would go away and give her a chance to talk to him on his own. But what would she say? Don’t blame me for this, don’t blame us. You didn’t take your eye off the ball. What’s wrong with two people meeting and having a good time?

  But Garcia hovers.

  ‘Have you got a final body count yet?’ asks Megan.

  ‘Twelve adults and three children,’ he says. ‘Coastguard reckons some will have drifted on the ocean currents. They could turn up anywhere. Or sink, get eaten. French and Spanish authorities have put out an alert for the b
oats.’

  ‘And they’re still missing?’ says Megan.

  ‘Yeah. We’re flying to Madrid tomorrow to talk to the Spanish police. See if we can start to join all this up from their end. They’re looking for Javier Lopez.’

  Megan nods. ‘Have a good trip,’ she says. He’s still avoiding eye contact.

  ‘Thanks,’ he replies. Then, as an afterthought: ‘Do you want one of us to sit in with you while you grill Reynolds?’

  ‘Not necessary,’ says Megan. ‘Vish should be here in a minute.’

  ‘Good luck, then,’ says Danny Ingram. And with a curt nod he walks away.

  It feels as final as it is abrupt and Megan’s dismay must show on her face.

  Garcia gives her a sheepish look. ‘Don’t take it personally,’ she says. ‘He’s a bit preoccupied.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ says Megan. ‘We’ve both got a job to do.’

  He’s retreating into what he knows: the job. Or maybe for him it was always a casual fling to pass the time.

  She’s aware of Garcia scanning her. She’s not fine. Inside she’s howling. Not fair! Not again!

  But she paints on a smile and says, ‘You take care of yourself, Sasha.’

  Penny Reynolds sits with her steepled fingers resting on the table in front of her. The pose looks meditative but Megan wonders if it’s more about control. She’s back with Tim Wardell. His tie is askew and his notebook is a sea of messy scrawl. All of which must make Penny feel even more abandoned. Her posh lawyer is gone and the bank has cut her adrift. A bad apple, a corrupt employee, that will be their story. Any wrongdoing by the bank will be denied. New procedures will be put in place.

  ‘When did you first meet Greg Porter?’ says Megan.

  Penny raises her eyebrows. ‘Good Lord,’ she says. ‘Years ago. I can’t remember exactly.’

  ‘Before he married your sister?’

  Penny looks at Megan and there it is, the moment of hesitation, the beat before the lie.