Make You Sorry

by Christine Rae-Jones

‘Let me worry about that. We can get it up to Scotland and your mum’s cousin can sell the stuff online or at the car boot.’

  The conversation ended and they sat in silence until a muffled name was called over the Tannoy. Both men got up and made their way to Court Two.

  His eyes pursued them. He waited for proceedings to get started before following them and taking his place at the back of court. He was too late to catch their names and addresses, but he watched them plead not guilty to a number of thefts from student accommodation. Two laptops, a bank card, some jewellery, cash and a bicycle. To his disgust, the scumbags were released on bail. What was wrong with these magistrates?

  He was back at work early, but nobody noticed.

  Chapter 33

  Thursday 13th February

  Samantha knew she was going to be late. She’d had no time to do the washing and was forced to add more socks and underwear for everyone to her shopping list. The twins had been difficult because they didn’t want to be buying uniforms for a new school they didn’t want to go to. They were also sulking because she was going to Cliffside without them. If there was blood, they wanted to see it. Victoria had come to terms with the crime and was keen to be involved.

  Her biggest concern was who would babysit while she took her mother to the house. Nick had sent a text telling her he had another new case and with no friends or helpful neighbours to run to, she was stuck. In desperation, she thought of Maisie at the site reception. Their contact had so far been limited to a short conversation about stock cubes and why men were useless at food shopping, but Sam had thought her friendly and kind. She dialled the main estate number while the twins were tucking into scrambled eggs for lunch.

  To Samantha’s surprise and relief, Maisie told her she was happy to help and that if she dropped the twins off at the office, she would let them watch her TV which had satellite channels. She even volunteered to look after Truffles for which Sam hadn’t dared to ask. Upon reaching reception she had hardly stopped the car before the Alex and Vicky said hasty goodbyes and raced towards the building’s double doors with the family dog bounding after them.

  Heavy traffic and some residual flooding added further delay so she was twenty minutes late when she got to Silver Sands. Her mother was standing outside the door, waiting.

  Dorothy turned as Samantha drove up. Someone had called out to her. When she looked, Samantha saw a young man run towards her mother. They chatted for a moment before he nodded and ran back in the direction he had come from. For a moment, Samantha thought it was her brother but, when she looked again, she saw that although their features and hairline were similar, this man was a little taller than Steven, longer legs, she thought.

  Dorothy got into the car. ‘Could you not have rung, I’m frozen.’

  ‘Hi Mum. You should have waited inside. We can always do this another day if you’re too cold.’ Dorothy was looking at her and Samantha readied herself for a fight but she fastened her seatbelt without further comment.

  They got to Cliffside having discussed only the weather and the price of school uniforms. Samantha was unsure what would face them on arrival and superficial conversation seemed inappropriate.

  Dorothy handed over the front door key. ‘You can do the honours,’ she said. ‘I had a specialist team come in yesterday. I was told that the deceased was a drug addict so I didn’t want to take any chances. They’ve done something called fogging to kill any pathogens.’

  ‘Good idea, thank you.’

  ‘I’m hoping the house insurance will pay for it. The policy is expensive enough.’

  Samantha realised that there were many more expenses that would have to be discussed with Nick and her mother. She hadn’t even considered insurance.

  The door was reluctant to open. There was a creak as it gave way and both women looked at each other. Neither would be able to confirm later who had laughed first. It was such a cliché. Two women; alone; and opening a creaking door to a property where there had been a recent violent death.

  ‘Who do you think will play me when they make the film?’ asked Dorothy.

  ‘Probably Helen Mirren,’ said Samantha, ‘and me?’

  ‘No idea. Someone with no sense of timekeeping if they’re looking for authenticity.’

  Samantha detected a faint chemical smell in the hall and she left the front door open to help disperse it. They both looked up to the ceiling to assess the damage to the chandelier.

  ‘Why have they taken it?’ asked Dorothy. ‘It can’t be evidence, can it?’

  Samantha shrugged. ‘Who knows? Perhaps they need to make sure all the blood belonged to the deceased and not to whoever killed him?’ Dorothy snorted her derision.

  Next, they scrutinised the black and white tiled floor. There was still no electricity in the house and they relied on daylight coming through the front door. They saw an area of tiles under the missing chandelier which were cleaner than either of the women had ever seen them. The rest of the tiles remained a discoloured pattern of grey and black. Samantha doubted that she would ever manage to merge them.

  Upstairs, they started at the back of the house in the room where Carl Raynor had chosen to live. It opened on to the metal fire escape which was added when the house had been a B&B back in the 1990s. There wasn’t much to see. The broken window was boarded over and if Raynor had stored any personal property, it had been removed. There were some ashes in the grate and a broken chair which he had been using for firewood. Dorothy picked it up and tossed it to the wall. ‘Bloody cheek,’ she said, ‘that was one of my favourites.’ She looked at her fingers which were now coated in black fingerprint powder. ‘Oh for God’s sake.’ She reached into her bag for a wet wipe.

  ‘It couldn’t have been a favourite or you’d have taken it with you,’ said Samantha. ‘He must have been freezing in here, especially with the broken window. Now, shall we go to the bedroom?’

  The master bedroom where Nick had found Raynor’s body had a large bay window, and even as the light was beginning to fade, they could see that many of the parquet tiles were missing. There were also pieces of sticky tape attached to the remaining tiles. The chemical smell lingered, stronger here than in the hallway.

  ‘This was always my favourite room,’ said Dorothy. ‘I remember when the estate agent showed us round, your dad and I stood here and I knew that this was the one.’ Both women looked out of the window, across to breaking waves topped with the foam which gave them the appearance and name of “white horses.” Double glazing and the height of the cliff dulled but did not exclude the crashing of those waves as they battered the shore. It was Samantha’s favourite sound and reminded her of childhood.

  ‘I was looking forward to sleeping in this room with the window open in the summer,’ said Samantha. She wasn’t certain, but she thought she heard her mother say “So was I.”

  ‘I’ll come back tomorrow and clean the black powder up. Can you take the twins for a couple of hours, please?’ Dorothy agreed and suggested, that if Maisie had volunteered to look after the twins for the whole afternoon, they had time to drop in to the pub along the road for a swift gin and tonic. She took a last look out of the window. ‘We’d better hurry. It’s going to rain. And I also need to talk to you about a charity dinner I’m sending you to on Sunday, dear’

  Chapter 34

  Thursday 13th February

  Morgan looked up from his computer. He welcomed the distraction.

  ‘I’ve been to the autopsy,’ said Spence.

  Morgan beckoned to him. ‘Come in, Spence, and have a seat. Have we got an I.D. for the garden gnome?’

  Dave Spence allowed himself the beginnings of a smile. ‘It’s another local lad, sir. The appropriately named Wesley Crook. I can tell you, I’ve seen a few magistrates struggle to keep a straight face when he’s turned up. Twenty eight years old with at least a page of previous for every one of those years. On bail for burglary. He pleaded not guilty. Trial was set for next month.’

  Morgan nodd
ed as he took in each new fact. ‘Drugs?’ he asked.

  ‘Mack said that toxicology will take a while but there were no recent track marks and the report will say “well nourished,” which doesn’t usually indicate a current habit. They’ll do the histology to be sure, but Mack says he was strangled. There are marks that show he may have put up quite a fight too, so they might get trace from the clothes and the nails. But the real puzzler is that the burglary he was going to trial for, was at the Bradleys’.’

  ‘What? The bungalow where we found him?’

  ‘Yep. And I’m not much of a one for coincidence, are you?’

  Morgan was running a few possibilities through his mind. ‘Well it’s not likely to have been Mr Bradley as his wife isn’t even sure he knows they were burgled. I’ve met her now and if she weighs in at eight stone it’ll be because she was carrying a full shopping bag, so it wasn’t her. Any offspring, especially well built, angry offspring?’

  Spence said he would get someone to find out. He hadn’t seen any family photos in the house because they had been stolen for their silver frames during the burglary.

  ‘Let’s get everyone who’s in the office together for a late update,’ said Morgan and within half an hour, they had all assembled in the briefing room.

  ‘Why would someone put that poor couple through the trauma of dumping a body in their garden when they’re still recovering from being burgled?’ asked one of the DCs.

  Smart was perched on the edge of a desk. ‘It’s almost like a cat bringing a dead mouse to its owner. “Look what I’ve brought you, aren’t I clever?”’

  Morgan was standing by the board where photographs were accumulating. Wesley Crook’s criminal record photo had caught him with a hint of a smile. In the crime scene picture, his head hung downwards, face framed by tangled, mousy hair. The picture taken at the mortuary showed the unmistakable marks of a ligature and there were scratches on his neck where he had tried to get his fingers inside the tightening noose. Morgan pointed to the close-up of the cardboard sign around Crook’s neck. ‘The sign found round his neck says “Now I’m Sorry.” Anyone got any thoughts?’ he asked.

  Spence was quick to respond. ‘Obviously, he’s sorry about the burglary.’

  ‘If he was that sorry, why not plead guilty and get the discount off his sentence. And I don’t think any of us believe this is a suicide, do we?’ A few of the team members winced at Morgan’s sharpness. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘that came out harsher than I meant.’ Everyone looked to Spence but his face remained stony.

  ‘Two lines of enquiry here,’ Morgan drew two arrows on the white board, ‘the first is what it says, and the second is where it comes from.’

  ‘How about now I’m sorry because I’ve been caught?’ suggested DC Leo Jenson who had come into the room having completed his list of tasks for Operation Siren. ‘Or even, now I’m sorry because I’ve been caught and killed?’ There were a few murmurs of approval.

  ‘Was he ever done for a burglary before this one?’ asked Morgan. One of the other DCs picked up the sheaf of antecedents and read from the front page.

  ‘A lot of shoplifting... and there’s a TWOC. Took his mum’s car without asking. That resulted in no licence and no insurance. He’s stolen bikes from the railway station and sold them online.’ She turned the page. ‘And there’s a street robbery where he grabbed a mobile phone from someone who was walking past. Possession Class B, and later, Class A, non payment of fines, breached by probation when he’s missed unpaid work, so no, lots of thefts, but only one burglary.’

  ‘So we need to put some thought to that,’ said Morgan. ‘I’ve also asked Jenny to liaise with the lab. They’re going to compare the cardboard and ink to what we found in the woods.’

  When he looked around the room, some of his team were nodding as if this was an obvious next step. One or two looked surprised.

  ‘I’m sorry. I missed the start of the briefing,’ said Jenson ‘so, for my benefit, are we saying this is linked to Abigail Slater?’

  ‘Truth is, Leo, I don’t know. But two cardboard signs in such a short space of time can’t be a coincidence, can it? And remember, we didn’t release information about the cardboard we found in the woods. Now, it’s late so here’s what needs doing from first thing tomorrow.’

  Morgan listed half a dozen straightforward tasks which he hoped would progress the investigations into both the Slater and the Crook murders. Finally, he said ‘Spence and I will do the death visit. Parents or partner?’ he asked, looking straight at Spence who shrugged.

  DC Smart answered for him. ‘His mother lives locally and he always gives her contact details when he’s detained.’

  ‘Right then. Change of plan. You and I will visit Mrs Crook and see what she’s got to tell us.’

  As they walked away, Dave Spence mumbled, ‘She was never married to Wes’s dad. If you call her “Mrs,” she’ll kick your arse. Prick.’

  Chapter 35

  Thursday 13th February

  DC Jenny Smart set off in the direction of the three year old red Renault which was her pride and joy.

  ‘It’s okay, I’ll drive,’ said Morgan. ‘You navigate. It’ll help me get my bearings’

  It was a twenty minute journey to an estate which comprised maisonettes in small blocks connected by walkways between stairwells. He parked by the kerb and followed Smart into a square which was a rubbish tip of abandoned broken toys and parts of bicycles as well as a pile of black bin bags in varying stages of degradation. All that was missing was the ubiquitous settee with floral upholstery which seemed to feature at every fly-tipping site.

  ‘It’s that one, in the corner,’ said Smart nodding towards the property. ‘I’ve arrested him on warrant a couple of times. His mother can be difficult but, as she’s got older, she’s been less aggressive and more resigned. She knows me.’

  ‘Have you done a death visit before?’ asked Morgan and she nodded. ‘Are you happy to lead, then?’ She agreed and when they reached the door her knock on the glazed panel was loud and confident. Morgan glanced at his watch and she raised her hand to knock again. He touched her arm. ‘It’s okay, someone’s coming.’

  The door was opened by a woman who looked to be in her fifties but could have been younger and had a hard life. A ruddy complexion betrayed her acquaintance with a vodka bottle. Her jumper was covered by a tabard and her black trousers were faded by frequent washing, and frayed at the hem. She looked at him first, before turning her gaze to Smart.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. He’s not here and I’m leaving for work, so, if you don’t mind...’ She reached behind her for a bag and keys which were sitting on a narrow hall shelf. She gripped the door handle and yanked it so she could close it with them all on the outside. Morgan extended his arm to hold it open.

  ‘He’s not here and you’re not coming in without a warrant.’ Wesley’s mother lifted a fist towards his flexed arm but Smart caught her wrist and gripped it. ‘Sharon, we know he’s not here. We need to talk to you about him and it’d be better if we did it inside.’ Their eyes met and Sharon Crook seemed to realise that this visit was going to be different. Her feistiness drained from her. She dropped her bag and keys as she grabbed at Jenny Smart’s shoulders for support. Morgan bent to gather the items and they escorted her back into the flat and to a grubby chair in the living room. He went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, then looked for mugs, tea bags, milk and sugar. Tea making was the role of the number two on a death visit, regardless of rank.

  Her howl of anguish pinpointed the exact moment Sharon received the news and he leant on the sink and exhaled. Wayne Crook had brought trouble to his mother’s door from a young age but like most parents, her love for him was unconditional. Now, he had broken her heart forever.

  When he took the three mugs of tea into the sitting room, DC Jenny Smart was seated at the end of a settee angled towards Sharon’s chair. ‘I didn’t know about milk and sugar,’ he said, ‘so I put them on the tray.’ The wome
n looked at three unmatched mugs, each with a tea bag still floating in the steaming water, a bag of caster sugar and a two pint plastic container of semi-skimmed milk without its green top.

  ‘He’s not used to this, then?’ asked Sharon.

  A weak smile crossed Smart’s face when she replied. ‘It’s not often a requirement of the rank of DI if I’m honest.’

  ‘Just as well.’

  Smart rose, took the tray from his hands and nodded at him to show that he should take the seat she had vacated. She asked each how they liked their tea and took the tray to the kitchen.

  ‘I’ve known her since she was a rookie,’ said Sharon Crook. ‘You be nice to her, she’s a good one.’

  ‘I’ve not been here long,’ he replied, ‘but I agree. I’m not sure how far DC Smart got in explaining what’s happened.’

  ‘Not much to explain. He was in a garden and even though you lot probably saw more of him than I did, I need to come and identify him. Last time I saw him, he told me he was off the drugs. He looked better too. Had a bit of weight on him and he’d been doing a bit of labouring and got a tan.’

  Morgan looked out at the darkening February evening and asked her when she had seen him.

  ‘He was with some girl over Christmas so, not since October. He rang now and again, said he was up in Glasgow with this girl and that he’d see me soon. Never gonna see me now, is he?’

  ‘He was found in a garden,’ said Morgan.

  ‘I know. She told me.’

  ‘The circumstances were a bit odd.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Smart came back with the teas. She sat at the other end of the settee and took out her notebook and pen.

  Morgan took a sip before he spoke. ‘Ms Crook, he...’

  ‘You can call me Sharon.’

  ‘Okay, thank you, Sharon. I’m sorry to have to tell you that we believe he may have been murdered.’

  She looked at him and her jaw slackened, then she looked around him to Jenny Smart as if she trusted her more. ‘Murdered? Not an overdose?’