by M. J. Ford
‘He’s telling you everything he knows,’ said Tomasz. ‘Do you need a break, Blake? This is very stressful for him. His mum’s in hospital.’
Silence ensued, until Carrick intervened. ‘Let’s take ten.’
As he was suspending the interview, Alice Reeves turned to Jo and said solicitously, ‘I meant to talk to you, the other day …’
‘Yes?’ said Jo.
‘When I went to the Three Crowns, asking about Harry – they said your ex had been in looking for you. Caused a scene, and broke some glasses.’
‘Lucas?’ Jo did her best to retain her composure. ‘Why didn’t you mention it?’
‘I didn’t know if it was private.’
Jo knew she should have been grateful for the discretion, but she couldn’t help being embarrassed that the new kid on the block was covering for her.
‘I appreciate your dilemma,’ she said, ‘but you really should have brought it up. We can’t afford to have secrets around here.’
Reeves looked chastened. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. It had nothing to do with the case, so I thought it was better to keep it out of my report.’
Carrick and Dimitriou were leaving the interview room.
‘I understand. Have you any idea what day this was?’
‘They just said a few days before.’ Reeves looked a little afraid. ‘Did I do the wrong thing?’
‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ said Jo. ‘Like you said, it’s just an unfortunate coincidence.’
Outside, in the corridor, Dimitriou was standing with his hands on his hips, and a face like thunder. When he saw Jo, he acknowledged her and the baby with just a nod, before stalking off in the direction of the break room. Carrick, exiting behind him, caught sight of Theo strapped to her chest and his eyes widened theatrically. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said. ‘And he definitely shouldn’t.’
‘I won’t be for long,’ she said, offering no explanation.
Carrick sighed. ‘Seems you might have been right about the level of decay,’ he said. ‘Crime scene analysis says the Baileys were dead for at least five days, so Blake’s appearance at their house doesn’t tally by around forty-eight hours. At least not when he made the call. Plus, he’s left-handed, and Cropper’s certain the blade was drawn across the Baileys’ throats by a right-handed assailant, left to right.’
‘But we can hold him for seventy-two hours?’ said Reeves.
‘Without one of the murder weapons, probably not,’ said Carrick. ‘Especially given his minor status. There’s no indication he’s suffering any injuries either. Whoever got clipped with that shotgun is still out there.’
‘But he knows a lot more than he’s letting on,’ said Jo. ‘Want me to have a crack at him?’
Carrick shook his head. ‘It’s Dimi’s suspect.’ He nodded at Theo. ‘And I hardly think a cute baby’s going to make him open up.’
‘We need to ask him about Megan,’ said Jo. ‘He might know where she is.’
‘And we will,’ said Carrick. ‘But you’re not on duty, remember?’
‘Does it matter?’ said Jo. ‘I’m here. Heidi can take Theo for a minute.’
‘Jo, this isn’t a crèche,’ said Carrick.
‘But, boss, Harry was one of us …’
‘Don’t you think I bloody know that?’ shouted Carrick, turning on her. Alice Reeves looked startled. In all the time Jo had known him, he’d never raised his voice, and ‘bloody’ was as close as Andy Carrick ever got to swearing.
‘Just go home,’ he added, more quietly.
Chapter 13
Jo had never been much of a text-messager. It was one of the things her friends had always remarked on. She’d half-heartedly blamed her thumbs – writing long missives made them ache – but the truth was that there was just too much room for error and she always seemed to get it wrong. Texting was just about fine for arranging a meet-up, but for difficult discussions, it was almost always wiser to pick up the phone, or better still, deal with things face to face.
That’s if you wanted to deal with things at all.
She’d had messages from both her brother and Amelia. She guessed they themselves weren’t quite on the same page because the sentiments expressed by each were different. Her brother said that he was just worried about his little sister, while his wife apologised ‘for whichever foot Paul put in his mouth’. Jo had no energy to speak to them directly, so broke her own rule. She’d spent a good half-hour composing a response to both, intermittently cheering on Theo’s attempts at crawling on the living room floor, repositioning cushions so he could flop without injuring himself.
In the end, she gave up on trying to explain herself and what had led to her fit of temper, partly because she couldn’t order the thoughts, even to herself. They didn’t need to know about how this case was different, because she couldn’t expect them to get it.
She could completely see where Paul and Amelia were coming from. Putting herself in their shoes, it was understandable. Here she was, a single mum going back to work too soon. They hadn’t known Harry, the bond he and she had shared. And they could never truly know what her job meant to her, and what it meant to her at this precise moment. How it felt like a junction in her life, with no road map telling her which way to go.
She’d tried therapy before, under duress, and hated every minute. The problem was, once you tugged one thread, the whole bloody mess of her life became unstuck. Lucas was only the latest chapter, but it went right back. Mum and dad, Ben … oh yeah, and Jack Pryce. And how could she ever tell them that? ‘By the way, I slept with my psychopathic colleague twelve hours before a police marksman blew out his brains. He might actually be Theo’s dad, and one day I’m going to have to explain all this to my son, and how will he not hate me fucking up his life as well as my own …’
She held down her thumb and deleted the latest missive she’d written. She wrote instead to Paul apologising for leaving early, and saying she’d see them soon. To Amelia, she said simply, ‘He’s not the worst brother.’ Only afterwards did she realise she’d sent each message to the wrong recipient.
Oh well, they were in the same house. They’d get the message.
As soon as the texts were sent, she felt a little better – not about clearing the air, or about life in general. Just because she’d bought herself some time to think. As she was putting Theo down for the night, her phone rang. It was Andy Carrick. She answered with trepidation, anticipating the worst. Jo – this isn’t working out …
‘I want to apologise for earlier,’ he said.
‘No need,’ she said, secretly relieved. ‘I was out of line.’
‘You were, but I get it,’ he said. ‘Can we move on?’
‘Christ, let’s,’ she said. She would have hugged him if he’d been in the room.
‘All right,’ he continued. ‘One of the neighbours in Stanton thought they heard the shotgun go off, and it fits your theory. Pre-dawn on Sunday 13th. They assumed it was an engine back-firing.’
‘So it can’t have been Blake Matthis?’
‘Looking more unlikely. We also discovered the Baileys’ flight from Auckland came into Heathrow later than planned at around four am that day, so it all matches. They get home in the early hours. A burglar arrives expecting no one around.’
Jo felt a flicker of triumph. The flies fit the timeline perfectly too. Motive was still a mystery though. ‘Can’t help thinking there’s more to it, Andy. A burglar just runs – he doesn’t kick in a bedroom door and take on someone wielding a shotgun.’
‘Not unless he really can’t afford witnesses.’
‘Or they knew him,’ muttered Jo. ‘Maybe we should talk to the priest again?’
‘He didn’t look the type,’ said Andy.
‘You know I didn’t mean that. But if there was someone in the community … Who’s the neighbour?’
‘Single woman, living alone, and fairly infirm. I think that’s a non-starter. Listen, I’m not buying Blake’s responsible, but he knows s
omething he’s not letting on. Someone was looking for those drugs, and I think the Baileys were just caught in the crossfire.’
‘Megan’s the key,’ Jo muttered, half to herself.
‘We’ve got the next best thing,’ said Carrick. ‘Can you meet me at an address tomorrow? We’ve got an appointment with Greg Bailey.’
‘Doesn’t Dimi want it?’
‘Extension was denied for Blake, so we’ve only got him until eleven am. Dimi thinks he can get something after the lad’s sweated some more.’
Recalling Blake’s demeanour, Jo seriously doubted it.
Carrick said he’d text Jo the address where they’d be meeting the Baileys’ son.
She couldn’t help but ask. ‘Has he given us anything about his sister?’
‘All communication’s come through the solicitor,’ said Carrick. ‘I get the impression she may have been a black sheep of the family.’
Andy often had a way with understatement.
‘That’s one way of putting it, boss.’
MONDAY, 21ST APRIL
‘Have you found her?’
Greg Bailey looked like a banker in waiting. Clean-shaven, locks a glossy blond Jo once would have envied, with an athlete’s physique. He was six-three at least, and every inch of him looked fine-tooled for a graduate job in the City. He wore a pink polo-shirt and blue jeans, with a pair of loafers. She tried to put first impressions aside, and remind herself he was a grieving son, though the only sign of grief that Jo could detect was a slight rawness to his eyes, which looked almost pink under pale lashes.
‘We’re still looking,’ said Jo. The other man in the room, the Baileys’ solicitor, was a rotund and florid fifty-something. He introduced himself as Aiden Chalmers, and invited them, having all shaken hands, to be seated on two facing Chesterfield sofas.
‘Would you mind if we record the interview?’ asked Carrick. ‘It’s just for our records.’
Greg looked to Chalmers, who shook his head. ‘Of course not.’
‘First of all,’ said Carrick. ‘We’re very sorry for your loss, Mr Bailey. Can I ask when you last had contact with your parents?’
‘A week or so ago,’ said Bailey. ‘They’d just landed in Singapore on the stopover. Their flight was delayed.’
‘And when did you last see them in person?’
He shrugged. ‘It would have been the very end of January, just before I went back to uni. I gave them a lift to the airport.’
‘And what is it you study?’
‘Economics and Management,’ he said, before glancing at Chalmers. ‘Sorry, how is my course relevant to what’s happened to Mum and Dad?’
‘Please rest assured we’re doing everything we can to find your parents’ killer,’ said Carrick.
‘Then your best bet is to start with my sister.’
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Jo.
Bailey looked at her with something close to contempt. ‘She’s a fuck-up, that’s why. It’s pretty obvious what’s happened. I just wish Mum and Dad hadn’t been so naïve.’
‘Please, enlighten us,’ said Carrick.
Greg leant back, and the sofa creaked. ‘Megan was nicking stuff from the age of about eight,’ he said. ‘Just little things, like my toys, or biscuits from the cupboards. It seemed funny at the time, because she’d always deny it, and kids are crap at lying. But it got worse. She took a neighbour’s bike, and when they came to get it back, she dumped it in the river to avoid getting caught. Dad thought that my school would sort her out, but if anything, being away from home sent her the other way.’
‘We know she was expelled,’ said Jo.
Greg blinked and settled his gaze on her. ‘I believe asked to leave is the term they prefer.’
‘It was something to do with sex,’ said Jo. ‘Could you clarify for us?’
‘Certainly,’ said Greg. ‘She sent her maths teacher, Miss Estevez, a picture taken between her legs.’
‘She’s gay?’ said Jo.
‘I think the point is that she was twelve,’ said Bailey. He let it hang, before adding. ‘Actually, Megan would fuck anything if it meant she could get what she wanted.’
‘And what was that?’ asked Jo.
‘Back then, I don’t know. Affection? Later, it was all about drugs though. Well, money anyway, which equals drugs if you’re wired that way. If she could fuck for drugs direct, I’m sure she would.’
Jo’s mind went back to what the glazier had said. You know what druggies are like. Steal anything to feed a habit.
‘She stole from Mum and Dad, repeatedly.’
‘And they never tried to do anything about it?’
‘Like what?’ said Bailey. ‘Report her to the police?’
‘Perhaps counselling?’ said Jo.
Bailey shook his head, and looked sincere for a moment. ‘They believed in a higher power,’ he said. ‘Dragged both of us to church every Sunday, watched us toddle into the confessional to be absolved of our sins. Fuck, I’ve no idea what the priest must have made of Megan. She probably quite enjoyed tormenting him. Anyway, none of it seemed to help. I’m sure Mum and Dad prayed themselves hoarse asking for divine intervention.’ He seemed to be looking inward, staring at the table between them. ‘My parents weren’t saints, but they always tried to do the right thing.’ He glanced up, almost a snarl on his lips. ‘Kind of ironic, isn’t it?’
‘Ironic how?’ asked Carrick.
‘Well, they took Megan in, and this is the reward they get.’
Jo was momentarily confused, and Andy’s face told a similar story. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘What do you mean?’
Bailey sat up, suddenly more animated, and threw a smirk across to his solicitor, before answering incredulously. ‘You didn’t even know she was adopted. Christ on a unicycle! I’m glad we’ve got Thames Valley’s finest on the case.’
The blood rushed to Jo’s face, and she was glad that Carrick spoke first.
‘We weren’t aware of that, Greg. You’ll appreciate that there is a lot of evidence to process at your parents’ house, and our immediate concern is intelligence gathering related to the murder itself.’
‘Still!’ said the solicitor, chiming in with some obvious delight, but apparently nothing to add.
Jo had gathered her composure. ‘And if you’d spoken to us more promptly, this fact would have been in the open sooner.’
‘I’m sorry I inconvenienced you,’ said Bailey acidly.
He’s actually enjoying this, thought Jo.
‘Is it fair to say that your relationship with your sister wasn’t a good one?’ said Carrick.
Chalmers, now seemingly invigorated, intervened. ‘I’m not sure how Gregory’s feelings about his sister are important at all,’ he said.
‘No, it’s all right,’ said Bailey. ‘To be honest, I had very little to do with her. I was a boarder, and she was at school in Oxford. Now I’m at university. Unlike my parents, I’d written off any good ever coming of Megan. And it looks, regrettably, like I was right.’
‘Do you know of someone called Blake Matthis?’ asked Carrick.
Bailey frowned. ‘I don’t. Is he the one you think killed my parents?’
‘We think he might be connected somehow,’ said Jo’s boss. ‘What about Xan Do?’
Bailey sighed and shook his head. ‘Gosh, are these all of Megan’s boyfriends? She’s been busy.’
‘We think Megan was staying with someone recently,’ said Jo. ‘A man called Harry Ferman.’
‘The old man who was killed?’
Jo nodded. ‘Have you any idea how she might have known him?’
‘I imagine he was giving her money and she was giving him something in return.’
‘Did your parents know where she was?’
‘Unlikely. Megan did her own thing most of the time. Staying with friends, nearer town. She treated the house like an occasional pit-stop.’ He folded his arms. ‘Would you like my view?’
‘Go on,’ said Carrick.
‘Megan’s got herself mixed up with some drug dealers. Maybe she owes them money, or maybe she stole something from them. But she couldn’t fuck her way out of the problem, and it’s getting people killed.’
It didn’t seem a bad summation, but Jo kept her face impassive.
‘So you see why we need to find her?’ said Carrick.
Bailey slapped his hands down onto his knees with relish, then looked from Carrick to Jo and back again. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do all your job for you.’
Chapter 14
‘Well, he was obnoxious,’ said Carrick, as they made their way back to their respective vehicles.
Jo had a rather choicer epithet in mind, but kept it to herself.
‘Grief affects people differently,’ she said. ‘The day my mum died, I bit the head off a woman in Boots when she bumped into me in the queue. And I didn’t even particularly like my mother.’
Carrick chuckled, and Jo sensed their relationship was getting back on to an even keel.
‘Greg Bailey certainly wasn’t fond of his sister, was he?’ said Carrick.
‘She sounds hard to love,’ Jo replied. ‘If she was adopted, there’ll be a record of monitoring with child services. I’ll get in touch and see if they can shed any light.’
‘Good thinking.’
Jo knew she might not get another chance, so she asked. ‘I’d love a few minutes with Blake too. If Megan was involved with the trafficking of narcotics and using her parents’ house to store them, it could be one of the numbers he was calling belonged to her. He might give it up.’
They’d reached the cars and Carrick paused with the door open. ‘Talk to Heidi about the phone data,’ he said. ‘And let me talk to Dimi about the other thing. He was looking pretty burnt out by the end of yesterday. Blake had clammed up completely.’
‘Got it,’ said Jo. ‘See you back at the station.’
As she was climbing into her car, she noticed Greg Bailey across the street, to one side of the building that housed Chalmers’ offices, climbing into a racing-green Jaguar. She wondered absently if it was a gift from his parents, or if he’d somehow bought it himself.
