by Michael Wood
Masterson continued. ‘You pulled the television off the wall.’
Masterson had been briefed on the events by Sian before the interview began, but even now, as she recalled them out loud, she had trouble believing them.
Something clicked into place and it all came flooding back. The colour returned to his cheeks and a film of sweat appeared on his brow.
‘That’s right. I remember. She got me so angry. Do you know what she does all day? She sits on that fat arse of hers watching daytime TV. That’s it. Then she has the nerve to tell me to make something of myself.’ He clenched his fists hard, his knuckles turning white and his fingernails digging deep into his palms. ‘Her saint of a father was a superintendent by the time he was my age and I’m just a lowly Acting DCI. I don’t know how she can criticize my career when she has done fuck all with her life except give birth to two ungrateful daughters. She’s a selfish bitch. All three of them are selfish bitches.’
His palms had little crescent moon-shaped nail indentations on them. They were shaking with decades of pent-up rage finally released.
‘Why did you smash the television?’ Masterson asked eventually once the tension in the room has dissipated a little.
‘Because the fucking thing is never switched off.’ The rage in him was as energetic as a thunderstorm.
‘And the knife?’
‘The what?’
‘You had a knife. You threatened your wife with a kitchen knife.’
‘I did nothing of the sort,’ he exclaimed, genuinely incensed.
‘You didn’t actually take it out but she saw it. It was in your inside jacket pocket and it matches the description of the knife you used to stab Jonathan Harkness with.’
‘Stab Jonathan Harkness? I didn’t do that. I didn’t stab anyone.’
Chapter 49
Matilda had no intention of going home. Once Masterson and Sian had left the incident room to interview Ben, she remained seated in the squeaky chair, listening to the sounds of the station around her, the footfalls in the corridors, the ticking clocks, the choking of the radiators struggling to inject some much-needed heat into the room.
She looked at Ben’s laptop, tempted to read more in his research into Jonathan Harkness and any number of unsolved murders he had become obsessed with in recent days, but the fight had been knocked out of her.
She went into the toilets to wash her face and compose herself. The water was cold and harsh, just what she needed to kick back the tears. Her reflection was tired and sad. The glimmer in her had long since died. The bodies Adele cut up on a daily basis had more life in them than she had.
As she came out of the toilets she literally bumped into Faith Easter.
‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere ma’am.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘I’ve got a photocopy of Maun’s suicide note. I thought you’d want to see it sooner rather than later.’
‘Thanks Faith. Look, it’s late, get off home and we’ll try to make sense of all this tomorrow.’
‘OK.’
Faith headed down the corridor and turned back a couple of times to see her boss reading the note.
To Jonathan,
I’m guessing it won’t be you who finds me but I hope the police will pass this note on to you. I’d be lying if I said I was sorry for what I did to my husband. He deserved everything he had coming to him. He was ruthless in business and thought he could control his personal life in the same way. He surrounded himself with yes men at work and wanted the same at home; you know more than anyone that I’m not that type of woman.
As for his mistress and her baby, yes, I do regret their involvement. I’m sorry she died but at the end of the day, she knew he was married when embarking on the affair. I’m not totally to blame.
I love you Jonathan. I love you like a son. You mean the world to me and I’m sorry I let you down. I’m sorry I couldn’t allow you to be happy and I’m sorry I killed Stephen. I know he loved you and I could see it in your face that you felt the same way about him. I just didn’t want to spend the rest of my life alone.
I know it won’t make up for what I’ve done but I’ve left everything to you in my will; the flat, the money, everything, it’s all yours. Find yourself another Stephen, someone to love you, and make you realize just how special you are.
I’m so very sorry that it couldn’t be me.
Maun
Matilda folded the note in quarters before stuffing it in her pocket. This day could not get any worse. Everything was going wrong. She made her way down the corridor, not knowing where she was going, but not in the mood to go home, or even leave the station. Before she realized it, she was in the observation room attached to interview room one.
She couldn’t believe what Ben was saying. Could he really have no recollection of what had happened to him over the last few hours? She had to believe him, as this was Jonathan’s defence with what had happened to his parents. If she ever doubted him before, she didn’t now.
The mind was a dangerous instrument. Jonathan blanked out what happened to his parents. Matilda sank into a pit of despair when she lost her husband to a brain tumour. When Adele was faced with a life of being trapped as a single parent with no career prospects she pulled herself up by her boot laces and carried on. We all handle similar events in completely different ways.
She wished Masterson would hurry up. Yes, it was tragic what had happened with Hales’s wife, but at the end of the day it was a domestic matter. Nobody had been physically hurt. She should be focusing on what happened with Jonathan, what had led Ben to snatch him from the street and stab him in the stomach.
‘Balfour, Campbell-Bannerman, Asquith, Lloyd George, Law, Baldwin, MacDonald, Baldwin,’ she said under her breath. She cursed herself; the bloody Prime Ministers were back. Just when she thought she no longer needed them. She could feel pin pricks creeping up her back; a panic attack was imminent. In the small observation room she could smell her own stale sweat. ‘MacDonald, Baldwin, Chamberlain, Churchill, Atlee, Churchill,’ She felt hot and her breathing intensified; small, rapid breaths. She felt claustrophobic; the room seemed darker and the walls moved ever closer. She needed some fresh air, a wide open space. She needed to feel the cold flakes of snow on her face, see her breath materialize in huge clouds from her lips but she couldn’t bring herself to leave the room. She needed to hear Ben’s confession. Was her job really so important to her that she was prepared to risk her health? Of course it was; all she had left was her job.
‘Eden, Macmillan, Douglas-Home, Wilson, Heath,’ she quoted more and more British Prime Ministers and her voice was becoming louder, threatening to be heard from the other side of the glass and expose her to the ACC.
By the time she reached the present incumbent of Number 10 she could feel herself relaxing, yet every time she looked across at Ben, she could feel her hackles rising once again. Maybe she should go home.
The tense atmosphere in the interview room was growing with each question asked. All three knew the situation they were in; the role they were playing was awkward and surreal. It was hard to believe that twelve hours ago they were all colleagues. The two interviewers were growing increasingly uncomfortable at trying to extract a confession from one of their own, while the interviewee was having difficulty grasping the concept of the end of his career and a lengthy prison sentence.
‘Tell me about your relationship with Charlie Johnson,’ Masterson asked, trying to find another angle to get to the truth.
‘He wrote the book on the Harkness killings. He knows the case inside and out.’
‘I’ve seen the emails, Ben.’ She hadn’t, but she had been given an in-depth summary from Sian. ‘You’ve fed him information from the case notes which should have remained the knowledge of police personnel only. In return, he has given you nothing.’
‘That’s not true. He’s given me an insight into Jonathan Harkness; his character, his frame of mind.’
‘The
man is a journalist, not a psychologist. He knows nothing of what makes Jonathan tick. He’s angry because Jonathan is the only person ever to turn him down for an interview, and without him he has been unable to complete his story. He’s a hack, Ben, and he’s brainwashed you to get closer to Jonathan. You’ve shown him witness statements, reports, crime-scene photographs, classified information.’
‘I wanted an expert opinion.’
Masterson almost erupted. ‘Charlie Johnson is not an expert on anything.’
‘He’s very well informed.’
‘Yes, because you’ve been feeding him. Why were you even interested in the Harkness case? You know Matilda was working on that.’
‘And getting fucking nowhere with it,’ Ben answered through gritted teeth.
‘How do you know? It’s a twenty-year-old case; it can’t be solved overnight.’
‘She’s useless. She’s burnt out. You should never have had her back.’
‘That is not your decision to make. Why did you take Jonathan Harkness back to the murder scene?’
‘To trigger a memory,’ he replied flatly.
‘Did it work?’
‘It would have done if…’
‘If what?’
‘If Matilda hadn’t shown up.’
‘Why did you stab him?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘You did. You had the knife in your jacket. Your fingerprints are on the handle. You were in a secure area with no one else around. Who else could have stabbed him if it wasn’t you?’
Ben didn’t reply.
Masterson sighed. She wasn’t getting anywhere. Whenever she backtracked and started again they reached the present, to what happened just a few hours ago and slammed into a brick wall. Ben Hales was either highly manipulative, a very good actor, or he genuinely couldn’t remember what he had done. Maybe she would have been better off allowing Matilda to have a go at him.
‘OK.’ She ran her fingers through her tangled hair. ‘Tell me about Jonathan Harkness. What’s your obsession with him?’
‘I’m not obsessed.’
‘Sian,’ Masterson instructed.
Sian was about to join in the interview for the first time. Usually, the prospect of interviewing a suspect didn’t bother her, but when the suspect was her direct superior she wished she was anywhere but here. She would rather be hosing down the cells on a Sunday morning following a busy Saturday night. She cleared her throat and reached for her folder. She cleared her throat again. Why did it have to be so hot in here?
‘Within the last week you have sent over one hundred and sixty emails to Charlie Johnson and each email has had Jonathan Harkness as the subject.’
‘So? I’m investigating a lead.’
Sian continued. ‘Former Detective Inspector Pat Campbell, who worked on the original investigation as a sergeant, has informed us you were present at the scene of the crime. A fact you failed to disclose once you knew the case was being reviewed.’
‘An oversight.’
‘Pat Campbell told us you were one of the first uniformed officers on the scene, and you led Jonathan Harkness to the ambulance. You accompanied him to the hospital and stayed by his bed throughout the night.’
‘It was my job.’
‘You also kept making yourself known to the investigating team to the point where DI Ken Blackstock made a formal complaint to your superior. His exact words said you were a pest and a hindrance to the case. You were officially warned to stay away from the incident room.’
Ben’s expression remained blank. His eyes were fixed on Sian, but he was looking straight through her.
‘So why the obsession with Jonathan Harkness?’ Masterson repeated her question.
‘The case needs solving,’ he snapped.
‘It is currently under review as well you know.’
‘Yes and look at who you’ve put in charge. The only case Matilda Darke can get to the bottom of is a case of Scotch. You should never have allowed her to set foot back in this station. After what she did, she should have been sacked on the spot. She might as well have killed Carl Meagan with her own bare hands.’
‘Matilda Darke’s return was my decision and in my opinion it was the right one. I do not have to justify myself to anyone in this station. DCI Darke is an exemplary detective. I have one hundred per cent faith that she is the best person to solve the Harkness killings.’
‘Bollocks,’ he exclaimed. He slammed his hands down on the table and jumped up out of his seat. ‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Ben Hales of South Yorkshire Police’s Murder Investigation Team and I demand some respect around here.’
The atmosphere in the interview room changed. Hales saw the expression on his colleagues change. It wasn’t just his actions that were being questioned; now his sanity was in doubt too.
Chapter 50
‘I’m sorry to call so late. Can I come in?’
‘Oh my God, what’s happened?’
‘You are not going to believe this.’
Adele saw the look of triumph in Matilda’s eyes as she stepped back and let her enter.
‘Should I put a pot of coffee on?’
‘More like crack open the champagne!’
It was almost midnight and Adele had been in bed when the pounding on the door had disturbed her from her Hilary Mantel. She was reluctant to answer at first; it was never good news when a visitor called in the dead of night, especially during treacherous weather conditions. She had hoped Chris, being the man of the house, would answer the door, but being a typical student he could sleep through an alien invasion.
Matilda headed for the living room with Adele trotting behind like a greedy puppy. She turned on the lights and then looked back at Adele with her mouth open.
‘Is that what you wear to bed?’
Adele looked down at her flannel white pyjamas decorated with cartoon penguins. ‘What’s wrong with them?’
‘Nothing if you’re an eight-year-old girl.’
‘They’re comfortable. Besides, it’s winter and I sleep alone, who am I trying to impress? Look, forget what I’m wearing, tell me why you look like you’ve just won the lottery on the same day George Clooney announces his love for you.’
‘Jonathan Harkness has been stabbed…’
‘Oh my God!’ Adele held her hands up to her mouth.
‘Wait…Ben Hales stabbed him.’
‘What the hell?!’
Matilda sat down on the sofa and crossed her legs. She visibly relaxed into the leather. Adele sat on the seat next to her but she was perched on the edge, eager for more.
‘Hales practically dragged Jonathan off the street, took him to the demolition site of his childhood home, and stabbed him.’
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘No. I was there.’
‘Bloody hell. How is he?’
‘I don’t know. Aaron’s with him at the Northern General. I suppose I should go and see how he’s doing.’
She rose to leave but Adele stopped her.
‘Don’t you bloody dare. You don’t just wake me up at silly o’clock and expect to leave after only giving me half a story. Let me get us a drink and you can start from the top.’ Adele went over to the sideboard where she kept a tray of decanters and glasses. She poured two healthy measures of whisky then returned to the sofa.
‘I thought you disapproved of me drinking,’ she said, looking up at the elixir.
‘I’m a doctor, this is medicinal.’
Matilda took a long swig of the whisky and could feel the burning liquid go down her throat. It was like the central heating had been turned on.
‘So, what’s going on? Where’s Ben now?’
‘He’s being interviewed by Masterson and Sian. I was listening from the observation room. You should have heard some of the things he was saying, Adele, about me. How can he hate me so much?’
‘It’s not you personally. It would be anyone who held your position.’
‘He just made me so angr
y listening to him. I could pummel him to death with my bare hands and think I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Like Jonathan did to his brother, Matthew?’ Adele said, off the cuff.
Matilda looked up, a sudden realization on her face. ‘Do you think that’s what could’ve happened? He’d been pushed so hard to the point of no return that he just snapped, beat his brother to death, and because it was so out of character, he wiped the entire incident from his mind.’
‘It’s possible I suppose. The mind is a very strange object. It can block out anything to protect you from the horror,’ Adele agreed. ‘What’s going on with the Harkness cold case?’ she asked, to break the heavy silence and stop Matilda retreating further inside her own mind.
‘I’ve absolutely no idea,’ she sighed. ‘I think I know who the killer is but I’m afraid of looking stupid if I voice my opinions. Can you believe that? I’ve never doubted myself before in my life and now look at me.’
‘Tell me,’ Adele said, leaning forward in her seat.
‘I think it’s Jonathan,’ she said after a beat, not able to look Adele in the eye.
‘Jonathan? You think he killed his own parents?’
‘Yes.’
‘But he was only…what…eleven years old at the time?’
‘That’s why I’m afraid of saying anything. I can sort of understand him killing his brother, but his parents? That’s taking a great deal of fathoming.’
‘Well, what makes you think Jonathan did it?’
‘Basic logic. He was alone in the house with his parents. There was no sign of forced entry and the doors were all locked from the inside. It’s a classic locked-door mystery, but this is real life, not fiction. There was no phantom or secret passageways involved. The only reasonable person who could have killed them is Jonathan.’
‘But what about the murder weapon? Why wasn’t it ever found during the search?’
‘That’s hole number one in my theory.’
‘Also, I’ve seen pictures of Jonathan at the age of eleven. He doesn’t look physically capable of killing his parents.’
