He rubbed his face and Isaac’s stance relaxed somewhat. His shoulders slumped forward.
‘But, guess what? She didn’t want supporting. When it came down to the crunch, she didn’t want me.
‘I was there. I was sat opposite her every day, but she didn’t reach out. She held onto her secret and she didn’t reach out. And because of that, I lost her.’ He looked at Martin now. ‘We lost her.’ Martin nodded.
A tear slipped down Isaac’s face and he brushed it away with the back of his hand.
‘It’s been six months now and I’ve screwed up because I’ve not been able to come to terms with that, but day by day it gets easier. And the one thing I’ve had to learn is that Sally made her own decisions because she was her own person. This was the person I had chosen to love as a friend – so how can I then go and challenge her in death for the very decision that made her who she was?’
Martin cleared his throat and looked away towards the allotment shed door, which was ajar.
‘If you ask me, Isaac, the decisions Emma made are the decisions that made her who she was. The grown woman you loved. The girl you nurtured into a woman. How can you challenge her now? How can you continue with this fight?’
109
After the brightness of the day, the inside of the shed looked dark. For a minute I couldn’t make out who was who, but I could hear what was going on. I stood in the doorway and listened. It was Ross I could hear talking.
I followed the sound of his voice to two figures on stools facing each other at the end of the shed, and figured out he was the one on my right. He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, face up to the man in front of him. Isaac Knight was slumped, his shoulders curled over. A man defeated. Martin was leaning against a kitchen work counter; relaxed, but aware of the scene in front of him.
Aaron was eager to go inside and make the arrest, but I wanted to listen and understand what was happening first, rather than going in all guns blazing. What I heard, from Ross, about his feelings towards Sally and how he had struggled to deal with it had moved me close to tears. His honesty to this man he had only just met and who had been killing innocent people was brave. I was so very proud of Ross, not just in his honesty but in assessing the situation, sensing just how to get the right reaction from Isaac, knowing that using his own personal experience, something so deeply personal, would help this volatile and emotional man. He’d changed, turned himself around since the incident at court. It had served as a wake-up call. A costly one, but one that had worked. He was looking like the officer I knew him to be. Competent and articulate. Intelligent and resourceful.
Martin must have sensed us or heard us approach, as he turned his head and saw me in the doorway. I offered him a smile. They had this in hand. I wasn’t worried. It looked as though we were about to close this job, bar all the paperwork.
Then Isaac Knight spoke.
And what he said chilled me to the core. On the warm spring day, stood in the glow of the sun, on the threshold of the shed, with the rays warming my skin, I shivered.
Isaac Knight told Ross where he had placed the last of the products.
I hadn’t heard the start of this conversation. I didn’t know we had more products out there.
We needed to find them before they killed anyone else.
I hoped we weren’t too late.
110
David had expected to hear the buzzer from Lois’s room by now. Time passed so quickly here in Ruby House, with all the chores and all the demands the elderly residents made. He adored working with them and he loved working here. Two great things about his job were the residents and how quickly time did pass.
There were your normal day-to-day chores that needed attention but there were also the small things, the joyful things, playing cards, singing songs, playing peacekeeper. He didn’t know many of his friends who were as happy to go to work.
His thoughts turned again to Lois. He’d become distracted by a fight between a couple of the residents after he left her in her room and it had escalated when Milly put her false teeth in Edward’s cup of tea and he exploded on her, waving his walking stick in the air, only just missing her head. It had taken him a good half hour or more to talk them both down. Milly had been furious at the way Edward had bitched about Lois after she had vomited in the dining hall. Another feisty one. David only hoped he’d have half as much life in him at their age as they had.
Now he had everyone settled, he walked up the flight of stairs to Lois’s room, knocked and waited.
There was no reply.
He knocked again.
Still no reply.
She’d probably nodded off while listening to her audiobook. He could hear it quietly playing away in her room. David turned the handle and crept in.
‘Lois?’
She was still in the chair where he left her, but there was something not quite right. And he’d worked here long enough to know what that was.
‘Oh my God, Lois, no.’
111
It was seven weeks following the arrest of Isaac Knight and I was with Aaron in my office. We’d closed down the shop where Knight had stated he had left another contaminated product, on the day we arrested him. He said he’d injected an orange and placed it in the store container. We couldn’t find any products with digoxin in and no further suspicious deaths were reported.
‘I wonder how many deaths went undetected as suspicious?’ I mused aloud.
‘I don’t know. It’s a strange one. Digoxin can kill you and look like the very thing it’s supposed to be preventing you from dying from. A heart problem.’
‘Grief ... a strong emotion. Strong enough to drive a man to do something like that.’ I fiddled with a pen in my fingers.
‘Losing a child has to be one of the hardest losses to come back from because you never ever expect to outlive your children.’
‘Do we know how Connie is doing?’
‘Martin spoke to her yesterday and she’s doing okay. Still at her sister’s in Durham and will be for the foreseeable future. The fact that she’s the wife of the Nottinghamshire poisoner is hard on her. Not just emotionally, but in her day-to-day life. She gets trouble when anyone recognises her. She’s torn about selling the house because of the memories it holds of Emma, but other than that she’d sell it in a heartbeat.’
I looked at him but he hadn’t realised what he’d said. I was glad I had Aaron. He’d always been the level head in comparison to my sometimes-emotional one, and now I understood why. I was glad he’d told me about the Asperger’s, but still wished it hadn’t been under such stressful circumstances, that it didn’t feel as though I’d forced him into a corner. I wished he’d felt he’d been able to candidly tell me, but that was my problem to live with, not his.
‘And the local force in Durham are aware she’s there, in case there are problems?’
‘Yes, that’s all in place.’
‘Great. She’s had a lot to deal with. We don’t want her to have to put up with any more.’
Aaron stood to leave.
‘Aaron?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I know it was a couple of weeks ago, but are you doing okay after the inquest?’
He paused and considered me before answering. I put my pen down and waited on him.
‘It’s the natural order of our processes. I’m fine.’
112
I closed the door behind me and turned to face Detective Superintendent Catherine Walker. Her face was closed off. A few more lines around the eyes, maybe, than there had been a few weeks ago. Her organised desk, acting as a barrier between us, took on a more ominous feel, as I had no idea why I had been called in. The Isaac Knight case had been a tough investigation, both in terms of the crimes and consequences, and the emotions involved, but it was over. We’d stopped further deaths, identified the offender and pacified the public. However, EMSOU had been hauled over the coals by the press on a few occasions during the investigation. We’d been made to loo
k like incompetent fools – and Catherine wasn’t a fan of looking like a fool. I needed to brace myself. I steeled myself for what I thought was coming; the barrage of complaints, the list of errors we’d committed during the investigation.
‘Have a seat, Hannah.’
‘Ma’am.’ I pulled down the jacket I was wearing, straightening it. Catherine didn’t move. She continued to look at me. Watchful. Studying. I ran my fingers through my fringe, then sat on my hands.
‘You might be wondering why I’ve called you in.’ She leaned forward, resting her arms on the desk. ‘I want to talk to you about the internal impact of the completion hearing of Sally’s inquest,’ she paused, allowing me to digest this. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting and Catherine knew that. A cold trickle ran down the length of my spine. ‘As you know, it’s not complimentary of Nottinghamshire police, specifically the supervision of the detective constables on the enquiry.’ The cold trickle that had run down my spine sprinted back up, grabbed hold of my head and squeezed. I bit my lip. Hard.
‘Hannah, we knew this was coming. We’ve been preparing for it – or for something like it.’
Who had? What had they prepared? ‘Okay.’
‘Because the report found that there was a neglect of supervisory duty of care towards Sally which led indirectly to her death. Although it was her own actions that placed her in harm’s way, had a supervisor paid more attention or checked in with her at the hospital after the explosion involving the car, then certain circumstances could have been avoided.’
I didn’t know which was hurting more now, the icy grip on my head or my arm that had started to throb as it tended to do at inopportune moments. What was going to happen to me? Was this it? My job? My career? I couldn’t speak. I let Catherine continue.
‘Are you okay, Hannah?’ My bloody arm. But I couldn’t move my hands from under my legs as I wouldn’t be able to control them.
‘Hannah?’
‘What? Sorry, Ma’am. Yes, yes, I’m fine. So you say that preparations have been made for this eventuality?’ That final question.
‘As you’d expect with a death on duty. The coroner wants us to recognise what has happened, though she has no further jurisdiction, and the command team want a scapegoat, I’m afraid.’ She clasped her hands together in front of her as though in prayer.
Fuck.
‘You were hospitalised at the same time as Sally was, and I’m talking about the time you both survived when you were in the car during the gas explosion.’ She nodded at me, as if this was a question.
‘Okay.’ It was about all I could say.
‘And supervisory duty was passed over to the DCI on duty at that time, which was Anthony Grey. He was the line manager in charge of the investigation. The buck, I’m afraid, stops with him. Therefore, he is being moved onto divisional CID with immediate effect. He’s been informed.’
Grey? Divisional CID? It sucked you in and squished you up like a black hole. Not enough officers and permanent overtime. Dealing with anything and everything that no one else could or would take on. I knew he had worried about the repercussions of the inquest and the IPCC investigation and what that could potentially mean for him. As supervisors we all did. We hadn’t needed to say it out loud, it was an unwritten rule that if it goes to shit on your watch, then there’s a chance a move’s afoot.
I felt for him but I was also relieved for myself. What kind of person did that make me? My arm wouldn’t stop nagging at me. I needed some painkillers.
We’d lost Anthony.
‘So,’ Catherine carried on as though another part of our team fracturing off was nothing, ‘his replacement will be arriving as soon as Anthony clears out his office. I don’t know if you know him? DCI Kevin Baxter? He’s coming from the Mansfield office. Golden boy, by all accounts. Isn’t scared about ruffling feathers and wants things doing his way. Won’t put up with slackers or those who think they can do what they want, regardless of policy. The command team feel he’s what is needed here and is a nod to the coroner that we have taken this seriously.
‘Have you heard of him yourself, Hannah?’
‘Me? No, Ma’am. I’m a little shocked, to be honest. It’s a lot to take in.’ So, the folder I had in my desk, containing a copy of Sally’s murder file, was resulting in the loss of yet another one of our own. A clear up, but in an unexpected and unwanted way.
‘I know. But don’t worry. Baxter may have his ways, but he still answers to me. We all want what’s best for the unit and the people we serve, don’t we?’
‘Absolutely.’ I needed to get out of here and I needed to see Grey. But what would I say to him? How do I say I’m sorry he’s leaving when he’ll know damn well that I’m relieved to be staying in role? What kind of friend did that make me? Could I really face him or would he see through me?
And what was in store for me in Grey’s replacement, what would I be facing in Kevin Baxter?
What I needed after today, were my painkillers.
About the Author
Rebecca Bradley is a retired police detective who lives in Nottinghamshire with her family and her two Cockerpoos Alfie and Lola. They keep her company while she writes. Rebecca needs to drink copious amounts of tea to function throughout the day and if she could, she would survive on a diet of tea and cake.
She lives with the genetic disorder Hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and secondary disorder to that, Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. These are a part of her daily life and she has to adjust her days accordingly, but she still manages to commit murder and will continue to for a long time to come.
If you enjoyed Made to be Broken and would be happy to leave a review online that would be much appreciated, as word of mouth is often how other readers find new books to read.
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Please look her up, as she would love to chat.
Acknowledgements
My name is the one attached to Made to be Broken, but it takes so many more people than just the author to create a novel and this one has been no different.
I may know my police procedure, but I certainly don’t know my poisons or how they affect the body and I don’t know how to write a newspaper article and I don’t know the real world that high functioning Aspergers people have to contend with. So, it is with my deepest thanks and heartfelt gratitude that I acknowledge the following people for their help, expertise and guidance and ask for their understanding with any liberties I may have taken.
I am indebted to Denyse Kirkby, who helped me not only with Aaron during Made to be Broken, but who knew from the very off, as I wrote Shallow Waters, that Aaron was living with Aspergers and as a writer who lives with Aspergers herself, Denyse has been instrumental in making sure he is not a comedy version, but a genuine, functioning member of the team. This was important to both of us.
With thanks again to Lauren Turner for her expertise with Ethan. I found out just how different writing fiction and writing articles were during Made to be Broken and I’m sure Lauren must have laughed hysterically when I sent her my first attempt at an article. Any errors, as always, are my own.
For advice on arm injuries and mental health (a particularly important subject to portray in a manner to which it is based in reality) I have to thank, Rosie Claverton, who is both a doctor and author.
Now, poisoning someone. It’s not something you have to think about every day and asking the difficult questions of a pathologist can be quite unnerving. You never know quite what they’re going to think of you, but Dr Mark Stephens answered everything very calmly and without getting worried. So, thank you.
Thank you to the book club, Bookit!
, at Mansfield in Nottinghamshire, run by Sadie Booth, for the advice given on labelling Isaac’s chapters, after a book club meeting where I wondered out loud about the best way to label two timelines for one character.
To Jane Isaac and Dave Sivers for trudging through an early draft that was making me want to give up writing all together. It made it to completion!
Thank you Jane, Lisa Cutts and Susi Holliday for providing me with such fabulous quotes. I adore you.
To all the book bloggers who have been so generous with their time when it came to launching Made to be Broken, thank you. The blogging community is a thriving and generous community and I am thrilled to be a part of it.
With thanks to my launch team who are great bunch of people who offered their time freely and have been a great support, thank you!
There are so many other people who have offered words of encouragement along the way, they are too many to name for fear of leaving someone out and offending, but to you all, I am truly grateful. To those who are responsible for making me laugh when I wanted to cry, when I wanted to tear this manuscript up into tiny pieces, you are always there and I am so grateful. We need drinks!
Without Keshini Naidoo, I would not have turned this from scrambled mess into something resembling a novel. I owe you so much gratitude. Thank you.
And Helen Baggott, thank you for the finishing touches, without which, it all falls down.
Finally, to those who I really couldn’t have done it without, Pete and our children, who always put up with me. And, there is a lot to put up with. Thank you.
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