Deadly Wishes (Detective Zoe Finch Book 1)

by Rachel McLean

  She listened to the two policewomen talking as she shuffled upstairs, keeping her eyes off the door to Bryn’s sanctuary.

  Chapter Nine

  Zoe sat in a chair at the kitchen table. Upstairs, Mrs Jackson was changing her clothes.

  “You told her to leave the dress on the bed?” she asked.

  “Yes,” PC Bright replied.

  “Good. You can get them while I speak to her. I need your colleague to stay put until Forensics get here. We have no idea where there might be evidence.”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ve been using the kitchen?”

  “I wanted to make her a drink.”

  Zoe nodded. Standard procedure, for witnesses. Dose them up with sugar and caffeine. For the shock, the PCs said. But in reality, it gave everyone something to do while they waited for the cavalry to arrive.

  Zoe started at the sound of the front doorbell ringing.

  “I’ll go.” The PC looked relieved to be free of the tension.

  She came back with Mo. Zoe felt herself relax a little.

  “Mo. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “They’re still trying to rouse the DCIs.”

  “Good luck to them.” It felt like a weight lifted, to have her old friend here. “I haven’t been in there yet, wanted to wait. I’ve got suits in my car.”

  “Uh-uh,” Adi Hanson from the Forensic Scene Investigation team came into the room. “Even you aren’t allowed in just yet, Zoe Finch.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “Adi. Good to see you.”

  He smirked. “I hoped I’d be working with you on your first case as a DI.”

  “Acting DI.”

  “Potato, pot-ah-to. I like your jacket.”

  She tensed. “I don’t think this is the time—”

  He waved a hand. “You’ll change your mind one day, Zoe Finch. Meanwhile, I’ve got a scene to secure. Please tell me those PCs didn’t stomp all over it.”

  “No. PC Khaled has been on the door—”

  “Oh I know. He almost didn’t let us in.”

  “—and PC Bright had the presence of mind to ask the victim’s wife to let us have her dress.”

  Adi wrinkled his nose. “Is it bad?”

  “It’s covered in blood, if that’s what you mean.”

  “The victim’s?”

  “Mrs Jackson cut herself too,” interrupted PC Bright.

  “How?” asked Zoe.

  “She says she did it on the knife. Her palm. It looks bad.”

  “The murder weapon?” said Adi.

  A nod.

  “Shit.” His eyes sparkled. “She tried to pull it out of him? She grabbed it?”

  A shrug.

  “Either that, or…” said Mo.

  Zoe frowned at him. “You think so?” She looked towards the door. Could Margaret Jackson, that timid mouse, be capable of killing her husband?

  Mo shrugged. “Let’s let the evidence speak for itself.”

  “I was about to interview her,” said Zoe. “I’m wondering if we should do it more formally.”

  “If you think so.”

  She tapped her foot, irritated. Mo had never deferred to her before.

  “We don’t want her any more perturbed than she already is,” she said. “Let’s have a chat with her here. PC Bright, I want you standing outside that study door until you’re relieved. Even when there are officers in there examining it. Especially where there are officers in there. I’ll do tea duty.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You get ’em, Zoe,” said Adi. “I’ll be getting suited and booted, if that’s alright with you.”

  “Of course.”

  PC Bright gave him a wary look and followed him out of the room.

  “That guy won’t let up,” Zoe breathed.

  “He’s harmless,” replied Mo. “Unless he’s been harassing you?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “You wanted Bright to guard the room. You think someone on the force could be involved?”

  “I’ve no reason to. But he’s a senior officer. You can’t be too careful.”

  Again she thought of that musselman comment.

  “Treat her gently, Zoe. I know what you can be like when you’ve got the bit between your teeth.”

  “You underestimate me.”

  “No, I don’t.” Mo smiled at her. He knew as well as she did that this case would be snatched away from them as soon as more senior officers were woken. But the first hours after a murder were crucial. They couldn’t afford to wait.

  She wondered if Uniform were at Lesley or David’s houses now, hammering on their doors. Waking the neighbourhood.

  “I’m back.”

  Margaret Jackson stood in the doorway. She wore a pair of ironed blue jeans and a grey sweater over a matching blouse. She’d rubbed off her make-up and washed her hands.

  Zoe eyed the woman’s fingernails, which were mid-length and painted a pale pink. Blood tipped their ends. Whose blood?

  But Margaret Jackson was a witness, not a suspect yet. Zoe couldn’t demand to take samples from under her nails. It was enough that they could take that dress.

  She resolved to make sure Margaret didn’t wash her hands again. To speak to Adi about getting a sample from under her nails.

  “Mrs Jackson, thank you. This is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Mohammed Uddin.”

  Margaret shook Mo’s hand, showing none of the prejudice her husband had displayed. Margaret watched the handshake, thinking of that blood under her fingernails.

  “Do you need me in here?” Margaret’s voice sounded clearer now she’d changed and had a few moments to collect herself.

  Zoe smiled. “Yes please. Would you like another cup of tea?”

  “I think I’ve had enough. At my age…”

  “I’ll put the kettle on,” said Mo.

  “Black coffee for me, please,” said Zoe. “Strong.”

  “I know.”

  She gestured to the settee. It was threadbare, unlike everything else she’d seen in this house. Zoe wondered what the living room looked like. If it was ever used.

  Margaret slid along the settee and Zoe perched on the other end. She shifted in her seat, imagining Jackson’s ample backside in her place. Mo placed a coffee on a coaster and retreated to the kitchen table. He took out a pad and pen.

  “Mrs Jackson,” Zoe said. “I hope you don’t mind me speaking to you so soon. I know this is still very raw for you. But we find that the sooner we talk to witnesses, the more they’re able to remember. And the first hours after an incident like this are crucial.”

  “I know.”

  Zoe took out her notepad. “I’m going to ask you to tell me everything that happened from the moment you got home last night to the moment my colleagues arrived. I know it won’t be easy to talk about this, but I’d be grateful if you could start at the beginning. Is that alright?”

  “Yes.” Margaret’s voice was weak. Zoe watched for signs of guilt. But she just looked tired.

  “Thank you. Can you remember what time you arrived home?”

  “It was eleven thirty. We left the party at ten past. I remember looking at my watch. And the traffic was light on the…” Mrs Jackson slumped in her seat.

  “Are you alright? Did something happen on your way home?” Zoe asked.

  “No. Nothing happened. You wanted to know about when we got home.”

  “Yes.”

  “Bryn did his usual thing where he cuts out the gas and turns off the lights when he turned in to the drive.”

  Zoe wanted to ask why he did this, but preferred not to interrupt the witness’s flow.

  “Then he unlocked the front door and let us both in. I went to the kitchen and he went to his study.”

  “He went straight to his study?”

  “No.” Margaret’s gaze travelled to the window. She looked worried. “He came into the kitchen first. I poured him a drink.”

  “What kind of a drink?”

&n
bsp; “Scotch. Bowmore. His favourite.” A sniff. Margaret slumped back onto the sofa. “I’m sorry. It’s just… the things like… it makes you…”

  “I know. And I’m truly sorry for making you relive this.”

  “I know.”

  Of course she did, she was married to a copper.

  “So, you poured him a drink, and he went to his study. Did the two of you stay in the kitchen for long? Did you talk?”

  Margaret looked down at her lap. She tugged on a fingernail. “No.”

  “Right. What did you do, when he went to his study?”

  Margaret’s gaze shot up to meet Zoe’s. “What do you mean?”

  Zoe frowned. “Did you go to bed, or did you stay in the kitchen? Did you have a Scotch too?”

  Margaret shook her head, looking horrified at the thought. “Oh no. No. I went outside. To shut the gate.”

  “The gate? What gate?”

  “The back gate. It was banging. I had to lock it.”

  “Mrs Jackson. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Zoe looked up to see David Randle breezing into the room, arm extended toward Margaret.

  “David.” Margaret turned and raised her hand to shake his but instead of taking it, he put his hand on her shoulder.

  “How are you, Margaret?” he asked, his eyes crinkling. He was out of breath. How long since they’d managed to wake him?

  Zoe looked at her watch, realising it was getting light. 4:45 am. Jackson had been dead over five hours.

  “Thank you, DI Finch, I’ll be taking over from here.” David cast her a patronising smile.

  “I was just in the middle of—”

  “So I heard. Thank you for getting started for us. DCI Clarke will debrief you. She’s on her way.”

  “Mo’s in the study, he’s—”

  “I know. Lesley will debrief him too. You can get back to your son now.”

  Zoe narrowed her eyes. Since when did David Randle trouble himself to know about her family situation?

  “I’d rather stay, if that’s alright. Nicholas is seventeen, he can cope without me.”

  Randle approached her, leaning in so Mrs Jackson wouldn’t hear.

  “You’ve been very helpful, Zoe, but leave it to the big boys, eh? Report to the station at 8am and you’ll be assigned a role.”

  “Sir—”

  He raised a hand. “Do as you’re told, Acting Inspector. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Chapter Ten

  Zoe and Mo sat in her car, gazing at the growing number of vehicles between them and the house. David’s Audi, Adi’s Skoda and two squad cars. Another pulled up, the pathologist.

  “That’s harsh,” said Mo. “Kicking you out like that.”

  She shrugged. “They were never going to let me take charge. It’s the ACC. They’ll want someone senior as SIO.”

  “You reckon it’ll be Randle?”

  “Probably.”

  She yawned and dragged her hands down the back of her neck. It was gone five am and she felt heavy.

  “They’ll involve you, boss, after the Canary case. They won’t waste that.”

  “About that.”

  “What? Canary?”

  “No. You, calling me boss.”

  “Well, you are.”

  “It feels wrong. Makes my teeth stand on end.”

  He chuckled. “Sorry.”

  “We were always Mo and Zo. Ever since training. We’re still Mo and Zo.”

  “You’re my senior officer now.”

  “You’re OK with me being a DI?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You’ve always been ahead of me. CID first, Sergeant first.”

  “It’s fine. It’s not a problem.” His voice was clipped.

  “I need you to tell me if there’s an issue here.”

  He turned to her. “It’s fine. Like I say. You’re my boss now. Rather have you than Dawson.”

  DI Frank Dawson had been boss to both of them. Would be again, once he came back from secondment.

  “I want to make it permanent,” Zoe said.

  “Don’t blame you.”

  “Still, I need to know we’re good.”

  Mo stared ahead at the darkened street. “We’re fine.”

  “Good.” She decided to take him at his word. “Mo and Zo. Don’t go all funny on me, OK?”

  “I won’t.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Promise, Zo.”

  “Promise, Zo,” he said. “Even in front of the team?”

  “Even then.”

  “You want Rhodri calling you Zo as well?”

  “He won’t.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it.”

  “I’ll make sure of it.” She yawned again.

  “How was she?” Mo asked. “Mrs Jackson.”

  “Sort of sunken. She seemed… downtrodden.”

  “Grief hits people differently. “

  “She seemed off to me,” Zoe said.

  “Off?’

  “Scared. She kept jabbing at her fingernails. Her voice kept cracking.”

  “Like I said, grief.”

  “She was scared at the party, too.”

  “How so?”

  “I didn’t get much chance to look at her, but it came off her like radiation. She was terrified of him.”

  “Enough to kill him?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not, for her sake.”

  “Maybe she’d be better off.”

  “Mo. That’s the Assistant Chief Constable you’re talking about.”

  He lowered his voice. “Two weeks off retirement. And I know what he thought of people like me.”

  Zoe looked into his eyes, as tired as hers. He’d have his young daughters to deal with when he got home, just waking up.

  She thought of Nicholas drifting up to his room, phone in hand. When he woke, she wouldn’t be there. He was getting used to that. She didn’t like it.

  She sighed. “You might as well get home. Catriona will be wondering where you are.”

  “Catriona understands.”

  “Yeah. Anyway, you get off. Get some sleep.”

  “You too.”

  “Sure.”

  He opened the door and walked to his own Ford Focus. He waved as he passed her and drove away.

  Zoe waited till he was out of sight then stretched a few times and left the car. She stood looking towards the house for a moment. The street was calm right now, not even a twitching curtain. No doubt the neighbours had already noticed the invasion of their secluded street. This place was so quiet, you could drop a saucepan on your foot and someone would call 999.

  She glanced from side to side, checking for movement in windows. The houses were set back from the road and obscured by trees. None of them were in the same architectural style as their neighbours. She wondered if there was a view into the Jacksons’ house from any of the others. Probably not.

  At the end of the driveway she surveyed the gravel. A wide groove marked the route Jackson’s car had taken when they’d returned from the Botanical Gardens. Parallel to it was a narrow but deepening gulley the paramedics had first trodden and which she’d followed. But apart from that, the gravel was smooth as a Japanese shrine. The Corsa sat to one side, the gravel around it untouched.

  She wanted to steal round the side and investigate that gate. Beyond the gravel, up against the house, was a flowerbed, edged with narrow slabs. Someone could walk on those and get around without leaving footprints. But Zoe was wearing Doc Martens. The killer had to be light footed. He had to know the ways in and out. And she couldn’t see a way across the gravel, to reach the slabs.

  It had rained heavily in the night and the soil in the flowerbed was still damp. If the killer had come in from the front, he would have left traces.

  Unless the killer had already been inside. She considered Mo’s suggestion and thought of the pale woman who’d stared at her cooling tea as she’d answered Zoe’s questions. She�
�d been in shock, struggling to remember. She hadn’t given the impression of hiding anything.

  Zoe cast one last look towards the side gate, noting that it was shut before heading back to her car. The briefing was in less than three hours and she had a seventeen-year-old son to check on first.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Morning, everyone.” David Randle wore a clean shirt and change of tie. Maybe he kept a supply in the office. Maybe his secretary had gone out and bought it.

  There was a chorus of muttered mornings in response as the senior team settled into the cramped meeting room. This was Zoe’s first time in a senior officers’ meeting. She looked round the group, wondering how this would play out.

  Opposite her, Lesley delved a forefinger into a yoghurt pot and swept it round to catch the last traces of its contents. She pulled the finger out, surveyed it, and sucked it, eyes half-closed. She wore a pale blue skirt suit with prominent shoulder pads and her hair looked as if it wouldn’t move in a force-nine gale. Zoe thought of Margaret Jackson, the contrast between her solid hair at the party and the same jumbled style after she’d changed.

  Lesley placed the empty yoghurt pot on the table in front of her and licked her lips. “They made you SIO then David?”

  “If that’s alright with you, Lesley?”

  She shrugged. “Someone had to get it.”

  “Indeed.” Randle fired up a laptop and shoved a cable into it. He pressed a key and looked at the screen behind him. “Bugger.”

  He turned to the room. “Someone help me get this thing working?”

  They looked between themselves. Zoe knew full well what he’d done wrong but as the newest member of the team, and the youngest woman, she wasn’t about to leap up and help.

  “Here.” DI Carl Whaley, who’d joined Lesley’s team two months earlier, stood up. He shuffled his way to the laptop and unplugged the cable. He plugged it into another port and the screen flickered to life.

  “Thanks, Carl,” Randle said, his lips tight. His jacket was neatly arranged over the back of his chair and his short dark hair was as immaculate as it had been last night. Zoe wondered if the man kept a personal grooming assistant in the back of his car.

  Zoe hadn’t had much contact with Carl but had noticed him around the place. He had striking blue eyes that her DC Connie Williams had commented on more than once. He glanced at her and she looked down at her hands.