“It’ll be too late. She’ll have removed whatever’s in there by now.”
“What if she wasn’t the only one hiding things?”
“You think Jackson was hiding things in his own house?” Zoe replied.
He leaned in. “Look. Those house improvements. We still haven’t worked out where the money came from. Maybe we can find something to shed a light. Something he didn’t want his wife getting her hands on.”
She shrugged. After the events of the last twenty-four hours, this seemed a more logical lead than most. “OK. Lead the way.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
The FLO was back. Margaret had refused her offered cup of tea and suggested she use the camera room as a makeshift office, so she could have her kitchen back.
She stood at the threshold to Bryn’s study. This space was as clean and tidy as the rest of the house. But instead of being monk-like in its minimalism it was filled with rows of books and deliberately placed ornaments and picture frames. The frames mostly contained certificates, souvenirs of a lifetime of policing. On his desk was a photo of the children when they were small. She walked to it, her heart racing as she crossed the threshold. It was the first time she’d come in here since the night of his death.
She picked up the picture. Winona had white-blonde hair, a mess of curls then as it was now. Paul wore a serious expression on his three-year-old face, as if trying to work out a puzzle. The puzzle that was his family.
Margaret had tried to phone him this morning, but his phone was either switched off or he was screening her. She wasn’t so old she didn’t know that was how things worked.
The desk stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by the Moroccan rug she’d bought not long after they moved in. She’d intended it for the lounge, but it had looked wrong in that room, with its pale peach walls and lack of ornamentation. In here, it was perfect. She hadn’t stood on it in ten years.
She slid her slippers off and wriggled her toes on the pile. It was smooth and soft, threadbare in places. There were pale marks where the police had left whatever substances they used. She’d have to raise that with David. She hadn’t even asked them what they had found yet. She’d quiz Trish, although she sensed the girl wasn’t being told very much.
Maybe David would visit again, and she could quiz him. He’d been over-solicitous when he’d brought her home from the hotel, keen to ensure she was comfortable and settled. But he’d said nothing about the visit to her hotel room. Or about those letters.
She still hadn’t found the rest of them. She’d kept the ones he’d sent her. There weren’t many. David, like most men, wasn’t a great one for writing, and she remembered there being only four. But she’d hidden them away, safe from Bryn’s prying eyes. He’d never shown any sign of finding them, unless he’d chosen not to tell her.
She slid to the floor, her back against the desk. She hated this desk. Heavy and ornate, a status symbol for Bryn. She’d been relieved it had been hidden away in here.
She stood up and turned to it. She had to deal with his things. Why not start with this? A charity shop would be glad of it. She could move it to one side at least, get an idea of how the room could be like as a sitting room. There was that view of the magnolia. And the longer the desk stayed where it was, the longer it would remind her of Bryn’s body slumped over it.
She shoved up her sleeves and started to push. The desk caught on the rug. Damn. She’d have to lift it a little, shuffle it. She raised one edge – it was heavy – and groaned as she tried to budge it.
It shifted slightly then stopped. She let it drop to the floor, cursing under her breath. The desk shuddered as it landed back on the rug and she looked at the door. She was breathing heavily but couldn’t hear anyone coming. Trish had decided to respect her privacy.
Margaret grabbed the desk again – one more try. She levered it up, taking some of the weight on her thigh, her knee bent. Then she groaned and let it fall again.
She would hire someone to come and move it. Planning the sitting room would have to wait.
As the desk rattled to the floor, something fell from underneath it. A dark shape. She dropped to the floor to look at the underside of the desk. She’d damaged it.
In the underside of the desk, dead centre, was an indentation. A recess big enough to hide something. Below it, on the rug, was a plastic bag, tightly wrapped around an object. Next to it was a sheet of wood, which had held it in place. She let out a breath.
She fumbled for the bag, glancing toward the door again. The sheet of wood was identical to the bottom of the desk. Bryn’s hiding place had fooled the Forensics team.
Margaret unwrapped the plastic bag to find a mobile phone inside. She turned it over in her hand. It was old-fashioned, the kind you only used to make calls and not to send emails.
She pressed down on the on switch, her eyes on the doorway. She should close it. She would, shortly.
The screen flickered into life. She held the phone in front of her face and jabbed at buttons. A list of numbers appeared. She scrolled down. The same number, again and again. Should she call it?
She huddled over the phone and hit redial. She brought it up to her ear, hardly daring to breathe.
The phone rang. Once, twice, three times. She waited. After six rings she was ready to give up. Then there was a click and a voice.
“Hello?”
“Hello?” she whispered.
“Hello?” A pause. The voice was foreign. Female. Margaret felt her chest tighten.
“Bryn?” The voice said hesitantly.
“I’m his wife. Who am I talking to?”
“Is Irina. Can I help you?”
There was a knock on the front door. Margaret dropped the phone like it was on fire.
Chapter Forty-Eight
They drove towards Edgbaston in Zoe’s mini. It was dark and the streets were clearing. Another evening meal Zoe had missed with her son.
As they pulled into Farquhar Road, a car passed them. It was an Audi TT.
“Was that Randle’s car?”
Mo turned in his seat. “Randle?”
“I imagine you see a lot of those around here, but still.”
“You know his reg?”
“Did you spot it?”
“No.”
“Not much point in knowing his reg then.”
They pulled up outside the Jackson house. There was just one squad car outside. The faint streetlamp made it stand out in the calm of the wide street.
Mo knocked on the door while Zoe checked the garden. She’d been prevented from investigating it three days ago. Now Adi’s team had gone, it was clear. Jackson’s SUV wasn’t on the drive but Margaret’s Corsa was right where it had been before. She peered inside, wondering how often it was driven.
“Hello again. I thought you’d all finished?” Margaret Jackson stood in the doorway, her cheeks flushed.
Zoe shuffled into place next to Mo. She peered past the woman, looking for signs that David had been here. “One more thing we needed to check.”
“You’d better come in then.” Margaret’s face was pale and hard.
“Thank you.”
Zoe let Mo go in first. The door next to them opened and PC Bright came out. She held a sandwich.
“Oh. You startled me.”
“Why are you in there?” asked Zoe.
“Mrs Jackson wanted her kitchen back. She suggested it.”
“Hmm.”
“D’you need me?”
“Why would we need you?”
Trish paled. “I don’t know. I just thought…”
“Wait. Has anyone else been here, from the investigation?”
“No. Should they have?”
“Nothing on the cameras?”
“They’re switched off. Sorry.”
Zoe headed past her towards the kitchen. “It’s fine, Constable. Just carry on with that sandwich.” Behind her, Mo muttered apologies for her rudeness.
Margaret was in the ki
tchen, staring out of the back window. She turned as Zoe entered.
“In here?”
Zoe nodded towards the stairway. “Up there.”
“Right. Yes.”
“If you don’t mind, of course.”
“Yes. No. Go ahead.”
Zoe pulled open the door to the stairway and strode up. The box room was clean and empty, like it had been thoroughly dusted. She doubted she’d find anything.
Mo pulled the cord to switch on the solitary light, a bare bulb. Zoe slid her hands across the panelling until she felt the hinge.
“That’s well hidden,” she said. “How did you spot it?”
“It was the way the light came in, in the photo. The sun caught the edge of the doors.”
“Nice one.” She prised the door open.
Inside was an empty cupboard that smelled of damp wood.
“Damn.” She opened the second one, empty too. “You think she’s moved something?”
“It might have been like that all along.”
She leaned into the first cupboard and wiped her fingers across the wood. “No dust. No shadow where something might have been. Maybe you’re right.”
She closed the doors, wondering if Margaret knew about them. She headed down the stairs after Mo.
“Thanks, Mrs Jackson.”
“Margaret. I told you.”
“Yes. Thanks anyway.”
“Was there something particular you were looking for?”
“Can I ask if you’ve found anything up there, since we left?”
“I haven’t been up there.” Margaret scratched her neck.
“Did you know there were two hidden cupboards up there, in the eaves?”
She stopped scratching. “No.”
“Have you ever heard of someone called Trevor Hamm?”
“No.”
“Simon Adams?”
“No. Who are they?”
“Irina Hamm?”
Margaret paled. “No.”
“You sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
Zoe eyed the woman. She looked nervous. “Well, I think that’s everything we need.”
Mo gave her a puzzled frown as she swept into the main hallway. The door to the camera room was open and PC Bright gave them a wave. Zoe poked her head in.
“Call me if anyone unexpected turns up.”
She fished a scrap of paper from her pocket and searched for a pen. Trish passed her one and she wrote down her number.
“What kind of unexpected?”
“Just anyone outside the family and the other FLO.”
“Even CID?”
“Even CID.”
“Right. Will do.”
“Thanks.”
Margaret was holding the door open for them. Her face was hard as she watched Zoe pass her. “Thanks.”
“Pleasure.” She closed the door quickly behind them.
Chapter Forty-Nine
“She was lying,” said Mo.
Zoe waited for the lights to turn green then pushed forward. “Oi, I’ve got right of way! Numpty.”
Mo shrank back in his seat. “When you asked her about the hidden cupboard. I think she’s been up there.”
“I’m not sure.”
“She looked nervous.”
They turned the corner into Rose Road, where the station was. “Oh yeah. You’re right there. But I’m not sure that was what she was lying about.”
“What then?”
“The Hamms. She went green when I said their names.”
“How would Margaret Jackson know Trevor Hamm?”
“It could be nothing. Maybe there was a case, and Jackson talked to her about it.”
“I don’t think they had that kind of marriage.”
They waited for the gates to the station car park to open. The car park was half full, more CID cars than usual. No sign of Randle’s.
Zoe parked and switched off the ignition. Neither of them moved from their seats.
“Maybe she knew Irina somehow?” she suggested.
“How?”
“God knows. Irina’s been here for what, three months? What are the chances of her coming across Margaret Jackson in that time?”
“What’s Irina’s job?”
“Hmmm?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Margaret’s her client. Hairdresser, cleaner. Something like that.”
“That’s a bit of an assumption,” said Zoe. “Just because she’s a recent immigrant. She could be a lawyer, or a schoolteacher.”
“I can’t imagine Trevor Hamm being married to a schoolteacher, can you?”
“No. And there’s no record of her having a job anyway.”
“Not one she declares,” he said.
“Her husband’s got a five hundred grand penthouse flat overlooking the canals. You think his wife would be working as a cleaner?”
“No. You’re right.”
“We need to go see her again.” She drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel. “The QE again, tomorrow.”
“You said they were discharging her.”
“Bugger. We go and check out that penthouse flat you’re so jealous of.”
“I never said I was—”
“I’m joking.” She turned to him. “This case has got to you, if you can’t tell when I’m taking the piss.”
He pulled on a smile. “It’s getting to everyone.”
“Including Randle. Lesley said he was going on about the Chief Constable putting pressure on him.”
“Not surprising.”
“No.”
The door to the CID offices opened and two women walked out. They were enjoying an animated conversation, laughing at some shared joke. Zoe and Mo watched in silence as they got into separate cars and drove away.
“Do you think he was at the Jacksons’?” asked Mo. “Before we got there.”
“Trish Bright said he wasn’t.”
“All that means is he didn’t go in through the front door. Trish wouldn’t see much, being stuck in that camera room.”
Zoe turned her hands over. The palms were blistered. “I don’t like her shoving the FLOs in there. I know she wants her house back, but they’ve got a job to do.”
“Did you notice the study door was open?” said Mo.
“Doesn’t mean anything.”
“She kept glancing at it, as we were leaving.”
“Maybe she’d finally decided to set foot in there.” Zoe shivered. “Can’t have been easy.”
“You believe he never let her in there?”
Zoe leaned back. Her neck ached and her eyes were drooping. “I’ve seen worse marriages.” Jim had told her his marriage was in similar straits, when she’d found out the truth. She hadn’t believed a word of it. “Gives her motive, if he was abusing her.”
“You think the ACC was beating his wife?”
“He didn’t hit her. Not from what I can tell. But emotional abuse is still abuse. The woman was a prisoner in her own home.” She shuddered, thinking of her own parents’ relationship. The compromises her dad had made, the things he’d sacrificed.
“You OK, Zo?”
“I’m fine. Just tired. I wish I could spend more time with Nicholas.”
“I know how you feel.”
She turned to him. “How are the girls?”
His face brightened. “Fiona is learning the piano. It’s a racket, but it’ll get better. And Isla is obsessed with unicorns right now.”
She smiled. “Nicholas says he’s glad Marcus dumped him, that the kid was a dick. But I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Marcus was alright. Fancied himself a bit, but I liked him.”
“I forgot you’d met him.”
“Yeah.” Mo and Catriona had hosted a barbecue in the tiny back garden of their modern box in Northfield, back in August. Nicholas had surprised Zoe by insisting on bringing Marcus. Marcus had drunk too many WKDs but managed to behave himself.
“Then there’s those letters,” sh
e said. “I tried to tell Lesley this afternoon. But Randle was in her team’s office. And then Carl—”
“Carl? What did he say?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, I forgot. He was trying to chat you up. You’re embarrassed about it.”
“I’m nothing of the sort.”
She let her eyelids flutter closed and enjoyed a moment’s rest. She and Mo did this a lot, sitting outside the station in one of their cars. People probably talked. Let them.
“Right,” she said. “I’ve got forms to fill in. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I can help.”
“You get back to your family.”
“What about yours?”
“I won’t be long. Get home. Or you’ll miss bedtime.”
He said nothing, but they both knew he already had.
“Right, boss.”
“Right, Zo.”
“Yeah.” He heaved himself out of the car and made for his own.
Chapter Fifty
“Hey, Nicholas. It’s only me.”
Zoe pushed her front door open, feeling guilty. It was gone eight and she’d definitely missed a family dinner. The office had been empty, and for a moment Zoe had considered staying there and getting a takeout. Maybe she could go through the files again, just in case…
But her team had already done it. She had to trust them.
“Nicholas!”
She heard a crash from the kitchen. Nicholas, making food or getting himself a drink. He was studying for a test and couldn’t think without food.
Zoe slumped onto the sofa. She rubbed her eyes and grabbed the remote control. The kitchen led off the dining room, which was knocked through to the living room. She flicked through the options on Netflix.
“Nicholas, is that you?”
No answer. Instead another bang from the kitchen.
She stood up. “Nicholas?”
The noises stopped. Zoe grabbed her phone. The living room was dark apart from the TV. She wasn’t about to use a flashlight in her own house, though. She reached for the light switch, her eyes on the kitchen doorway.
Deadly Wishes (Detective Zoe Finch Book 1) Page 16
