The Murder House

by Michael Wood

  ‘Not if you tell them where you really were on Sunday night. You can’t be in two places at once. I’ll give you DCI Darke’s number and you can call her. Do you have a pen?’

  Keith dug around in his pockets and found the pen he’d stolen from the petrol station. ‘Go on.’

  Elizabeth gave him Matilda’s mobile number and he wrote it on the back of his hand.

  ‘Promise me you’ll call her, Keith. She’ll listen to you. I know she will.’

  ‘She’s a copper, Elizabeth. They’ll say anything.’

  ‘No. She seemed really nice. She reminded me of that detective who spoke to me about Ruby: kind, genuine, a listener. She certainly wasn’t like DI Ben Hales when he questioned me about Mum. I’ll never forget his name. He put me through hell,’ she said with venom.

  ‘Oh God. I don’t know what to do,’ he said, almost crying. ‘This is a mess. I think someone might be setting me up.’

  ‘Who would do that? And why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I don’t know that either. I’ve got to go. My money is about to run out.’

  ‘Keith, wait …’

  He ended the call. He wanted to scream and shout and kick the crap out of the phone, but he couldn’t draw attention to himself.

  ‘Shit,’ he said to himself. ‘Fuck! Shit!’ he said under his breath.

  As he walked away from the phone box, head down, hood up, he looked at the back of his hand at the number his sister had given him. Maybe he should try and reason with this DCI Darke. He couldn’t cope with the prison sentence from a few burglaries; a life sentence for three murders would kill him.

  Chapter Forty

  Sian and Rory drove in silence to Firshill Crescent in Shirecliffe where Leslie Beck lived. Hopefully, she would give them some insight into Clive and Serena’s married life.

  It was early afternoon. The grey sky and ominous clouds made it feel later than it was. Another freezing cold night was forecast. Sian looked out of the front passenger window. People were layered up in thick clothing and sensible shoes. It seemed a long time ago since she’d left the house without a coat. There didn’t seem to be an end in sight to this current cold snap. The Beast from the East the media were calling it. There weren’t wrong. The icy cold wind was biting.

  ‘You’re not leaving the force, are you?’ she asked, turning to Rory. The question shattered the silence. Rory visibly tensed and gripped his fingers tightly around the steering wheel. They weren’t far from their destination. He waited until he’d pulled up before he replied.

  ‘Can I tell you something in private?’

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘You won’t tell anyone. Not even the boss.’

  ‘I promise.’ She edged closer to him in her seat as if there was a risk of them being overheard.

  ‘I love being a detective,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be. But …’ he swallowed hard, ‘I don’t want to turn into DCI Darke.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, she’s an amazing woman. I think she’s brilliant at what she does,’ he quickly added. ‘But, she’s sacrificed so much to get where she is. When I look at her sometimes, she looks so unbelievably sad. I don’t want to be in my forties and realize my career had defined me and nothing else. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Yes, it does.’ She nodded. ‘We’re in a strange job. It seems like you can either have a family or be a detective, but not both. I’ve taken so many years out having four children. I’m the same age as Matilda yet I’m a DS and she’s a DCI. Could I have been where she is if I hadn’t had a family? Possibly. But I’m happy as a DS. I’ve never wanted to go any higher. It’s different for men, Rory. They don’t take as long off work when they have a child. They can have a home life and a career.’

  The expression on Rory’s face was one of frustration and despair. ‘But look how many men at the station are divorced. Jim Young is on his fourth marriage and he never sees his kids. Ali Bankroft’s wife left him, and it was over a week before he noticed because he was at work all the time. And look what happened to DI Ben Hales? I don’t want to turn out like them.’

  ‘Have you met someone? Are you considering settling down?’

  ‘No,’ he sighed. ‘I’m hardly likely to meet anyone in this job.’

  ‘Rory, you’re still only young. You’re a born copper. I don’t think you should worry about this until you do meet someone. In the meantime, think about what you want from the job, where you want to go.’

  ‘I’ve found something.’

  ‘Another job?’

  ‘Yes. It’s research with a university down in London in the criminology department. My degree is in psychology. When I contacted them they seemed really excited about me joining them as I’m a detective.’

  ‘A researcher for a university? That’s not going to be well paid, Rory.’

  ‘And being a detective is? It’s not about more money, it’s about trying to keep hold of what is left of my sanity. It’s about having time to go to the pub, see my mates.’

  ‘Have you applied?’

  ‘I’ve filled out the form. I haven’t sent it yet.’

  ‘I would be incredibly sad to lose you, Rory. Despite you nicking all the good chocolate out of my drawer, you’re a decent bloke, and a bloody good detective. Think about that before you make a decision.’

  ‘I will. Thanks, Sian.’

  ‘You’re welcome. You can talk to me anytime, you know that. Come on, she’s looking at us out of the window.’ Sian nodded to the house opposite, where a woman was staring daggers at them from behind a curtain.

  Leslie Beck was in her early sixties, yet she tried her best to hide it. Her hair was dyed dark red, her face was heavily made up and her clothes were at least a decade too young for her. She let the detectives in with a smile and pointed them in the direction of the living room. A cafetière of coffee was already waiting for them along with a plate of carefully arranged biscuits.

  Sian and Rory sat on one sofa; Leslie on the one opposite.

  ‘I can’t believe what’s happened. I just can’t believe it. Why would someone want to kill Serena? She was such a kind-hearted, warm woman. She’d do anything for anyone. It’s shocking,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It comes to something when you’re not even safe in your own home, isn’t it? Leah must be devastated. Poor girl.’

  Sian waited until Leslie had finished. She noticed how she hadn’t mentioned anything about Clive. ‘Leslie, how long had you known Serena?’

  ‘Oh, years. We worked together at the hospital for a long time. I had to give work up in 2005 after a car crash we had in Potenza, but, you know, Serena was always on hand to help me out. She took me to my physiotherapy sessions, she went shopping for me. Like I said, she’d do anything for anyone.’

  ‘Did you know Clive much?’

  Leslie’s face dropped for a split second and her lips thinned. ‘I didn’t know him as well, obviously. He was such a hard worker.’ She smiled a large, fake grin.

  ‘Leslie.’ Sian leaned forward on the sofa. She dropped her voice slightly. ‘Were there any problems in Serena and Clive’s marriage?’

  ‘No. They were the perfect couple,’ she replied, again with the painted-on grin.

  ‘I think we’re both old enough to know that the perfect couple doesn’t exist,’ Sian said. ‘You won’t be betraying anyone’s confidence if you tell me a secret you’ve been asked to keep.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Help yourselves to biscuits. They’re homemade,’ she said, picking up the plate and aiming it in Rory’s direction.

  ‘Mrs Beck,’ Rory began, taking a biscuit and dunking it in his coffee, ‘we’ve had a few people tell us they thought Clive might have been a bit of a bully. Did Serena ever mention that to you?’

  ‘No. That’s ridiculous. Ludicrous,’ she said, not looking at them. ‘He was a professional, at the
top of his game. I suppose some people may have seen him as … I don’t know,’ she waffled, struggling for the right word, ‘aloof, perhaps, but certainly not a bully.’

  Sian leaned forward. ‘Leslie, your best friend was murdered. She was butchered. We don’t know who’s done this or why, that’s why we’re here. We need to know everything about her, to try and understand who could have done this.’

  Leslie’s bottom lip began to wobble, and her face muscles suddenly gave up. A tear escaped from her right eye. She quickly swept it away, but it didn’t go unnoticed. It was a while before she spoke as she wrestled with her conscience.

  ‘What you need to remember about Clive Mercer is that he was a brilliant man with a brilliant mind. He was often misunderstood.’

  ‘Is that you talking or Serena?’ Sian asked.

  Leslie relaxed and let out a heavy sigh. ‘Those were Serena’s words. She came to visit me once and something happened, I can’t remember what, and she just burst into tears for no reason. I asked what was wrong. She wouldn’t tell me at first. She said she was overtired and working too much. I knew there was something more. It took a while, but it all came out. Clive put himself up on a pedestal so high that even he couldn’t live up to his own expectations. It irked him that Serena was getting so much recognition for her work in neurology and her charity work. Then, when he was reported to the GMC, well, he really did see red.’

  ‘What happened?’ Rory asked.

  ‘An elderly woman died on the operating table. She had a bad reaction to the anaesthetic. If I remember rightly, there was something in her notes about it but he hadn’t read them. It was all whitewashed anyway and he escaped with a warning, but mud sticks, and from his point of view, he was tarnished while Serena continued to flourish.’

  ‘He was jealous?’ Rory asked.

  ‘Absolutely. The thing is, Serena wanted to project this image of her belonging to the perfect family. She wanted to prove that a woman could have the best of both worlds, a loving family and a career.’

  Sian and Rory exchanged glances. They had been discussing this very topic in the car.

  ‘And, she really did have it all,’ Leslie continued after stopping for a sip of her coffee. ‘It’s just, behind closed doors, Clive wasn’t the saint she painted him as. He was jealous. He was cruel.’

  ‘Did Clive ever hit Serena?’

  It was a while before Leslie answered. She gave a brief nod.

  ‘Did this start after the first GMC hearing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How many times did he hit her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Did she ever consider leaving him?’

  ‘No,’ Leslie answered quickly. ‘I told her on many occasions to leave him but she wouldn’t. It wasn’t even an option. You see, Serena didn’t have a very happy childhood. She came from a very poor background. Her father was a brute to her mother and he eventually walked out when Serena was eight. Her mother brought her up alone. They were poor, living well below the breadline. She had an idea in her head of what the perfect family was and she made sure she was going to have it.’

  ‘But she wasn’t doing herself any favours. She wasn’t showing herself any respect,’ Sian said.

  ‘I know. I told her that myself. I think Serena had created a character of who she wanted to be rather than who she was. She had a wide circle of friends, but I don’t think any of us knew the real Serena. I doubt she did either.’ A look of sadness drifted across Leslie’s face as she thought about the life of her best friend.

  ‘Did you know about Jeremy not being Clive’s son?’ Sian asked.

  Leslie nodded. ‘Only recently. I noticed a bruise on her arm and the topic of her leaving him came up again. She said she couldn’t after everything he’d done for her. I asked what she meant by that and I got full chapter and verse. She had a one-night stand, not long after they were married. It was years before Clive found out. He told her he’d stay with her, bring up the child as his own, but he’d never let her forget her betrayal.’

  ‘He was using her affair as a hold over her?’

  ‘Yes. I told her she didn’t need to worry about any of that now. The kids were grown up, but she still wouldn’t listen to reason. You were right, when you said Clive was a bully. He really was. I think he taunted Serena about her affair at any opportunity he got; anything to bring her down.’

  ‘Tell me about the wedding,’ Sian said, sitting back in the sofa and crossing her legs.

  Leslie’s face lit up once again. ‘Oh, it was such a lovely day. Leah looked gorgeous. She’s always been pretty but when I saw her walking down the aisle, my heart skipped a beat. And Oliver, well, let’s just say, if I was thirty years younger …’ she laughed.

  ‘What were Clive and Serena like on the day?’

  ‘Serena couldn’t stop crying. She kept running to the bathroom to check her make-up. Clive was acting the dutiful father. You see, if I hadn’t seen the bruises for myself, I would have thought Serena had been lying. He was a wonderful public persona. The last true family man. But when you know something about someone, and you see them acting in a different way to what you know, you see through the façade. On the day of the wedding, I saw a damn fine actor in Clive Mercer. It’s sad. The man had everything, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t enough. He was jealous and bitter of a woman who loved him.’

  ‘What time did you leave the reception?’

  ‘We left early. My husband, Adrian, he suffers very badly with his nerves. He doesn’t cope well with large groups. We stayed for a couple of hours, but we were both home and in bed by ten o’clock.’

  ‘Did Adrian know Clive at all?’

  ‘He couldn’t stand him,’ she chuckled. ‘He thought Clive was arrogant.’

  ‘Leslie, do you know of anyone who would want to kill Serena, Clive and Jeremy?’ Sian asked, purposely talking slowly to drive home the severity of the crime.

  The tears came once again. Leslie leaned forward and whipped a tissue out of the box on the coffee table. ‘No. It was Mrs Mottershead, two doors down, who told me something bad had happened at the Mercers. Do you know what I thought? I thought Serena had killed Clive. I thought she’d finally snapped. I wouldn’t have blamed her either.’

  ‘But you’ve no idea if anyone would want to kill them all, as a family?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not. Clive may have been a bastard, but he did good work. His motives may have been selfish for notoriety, but he helped a lot of people.’

  On the other side of Sheffield, in Beighton, DS Aaron Connolly and DC Ranjeet Deshwal were interviewing the only person the HMET team could find who knew Clive Mercer better than anyone else – Emmet Flanagan.

  Emmet was a tall, thin man with a deep commanding voice. He could easily have been employed as a double for Christopher Lee. He had arched eyebrows which gave him a frightening, sinister look. His living room was devoid of life. There was no radio on and no sign of a television. Several clocks were dotted around the room, all ticking at different beats.

  ‘I’d offer you a coffee but I’m out of milk,’ he began in a tone which said that he wouldn’t have offered them a drink even if he had a dairy in his back garden. ‘I took early retirement in 2012 when my wife died. I kept in touch with a few people from the hospital, not many. Clive was one of the few. A hard-working man. Dedicated. Professional. A bit of a wanker.’

  Both Aaron and Ranjeet looked at Emmet with wide eyes as if they’d misheard him.

  ‘In what way?’ Aaron asked.

  ‘I think if he’d had his way he would have changed the name of the hospital to Clive Mercer’s Northern General Hospital. Does that answer your question?’

  ‘So he was conceited?’

  ‘That’s putting it mildly. I often had to check his name badge to make sure he wasn’t calling himself God,’ he said with a hint of a chuckle.

  ‘Was he good at his job?’

  ‘Too good.’

  ‘Can you be
too good at your job?’

  ‘Absolutely. You become complacent. Clive thought nobody could do his job better than he could. He also thought he knew everything. Given half a chance he would have performed every role in the operating theatre single-handed.’

  ‘It sounds like you didn’t like him,’ Ranjeet said.

  ‘It does, doesn’t it? I can’t say I’ve ever given much thought to whether I like him or not,’ he said with a frown.

  ‘What was he like away from the hospital?’

  Emmet thought for a while. ‘He was friendly. Always ready with a quip. And he played everyone off the table at snooker.’

  ‘Did he talk about his family much?’

  ‘Occasionally.’

  ‘What about Serena?’

  Emmet frowned as he tried to conjure up a memory. ‘He didn’t speak about her much. When he did, he called her “the little woman”. To be honest, I don’t ever remember him saying very much about her.’

  ‘What did you think of Serena?’

  ‘I thought she was one of the most wonderful women on God’s earth. How she put up with him, I’ve no idea.’

  ‘They weren’t matched?’

  ‘Heavens, no.’

  ‘How did Clive react when he was reported to the GMC?’

  ‘On which occasion?’

  ‘All of them.’

  ‘The first time it happened I honestly thought he was going to explode. He was absolutely livid that someone was calling his judgement into question. It seemed like a darkness had descended. It remained hanging over him ever since.’

  ‘And by the third time?’

  ‘I’d retired by then but he came to see me. He knew it had the potential to ruin him. He was angry, but Clive Mercer was one of those people where if he fell into a vat of shit he’d come out smelling of roses. He knew of a way out of it.’

  ‘Did he say what?’

  ‘No. But I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t something underhand. The man would have lied, cheated, deceived, and even sold his own mother to get out of a tricky situation.’

  ‘Did you go to the wedding?’ Ranjeet asked.

  ‘I did. I showed my face at the reception but I didn’t stay long.’