Beautiful Child (9 page)

‘You don’t get it’ said Sean. They’d never get him in that dungeon. They’d have to fucking catch him first. ‘I’m not letting you do all that shit to me anymore.’

Brother Michael was incensed at this show of disobedience. ‘You’ll do as I say when I say…’

Sean didn’t know quite how it happened but as Brother Michael tried to stand up he must’ve caught his legs in his floor-length gown and he couldn’t get his balance. He was teetering on the edge with the backdrop of the ocean behind him. Sean smiled. Brother Michael locked eyes with him and Sean smiled again.

‘Sean, help me!’

Sean placed his hand in the middle of Brother Michael’s chest and pushed him over. Brother Michael fell backwards, his face contorted in shock, and then twisted through the air to the sharp rocks below. Sean watched as Brother Michael’s body dropped into the Pacific with a rapidly expanding slick of blood around it. Sharks had been seen in the area in recent days. That brought a smile of satisfaction to Sean’s face. Time for dinner, boys and girls.

Sean’s moment of pleasure was short-lived however. He turned and saw Andy Cook, who was the same age as Sean, but not nearly as clever. Andy was unusual at the home because he was an actual Australian. 

‘I’m telling’ said Andy.

‘Telling who about what?’

‘Don’t try it with me Sean!’

‘Oh am I meant to be scared by that? Look, you’ll keep your stupid little mouth shut.’

‘And what if I don’t?’

Sean almost laughed at the stupid little prick’s bravado. He walked over to him.

‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Okay?’

‘Why? Are you going to kill me too?’

‘It might come to that,’ said Sean. ‘I’ll do anything to survive this place until I can get out. And I mean anything.’

‘Yeah? Well I’ll do anything too and that’s why I’m telling.’

Andy turned to run back to the main house when Sean grabbed hold of him and swung him round. Andy fell to the floor but kept on rolling and before either of them knew it he was over the edge and hurtling towards the same fate as Brother Michael. Sean hadn’t intended that but there was nothing he could do about it. 

Sean looked round. Nobody had seen. But soon the police would be all over the place and everybody knew about his special relationship with Brother Michael. The brothers would direct the police to him with no problem. They wouldn’t tell of the abuse of course. They’d say that he was a liar who was always accusing poor Brother Michael of abusing him. He wouldn’t stand a chance. As for Andy Cook, Sean felt desperate about that but at least it meant that Andy wouldn’t be talking. Andy wouldn’t be doing anything from now on. And Sean felt sick about it. Andy wasn’t a bad kid and he’d suffered just like the rest of them had. But now wasn’t the time to reflect on the life and times of Andy Cook.   

Now was time to run as fast and as far as he could.   

‘What do you think now when you think of Andy Cook?’ Angela asked.

‘Like I really am a murderer’ said Paddy as the tears began to flow down his cheeks. ‘Doing what I did to poor little Andy was the worst of my crimes, doc. I’ve felt that way for a long time now.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he was the only one who didn’t deserve it.’

Sara had gathered her team together in the squad room for a briefing on the Rita Makin murder. Superintendent John Hargreaves was also there. DS Adrian Bradshaw was sat at his desk, shoulders forward, hands clasped together on the desk, eyes wide and keen. DS Joe Alexander was leaning back in his chair, looking more relaxed but his attention clearly focused. Superintendent Hargreaves was perched on Joe’s desk, his legs dangling, his arms straight and his hands on the edge. The only one missing was DI Tim Norris, who’d rang Sara and excused himself so that he could attend to some ‘personal business.’ She’d not been entirely pleased and it had raised the superintendent’s eyebrows too.   

‘How long had she been dead, ma’am?’ asked Adrian.

‘About three days, DS Bradshaw’ Sara answered. ‘According to forensics there were two other traces of finger prints in the room. We’ve run them both through the national database and it’s come up with nothing. There are no known matches for either. But there was no sign of a disturbance or of a burglary.’

‘What about the rest of the house, ma’am?’ asked Joe.

‘One of the other sets of prints were found all over the rest of the house, Joe,’ replied Sara, who’d been a bit concerned about Joe lately. He hadn’t been his usual cheerful self. She wondered if it might be women troubles or a lack of them. She didn’t want to get into the habit of playing Mother Hen to her squad but she liked Joe and would want to help if she could.  

‘So what are your theories, DCI Hoyland?’ John Hargreaves asked at last.

‘That Rita Makin knew her killer, sir. The door hadn’t been forced open. She’d got herself dressed up and there was a bottle of wine with two glasses on the coffee table in the living room.’

‘She’d been expecting someone?’

‘Clearly, sir’ said Sara.

‘A lover perhaps?’

‘Perhaps, sir’ said Sara before turning back to the big white board with Rita Makin’s photo on it and notes that had been scribbled on it with a thick black marker pen. ‘That may account for why one of the traces of prints are all over the rest of the house but again, with no sign of a disturbance. So we may be looking for someone who was intimately involved with Rita Makin but we’ll start our enquiries with her family, her friends, see if any of them knew if she was seeing someone. She had one daughter, Michelle, married to Warren and they have three boys. He says he was on his way home from his own parents and decided to call in. Rita was also well known at the local Catholic Church too and was close friends with the priest there, Canon Brendan O’Farrell.’

‘There doesn’t seem like much to go on, ma’am,’ said Adrian.

‘You’re right, DS Bradshaw, there isn’t but something is going to lead us to finding out who would have the motive to kill a seemingly harmless woman in her mid-sixties living out her ordinary life in the suburbs.’

‘Ordinary except for the fact that she may have been having some kind of an affair, ma’am,’ said Adrian.

‘Oh so do you think that women stop having urges when they get to a certain age, DS Bradshaw?’

Adrian blushed crimson. ‘ I didn’t mean that, ma’am,’ he said, ‘I suppose I’m thinking of my own mother who’s the same age as Rita Makin.’

‘I know,’ said Sara. ‘And I do know what you’re saying. But I don’t want her judged as being too old to have some fun. She was a widow and therefore a free agent after all.’

‘So is my mother,’ said Adrian.

‘The man she was entertaining may not have been a free agent,’ said Joe Alexander who knew all about affairs given his situation with Carol.

‘That’s the most likely scenario from what we know, I think,’ said John Hargreaves, another with the knowledge of how to play effectively away from home, although his most recent affair with WPC Sharon Howells hadn’t shown much in the way of expertise. Sharon hadn’t taken it well when he ended the affair and she sent every present he’d bought her to his wife along with a detailed summary of every time they’d met and where. It had been an act of pure spite that had caused him a lot of problems at home for a while but Mrs. Hargreaves was used to her husband’s indiscretions and after a while things had settled down again. 

‘But look, let’s not get carried away,’ said Sara, a real note of caution in her voice. ‘Rita Makin was murdered in a very brutal but very precise manner and whoever did it clearly believed they had a motive. Now she might not have been having an affair as such. She might’ve been having a relationship with, say, a widower of the same age.’

‘Well if that was the case, ma’am,’ said Adrian, ‘then why hasn’t he come forward so that we could at least eliminate him from our enquiries?’

*

Sara once had a boss who liked to set people up for failure. She’d give them a task that she knew they wouldn’t be able to complete because of a lack of knowledge, time, or experience and then make a big show of riding in and rescuing the situation from the ‘incompetent.’ Then she’d use the example to belittle the person and make them feel useless. Sara had been the only one to stand up to her and as a consequence Sara had been moved out of the offending inspector’s squad. The last she’d heard of the infamous bully was that she’d had to retire early after suffering a severe nervous breakdown. The general consensus was that it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person. It appeared too that she’d fallen foul of the demon drink. Well, Sara had vowed to herself, nobody was ever going to be able to accuse her of taking her insecurities out on the people who worked for her.

Last year one of her detective sergeants, Steve Osborne, had gone out on a limb and got himself killed for it. Sara had taken it harder than she’d ever admitted to anyone. Although everybody had said that it wasn’t her fault and that she couldn’t possibly blame herself for what had happened, she still couldn’t help but do just that. Deep down in a corner of her soul the death of Steve Osborne would weigh heavily for a very long time.

But what could she do? She couldn’t keep an eye on everyone twenty-four/seven and neither could she micro manage their every move. She had to trust them to get on with whatever they were assigned. Steve’s place in the squad had been taken by Adrian Bradshaw, who Sara had taken to be a bright, capable officer, happily married with the kind of rugby player looks and build that make some girls go weak at the knees and wet in the fanny. The general consensus amongst all the girls at the station was that Mrs. Bradshaw was a very lucky girl and Sara hadn’t dissented from that view. But she still hadn’t spent enough time with him and she was determined not to let Adrian Bradshaw pretend to be close when he was far enough away to risk his life like Steve Osborne had done. 

‘My parents used to live round here’ said Adrian as he drove his boss through Prestwich, one of the leafier suburbs of North Manchester, on the way to Radcliffe, a suburb of Bury where he and Sara would interview Michelle and Warren Clarke, Rita Makin’s daughter and son-in-law.

‘Used to?’ asked Sara.

‘Well Dad died a few years ago and Mum lives a couple of miles away from us now. I’m the only one in the family with kids and she likes to be near.’

‘Convenient baby sitter for you and… is it Penny?’

‘That’s it,’ said Adrian. ‘ Mum loves to come and look after the kids so yes is the answer to your question.’

‘And would you find it hard for her to be with someone else? I mean, that’s what you intimated earlier in the squad room.’

‘No,’ said Adrian, ‘and I’m sorry if I gave that impression. If she was to meet a good bloke who made her happy then none of us in the family would stand in her way.’

‘Well you wouldn’t actually have any right to stand in her way,’ said Sara who hated that way it is in some families where someone is given ‘permission’ to live their life by the rest. The thought of losing either of her parents absolutely terrified her but if the one that was left met someone else and could be happy again then she’d be delighted for them. She wouldn’t want to see them lonely if they didn’t have to be.  

‘How long have you and Penny been together, Adrian?’

‘Getting on for about fifteen or so years now,’ said Adrian.

‘And how did you meet?’

‘In a restaurant in Didsbury, Sara,’ said Adrian who was still getting used to calling his boss by her first name when it was just the two of them. But that’s how she wanted it so he complied. ‘She was there with two couples and I was there with a couple of mates. I said that she must be feeling like the odd one out and would she like to join us for a drink.’

‘How gallant.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Adrian, ‘lust was my main motivator.’

Sara laughed. ‘Then how gallant and how honest. Go on.’

‘Well I walked her home, we arranged to meet the next day, and that was it. Fifteen years and three kids later we’re still going strong and I can’t see past her.’

‘You’re lucky.’

‘I think so, Sara,’ said Adrian who wondered what his boss would say if she knew about his little demon. ‘Believe me, I think so.’

‘So you’d say she was your best friend and all that?’

‘Oh yeah.’ said Adrian. ‘We compliment each other, you know? We each bring something different to the party. We’ve got some things in common of course but we’re opposites too. Take our respective tastes in music for instance. Or rather I should say that I’ve got some taste in music but Penny hasn’t.’

Sara laughed again. ‘That is such a bloke thing to say. What’s wrong with what Penny taste in music?’

‘She’s into anything that for me is totally bland and meaningless.’ said Adrian. ‘Like Celine bloody Dion.’

‘Well I’m on your side there,’ laughed Sara, ‘I can’t stand Celine Dion or any of those other so-called singers whose stock-in trade seems to be bloody power ballads.’

‘Sounds like you’ve got more of a masculine taste in music, Sara’

‘Oh I have,’ said Sara who then decided to have a bit of fun with him. ‘And I’m like it in bed too. I always prefer to be on top.’

Adrian blushed and coughed. ‘Well I’ll have to take your word for that, Sara.’

‘Yes you will because I never play with married men even if they ask me very nicely and are as good looking as you.’

‘Are you always this disarming, Sara?’

‘Oh didn’t you know? All the girls at the station think you’re a bit of alright.’

Adrian blushed again and smiled. ‘Is that right? Then I’m flattered but tell them they’re all about fifteen years too late I’m afraid.’

‘Oh I can hear the sound of breaking hearts from here to police college!’

Adrian laughed. ‘You like to have your fun, don’t you, Sara?’

‘Well the job is serious enough! But don’t mistake me for someone who doesn’t care. I want the job done to the very best of everyone’s abilities.’

When they got to Michelle and Warren Clarke’s house it was in the middle of a long tree-lined avenue of semi-detached houses that were all painted in white on the outside. There wasn’t a car in any drive that was less than three or four years old. It was quiet. Most people were out at work at this time on a Thursday morning.

‘Warren Clarke is a butcher,’ said Sara. ‘There must be a lot of money in meat if they can afford to live in a place like this.’

‘Might be worth checking out his finances,’ said Adrian.

‘Good idea’ said Sara. ‘Money being one of the two biggest motives for murder.’

‘And the other?’

‘Well sex of course’ said Sara. ‘Lust, betrayal, adultery, crimes of passion. I know you’re married, Adrian, but surely you remember all the emotions released by doing what comes naturally?’

Adrian smiled. ‘Oh you don’t need to worry about me, Sara. I get my fair share.’ 

‘Well Mrs. Bradshaw would be mad if you didn’t.’

They were led into the house by Warren Clarke who wasn’t saying much. They sat down in the front lounge. Sara and Adrian were on the sofa whilst Michelle and Warren sat in separate armchairs at opposite ends of the room. Sara thought that strange. In most situations of this kind couples tended to sit closely together and hold hands. These two could barely look at each other.

‘I’d first like to say how sorry we are for your loss,’ said Sara.

‘Thank you’ said Michelle Clarke, with a smile that came and went almost like an afterthought. She tucked her hair behind her ears with her fingers and played with a paper tissue in her hand. It was clear she’d been crying but that was no surprise.

‘We’ll be doing everything we can to find whoever did this, Mrs. Clarke,’ said Sara.

‘I’m sure you will’ said Michelle. ‘It’s just that I don’t have much faith in anything at the moment.’

‘Well that’s understandable,’ said Sara. ‘Mrs. Clarke, where were you the night your mother died?’

‘I was here at home,’ Michelle replied, ‘on my own. We have a busy family life, inspector, with three boys to take care of. I preferred to have some time to myself.’

You’re a liar, thought Sara who out of the corner of her eye could see Michelle’s husband Warren slowly smouldering like a fire that could burst into flames at any moment. She was wondering what was taking him so long. What were these two hiding and, more importantly, why?

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes, inspector, it is.’

‘Mrs. Clarke, can you think of anyone who might’ve had the motive to do something so despicable to your mother?’