Echoes of Justice (DI Matt Turrell Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter 6

Sam jumped up in anticipation as they walked into the office. ‘What do we have, guv? Want me to start the board?’

‘Best hold your horses, Sam. I’ve got to talk to McRay first.’

‘This might help. I phoned Slim.’

‘Thanks, Sam.’ Matt took Sam’s scribbled notes of the pathologist’s preliminary thoughts, scanning them as he walked towards McRay’s office. He wasn’t looking forward to trying to convince the DCI something wasn’t right in the death of Jonathan James.

McRay saw him coming. ‘Come in, Matt.’ McRay waved him to a seat while studying his face. ‘I’ve got a feeling this isn’t going to make me happy. Right?’

Matt sat down, marshalling his thoughts to get McRay onside. ‘Initially, sir, I did feel, like you, that this would be a self-inflicted drugs overdose. But there are one or two things which don’t add up.’

McRay gave a sigh and settled further into his seat.

‘First of all we have no indications Jonathan was a drug user.’

‘According to?’

‘Slim found no evidence the victim…’ Matt stopped as McRay gave a grunt of disgust at the word, and waited until he gave an ill-natured nod for him to carry on. Matt read from Sam’s notes. ‘The victim showed no indication of regular drug use. Death appears to be due to a massive overdose of a morphine-based drug. Toxicology report has been fast-tracked.’

McRay groaned.

Matt continued. ‘If we wait for the full toxicology report, valuable time might be lost, sir.’

‘Trying to tell me how to do my job?’

‘No, sir.’

‘I should hope not. What about the mother?’

‘Adamant her son wasn’t a user.’

‘Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she? Did DC Meadows believe her?’

‘Yes, sir. We both did.’

‘Well, there must be a lot of people happy to see the back of Jonathan James. Take a quick look. How long has he been out of custody?’

‘About two months.’

‘Might be worth checking with them – they would know if he was a user. And, Matt, I don’t want a lot of time wasted on this but, while we haven’t anything serious on the go, it won’t hurt.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Matt left, giving the thumbs up sign to Sam, who moved to start the incident board. By the time Matt had called the team together, Sam had a picture of Jonathan James in place, together with a host of other details. Matt guessed Sam had been busy doing this basic work while he was out. Moving to stand in front of the board, Matt gave him a nod of approval.

Most of the team had gathered around Jane’s desk, wolfing down the chocolates, so there was no need for Matt to raise his voice. Only Grant remained oblivious and was intent on his computer screen. Matt decided to ignore him.

‘Jonathan James was found in an alley between Pierce and Monument Street at one twenty-five this morning by a club doorman. He called ambulance and uniform, but Jonathan was dead on arrival at Warwick Hospital. Slim is doing the post mortem tomorrow. He estimates the time of death between eleven-thirty last night and one this morning. From his initial findings, he thinks it is likely Jonathan died of a huge drug overdose, most likely morphine-based. However, he found no evidence of routine drug use. Jonathan’s mother, Mary James, is adamant her son was not a user. I know, I know, that’s what they all say.’ Matt held up his hands at the general moan of disbelief, before continuing. ‘However, we both believe her. Slim is fast-tracking the toxicology report.’

‘Could he have been branching out, trying something new?’ Grant drawled, finally raising his head.

‘There is always that chance, but it’s unlikely he would choose to start with this drug, or that he’d be able to get his hands on such a large quantity. We need to check what’s on the street right now. Grant, could you have a word with the drug team?’

‘If that’s what you think is best, sir?’

Somehow, Grant always seemed to imply Matt’s decisions might not be right, but Matt was used to the man now and didn’t rise to the bait. ‘Thank you. We should also check for break-ins at doctor’s surgeries, pharmacies, etc., for any report that involves morphine or its derivative.’

Grant nodded and Matt moved on.

‘For those of you who weren’t here, or have a bad memory, two years ago, Jonathan James was one of five youths convicted of the manslaughter of Jack Wylde. He was undoubtedly the ringleader and served the longest sentence, although reduced because of his age. We need to trace his co-defendants, just in case one of them has developed a grudge, life ruined and all that.’

‘I’ve traced one of the four, guv.’

Matt stepped back and gave the floor to Sam.

‘Harry Winters, aged sixteen when the offence was committed, was sentenced to six months at a young offenders’ unit. He was a model prisoner and since being released managed to get a part-time job at the Chalice…’ Sam paused to review his notes. ‘The Stratford Chalice Hotel in the porters’ department. Not only that, but he’s doing drama at Stratford College.’

As Sam turned to write Harry’s name on the board, Matt stepped in. ‘Thanks, Sam. Harry seems an unlikely candidate for Jonathan’s death, but we’ll need to see him and chase up the others, to see if they have any idea who may have killed him and to rule them out.’

‘What about Jack Wylde’s family?’ Jane asked.

‘There was only his wife and three young children. She was present at the time and was traumatized, as you can imagine. Certainly worth checking out. Think you should be the one to do that, Jane.’

‘Thanks a lot,’ she said, pulling a face and ignoring the titters from the others.

She appeared tired and Matt wasn’t surprised when she shoved the chocolate-guzzlers aside and sat down. He’d have to make sure she didn’t take too much on, at least for a while.

‘What about Jack’s mother?’ Grant called out.

Matt wondered why it sounded like an accusation, but he replied calmly. ‘True, good call, Grant. We’ll add her to the list. Also, we need to trace who was with Jonathan last night. We do have a name, well, a partial, from his mother, of a Nod or Noddy. Uniform may have some idea. Have a word with them, please, Wendy. The more we know about the street scene and who Jonathan was hanging around with the better.’

Wendy nodded, embarrassed but pleased to be mentioned.

‘Sam, dig up the other three involved in Jack Wylde’s murder and we’ll pay them a visit tomorrow.’

‘I have their names but not much else, guv.’

Matt wasn’t surprised Sam was way ahead of him. ‘Let’s have them, then, Sam.’

Sam spoke while he was writing the names on the board. ‘Tom Grace, Nick Tyler and Dave Beeson.’

‘Thanks, Sam. I seem to remember a girl on the scene at the time too, girlfriend of Jonathan’s. Think her name was…Tilly. We’ll need to dig up her file. She was interviewed, but no charges were made. Can you cover the post mortem tomorrow, Sam? I know the mortuary is your favourite place.’

Sam nodded, trying to act nonchalantly. Everyone was aware that Sam had to steel himself to visit the mortuary. Yet he would return all enthused, regaling any one of the team not fast enough to escape about the wonders of the human body. Matt had to get him to calm down just to get the basic facts.

‘We also need to check with the prison services. They’ll be able to tell us if Jonathan was a user. Can I add that to your list, please, Wendy?’

Wendy nodded.

‘Grant, if you can check out the CCTV from Jonathan’s home to where he was found. I think that’s enough to be going on with. Jonathan’s mobile phone and computer are currently being analysed. Let’s get an early start in the morning.’

Matt waited until everyone had dispersed before going over to Jane. ‘Why don’t you write up the notes from today, then head home?’

‘What, at three o’clock in the afternoon?’

‘Yes.’ Matt didn’t intend to give her any room to wriggle out of his request and walked back to his office.

He’d just sat down and opened Jonathan’s file when she stormed through the door, banging it behind her.

‘Go home? What the hell do you mean by that?’

‘Sit down.’ Matt indicated a seat by the coffee table and got up to join her.

‘I don’t want or need any special treatment, Matt.’ Refusing to sit, she stood with arms folded.

‘Don’t worry. I’m not treating you any different than I would anyone else injured on duty.’

Matt sank into a chair and indicated the other. Jane plonked herself down. Matt thought of going to the head’s office at school and had the urge to laugh. Yet, he recognised he would have to handle her with care to get her on side.

‘Look, Fluff. Sorry, Jane. We have no idea where this case is going. If it does turn out that Jonathan was murdered, and it’s beginning to look that way, then we may have someone who is out there seeking their own brand of justice. That puts a lot of others in the firing line and I don’t want their deaths on my conscience.’

He thought of young Gracie, whose death still haunted him, even though she had died over five years ago. After locking up the wrong man, he’d allowed the murderer free to kill young Gracie. The day they found her was a day he would never forget. It was evident what she had gone through and the horror always distressed him. Ashamed of his failure, he’d offered to resign, but McRay had talked him round. At her funeral, he had made a vow that he would do his best not to let anyone down again.

‘We need the team up to full strength and you are a vital part of the team. I’m being selfish by taking care of you, easing you in gently. Besides, you look bloody awful. Now, get those notes down and go home, or go home and write them up, whatever you want, please. Just go home.’

‘What a load of old tosh, Matt. Are you sure you haven’t kissed the Blarney Stone?’

Matt laughed, relieved to see signs of the old Jane.

Chapter 7

The sea was dull and sluggish with waves taking their time in a long rising and falling swell. Deep in a swirl of emotions over Jon’s death, they suited Vinny’s mood. He was thankful that Harold, nicknamed Ops, had maintained the right contacts and was able to let him know so quickly.

Vinny would have liked to be in the bar, planning how he would avenge Jon, but that wasn’t an option while playing the part of a devoted uncle to the Swift family and their five little monsters. The smallest child tugged at his coat, demanding a story. Suppressing the urge to bat her away, he smiled and lifted her onto his knee. ‘Right, Kylie, what’s it to be?’

Mrs Swift passed over a picture book and went to chase the three-year-old who was scrambling over passengers’ legs and belongings.

Vinny promised himself that he would make Ops pay for this hideous journey. Surely the old fool could have thought of another way to get him safely back into England. The Swifts, grateful for the money, accepted him as Uncle Vince with no questions asked. As part of their family group, he should be able to get through customs. Young Kylie had taken to him, so he would carry her. Who would suspect a devoted uncle? In his haste, Vinny had tried to alter his appearance by dyeing his hair a shade lighter, nothing too outlandish, and having a haircut he hated. He’d developed a small goatee beard over the last few months and decided that would help too.

As he read the picture book for the third time, he reminded himself it wouldn’t be long until they docked. Ops had arranged for someone to meet him outside the docks and the Swifts agreed to drop him off at the designated place. Everything should run smoothly. After all, he was paying Ops enough and he was the best.

He consoled himself that his role as uncle would soon be over and he would be able to get on with his mission. Once he’d found out who killed Jon, he promised himself they would pay a heavy price.

Chapter 8

‘Matt, you’re squashing me.’

‘Then move your end to the left.’ Matt sighed as Eppie moved to the right. ‘Your left.’

He took the weight as Eppie manoeuvred backwards through the doorway to the flat. The folding table wasn’t heavy, just awkward. They struggled into the small living room and leant the table against the bookcase. Eppie sank onto the sofa.

‘Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.’

‘I told you that.’

‘So we invite your parents round and then give them dinner on their laps?’

‘Or take them out?’

‘Like we don’t want them here.’

‘They wouldn’t think that. Besides, Mum understands.’

‘That you don’t get on with your dad. So right, we’ll never see them?’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Oh grow up, Matt.’

Eppie jumped up and went into the kitchen, easing past the table and the small Christmas tree she had insisted on putting up. Matt knocked several baubles off every time he walked past, but he hadn’t the heart to say that he never bothered to decorate his flat. She was looking forward to Christmas in England, her first for many years, and Matt couldn’t deny her.

This hassle was the last thing he wanted at the start of a new case. He liked to sit in his comfy old chair and let the details wash over him. It was where he got his best insights, made those important connections. There would be little chance of that this week, as Eppie had insisted they invite his parents to dinner on Friday and the preparations for that, plus the fact she had started a new job two weeks ago, were sending her into a hive of activity.

Matt’s past efforts to get on with his dad had ended with each of them losing their tempers. Dad had never forgiven him for following Granddad into the police force, instead of going to university. Since his marriage two months ago, they’d seen his parents on a few occasions, admittedly with other people around. He sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get out of this dinner.

Eppie plonked a beer down beside him. ‘I’m sorry.’

Matt pulled her onto his lap, pushing back her brown hair to kiss her. He loved the way her small body melted into his. ‘It will be fine, I promise to be on my best behaviour.’

‘Only while they’re here, I hope?’

Matt kissed her again but she wriggled away, murmuring something about dinner. He watched her as she went back to the kitchen, walking as she always did, with that sense of purpose.

Eppie was a great cook, so she should have no worries about his parents on that score. He knew she’d never taken to his tiny flat. While he’d never noticed the lack of colour, Eppie had persuaded him – no, insisted – that the flat needed light and colour. Now bright curtains hung at the windows, and he had to admit he had accepted and even liked the matching cushions on the new modern sofa. It pulled out into a bed, ready for the occasional visitor. She’d culled his rugby trophies that graced the mantelpiece to allow room for some of her belongings, including a wedding present he wasn’t particularly fond of: a small jade Buddha, a present from her father. It sat there and seemed to glare down at him.

He hadn’t realised how much marriage was about sharing and thought things would stay as they were, with the addition of Eppie, of course. Although it was difficult, after nearly losing her so soon into their marriage he would do anything to keep her happy.

‘Dinner’s ready. Grab your tray.’

Eppie handed him a tray across the folded table. There was a pork chop, with mashed potato and tasty gravy. All smelt delicious and he congratulated himself again on his good luck.

After he had wolfed down his meal, Matt joined Eppie in the kitchen to clear up. He quite liked having his hands in the hot soapy water and the time spent together doing ordinary domestic chores. When the doorbell rang, he let Eppie answer and heard Ida Davis’s voice.

‘We’ve just received the tickets, so I thought I’d bring yours round.’

Ida and John Davis lived in a flat down the corridor. No one saw very much of John but Ida was always cheerful and friendly. Puzzled about what tickets Eppie had been buying, he picked up a tea towel and went to say hello.

‘Thank you, Ida. We’re looking forward to the show.’

‘I think you’ll enjoy it. Oh hello, Matt. I see you’re getting him domesticated. That’s the way.’

‘How are you, Ida?’

‘Very well thank you. Have you both fully recovered?’

Eppie went to Matt and circled her arm around his waist. ‘Yes. Although if he forgets something he still blames that bang on the head.’

Ida laughed and Matt invited her to sit down.

‘No, thank you. John’s waiting for his dinner. Hope the table fits.’

After Ida left, there was silence between them as they finished tidying the kitchen. Finally, Matt spoke. ‘So what am I sure to enjoy?’

Eppie hesitated. ‘Ida’s choir is singing at the new Royal Shakespeare Theatre. They’re having an open event for all local groups to test everything out. She is so excited.’

‘You want me to go with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘To listen to Shakespeare, musicals, stuff like that?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because.’

‘Because what?’

‘It’s a girly thing.’

‘God, you are old-fashioned. Why do you say that?’

‘It will be all screeching and the like.’

‘How do you know if you’ve never been?’

‘Well, er…everyone knows.’

‘Who? A lot of blokes sitting around in the pub?’

‘No…everybody.’

‘For an intelligent man, Matt Turrell, you are woefully uneducated. Listen, if I can come and enjoy your rugby matches then you can, occasionally, just occasionally, put yourself out for me. Right?’

Matt felt himself backed into a corner and decided the best option would be to comply while hoping that work or some other emergency would rescue him when the time came. He held up his hands. ‘Okay, I give in. Mrs Turrell, I will be delighted to attend with you. Here is my arm, ready and waiting.’

Eppie saw he was taking the mickey and flipped him with the tea towel before moving in closer and pummelling him on the chest, forcing him to take both her hands, twisting them behind her to draw her in close.

‘You might enjoy it,’ she said, lifting her mouth towards his.

‘Oh, I’m sure I will.’ Matt bent to kiss her, fusing them together and arousing the need in both of them. He took her hand and led her into the bedroom, removing her blouse and his shirt. The doorbell rang.

‘Let’s ignore it,’ he begged.

She nodded like a naughty schoolgirl and jumped on the bed. Matt grinned and followed her. The bell rang again and this time didn’t let up. Someone was holding their finger on the buzzer.

‘Bugger, I’d better find out who that is. You stay right here.’ Matt grabbed his shirt and headed for the door.

It couldn’t be work, as they would ring. Maybe Ida was in trouble. He couldn’t imagine her holding onto the bell that long unless it was an emergency. Flinging open the door, he was surprised to see a middle-aged woman. Her hair and dress shouted expensive more than elegant. Her face, despite its expert make-up, appeared shrewish and angry. Before he had time to ask what she wanted, she pushed past him.

‘About time. Suitcases in the hall.’

‘I’m sorry, who are you?’

‘Angela. Your mother-in-law. Unless Eppie has taken a lover already.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Matt couldn’t believe that this bossy, rude woman had descended on them without so much as a warning. Still, he was aware that his shirt was undone and hastened to fasten it. Now he understood why Eppie didn’t want anything to do with her mother. She was supposed to be far away in Argentina, happy with her fifth husband. Angela stood glancing around the flat.

With a sniff, she turned to Matt. ‘Cases.’

‘You can’t stay here.’

‘And why not? This is my daughter’s home. Such as it is.’

‘Yes, but─’

‘Mum?’

Eppie came from the bedroom fastening her robe. She stopped, shocked at the sight of her mother. He waited for her to decide what to do.

‘It’s alright, Matt.’

‘Right, I’ll get the cases.’ Matt turned and went into the hall, wondering how Eppie would deal with this. Angela, he couldn’t remember her latest married name, hadn’t come to their wedding or even sent a card. Eppie had been hurt. How dare the woman turn up unannounced? Seeing the number of cases waiting in the hallway, it looked like she intended staying for months. By the time he’d manoeuvred the last heavy suitcase into the flat, Angela was seated on the sofa and Eppie was standing by the bookcase trying to compose herself.

‘So what are you doing here, Mum?’

‘It seemed the natural place to come.’

‘Why?’

‘Need you ask?’

‘Yes. You haven’t bothered with me for years. So why turn up now?’

Angela glanced at Matt. ‘A coffee would be nice, if you are able.’

Matt flushed. He didn’t intend to be spoken to like a servant. ‘A please would be nice, if you are able,’ he snapped, regretting the words as soon as they left his lips.

Eppie gave him a stricken look and he guessed she didn’t want him to make matters worse.

‘I’ll make coffee,’ he muttered and went into the kitchen. He made a special effort to be quiet so that he could listen. There was silence for a moment.

‘Why, Mum? Why now, when you couldn’t even send a card for our wedding?’

‘I was heartbroken about that.’

‘I can imagine.’

Matt caught the sarcastic tone in Eppie’s voice and hurried with the coffee. He wanted to support her.

Angela continued as if uninterrupted. ‘Fernando has thrown me out. A little hussy has turned the silly man’s head. He’ll live to regret it. I’m sure he will.’

More likely, the poor man wished he’d done it earlier, Matt thought as he loaded the tray.

‘Well, you’re not going to win him back from over here are you, Mother?’

‘No alternative, dear. The heartless man cut off all my credit.’

‘So, what’s the plan? You can’t expect to live here. We have no space.’

Good on you, Eppie, thought Matt, as he carried the tray through.

‘It would only be for one night. Just until I sort myself out.’

Eppie raised her eyebrows at Matt. He gave a shake of his head.

‘We’d be happy to book you into a hotel or guest house for a night,’ he offered.

‘I just want to be close to my daughter. There is no one else I can turn to.’

Matt could see that Eppie was weakening. Angela was good at turning the screw. Maybe they’d manage for one night. The new sofa bed would have its first guest.

‘Then we’d be happy to put you up for one night.’ Matt noticed the relief on Eppie’s face at his decision. He hoped he wouldn’t live to regret it.