Echoes of Justice (DI Matt Turrell Book 2)

Echoes of Justice

Chapter 1

The first one was easy.

Kathy turned the corner and began the long walk past the row of dark shops, grilled and shuttered against the world, towards the off-licence that spilled its beacon across the gloom.

Caught within the circle of light, she could see him slouched against the wall, drinking from a can while several young men lounged about him.

Moving towards the group, she began the old woman shuffle she’d practised, aware that glances passed between them, and they watched her, as she guessed they would.

Inside the off-licence, Kathy kept up the masquerade, bending to hide her face from the CCTV and checking that her unruly curls remained tucked under her old gardening hat.

Behind the grille a middle-aged man rose, resigned, putting down his racing paper. ‘Yes?’

It was important she remained in character and gave him nothing to remember her by. Kathy hesitated, as if still deciding, before pointing to a half bottle of the cheapest whisky.

He reached for the bottle and plonked it down in front of her. ‘Four fifty-two,’ he said, holding out his hand.

While he sighed with impatience and rested his elbow on the counter, Kathy counted out the change as if each penny were her last. When she had the exact amount, she dropped the coins into his hand, waiting as he placed the denominations into the correct sections of the cash register.

Banging shut the register, he picked up the whisky, intent on wrapping it in the fragile pink tissue paper that served as an empty semblance of customer service.

‘No.’ Kathy waved her hand to stop him and indicated that he should pass it to her and he glared at her in disgust as if she had contravened some deeply ingrained customer rule. She took the whisky and he turned away, shaking his head.

Taking slow steps towards the door, she stopped to tuck the bottle in a side pocket of her shopping bag, away from where the prepared bottle lay ready in its plain plastic bag. Hearing a rustle, she risked glancing around, but the man was ignoring her and had returned to his paper.

Now came the most terrifying part. Kathy moved to the door and took a deep breath, standing for a moment before stepping down and away from the protective pool of light. She sensed their eyes on her. The moment had come.

Kathy forced herself to take two steps, before stopping as if to begin an anxious search through her bag. To aid her search, she removed the plastic bag with the whisky, placing it on the wall of a neglected flowerbed where a tired brown twig poked up through the cigarette butts and empty beer cans.

The gang moved behind her as one, thinking they were silent, but she heard them and waited. It was just as she imagined.

‘Can we help you, Gran?’

‘No. No, thank you.’ Kathy tried to make her voice sound frightened while the fear inside turned to triumph.

‘Here, let me help you with your bags.’ He reached out a hand to pick up the bag.

She made a tentative gesture to take it back from him. ‘I can manage.’ Kathy paused, taking a step backwards to look up into his face, directly into the eyes of one of her son’s killers.

Jonathan Bernard James smiled, just as he had done in court when the judge pronounced the sentence, but his eyes remained narrowed and suspicious. His mother had spoken up for him, told the judge she’d tried to do her best, but he had turned into a bully like his father and she couldn’t control him. Kathy had felt sorry for the woman. Would she cry when her son was dead?

Satisfied, she looked down and moved from one foot to the other. He would have one last chance of redemption. ‘That’s for my Albert,’ she said, making sure her voice quivered.

‘Well, guess what, Gran. Your Albert’s going on the wagon.’

He lifted the whisky high and his companions dutifully laughed. Her job done, she gave a small cry and hobbled away, pausing only at the corner to turn and watch as Jonathan pulled out the bottle. The discarded bag fluttered across the windswept concrete to join with the other rubbish in the gutter, while Jonathan unscrewed the cap and put it to his lips. He hadn’t noticed the broken seal. Kathy didn’t think he would. Likewise, she guessed he wouldn’t share much of his prize with the others.

Chapter 2

DI Matt Turrell grinned as he entered the CID office. DC Jane Meadows was in full flow. At last, everything was back to normal.

‘Don’t you dare start, Sam. I’d forgotten what a bloody pain you are.’ She sat down at her desk and noticed a small vase of flowers. ‘Oh very funny. I hate cut flowers.’

‘Would I?’ DS Sam Withers held up his hands but his tell-tale grin gave him away.

As Matt walked down the office, she turned on him. ‘No fuss, I said, and you promised.’

‘Hey, I can’t control this lot. I’m only the DI.’

A pile of cards, two boxes of chocolates and three other packages covered all available space on her desk, testament to the team’s relief she had survived.

Two months ago, Matt thought the serial killer Clive Draper had claimed another victim. The team had tracked him to Heath End luxury spa and Jane had been first on the scene. Although ordered by Matt to wait for backup, she had no option when the killer put others in danger. When Matt found her, so white and still, he thought at first she was dead. No one imagined she would survive, never mind return to work.

‘Anyway, I’ve got you chocolates as well.’ Sam produced a large expensive box and held them out.

‘Flowers as well as chocolates. Shouldn’t you be plying some poor unsuspecting girl with these, Sam? Oh, sorry, I forgot, no one’s interested.’

DCI McRay came to the door of his office, or lair, as the team called it, and rescued Matt from the familiar bickering. As McRay beckoned to him, Matt prayed nothing too heavy would come up with Christmas just a few weeks away, his first with Eppie. Funny to think that this time last year they hadn’t even met.

McRay held open the door for him. ‘Come in, Matt. I’ve been thinking we’ll need to keep DC Meadows busy but not overload her, at least for a while. See how she goes.’

‘She would hate sitting about, sir.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘Not much going on.’

‘Think all our local criminals must be wintering in Spain.’ As McRay laughed heartily at his own joke, Matt joined in.

‘Here’s something.’ McRay picked up a file from his desk. ‘This might ease her in gently. A lowlife got hold of some dodgy gear. One less for us to worry about but we’d better be seen to be doing our duty.’

Matt took the file from McRay. The name, Jonathan Bernard James, was familiar. ‘I knew this lad, sir.’

‘Always in trouble I suppose?’

‘I arrested him, and four others, for murder. Remember Jack Wylde, about two years ago – kicked to death?’

‘Didn’t the little buggers get off?’

‘Charges reduced to manslaughter.’

‘So now he’s got what he deserved.’

‘Maybe.’ Matt knew it wasn’t worth arguing with McRay whose opinions were set in concrete. He thought of Jonathan’s mother. At the trial, she appeared a bewildered, soft little woman, baffled as to how her boy had come to this. She couldn’t understand that Jonathan, tempered in his father’s punches, had sought his own self-destructive way forward.

‘He wasn’t known as a dealer, or even a user.’

‘Then I guess he’s moved on. We need formal ID so I’d start with the mother. Slim should be doing the PM tomorrow.’

‘Will do, sir.’ Matt left McRay’s office, stopping on the way to speak to Jane, who had pushed all the presents and cards into an untidy pile at the side of her desk.

Matt bent to whisper in her ear. ‘Open all of those, and say thank you, nicely, and I might have a case for us.’ He indicated the file and her eyes lit up.

‘That’s more like it.’ She stood.

‘First.’ Matt pointed to the jumble. ‘Ten minutes.’ He glanced at his watch as he made his way to his own small office. Skimming through the file, he looked up to watch her open the gifts and give thanks with a pasted smile. The pile diminished and he went towards her. ‘Right, let’s see if the brain still works.’

‘One more.’ She tore open the last card and stopped.

Matt noticed the card was from DI Grant and guessed how hard it must have been for him. Always difficult, even surly to work with, but thank God, Grant had put himself on the line when needed.

Clive Draper came close to destroying both the team and Matt’s world when Eppie, his wife of only a few weeks, became a target. Though Grant had minor injuries compared to Jane, Matt would always be grateful to him for helping to save Eppie’s life.

She stood and turned towards him. ‘Thank you, Grant. It’s a lovely card.’

‘Just following the official line,’ he grunted, not looking up.

Trust Grant to spoil the moment, Matt thought.

Jane didn’t react, but smiled, tossing her long blonde hair as she reached for her plain black woollen coat. She’d learnt fast that the fluffy angora jacket she’d worn on her first day in CID wouldn’t do. The team had teased her unmercifully before dubbing her with the nickname of Fluff. But, when he’d visited her in hospital, she’d requested that he and the rest of the team now start calling her Jane. Despite sending a memo to the team about the change, he, and the rest of them, were finding it hard after years of calling her Fluff. He knew he must set an example, although he wondered what had prompted her request.

Nevertheless, Matt relied on Jane’s instinct to know when the smallest thing was out of place or when a witness was lying, and it felt good to have her back.

Chapter 3

Matt strode out of the office, surprised that Jane was not keeping pace with him. Not wanting to bring it to attention, he slowed until she was beside him.

‘Got more work to do at physio. Sorry I’m slowing you down. Maybe you should have brought Sam instead.’

He might have known she would pick up he was making an allowance for her. No one could fool her for long. ‘What and leave you malingering in the office eating all those chocolates?’

‘So this is get the invalid back to work, is it?’

‘You bet. It’s been like half the team were missing.’ As they reached the car, Matt resisted opening the passenger door for her.

Once they were on their way, she glanced at him. ‘You look great. I’m not surprised. Eppie rustled up some great meals when she stayed at my place.’

‘I can’t believe I was lucky enough to marry a woman who likes cooking. Beauty, brains and a cook – what more could a man want?’ Although he was trying for lightness, he couldn’t help thinking back to the danger Clive Draper had put Eppie in. In an attempt to keep her safe, she’d gone to stay with Jane.

‘You’re a lucky man, Matt.’

Noting a hint of wistfulness, Matt wondered if her relationship with Jenny was still on the cards. He had seen DI Jenny Hadden at her bedside during those first few critical weeks but once the painful path back to normality had begun, he hadn’t caught a glimpse of her at all. Still, Jane would tell him when she was ready and now they had a job to do.

The mortuary was not one of Matt’s favourite places and he was always keen to leave as soon as possible. He waited as Jane brought Mrs James down the corridor towards him. Mary James looked smaller, as if shrunken with grief. She still appeared bewildered, but then who wouldn’t in this cold, clinical place where you were forced to view and own your dead. Matt was glad Jonathan had received no visible physical injuries and it crossed his mind that if he had been murdered, his killer may be squeamish. He filed this away for further examination later.

Jane guided Mary to the window behind which her son lay covered in a sheet, but dead all the same. ‘I want you to tell me when you’re ready, Mrs James. There’s no rush and everything is up to you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘When you’re ready I will signal for these curtains to be drawn. Jonathan will be lying just inside.’

Mary took a big breath and nodded, ‘Now, please.’

Jane pressed a bell and the curtains drew apart. As Mary stepped forward, Matt moved behind her in case she fainted.

Mary looked long and hard at her son before taking a step back, treading on Matt’s toes. ‘Yes. That is my son.’

This calm, almost cold reaction was unexpected and Matt and Jane exchanged glances of surprise.

‘My son, Jonathan Bernard James. Bernard after his grandfather. I’m glad he’s not here to see this.’ Mary pressed closer to the glass again as if taking in every aspect of her son’s face before turning to begin a dignified walk back down the corridor.

Jane hurried to catch up with her. ‘If you feel able, we would like you to stay and have a cup of tea with us, Mrs James. There are one or two formalities we should go through.’

Mary stopped and seemed confused. Matt could see then the effort she was putting into holding herself together.

‘No rush. Let’s have some tea for now shall we?’ Jane added.

Matt passed them both and held open the door to the relatives’ room, a bland, soulless place, enlivened only by a small pot of bronze chrysanthemums in need of watering. He was embarrassed this was all they could offer.

Mary stood in the doorway and glanced at the green walls, the supposedly tasteful but nondescript print on the wall that blended well with the nothingness of the room. She turned to Matt. ‘Please, can I just go home?’

Matt hesitated. There was no way he wanted to sit in that room and ask her questions about her dead son. He nodded and closed the door, aware that Jane had given a faint sigh at his capitulation. Matt avoided her eyes and turned to Mary, ushering her away from the room. ‘Come on, we’ll drive you home, Mrs James.’