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

Chapter 4

Kathy expected the sense of triumph to last but, except for those first few moments, she felt flat, depressed. Maybe turning yourself into a cold-blooded killer wasn’t that easy. Stunned to realise that is what she had become, she sat down at the kitchen table. In front of her was the list she had made of each of the gang members. She had been gathering information about them since the trial. If they had received realistic punishments instead of the light sentences handed out because of their ages, Kathy felt she could have accepted it and moved on.

This wasn’t the first time she felt cheated of justice. Losing Bill had been bad enough, but the driver who left her husband bleeding to death had never been caught. For years she experienced moments of rage when she saw a speeding or careless driver. Jack’s murder brought all that anger flooding back. In the early days after her son’s death, she couldn’t grieve, not in any of the recognised ways, unlike Pam, Jack’s wife, who drew her children close and tried to shut out the reality of the world, including Kathy.

In her own efforts to block out the terrible truth, Kathy wandered the streets at night, hopeful the physical action would somehow alleviate the great pain and knowing she couldn’t risk meeting anyone who would say something kind or trite. During those midnight walks, she seemed to have acquired a blanket of protection. Maybe the horror of identifying her son’s body, left battered and bruised by the thugs, showed on her face. She could pass through the drunken crowds pouring out of nightclubs and they would part without saying a word. On the dark recreation ground, she passed the distorted silhouette of the bandstand, alongside the shadowy, silent river, disturbing ducks and lovers alike. At Lucy’s Mill Bridge, she often stood in the middle, looking down at the swirling waters of the Avon below and wanting to throw herself in. Throughout those night meanderings, Kathy came to realise that justice must be done or she wouldn’t be able to go on.

Pushing aside the list, she drew her granddaughter Zoe’s birthday present forward and got out the wrapping paper. The doll came with several changes of clothing so she wrapped each separately before writing the card. She’d last seen Zoe on her fourth birthday, a year ago, but only for a few minutes, as Pam hadn’t invited her in. She seemed ill at ease and not liking to force the issue, Kathy had left, consoling herself that all three children looked well cared for, in a physical way, at least.

Today she was determined to enter what had been her son’s house to see her grandchildren. Kathy waited until after school, knowing they would be home, as Pam never took them anywhere.

As she walked up the path, the small lilac bush, planted by Jack when they had moved in several years ago, brushed against her face. It was now a tree, overgrown like everything around it and in need of cutting back. Pushing it aside, she held onto the twigs for a moment as if they could bring her closer to Jack, could give her courage.

A small shadow appeared behind the coloured glass when she rang the doorbell, until a taller, darker shadow took its place. The tall shadow stood still. Guessing Pam was hoping she would go away, Kathy rang again, keeping her finger on the bell for just a second or two longer than necessary to let Pam know she was serious.

The door, secured by a chain, opened a crack and Pam peered out. She seemed frightened, like after Jack died. Maybe she imagined the gang that killed Jack would come for her. Kathy often tried to imagine how horrendous it must have been for her watching, screaming and helpless to do anything.

After the court cases and sentencing, Kathy hoped Pam would be reassured, but it hadn’t helped. Everyone was suspect, including her. At first, she’d tried to be supportive, given her time, offered to help look after the children, her granddaughters after all, but Pam always seemed apprehensive. She had wondered if she reminded her too much of Jack. Then, when Kathy suggested Pam talk to her doctor, she found herself shut out.

This had gone on long enough and Kathy had to think of the girls. Okay, they went to school, but she’d heard that Phoebe had dropped her music lessons and Amy the Brownies. She had to get Pam to let her in, see for herself what was going on.

She’d seen Phoebe one day in the school playground all alone, head down, instead of surrounded by her friends. Kathy tried to talk to her through the railings, but sensed she was holding back, maybe out of loyalty to her mum. If Pam’s state of mind was rubbing off on the children, she had to do something. Would she feel safer now that Jonathan James was dead? Would she have heard?

‘Pam, it’s only me,’ she said to the crack in the door. ‘I’ve brought Zoe’s birthday present.’ She held up the parcels in proof.

The crack widened.

‘Can I come in?’

Kathy waited as the smaller shadow came close and she heard a soft voice.

‘Please, Mum.’

There was a pause before the chain rattled and the door opened. Pam peered out, around and past Kathy before she ushered her in.

Zoe took Kathy’s hand and led her towards the kitchen. ‘Stay at the edge, Gran. We mustn’t make a mess.’

Bewildered, she followed Zoe’s example, keeping to the wood at the side of the rug that ran down the hallway to the kitchen. Pam followed, also walking at the edge. Once in the kitchen Pam stood as if unsure of what to do.

Kathy placed Zoe’s presents on the kitchen table and turned to her. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea, Pam? I’m parched.’

Pam seemed reluctant but moved towards the kettle. The kitchen was operating-room clean and seemed unused.

As Pam filled the kettle, Kathy turned to Zoe. ‘Happy birthday, Zoe. So how’s my little pudding then? I swear you’ve grown ten inches since I last saw you.’

‘I’m in Miss Turner’s class now.’

‘And how do you like school?’

‘I like it. And, and I got a star for my drawing.’

‘Brilliant. I always knew you were a clever girl. Can I see your picture?’

‘It’s at school. On the wall.’

‘Well, when you bring it home you can put it on the wall here.’

Zoe shook her head and glanced at her mum as if betraying a trust. Something wasn’t right in this house, Kathy was sure. Pam plugged in the kettle and returned to the sink to wipe up the splashes before moving to the cupboard to get mugs. Kathy was surprised to see them lined up in a complete regimented fashion, all the handles pointing in the same direction. Pam hesitated before removing one mug. She appeared thinner, tired, and Kathy had the urge to go to her and give her a big hug, to hold her and tell her it would be alright, except she wasn’t sure how Pam would react. There was an invisible barrier around her, holding all the sting of barbed wire.

Instead, she went forward and took the mug out of her hand. ‘Why don’t I make us both a brew while you sit down with Zoe and open her presents?’

Pam hesitated until Zoe piped up. ‘Can I open them, Mum? Can I?’

With an echo of the old Pam and a faint smile, she gave in and went to her daughter. ‘Yes. Open your presents.’

As Pam sat down to help Zoe, Kathy got down another mug and searched for the teabags. ‘Where are Amy and Phoebe?’ she asked, thinking how quiet the house was.

‘In their rooms, chatting with friends on their computers.’

Kathy placed the two mugs of tea on the table as Zoe tore open her main present.

‘Oh, thank you, Granny Kathy. I shall call her Wendy. Like in Peter Pan. I read two whole pages to the class. Miss Turner said—’

‘Zoe, please stop bothering Granny and go and fetch your sisters.’

Her face dropped but she slipped down and went to get Amy and Phoebe. Turning back to Pam, Kathy found she was busy carefully folding the wrapping paper into neat squares and pressing them into tidy stacks. ‘How are you, Pam?’

‘I’m fine – thank you.’ She paused as if unused to making conversation and with great effort added, ‘Are you well?’

Kathy wondered whether to mention Jonathan’s death. She might be relieved. ‘Yes, thanks. Have you heard that Jonathan James is dead?’

Pam shivered and stood up, wrapping her arms around herself.

‘I just thought you’d like to know.’ Kathy kicked herself for being selfish, as if she needed praise for accomplishing his death. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.’ She reached out to Pam who backed further away, just as Zoe came back with Amy and Phoebe. Kathy noticed they all walked down the hallway in the same way, avoiding the carpet and staying on the wooden flooring.

Eight-year-old Amy came for a hug, but ten-year-old Phoebe hung back, glancing at her mother.

‘Shall we go into the lounge and you can tell me what you’ve been up to?’ Kathy suggested.

There was a silence, which hung in the air until Phoebe broke it. ‘Mum keeps that room for best.’

Kathy guessed Phoebe was used to protecting Pam, even colluding with her. She appeared subdued and not at all the bright spark of a girl Kathy remembered.

Pam was wiping down the draining board and Kathy noticed her shoulders relax at Phoebe’s reply. She felt a flash of anger at the responsibility being placed on Phoebe and tried to push it down, knowing getting cross wouldn’t help.

Now she was adding to the pressure. If Pam knew she would only stay for a short time, maybe she would be more willing to let her in again. ‘Well, I’d better get on.’ Kathy went to put her mug in the sink, but Pam took it from her.

The relief was obvious. Kathy kissed Zoe and Amy and looked towards Phoebe, who had gone to stand beside her mum. It seemed as if she was blending into her mum’s shield of barbed wire, so Kathy just spoke to her instead of trying for a hug. ‘Goodbye, Phoebe. Do well at school, love.’

She nodded and Zoe led the way to the front door. ‘You have my number don’t you, Zoe? Call me whenever you want to.’

‘Yes, Gran. If Mummy lets me.’

Outside Kathy felt the tears threatening to flow. Even Jack’s lilac tree couldn’t stop the pain. As she walked down the path, she heard the vacuum cleaner start up and her grief turned to anger.

Chapter 5

The small front garden, deep in weeds and grass, hid several items; Matt guessed at a bike, maybe a couple of tyres with the rest unidentifiable. Mrs James led them past with a mumbled apology.

Inside was a complete contrast, for although the furniture was shabby, even Matt noticed how tidy it was. A photo of Jonathan stood on the mantelpiece, another on the sideboard and another on the bookcase, all showing a grinning boy aged about eight or nine.

‘Please sit down.’ She rushed to move the TV remote and straighten the cushions on the sofa, but she remained standing. She seemed unable to stay still, fidgeting about the room to flick a speck of dust from the table or straighten one of Jonathan’s photos.

Matt and Jane sat on the lumpy sofa. ‘Thank you. We are really sorry for your loss, Mrs James,’ Matt said.

Mrs James nodded, unable to reply.

‘As you know, we have yet to establish how Jonathan died.’

Again the nod, face turned away from them. Matt sent an appealing look to Jane, who was the expert in dealing with this kind of situation. She gave a brief nod and stood, moving to stand in front of Mary.

‘Mrs James, we’d like you to help us to find out what happened to Jonathan and who he was with on the night he died.’

‘I don’t know. He didn’t tell me what he was doing. And I…well, I’d given up asking. He did mention someone called Nod or Noddy once.’

‘Do you know his real name?’

‘Sorry, no.’

‘Might Jonathan and his friends have become involved in the drug scene?’

Mrs James turned away from her, anger in her voice. ‘No.’

‘How can you be so certain, Mrs James?’

‘He hated the stuff.’

‘Hated?’

‘One of his friends died from using. Poor kid was only ten. Thought my lad was done with tears, what with all the knocking about he took. But he was in bits, crying in my lap. Last time I ever saw him like that though. He hardened up after that. Became more like his dad.’ Mary was still for a moment, thinking. ‘That’s when I really lost him.’

She moved to straighten the small statue of a spaniel on the mantelpiece. The statue appeared decrepit and had lost part of its ear, yet she handled it like a priceless work of art.

‘Present. School trip when he was nine.’

‘We realise this is difficult, Mrs James. But it’s tough on the streets. Might Jonathan have been dragged into something you didn’t know about?’ Jane asked.

‘No. No way. I know what you’re thinking.’

Matt couldn’t help asking. ‘What are we thinking, Mrs James?’

Jane shot him a glance of
don’t interfere.

‘He was a tearaway, getting into all sorts of trouble. I know that.’

Matt thought Jonathan James was much more than a tearaway, but kept quiet and waited.

‘It’s only me who can remember how he was, before.’ Mrs James moved away from Jane and sat next to Matt on the sofa. ‘He was a cheerful little lad. Reminded me of my dad. Then Vince said he was growing up and needed a man’s hand. That’s what he got. The back of his hand for as much as a word. What I got too if I tried to stop him. I watched my little lad turn sullen, resentful and then hard, like his dad.’

‘Sounds like there was little you could do,’ Matt agreed.

‘No. But I remember how he was and I know that lad was still inside, buried under all the slaps and beatings.’ Mrs James’s face began to crumple and tears ran down her cheeks.

Matt put his arm around her, letting her cry on his shoulder, despite departmental policy and Jane raising her eyebrows at him. She needed someone on her side.

‘Sorry.’

Mrs James pulled back and Matt offered his hankie. She began to dab at her eyes. Matt knew it was time to get back on track. ‘Can you tell us where Mr James is, Mrs James?’

‘I haven’t seen him for years, not since he was arrested and escaped.’

‘And he hasn’t been in contact?’

‘No. And I hope it stays that way.’

‘So he doesn’t know about his son’s death?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Will you tell us if he gets in touch?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you. Now it’s important we take a look at Jonathan’s room as it may give us some insight into what happened to him. While DC Meadows is doing that, why don’t I put the kettle on?’

Mrs James nodded and stood to direct Jane to Jonathan’s bedroom. By the time Matt had placed a steaming hot mug of tea in front of Mrs James, she had returned to say the bedroom yielded nothing but a laptop. With Mrs James happy for them to take it, Jane wrote out the receipt while Matt handed over his card, stressing Mrs James should call day or night.

Driving back to the office, Jane ran over all the information they had, plus the gaps they needed to fill in. ‘She doesn’t seem to know any of Jonathan’s friends. Except this Noddy fellow.’

‘He should be easy to track down. Uniform will know. Did you believe her when she said she didn’t know where her husband is?’

‘Yes, and I don’t think she wants to. Sounds like she’s better off without him.’

Matt agreed. He remembered reading about Vincent James when Jonathan was on trial. As far as he could remember, he was a violent career criminal. Jane interrupted his thoughts.

‘Wouldn’t she have known if Jonathan had been into drugs?’

‘I’d have thought so. She certainly seemed convinced that he wasn’t.’ Even as he said it, Matt realised he would have a hard time convincing McRay.