For Reasons Unknown (11 page)

Maun Barrington was wrapped up against the elements. It was the sixth day in a row that daytime temperatures had barely scraped zero degrees and forecasters were not optimistic of a respite in the cold weather. Snow was on its way, apparently. When, the forecasters couldn’t say, but Sheffield was in a prime position as it was sheltered by the Pennines that bore the brunt of any heavy snowfall coming in from the west.

Maun, however, was not taking any risks. The heavy snowfall of 2010 had caused her to be housebound for several days, unable to get out and restock her cupboards of the most basic provisions.

Her Morrison’s trolley was stocked with everyday needs. Reluctantly, she added several tubs of powdered milk. She hated the taste of the stuff and it didn’t matter how many times she stirred her coffee, little flakes of powder floated to the top, but needs must when the devil drives.

As she made her way to the cashier to pay, she stopped at the newspaper stand and added several dailies to her shopping along with the locals; the
Sheffield
Star
, the
Sheffield Telegraph,
and the
Yorkshire Post
.

It took three trips from her car to her flat to unload her provisions. On the final leg she came across two of her neighbours in the foyer. They both turned their back to her as she came through the door. They lowered their voices and waited until Maun had disappeared up the stairs and around the corner before they returned to their normal speaking voices.

It no longer bothered Maun that she was being shunned in such a way by her childish neighbours. She had been ostracized for the best part of twenty-five years, she was used to it. She had Jonathan to chat to and keep her company, which was enough for her. Things seemed to be changing though. Jonathan was reluctant to engage Maun in conversation. He didn’t want her with him when his childhood home was being demolished, and she guessed he wouldn’t want to talk about events in the newspaper. He had also been dropping Stephen Egan’s name into conversation. She guessed he was someone from work, but who, and why did he seem to have such an effect on Jonathan?

From a bag she removed the ingredients for making moussaka, Jonathan’s favourite meal, onto the kitchen counter. By the time he arrived home from work it would be fully prepared and the smell floating down the stairs would be irresistible to him.

Before the arduous task of cooking, she decided to have half an hour with the newspapers. She made herself a large mug of coffee and sat in front of the fire, which was blasting out the maximum heat possible.

The national newspapers didn’t carry much of the story of the demolition of the Harkness house, just a photograph of the building mid-collapse and a few lines of text underneath. They didn’t seem too interested in the case being reviewed either. The three local papers were though. They had colour pictures of a bulldozer tearing through the roof, small black and white images of the house in its heyday, and passport size shots of Stefan and Miranda Harkness. There was a brief history of the case followed by a paragraph on the Detective Chief Inspector who was heading the review. On the basis of her tired-looking photo, Maun didn’t think there was any chance of the case being solved. The DCI lacked the professional grace of a serious detective.

The three local papers all sounded the same. Maun wondered if just one person had written the story then syndicated it out to the other locals. The odd descriptive word had been changed but the body of the text was uniform.

Carefully she cut out all three stories and went over to the sideboard in the corner of the large living room. In the cupboard was a thick red leather-covered photo album. There were very few blank pages left. The first five pages were full of pictures from her wedding day. She used to look at these photographs and smile; not any more. The further on in the book she went the fewer photographs there were; they were replaced by newspaper and magazine cuttings. Her eyes glanced at the headlines: LOCAL BUSINESSMAN KILLED ON NOTORIOUS COUNTRY ROAD; EYE WITNESS: BARRINGTON CAR WAS SPEEDING; BARRINGTON PASSENGER WAS NOT WEARING SEATBELT.

She turned the pages quickly. She was in no mood to relive the events of more than two decades ago when her husband and his young secretary, Dawn Edwards, were tragically killed while on their way to Manchester for a meeting. She didn’t even think about it when she saw pictures of the wrecked car, or his smiling face looking out at her. She no longer felt anything for the man she had been married to for thirteen years.

The headlines continued to scream out at her: FULL DETAILS OF BARRINGTON RELATIONSHIP WITH SECRETARY REVEALED; WAS DAWN EDWARDS PREGNANT?; MAUN BARRINGTON BRANDED A LIAR BY EDWARDS MOTHER.

Maun closed her eyes as she flicked through the book. Although she felt nothing for her cheating husband she did not enjoy seeing her name in print. Eventually the events of her husband’s death stopped making the headlines and the cuttings of stories changed from being about her life to that of Jonathan Harkness. The original stories from when Jonathan’s parents were murdered adorned the dark pages: HUSBAND AND WIFE BUTCHERED; 11-YR-OLD SON WITNESSED PARENTS SLAYING; TEEN SON MISSING; JONATHAN MAY NEVER SPEAK AGAIN; MATTHEW FOUND! They went on and on through the book, detailing every event of the police investigation, from the false sightings of Matthew to the interviews with animal rights activists. She had it all in pristine condition; a macabre collection of the Harkness horror.

It had been many years since she had entered a new clipping. The final one: THREE YEARS ON: WILL HARKNESS KILLERS EVER BE FOUND? read like a fitting conclusion. Since then, nothing, the case was cold after all, but now it was warming up, the hunt was on for the killer. She wondered if she would need to purchase a thicker book.

Matilda had to trot to keep up with Ben as he stormed down the corridor; his strides long, his footfalls heavy and determined. She shook her head then rolled her eyes. This was an exercise in futility; it did not need the approval of the ACC. She had information that could lead to the identification of his dead body. It was as simple as that. Why involve a higher rank? What was his game?

Luckily for Matilda there was a sizable gap between Ben knocking on Masterson’s door and being called to enter. She managed to catch up and regain her breath.

Valerie Masterson sat behind her large desk. She had an iPhone in one hand and was frantically smashing a cordless mouse onto the pad next to the wireless keyboard. When she saw who her visitors were she put down the phone.

‘Have you ever noticed how computers seem to freeze when you need them the most? Bloody thing!’

‘You know,’ Ben Hales began before Matilda could chime in, ‘there is something to be said for turning it off and back on again. That seems to work for me almost every time. Shall I get someone from IT to come and take a look at it?’

‘Don’t bother I’ve already called. They’re sending someone up. So,’ she said, giving up on the computer and pushing the keyboard to one side, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure?’

Matilda quickly jumped in before Ben, and gave Masterson a brief rundown of recent events; how Matthew Harkness was missing toes due to frostbite when he disappeared and how a dead body recently discovered also had toes missing.

‘It sounds like the past meets the present,’ Masterson said. ‘How do you want to play this?’

‘I want to bring this Jonathan in,’ Hales jumped in.

‘Hang on a minute,’ Matilda called out, eager to protect Jonathan from Hales and his bully-boy tactics. ‘You’ve not met him, I have. Jonathan is extremely fragile. I think we need to take the softly-softly approach.’ She couldn’t see him, as they were standing side by side, but Matilda was sure Ben was rolling his eyes. ‘I suggest I go and see him again. I’ll take Rory. We’ll mention that a body has been found and get Jonathan to ID him. If it’s Matthew then we bring Jonathan back here and question him.’

Masterson shrugged. ‘Sounds good to me.’

‘If the body is Matthew, I want in on the interview,’ Ben said.

‘Of course. It’s your case Ben. This Jonathan Harkness, Matilda, is he depressive? Does he have a mental health problem?’

‘I’m not sure. I did ask but he wasn’t very forthcoming. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was depressed or had some kind of mental impairment. He is taking medication for depression though.’

Their eyes locked. They seemed to be reading each other’s minds. If anybody could recognize the signs of severe depression it was someone who had been through it.

‘OK, here’s what you’re going to do; Matilda, go and see Jonathan, get him to ID and bring him back here if the body is that of his brother. However, we need to tread carefully. If he ends up being a material witness it’s not going to look good in court if he’s been mistreated here. Matilda, you’ll act as a go-between. Ben, anything you need from Jonathan, you go through Matilda. Understand?’

The sudden change in Ben’s appearance was palpable. He clenched his fists, his face turned red and, if possible, steam would have come out of his ears. He agreed through gritted teeth and left the room, taking long strides once again. Matilda waited where she was in front of Masterson’s desk, her hands behind her back; they were clammy and itching. She blinked when the door slammed.

‘I don’t think he’s too keen on me being back at work.’

Masterson smiled. ‘He’s a man, they’re not very adaptable. He’ll get used to it. How are things anyway?’

‘They’re good. I’m getting there.’ She smiled an awkward smile; it was bitter and cold.

‘Good. Anything you need, you know where to find me.’

‘Thanks.’
How about getting that tosser to move his prick-mobile from my parking space?

Matilda eventually caught up with Ben back in the Murder Room. This time, she didn’t hesitate; she pulled open the door with force and marched in.

‘I want a word with you,’ she called out. ‘In private,’ she added when she realized everyone in the room was staring at her.

‘Of course. Let’s go into
my
office,’ he said, over-emphasizing ‘my’ to let her know he’d taken over her old office.

She took a deep breath and followed him, taking heavy strides. She slammed the door behind her with her foot. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ She tried to keep her voice down but it didn’t work, she was fuming. This was hardly going to be a private conversation either; they could still be heard by the others in the main part of the large open-plan office.

‘There’s absolutely nothing wrong with me.’

His demeanour was quieter and more relaxed. He had a slight smile on his lips that infuriated Matilda. He was doing this on purpose, trying to get a rise out of her, make her snap and lash out, maybe even slap him.

‘You stormed out of the ACC’s office like a child. Do you have a problem with me?’

‘No.’ He lowered his head. Clearly he did have a problem.

‘Why don’t I believe you? Look, I know you’ve been Acting DCI while I’ve been away, and while I’m working on the Harkness case this department is all yours. If you think I’m stepping on your toes you’re completely wrong.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I think you do. I know you resent me coming back. You think the MIT should have been yours in the first place. When I left you couldn’t wait to get your feet under the table. Well I’m sorry to tell you this Acting DCI Hales,’ she over-pronounced the acting, ‘but I’m back and I’ll be having that desk very soon.’

She quickly turned on her heels and made to leave the room.

‘Hang on a minute.’ Ben lifted himself up to his full height. ‘Your return to this department is not a forgone conclusion. I have a one hundred per cent success rate while I’ve been in charge. Can you say that?’

There was a noticeable gasp from the rest of the Murder Room. Both Matilda and Ben suddenly realized they were being overheard. The walls of the partitioned office were very thin and they were hardly whispering. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Suddenly an image of Carl Meagan came into her head; his fluffy blond hair, his bright blue eyes, his smooth pale skin. She had failed him and his entire family.

‘You can’t can you? You fucked up, DCI Darke, and I don’t care what happens when you’ve finished with the Harkness case, but you’re not coming back here. Not if I have anything to do with it.’

Matilda bit her bottom lip. She had plenty to say to Hales but was afraid of opening her mouth in case it released a flood of emotion. She tried to keep her stare cold and icy before turning and leaving the room. She wanted to slam the door, but didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d managed to get under her skin.

The silence was tense. Nobody uttered a single word. In the end it was Aaron Connolly who broke the silence with a sneeze. Sian blessed him and the room continued to go about its business.

‘Sian,’ Faith called out, her voice an octave above a whisper. ‘Were they talking about Matthew Harkness?’

‘No, Jonathan. Why?’

‘Shit.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘The car park next to the nightclub where the body was found, there were five cars parked in it. I ran the registration numbers through the computer and one of them belonged to a Matthew Harkness. Do you think he could be a relation?’

Sian rolled her eyes. ‘Matthew is the name of Jonathan’s brother.’

Sian went over to the office and lightly tapped on the glass. She opened the door a crack and stuck her head inside. Faith leaned back in her chair as far as she could to try and hear what was being said but couldn’t.

‘What?’ Ben shouted, slamming his hands on the table. He practically jumped up out of his seat and barged past Sian to get to Faith. ‘How long have you been sitting on this?’

‘I…well. I didn’t know the name Harkness was important.’

‘How can you not know? Don’t they teach you anything at school any more? Twenty years ago the whole country was looking to Sheffield to find out who murdered Stefan and Miranda Harkness.’

‘Twenty years ago I was only four.’

Sian sniggered and received a dirty looked from Hales.

With shaking fingers, Faith rummaged through the mountain of paperwork on her desk. She had witness statements from workers in the nightclub and the City Hall. She had names and addresses of people who worked in the area who she had yet to contact. She couldn’t find the computer printout at all. She pulled it out from under her laptop and flicked through a couple of pages.

‘What am I looking at?’ Hales asked impatiently.

‘Silver Audi TT. It’s registered to a Matthew Harkness. He lives in Manchester.’

‘Have you contacted him yet?’

‘Not yet, I’ve been busy. He’s probably staying in one of the hotels, probably here on business.’

‘Or probably in the morgue. You should have given me this sooner.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know,’ she said, her head bowed.

‘And get your bloody desk sorted out. It’s a tip,’ he called over his shoulder as he left the room.

Feeling like she had been told off by a strict teacher, Faith sat down in her chair and slowly began pulling the paperwork together, trying to neaten things up in an organized fashion.

Sitting at the desks behind her, Aaron and Sian exchanged glances. Sian wanted to smile. Hales’s blue-eyed girl was no longer flavour of the month. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for her though. She’d give her a few minutes to compose herself then offer her a cup of tea and one of her own Tunnock’s Teacakes she kept in her bottom drawer.