Michael Wood - Outside Looking In - A darkly compelling crime novel with a shocking twist

‘Thank you.’

‘As for Carl Meagan,’ she shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, I’ve no idea what happened there. The kidnappers knew the money was there to be dropped off. They got spooked and did a runner but they could have contacted the Meagan family again. Why they didn’t is anybody’s guess. There hasn’t been a sighting, a phone call, a letter, nothing. There is nothing we can do about that now.’ She spoke slowly and with determination as if she was drilling every single syllable into Matilda’s head. ‘It’s easy for me to say, I know, but until we receive any more information about Carl Meagan there is nothing else we can do to locate him. You need to keep telling yourself that.’

‘I know. I keep thinking of his parents; what they must be going through, not knowing where their son is. It must be torture.’

‘The case will be reviewed on a regular basis, you know that. However, you need to move on. Your job is to solve murders. You can’t do that if you’re constantly harking over an unsolved case. As for your team, you’re right and I’m sorry. It’s wrong of me to expect you to solve a murder case with a couple of DSs. I’ll get some drafted over to you from CID.’

Matilda looked up. Val’s face looked softer and there was a genuine sincerity in her voice. It was the first time in a long time Matilda actually believed in what Valerie was saying.

‘Now I want you to go home—’

‘But—’

Again, Val held a hand up to silence her. ‘This is not negotiable. I want you to go home.’

‘I can’t leave—’

‘My grandfather used to always say there’s no such word as “can’t”. It annoyed me when he said that but it’s true. You can leave and you are leaving. I will arrest you if I have to.’ She smiled.

Matilda was about to thank her boss but, once again, the hand came up. Matilda took this as her cue to leave.

Matilda should not have driven home. Her mind was a maelstrom of activity. Not only did she have James and Carl battling for attention in her head, she had the Meagan parents judging her, ACC Masterson offering comforting words, which wouldn’t last if she continued with her erratic behaviour, and now, Alex Winstanley was throwing her to the dogs. There was very little room in her mind for anything else.

The doormat was covered with the usual array of white and brown envelopes, junk mail, and fast-food menus. She stepped over them and made her way to the kitchen. At the back of the drawer she used for items that didn’t have a place to live, she found an emergency supply of the Venlafaxine tablets she used to take. It had been her decision to stop taking them, but she still collected the prescriptions from her GP. With shaking fingers, she took three tablets, two more than prescribed.

Her head pounded and weighed heavy on her shoulders. As she went into the living room, she picked the post up from the front door and threw it onto the coffee table.

James was looking down on her from the mantelpiece. His gorgeous smile, his bright blue eyes, his broad shoulders; he wasn’t judging, he had love in his eyes. He cared for Matilda and he wanted her to be happy. The only way she would be happy again would be for James to enter the living room and wrap his strong arms around her.

Through teary eyes she looked at the post on the coffee table. One envelope stood out among the bills and offers of credit cards; it was a brilliant white and didn’t have a stamp on it. A hand-delivered letter. Matilda ripped open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper and a cutting from a newspaper. She didn’t notice the tears fall down her face as she saw the scathing article written by Alex Winstanley in today’s edition of The Star . She threw it down and looked at the letter:

You’re a murdering bitch! There’s blood on your hands Detective Chief Inspector Matilda Darke.

Dr Adele Kean pulled open the glass doors to the Murder Room and stepped inside. She immediately noticed the lack of activity and the lack of officers. ‘It’s like a closing-down sale in here,’ she remarked without thinking. Matilda had told her she wasn’t telling the rest of the team the Murder Room was closing.

‘Morning Sian, where is everyone?’

Sian looked up from her computer, probably for the first time that morning. She breathed out and answered Adele, glad at the chance of a break. She leaned back as far as she could in her chair, stretched her aching muscles and enjoyed a very wide yawn.

‘Well, Rory’s with forensics, Scott’s … I’ve no idea where he is actually. I think Aaron’s in … Do you know what, I don’t know where anyone is. I didn’t realize I was on my own in here.’

‘You’re busy then I take it?’

‘You could say that. I’ve been here since six and I haven’t shifted from this desk yet. Anyway, what can I do for you?’

‘Well, I came to see Matilda.’ Adele noticed a tray of muffins next to the kettle. ‘Ooh, are they to share?’

‘They were. Nobody’s had time for a break yet. Help yourself.’

‘Thanks. What’s the occasion?’

‘It’s my wedding anniversary today.’

‘Oh congratulations. How many years?’

‘Thirteen. We’ve been together about twenty years though. It took him six years to propose, bless him.’

‘A bit slow on the uptake?’ Adele asked, still trying to choose a muffin.

‘You could say that. I gave up hinting in the end and just came out with it. I said, “Stuart Mills, are you ever going to propose or should I start making eyes at your brother?”’

Adele laughed. ‘What did he say to that?’

‘After he finished choking on his beer he asked me to marry him. I told him I’d have to think about it.’

‘These are gorgeous, Sian,’ Adele said, her mouth full of chocolate sponge. ‘Did you make these?’

‘Yes. They’re Mary Berry’s.’

‘Well next time you speak to Mary tell her thank you. Are you doing anything special tonight?’

‘You’re joking! By the time Stuart remembers it’s our anniversary it’ll be time for the next one. Do you think you’ll get married one day?’

Adele almost choked on her muffin. ‘God no. Men are only useful for one thing and half the time they’re no use at that. Anyway, I won’t keep you. I’m actually looking for Matilda. Is she in yet?’

‘I haven’t seen her. Mind you, a marching brass band could have walked through and I wouldn’t have noticed.’

‘Well, I’ve got some information about your double shooting. You couldn’t tell her for me could you?’

‘Sure.’

‘Now, let me show you something.’ In the folder she had been cradling in her arms she produced some close-up photographs taken by the scene of crime officers. ‘This is a photo of fibres taken from under Lois Craven’s right hand. They’re black and man-made.’ She took another photograph out of the file. ‘Now, on the night of the shooting I was called out to a suicide on London Road. This is a photograph of the jumper’s right hand. Under the forefinger and middle fingernails there are identical fibres.’

‘So, what are you saying? The bloke committed a double shooting then went to London Road to kill himself? Why not just shoot himself in the head?’

‘No. I’m not saying that. Look at these,’ Adele took out the remaining photographs from the suicide. ‘These are photos of Gerald Arthur Beecham aged 80. Apparently he jumped off the roof of a high-rise block of flats and landed face down on the paving slabs below.’

‘Why apparently?’

‘Look at this one; there’s blood on the back of his jacket.’

‘So?’

‘If he jumped, why would he have blood on the back of his jacket?’