Justice for the Damned (41 page)

Margaret’s hand sought out Jim’s and gave it a squeeze. He lifted his head, drawing strength from her touch. If it hadn’t been for her presence, he doubted he would have been able to bring himself to attend the funeral.

After the service, six of Amy’s colleagues carried her coffin from the cathedral. A guard of honour formed an avenue to a waiting hearse. Beyond the cathedral square, the streets were thronged with people who’d come to pay their respects. The damp grey sky seemed to reflect their solemn mood. Some threw flowers into the hearse’s path as the cortège crept by. Others wiped tears from their eyes or broke out into quiet applause.

Jim turned at a touch on his elbow and found himself looking into Mark Baxley’s face. There were no tears in the man’s eyes. He’d already done all his crying. ‘Hello, Mark,’ said Jim. ‘It’s good to see you up and around. How are you feeling?’

‘Much better.’

‘And how’s your sister?’

‘The doctors say she’s making a good recovery.’ A slight awkwardness came into Mark’s voice. ‘I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done.’

‘You don’t need to thank me.’

‘Yes I do,’ Mark insisted. ‘I want you to know what it meant to me. What it will always mean.’

Jim gave a little nod, reluctantly accepting the words.

‘When Charlotte gets out of hospital, she’s going to live with me,’ continued Mark. ‘Will you come and see us?’

‘I don’t think I’ll be around to. I’m going away soon, and I’m not sure when or if I’ll ever be back.’

Disappointment came into Mark’s eyes, but he managed a smile. ‘I hope you’ll be happy, wherever it is you’re going.’ He held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Detective Monahan.’

‘It’s not detective any more,’ said Jim, shaking Mark’s hand.

Jim watched Mark head off into the crowd of mourners. His gaze sought out Margaret. She was talking to Reece. Jim approached them. ‘Reece was just showing me a photo of his fiancé and her daughter,’ said Margaret.

Reece held out his phone to Jim. There was a photo of a slim, strawberry-blonde woman. Her face was too sharp-featured to be pretty, but possessed a kind of hardened beauty. She was crouched down with her arms around the shoulders of a chubby-faced, cheekily smiling young girl.

‘That’s the woman I told you about,’ said Reece. ‘Her name’s Staci. The little girl’s her daughter, Amelia.’

‘They look happy,’ said Jim.

‘They are because of you.’

Jim shifted as though he had a stone in his shoe. ‘You’re not going to start thanking me as well, are you?’

A gleam of amusement entered Reece’s eyes. ‘I might. Why?’

‘Jim’s never been comfortable with gratitude,’ said Margaret, hooking her arm though his.

‘Well he’d better start getting used to it because Staci’s dying to meet him. And Melinda’s been pestering her to ask him—’

‘Staci’s not been to see Melinda, has she?’ broke in Jim. ‘Because if Garrett cottons on that they’re friends…’ He trailed off, letting silence fill in the missing words.

‘Relax. They’ve spoken on the phone. That’s all.’

‘I hear Melinda’s making good progress.’

‘Physically, yes. Psychologically, I’m not so sure. She told Staci she’s having nightmares every night. It would probably do her a lot of good to see you.’

Jim shook his head. ‘I’d only be a further reminder of what she went through.’

The crowds of mourners were moving away from the cathedral – Amy’s family to her local church where a private service was to be held before the coffin reached its final resting place; her colleagues to a nearby hotel to share a post-funeral drink. ‘Are you coming?’ Reece asked Jim. He hesitated to reply, glancing at Margaret.

‘I’m going to head home. I feel tired,’ she said. ‘But you go and have a drink. I’ll get a taxi.’

‘No need for that,’ said Reece. ‘I’ll give him a lift.’

Jim handed his car keys to Margaret. ‘I’ll show my face, have a quick drink, then slip away.’

She touched a hand meaningfully to his chest. ‘I’ll see you soon then.’

Jim leant in to kiss Margaret. His lips lingered on hers until she pulled back. He was determined never to take her kisses for granted again. She said goodbye to Reece and headed away. Somewhat reluctantly, Jim turned to follow the long line of his fellow officers. They passed a newspaper stand for the South Yorkshire
Chronicle
. The paper’s front page carried a picture of DCI Garrett and the enticement of an exclusive interview with a man they branded as, ‘the finest policeman in Yorkshire’.

‘Have you read that?’ asked Reece, his lips curling.

Jim spared the newspaper a disinterested glance. ‘No.’

‘I wouldn’t bother. It makes it sound as though he solved the whole case single-handedly.’

‘Garrett tells me he’s confident you’re going to be cleared for return to duty.’

‘Apparently.’

‘You don’t sound too excited at the prospect.’

‘No, it’s not that. I’ve decided to stick with the job. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Now I want to do things right.’ A heaviness came into Reece’s voice. ‘The thing is, my dad’s going downhill fast. I don’t know how much time he’s got left.’

‘Your dad’s a good man.’

‘No he’s not. But he’s my dad, and I want to be there with him.’

They walked on in silence to the hotel. The bar was thronged with police, forgetting their grief in talk and drink. Many familiar faces greeted Jim as he approached the bar counter. Hands reached out to pat his shoulders and back. Suddenly, he found himself thinking back to when he’d joined up, recalling the warmth of realising he was part of something greater than himself, something that would never die.

Each friendly touch sent a shaft of guilt through Jim, strengthening the feeling that he was crashing a party he had no right to be at. He fought an urge to turn around and head straight back out the door. Maybe he had no right to be there, but he knew he had even less right to leave without first raising a glass to Amy.

‘What are you drinking?’ asked Reece.

‘Whisky.’

‘I thought alcohol was a no-no with your heart.’

‘I think I can risk one drink.’

Reece ordered two whiskies. The barman filled their glasses and Jim raised his. ‘To Amy.’

They clinked glasses and sipped their drinks. Jim resisted the impulse to throw his back in one at the sight of Garrett homing in on him. The way he was feeling, Garrett was just about the last person he wanted to speak to. Without affording Reece a glance, Garrett said to Jim, ‘Can I speak to you a moment?’ When Jim motioned for him to say what he wanted, the DCI added, ‘Somewhere private.’

Frowning, Jim followed Garrett from the bar. In the days following their little chat in Edward Forester’s attic, they’d gone over their story until it was as tight as a ball of yarn. But one loose thread remained. Freddie Harding. A nationwide manhunt was under way for him. There’d been apparent sightings of him in places as far apart as the Lake District and Cornwall. But so far he’d managed to evade capture. There was speculation in the press that he’d fled abroad. Jim doubted it, though. His guess was that Harding was hunkered down in some hidey-hole his late brother’s money had paid for. Whatever the case, it was only a matter of time before he was tracked down. Jim awaited the day with a mixture of eagerness and dread. Eagerness because Harding was a danger to every woman he came into contact with. And dread because if Harding knew about Jim and Bryan Reynolds, then the whole ball of yarn could yet unravel.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ said Garrett, turning to Jim in the lobby. ‘It’s good news. You’re looking at the next head of South Yorkshire Police CID. I wanted to tell you before the official announcement is made.’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’ Looking as pleased with himself as he dared on such a sombre day, Garrett continued, ‘I have a proposal for you. I’m going to set up a task force to investigate Herbert Winstanley’s book. I’m looking for a DCI to run it. How would you like it to be you?’

Jim frowned again, this time in surprise. ‘I thought you couldn’t wait to see the back of me.’

‘So did I, but… well, you know what they say about friends and enemies.’

Jim smiled thinly. ‘I appreciate the offer, but I’ve done my time. I’m ready for something else now.’

Garrett nodded as if that was what he’d expected Jim to say. ‘If you change your mind, the offer’s open until I find someone else for the position.’

‘I won’t change my mind.’

‘Good luck, Jim.’ Garrett offered his hand and they shook briefly. He made to head back into the bar, but hesitated. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. I thought you might want this back.’ He pulled out the phone Stan Lockwood had taken from Jim and handed it to him. ‘It was recovered from the clothing of the one-eyed man.’

‘Tyler.’

‘If that was his real name. As you know, we’ve been unable to find a match for his fingerprints.’ Garrett gave Jim a sidelong look. ‘It’s funny. If I didn’t know better, the contents of that phone might have led me to believe you and Reece were working together on the investigation of Edward Forester. But of course, I do know better.’

They held each other’s gaze for several seconds, then Garrett turned to go into the bar. Jim looked at the phone. It was speckled with something that might have been dried blood. He approached a bin and dropped the phone into it. The one he’d bought as a replacement rang in his pocket. It was Margaret. But when he put the receiver to his ear, the line was dead. He dialled her back and got through to an answering service. Figuring Margaret was trying to call him at the same time, he went in search of Reece. He found him chatting with several colleagues. Jim finished his drink and said, ‘I’m going to head off, Reece. Don’t worry about that lift.’

‘No, it’s no problem,’ said Reece. ‘It’s not far and this lot will be here until last orders.’

Jim said a few quick goodbyes, then they headed for Reece’s car. As they left the city centre behind, Jim kept glancing at his phone. ‘Are you expecting a call?’ asked Reece.

Jim told him about Margaret’s call.

‘She’ll have been phoning to make sure you’re OK,’ said Reece. ‘You know how she worries about you.’

‘Then why hasn’t she called again?’

‘She probably got side-tracked or maybe she’s taking a nap. She said she was feeling tired.’

‘Yeah, maybe,’ agreed Jim, but he drummed his fingers impatiently on his thigh as they negotiated the system of roundabouts and one-way streets that separated the city centre from the encircling suburbs.

They pulled up outside the modest semi-detached house where Jim and Margaret had lived most of their married life. Although not for much longer, according to the for-sale sign planted in the front lawn. Jim’s car was parked in the drive. The house’s front door was slightly ajar. Jim felt a thump of unease in his chest. Margaret knew better than to leave the door open. He exchanged a glance with Reece, and both men got out of the car and hurried towards the house. Margaret’s coat was hanging on the hook in the hallway. Her handbag lay on the carpet next to her shoes. Nothing unusual in that.

‘Margaret,’ called Jim. No reply. He shoved his head into the living room. The telly was on, but no one was watching it. The kitchen was empty too. Both men climbed the stairs. All the doors were open, except the one to the master bedroom.

‘Margaret,’ Jim said again. Still no reply.
He reached for the door handle. Slowly opening the door, he saw Margaret’s feet on the bed, still in their sheer black tights.
Reece was right
, he thought.
She’s just taking a nap.
Then he saw something that made fear claw at his insides. The tights were torn at the knees. He flung the door the rest of the way open. ‘Oh no!’ he gasped, his eyes swelling out of their sockets. ‘Oh no, no, please no!’

Margaret was lying on her back. She was fully clothed, but her blouse had been ripped open. A knife handle protruded like an exclamation mark from her chest. A bloody moat surrounded it. More blood flowed from defensive wounds on her arms. Her lips were drawn back in an agonised rictus. Where her eyes – her beautiful, soft hazel-green eyes – should have been there was nothing but gory black cavities.

‘Now you know how it feels to lose someone you love.’ The voice was male with a thick Yorkshire accent, and full of sneering triumph.

Jim’s gaze jerked towards the speaker. He was a dishevelled balding man of about fifty with heavily stubbled, pinched cheeks and bitter little eyes. A pearly-white scar ran diagonally across his face from left to right. Freddie Harding!

A smile playing around his thin-lipped mouth, Freddie held up his hands in a
you got me
way.

‘Don’t—’ Reece started to say to Jim. But even as he said it, Jim was launching himself at Freddie. Tears streaming down his face, his eyes burning like an out of control forest fire, he locked his hands on Freddie’s throat. Freddie tried to wrench himself free, but Jim’s fingers were vices tightening inescapably. Both men fell heavily to the floor, Jim straddling Freddie. Strings of saliva dropped from Jim’s mouth as he gouged his thumbs into Freddie’s windpipe.

‘Don’t,’ Reece exclaimed again, grabbing Jim’s shoulders to pull him off Freddie.

Jim drove an elbow into Reece’s groin, doubling him over. Then his hand homed back in on Freddie’s throat.

‘This isn’t the way,’ Reece gasped hoarsely. ‘It isn’t the way.’

Jim showed no sign of having heard. Freddie’s eyes were bulging and rolling. His breath was coming in shorter and shorter snatches.

‘Think of Margaret,’ continued Reece, his voice thick with desperation. ‘She wouldn’t have wanted this. And Amy. This isn’t the kind of justice she died for.’

Jim’s grip loosened. Not much, but enough to allow Freddie to wheeze in a lungful of air. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jim exhaled an anguish too deep to be heard. Then he released Freddie and his head sank into his hands. Reece gently lifted him to his feet and guided him to the landing. Returning to the bedroom, Reece rolled Freddie over, knelt on his back and cuffed him.

‘He deserved it,’ croaked Freddie. ‘He fucking deserved it.’

‘One more word and I’ll kill you myself,’ growled Reece, grinding his knee against Freddie’s spine. He pulled out his phone and called dispatch. Leaving Freddie on the floor, he headed out of the room again. Jim was no longer on the landing. Anxiety flaring through him, Reece rushed downstairs. He breathed with relief upon finding Jim in an armchair in the lounge. ‘I’ve called it in,’ said Reece. ‘They’re on their way.’