Читать книгу Outside Looking In - Michael Wood - Страница 18

Matilda felt like she was taking the long, slow walk to the gallows as she ascended the stairs to the ACCs office. By the time she reached the top (two floors up) she was breathless. Maybe she should rejoin Adele at her spinning class, get in shape, and back down to a size ten.

Robert Walpole, Spencer Compton, Henry Pelham, Thomas Pelham-Holles, William Cavendish.

She knew the stress was becoming too much when the Prime Ministers turned up. An exercise suggested by Dr Warminster. She had told her to concentrate on naming the British Prime Ministers during times of stress to help her regain control of her breathing and settle her thoughts. It worked. However, Matilda had thought now she could cope with life and its many hurdles without their appearance. It would seem not.

Through her jacket she could feel her shirt sticking to her back, damp with sweat. She hoped it wasn’t noticeable. She knocked on the door and was called in almost immediately. Masterson had obviously been waiting. This did not look good.

‘Matilda, come on it. Have a seat,’ Masterson was all smiles, her voice friendly. A very bad sign.

As Matilda stepped fully into the room she saw the heavily pregnant Karen Sweetland from Media Support standing beside a seated ACC.

‘You wanted to see me?’ Matilda asked once she was as comfortable as she could be while visibly sweating. Her lungs seemed to have shrunken down to the size of a pound coin. Her breathing was laboured and her vision began to blur. She hated not being in control of her own mind. Panic attacks were crippling, and just when she thought she had a handle on them she was floored by another.

‘Yes I did. The evening edition of The Star has just been delivered to me.’

Matilda had a sinking feeling. Her heart practically plummeted through the floor. She was beginning to loathe this paper.

The newspaper was neatly in front of Val Masterson on the desk. Matilda tilted her head slightly to read the front page, which was upside down from her point of view, but she couldn’t quite make it out.

‘I believe they have a new crime correspondent,’ Val continued. ‘You’ve spoken to him.’

‘Yes. He called me this morning trying to get something out of me about the shooting last night. I just told him a statement would be released in due course.’ She looked at the grave faces of her boss and the press officer. She quickly went over the very short conversation with Alex Winstanley but could not think of anything controversial she may have said. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘You tell me.’ Val opened the newspaper to page five, folded it back and slapped it down hard in front of Matilda. The headline screamed out at her: ‘HIGH-RANKING COP RIDICULES “MINOR” GUN CRIME’.

‘What the hell?’ Matilda snapped up the newspaper.

‘My words exactly.’

Matilda scanned the article. Her hands were shaking, rattling the pages. She stopped reading as soon as she found Carl Meagan’s name. ‘Where did he get this crap from?’

‘You.’

‘What? I didn’t say gun crime was a minor incident.’

‘I think you’ll find you did.’ The ACC turned to Karen Sweetland who was now sitting down uncomfortably to take the weight off her back.

‘Alex Winstanley sent me, via email, a recording of the conversation you had. You definitely said minor crime.’

‘I honestly don’t remember,’ Matilda said, taken aback. ‘I didn’t mean minor. I’m sure I said isolated. I meant to say isolated. I would never deride gun crime.’

‘Isolate and minor do not sound similar. I’m not sure how you could have mixed up those two words, Matilda.’

Matilda sat forward in her seat. ‘Ma’am, I am truly sorry for this article and I will apologize to anyone you want me to but I honestly, hand on heart, did not mean to call gun crime a minor incident. I wouldn’t.’ She placed her shaking right hand firmly on her erratically beating heart.

There was a heavy silence before ACC Masterson spoke again. ‘I do believe you Matilda, I really do; however, this is not what we need right now.’

‘I know. Look I’ll talk to this Alex Winstanley—’

‘No you bloody won’t,’ Val interrupted. ‘I’ll be speaking to him myself. If you look at the bottom it says I was unavailable for comment. I’ve not had a call from anyone at The Star all day. I’ll be having a few words with this Mr Winstanley and Karen here will be putting together a placating statement for you.’

‘Thank you,’ Matilda said to both Karen and Val before looking down at the floor in shame.

‘I do not want you speaking to Alex Winstanley or anyone else from the press again. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘If they do happen to call you be polite, but firm, give no comment, then hang up.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Karen, would you leave us alone for a while?’

Karen agreed and struggled to get up out of her seat. She said she would start work on the statement and would email it through when she had finished. Val Masterson waited until the door closed and Karen was out of earshot before she began.

‘What’s going on with you, Mat?’ Her voice was all concern, giving the impression of two friends chatting over coffee. Matilda wouldn’t dare call her Val.

‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. Understaffed, but fine.’

‘Then why do you look like shit?’

‘I wasn’t aware that I did.’ She tried to scoff but it wasn’t working.

‘I’m not completely heartless you know. I’m aware the anniversary of James’s death is looming, but you need to talk to me, Matilda. You can’t allow things to bottle up.’

‘I’m not bottling anything up.’

Val Masterson rose from behind her desk; five foot nothing tall and wafer thin, she came to the front and sat on the edge of the desk. Matilda had to hide a small smile when her boss had to jump up.

‘We’ve known each other for a very long time; let’s forget rank for the next few minutes. We’re just two middle-aged women having a chat. So, what’s on your mind?’

Has she been taking lessons from Dr Warminster?

It took a while for Matilda to find the courage to open her mouth to speak without a flood of tears pouring out. The moment the first word came out, the rest followed in an almost incomprehensible tumble. ‘James is on my mind twenty-four hours a day. Carl is constantly vying for attention. I want to look for him. I want to search every inch of this country to try and find him. I’m losing my team. Sian and Aaron are doing their best but I need a DI I can leave in charge when I’m not here. I’m down countless support staff and a DC.’

The large clock on the far wall ticked loudly. Matilda sniffed hard to try and rein in the tears. She managed it just in time. It was never a good idea to cry in front of your boss.

Val looked down at her most trusted detective. The silence grew.

‘What happened to James was devastating. I cannot begin to imagine what you’re going through and I won’t even try. If you want to take time off, you just have to let me know …’

‘I don’t want …’

Val held up a hand. ‘I know. I was about to say I know that you won’t want to take time off work, but the offer is there for you whenever you need it.’

‘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.