Make You Sorry Read online

  Make You Sorry

  by Christine Rae-Jones

  Cliffside House Publishing

  DI Nick Morgan Reader Club

  Why did DI Nick Morgan

  agree to move to Gullhaven?

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  Chapter 1

  Friday 7th February

  The silence of the house bore down on him.

  A lived-in house has background noise, even when the occupants are asleep. Here, there was nothing. No gurgling radiators, no snoring, no clock ticking. Just his heartbeat.

  And the drip.

  He squinted in the direction of his alarm clock before remembering he wasn’t in bed at home. Reaching down from the lumpy sofa, he patted the floor for his phone. Ten to six. His mouth was parched and he needed to pee. Had he dreamed that dripping noise? Was it the pressure of last night’s beers in his bladder that had woken him?

  He put his feet on the floor and sat up, massaging the stubble on his face. When he arrived yesterday, he’d found the house cold and unwelcoming, much like his mother-in-law who owned it. Dorothy Cooper had moved out two years ago but he could feel her presence and her disapproval. In her world, a man wouldn’t spend the night fully clothed on her velour sofa. And he wouldn’t wake up with a hangover, especially on the day his family’s removal van was arriving.

  He laced up his trainers and stood, gripping the sofa to keep his balance. Along with the gas and electric, the water supply had been cut when Dorothy moved out so he would have to pee in the garden. Her favourite rose bed was just the place. The thought pleased him.

  But first, that drip. It seemed to be coming from the hall, but that wasn’t possible, was it? The house had been drained down.

  Oh God, don’t let it be a leaking roof. What would that cost?

  Coming into the hallway, another drip, louder this time. More of a splat.

  He pointed the beam from his phone down to the black and white tiled floor. It reflected off a dark pool. The tinted light might have disguised it but the sweet, coppery smell could not. He diverted his light up to the chandelier and watched droplets of blood trickle through its complex structure. Each hung at the tip of a crystal icicle until weight overcame surface tension.

  Drip.

  Keeping to the inside edge of the treads, he made his way up the stairs, heart and head pounding. Halfway up, he paused to listen.

  Nothing.

  He slowed his steps, aware that at any minute he could face an armed opponent, hell bent on escape.

  The first door he tried was stiff, but yielded to his shoulder. Light from the streetlamp at the end of the drive, cast shadows across the room. An upturned chair; two wardrobes; a dressing table; a body.

  He looked behind the door before making his way around the perimeter of the room. He needed to check for vital signs. He pointed the phone light at the body.

  Young; gaunt; and male, underdressed for February, in worn, black jeans and a dirty red T-shirt. Eyes open and face contorted by the grimace which showed he had fought for his life. Dark staining on the parquet tiles surrounding outstretched arms.

  He bent down and touched two fingers to the neck. No pulse. He studied the face. Nobody he knew.

  He straightened up and dialed a number from his contact list. The Operations Room answered after two rings.

  ‘Hi, it’s DI Nick Morgan here. Look, I don’t officially start with the Major Crimes Unit until Monday, but there’s a body in my master bedroom. I’m going to need a full team here ASAP.’

  Chapter 2

  Friday 7th February

  When DS Dave Spence got the call to attend Cliffside House he was already showered and dressed in one of his favourite suits. He liked the way the navy three-piece made him look tall and thin, especially when teamed with the blue shirt and silver tie.

  ‘“Body in my master bedroom!”’ His tone was angry as he sat on the bed and laced up newly polished black shoes. ‘I’ll bet that’s bollocks. When we arrive, he’ll be standing there with a stopwatch, timing how long it takes for us yokels to mobilise a crime scene team. You know what the Met’s like… all statistics and targets.’ He paused. ‘He’s not even meant to start until Monday.’

  Penny Spence sighed. Friday was the one day of the week she didn’t have to be up early to attend school assembly and the call had woken her. Now she was sitting up in bed, arms crossed. ‘It’s not going to be like this every morning, is it?’ She plumped her pillows. ‘It’s not his fault he got the job. You couldn't be promoted because you hadn't sat the DI exam.’ She waited for him to look at her. ‘I’m still amazed he applied. Wasn’t he one of the Met's golden boys? What’s he going to do in a quiet place like Gullhaven?’ Spence shrugged. ‘Whatever's going on, he’s here now and you need to get on with him because he's going to have an input on any future promotion you go for. Have you put the kettle on?’

  ‘Kettle’s boiled and I’ll bring you a cuppa before I go, as usual.’

  He stopped when he reached the bedroom door. ‘He can’t expect to run the investigation, can he? Not when the body’s turned up in his own house. We should be investigating him.’

  Penny turned away and snuggled under the duvet. ‘I expect you’ll be late home again? I’ll leave something out for you.’

  Traffic was light and Spence reached Cliffside House by seven. He had known the property all his life and always thought it looked intimidating. When he was four, his two older brothers told him it was haunted and even now, it would not surprise him. He stopped the car a few houses short of his destination and opened a window. The sea below was calm but he could still hear the noise of the waves at the bottom of the cliffs. He composed himself and took a few breaths before completing the journey to his new boss’s house.

  Spence parked on the road and scrutinised the building. In contrast to the neighbouring properties which were symmetrical and neat, this one had inappropriate extensions and a dilapidated, east-facing balcony. A large entrance porch made it impossible to park near to the front door.

  The streetlamps went out and he waited for his eyes to adjust before getting out of the car. The figure sitting on the doorstep started to rise as Spence walked towards him.

  ‘Sir?’ He spoke softly, although he didn’t know why. ‘I’m DS Spence, sir. Under the circumstances, I don’t suppose it’s appropriate to say “Welcome to Gullhaven Cove?”’

  As he got closer, Spence struggled to suppress surprise at Morgan’s appearance. They had met only briefly when Morgan was being shown round the department, prior to his transfer. In sharp contrast to the erect, smartly dressed, and confident man whose hand he had shaken, this version was a wreck. His jeans and rugby shirt were creased, his hair was tousled and he was in need of a shave. What had once been expensive trainers were grubby and scuffed. As Spence got closer, he had to resist recoiling from the smell of stale beer which carried towards him on the slight sea breeze.

  Morgan apologised. ‘There’s no water in the house and I haven’t been able to brush my teeth yet.’ He pointed up to a bay window above the front door. ‘He’s up there. There’s no light but as far as I could tell from this,’ he pointed to the phone in his other hand, ‘he’s bleeding from the back. Stabbed or shot, m
aybe? No visible exit wound on the front.’

  Spence stepped past him, making for the front door.

  ‘You’ll have to go round the back, then through to the hall and up the stairs. I’ve not been trusted with a front door key.’ Morgan’s voice was raw with resentment. ‘I’m supposed to be moving in today. That’s not going to happen, is it?’

  As Spence struggled for an appropriate reply he heard what he was sure would be the first of the crime scene team’s vehicles approaching. That was one of the advantages of living in “retirement-on-sea.” Early morning traffic was light. There was no ‘rush hour.’

  Morgan looked towards the road, ‘Circus has arrived then.’

  ‘Yes, sir. And I think you should come with me to the station. At the very least we’ll need a statement and I’ll see if I can rustle up a toothbrush, coffee and a shower.’

  Morgan turned and looked up towards the window. ‘What was he doing here?’

  The question hung in the cold morning air, but Spence guessed a response wasn’t expected. He pointed to the end of the drive. ‘My car’s just on the right, sir.’

  They crunched their way down the shingle drive, Spence remaining a step behind Morgan, watching him, making no attempt to conceal his suspicion.

  Chapter 3

  Friday 7th February

  Dorothy Cooper was also up early. The weather was dry so she hoped her joints would not be too painful today. She wore her black, high-waisted Italian trousers and a crisp white shirt. She didn’t always bother with jewellery, but today she chose the pendant and earring set, a present from her daughter, Samantha. Swollen fingers made it difficult to use the clasp, but she managed at the third attempt. Excitement brought colour to her normally pale cheeks and it took careful application of makeup to tone it down. She leant closer to the mirror and ran fingers through her white hair. The short style suited her sharp features and impatient temperament. She could step out of the shower, comb it into place and be done.

  She would breakfast in the residents’ dining room this morning. In the two years since moving into Silver Sands Supported Living she had never done this, but today was special. Today, her daughter and grandchildren were moving into her house. And Plod too, of course.

  Soon after her husband’s funeral she had fallen and broken her ankle, forcing her to leave Cliffside House and move to Silver Sands. It was only meant to be for a few months, but she soon realised that living alone in that large house with only memories and spiders for company wasn’t an option. That was when she started to plan for Samantha and the grandchildren to come and live there with her, even if that meant her policeman son-in-law, would have to come too.

  She accepted that it wouldn’t happen overnight, but a plan was a plan, and she was determined to see it through.

  Plod had proven to be a powerful adversary. Every time Dorothy tried to make Samantha feel guilty for neglecting her poor mother, Plod talked her round. He had phoned Dorothy a few times and told her that he knew what she was trying to do. It hadn’t stopped her.

  But nothing had worked; not the inconsolable tears, refusing food or being disruptive with the other inmates, as she called them. She drew the line at bedwetting but had been reaching a point where nothing was off limits. Each ruse resulted in a flying visit from Samantha. Her daughter would explain patiently why the time was not right for Nick to transfer from the Metropolitan Police. She would hug her mum, tell her she loved her and return to her own life in London.

  Ironically, it was Plod himself who was making it possible. Cliffside House had swung it. In the two years the building had stood empty, its condition had deteriorated and now it would take serious work to make it habitable again. Dorothy knew that before he joined the police, Plod had worked with his father renovating properties. He had the skills to bring Cliffside back to life.

  She slipped her swollen feet into black patent leather shoes and smiled at the simplicity of her plan. During a rare family visit, she had offered the house, rent and mortgage free, on condition that they carry out any required works at their own expense. She may have omitted to mention that she planned to move in with them when all creature comforts were restored, but she’d deal with that later. Anyway, she didn't expect it to be a problem. Once installed with the family, she would be ideally positioned to influence Samantha’s future. She would start by getting her back into the family business. Then she would work on replacing Plod with Graham Fletcher, Samantha’s first serious boyfriend. He was now a respected partner in the local solicitors’ practice and a much more suitable husband for her daughter.

  She checked her teeth for stray lipstick and nodded, satisfied with her appearance. Today, she would be the centre of attention in the dining room. Today was going to be a good day.

  Chapter 4

  Friday 7th February

  During the drive to the police station neither Morgan nor Spence spoke. Morgan thought that the roads seemed quiet for a working day, but then he was more used to London traffic. He noticed cars queuing for what must be the cheapest fuel in the area and then a few short parades of shops. Narrow roads leading off the trunk road had traditional houses and bungalows with cars parked on drives or, he presumed, tucked up in garages. As they reached the outskirts of town the demographics changed. Here he saw people waiting at bus stops wrapped up against the cold and staring hopefully into the distance. Some of them were warming their hands around cardboard coffee cups. He envied them.

  They passed a large shopping mall where bright floodlights drew attention to an empty car park. On the other side of the road he saw a few blocks of sixties flats. Kerbside parking on the narrow roads leading off their route was dense here, suggesting that the larger houses had either been turned into flats, or that there were multicar families living here.

  Spence’s driving was meticulous; always in the correct lane; right on the speed limit; and using the pull-push steering method he had learned in tactical pursuit training. Morgan was aware of receiving regular sideways glances, but continued alternating his attention between his phone and the view through the windscreen. He was trying to judge the right time to ring his wife. Sam would be up early to walk the dog and get the twins organised before the arrival of the removal men. Her stress levels would be high and nothing he had to say would help with that. Their furniture could not be delivered to Cliffside and they had nowhere to sleep for the next few nights. She would be upset and she would want an explanation he wasn’t able to provide. Would she understand that his drive to Gullhaven had been a strain and that, when he arrived, he’d driven straight to the local pub on the cliff top road for a pint and a steak? He wasn’t sure, so he probably wouldn’t mention that he’d been there long enough to get on first name terms with many of the regulars. Had he been out when the attack happened, or had he slept through it? He couldn’t tell her. He didn’t know. When he closed his eyes he saw the body lying in the centre of a circle of blood-stained oak parquet flooring. He looked at his phone again. He’d call her later.

  Morgan was comfortable with the silence in the car. He had enough on his mind without making polite conversation. He thought that Dave Spence looked tense. His lips were tight and there was a muscle twitching just above his left eye. Maybe that was Spence’s normal facial expression? Traffic started to edge forward and Spence eased the car into gear without returning Morgan’s glance.

  When they arrived at the station, Spence swiped his pass at the barrier and reversed into a space two rows back from the wall and opposite the staff entrance. It was done with such ease that Morgan knew this must be his preferred spot. When they got to the door, Spence pushed the button and alerted the officer in the Ops Room that he was bringing DI Nick Morgan into the building. Morgan was surprised. Surely Spence’s pass would have given them both access? Was it necessary to alert everyone to his arrival, particularly in this disheveled state?

  Spence led Morgan to the office recently vacated by DI Bradley, who had taken early retirement. He went in first a
nd switched on the lights. They paused, simultaneously aware of the hierarchy dilemma they faced. This was an office for a DI and so Morgan should sit behind the desk. But Morgan was at the station to make a witness statement and would not be joining the team until Monday, so maybe Spence should sit there.

  Morgan spoke first. ‘Let's get on with it because I've got a lot to sort out today, including where my family’s going to sleep tonight. So, if you fetch me an MG11 form and a pen, I'll write the statement myself.' He pulled one of the visitor chairs up to the desk and sat, scraping his fingernails back through his short graying hair. 'You mentioned coffee and a toothbrush?'

  Spence left the office without replying.

  Chapter 5

  Friday 7th February

  Samantha Morgan cursed her luck. Ten minutes before the removal van was due, the rain started and the dark sky predicted it wasn't likely to stop.

  Nick had set off yesterday to sort out reconnection of all the services, leaving her with the last stages of packing. When the twins returned from school having said goodbye to all their friends, Victoria was in tears and Alexander had run straight upstairs and banged his bedroom door shut. She couldn’t be sure but thought she might have caught a waft of alcohol as he pushed past her in the hallway. At twelve years old? Really?

  This morning, when she returned from walking Truffles, their Springer spaniel, the three of them had breakfasted in silence. The dog had retired to his basket and gone back to sleep.

  Samantha knew it made sense for Nick to go to Gullhaven a day early but she was tired and there was still a lot to do. She was eagerly anticipating the few days they had booked at the Riverview Hotel. After a sauna, a dip in the pool, a couple of gin and tonics, and a restaurant meal with decent wine, she was going to put this whole nightmare behind her.