‘What did I tell you?’
Valerie Masterson was fuming. It wasn’t the first time Matilda had defied her orders, and it wouldn’t be the last either.
Matilda had called her boss first thing in the morning. She had had a sleepless night wondering if she should reply and start a conversation with the killer who was obviously delighting in taunting Matilda. In the end, she had turned her phone off. Before going to Valerie’s office, she had the killer’s number traced. Once again it was from a burner phone.
‘Who’s Carl Meagan?’ James Dalziel asked.
Matilda and Valerie both looked at him as if he’d just asked who The Beatles were.
‘What? I’m Scottish,’ he replied, as if his nationality was an excuse.
‘Carl Meagan was a seven-year-old boy who was kidnapped from his home a couple of years ago …’
‘March 25th 2015,’ Matilda interrupted.
‘A ransom demand was sent to his parents. They own a chain of organic restaurants throughout South Yorkshire. Matilda was leading the case and was the point of contact for the exchange. Unfortunately, a series of errors led the kidnappers to flee, and Carl hasn’t been heard from since.’
‘I vaguely remember the case.’ James nodded. He noticed Matilda’s painful expression. ‘I’m guessing you blame yourself.’
‘On the day of the exchange, my husband died,’ she began, looking off into the middle distance. ‘He’d been ill for a while and I was constantly running from the hospital to work and back again. I didn’t sleep or eat. In hindsight, I should have handed the case over, but I didn’t. My husband died, and I went straight to the drop-off point with a quarter of a million pounds. I went to the wrong car park and the kidnappers panicked.’
‘Wow. I can see why you’d blame yourself. You’ve not heard from the kidnappers since?’
‘No,’ Valerie replied.
‘When they knew you were at the wrong car park, what happened?’
‘I said I’d go to the right one. I ran but when I got there, they’d gone.’
James took a lingering sip of his coffee. ‘I think it’s safe to say Carl Meagan was dead long before you went to the drop off.’
‘What?’ Matilda was shocked at his nonchalance. She had assumed Carl was dead, but she would never say it out loud, and not in company.
‘If Carl was alive, the kidnappers would have made contact again. It was a business transaction, they wanted the money. There is only one reason why they didn’t call and that’s simply because Carl was dead.’
Simply? ‘Maybe they killed Carl after I ballsed-up,’ Matilda said.
‘No. You were prepared to go to them. They panicked as they assumed they’d be found out for having already killed Carl. They were chancing their arm in asking for a ransom, and it didn’t work. They got scared and ran.’
‘So you think Carl Meagan is dead?’ Matilda asked slowly.
‘I do. Obviously I don’t know how. Maybe it was an accident, who knows? I don’t think you should beat yourself up about it, though.’
Matilda let go of the breath she was holding and visibly slumped in her chair.
‘Getting back to the point,’ Valerie said. ‘The killer seems to think Matilda should pay for what happened to Carl Meagan.’
‘Who knows about Matilda’s involvement with the Carl Meagan case?’
‘Any of the thousands of people who have read the book,’ Matilda said, looking at the floor. Her body may have been in Valerie’s office, but her mind was elsewhere, always the case whenever Carl Meagan was mentioned.
‘There’s a book?’
Valerie went over to a cabinet on the far side of the room. She unlocked the top drawer and took out her own personal hardback copy of Carl written by his mother, Sally Meagan. She handed it to James. ‘DCI Darke and South Yorkshire Police are the bad guys.’
‘It was in the Sunday Times top ten for seven weeks. It will have sold thousands,’ Matilda said flatly.
James flicked through the pages. ‘May I borrow this?’
‘Of course.’
‘Matilda, can you think of anyone who has a grudge against you? I don’t just mean in the Carl Meagan case; that could be a smokescreen. Is there anyone in your work or personal life who could taunt you like this?’
Matilda took a deep breath. She looked at Valerie, but her face was expressionless. Matilda could only think of one name, and she didn’t want to say it out loud.