Let Me Lie(109)

C6821 MURRAY MACKENZIE IS COMMENDED FOR THE DEDICATION, TENACITY AND INVESTIGATIVE SKILLS THAT ENSURED THE DETECTION OF THE MURDER OF TOM JOHNSON, AND THE IDENTIFICATION OF BOTH SUSPECTS. HIS CONTRIBUTION IS AN EXCEPTIONAL EXAMPLE OF SUPPORTING FORCE VALUES.

The identification of both suspects. It had been carefully worded. Murray felt a twinge of regret that they’d been unable to bring Caroline Johnson to justice. She had jumped from the balcony of Mark Hemmings’ seventh-floor flat, landing in front of a crowd of onlookers who would for ever be haunted by the sight of her body hitting the ground, taking with her any secrets that hadn’t already been shared with her daughter.

Laura Barnes was on remand pending trial. She had made no comment during interview, but the body-cams worn by the arresting officers had recorded a series of admissions made by her in the heat of the moment. The recordings, together with the case DS James Kennedy and his team had built against her, meant Murray was confident of a guilty plea. Laura had covered her tracks well, but ANPR showed her car in Brighton at the time of the Fones4All purchase. A voice recognition specialist had confirmed that the call to control room from ‘Diane Brent-Taylor’ matched Laura’s voice, and would appear in court as an expert witness to that effect.

Not that Murray would be around to see it.

The applause had died away. Murray gave a nod of appreciation to the audience, then stepped off the low stage. As he made his way back to his seat, to listen to the chief make her closing address, he saw Sean Dowling sitting with their old DS – now a colleague of Sean’s at the High Tech Crime Unit. As one, the two men stood up. They began clapping again, slowly this time. The rest of their table joined them. And as Murray walked down the centre of the room, there was a scraping of chairs and a swell of movement as, one by one, the friends and colleagues he had worked with over the years gave him a standing ovation. The drumbeat of clapping sped up, faster than his footsteps but not as fast as his heart, which was bursting with gratitude for the people in this room.

His police family.

By the time Murray reached his seat, he was blushing hard. There was a final cheer, and then more shuffling of seats as the chief wrapped up. It was a relief to have all eyes looking somewhere other than at him, and he took the opportunity to read his commendation again. It was the third he had received in his police career, but his first as a civilian. His first and last.

‘Well done, mate.’

‘Nice one.’

‘Beer some time?’

Dismissed from the formal part of the evening, Murray’s former colleagues were heading for the buffet table at the back of the room, clapping him on the back as they passed. It was rare to see food at an internal function; police nature to make the most of it when it happened. Nish pushed through and put her arms around him, whispering so only he could hear.

‘She would have been so proud.’

Murray nodded fiercely, not trusting himself to speak. Nish’s eyes were shining.

‘If I could cut in for a moment …’ Leo Griffiths, in uniform and holding a Diet Coke. A fleck of sausage-roll pastry on his tie suggested he’d been first in line for the buffet.

Murray shook the hand Leo proffered.

‘Congratulations.’

‘Thank you.’

‘This is quite some do.’ Leo looked around the room. ‘The last commendation ceremony I attended served warm orange squash and a strict limit of one biscuit each.’

‘It’s a joint do. Part commendation, part retirement. Economies of scale,’ Murray added solemnly, using one of the superintendent’s favourite buzz terms. Nish suppressed a laugh.

‘Quite. Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Economies of scale?’

‘Retirement. I wondered if you’d seen the advert for civilian investigators on the Cold Case Review Team?’

Murray had. In fact, no fewer than seven people had pointed it out to him, including the chief constable.

‘Right up your street, I’d have thought,’ she’d said. ‘A chance to put those investigative talents of yours to good use, and skill up some of the less experienced members of the team. Officially, this time,’ she’d added, with a pointed look. The positive outcome of the Johnson job had meant that Murray’s breaches of protocol had been glossed over, but he had been left in no doubt that – had he wished to stay in post – they must never, ever happen again.

Murray didn’t wish to stay in post. He didn’t want to stay in the force at all.

‘Thanks, Leo, but I’ve handed in my ticket. I’m going to enjoy my retirement. Do a spot of travelling.’ Murray pictured the shiny new motorhome on which he had paid a deposit and would be picking up the following week. It had swallowed a large chunk of his pension, but was worth every penny. Inside there was a kitchen, a tiny bathroom, a double bed and a comfortable living area with a foldaway table, plus a huge steering wheel that made Murray feel like he was driving a truck.

He couldn’t wait. His police family had been good to him, but it was time to cut the apron strings.

‘Fair enough. You can’t blame us for trying to keep you, though, can you? Where are you off to?’

In the weeks since Murray had shared his plans for retirement, several people had asked him this question. Murray’s answer hadn’t changed. For years he had lived his life by someone else’s clock. Sarah’s spells at Highfield. Her good days; her bad ones. Early shifts, lates, nights. Overtime, weekend working. Briefings; debriefs. In Murray’s retirement plans, there were no clocks. No calendars. No plans.