Confessions Read online

  ‘Tom, Dick and Harry’ at the fee-earner’s bench made more of an effort to disguise their curiosity, and Emilia wasn’t there with her uncanny ability to pick up on gossip, so that was something. Nat wasn’t ready to share her sheer shock and dismay. The headline news only yesterday was her gorgeous little companion Ruthie. Unbelievable. Devastating. She felt guilty too. She’d all but forgotten about the shooting; she’d been so wrapped up in the delight of meeting and connecting with Wes’s mum that she’d barely stopped to register the enormity of the incident just a few miles away.

  She and Wes had read what additional news there was on the internet. A firearms incident at a Salford petrol station, it said. A seven-year-old child had been caught in the crossfire. She’d been hit in the chest and had suffered a heart attack. She was at the Salford Royal Hospital in a critical condition.

  Winded, as though someone had repeatedly punched her, Nat trudged back up the stairs. She had never been remotely connected to gun crime before: not a client, a case, or even a friend of a friend. Shoot-outs only happened in television programmes or films in the UK. At least that’s how it felt. Injury by shooting didn’t feel tangible or real. But a heart attack did. Her father had died from a myocardial infarction when Nat was in her twenties; Jack Goldman had survived one last year. But a seven-year-old, smiley kid? It didn’t bear thinking about. Nat had been in the car with Jack when he’d suffered his coronary. For over an hour she’d clutched his trademark retro geek glasses, convinced he was dead. The thought of little Ruthie scared and in pain was intolerable; she wasn’t prepared to consider her death.

  Feeling disorientated and useless, she tried to focus on her cases, but her mind hopped about repeatedly, her ability to concentrate all gone. She and Wes had agreed to text and leave messages on Gavin’s voicemail, offering condolences and assistance in whatever way they could; it didn’t seem appropriate to turn up at the hospital. They were friends, not family.

  Her impotence frustrating her, Nat stood and paced the room. What else could she do to help? From what Chantelle had said, Gavin and Heather were at the hospital and Ruthie’s brothers were with their grandparents. Chantelle was holding the fort at Savage Solicitors until someone told her what to do, but the poor woman was finding it difficult; she couldn’t stop crying and the phone had been ringing all day.

  Knowing there was no point in staying, Nat collected her handbag and coat, changed her heels for Ugg boots and clomped robotically down the stairs to the slushy pavement outside. Vaguely aware of the sharp wind on her cheeks, she crossed the road and waited for fifteen minutes at the bus stop. It wasn’t until she was staring through the grimy window of the 42B that she remembered two things. The first was that her new company car was still parked behind the office. The second was the astonishing news about Brian Selby, the wealthy client she and Emilia had labelled the ‘Three Ls’. Lardy, leery and loaded. Not terribly kind, but true.

  What the…? Her brain was finally catching up. Had Wes really said he’d been arrested for murder? The murder of his daughter? It was difficult to focus her shattered mind, but what the fuck? The Yorkshireman was a little too tactile and bordered on various isms at times; she and Wes had rowed after a sycophantic night out to keep the man sweet; she had been the butt of many jokes about being his ‘lucky lady’, but overall he’d seemed fairly harmless. A dinosaur, yes, but not a killer, surely? Even worse, a daughter killer. Bizarre, too bizarre. He was married to a woman called Shirley, but Nat’d had no idea he was a father. He just didn’t seem the type to have kids.

  Flaming assumptions again, she supposed.

  Almost missing her stop on Cheadle High Street, Nat hurriedly stood and pressed the bell, then tramped towards home through patches of white that hadn’t been walked on all day. As she rounded the corner, she took in her mum’s old Ford. Parked in the same spot as the last two weeks, its roof and windscreen were covered in a thick layer of snow. Nat sighed: this was more evidence of her mum’s reluctance to venture out of the house. Her friend Barbara had fallen and badly fractured her ankle. Though Barbara was enjoying her hospital sojourn, Anna had become extremely fearful, convinced that a skid, a slide or a tumble was inevitable. Nat was trying her best to be sympathetic, but she was definitely struggling. When Anna had suffered her stroke last summer, being housebound was obligatory, but now she’d recovered so brilliantly, Nat didn’t want her to slip back.

  ‘You’re being silly about the weather. Don’t get old before your time, Mum,’ she wanted to snap.

  Being tetchy wasn’t nice, but at times it was difficult to hold it in. Familiarity, no doubt. She couldn’t wish for a better mum, but sharing a small house with one’s mother at forty was not how she’d thought her life would be.

  Banging the snow off her boots, she stepped into her warm home. The aroma of cooking and Poppy cat greeted her, soon followed by the tom. Holding a tea towel, Anna appeared moments later.

  ‘You’re home early. I’ve just put in…’ Then with one anxious glance, ‘Skarbie, love, what’s wrong?’

  It was easy to answer. Plain words. With her mum, that’s all it needed. ‘You know the shooting on the news yesterday? The child caught in the crossfire in Salford? That was little Ruthie Savage.’

  Her mum’s face was immediately aghast. ‘Ruthie? A shooting? Surely that can’t be true.’

  ‘I know. I’m struggling to believe it.’

  ‘Oh, Natalie. It’s too dreadful.’

  Anna held out her arms. She knew the Savage children well. Every few weeks Nat drove Ruthie and her brothers to a country park. After a couple of hours at the playground, ball games and a paddle in the river, they’d decamp at McDonald’s for a Happy Meal, followed by Nat’s sofa to munch a few crisps and watch a DVD under Anna’s watchful gaze.

  The tradition started last year when Gavin had a call-out to a police station. To represent Wes as it happened. Gavin had trusted Nat to take over the play area, races and rapids duties. Keeping two eyes on four children under the age of ten had been heart-in-mouth challenging, but with Ruthie’s help, she had turned out to be ‘a natural’, as he’d put it.

  The memory brought fresh tears to her eyes. Little Ruthie. Oh God. It still felt far-fetched, unreal.

  Nat told Anna about the little she knew. Their appetite clean gone, they sat in the kitchen and drank strong tea until the silence was punctured by a rap at the door. ‘That’ll be Wes,’ Nat said. ‘I’ll get it.’

  With no plan in mind, the three of them moved to the small console beneath the bay and played rummy. Shaking her head, Nat sighed deeply. Cards and contemplation; another flaming ritual. But this was for when life went awry, crooked or lopsided; like heartbreak or whiplash, misunderstandings or arguments. Nothing remotely like today. Ruthie Savage had been shot; she’d had a heart attack; she was in intensive care. Nat tapped her foot. God, she wished she could do something to help; perhaps pray for a miracle or invoke divine intervention. In truth spiritual things were more Anna’s department than hers, but she longed to do something practical: organise, provide, drive or shop, even answer the phone or reply to a message.

  Dropping her cards on the tabletop, she gave up her hand and shifted her thoughts. ‘What did Brian Selby’s PA want you to do, Wes?’

  ‘I don’t think she knew, really. She was shocked; she’d only just heard herself.’ He rubbed his face. ‘Bloody hell, Brian arrested for murder? Seems crazy, but the police must have grounds. It’s not every day you get a call like that.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Present company excepted…’

  Nat nodded. Gavin Savage was the master of dark humour. Taught by him, grim comedy had been their way of coping after Wes’s brush with the law. Then there’d been the discovery of what Andrea had done to Matty. Dry drollness enabled them to talk about the traumatic repercussions. Mostly, anyway.

  ‘So what did you advise her to do?’ she asked, noting how tired he looked.

  ‘I said that Goldman Law would help in any way we could, but that we’re no
t criminal specialists.’ He grimaced. ‘Shit; I’ve just realised; I recommended Savage Solicitors…’

  They fell quiet again, Anna quietly collecting their cups and leaving the table. Knowing she’d be thinking about food and what vegetables to prepare, Nat watched her pad to the kitchen. She was actually glad; her treacherous stomach was rumbling. Bad though it was, she was ravenous.

  She came back to Wes’s dark gaze and smiled thinly. ‘There’ll be no one quite as unique or tenacious as Gav, but I’m sure Brian will find someone else to represent him. I’ll ask around for a recommendation and phone Chantelle later.’ She paused, a sardonic quip surfacing, as it always did. ‘Though Gav will be really pissed off missing a “juicy murder case” as he’d put it. A wealthy Ned too.’ She caught Wes’s wince. ‘Inappropriate, I know. Sorry. It just doesn’t feel real, does it?’

  Returning the smile, Wes reached for her hand. ‘You’re itching to do something, aren’t you? To help Gavin and Ruthie. You’re no good waiting around, doing nothing.’

  She threaded her fingers through his. ‘Except when I’m with you…’

  The smile spread. ‘Yeah. Don’t I know it. I’m turning into a domestic goddess, pandering to your every need.’ He laughed. ‘Feeding you too.’

  Feeling a surge of desire, she looked down to hide her embarrassment. What was it about this man? Was it love or just lust? Perhaps she’d been blessed with a perfect combination of the two. Could Natalie Bach really be so lucky?

  ‘Your dad didn’t seem fazed by a virtually naked woman appearing in your brother’s lounge.’ She took a breath, a little stab of disappointment still there. ‘He thought I was Sidney’s girlfriend.’

  Wes lifted an eyebrow. ‘Clearly Sidney has good taste.’ Then, studying her face, ‘We both let Mum filter what she thinks Dad needs to know.’

  ‘Why?’

  He shrugged. ‘Mum’s the boss. It’s the way it’s always been. Don’t all mothers do that?’

  Nat thought of her own mother and the ‘filtering’ about her father. She knew little of his history. He was some years older than Anna and he’d been in a Polish camp sometime in his youth, but that’s all she’d been told. On the rare occasions she’d asked about him, her mum had been evasive. But then again, had she tried very hard with her questions? Probably not. She hadn’t had an easy relationship with her dad. He’d been angry and distant, and she hadn’t felt very loved. When he died, she’d felt more anger than grief.

  Bloody hell; what a rotten daughter.

  She shook those thoughts away and focused on one more positive. ‘Your mum knew my name…’ she said, aware of colour flooding her cheeks.

  And there it was, Wesley Hughes’s inscrutable look: a combination of a frown and backlit eyes. ‘Of course she did,’ he replied.

  Her stomach clenching with apprehension, she waited, wanting more, needing to know what the future held for them; if he’d really meant the promises he’d made on her birthday. She saw him draw breath, but the loud peal of her mobile interrupted the moment. She scooped it up with trembling fingers: the caller was Gavin.

  ‘Nat.’

  ‘Oh, Gav, how are you?’ Then, her utterance croaky with nerves. ‘How’s Ruthie?’

  ‘Still unresponsive.’

  ‘I’m so, so sorry…’

  She paused for him to speak further, but he was silent, which said more than words.

  Tears were at the surface, but she inhaled deeply to stop them. ‘What can I do, Gav? Wes is here too. Tell us what we can do to help. Anything at all. Anything we can do for you, Ruthie, Heather, the boys. Just say the word.’

  For a moment he didn’t speak, then finally he sighed. ‘She had a heart attack, Nat. My little girl. Right next to me on the petrol forecourt.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘And it was entirely my fault. I got a call-out to collect some paperwork from a client and I took her with me for the ride. Salford, Nat. Bloody Salford. Why the hell didn’t I think?’

  Fighting her own wobbling emotions, Nat swallowed. She wanted to say that no one could have possibly predicted what had happened in a million years, to soothe words of comfort and make him feel better, but she sensed that wasn’t what was required right now.

  He cleared his throat and continued to speak. ‘I went to pay for the petrol and left her in the car. How bloody, bloody stupid was that? I even saw the lads on their bikes and still didn’t think. Nothing until the sound of fireworks when I paid. I turned to look, just a curious glance, wondering what was going on. Then I noticed the car window. It was smashed and I just knew…’

  He stopped speaking again.

  ‘What can I do?’ Nat asked. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘I can’t leave Ruthie. I’m staying here until I know.’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Until I know either way.’ She heard talking in the background. ‘The office, Nat,’ he said hurriedly. ‘That’s where I need you right now.’

  ‘Of course, absolutely. So what do you need me to–?’

  ‘Just cover for me. Whatever you think best to keep things ticking over. I have to go. I’ll be in touch.’

  When she finished the call, she let out the tapped air and met Wes’s inquisitive gaze. ‘He needs me to help out at Savage Solicitors.’

  ‘Right. Great. So how will that work?’

  Nat shrugged. ‘I’ll be like a locum, I guess.’ She stared at her mobile as though it would give her the information Gavin hadn’t had time to impart. ‘Picking up his caseload and running with it? Or at least sorting out anything urgent and doing the necessary, I suppose.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Good; that’s good. And I’ll do the same for you.’

  She put her hand on his. ‘You can’t take on more work, Wes. You’re mega busy as it is, still catching up from…’ Anxiety rising, she studied his drawn face. She had done her best with his files during his time away from the office, but he was still working late every night, struggling to keep on top of a heavy caseload, even with the help of Max, Emilia and the bench boys.

  Deep in thought, she rapped her fingers, an idea slotting into place. The answer was obvious. She looked at Wes and nodded. ‘But I know someone who can.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘Someone who has too much time on his hands and needs a mission.’ She smiled. ‘And he is the real boss, after all.’

  Jack Goldman, of course. Catherine had put him under ‘garden arrest’ since his heart problem and it was driving him nuts. Remembering his words when he’d saved her from a similar fate last September, she scooped up her mobile.

  ‘Goldman Law, first thing tomorrow morning,’ she said when he answered. ‘I need someone I can trust.’

  5

  Juicy Murder

  After a night of surprisingly solid sleep, Nat was up early, determined and ready for the day ahead. She chipped the icy snow from her mum’s car windscreen and almost climbed in, only remembering at the last moment that she had her own transport, still parked at the back of Goldman Law’s offices.

  Of course, Jack had been behind the new company vehicle. He’d phoned her late at home, the Friday before last. ‘Expect a delivery tomorrow,’ he’d said, as cryptic as ever.

  ‘Are you going to give me a clue?’ she’d asked, knowing a ‘delivery’ from Jack could mean anything. The last dispatch to her house had been Jack himself on the way to his heart attack.

  ‘An A-Class,’ he’d replied. ‘I thought the Jupiter Red would suit you.’

  Which was great, it really was… It just felt a little too permanent, that’s all. Still, Jack had risen to the challenge yesterday.

  ‘I would be delighted,’ he’d said in reply to her request to look after her files for a few days. ‘How come I have the honour?’

  ‘I need to do a spot of locum work for a solicitor friend in Heald Green.’ She hadn’t really wanted to go into Ruthie and the shooting in detail on the phone. ‘His daughter is seriously ill in intensive care.’

  ‘Ah,’ he’d replied without inquiring further.

  But she’d g
iven him enough information to understand. After his hospital admission, Jack had surprised himself by going through the emotional trauma other mere mortals suffered after illness: sadness, anxiety, guilt, loneliness and regret, but most of all he’d been frightened, ‘crippling fear’ as he’d described it.

  She now stared absently at her mum’s car keys. To use it or schlep into Didsbury to get her own? But thoughts of Jack were still prodding. Yes, he had taken up the gauntlet of her cases, but was that an entirely good thing?

  She sighed. Indulgent and coaxing, punctilious and strict, he’d brought her up in many ways, shaping the adult, as well as the solicitor, she’d become. Nat had found herself bending the rules or turning a blind eye far more often than she should. Interfering too? Yup, that was something else she could lay at his door. Jack had always meddled, a finger in every pie, and now she’d invited him to poke around in her files. God, was she insane?

  Decision made, she returned to the house and posted Anna’s keys back through the letterbox. Then she gingerly trod in the slush towards the shops, slipping more than once and wryly acknowledging her mum’s refusal to step out. Rubbing her hands against the cold, she watched the bus take its time up the high street. Dismayed to see Clipper Man through the murky window, she finally climbed on. For God’s sake; the bloody man was cutting his nails again. She gave him what she hoped was an extremely disapproving frown and brushed past. Lucky for him she had more urgent matters pressing this morning, but one day she’d do flaming something, even if it was sweeping up his DNA and sending it to the transport police.

  The ten-minute journey was held up by road works on the Mersey bridge, yet again. Conscious of the ticking time and the imperative to start her assignment for Gavin, she’d planned to walk straight to her Mercedes, but when she arrived at the corner building, she decided a few scribbled instructions to Jack would be sensible. Naturally he would ignore any suggestions and do exactly as he wished, but the thought of at least trying made her feel marginally protected from a Jack Goldman tampering overhaul. Removing her heels, she jogged up the stairs and swiped into the second-floor offices, but her diversion was too late; the man himself was already at the conference table, clearly comfortable in her seat.