The Darkness Around Her

by The Darkness Around Her (retail) (epub)

  ‘And?’

  ‘He just laughed and said nobody was going to find it. And if the police ever came after him again, he’d know who’d tipped them off, because I was the only person he’d told.’

  Dan sat back, perplexed. ‘Why did he tell you that?’

  ‘To taunt me, because I’d been so pleased with myself, and he wanted to puncture me. He enjoys cruelty, and it worked. It felt like the air had been sucked out of me.’

  ‘He might have been just winding you up.’

  ‘He wasn’t. I saw it in his eyes right then. But he knew I’d think it was a sick joke so he sealed the deal. He smiled at me, mocking me, and said, “That dirty little slut would have given me away, and I couldn’t allow that.” And then he left me to circle the room, talk to his supporters, knowing that I was bound to keep my silence.’

  Dan shook his head. ‘I don’t believe it. Sean Martin was guilty after all?’

  ‘The one part of my career I wish I could rewrite, to walk away from him when he was first convicted. That’s why he didn’t want us to look into Peter Box, because he would have been discounted easily. It wasn’t Peter, but Sean all along.’

  ‘And you’ve kept this quiet since then?’

  ‘Client privilege, you know how it is. And what could I do? I couldn’t bring Rosie back and it would have ruined my reputation. I’d have been the lawyer who’d freed a murderer. It’s a poor excuse, I know, because I could have made an anonymous call. If he had complained about breach of privilege, he’d have to admit that what he’d told me turned out to be true, but I’d have been disciplined for betraying a client. Cowardly, I know, but I can’t change the past.’

  ‘But now things are different?’

  ‘I want this removed from my conscience.’

  ‘How does this involve me?’

  ‘Peter Box.’

  Dan stood up and went to the window, tried to conceal his frustration. ‘I’m not using my case to ease your conscience, Pat. I just can’t.’

  ‘Don’t you see? Peter Box came to see me and tried to confess in Sean Martin’s case. Either Sean Martin killed Rosie or he didn’t, but my gut tells me that he did, which makes Peter flaky. It might explain why he’s keeping quiet, because he has a habit of incriminating himself for things he didn’t do. If nothing else, it will explain his silence.’

  ‘It won’t explain the DNA, and if I introduce a murder he tried to claim responsibility for, where a man has been cleared, the jury will think Peter killed Rosie too.’

  Pat stayed silent, to let the obvious sink in.

  It dawned on Dan slowly. ‘You want me to go after Sean Martin.’

  Pat nodded. ‘Find out why Peter came to see me all those years ago. What’s the connection with Sean Martin? You already have an expert to discredit the DNA lab. All you need to do is explain Peter Box’s silence, and you do that by showing that he’s falsely claimed to be a killer in the past.’

  ‘And I do that by proving that Sean Martin killed Rosie?’

  ‘Exactly. If you can prove that Sean Martin killed Rosie, you can show why he stayed silent.’

  ‘How do I do this?’

  ‘We find the murder weapon, first of all, and do more digging on Sean Martin.’

  ‘The trial is tomorrow. I’ve no time.’

  ‘And neither have I, but I want to do it, and it’s relevant to Peter’s case. But I have a warning for you.’

  ‘Which is what?’

  ‘Sean delighted in the cruelty of the things he said. Remember, too, why he killed Rosie: to keep her quiet. If you go down this path, you are in danger. Me too, because he will know where the information has come from, but it’s the right thing to do. Not just for me, or for Lizzie Barnsley, but for Rosie too. Let me go to my grave knowing that I’ve scrubbed away this stain.’

  Dan couldn’t think of a good reason to say no. But he knew something else too: Peter Box’s trial had just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

  Six

  Jayne put the camera to one side and stared out of the window as she waited for the kettle to boil.

  Her apartment was on the top floor of a crumbling Victorian terrace on one of the steep roads into Highford town centre, the hallway muggy with cannabis and the air often heavy with the thump-thump of music from the other flats. Small steps led to a long hallway, with a bedroom off it, the bathroom on the other side, a kitchen and living room at the end. It gave her great views over Highford but, more importantly, it was somewhere she could hide.

  She’d escaped there a few years earlier after Dan had helped secure her acquittal. As great as it was to be free, memories of it made her shudder and came back to her in her quieter moments.

  She’d killed a man. An abusive man, Jimmy. Their relationship had started with professions of love, but it only ended when she stuck a knife into his leg and severed his femoral artery. He bled out on the kitchen floor to the sound of her screams.

  She hadn’t meant to do it, but Jimmy had been too close, the knife in her hand when he attacked her. She remembered his spittle landing on her face as he snarled out another threat. She wasn’t a killer, but in her darker moments of reflection, she still wondered whether she’d merely snapped, lashed out when he’d hurt her once again.

  She’d come to Highford to escape from Jimmy’s family, to start a new life, with a new name and a new job as a private investigator, but her life had changed since then.

  She’d gone back home a few months earlier and it had worked out. Jimmy’s family hadn’t attacked her, even though she’d made her presence obvious, and it felt like all the stress of the previous years had melted away. She didn’t need to be in Highford anymore. She had her business, and a few friends that she kept at a distance. Only Dan Grant and Pat Molloy knew about her past, so her friends didn’t feel real. She used to have friends in her hometown, but Jimmy had made her give them up.

  Dan had saved her. She could never forget that.

  The kettle clicked off. Empty takeaway cartons littered the surfaces and there were three empty wine bottles, cheap stuff from the local supermarket multibuy.

  She turned away. She’d deal with the mess later.

  This was it then, her Sunday. She checked her pockets. A fiver, some change, and an empty fridge.

  She went into the bedroom. If she was going to go hungry, she needed the time to go quickly. Sleep might do it, the early start catching up with her, and at least it would save on the heating bills.

  She sprawled on her bed with her laptop to browse some newspaper sites, but there wasn’t much going on. She noticed a thriller she’d bought in a charity shop lying half-finished, the pages open. That might pass the afternoon, losing herself in someone else’s story for a few hours.

  She reached for it and started to read. After a couple of pages, she remembered why she’d put it down as she re-read the same paragraph three times.

  She was rescued by the buzz of her phone in her pocket. It was Dan.

  She sat up as she answered. ‘Hey. What’s this for, on a Sunday?’

  ‘Do you want some work?’

  ‘I always want work, you know that.’

  ‘Can you come now? This is urgent.’

  ‘Have you got food?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘Okay, see you soon.’ And she clicked off. She gave a small punch in the air. Somehow, she felt like she was always able to avoid absolute rock bottom.

  Seven

  He couldn’t put it off any longer. The old man had gone and, as far as he knew, Dan Grant was alone. He checked in his rear-view mirror, and then ahead. No one was watching him. He was just an anonymous man on a quiet street.

  As he stepped out of his car, he pulled his coat tighter. The morning was fresh and he felt the cold more than he used to. He reached down into the side compartment for his baseball cap, old and green and faded, to hide his unkempt hair.

  Now was the time. The trial started the next day. He couldn’t leave it much longer. He’d left it t
oo long already.

  He crossed the road and walked into the cobbled car park, the entrance to Dan’s building in the furthest corner. It was one of Highford’s grander apartment blocks, the old wharf character maintained, the millstone clean and brightened by steel balconies.

  He hesitated. Was this the right time? He should wait, pick his moment. How would he get into the building? Did he expect Dan to buzz him in? He thought about the old cliché of pressing every button until he got someone lazy enough to unlock the door without asking questions, but he wasn’t sure he could do that.

  There was a rumble of tyres behind him. An old blue Fiat, a young woman driving.

  He turned away and made as if to tie his shoelace before he cursed himself. If it was an attempt to be inconspicuous, all he’d done was to make himself look suspicious. He kept his face out of view as she drove past, and once she stopped, he walked back out of the car park, stopping to peer round the wall at her.

  She was slim and pretty and didn’t live there, because she pressed a button rather than using a key. Dan’s girlfriend? Could be, although there were other apartments in the building.

  He walked towards her, hoping to sneak in behind her, but the door buzzed before he could get there. He cursed. He’d been too hesitant and he was running out of time.

  He went back to his car. He was prepared to wait.

  * * *

  Dan left his door ajar and went back into his living room. Jayne knew the way in.

  His mind was whirring as he slumped onto the sofa. Pat’s visit had left behind a mix of adrenaline and despair.

  Jayne bounded in, grinning. ‘I thought you’d forgotten about me.’

  She lifted his mood straightaway. Her energy, her brightness, despite the darkness that he knew wasn’t far beneath. ‘How could I forget you?’

  She sat down on the chair opposite. ‘You promised food.’

  ‘Are you not eating again?’

  ‘It requires money and you’ve stopped sending me work, which means the cupboards are bare.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that. We’ll eat soon, but we’ve got work to do before that, if you want it.’

  ‘Paid work?’

  ‘Of course, but it isn’t going to be easy.’

  ‘It’s always like that with you. What is it?’

  ‘You heard of Sean Martin?’

  She pulled a face and shook her head. ‘Puff Daddy?’

  Dan laughed, despite the sadness he felt about Pat. ‘That’s Sean Combs. No, Sean Martin was convicted of murdering his stepdaughter but was freed on appeal.’

  Jayne thought for a moment, taking off her coat and throwing it over the back of the sofa. ‘Oh, him. He’s from round here, isn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, from Highford. Pat Molloy represented him. The murder took place on the canal towpath.’

  ‘I don’t remember the original trial but I remember him being cleared. My opinion? Guilty.’

  ‘The jury said he wasn’t when he had his retrial.’

  ‘How is Pat? I saw him walking around the town centre a couple of weeks ago and he didn’t look so good. I say walking, but it was much slower than that. It looked like some of his spark had gone.’

  ‘He’s not good.’ Dan sighed. ‘Damn, he’s worse than that. I’m sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but he’s got cancer and he doesn’t think he’s got long.’

  Jayne’s hand went to her mouth and her eyes moistened. ‘Not Pat. That’s not fair. They’ve got it wrong, they must have.’

  ‘I wish they had but Pat seems pretty clear.’

  ‘And how are you? I know how much he means to you.’

  ‘I’m all mixed up. He’s taught me so much. He’s the lawyer I wanted to be when I started out. And now this.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t imagine him not being here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dan.’

  ‘He wants me to take over the business at the end of the month, you’ve seen how he’s fading, so I’ve got that on top of everything else, but it just seems unreal.’

  Dan stopped talking as emotion choked him. He swallowed it back before continuing, ‘It’s not just about him being my boss though. I remember when my mum died, and my dad was all over the place, too much so to be there for me. Pat was, though; he knew how to say the right things.’

  Jayne came over to him and put her arms round him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, and kissed him on the cheek.

  For a moment, he closed his eyes and let her aroma envelope him, her skin warm and soft against his. For a moment, her fingers were in his hair, her breath hot on his neck, her body pressed against his as she hugged him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, pulling away awkwardly, his voice thick. ‘We should talk about Sean Martin, though.’

  Her hand went to his cheek. ‘Back to business then,’ she said, and sat away from him. After a few seconds Jayne broke the silence. ‘Everyone thinks he did it. I know he’s in the press a lot, a spokesman for dodgy convictions or something, but everyone looks at him and thinks he did it, because if not him, who else?’

  ‘It sounds like you’ll be just the right fit for this, then,’ and he pointed at the papers strewn across the table. ‘That trial starts tomorrow; Peter Box. You might remember it. A murder in the early hours of New Year’s Day, just after the midnight fireworks. Lizzie Barnsley is the name of the victim, and Pat has this idea that it might help my client if I can prove that Sean Martin murdered his stepdaughter, Rosie Smith.’

  She gasped in shock. ‘Why are you doing that? You defend people, not the other way around.’ She stood up and walked over, leafing through the papers and then recoiling when she saw the crime scene photographs. ‘This looks grizzly. Is it a good case against him?’

  ‘Very good. He left his blood on one of her shoes.’

  ‘What does he say about that?’

  ‘Nothing, and that’s the problem. He won’t talk about what happened.’

  ‘How are you supposed to defend him, then?’

  ‘That’s just what I told him. All I can do is undermine the prosecution case.’

  ‘And set free a guilty man if you win.’

  ‘That’s my job.’

  ‘I know, the lawyer’s cop out, that it’s about the evidence, blah blah.’ She held up her hand. ‘And before you say it, I know the system worked for me, but I don’t attack people on towpaths.’

  ‘We don’t pick and choose when it fits.’

  Jayne gave a mock salute. ‘Understood. I’ll do what I can and let justice prevail.’

  ‘I appreciate the dramatic flourish but I need results, and fast.’

  ‘But what has Sean Martin got to do with this case? Apart from the canal, what’s the link?’

  ‘Peter Box tried to claim responsibility for Rosie’s murder when Sean Martin was awaiting trial.’

  ‘What? The case where Sean Martin ended up being innocent?’

  Dan nodded. ‘That’s right, except that he isn’t.’

  ‘Who isn’t what?’

  ‘Sean Martin isn’t innocent.’

  ‘Hang on, you made me sound wrong when I said that.’

  ‘Your opinion is based on what? Media reports? Mine is on more than that: he told Pat Molloy he’d done it.’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘After Pat got him acquitted, Sean told him that he’d hidden the murder weapon.’

  ‘Shit, Dan, this is huge. Imagine what the newspapers would make of it.’

  ‘I can’t think about that. I’ve got to get through the Peter Box trial and somehow make this Sean Martin angle work, because there isn’t much else going for him. It might explain his silence but that is all, but that’s how these cases work sometimes. Attack each part of the prosecution case until it all crumbles, but it won’t work at all if I can’t prove Sean Martin’s guilt.’

  ‘Because the jury will think Peter Box killed Rosie too, and then he has no chance.’

  ‘That’s pretty much it.’

  ‘Didn’t Peter’s confession
come out in the Sean Martin trial?’

  ‘Sean didn’t want to use it. He said it was probably just some fantasy and didn’t want to look desperate by throwing all the blame Peter’s way. He didn’t want an innocent man to take the blame.’

  ‘What a hero. What are you going to do, then?’ And then she started to nod as it dawned on her. ‘You’re going to suggest that Sean Martin killed Lizzie Barnsley too, but you’ve got to prove he killed his stepdaughter to make it credible.’

  ‘That’s too far, but if I’m honest, I don’t really know what to do. This grand idea arose today and the damn trial starts tomorrow.’

  ‘Why are you being so timid? After all, if you’re going to accuse Sean Martin of Rosie’s murder, why not go all the way and accuse him of killing Lizzie too? If the jurors hate him enough for getting away with murdering his stepdaughter, they might be prepared to think he killed Lizzie too.’

  ‘You’ve got ambition, but there’s no link between Lizzie’s murder and Sean Martin.’

  ‘There is: Peter Box. Sean Martin was accused of killing someone, and he more or less told Pat that he was guilty. Peter told Pat that he was the guilty one. Well, they can’t both be guilty. Or can they? And if they are linked somehow to the murder of Sean Martin’s stepdaughter, they might be linked to Lizzie’s murder.’

  Dan frowned as he thought about that. ‘I see where you’re coming from but it’s a real stretch. I don’t even know if Sean Martin was ever a suspect in Lizzie’s case or if he’s got an alibi.’

  ‘Start there, then.’

  Dan thought about that, and his smile grew. ‘You’re good at this. I’ll speak to him. If nothing else, it might spook him, and we might see what he does. I worked on his case when I was a trainee, so he’ll remember me enough to talk to. I’ll find out where he was on New Year’s Eve too, the night that Lizzie died. That part should be easy, because everyone remembers where they spent New Year’s Eve. We can check it out.’

  ‘How will you get him to answer your questions? He’s not just going to confess to you that he killed his stepdaughter and tell you where he hid the murder weapon.’