The Darkness Around Her

by The Darkness Around Her (retail) (epub)

  ‘By pretending I’m not asking them, of course. I’ll knock on his front door for a friendly chat about Pat. If he offers a drink, I’m accepting.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It will buy me fifteen minutes, maybe more.’ Dan paused. ‘You’ve changed. We’ve had this conversation before, about how I can’t go about ruining people’s lives, throwing around wild accusations, just to get an acquittal.’

  ‘If he murdered his stepdaughter, he’s got this coming to him. But if you’re rattling his cage, you can’t spend your time watching him. What’s important is how he reacts, not what he says to you, so you need someone he doesn’t know.’ She grinned. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘I knew you were the right fit.’

  ‘We’ll drive up in separate cars. You speak to him, and I’ll hang around. Something else first, though.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You promised food.’

  ‘I know just the place. Come on.’

  As they stood up, Jayne said, ‘Didn’t he kill his stepdaughter to stop her from accusing him of abusing her?’

  ‘That was the subtle inference, the press hinting at it, although it was never said out loud during the trial.’

  ‘If that’s the case, what theory can we give about why he’d kill Lizzie Barnsley? That’s like a random attack, not a secret he’s trying to cover up.’

  ‘Yes, a good point.’

  ‘And what’s the big deal with Sean Martin for Peter Box? Why would he get involved?’

  ‘I’m hoping he’ll tell me in the morning.’

  ‘Unless he was telling the truth, of course, which means that not only will you free a killer, you’ll also ruin the reputation of a man trying to rebuild his life.’

  Dan pulled on his lip. Now that she’d said it, he realised she was right.

  ‘The law is a dirty place sometimes. Come on, you said you wanted food. We’ll stop on the way, but I need to decide about Sean Martin.’

  Eight

  Dan stopped in a lay-by close to the village where Sean Martin lived, on one of the roads that cut through the hills. Jayne pulled in just behind him.

  As she joined him in his car, he pointed to the snack van sitting at the end of the lay-by. ‘You said you were hungry.’

  Jayne squinted towards it. ‘If I’m honest, I expected a little more.’

  ‘If I call it al fresco, will that make it better? Come on.’

  They were soon tucking into bacon sandwiches, sitting on a bench in silence. A low cloud blotted out the sun, but it was a typical Sunday in the countryside, the roads quiet, a group of ramblers heading towards a footpath into some woods further along, the peace disturbed only by the hum of the occasional passing car.

  ‘Okay,’ said Jayne eventually. ‘This was a good idea.’ She screwed up the paper wrapping and shoved it into her coat pocket. ‘You ready for your visit to Sean Martin’s house?’

  Dan chewed as he thought about it. ‘Yes. And then we need to find out more about him.’

  ‘What about searching for the murder weapon?’

  ‘We don’t know where it is. He told Pat that it was by the western corner of something, just under the surface, below a mason’s mark?’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘It’s what stonemasons used to mark houses with back in the old days, like a personal signature, but he didn’t say where that was, and he’s hardly going to tell me. If we’re doing this, we need to find a smarter way to go about it.’

  ‘You’re right, I’m sorry. Like you, I’m just trying to think it through.’

  ‘Ideas are good, except time isn’t on our side.’

  ‘Who’s the senior officer?’

  Dan gave her a wry smile. ‘You’ll like this.’

  ‘Let me guess: Tracy Murdoch.’

  ‘One and the same.’

  Dan and Jayne had become involved in a murder case the year before where Tracy Murdoch was the senior officer. She’d been an ally at times, but she fought hard as well, and Dan knew that she’d be thorough in investigating any last-minute madcap theories from him.

  ‘What about going back to Murdoch with what you’ve been told? I bet the police don’t think Sean Martin is innocent.’

  ‘She isn’t going to dig around an old case just because of what Sean once said to his solicitor. It doesn’t matter what they think; it will have gone down as a loss and they’ll have moved on.’

  ‘What are you going to do as I watch Sean?’

  ‘I’ll go see an ex-copper about Sean’s case. You can always count on a retired copper when it comes to talking about the job because they all miss it, and he’ll have time.’

  ‘You know who to see?’

  ‘I called Pat while you were queuing for the sarnies. He gave me a name and a phone number. I get the impression that Pat has been setting this up for me, knowing that I’ll go looking.’

  She stood up. ‘Come on then. Like you say, time is limited.’

  It wasn’t a long drive. Dan parked outside Sean Martin’s cottage. Jayne was parked just out of sight, around the corner, and she would pull up closer to his cottage once Dan was back in his car, to watch what happened after he left.

  As he stepped outside, he fastened his jacket. The wind blew harsh and cold now that they were out of the shelter of the valley. Highford was spread out in the distance, bordered by tall barren hills and brown heather rather than by the brightness of grass and trees.

  Sean Martin lived in a double-fronted stone house opposite a granite cross that marked the centre of the village of Cranston, with an old white pub next to it. From the cars lined up outside, the Sunday lunch trade was going well.

  The bright red cottage door was ringed with roses. Dan rapped the brass knocker and stood back. He waited a few seconds and then rapped again before there were footsteps on the other side.

  A woman opened the door. Tall and athletic, her hair long and dark over sharp cheekbones and deep green eyes. ‘Yes?’ Her tone was flustered, her cheeks flushed.

  ‘Hello, can I speak to Sean?’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Dan Grant. I work for Pat Molloy.’

  She pursed her lips at that before turning back into the house and bellowing up the stairs, ‘Sean, someone for you.’

  She went back into the house. ‘You might as well come in,’ she said, indicating with a flick of her hand which room he should wait in. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Coffee?’

  He went into a dark room that was made no brighter by the glow of a standard lamp in one corner, nor by the light from the windows, even though it was the middle of the day. There were country paintings on the wall; a fox hunt, some trees. It wasn’t those that grabbed the attention, however; it was the filing cabinets along one wall and the framed newspaper clippings: miscarriages of justice overturned, Sean the spokesman in each one.

  There were footsteps on the stairs and then Sean Martin appeared in the doorway.

  He was bigger than Dan remembered. He was in his mid-forties now, his hair greying but still full and long for his age. His stomach pushed against the buttons of his checked shirt.

  Dan went towards him and held his hand out. ‘Hi, you might remember me. I’m Dan Grant from Molloys.’

  ‘Oh, hi,’ Sean said and shook the proffered hand, although it took a few seconds for recognition to filter in. ‘You were helping out the barrister during the trial.’

  ‘I was. I was just a young trainee back then. Twelve years ago now. I’ve never forgotten the trial, even though there have been so many since. I was a bit skinnier then, a little fresher-faced, but I’ve stayed with Pat. He did a good job for you.’ Dan smiled. ‘I feel like I’m meeting a celebrity.’

  ‘Oh, hardly,’ Sean said. ‘Please, sit down.’

  Dan looked around.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Sean moved some papers that had been piled on top of two swivel chairs onto the floor. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘The woman who let me in is making me one.’ Da
n settled into one chair. ‘Sorry, I don’t know her name.’

  ‘That’s Trudy, my wife.’ Sean leaned against a filing cabinet. ‘Things have changed since I got out. What can I do for you?’

  ‘It’s about Pat Molloy.’

  His eyes narrowed just for a moment, but then he smiled, like he’d flicked a switch. ‘Yes, Pat. A good man. I owe him so much. How is he?’

  Trudy brought in a tray with two mugs on it. Dan thanked her as he took one. Sean received his in silence.

  Dan sipped from his mug but leaned forward, his expression darker. He lowered his tone and said, ‘That’s why I’m here. He’s got cancer and the prognosis isn’t good.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ Sean’s face showed concern.

  ‘I’m thinking of doing something for him, like a party or a tribute, but I don’t know what. I thought you might want to be involved, because of your profile and what Pat did for you. And you’ve put it to good use.’ Dan gestured towards the cabinets.

  ‘Pat taught me the value of fighting for the right causes. I owe him my freedom, so I try to pay it forward in other ways. He is responsible for every one of these successes, indirectly.’

  ‘There you have it. That’s the speech.’ Dan raised his mug in salute. ‘Do you think you’d say a few words? I’m sure it would mean a lot to him. He wants to go out with a real bang and, well, you were pretty much his biggest bang of all.’

  ‘I bet he does.’ Sean took another sip, his gaze never leaving Dan. ‘Yes, I’d love to say a few words for him. I don’t mean to be indelicate, but how long has he got? I’ve got a lot of events on at the moment and for the foreseeable future, with my book having just come out.’

  ‘Book?’

  ‘My autobiography. I didn’t want to be accused of cashing in on Rosie’s murder, but I’ve got bills to pay, just like everyone else.’

  ‘I’ll look out for it. As for Pat, they’re saying a few months, maybe. Perhaps not even that. He’s been getting bad for a while. At first, I thought he was just getting old. Like forgetting things. He remembers his old cases, can reminisce all day, and lawyers love to trade war stories, but the more recent stuff?’ Dan shook his head. ‘It’s like it never happened. Take New Year’s Eve. We were talking about it last week, and he couldn’t remember where he spent the New Year. I mean, everyone remembers that, don’t they? I know I can. Watching Jools Holland with a bottle of wine, like most years. Not very exciting, I know, but I still remember it. I’m sure you do too. And, you’re a writer now, and you writers must get invited to lots of parties?’

  ‘It’s not the life you think, but yes, I remember it. I spent New Year’s eve here, with Trudy. After prison, there is more pleasure in the simple things.’

  ‘You see how easy it is, but Pat couldn’t even think of that.’

  ‘I’ve had the prison experience though, and it makes you appreciate the people who are actually important. Family, friends, loved ones.’

  ‘Any room for lawyers on that list?’

  ‘I regard Pat as a friend, even if I don’t pop by the office. He was my lawyer, but he went further than that.’

  Dan pointed to the walls again. ‘How’s the organisation going? What’s it called again?’

  ‘Innocent Out. It’s going well, getting more volunteers all the time. Mostly from the university, students motivated by justice. Most people get jaded when their studies end, or become distracted by a career, family, money. Get them when they’re young, however, and they see the cases for what they are, a stench, and they’re prepared to fight for them. Justice is important.’

  ‘That’s Pat’s greatest attribute. He’s never stopped believing in justice, about doing what was right, whatever the cost.’

  Sean nodded, although his eyes had narrowed again. He straightened himself. ‘Thank you for stopping by. I’m sorry we can’t talk for longer, but you caught me by surprise. Is that all?’

  ‘No, you’ve helped. Thank you. Pat will be so touched that you’ll speak up.’

  Dan went towards the door. They shook hands again, Dan watching him more closely this time.

  Dan didn’t look back as he got into his car. He drove down the hill and stopped behind Jayne.

  She wound down her window as he walked to her car. ‘How was it?’

  ‘Weird. It felt like we were circling each other. Let’s see how he reacts now, because if he’s suspicious of me, he’ll behave differently. We don’t have the luxury of time, so if he’s going to give himself away, he needs to get a move on.’ He paused for a moment, and added, ‘You know, it’s strange. When I shook his hand at the beginning, his hand was dry and firm, a good robust handshake. But at the end? He seemed quite different. He realised that I knew something. I could see it in his posture, his eyes, his expression. He was more cautious and defensive. I really thought I’d rattled him, but his handshake…’ He stopped and looked thoughtful.

  ‘What about his handshake?’

  ‘It was just the same. Dry and firm. If he suspected I know something, he didn’t panic.’ He grimaced. ‘That worries me.’

  * * *

  Trudy appeared behind Sean as he watched Dan Grant walk down the street. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders tense, standing in the gloom of the room so that he couldn’t be seen if Grant looked back.

  ‘What did he want?’

  Sean didn’t move for a few seconds, until he took a deep breath and looked towards her. ‘It’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I need to know it all. That’s the deal with us. I need to know that we’re okay.’

  Sean rubbed his eyes. ‘Trudy, it’s fine. It was about Pat Molloy, that’s all. He’s ill, has cancer, and the firm wants to throw him a tribute or dinner, and as I’m his most notorious client, I get the privilege of giving a speech.’

  ‘And it takes a personal visit to do that? He could have phoned you, or written to you. Instead, he’s come all the way out here.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

  He grabbed her by the chin and glared into her eyes. ‘I’ve told you everything.’

  She waited for the rise of his temper to pass, because that’s how it came, in a snap.

  He pushed her away so that she stumbled into a chair. He went into the kitchen as she swallowed her anger, tears prickling her eyes.

  ‘Don’t walk away,’ she shouted after him. She listened as the fridge opened, followed by the familiar clink of a beer bottle.

  She closed her eyes and pinched her nose. The air became heavy.

  It was starting again.

  Nine

  Jayne drove up the hill to park closer to Sean Martin’s house.

  The cottage was nicer than she anticipated. She hadn’t been expecting him to be doing quite so well, living in a home that struck her as being very desirable.

  There was no movement in the house for a few minutes. She had her phone to her ear, to make it look as if she’d pulled over to take a call, but her eyes were fixed on the house. Then the front door opened and a man came out.

  She recognised him immediately. It always gave a strange jolt to see someone familiar from the news; they never looked quite how she expected, usually smaller or older. In Sean Martin’s case, he looked bigger.

  Jayne’s memories of the newspaper articles and television coverage were of a man seemingly bewildered, shrunken. She had a vague recollection of Pat Molloy on the court steps, speaking into the microphones, with Dictaphones thrust in front of him, thanking the jurors for their courage. Sean had stepped forward and spoken with less certainty, his voice breaking with emotion, his eyes flitting from reporter to reporter as he pleaded for the real killer to be found. The Sean Martin she was watching climb into a black Hyundai was very different. He was bolder, larger, as if he’d rediscovered himself.

  She threw her phone on to the passenger seat as the Hyundai pulled out of its parking space, but waited until it was some distance away before starting her engine. She didn’t want him to
realise he was being followed.

  He took the road to Highford, driving right past her. She turned her car around and went after him.

  His progress was steady as he cruised through the hedge-lined country roads, getting lower in the valley, a canal glinting below and getting closer, open fields on either side broken by the occasional wood. If he’d spotted Jayne following him, it wasn’t making him speed up.

  Just before they reached the edge of Highford, the terraced streets visible, he turned into a garden centre car park and drove up to a large gate at the opposite end of the car park. Jayne followed him but parked amongst the cars belonging to customers. She watched as Sean entered a code into a keypad by the gate, which made it swing open, and in he went.

  She’d driven past the garden centre before but had never been in as she didn’t have a garden. She made a note of the time and took some pictures, before climbing out and pretending to browse the outdoor plants by the entrance doors. There were racks of bedding plants further away, and she was able to conceal herself behind one and peer beyond the gate Sean’s car had gone through.

  The gate seemed to be an entrance to some sort of compound separated from the garden centre car park by a high chain-link fence. She could make out small structures on the other side of the fence, like brightly painted sheds, green and red, blue and yellow, with writing on some. It was when she saw the gleam of water that she realised what she was looking at. Canal boats. It was a marina for narrowboats.

  Sean sauntered along the dock, his head visible over the top of the cabins lined up in rows, until he disappeared out of sight.

  She stayed where she was until the gentle putter of a diesel engine broke the peace. Sean was visible again, standing high as a boat moved away from the dock.

  Jayne moved away from the rack. Sean had managed to evade her this time. There’d be other times, though, she’d make sure of that.

  Ten

  Dan pushed on the shop door. A small bell tinkled as it swung open. His nose twitched at the unmistakable smell of dust and old paper. It mingled with the aroma of pipe tobacco, warm and comforting somehow, like going back in time. Books were piled high on shelves, divided into genres but crammed in untidily, the edges loose and ragged. There were only two aisles and he had to shuffle along them sideways.