The Darkness Around Her

by The Darkness Around Her (retail) (epub)

  Jayne stood up. ‘I’m sorry, Bill. I did say that what you’ve got might not be enough.’

  ‘But there’s something here, right?’

  ‘It’s not about whether or not I believe you,’ Dan said. ‘It’s whether I can use it in this case, whether it will help Peter Box. Right now, it’s too late to gamble on this. It will make me look desperate.’

  ‘At least look.’ Bill reached for a folder in a corner. ‘It’s all in here, just for times like this, when people take an interest. If I keep on pushing, eventually someone will prove that I’m right.’

  He held it out to Dan, who took it and looked inside. It was crammed with printed copies of the cuttings that lined the walls, along with typed notes. Bill’s dossier.

  Dan handed it back, despite the desperate plea in Bill’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I just don’t think I can help.’

  ‘I’m not crazy. I know that people don’t believe me, but it doesn’t make me wrong.’

  ‘Have you spoken to the police in my case?’

  ‘Of course I have. They were nice to me but fobbed me off with some young detective. She’s polite, but she talks to me to keep me out of the way, that’s all.’

  ‘Is it the woman you met earlier today in the car park?’ Jayne said, and she pulled her camera from her pocket. She scrolled through the screen until she found a picture. ‘Her?’

  Bill looked at the screen. ‘Yes, that’s her, but I wasn’t meeting her. We just happened to be parked in the same place.’

  ‘Really?’

  He blushed. ‘All right, I’d been looking out for her and had parked in the same place deliberately. She was angry, thought I was stalking her. I just wanted to know whether she had changed her mind.’

  ‘Show me.’ Dan held out his hand for the camera.

  The screen showed a woman in a suit, talking to Bill, but she was too far away on the small screen for him to make out who she was.

  ‘Can I zoom in on this?’

  Jayne took it back from him and pressed a button until it made the woman’s face fill the screen. When he took hold of it again, his eyes widened in surprise. ‘This is her?’

  Bill looked at the screen and then nodded.

  ‘You know her?’ Jayne asked, taking the camera back.

  ‘Amy Hunter,’ Dan said. ‘DC Hunter. She was in on Peter’s interview. I don’t know why she was at court though.’

  ‘Hand-holding the witnesses,’ Bill said. ‘Is she in trouble for speaking to me?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’m going to find out why no one has mentioned another line of inquiry.’

  ‘You are interested then?’

  Dan looked to Jayne and then back to Bill. He sighed. ‘Jayne, can you find out as much as you can about this? We’ll talk later.’

  With that, Dan went downstairs to leave, the hallway filled with Bill’s excited chatter as he took Jayne through some more details.

  Although Dan’s focus was on his case, he hoped he wasn’t about to disappoint a grieving father.

  Twenty-five

  Dan checked his watch. DC Hunter had been keeping him waiting for too long.

  He’d found her number from when Peter was still locked up at the police station. At the time they’d exchanged numbers so that he could be available for the next interview as soon as they were ready for him.

  When he had called her he’d mentioned Bill’s name so that she knew why he was ringing. She’d told him to come to the station, but ever since then he’d been left in the reception area, pacing before the glossy crime-prevention posters.

  The door opened. It wasn’t DC Hunter but Murdoch, a scowl on her face.

  ‘What’s going on, Dan?’

  ‘Where’s DC Hunter?’

  ‘You’ve got me.’

  ‘I’m just discovering things I haven’t been told.’

  ‘Bill Maude?’

  ‘You know it is. I told your DC that, but I’m suspecting there’s more to this if you’ve been sent to speak to me.’

  She was silent for a few seconds before saying, ‘Come through.’

  He followed her into the long corridor that ran behind the reception, towards the squad rooms and canteen, a labyrinth of corridors built in the days before architects decided that natural light was a good thing. Yellowing strip lights illuminated the station and the doorframes were all dark wood, making everywhere look old and jaded.

  Murdoch turned and put her hands on her hips. ‘I didn’t want this conversation in public, because I don’t know who’s going to walk in.’

  ‘I don’t keep secrets if they help my client.’

  ‘Nothing helps your client. His blood is on her shoe. He won’t put forward a defence.’

  ‘I know, that’s what the trial is all about, but let’s pretend for a moment you’re wrong. Bill Maude came to see you with his theories about a serial killer along the canals. What did you do about it?’

  ‘Come on, Dan, do you really think there’s anything in what he’s saying? He was talking about a hundred deaths over twenty years. It’s the desperate plea of a grieving father who can’t accept his son was taken by an accident. How did you find out about him?’

  ‘Bill was lurking around the court and I didn’t know whether he was a threat. He seemed too interested in me, watching me. I asked Jayne, my investigator, to find out who he was. She was successful, so here I am.’

  ‘You’re not telling me you believe him?’

  ‘I’m investigating it. Did you?’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Deadly.’

  Murdoch sighed. ‘None of it seemed relevant. The man is obsessed. Surely you saw that?’

  ‘Why didn’t you disclose this though?’

  ‘You think it’s disclosable? If he has any credibility, it’s as an informant, and we never disclose those details. We don’t list every wild claim we hear.’

  ‘When did he get in touch with you?’

  ‘After we charged Peter Box. He thought it might be part of a series, kept calling the squad. I sent Hunter to warn him off.’

  ‘And see whether there was anything in it?’

  ‘A little bit of that, but she wasn’t convinced. Said he was just some grieving old guy.’

  Dan smiled. ‘That’s fine. It’s the answer I wanted.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He went to the door. ‘Can you let me out?’

  Murdoch pressed a black fob against a metal plate on the wall. The door buzzed. Dan opened it, but before he could let it close Murdoch held it.

  ‘Tell me what you mean?’

  ‘I’ll see you in court tomorrow.’

  ‘You can’t do this, Dan.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ and with that he headed out of the station, knowing that Murdoch was watching him all the way.

  The answers he’d been given were exactly what he expected, but if there was anything to what Bill Maude was saying, he’d just fired the first shot.

  Twenty-six

  Pat Molloy grimaced and shifted in his chair.

  He’d been home for an hour and had spent it with a whiskey, reading Sean Martin’s book. Not to see how he described the case, but looking for some clues to add to what Sean had told him all those years ago. He’d stayed up late reading it the night before, but the visit from Trudy had hardened his resolve.

  His large house was shielded from the countryside by high brick walls. He and his wife, Eileen, had bought it years before, when there was still money to be made in criminal law, aided by an inheritance from his father.

  A few years ago, Pat thought the wall gave him privacy, so that neighbours and passers-by couldn’t see in. Now, he’d changed his mind. His life was ending, he knew that, and he wanted to see the hills beyond and the passing traffic, the dog walkers and the ramblers. He wanted to see life. Instead, all he had were the small fruit trees that broke the monotony of the lawn and a solid line of brickwork.

  He put his head back and closed his eyes. It had been a l
ong day. He’d taken a walk to the courthouse, just to see some old faces, but it had all seemed so jaded. The ones who had been there for years looked worn out, and the younger ones seemed disinterested. He thought he missed it, but really it just reminded him how he should have left it all behind a few years earlier. When it came to the final moments, none of it mattered.

  The ones who knew him tried to hide their shock at his appearance but didn’t do a good job of it. That wasn’t how he wanted to be remembered, as a tired and ill old man. He wanted to scream at them that they’d all end up like this too, that life shouldn’t be all about chasing the money, but he knew no one would listen. He’d have ignored the warning when he was younger too.

  Eileen came into the room. ‘Do you want some supper?’

  He opened his eyes and gazed at her, and not for the first time marvelled at his good fortune. They’d made a good team and had enjoyed some special times. He hadn’t always treated her well, but she’d stayed with him, certain that they were better together than apart, and for that he was grateful.

  ‘I’m all right with this for now.’ He raised the glass.

  ‘You need to eat. You’ve got a fight ahead of you.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’m not up for a fight, my dear.’

  She folded her arms and glared at him. ‘I expect better from you, not to just give up.’

  ‘Just let me sort out my affairs and then I’ll focus on me. Dan is thinking about my offer.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll accept?’

  ‘I don’t know if he wants to be a boss. He could join one of those big firms and be part of a team, but I hope not. It makes me sound vain, but that firm and my name on that window is my legacy.’

  She kissed him on his forehead. ‘And us, and our children.’ She looked down at the book. ‘So, what’s all this reading? You need to rest up.’

  ‘Just a book by an old client.’ He showed her the cover of Sean Martin’s book.

  ‘Oh, that man. I never liked him.’

  He took a drink as he flicked through the photo section. ‘Nor me.’ Something caught his attention, and he stopped, lost in the book.

  Eileen stood and considered him for a few seconds, but it was clear his attention was gone. ‘I’m going to have a bath.’

  ‘Very good, my dear,’ Pat muttered as she left the room. He stared at the picture and tried to work out what it was about it that had made him pause. He closed his eyes again and rubbed his chest. It was almost as if he could feel the cancer growing inside him, devouring his organs, taking him over. He felt robbed, cheated. He’d been looking forward to his retirement and then bang, it was all taken away.

  Forty years earlier, he’d been a young articled clerk, fresh from university, following in his own father’s footsteps. It had been his vocation, but he had taken a different route to his father. Not for Pat the grind of commercial law, his father’s career spent drawing up contracts and taking debtors to court. Pat had been attracted to criminal law because of the excitement, back when justice was often meted out by the police in the back alleys, neither side interested in a court hearing.

  Then there was the day-to-day stress. The judges who wanted to embarrass him. The clients who wanted to hit him because they didn’t like his advice. The tedium of form-filling. The stale stench of clients who came into the office from a dirty home. The despair in the eyes of people whose lives had turned out wretched and had realised that it was never going to get any better.

  Those times seemed distant but, in some ways, it felt like they’d only just happened. Life was simpler back then. No Internet. No smartphones. No micromanagement. The job was conducted by notes written on scraps of paper and in rooms heavy with cigarette smoke, with police officers who relied on trickery and deceit, and often brutality.

  In some ways, things were better now. In others, they weren’t. However they compared, he’d lived through all of it, and those years had enriched his life.

  Then he remembered Sean Martin. The shock of his words at the party. The whole room had seemed to retreat, his mind focused on what Sean had said and the sadistic gleam in his eyes. It hadn’t been enough that he’d got out; he’d wanted Pat to know that he’d cheated everyone.

  Perhaps it had been a drunken joke?

  He took another sip. He didn’t believe that. Not for a moment.

  Pat couldn’t work out why that case in particular still bothered him so much. He’d freed more bad people than he could count. Not just killers, but robbers and rapists and child molesters, and he’d never given it a second thought. He had just been doing his job. Perhaps it was because the evidence had been the problem in those cases, so that it was the fault of the police that the cases weren’t strong enough. In Sean’s case, the evidence had been fine. Pat had just found an expert who was able to throw in some doubt, and he’d searched so hard because he’d been convinced of Sean’s innocence.

  Because Sean had made him believe in his innocence.

  Sean Martin was the shadow on his career. He needed to know whether he was right, or whether it was just a drunken joke; Sean enjoying the look in Pat’s eye, stupid from the relief of being out of prison. If he was innocent, prison might have done strange things to him.

  Pat looked again at the book, and suddenly the clue was clear to him. Sean Martin hadn’t been able to stop himself; he must have enjoyed the thought that the answer was right there in the book for everyone to see but no one else would ever spot it. It was the same arrogance that had allowed Sean to admit to Pat where he’d hidden the murder weapon.

  And that arrogance would be his downfall. The book might be Sean’s own little private joke, but for Pat it was the final section of the picture Sean had painted for him at the appeal party.

  Pat put his glass down and creaked to his feet, coughing as he did. He shuffled to the hallway and grabbed his coat from the hook by the door.

  ‘I’m just going out,’ he shouted up the stairs, hoping to be heard over the sound of running bath taps.

  There was no answer.

  He was pleased about that. He knew Eileen would disapprove.

  The cold night hit him hard, making him cough again, but he needed internal peace more than he wanted a warm night.

  He knew exactly where he was going.

  Twenty-seven

  Jayne knocked on the door and stood back. The sound of a television came from inside. The house was part of a long terrace with no front gardens, just a line of stones broken by doorways and windows, like regular patterns, so that the noises from indoors were hard to conceal.

  It was one last stop, back on the trail of Sean Martin before she went to Dan’s apartment. She guessed that Dan had been humouring Bill when he told her to find out more, but she had Bill’s folder in the boot of her car. She wasn’t giving up yet.

  A young woman wearing a supermarket uniform answered. When she saw Jayne, the woman sighed and said, ‘Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.’

  ‘Victoria Mason?’ Jayne handed over her business card. ‘I want to talk to you about Rosie Smith.’

  The woman frowned. ‘How do you know where I live?’

  ‘I’m an investigator. It’s what I do.’

  Victoria stared at the card. ‘You’d better come in, then.’ She stepped aside to let Jayne in, who took the business card back from her and walked straight into the front room. There was barely a hallway. She knew this kind of terrace well enough: there was always just a room at the front, and a kitchen at the back.

  As Jayne took the seat she was offered, she didn’t want to admit that her detecting skills had been much less spectacular than she’d made out. A quick Internet search had revealed a court appearance the year before, for benefit fraud after Victoria had failed to disclose that her boyfriend was living with her, and with it came an address.

  Victoria sat opposite, perched on the edge of her cushion. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘You were friends with Rosie Smith at the time she was kill
ed. Rosie’s mother showed me a newspaper article from then.’

  ‘I was. We were close. A group of us used to hang around together, outside the local shop.’ She smiled. ‘It’s funny, because I see other girls doing the same now and it seems so childish, but we thought we were so grown up. You must know what that’s like. You look about my age. Twenty-four?’

  ‘Twenty-five.’

  ‘And how did you get to be a private investigator when I ended up working in the same local shop I used to hang around?’

  It wasn’t the right time for the real story. ‘It’s not as glamorous as it sounds. Tell me about Rosie.’

  ‘What do you want to know? She was a sweet girl. She could be a bit naughty sometimes, but there was no spite in what she did. We all do stupid stuff at that age. I think about her a lot. Sometimes, when I do something new, I think how Rosie never got to do it.’

  ‘How did she get on with her stepfather?’

  ‘Oh, him. Okay, I think. He used to collect her from school sometimes and he was a bit creepy, but Rosie seemed okay about him.’

  ‘How do you mean, creepy?’

  ‘He was one of those older guys who still want to be cool and pretend to know about young people’s stuff, but to us he was Rosie’s stepdad. He wasn’t that old really, but it was still a bit weird, you know, like your teacher trying to be your friend or something.’

  ‘What did you think when he was charged with her murder?’

  She scowled. ‘Amazed. Couldn’t believe it. Like, I met the guy and he could do that? Didn’t seem right.’

  ‘Did you believe he was guilty?’

  ‘The police said he was.’

  ‘What about now?’

  ‘I see Rosie’s mum sometimes and I know what she thinks. She knew him better than I did.’

  ‘Why did you think he would have done it?’

  ‘Same as most people thought, that he’d killed her to silence her because he was abusing her. What else could it be? That’s what the papers hinted at, even if it was never printed. Just because Rosie never said it, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.’