The Darkness Around Her

by The Darkness Around Her (retail) (epub)

  ‘Make that two,’ Jayne said. ‘And coffee.’

  ‘And me,’ Dan said.

  Bill went to the counter as Jayne slid along the vinyl seat until she was opposite Dan. She looked at the table and then away.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he said.

  She looked back. Her gaze was hard. ‘Just keeping it professional. I need the work. You need my help. That’s all that matters.’

  ‘I’m not playing games. And it’s too early for an argument.’

  She tried to look nonplussed. ‘No argument. Why have you called us here? Have you found something?’

  ‘Nothing more than what we talked about last night, but I felt I owed it to Bill to tell him first.’

  ‘Will he like it?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  She sighed and sat back. ‘I feel like we’re letting him down.’

  ‘I’ve got to put Peter first, not Bill.’

  ‘Do you think Peter Box is guilty?’

  ‘It’s not a question I ask myself. I’ve said this to you before.’

  Jayne leaned closer and whispered, ‘What if Peter Box is the person killing people along the canals? It’s all right for you to brush it off, but how will Bill feel if you use his research to free the man actually doing the killing? What kind of irony would that be?’

  ‘We can be sure Peter had nothing to do with the death of Bill’s son, because it’s too different.’

  ‘Well, yes, you’re right. Just be gentle with him. He’s desperate for an answer.’

  ‘He already knows the answer. He just hasn’t accepted it yet.’

  Bill came back to the table, the mugs clattering as he put them down, and then said to Dan, ‘Have you been busy with my research?’

  ‘I was up most of the night. Bill, I’m really sorry, but if you come to court today, you’ll be disappointed.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘There’s no easy way to say this. I’m hoping to use some of your stuff, but I’m not including your son in it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘There are patterns in your research but if I try to use your son, the judge will query its relevance. There are some similarities, like the fact that he died in a canal, but everything else is different from Lizzie – gender, for a start. No obvious sign of a struggle. And, it took place miles away from Highford. There is no chance of me using his death in this case. I’m really sorry.’

  Bill looked across at Dan, and then to Jayne. ‘Do you think the same? I thought you were different, from how you reacted last night.’

  Jayne looked at Dan and then back to Bill, before she sighed and said, ‘I’m sorry, Bill. We went through all that you gave me and decided what we could use and what we couldn’t.’

  He shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. ‘You use my stuff and then treat me like Tom doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It isn’t that,’ Dan said. ‘I can only use what will help my client. This case might raise awareness though, make people look a bit closer, which might help you find out what happened to Tom. It won’t help my client if the judge throws it out before I can even start.’

  Bill shuffled along the vinyl seat and stood up. ‘Thanks for nothing. To both of you, but you’ – he jabbed his finger towards Jayne – ‘I thought I saw something different in you.’

  He turned and stomped through the cafe, the builders watching him yanking at the door.

  The woman from behind the counter appeared next to them. ‘Bacon sandwiches?’

  Jayne held out her hand to Dan. ‘It looks like we’ve got seconds.’

  Lack of sleep was gnawing at Dan and he needed something more solid than the muesli he’d tackled when he first woke up.

  They ate their sandwiches in silence before Jayne pushed her plate to one side and said, ‘So what now?’

  ‘I want Murdoch in the witness box today. I’ll use what I can.’

  ‘And me?’

  ‘Keep on looking into the ones who’ve gone missing. I need whatever I can.’

  ‘Are we forgetting about Sean Martin?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘On Sunday night, it was all about proving that Sean Martin might be involved in Peter’s case. Now, it’s all about a serial killer stalking the canals. If you don’t mind me saying, Dan, your defence is sounding a bit chaotic.’

  Dan finished his sandwich. ‘I’ve got a client who won’t talk to me. That makes it pretty hard from the start, so I’ve just got to run with whatever I can pick up.’

  ‘Are we ignoring Sean Martin, then?’

  ‘Not completely. I’m including Rosie in my list, just to keep him as an option. She’s not wholly irrelevant. She died close to where Lizzie did, and we can suggest that if Sean Martin isn’t her killer, he might have disturbed the real murderer.’

  ‘How will Pat feel about that? We’re almost cementing Sean’s innocence, not proving his guilt.’

  ‘He’ll understand, and I have no choice, unless Peter decides to start telling me what happened and he’s had long enough to do that.’ He pushed the bacon sandwich left behind by Bill across the table. ‘Here, enjoy this. I’ve got to be at court soon. Let me know how you get on.’

  ‘I will.’

  He slid out of the bench seat. ‘And I’m sorry about last night.’

  ‘Don’t make it a big deal. I’ve dealt with worse things than being rejected by you. I’ll survive.’

  Dan left Jayne reaching for the brown sauce, to smother the bacon in the second sandwich. Once he got outside, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t recognise the number. ‘Hello, Dan Grant.’

  ‘Sorry, Dan, it’s Eileen.’

  Dan’s mouth went dry. Eileen had never called him before, and their contact had only ever been limited to polite chatter at parties.

  ‘Is Pat all right?’ Dan said, his nerves obvious in his tone.

  ‘Well, that’s just it,’ she said, and Dan recognised the break in her voice that told him that she was trying hard to keep calm. ‘I don’t know where he is and I can’t get hold of him.’

  Thirty-two

  Trudy stared at the bedroom ceiling as the daylight made slow progress. Sean was next to her but asleep. He was always last to bed and last to rise. He claimed that his work kept him up and that sometimes he would get too engrossed in some miscarriage of justice to come to bed early, but sometimes she wondered whether it was more than that.

  She rolled onto her side and looked at him.

  He was bigger than when they’d first met, his hair thinning and going grey at the sides, his scalp visible in the morning, before he’d had a chance to tease his hair over it. Large freckles dotted his back and hair had sprouted on his shoulders in the last couple of years.

  She couldn’t complain. She’d hardly kept back the steady march of time either. She couldn’t sleep as well as she used to, so her eyes looked heavy most days, and her hair was kept dark by dye but it was never quite convincing enough. She’d kept her figure, and she could see the younger Trudy in the mirror if the light wasn’t too harsh, but she felt her years in the aches in her back.

  It shouldn’t matter but it did. Ageing didn’t seem to hit men in the same way.

  She couldn’t think like that. She’d waited for Sean. He knew how much they meant to each other.

  As she looked at him, she noticed a scratch mark on his back, above his shoulder blade. She pushed down the sheet to get a better look. Had she done that? No, it couldn’t be. It had been a couple of weeks now since they’d had sex and it had been unspectacular. Just an awkward quickie to satisfy a need.

  It had been different when they were younger, when sex was new and exciting, with boundaries to push, but time changed everyone.

  She told herself not to worry about it. He could have snagged himself tending to the boat. The ceilings were never quite high enough for Sean, and they both had to duck down to climb in.

  He turned over, his arm flopping over her as he stirred. He lifted his head, one
eye still closed. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Eight o’clock.’

  ‘So early?’ He pulled the pillow over his head.

  ‘You were out late last night.’

  He yawned and stretched, reappearing from under the pillow. ‘These events drag on, you know that.’ He rolled over and lay on his back, his arms behind his head. ‘Sold a few books, though, which is good, but there’s always someone who wants to talk, or tell you about their relative who was unjustly locked up once upon a time.’

  ‘Isn’t that what you’re about though, righting wrongs?’

  ‘It doesn’t mean I need to know about every wrong.’

  She reached out to play with his hair, running her fingers through it. ‘Anyone nice there?’

  ‘There were a lot of nice people there.’

  ‘You know what I mean. You’re more of a celebrity now. You’ll attract hangers-on.’

  He moved closer. ‘No one will ever do what you do. You know that.’

  ‘It’s easy to get swept along though. Your book is out and you’re back in the press, and women like famous men.’

  ‘You’re being stupid.’

  She put her leg over his hip, hooking her foot behind him and pulling him closer. He dangled his arm over hers.

  ‘Prove it to me,’ she said.

  She closed her eyes as he rolled her on to her back. She gave a passionate moan and buried her face into his shoulder, to hide her grimace as he entered her.

  It wouldn’t take him long.

  * * *

  Dan’s office was on the other side of the town centre from the cafe. No one else was there, and he was scouring Pat’s diary for appointments when there was a knock on the front door.

  It was Eileen.

  ‘I couldn’t find the office keys,’ she explained as he let her in. ‘Pat must have taken them, along with the car keys.’

  She looked tired, not in her usual attire of upturned collars and trousers, a country look as affected as Pat’s routine of being the local eccentric. Instead, her hair was pulled back into a knot and she was wearing grey jogging pants underneath a long green coat.

  ‘Eileen, tell me what you know.’

  ‘That’s why I’m here, to find out from you.’ Her voice was hoarse, and Dan noticed that her eyes were red, as if she’d spent the previous hour crying.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Don’t take me for a fool, Daniel. I know you men stick together, but spare me the lies now, when he hasn’t got long to go.’

  ‘Come into Pat’s office.’

  It was at the back of the building and on the ground floor, kept dim by blinds so Pat could hide from his clients. Files were in small piles on the desk, with elastic bands and papers scattered over the top.

  ‘It smells of him,’ Eileen said, looking around. ‘It’s hard to define. Cigars and old suits, I suppose, but it’s him.’

  Dan went to her and took her hands. He spoke in a soft voice. ‘I’m worried too but I’m sure he’ll be fine. Trust me when I say that if you think he’s got another woman, he’s fooled me too, because I’m not aware of anyone.’

  Her chin trembled but she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. ‘I’ve been married to Pat for nearly forty years. We’ve been through a lot together and I know he wasn’t always faithful to me.’ She grabbed his hands as he tried to drop them. ‘I don’t care about that, not anymore, the silly little ego-boosts that happened at parties. Do you think I was always an angel? But there were never any feelings towards anyone, not from me, not from him. That was the deal, Daniel. I don’t know if he knows that I guessed, but I know there’s never been anyone that meant anything. That was the whole point. Pat and I were meant to be together until the end. But now? I’m wondering whether he’s got a few more goodbyes to make.’

  Dan pulled his hands away. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  She moved some files from a chair and sat down. ‘Last night, he went out but didn’t tell me he was going. I came downstairs from having a bath and he was gone. His coat wasn’t there, and neither was his car. I didn’t think too much of it. I’m used to him going to the police station at all hours, and he’s been telling me how caught up you are in this murder case. I presumed he was dealing with a late-night call, but I expected him back.’

  She looked up at the ceiling and blinked away some tears. ‘I woke up in the middle of the night and he wasn’t there. Something is wrong, I can feel it, I don’t know why. I tried calling him but his phone is switched off.’

  ‘That might mean he’s in a police station.’

  ‘I called the police station and he isn’t there. He’s spent the night somewhere, and I don’t know where.’

  ‘Have you reported him missing?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I’ve gone through his diary,’ Dan said. ‘There’s no appointment for last night. His car isn’t here. I don’t know where he is either, Eileen. I’m not keeping his secrets. If he’s having a fling, I’m not aware of it. If he’s got a long-time lover, he’s never told me.’

  ‘That makes it worse,’ she said. ‘If there’s nowhere else he could be, it can’t be good news.’

  * * *

  Jayne threw her car keys onto the sofa.

  The bottle of wine was where she’d left it on the coffee table, the cheapest one they had in the shop, next to some takeaway cartons, the room stale with congealed food. The unexpected breakfast had woken her up, but she didn’t feel ready to start the day.

  She opened the window and sucked in some fresh air, looking out over the town as she did, her arms resting on the frame.

  Her time in Highford was done, she knew that now. After she’d left Dan’s place the night before, she’d felt the need to get trashed, although she didn’t really know why. It was the same the morning after as it had been the night before, and Dan wasn’t the only one who kept it purely as business. Every time she thought about pulling him closer, the smell of Jimmy’s blood filled her nostrils, the memory of it hot on her hand as the knife plunged into his leg.

  She moved the bottle to the kitchen and stared out of the window. The view was much the same as from the living room. Just grey stone and some low clouds over a distant hill. She was twenty-five and living in a grotty flat in a small town, rubbing away another hangover.

  Spare me the self-pity, she thought, as she dumped the takeaway cartons in the plastic bin under the sink. There was only one person who could change her life, and that was her. Finish this case and leave town, that’s all she had to do. Go home, forget about Dan and her own failing business and go back to living a normal life. Get a job. Be near her family.

  Then she remembered something.

  As she’d ploughed through the wine bottle the night before, she’d researched the cases Dan wanted her to focus on. She’d called Bill and drawn out more details.

  It was the case of Claire Watkins, the woman from Highford who’d left her house for a night out and never returned. Her disappearance had led Jayne to make a connection. Starting with the most local seemed to make the most sense, but whatever she’d discovered the night before was lost in the wine-fuelled haze.

  She went back through the papers as the kettle boiled, throwing the sheets around, looking for that little snippet that had made sense. All she saw was a pile of scribbles that became gradually more illegible as the wine bottle emptied.

  Then she found it. She had to call Dan, catch him before he went into court. She checked her phone. Typical. The battery was dead. She plugged it in and ran to take a shower.

  Thirty-three

  Dan was finding it hard to concentrate as he waited for Peter to be ushered into the holding cells beneath the court.

  The journey along the motorway had been stop-start, an accident extending the rush-hour crawl, and all the time he’d been focused on Pat Molloy. Eileen was right. Pat’s disappearance was unusual, and it was time for the police to get involved, but that wouldn’t gain him any
special treatment from the judge. He had to focus on the case.

  That didn’t stop him from worrying though. Pat was ill. He could have collapsed somewhere.

  His attention was dragged back to the case by the thump of boots on the other side of the glass screen. The door opened and Peter was brought in.

  When Dan first started out, lawyers used to sit in the same room as those being held for trial, but there’d been too many phones and drugs smuggled into prisons to allow that to continue. Criminal law didn’t attract the talent it used to, and it was now the last resort for the chancers and failures, and those too willing to ignore the rules.

  Peter sat down and leaned forward, so that his face was almost touching the glass, steaming it up immediately. ‘Day two.’

  ‘We need to talk. I’ve got a new strategy.’

  Peter’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m listening.’

  Dan reached into his bag and pulled out a folder filled with paper, coloured separators dividing the different cases. ‘There are eight women here, all of whom disappeared near a canal, plus Rosie Smith. These go back seventeen years. I’m going to show the jury that there might be someone else involved, another person attacking women, the canals being the link. If I’m forced into it, I can produce more, but nine is a good number. Before I do that though, I need to know that the person behind these isn’t you.’

  Peter looked at the folder and let out a deep breath. His eyelids flickered and some colour jumped into his cheeks.

  ‘Peter? You okay? It will only work if there’s no trace of you in these cases.’

  ‘Go on then, tell me what you’ve got.’

  Dan had printed pictures of the women and put them into a separate section. He pulled them out. ‘This is the first one,’ and he put a picture against the glass. ‘Annie Yates. She went missing seventeen years ago, and then Sharon Coates a year later,’ and he put her picture alongside. ‘Both lived in Yorkshire. One a young mother, the other a sex worker.’

  ‘A prostitute.’ Peter’s lips curled when he said it. ‘Call it by its proper name.’