The Darkness Around Her

by The Darkness Around Her (retail) (epub)

  ‘Are there?’ She glanced over at Bill, who was paying a closer interest to the conversation. ‘How many?’

  ‘A complete catalogue. He’ll help you. Just be gentle with him. His son was one of the victims.’

  There was another flash of ruthlessness in her eyes. As Dan turned away, she was handing a business card to Bill and switching on the voice recorder.

  At least Bill was going to have his say.

  He called Jayne.

  ‘Hey, Dan, about time.’

  ‘I was in court. What was it?’

  ‘Sean Martin and Peter know each other. Peter used to go out with Trudy’s sister.’

  ‘What? How?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. And they both knew Claire Watkins. I spoke to one of her friends, and she reckoned that Peter had a bit of a thing for Claire, and Sean was an old flirt too.’

  Dan turned away and cupped his mouth over his phone, so no one could hear what was being said. ‘We need to meet. This could be big.’

  ‘I thought so.’

  ‘I’m back in court soon. We’ll talk later.’

  He clicked off and tapped his phone on his chin, wondering how the new information affected his case. It dragged Sean Martin into it but straightaway he knew it made the case worse. He’d brought up the missing women, and it turned out that Peter had a thing for one of them.

  ‘Shit!’ He stormed towards the robing room, needing to find some solitude to get his mind straight, when Murdoch appeared ahead of him. She was deep in conversation, her telephone pressed to her ear. She looked over towards Dan and pointed. Stay there was the message.

  Dan wasn’t interested in apologising or being given the ‘how can you sleep’ speech. He made as if to go past but Murdoch reached out with her hand to stop him, her palm in Dan’s chest, her attention never shifting from her phone.

  Dan was about to object, to knock away her hand, but there was something other than hostility in her eyes.

  Murdoch ended her call.

  ‘Are you sure you want to have this conversation?’ Dan said. ‘I was just doing my job.’

  ‘It’s not about that,’ Murdoch said, and she sighed. ‘It’s about Pat Molloy. We’ve found his car.’

  Thirty-eight

  Dan parked close to Pat’s house. What was usually a tranquil setting seemed to have got darker, with the hills around more brooding. He was there to support Eileen and to find out what she knew, but he had to steel himself first. Pat had been his mentor, his boss, his colleague. He brought colour into the office with his courtroom anecdotes and witticisms. He couldn’t cope with the thought of that no longer being there.

  Before she’d left, Murdoch had told him that Pat’s car had been found in the car park of Greencroft railway station, a small country stop on the Highford to Langton line. The station was unstaffed, and police officers were looking through CCTV from the local trains. Dan knew that once Eileen told the police about Pat’s cancer, and how he’d been making preparations for the day that would come too soon, they’d start wondering if he’d brought that day forward.

  But Pat was a showman. He wouldn’t go out with so little pizzazz. He wanted a send-off, an audience. And he’d told Dan that he wanted to spend whatever time he had left with Eileen. There was no way he would bring it to an end so quickly. Nor would he have jumped on a train and gone away without her.

  Dan had requested an adjournment for personal reasons, which the judge had allowed, although he suspected it was mainly to allow Francesca and Murdoch more time to look into the list of cases he’d produced. Dan was grateful anyway, because he would have had trouble concentrating.

  There was a police car outside Pat and Eileen’s house, as well as a couple of other cars he didn’t recognise. The police would be tactful, aware that Eileen was desperate with worry, but would also need to find out why Pat had gone out without telling her. They’d want to search the house and work out whether Eileen might be involved in his disappearance.

  Dan wanted to go in, but he couldn’t move. He needed to know what was happening but he was afraid of knowing.

  If he stayed in his car, he wouldn’t have to confront Pat’s disappearance. He could put up his mental barrier and stay the emotional rock he tried to be. Finding out that Pat was dead could get behind that barrier, and he wasn’t ready for that.

  A car drew to a slow halt behind him. Dan checked his mirror, but he didn’t recognise it. He went back to staring ahead and then jumped at a small tap on the passenger window.

  It was Murdoch.

  Dan thought about ignoring her, wanting to be alone, but his need to know more about Pat made him press the unlock button.

  ‘Any sign of him?’ Dan said, staring straight, his jaw clenched as Murdoch climbed in.

  ‘Not yet. I need to know if I should treat his wife as a suspect.’

  Dan shook his head. ‘No. Not Eileen. I saw her this morning and she was worried about where he was. She told me he went out last night without telling her. She thought he’d gone to a police station, but he never came home. He was dying. He had cancer and didn’t have much time left.’

  Murdoch nodded to herself. ‘I didn’t know that. Thank you.’

  ‘Is this your case?’

  ‘We don’t know if there is a case yet, but a missing lawyer attracts the media so we’re making sure to stay on top if it.’ She looked towards the house. ‘One thing though, before I go down there to talk to her.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Pat was a defence lawyer, just like you, and that involves knowing a lot of bad stuff about a lot of bad people. You lawyers don’t like to talk about your clients, but if you tell me now, I promise no one will know it came from you. Give me a steer, are there any threats from anywhere that his wife might not know about?’

  There was an uncomfortable silence as Dan wondered what to say. His own thoughts were running too fast. Eventually, he said, ‘Sean Martin.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Timing is important. It’s Peter’s trial this week. Pat told me to look into the Rosie Smith case, and now he’s missing.’

  ‘You mentioned that case today in court, to do with this ridiculous serial killer theory you’re talking about? Come on, Dan, you’re better than that.’

  ‘Pat came to see me on Sunday. He was worried about Sean Martin. Pat helped get him released but, once he got out, Sean told him a secret.’

  ‘What?’

  Dan hoped that this was the conversation Pat had wanted him to have. ‘Sean told him where the murder weapon was hidden.’

  Murdoch’s mouth opened, but a few seconds passed before she spoke. ‘So, he was guilty?’

  ‘Sean might have been winding him up, a sick joke.’

  ‘Did Pat Molloy think that?’

  ‘No, he didn’t.’

  ‘Why did he tell you?’

  ‘He wanted to die with a clear conscience.’ He could see that Murdoch was about to say something, possibly a wisecrack about lawyers having a conscience, but his glare stopped her. ‘I went to see Sean Martin on Sunday.’

  ‘What were you hoping he’d do?’

  ‘Break cover, if he thought Pat had told me.’

  ‘If he did, is this how you wanted him to do it?’

  Dan was about to snap at her, but he realised that she had pinpointed what he’d been thinking. It accounted for the feeling of nausea, the knowledge that his own actions might have put Pat in danger. Could he live with that?

  ‘Did Pat tell you where the weapon was hidden?’

  ‘Sean had been too vague to be sure. He told Pat that it was by the western corner, below the mason’s mark, an itch he couldn’t scratch.’

  ‘The western corner of what?’

  ‘That’s the point, he didn’t know, but don’t you think it’s odd that within a couple of days of Pat talking about Sean Martin, he’s gone missing?’

  Murdoch pondered that for a few moments before reaching into her jacket pocket and ha
nding over a business card. ‘Contact me if you think of anything else.’

  Dan took it and tapped it against the steering wheel as Murdoch got out.

  Murdoch was just about to close the door when she leaned in and said, ‘Be careful, Dan. If Pat Molloy was attacked because he went out alone, it means he was followed. And if he thinks you know, that puts you in danger too, and anyone else who might know about it.’

  As she walked towards the house, his thoughts went to Jayne and he remembered that Sean Martin knew about her involvement, had liked her Facebook page. His nausea escalated into a cold sweat. He couldn’t let anything happen to her.

  He called her. When she answered, he asked, ‘Are you all right? No one’s following you or anything like that?’

  ‘Dan, slow down. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Pat’s gone missing.’

  ‘Missing? What do you mean?’

  ‘Like it sounds, and it’s all too coincidental. I’m worried about you too.’

  She paused before replying, ‘I’m fine. I don’t need a man to look after me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

  ‘Good. I’ve got a couple more things to follow up and then I’ll come to yours.’

  ‘Just be careful.’

  ‘As ever,’ and then she hung up.

  He threw the phone onto the passenger seat and closed his eyes. He couldn’t deal with this.

  Thirty-nine

  Sean had been busy all day, scouring through documents for whatever his latest cause happened to be. Trudy didn’t interfere with that, it was his hobby, his enjoyment of the spotlight keeping him there. At last, he’d found his audience.

  She heard him start a video call to one of his student helpers and crept to the doorway to watch through the gap. The student was a young woman, early twenties. She giggled and fawned as Sean played at being the experienced hand, the famous one.

  He wasn’t wearing his glasses. That’s what stood out. He wore them all the time at home, especially when going through his paperwork, either on his nose or pushed up on his head. But now they were on the table and out of reach to ensure they they didn’t betray his age.

  He gave a small, cutesy wave as he signed off. She moved away from the door.

  She brooded in the living room as he whistled his way through the afternoon, slamming cabinet drawers and moving paper around. At one point he came in to check what she was doing, his glasses back on his head.

  Before she could answer, her phone rang. It was Emily, her sister.

  She didn’t want to answer, not with Sean there, but she needed to end her malaise.

  ‘Hi, Em.’

  ‘Trudy, a woman came to my work earlier, asking about Sean and Peter.’

  Trudy went cold. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Just that. She wanted to know about Peter because she’s helping out his lawyer. It’s his trial this week, I don’t know if you’ve read about it, but she wanted to know about back then too. About Sean.’

  Trudy closed her eyes for a moment. ‘And what did you tell her?’

  ‘I told her how it was. The conversation just went that way, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why are you calling me?’

  ‘She might come to see you, to ask about Sean. It seemed like she was more interested in Sean than Peter, now I think back.’

  ‘Okay, thank you.’

  Trudy clicked off without saying goodbye.

  She put her head back and closed her eyes. All she could hear was the gentle clunk of that damn grandfather clock, and Sean whistling in the other room, still basking in the glow of his flirty video call.

  * * *

  His father’s living room had a familiar antiseptic aroma when Dan walked in. The electric wheelchair was abandoned in one corner, the battery removed and on the seat. He was watching a film, sitting in a chair that looked old and ragged, holding a glass in his good hand. He turned, straining to see who it was, and said, ‘Look at me, getting popular now.’

  ‘I just thought I’d say hello.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, you were just passing, same old refrain.’ He pointed towards a cupboard at the back of the room. ‘Could you get me a refill?’

  ‘You should slow down. Drinking all day will kill you.’

  ‘You’re a lawyer, not a doctor. If you want to dispense medical advice, put on a white coat. And what’s this sudden concern? Most times, you bring me a bagful.’

  ‘Perhaps I’m hoping you’ll stick around a bit longer.’

  That silenced him. He went back to watching the film, although his focus seemed a little more detached.

  Dan moved some old newspapers from a sofa and sat down. He put his head back and closed his eyes. The emotion around Pat’s disappearance threatened to swamp him, but he couldn’t let it. That would come later, he knew, but there was too much going on for him to lose focus.

  ‘What’s eating you, Daniel?’

  Dan opened his eyes. His father’s voice was softer, more concerned. ‘Pat Molloy’s gone missing.’

  His father’s eyes narrowed and he put his glass down. ‘How come?’

  ‘Just that. He went out and didn’t come home. The police are looking for him, but it doesn’t look good.’

  He frowned. ‘He’s a good man, Pat Molloy. He did a lot of good for us back when we needed him, but criminal law attracts criminals. He might have upset the wrong person. You need to be careful.’

  ‘It feels weird. I’ve only just found out he’s very ill, and now he’s just disappeared? He’s always been like a… well, a good boss.’

  His father picked up his glass again and took a drink. ‘A father figure.’

  Dan smiled, despite himself. ‘Yes, that.’

  They both sat in silence for a while, before his father said, ‘If you’re stopping, take off your jacket. You’re allowed to relax. Watch the film with me.’

  ‘Just for a bit, I’d like that.’

  And he did. The film washed over him, some nonsense about two mobsters driving a snitch to an execution, but he enjoyed the nothingness about it all. They didn’t talk. He refilled his father’s glass when he needed it, and they laughed at the film as they watched it.

  When he left, his father didn’t say much. Just raised his glass and winked, but as Dan walked back to his car, swallowing down the lump in his throat, it felt like his father had said so much.

  He’d needed it.

  Forty

  Jayne was pleased with her day’s work so far. She was certain it was of some use, but she wanted to know more before she went to Dan with it. She’d discovered a link between Peter Box and Sean Martin, so she wanted to find out more about Peter.

  The news about Pat going missing had shocked her, but she didn’t know him what well and it could mean anything. All she knew was that Dan was worried, which was enough to spark her own concern.

  She put Pat’s disappearance to the back of her mind and dug around in her papers for Peter’s address, where he’d lived before he was arrested. It was only a short drive, and when she arrived there, it looked totally unremarkable.

  Until his arrest, Peter Box had lived on a terraced street. It was a grade higher than the old industrial terraces that filled so many parts of Highford with long strips of grey stone right against the pavement. The small bay window of Peter’s house overlooked a front garden, and a neat grass verge divided the pavement from the road.

  But that was as far as the neatness extended. Someone had smeared BEAST over the front in red paint and the windows had been boarded up, no doubt to protect the building from further vandalism.

  There was a shop at the end of the street, a small grocer’s that sold the usual mix of newspapers and alcohol. They might know more about him.

  The door tinkled as she went in.

  The man behind the counter was portly and bald, rough-shaven. There was a stale smell in the shop, as if he’d stopped caring too much about the place. Jayne introduced herself, but the man’s expression was impassive.


  ‘I’m trying to find out more about Peter Box. Was he one of your customers?’

  ‘I’ve told the police all I know.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That he came in sometimes and that I’ve known him since he was a boy. I’ve been here thirty years.’

  ‘What is he like?’

  ‘Polite, shy. I used to ask him how he was, because I remember his parents dying and I knew he lived on his own. He gave the same answer each time. That he was fine.’

  ‘Hard to get to know?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just shy. Never given me a problem, even when he was younger.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  The first sign of a smile. ‘We’re all foolish when we’re young. You’ve got a full set of balls for the first time and you think you can rule the world. You soon get over it. Like me. I got this place expecting to build an empire. Now? I’m just hoping the Co-op will come along and make me an offer I can’t refuse.’

  ‘Does Peter have any friends around here? Or interests?’

  He put his head back and thought for a few moments. ‘He was a customer. I don’t know what his hobbies are. He was friendly with a woman a couple of streets away. Mrs Henderson. I think she knew his parents. One of those people you call auntie even though you aren’t related. He used to pay her paper bill sometimes.’

  ‘Who is she? Which street?’

  ‘Who are you again?’

  ‘I’m working for his lawyer.’

  ‘Did he do it? Did he murder that woman?’

  ‘I hope not.’

  He nodded to himself and then scribbled an address on a scrap of paper. ‘Don’t tell her I sent you.’

  The houses became a little grander as she walked away from Peter’s street, set further back from the road and with driveways. The house she was looking for was the most unkempt. Moss was growing on the roof and the curtains looked faded. The other driveways were wide and neat and filled by cars, often more than one, but all Mrs Henderson had was a strip of cracked tarmac with weeds poking through. The door was old and wooden, dark in contrast to the gleaming white PVC doors everywhere else.