The Darkness Around Her

by The Darkness Around Her (retail) (epub)

  Jayne knocked and waited.

  She thought no one was going to answer, but just as she stepped away the door opened.

  The woman was old and stooped, her grey curls thinning so that the pinkness of her scalp showed through. Her cardigan was faded and threadbare, her trousers so cheap and shiny that they looked like they might make sparks when she walked.

  Once Jayne introduced herself, she was shown through to a living room that was warm enough to send someone to sleep, with gas flames roaring over fake coals, even though it was warm outside. It was welcoming though, with family photographs on every wall, showing off grandchildren and family weddings.

  The woman sat down and put her head back against the high back of her chair.

  ‘Mrs Henderson, I want to talk about Peter Box.’

  ‘Please, call me Evelyn. But why do you want to talk about Peter?’

  ‘I work for the firm representing him in court. I just want to know more about him, some background to help his case.’

  ‘It makes me so sad, this court case. He was such a lovely boy. So quiet, so gentle. I wrote to him, to ask if I could see him, just to understand it a bit more, but I don’t even know if he got my letter. How is he?’

  ‘All right, I think, but nervous about his trial, obviously.’

  ‘You do a good job. Peter wouldn’t do what they said he did. Not Peter.’

  ‘It sounds like you know him well.’

  ‘I’ve known him all his life. He was such a good boy for his parents, but things were difficult for him around here.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Because he’s different. Not sporty or loud, but quiet and thoughtful, and kids don’t like that sometimes. It made him seem weak. He put up with a lot, did Peter.’

  ‘Bullying?’

  ‘Yes, but there’ll always be bullies, and they pick on the quiet ones, the ones who won’t fight back. And everyone else goes along with it because they’re just glad it isn’t them.’ She sighed. ‘It’s just how it is.’

  ‘What did the bullies do to him?’

  ‘Mean stuff, like trapping him behind a classroom door and throwing heavy books over the top, or making him walk through a windmill of bags. Sometimes, people would hit him, like bang smack on the nose, and he’d go home like that, walk the streets with blood streaming from his nose. I saw him once. Made him come into the house to clean up.’

  ‘What did his parents do about it?’

  ‘It upset his mother, really broke her heart, but his father was a tough man and so unlike Peter that people wondered whether his mother had been having it away with someone else. His father used to say that it’s a tough, tough world, so you’ve got to be tough in return, but Peter wasn’t like that.’

  ‘I heard he visited you.’

  ‘Oh, all the time. We’d sit and chat and he was such a comfort to me.’

  ‘Has anyone ever said that he could be violent or nasty?’

  ‘Not Peter. Too gentle.’

  ‘Did you ever meet his girlfriend, Emily?’

  ‘I remember her. She was nice. I liked her.’

  ‘Did he have many girlfriends?’

  Evelyn chuckled. ‘Emily was the only one I met, lovely girl, but I just don’t think it was the right time for them.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘He seemed so… I don’t know how to phrase it. Fragile, probably.’

  ‘Did he say why they broke up?’

  ‘Not to me, but why would he? He was the sort of boy who kept things to himself. But I could tell he wasn’t all right even before they broke up, though, and I told him to go see a doctor. He wasn’t sleeping or eating. I mentioned it to his parents too; it was as if he didn’t notice anyone. Dark circles around his eyes and haunted-looking. Do you know what I thought? Drugs. It gets a lot of them round here. Horrible stuff. His girlfriend left him in the end, and who could blame her?’

  ‘How was he when she left him?’

  ‘Just the same – maudlin. But I don’t think it was because of her.’

  ‘Did he ever mention anyone called Sean Martin?’

  She frowned. ‘I’ve heard that name.’ She tapped her finger on the chair arm as she thought. ‘Isn’t he the man who went to prison for killing his stepdaughter?’

  ‘Yes, that’s him, although he got out after his appeal.’

  ‘Ah, well, don’t they all? Why do you ask?’

  ‘Peter knew him. Did he ever mention him?’

  Evelyn shook her head. ‘No, sorry. I’ve heard the name on television and seen it in the papers, but that’s all.’

  Jayne thanked her and went to the door. As Evelyn followed her, she said, ‘Say hello to Peter for me. If he’s done what they say he’s done, he should pay for it, but I don’t think he would. Not Peter.’

  Once she left the cloying warmth of the house, Jayne took a detour along the canal. She parked in a small retail park and cut through, just to try and get a feeling of what had happened there.

  As she looked along the towpath, she couldn’t see the pub where Lizzie had been drinking the night she died. It was in a converted warehouse and it crowded the water, but a road bridge leading from the town centre blocked it out, the pub recognisable in the distance only by a couple of benches and a table visible. Further on, boats were moored, smoke billowing out of one. The canal curved out of sight and disappeared between high walls. There were no ways off the towpath. Between where she was and the pub, Lizzie would have had nowhere to go, except back the way she’d come, back to where Liam was prowling.

  It was between the same pub and where Jayne was standing right now that Rosie Smith was killed too.

  Jayne turned the other way. The sweep was different. The part of the canal where Lizzie had been fatally assaulted was on a long and gentle curve, the towpath always visible, bordered by high fences, so that there’d be no opportunities for her to escape, a housing estate on the other side.

  Jayne remembered the small marina Sean had driven to after Dan’s visit. It was further along, just a couple of miles in the same direction. From the marina, it wouldn’t have taken Sean long to get to where Lizzie had died, away from the traffic jams and the New Year revellers and the CCTV cameras. Just a boat chugging gently, the sound of the engine almost lost amongst the late-night din of the town centre. The taxis, the screams of drunks, the repetitive thump of loud music every time a pub door opened.

  An idea was forming.

  She called Dan. Before she could say anything, he barked, ‘Come to my place,’ and hung up.

  She stared at the phone for a few seconds before she went back to her car. Whatever was behind his bad mood, she needed to let him know what she’d found out.

  Forty-one

  Dan didn’t say anything as he let Jayne in.

  ‘What’s the urgency?’ she said.

  ‘It’s spinning too fast. There’s Pat going missing, and Sean following you on Facebook, and then there’s the damn case.’

  ‘Tell me about Pat,’ she said. ‘What did you mean when you said he’s gone missing?’

  He leaned back against the wall, his arms folded. ‘Can it have more than one meaning? He went out last night without saying where he was going and never came home. Now his car has turned up outside the station at Greencroft.’

  ‘Why would it be there?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I feel like I should know, because he was more than my boss. Eileen’s worried to hell, I am too, and then there’s you and Sean Martin. It’s all too much.’

  Jayne put her hand on his forearm. ‘You look like shite.’

  He almost laughed. Instead, he put his head back against the wall, his voice choked unable to respond.

  He felt Jayne’s hand in his and he let her guide him to the sofa. When he sat, Jayne put her arms round him. She was warm, her face buried into his neck.

  Her voice was muffled when she said, ‘Stop playing at being the strong man. It’s allowed to get on top of you.’

&nb
sp; He pulled away. ‘No, it’s not. If I let it, this job could swamp me. And I don’t mean this case. I mean the whole thing. I deal with the job, the cases and the clients and the late nights by keeping my focus, but this case is different. They don’t always get this personal.’ He stared into her eyes. ‘And whatever you might say, I’m allowed to worry about you.’

  She held his gaze before saying, ‘I like that you do.’

  Dan stood and began to pace. He could lose himself in Jayne, her warmth, their closeness, but he forced his focus back on the case. ‘How have you got on?’

  ‘Are you okay to talk about it? I know your attention is on Pat right now, rather than this case.’

  ‘The two might be related somehow.’

  ‘Because of Sean Martin?’

  ‘We start asking questions about someone who Pat thinks is a killer and suddenly he goes missing. Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?’

  ‘Do you think Bill is in danger? After all, Rosie was one of the victims in his theory. Sean doesn’t know about him yet, but Bill isn’t a man who wants to stay quiet.’

  ‘He was speaking to the press when I left. Whatever happens with this case, he’s got an audience now. That’s all he wanted.’

  Jayne put her jacket on the back of the sofa. ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I just feel like getting trashed.’

  ‘You got any wine?’

  ‘I’ve always got wine.’ He went to the fridge. It clinked as he opened it.

  As she took a glass from him, she went to the balcony window and looked out. ‘Did you mention the missing women in court?’

  ‘Yes. I had to.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Who knows? I got some traction with it, but I might just look desperate to the jury.’ He joined her by the window. ‘I don’t know what to do. This is the most serious case I’ve dealt with on my own and I feel like it’s spinning out of control.’

  She rested her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her. It felt natural somehow, and he needed to feel close to someone.

  ‘What are the theories about Pat?’

  ‘Just what you’d expect. Pat has a reputation from when he was younger, and Eileen wondered if he’d gone to see a girlfriend. But Pat wouldn’t have caught the train, not the small grotty service that runs through Greencroft.’

  ‘If it’s bad news, what about an old client who was unhappy with the service he got? You keep on talking about his flamboyance but perhaps he wanted to disappear somewhere rather than have other people see him become diminished. That’s his flourish, the mystery.’

  ‘No, it’s more than that. I feel it.’

  ‘Let’s do something about it then.’

  Dan looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Let’s go after Sean Martin. After all, what did Pat expect you to do when he told you about the link between Peter Box and Sean?’

  ‘I’ve raised it in court already.’

  ‘What Sean told Pat?’

  ‘No. Just that Rosie is another unexplained death because Sean has been cleared.’

  ‘I thought you said that it would make Peter look guilty, because if not Sean, why not Peter?’

  ‘I had to use Sean’s case somehow, and I couldn’t use whatever he said to Pat. It’s privileged, client to lawyer.’

  ‘You told me.’

  ‘I told Murdoch too, but that doesn’t mean the judge would allow it to be used. Pat would have known that, but all he had burning inside him was that Peter and Sean are connected in some way and wanted this link to come out.’

  Jayne thought about that for a few moments. ‘Where does this leave the case then, or Bill’s theory?’

  ‘We try to link them to Sean Martin. If we can prove he killed Rosie, and leave him as a suspect for the rest, it might help Peter.’

  ‘Is that the reason?’

  His jaw clenched. ‘If he’s connected in any way to Pat’s disappearance, I want to bring him down.’

  ‘Remember, I’ve found a link. Sean Martin already owned his canal boat at the time when Rosie was killed, and had for years before he went to prison, when he and Trudy were still a young couple.’

  ‘Yes, you said, and Sean and Peter knew each other.’

  ‘Peter was going out with Trudy’s sister, Emily.’

  ‘Why hasn’t Peter told us? Or why didn’t Sean tell Pat back when he confessed? He said Peter was just “some local oddball”.’

  ‘I realised last night that one of the missing women, Claire Watkins, lived on the next street up from where Sean lived before he married Karen, Rosie’s mum. It was Trudy’s house really, but he stayed there all the time, except when he was out on his boat. He used to moor it nearby when he went to Trudy’s house. I spoke to one of Claire’s friends and she remembered Sean, and Peter.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘It was all about Sean, really. Back then, he thought of himself as a big deal, the cool guy in the neighbourhood; he used to speak to Claire if he saw her in the street, but it was Peter who fancied Claire, even though he was with Emily, Trudy’s sister. Peter spent a lot of time with Sean, and Emily said he looked up to Sean, as if he idolised him. I get the idea that Sean Martin prefers an audience to a friendship.’

  ‘I don’t remember Peter from Sean’s trial. Why wasn’t he there to support him?’

  ‘Well, claiming responsibility for Rosie’s murder looks like support to me. Perhaps he wanted to be Sean’s saviour?’

  Dan took a drink as he thought about that. ‘It’s a lot to expect of someone.’

  ‘That depends on what type of hold he has.’ She frowned. ‘What if…’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘What if Peter murdered Rosie with Sean?’

  ‘An accomplice?’

  ‘Why not? It would explain Peter’s confession, and Sean’s eagerness not to use it.’

  ‘Does it fit with Rosie’s murder though? Why was Sean left holding her?’

  ‘Perhaps Peter ran away.’

  Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘There’s an even better possibility, that he spoke to Pat about being responsible for Rosie’s murder out of some misguided attempt to help Sean. We’ve got a link now, between Sean Martin and two of the women in Bill’s research. There might be something else if we dig deep enough. Put that drink down. If we’re going after Sean Martin, we need to go where the information is. My office.’

  ‘Good idea. Let’s go.’

  Forty-two

  The dead files were stored in the cellar. Pat kept the murder files separate from the others, because those cases never went away. The stigma, the long sentences, and the risk of another incarceration even after an early release, meant that clients always wanted to appeal murder convictions. Those files had a special place.

  The cellar was cold and dusty and smelled of damp cardboard. Boxes and files were lined up on shelves, waiting for the date when they could be destroyed. The murder files were crated in one corner. Sean Martin’s was easy to find, the biggest of them all, the case having gone through two appeals before the retrial was ordered.

  There were five crates in all, but it was the first two Dan was most interested in. These contained the witness statements, correspondence and interview notes. He didn’t need to see the photographic exhibits or the court documents and trial notes.

  He carried them up two flights of stairs, staggering into his office out of breath, his arms aching. Jayne was waiting for him on the sofa, her jacket over the back.

  He dumped the crates on the floor. ‘This lot will keep us busy.’

  Jayne lifted the lid on the first one as Dan wiped the sweat from his brow. She picked up a file marked STATEMENTS. ‘Shall we start with these?’

  ‘You read those and I’ll do the letters and notes.’

  ‘And what are we looking for?’

  ‘It’s hard to know. Just read and see what jumps out. Look for any link to Peter Box.’

  Jayne started to leaf thro
ugh her papers on the sofa. Dan went to his desk and began to filter the correspondence file.

  Pat’s records were meticulous, a hangover from the days when payment was based upon time-recording, when every six-minute unit, every letter and phone call, could be billed. Nowadays solicitors’ fees in criminal work were calculated by base rates and page counts. Doing more work didn’t earn more money, but old habits were hard to lose.

  ‘It’s so sad,’ Jayne said. ‘Rosie was just a child. If he killed her, why?’

  ‘We’ll never know but you’ve read the rumours, that she was going to spill some family secret.’

  Dan flicked through the file notes from whenever Pat met Sean, but of course it was all sanitised. Pat had to write it up as if Sean were telling the truth, couched in terms that were persuasive. The notes would never be seen by a jury, but every lawyer wrote them as if they had an innocent man for a client – there wouldn’t be a shred of paper that said otherwise.

  ‘Why was he there?’

  Dan looked up. ‘Huh?’

  ‘At the canal. What was he doing there, I mean really? I’m reading all these statements and they’re all about why Rosie was there, that she’d gone to see a friend and got the bus back. The canal towpath was a shortcut, but no one knew Sean was going to be there. They couldn’t get the phone messages back, and Rosie’s mother made a statement that said that Sean had been out for most of the day. He did that often, apparently, but she didn’t know where he went or where he’d been that day. How did he end up there, to cradle Rosie as she died?’

  ‘The story he gave was that he’d gone to meet her from her bus and told her to take the towpath as a shortcut so that he wouldn’t have to go through the one-way system to take her home. He said that he must have missed the killer by seconds.’

  ‘Do you buy that, really? Because if he was just going out to collect Rosie, why didn’t Karen know that? It means he was somewhere else first, so did Rosie contact him, or did he contact her? If he was out, why was it so much hassle to meet her at the bus stop?’

  ‘He never came up with good answers. He said he’d gone for a drive, and then a walk, and texted her on the off-chance.’