The Darkness Around Her

by The Darkness Around Her (retail) (epub)

  ‘Pretty damn convenient.’

  ‘Especially as it couldn’t be proved either way. He said he’d deleted the text. And her phone was missing.’

  ‘Why did he delete it?’

  ‘He said that he did routinely, because his phone didn’t have much memory and he thought it would slow it down if there were too many texts on it.’

  ‘But what about phone records?’

  ‘There was a text, but it was around the time that she was found. The police thought her phone might have gone into the water, but they didn’t find it when they sent the divers in. The theory proposed at trial by the prosecution was that it was a fake text he’d sent to make it look like he was in contact with her, but he was caught holding her. How could he be killing her and texting her at the same time?’ He smiled. ‘Whatever questions we can think of now were thought of back then, by people who’d worked on the case for a long time. Including me.’

  Dan carried on turning the pages, hoping to see Peter Box’s name come up. His eyes were starting to glaze when something made him go back a page.

  ‘It’s here,’ he said, jabbing the paper with his finger. ‘A short file note,’ and he read it out.

  Attendance note. 24 May. Someone called Peter Box came into the office. He said that Rosie’s murder was all down to him. I asked him what he meant but he wouldn’t elaborate. Instead, he contradicted himself, saying that I should make sure that Sean Martin stayed in prison, but then said again that it was ‘all down to me’. Box was hard to get details from. He became near frantic with panic at one point. He left the office before I could ask him anything further.

  Action: discuss with client. Consider informing police, to put it on record.

  ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘What it sounds like,’ Dan said. ‘Pat was telling the truth, that Peter Box claimed responsibility for Rosie’s murder.’ He continued to turn the pages. ‘Here we are, the note from Pat’s prison visit. It sounds like it was Peter Box’s confession that made Pat visit. Here listen,’ Dan said, and read it out.

  Attendance note. 28 May. Visited Sean Martin in prison. Discussed the development with Peter Box. Client instructed me not to bother pursuing it, said that Peter just sounded like some local weirdo. Whoever killed Rosie was ruthless and cold and wouldn’t visit me to make a confession like that.

  Advised client that we should inform the police, just so that it’s on record that someone else was claiming responsibility. Client disagrees. States that it will look like we are trying to engineer another suspect by picking on some local oddball and getting him to make a false confession. Further, he knows what it’s like to be falsely accused. His conscience won’t allow someone else to suffer his fate.

  On reflection, I agree. If Peter Box’s confession, such as it is, turns out to have no substance, and can easily be negated, and the enquiry was initiated by us, it will make us look as if we are fabricating red herrings.

  Action: ignore Peter Box. Client in agreement.

  Dan put the file down. ‘It’s hard to see Pat’s words like this because they make him come alive, and right now we don’t know where he is. And how far does it take us anyway? We can’t prove that Sean Martin was the real killer. All it does is prove what Pat told me, which makes Peter a serial killer, if the jury believe what he said. Knowing what Pat thought doesn’t mean much. I’m caught between wanting to defend my client and wanting to prove that we all got it wrong with Sean Martin.’

  ‘This is partly my fault.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I brought Bill Maude into this and it’s made it harder for you. I could have just left his house, but instead I called you and showed you what he had. Go back to doing what you were doing.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right.’ He rubbed his eyes. He was weary.

  ‘Come here,’ she said.

  He closed the file and went over to her. He sat on the sofa, close enough to smell the wine on her breath from before.

  She took his hands. ‘I know it’s easy for me to say, but don’t get too hung up on this. Let the police look for any connections to Pat’s disappearance. Just do your job in court and let the jury decide.’

  ‘I know, you’re right.’

  She pumped his hands. ‘I mean it. You’re trying to do too much.’

  His eyes met Jayne’s, and there was something in them that he needed. In that moment, he felt lost, the pressure of the trial and Pat’s disappearance all swirling together. Normally, he could cope, but he felt like he was buckling under it all, no obvious way forward. For a moment, Jayne seemed distant, his mind filled with the sound of his own heartbeat, sweat on his brow like warm prickles.

  His fingers tightened around hers. His earlier restraint began to slip away. He needed her closeness, a connection, his emotions sweeping over him.

  She hesitated.

  His breath came faster.

  Her eyelids flickered before she closed them.

  Her lips were soft as he kissed her. Gentle, uncertain at first, but then her urgency mixed with his and the kiss became firmer.

  His hands went to her back and he pulled her against him. The air was filled with the rustle of their clothes. He started to lose himself in her.

  Images of her came back to him, of Jayne in the police station, vulnerable and scared, and of her in a prison bib, awaiting her trial.

  They slid down on the sofa so that she was lying on top of him.

  ‘Can anyone see in here from across the road?’ She gasped as she spoke, her cheeks pink, her eyes showing her need.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  She kissed him again and ran her hand down his body, pulling his shirt out of his waistband before moving lower and her palm enveloped his hardness.

  More images came into his head. The trial. Her relief at the acquittal. His client.

  He pulled away. ‘Stop, stop.’

  Jayne looked up, breathless. ‘What is it?’

  ‘We can’t do this.’

  ‘We’re doing it.’

  ‘No, no.’

  Jayne rolled off him. ‘What the hell?’

  ‘It’s not right, we both know that.’

  Tears jumped into her eyes, but they were tears of anger. ‘What games are you playing? Seriously, what the fuck?’

  ‘Jayne, no, calm down.’

  She stood up and shouted, ‘I really don’t believe you,’ her voice choked. ‘What is this? Just keeping me dangling in case you get the urge one night? Is this how you get your kicks? I’m not some fucking ego-boost.’

  ‘Jayne, it’s not like that. I want to, but…’

  ‘Forget it. Never again.’

  ‘Jayne.’

  ‘I’ve had enough. I hope you enjoyed your feel,’ and she stomped out of the door, throwing it back against the wall.

  Dan put his head in his hands as he listened to her running down the stairs. The front door slammed.

  He didn’t go after her. Instead, he let the office fall silent as he was left alone with his thoughts. The office was filled with memories of Pat, from his colourful swagger that Dan remembered from his early days as a trainee, to the old man Pat had become in recent months, much older than his years would have warranted.

  He closed his eyes. How could it all go so wrong? He thought of the box of papers. He wished he’d never seen them. Wished he’d ignored Pat and stuck to what he was doing. Pat might not have gone missing. Jayne might not have run from his office. There was a chance it wouldn’t feel like his whole life was unravelling.

  Forty-three

  All Jayne could hear was the music.

  A few hours had passed since she’d run out of Dan’s office, her thoughts whirling. She’d gone down the main street at first, not knowing where she was going, or why.

  She was angry, and not just with Dan. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to surrender like that, as if she’d spent her life waiting for him. She was stronger than that. They weren’t a couple, and she’d hard
ly been celibate during their acquaintance.

  But it had been different this time, because there’d been a look in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. Desire, emotion, need, hurt. It had drawn them both in, her defences relaxed for a moment, which had made his rejection of her feel like a punch in the stomach. Even when the moment had been right, she hadn’t been good enough.

  It made her feel overlooked, trivial, just a bit part in his life.

  The booze had gone down quickly. It had been angry drinking, and now she was swaying. She hadn’t eaten. It was midweek, and the town was quiet, but she’d found a club that catered for the crowd who never wanted to go home. The dance floor was empty but there was a group of men at one end of the bar.

  Jayne felt the urge to obliterate the night, have one last big hurrah in Highford and make a new future in the morning. Fuck this town. Fuck her life. And fuck you, Dan Grant.

  She was swaying to the music, halfway through another vodka, just losing herself in the steady drum-drum of whatever music was blasting out of the speakers. An eighties vibe, appealing to the middle-aged men by the bar. She knew they were watching her. Good. Let them.

  Someone came up behind her. One of the men, moving his hips in time with hers, whiskey breath, edging closer. She thought she heard someone cheer from the bar.

  She stayed with him. This was what she deserved, dancing with some old soak in the dregs of the midweek pub-life. Her life had taken her down this path. His chubby hands went to her waist. She wanted to tell him to get off, knee him in the balls and scream at him, but she didn’t. Instead, she joined in his rhythm as he swayed behind her. He smelled of stale cigarettes and sweat.

  He pushed his rotund stomach against her back, the small prod of his arousal making her grit her teeth.

  Perhaps she needed this. Sink right to the bottom so that her life could only get better. She closed her eyes. Could he satisfy a need? Could she use him like he wanted to use her? No, the revulsion in her stomach told her that she could never enjoy it. She let the music take over.

  He kissed her ear. There was sweat on his lip. His lank hair brushed against her temple. She pushed back against him, to give him what he wanted. His hand crept up the front of her body, his fingers on her stomach, groping for her breast.

  ‘Jayne?’

  She turned around. It was Dan. His shirt was undone, his tie loose, and his eyes had the unfocused look of a man who’d hit the booze as hard as she had. He came close so that she could hear him above the music. ‘I’ve been looking for you. Your flat. My flat. Every pub and club.’

  She pushed the man away. ‘Good for you. What a hero. What do you want?’

  ‘Come home with me. Don’t stay here with him.’

  The man straightened and puffed out his chest. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  As Jayne took a better look at him, she saw he was twice her age, with veins on his nose and a deep flush to his skin. ‘Don’t fight over me, boys.’

  ‘Don’t do it, Jayne.’ Dan’s voice was low and soft.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Try to prove how worthless you feel by letting this ape grind against you.’

  The man stepped up to Dan, looking up. ‘Don’t call me an ape.’ His voice had got deeper. More of a growl.

  Dan ignored him. ‘Jayne, come with me. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You don’t own me, Dan Grant.’ She jabbed his chest with her finger. ‘I can go where I want, and with whoever I want. And I’m not someone you can just pick up and drop whenever you feel like it.’

  The man grinned. ‘That told you.’

  ‘Please Jayne, let’s talk about this.’

  The man gripped Dan’s forearm. ‘You heard her.’

  She swallowed back a tear. ‘Just go, Dan. Please.’

  No one spoke for a few seconds. Jayne put her back to him. Eventually, the man said, ‘He’s gone now,’ and put his arm around her waist. He twirled her round so that she was facing him.

  She looked beyond him, Dan was no longer there, so she buried her face into the man’s shoulder as he swayed against her, the music playing some old George Michael song. His hands went to her behind and pressed her against him, his arousal pushing harder, her own arms slack over his shoulders.

  This was her life. Just make the night end quickly.

  Forty-four

  The club was a small spray of neon in the drab town centre. Dan checked his watch. Nearly 1 a.m. He should go home. The booze was wearing off, a bottle of wine drunk too quickly, and he was cold, waiting in a shop doorway opposite. The trial would continue in the morning and he needed a clear head, but he couldn’t leave Jayne like that.

  He was angry with himself though. For how he’d pushed her away to how he’d hunted her down. He had no right to do that. That didn’t change how he felt though, and in that fog of booze there was the hope that he could make it up to her. He could wait until the morning, but he didn’t want to do that. He wanted to go back to how it was before he messed it up, where he enjoyed their connection, and her company.

  Most of all, he didn’t want to leave her to those goons, pawing her and hoping to take advantage of her own attempts to obliterate the evening.

  He wished he could see past her as a former client. So many times he’d wanted to reach across to her, whenever she smiled in a certain way, or bit her lip in concentration, or when she laughed that free, bright belly laugh at something that really amused her. The sensible part of his brain acknowledged that their relationship was unequal.

  But he still wanted to hear her laugh more.

  The night was disturbed by the sounds of conversation, drifting from across the road over the gentle thump of music that was playing in the club. Two men emerged from the building with Jayne propped between them. They all swayed as one of the men waved at one of the cab drivers waiting in the taxi rank.

  Dan walked across the road.

  ‘Jayne?’

  Everyone turned round. The man who’d been dancing with her scowled. ‘What do you want, dickhead?’ He wobbled on his feet as he stepped closer to Dan, letting go of Jayne, who stumbled against the club doorway.

  ‘Jayne, don’t do this.’

  She grinned, in that exaggerated way drunks do. ‘Dan, my knight in shining armour.’ Her voice was slurred, her eyelids drooping.

  ‘Come home with me.’

  The man stepped even closer, until his stale breath washed over Dan’s face. ‘She’s told you to piss off already. Just do one.’ He snarled and bared his teeth as he said it.

  Dan pushed him. He tottered backwards and fell against the wall. He made as if to go back to Dan, but Dan shook his head. ‘You really don’t want to do that. Even if there are two of you.’

  Jayne doubled over, sucking in large breaths, as if she was trying to stop herself being sick. ‘What do you want, Dan?’

  ‘I want you to come home. Either to your place or mine, but don’t go home with these guys.’

  Jayne lifted her head to look at them, both standing with their fists clenched by their waists.

  ‘You’ll hate yourself tomorrow.’ He looked the men up and down. ‘You’ve never gone this low.’

  The taxi pulled up against the pavement. Dan nodded to it. ‘Just go, both of you.’

  The two men looked at Jayne and back at Dan, and realised their night had ended. They got into the taxi without producing any more threats, although, as the car pulled away, one of the two men wound down a window and gave Dan the finger.

  Dan went towards Jayne and held out his hand. ‘Come home.’

  She straightened and put her arm round Dan’s waist, her head against his shoulder, uncertain on her feet as they both meandered down the street.

  Neither of them said anything as they walked. Dan spotted another taxi, and they both stumbled into it. She wound down the window and let the cool breeze wake her up, staying silent.

  She leaned against him in the lift to his apartment. He put his arm round her. ‘Can we just write off t
onight? And I’m sorry for hunting you down.’

  ‘I’m glad that you did. You rescued me.’ She looked up at him. ‘Are we still friends?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘Can I sleep here?’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  Once they were inside, Jayne went straight to the bathroom as he stripped down to his underwear and climbed into bed. Sleep started to overtake him. Jayne came into the bedroom in her T-shirt and knickers.

  As she climbed in with him, she put her arm across him and rested her head against his chest. He pulled her closer.

  She fell asleep before he did, soft nasal whistles letting him know.

  He smiled. She felt good against him.

  Forty-five

  Dan woke with a start and then winced at a sharp jab of pain in his head. His mouth was dry, his eyes heavy, and there was someone was in his apartment.

  Then he remembered. Jayne. He reached across to feel the indentation in the pillow. It was still warm.

  He checked his watch. Just after six.

  He threw back the covers and groaned. He couldn’t face going to court. He could taste the booze and his vision swam. He took a few deep gulps of air before he padded through to the living room. Jayne was there, fully dressed and kneeling on the floor, her hair dishevelled, staring at the television.

  ‘What are you doing?’ His voice came out as a croak.

  ‘I had an idea, but with all that happened I forgot to mention it.’

  ‘This is early though. Don’t you have a hangover?’

  ‘It’ll come later. I woke up and remembered and then I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was going to wake you, but you looked out for the count, and you’ve got court, and what if I’m wrong?’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘I don’t know yet.’

  Dan went to the kettle and clicked it on, before going back to put on some jogging pants and a T-shirt. When he returned, taking two teas with him, he sat on the sofa behind her.

  He passed her a mug. ‘What have you found?’