The Darkness Around Her

by The Darkness Around Her (retail) (epub)

  He felt Tom was by his side and his eyes moistened as he remembered him. The most recent memories always came first, like the last time he’d seen him, or the young adult leaving home for university a few years before. Strong, happy, confident. A fine young man. It was when his mind drifted further back that pained Bill the most. The little boy who had less life ahead than he deserved.

  He sat upright and took a deep breath. He had to hold it together.

  The marina was unfamiliar to him. He knew the garden centre though, he’d visited it before, but had never paid any attention to what was on the other side of the high mesh fence.

  He called Jayne. ‘I’m at the marina.’

  ‘Why are you there?’

  ‘You said it was all connected to his boat. It might be a crime scene, with evidence on board, even all these years later. I can’t trust Sean Martin not to destroy it. If they torched the boat, all the forensic evidence would go up in flames.’

  ‘Anything happening?’

  ‘No. It’s quiet. What about where you are?’

  ‘The same.’

  ‘Will he run?’

  ‘I hope so, because it’ll be like an admission of guilt.’

  ‘Which one is his boat?’

  ‘Called Somewhere Quiet, but Bill, don’t do anything stupid. Sean Martin is a dangerous man and, like you said, the boat is a crime scene.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ he said, and clicked off.

  Bill allowed himself a smile. For the first time, he was getting somewhere.

  He stared out of his windscreen for a few minutes, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. He wanted to get into the marina. The thought of the boat being so close but locked up was unbearable. All of his research, those long nights searching the Internet, or days out visiting the places where the victims were last seen or found dead. It had cost him friends, their sympathy waning as he became obsessed with proving his theory. A man on a mission.

  He needed to get in there.

  He wouldn’t be able to break in though. The gate securing the yard looked imposing, and even from a distance he could see an entry keypad. If Sean turned up, he could be in the yard and on the waterways before Bill could stop him.

  No, he had to get closer, and he was prepared to put up a fight to stop Sean Martin getting on his boat.

  The air was cool as Bill stepped out of his car. There were some people browsing the garden centre displays, but apart from them it was quiet.

  As he got close to the marina fence, there wasn’t much sign of activity, other than a man in paint-stained overalls touching up his boat’s nameplate, bent over, focused on the lettering.

  ‘Hey?’ Bill said, making him look over.

  He didn’t think the man was going to move at first, but eventually he put down his paintbrush and sauntered to the gate. ‘Can I help you?’

  Bill pointed towards the boats. ‘I’m just looking at the boats. So colourful and pretty. I’ve always wanted one.’

  The man nodded. ‘Yeah, they look fine. Take some maintenance though, but it keeps me busy.’

  ‘Can I have a look round?’

  The man looked back at the boats and then to Bill. His eyes narrowed. ‘Sorry, I can’t do that. These are more than just boats. They’re our homes too. You look like a decent sort, but I can’t let just anyone in.’

  Bill thanked him and went back towards his car, trying to hide his frustration. The need to see inside was nagging him, but for now, he had to wait.

  Fifty-one

  Dan stayed in his seat in the courtroom as the jurors filed out and Francesca collected her papers, standing only to bow to the judge as he retired for his lunch. She’d agreed to Dan’s strategy, because she knew it would make Peter’s defence look ridiculous. Sean Martin’s reputation came second to winning, and Dan knew that.

  The prosecution case had concluded, all those statements that tidied up the evidence read out to the jury. Dan had heard them as background noise, not paying any attention. It would all be down to Peter in the afternoon.

  Without the drama of live witnesses to keep their attention, the jurors had started to watch Peter Box, knowing that he would come next. All they knew was that he’d stayed silent in the police station. Dan had tried to read their gazes, and they were a mixture of disgust and curiosity. Some had already made their minds up, but enough of them wanted to hear Peter’s story first before they decided.

  Dan doubted whether Peter’s version would sway many to a not-guilty verdict, but there was a bigger game going on now.

  Francesca didn’t say anything as she left the courtroom. Dan stared at his papers, hoping that some sense or logic might rise from them. Peter had told him what he could in the time he had this morning, but Dan knew he had only half the story. If Peter had given him the facts in the months leading up to the trial, he could have engaged an expert to look into Peter’s background, or to give evidence about post-traumatic stress, just about anything to explain how Peter lost control when he saw Lizzie.

  Dan knew the judge was never going to allow him any more time. He’d had enough. And he didn’t deserve any more.

  * * *

  ‘I’ve got a mention.’

  Murdoch whirled round.

  She’d been staring out of the window, unable to concentrate, nervous, waiting for someone to find Sean Martin in whichever cold case they were ploughing through.

  It was DC Richards again.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Claire Watkins. She went missing more than fourteen years ago, from here in Highford. Nineteen years old. Set off to meet someone but no one knew who, and she never came home.’

  Murdoch went to where he was sitting, squashed into the corner of the room, his desk surrounded by files and paperwork. Most of the squad were visiting police stations in other towns, the cold case files dug out, everyone looking for a mention of Sean Martin.

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Sean Martin telling lies.’ He waved a piece of paper. ‘There’s this, a copy of a police notebook. We were speaking to passers-by in the street, asking about suspicious people, flashing a picture of Claire. Sean Martin gave his name and said that he didn’t know her. And that was it. Buried away in the file.’

  He passed it to Murdoch, and everyone else in the room stopped what they were doing as Murdoch examined it.

  She pumped the air. ‘This is it, the start of it. A connection, a lie. Keep digging though. We need more than a police notebook. We can take our time.’

  Richards smiled. ‘And then there’s this,’ and he passed over another sheet. ‘A memo, because for a moment he was a person of interest. We spoke to Claire’s friends, and they were asked whether there were any people who seemed interested in Claire, sexually, whether she was being stalked in any way. Bothered by anyone.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Her friend named Sean Martin, said that he creeped her out, was a bit too much when he spoke to her. It made Claire uncomfortable.’

  ‘How was he ruled out?’

  ‘His girlfriend, Trudy, gave him an alibi, said that they had gone cruising down the canals, and it was confirmed by the barman of the pub they were at.’

  ‘It wasn’t pursued because of Trudy?’

  ‘That’s what the file says. Remember, there wasn’t even a body. Claire went missing as she walked into town.’

  ‘Along the canal?’

  ‘That was the quickest way.’

  ‘But how the hell didn’t we know about this? Why didn’t it come up when these cases were looked at yesterday?’

  ‘Because it was just one minor enquiry, a scrap of paper reporting a suspicion that was immediately discounted.’

  ‘Because of Trudy.’

  ‘And the barman.’

  ‘People get times wrong, we all know that, and it showed he was lying about not knowing her. We should have known about the discrepancy.’

  ‘Different officers carrying out different enquiries and not knowing what t
he other has found out. Each one came to nothing.’ He held out his hands. ‘I’m not defending it, but people slip up.’

  ‘And people die because of it. Get your coat. We need to speak to Claire’s friends. He’s been a slur on this force, shoving his so-called innocence in our faces. This is our chance to get even.’

  ‘And when we do?’

  ‘We let Dan Grant know so he can go after Sean Martin in court. If he can expose his lies, we’ll be waiting for him. But first, let’s speak to Sean Martin himself.’

  Fifty-two

  Jayne put down Sean Martin’s book. She’d tried to stick with it, but knowing so much more about the real story made it too nauseating to read, the words too hollow.

  The house had been devoid of activity since she’d arrived. If news had reached Sean about Peter Box’s allegations, it hadn’t created any obvious panic.

  Her mind drifted back to what Peter Box had said, and she wondered how much like Peter she was. He’d brought an end to someone’s life, whatever reason he gave. She had too, in a different way, but that didn’t stop her feeling some guilt, however much she convinced herself that she wasn’t to blame. What she did to her last serious boyfriend always came back to her whenever it seemed that her own life was starting to go somewhere, as if Jimmy’s final moments would forever haunt her.

  Whatever Jimmy had been, he hadn’t deserved to die. He should have been imprisoned, yes; alone, certainly; but not dead.

  She didn’t blame herself: she understood how his abuse had weakened her to the point where she couldn’t see an alternative but to stay with him. She’d hurt many people who didn’t deserve to be hurt, like Jimmy’s parents and brothers, and his friends. They could never truly understand how she felt when she was with him, what it was like to be with Jimmy, which made it even harder for them.

  She dreamed of a reset button, so she could go back to before that day – right back to the first time he abused her – and make herself leave. She wished she could stop her past self from buying into his promise to be better, from feeling bad about his tears.

  She wondered how many of those thoughts plagued Peter Box. His shame was that he’d been a coward all those years ago, because if he’d had the courage to speak up a lot of women would have been saved.

  She was jolted from her thoughts by the arrival of a car that parked outside Sean’s house. As she saw the occupants, she smiled. Things were starting to happen.

  * * *

  DI Murdoch fought the urge for a cigarette as she stepped out of her car.

  ‘Let me do all the talking,’ she told DC Richards. She’d brought him along to distract Sean, divide his attention between them. ‘If he’s got any questions, leave them to me. This is my show.’

  ‘Understood, ma’am.’

  There was one car on the Martins’ driveway, a Hyundai. In this location, poorly connected and far from town, she’d expected two cars.

  Her knock on the door sounded loud in the quiet village. After a few seconds, Sean Martin opened the door, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

  Murdoch lifted her lanyard. ‘We need to have a word with you.’

  He looked from Murdoch to Richards, and then back again, his body blocking entry into the house. ‘I don’t speak to the police without a lawyer present. I went to prison for a murder I didn’t commit, so forgive me if I’m too cautious.’

  Murdoch tried her hardest to remain civil, although she knew her smile was thin when she said, ‘I bet I can read all about it in your book, but I’m not here to arrest you or interrogate you, Mr Martin. I’m here for your benefit.’

  His look of defiance faltered. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’d rather talk indoors.’

  He held his ground for a few more seconds before he relented and stepped aside. Murdoch made sure she neglected to wipe her feet as she went through to the living room and sat down. Richards took a seat on the sofa opposite.

  ‘You might want to speak to your lawyer before you decide what to do,’ Murdoch said. ‘But you will need a different lawyer to the one you used in your appeal.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You used Pat Molloy last time, but he’s gone missing.’ Murdoch noticed that there was no widening of the eyes, no effort at looking surprised. It was almost as if he had steeled himself to not react. ‘A client of his colleague, Dan Grant, is making allegations against you in court, and we need you to defend yourself, to rebut what’s being said. That’s why I’m here.’

  Sean did react to that, his brow furrowed, confusion in his eyes. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You know Peter Box?’ she said. ‘Yes, of course you do. He used to go out with Trudy’s sister, years ago.’

  Sean leaned against the doorjamb, his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, tension showing in the veins of his forearms. ‘Yes, like you say, I knew him years ago. I read that he got himself into trouble. I haven’t seen him since… well, before I was locked up.’

  ‘Peter’s in a lot of trouble, because he’s accused of murder. His defence involves throwing some blame your way.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What have I got to do with whatever he did?’

  ‘It’s not that murder he’s talking about. I don’t have all the details because it’s happening as we speak, but it’s connected with some older murders. He’s saying he lost control because of things you did. If you don’t stand up for yourself, it’ll become the new truth. It will hit you hard, what with your book coming out and all.’

  ‘Why is he saying this?’

  ‘Murderers say desperate things, but do you want whatever he’s going to say to become what people remember?’

  ‘Which murders?’

  Murdoch detected nervousness in his voice, his query tentative, not a protest. ‘A woman called Claire Watkins.’ Murdoch watched him carefully. His breathing had quickened but his expression remained impassive. ‘Did you know Claire Watkins?’

  He faked nonchalance with a shrug, glancing at Richards before turning back to Murdoch. ‘Didn’t she go missing years ago? She lived on the next street to Trudy. I used to talk to her sometimes.’

  Murdoch concealed her joy at the response. In her pocket was the copy of the police notebook, his lie jotted down. She thought about confronting him there and then, but she stuck to her plan. Let him give his account under oath, all of it recorded, ready for it to be thrown back in his face.

  ‘It’s crazy, I know,’ she continued, ‘but if you don’t come to court tomorrow to contest it, Peter Box’s story will be reported as the truth. You need to show that it is what it sounds like, a story to deceive the jury.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I know that you’re all for the innocent being freed, but it’s important that the guilty are convicted too. The system has got to work properly.’

  ‘Do I have to give evidence?’

  ‘That’s up to you, but if you don’t come, well…’ She held out her hands. ‘Everyone will know you had the opportunity to rebut it but didn’t.’

  ‘I have to decide by tomorrow?’

  ‘If you need more time, let me know, but the judge wants to do it tomorrow.’ A tilt of her head. ‘Any reason why you can’t come tomorrow?’

  Sean stared straight ahead before pushing himself away from the doorframe. ‘Tomorrow is fine. Thank you, Inspector.’

  Murdoch got to her feet, Richards with her, and sidled past him. ‘Get there for nine thirty to speak to the prosecutor. I’ll take a statement from you in the morning.’

  Sean stayed silent as she headed towards the door.

  Once they were out in the fresh air, the cottage door safely closed behind them, Richards said, ‘That was awkward.’

  Murdoch allowed herself a smile. ‘Exactly as I wanted.’

  * * *

  Sean Martin watched the car pull away and sat down with a slump. He looked around the room at the life he’d rebuilt. He was about to lose it all. All that he’d achieved since he’d come out of prison gone, lost in the
ramblings of Peter Box.

  The reminder of prison made him cover his eyes. He couldn’t go back there. The hours just seemed to stretch, his life mapped out by the track of the sun across plain grey walls. He’d been on the protected wing because he’d been convicted of killing a child, the rest of the prisoners hoping to get at him if there was ever a lapse in security, someone whose life had amounted to little eager to make a name by killing him.

  He couldn’t go back.

  He unlocked his phone, his finger poised over the list of contacts, knowing that the call he was about to make could tear them apart.

  But there was no shying away from it.

  He pressed the phone symbol next to Trudy’s name, her profile picture filling the screen.

  She answered on the second ring, the noise of the supermarket behind her. How mundane was that? Food shopping when their life together was about to crumble.

  His voice had a croak when he said, ‘Peter’s talked.’

  She fell silent for a few seconds, the air filled with the bustle of people in the food aisles. ‘What’s he said?’

  ‘Everything.’

  Another pause, and then, ‘I know what to do.’

  Fifty-three

  The atmosphere in the courtroom was tense.

  The judge cleared his throat. ‘Mr Grant, are you ready to begin?’

  Dan stood and seemed to hesitate for a moment, looking at the jurors before he said, ‘My Lord, I call Peter Box.’

  The jurors stared towards the dock as Peter was placed in handcuffs before being led to the witness box. Once he was there and uncuffed, a security guard nearby and one blocking the door, he puffed out his chest. The whole focus of the court was on him.