The Darkness Around Her

by The Darkness Around Her (retail) (epub)

  At least the motorway was quiet, the rush hour traffic long gone. Her gaze wandered to the views around her. It was just fields on either side. There was cattle in some, whereas others were just the long spread of the valley before the spine of heather-topped hills to the north.

  Something attracted her attention, but it was gone before she could register what it was. A twinge of familiarity. Her rear-view mirror was vibrating too much to allow her a clear view.

  There was a junction ahead. She turned off and followed the roundabout to go back along the motorway on the other side. It would make her even later, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was important.

  She scoured the fields as she drove, waiting to be grabbed by the same feeling of recognition.

  There it was. She banged her steering wheel and shouted, ‘Yes!’

  A glint of water, a gentle ribbon that ran alongside the motorway until it curved underneath, and next to it, crumbling and old, was a cottage. It was the same cottage that appeared in the photographs in Sean’s book.

  She turned off at the next junction and took a road that disappeared into the countryside, trying to work her way back towards the cottage, but the route she was on curved away from the canal. Hawthorne hedges lined both sides of the view as she raced towards a village in the distance and what looked like a road heading back towards the water.

  The canal went out of view as she kept driving, slowing down as she reached the centre of the village. She turned in a direction that she thought would take her down a hill. She caught glints of sunlight on the water as she peered through the gaps between houses, the countryside turning into an impossible maze.

  Then she saw it.

  She slammed on her brakes and reversed quickly to a narrow lane that seemed to head in the right direction. As she drove down it, fast, she dreaded another car coming in the opposite direction, but the lane was clear. Looking through a break in the hedgerow and over a gate, she saw the cottage at the end of a long, rutted field.

  Jayne braked hard and skidded, then backed into a small space in front of the gate, jumping out as soon as the car stopped.

  The sun was shining in her face. She shielded her eyes as she peered towards the cottage.

  It was definitely the same one that was in the book. She realised why the pictures had bothered her at the time. She’d seen this cottage so many times as she’d driven along the motorway but had paid it no heed. It was just another piece of a slowly decaying past. She remembered her theory about Sean and his superiority complex: that he’d wanted to taunt his readers as he’d taunted Pat. It was obvious from the pictures Sean and Trudy had come here regularly. The cottage was important to them.

  Then she saw a dark shape further along the canal, under the motorway bridge, almost hidden from view.

  She remembered her camera. She went back to the glove compartment and dug it out. She zoomed in on whatever was there.

  She lowered her camera. ‘Shit.’

  She was right. It was a boat, and judging by the colours, it was Sean’s boat. She was too far away to read the lettering, but the shapes of the words, two of them, looked right.

  She zoomed in further. The image in the viewfinder became shaky as she kept zooming in as much as the camera allowed her, the focus pixelating from blurred to sharp before settling down. Once it did, she saw that her suspicions were confirmed, the name on the boat was Somewhere Quiet.

  She clambered over the gate. There was no time to waste.

  Sixty-six

  Francesca was staring at the witness statement given by Sean Martin to Murdoch moments before. Dan had read it through a couple of times. It was just a series of denials and bland comments about how outraged he felt.

  He threw it on to the table in front of him. ‘Is he definitely giving evidence?’

  She looked up. ‘He wants to.’ She sat back and folded her arms. ‘Tell me, Dan. Do you believe what your client said?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I hope this goes the right way then.’

  Dan didn’t reply.

  ‘You’re quiet today. I expected you to be a bit more gung-ho.’

  Before Dan could say anything, the door leading to the judge’s corridor opened and he entered, shuffling towards his chair. Everyone rose to their feet.

  Dan looked to the back of the court as the usher went to collect the jurors. All of Lizzie’s friends and relatives were in the courtroom, some of their anger dissipated, but there was also a new set of spectators. From the anguished looks on their faces, Dan guessed they were relatives of Sean’s victims, desperate to hear their own truths. Murdoch was in the centre of all of them, staring ahead.

  Peter was in the glass box, looking down, waiting for the hearing to start.

  Dan turned away. He had no idea how the case was going to turn out, but he knew it wouldn’t have a happy ending. Peter had admitted to killing Lizzie and the real story behind it had come out, so his conscience should be clear, except Bill’s life was part of the picture now. He couldn’t do both what Peter wanted and what Sean demanded. One of them had to be sacrificed.

  There was a delay as the jurors entered, solemn and quiet. Once in place, the judge looked to Francesca and said, ‘We heard the evidence yesterday of the defendant. Do you intend to call any evidence in rebuttal?’

  ‘I do, My Lord. I call Sean Martin.’

  There were murmurs around the courtroom.

  As Sean strode towards the witness box, confidence oozing from him, the reporters making frantic notes, Dan’s phone buzzed.

  He sneaked it out of his pocket and put it on to the table in front of him. The judge was distracted by Sean’s arrival, so he was able to check the message. It was from Jayne.

  At a cottage by the motorway. Derelict. Sean’s boat here. It appears in pictures in the book. Suspect. Going for a look.

  His tickles of nerves turned into tremors of excitement. A development. He glanced towards the judge, to make sure he wasn’t watching him, and texted back, Bill might be there. Use the messaging service. Can get on the laptop. Sean Martin in the witness box. I need updates. Urgent. But be careful.

  The usher passed Sean Martin the New Testament so that he could swear the oath, but the judge interrupted him.

  ‘Mr Martin, before we start, I must make it clear that you are under no obligation to be here. The defendant in this case, Peter Box, has made various allegations against you. I will be blunt. You are accused of engaging in very serious criminal behaviour. By coming to court today, you open the possibility of criminal proceedings being brought against you. You are not obliged to come here and potentially incriminate yourself. If you leave, it is no admission of guilt. What would you like to do?’

  Sean looked around the courtroom, half a smile on his lips, catching the eye of every spectator, resting on Dan as he replied, ‘My life has been ruined by one false allegation already, even though I stand exonerated of that awful crime. I feel honour-bound to speak. I owe it to all the people who campaigned on my behalf to further clear my name.’

  Dan looked away, trying to keep his anger in check. He had to remain calm.

  Sean swore the oath.

  Francesca cleared her throat before she asked her first question, and she started with the most obvious one, the question that cleared the air. ‘Sean Martin, have you ever deliberately taken another person’s life?’

  He looked towards the judge and spoke in a clear voice. ‘I have not.’

  ‘Do you know the defendant, Peter Box?’

  Sean looked towards the dock. ‘Yes, I knew him, but it was years ago. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to him. He used to go out with my wife’s sister. She was my girlfriend then, but we’re married now.’

  ‘Trudy?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. She stood by me when I was in prison. Rosie’s mother didn’t. Rosie was the poor girl who was murdered, which caused me to go to prison wrongfully. But I don’t blame Karen; she was fed the wrong information. Tru
dy knew what I was really like.’

  ‘Did you spend much time with Peter?’

  ‘Some, but he wasn’t my friend. Trudy and her sister were close, so it was natural that we’d sometimes hang out as a foursome. Once they split up, I didn’t see him again.’

  ‘What did you think of Peter?’

  Dan rose to his feet. ‘My Lord, is the witness’s opinion of the defendant relevant?’

  The judge glared at him. ‘Mr Grant, given the severity of the allegations made by your client, the witness’s opinion of your client’s character might have some weight.’ He nodded at Sean as Dan sat down. ‘Carry on, Mr Martin.’

  Sean eyed Dan with curiosity before he said, ‘I thought of him like a younger brother, because we were nearly that, brothers-in-law, but he was a strange one. One of those introverts who you feel you never really get to know. I found him a bit creepy, to be honest, but harmless enough. At least I thought he was.’

  ‘But reliable, or truthful?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  Francesca feigned surprise. ‘Can you give the court some examples?’

  ‘Just boasting, trying to make himself sound important. It was only natural, I suppose, because I was older, more experienced, so had more to tell. I think Peter felt he had to try to keep up. For instance, if I mentioned a festival I’d been to, he’d start talking about some great party he’d gone to and it was almost as if his had to be better, or bigger.’

  ‘Going back to New Year’s Eve, the night that culminated in the murder of Elizabeth Barnsley. Where did you spend it?’

  Sean rolled his eyes making a show of it. ‘It’s a few months ago now.’

  ‘Do you think you might have been out on your boat?’

  ‘Well, it’s more of a joint boat really, not mine alone.’

  Dan’s eyes narrowed. Sean’s first mistake. He was avoiding the question.

  Francesca had noticed it too, because she straightened and gripped the lapel of her gown. ‘Whoever owns it, were you out on the boat that you sometimes use together?’

  Sean shot a glance towards Dan. ‘No, not that night. Like I told Mr Grant, when he asked me, I spent it indoors, watching television. Trudy and I shared a bottle of wine. I wouldn’t have gone out that night. Too many drunks by the canals,’ and he pointed towards Peter. ‘And other undesirables.’

  The judge held up his hand as there was a noise of someone moving along the public gallery. Dan looked back and saw it was Murdoch. She was holding up her phone and heading for the doors. She caught Dan watching as she went outside, nodding at him as the door closed.

  Francesca continued, ‘Referring to the other allegations made against you, did you know Claire Watkins?’

  He straightened and gave an earnest nod in reply. ‘Yes, I did. She lived on the next street to where Trudy lived. Peter liked her, if I remember, but she ran away or went missing. A tragedy, but young people can do strange things.’

  ‘When you say Peter liked her, what do you mean?’

  ‘Fancied her. Desired her.’

  ‘But he was going out with your partner’s sister?’

  ‘He wasn’t very good at concealing it. He’d get all flustered when I spoke to her, blushing and stuff.’

  ‘Did you have any kind of a sexual relationship with Claire?’

  ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘Did you play any role in her disappearance?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘And did you have any part in the murder of Rosie Smith?’

  He sneered at that and shook his head. ‘The last trial I had resolved that issue. I was cleared. Not guilty.’

  ‘How do you feel about the allegations against you?’

  ‘Angry. Bewildered. Confused. Outraged. I’ve rebuilt my life, with Trudy, and I don’t know why Peter’s saying this. Some bitterness at how my life has turned out perhaps, or disappointment with his own? All I know is that I didn’t do what I’m alleged to have done, and there won’t be any proof of it. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it, in a courtroom? To find proof?’

  He looked at Dan when he said it, and Dan recognised the taunt in his eyes.

  Francesca bowed to the judge and sat down.

  The judge raised an eyebrow. ‘Mr Grant. Do you have any questions?’

  Dan stood. He was nervous, confused, not knowing where to go with his questions. His laptop was open. He glanced down, to look for any kind of message from Jayne, but there was nothing.

  He thought of Bill and whether what he was about to do would end up with his murder. He couldn’t cope with that on his conscience.

  As he looked at Sean Martin, with his arrogance and his cold sneer, the way he had acted about Bill outside, Dan decided what to do.

  Sean might have underestimated him. If he had inherited one thing from his father, it was the fondness for a fight. The more he was told he couldn’t have it, the more he needed it.

  He was going after Sean Martin, whatever the cost.

  Sixty-seven

  Jayne stayed low as she crossed the field. There was no one around, an area of rural emptiness spoiled by pylons and the noise of motorway traffic.

  She slowed as she got closer to the cottage, aware of the thump of her footsteps. She flattened herself against the cottage wall, her back against moss, and the uneven pattern of the stones cold against her palms. The place was crumbling from the roof down, with most of the slates missing. No one could be living here. The windows on the side of the house overlooking the field were protected by wooden boards. The ground around it was more uneven, pocked with small mounds and hollows.

  She took some deep breaths before peering around the corner.

  Sean’s boat was fifty metres away, in the shadow of a bridge. The engine was quiet. A rope tethered it to the bank. It looked idyllic, peaceful.

  She began to move towards the boat, then shrank back. The windows to the cottage on the canal side were open holes, the glass and frames gone years before. If there was anyone inside, they’d see her straightaway. The best way to the boat was along the field side of the house, where the windows were still blocked off.

  She ducked down as she moved along the cottage and then took a long curve towards the boat. As she got close, she saw that the curtains were closed. There were no other boats visible. It was a perfect spot to attack someone. Isolated, but with the motorway to drown out any noises.

  She pulled out her phone and took a couple of pictures of the boat and cottage before sending them to Dan, watching her screen as the upload bar crawled across. Once they were sent, she knelt down to listen at one of the windows. It was silent inside.

  That wasn’t enough of a reassurance.

  She looked around before stepping on to the boat. Her chest fluttered with nerves as her weight made it bob on the water. She was tense, ready to run. There was no curtain over the door that led into the cabin, but as she peered in she noticed a broken glass panel. Something had happened there.

  She checked the door. It was unlocked.

  One last look around and then she went inside.

  The interior was dimly lit, with a ramshackle feel that showed it was used for short days out rather than full-time living in. It smelled of bleach, which surprised her because it looked worn and shabby. Two chairs filled the living space, a cheap table behind, the kitchen area cramped. There was a corridor beyond that, tight and narrow that led to a room at the back.

  Her instinct told her to keep on looking, that this location was somehow important. The boat was hidden away under a bridge. Sean will be at court but what about Trudy? She hadn’t worked out what to do if she appeared, but Jayne was younger and fitter and fancied her odds in a foot-race across the fields. If there was nothing to see in the boat, the cottage had to be the connection.

  She rushed through the boat, worried about getting trapped, her nerves shortening her breath.

  Her shoes trod on something sticky. She looked down. Dark red, partly congealed, but unmistakably blood. Large
splashes of it along the floor, along with a pooled area where she had stood.

  Get out, she told herself and dashed for the door. The fresh air of the canal bank came like a relief.

  She sprinted, to get herself out of sight of the cottage entrance. It was possible that someone saw her getting off the boat, but that didn’t mean she had to make her presence obvious. The sight of the blood had turned her stomach, but it meant someone was in danger. She couldn’t back away now.

  She crept to the front of the cottage, staying low, listening out for the sound of someone there, ducking below the first window, and inching to the doorway. She couldn’t hear anyone. She peered inside.

  The cottage showed some signs of its former life, with remnants of times gone by hanging from the walls. Kitchen cupboards, old electrical cables, peeling wallpaper.

  She stopped in the doorway. Further in, there was just darkness. Whoever was in there could be watching her, hidden in one of the rooms, waiting. Her common sense screamed at her to back away, but her desire for answers drove her on.

  Jayne wiped her palms on her shirt and stepped inside. She wrinkled her nose. It smelled damp. There was mould at the top of the walls. Her feet crunched on the dirt.

  A creature scurried nearby but still she crept forward, her mouth dry, every nerve in her body alive, the sunlight lost.

  Then there was a noise.

  It was hard to make it out at first. She thought it was just another animal moving but as she got further along the hallway she realised that it wasn’t an animal, but people talking.

  Someone was there. She had to keep going, further into the darkness.

  * * *

  Murdoch paced outside the courtroom, her gaze fixed on the external doors and the street beyond.

  She’d received a message from DC Richards a few minutes earlier. He had something she needed to see. She was aware that the case was moving apace in the courtroom and if he had evidence Dan needed, it had to arrive soon.

  She was cursing softly to herself when she spotted him, jogging towards the courthouse, a small rucksack clutched to his chest. There was a short delay as he was detained at the security barrier but, once through, he raised the rucksack. ‘I’ve got it.’