by S A Tameez
“The evidence seems to point that way,” she responded and then shuffled through the papers on her desk.
“You don’t think so?”
“I don’t know what to think. What I do know is that he wants to tell us something, but he doesn’t want to make it easy.” The thought of barging into the holding room and beating him until he coughed up sprang to mind. Not an option but a lovely thought.
“I’ve spoken to Harold,” Marcus said, “He said it’s best to wait until he’s been mentally evaluated before proceeding.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. He did say that you wouldn’t like that and to tell you that it was not a suggestion.”
“I get the message, loud and clear,” she said desperately trying not to roll her eyes. They still didn’t trust her – no one did. The Press was all over this. There was lots of evidence, Dominic had confessed to killing all the girls with the sailboat carvings, except Sarah. The last thing they needed was her doing something stupid. She couldn’t blame them. The chances were that she would do something spontaneous at the last minute and screw it all up. She was well experienced in screwing things up, that was for sure.
“Erm… where’s Nick?” he said breaking the tension in the room, “I haven’t seen him all day.”
“He’s had to go to the hospital with Stacey.”
“Oh, everything OK?”
“Yes,” she lied, as instructed, “Everything’s fine.”
“Oh yes, his wife was pregnant. You think they’ve had the baby?”
“I don’t know,” she lied again. Her eyes fell back onto the paperwork. She wanted the conversation to end. She didn’t want him to probe more, ask more questions. She didn’t want to accidently give away what she knew. She had to respect Nick’s right to keep his secrets. Everyone had the right to keep secrets.
“Erm…” he walked into the office and peered back to make sure no one was around. “Did you hear about…” he went quiet. His face looked a little flustered.
“Hear what?” Zoe asked.
“Hear about Harvey?” Hearing his name was like a kick in the gut.
“What about him?” she replied sharper than she had intended to.
“Well, not him exactly… his younger brother?”
“No,” she replied not knowing whether she wanted to know about him or his family members. She would be fine if she never heard his name ever again.
He looked back again as if scared someone might overhear.
“His brother Dean was involved in an altercation last night and was stabbed.”
“Oh,” Zoe said quietly, “Sorry, I didn’t hear about that. Is he OK?”
“He’s in intensive care but it doesn’t look good.”
“That’s sad. Any ideas on what happened?”
“Not really – there’s some rumours that he was involved in this ridiculous area code war that’s going with the kids. And some people are saying it was a case of mistaken identity.”
Zoe’s heart sunk to her ankles. The thought of someone being stabbed because they were mistaken for someone else was heart-breaking. Badly injured or killed just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or… her mind started ticking uncontrollably.
“Do you have a picture of Dean?” she asked, springing to life.
“Yeah… there’s one in the file on my desk, why?” he said reluctantly. Perhaps worried that he shouldn’t have said anything to her at all.
“Would you mind if I had a look at it?”
“Why? Vivian is on it. They’re trying to keep it… you know… they’re just trying to be sensitive to Harvey. You know, it being his brother and that.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t step on any toes or do anything stupid. I just thought of something. You know, that might help me with my personal development.”
He gave her an incredulous look, “Oh yes, I forgot, you’re still training for DS.” She knew what he was thinking… she goes around behaving like she’s already a DS and no one says anything to her. She had overheard snippets of the conversations. “It’s on my desk,” he continued, “I’m off now. I need to remind my wife that she still has a husband.”
“Thanks Marcus,” she smiled and pretended to shuffle through the papers on her desk until he left. She didn’t want him to see the adrenaline igniting in her eyes. She glanced out of the room to ensure he was gone before briskly walking to his desk.
She flipped open the file on his desk and saw the picture of a younger version of Harvey. Same face shape. Same hair.
What if? She thought. What if the people who stabbed Dean had mistaken him for Harvey? They looked similar. Very similar. What if this wasn’t about area wars and was related to the dodgy deals Harvey was into?
She was convinced this was the case but as usual there was no evidence to back the claim. Like most knife crimes in London, witnesses were too terrified to come forward. Broad daylight, busy streets and no one sees anything. She could already hear Harold’s voice in hear head.
“Why can’t you just let it go? Leave it be!”
But that was her problem, she couldn’t let things go. She clung onto them even when she needed to let go. She didn’t want to let her ex go even when she discovered he was married. She felt as if she still had not let him go. And she couldn’t let Harvey go because she knew what she knew. He was there that night. He was involved. Everyone else might want to turn a blind eye to it but she knew the details.
The truth was always in the details.
Chapter 33
48 hours had passed, and Stacey was still a statue. Although hopeful she would wake, Nick feared the worst. She would leave him, leave their son, leave everything behind and all without saying goodbye. He would never get a chance to tell her how much he loved her. Tell her he was sorry. And that he couldn’t do this without her. He couldn’t raise their child alone, be a father, the father she would have wanted for her child. He was incomplete without her.
“Hello son,” Nick’s father said as he entered the room. Nick immediately latched on to his father the way he did when he was a child. There was no use trying to hold back the tears, so he didn’t even try. “It’s going to be OK, son,” he said as he squeezed and patted Nick gently on the back.
His mother looked pale. It was hard to see her expression from behind his tears. But he could tell she was staring at the bed. Staring at Stacey laying there still enough to be mistaken for dead. She stood next to Stacey and stroked her cheek. He never saw his mother cry; she wasn’t the crying type. He was shocked when he noticed her eyes welling up. His grandfather was in the army and taught her to swallow her emotions and never let them surface. She had become a master at bottling things up.
“She looks so peaceful,” his mother commented. Her bottom lip quivered as the words came out.
They sat in silence for the next 20 minutes before a nurse walked in holding the baby.
“Here you go,” she said and handed him to Nick, “He’s had a fresh change and is looking much better.” He could see his mother’s eyes glued on his son. She wanted the nurse to go so she could get up and hold him. He knew she wouldn’t do it while the nurse was here. It wouldn’t be proper. His mother was strict with being proper. Something else she had inherited from Grandfather.
“Has the Jaundice cleared up?” He asked. He already knew it had. Dr Waheed had visited earlier and told him it was pretty much cleared, and that someone would bring his son to him shortly. He asked so he could hold his son for a moment longer before his mother pounced on him and snatched him away. And that’s exactly what she did. Soon as the nurse left, his mother leapt in the air like a gymnast and held out her arms. Silently demanding he hand his son over.
“He’s beautiful,” she remarked, and sat down holding him. His father moved his chair next to her and they both stared at him with wide smiles. They talked to him in playful baby language. For a moment, it felt normal. It was exactly how he imagined his mother and father would react when they saw him
. The most he thought he’d have to worry about was his mother taking charge and side-lining Stacey – acting as if she knew what was best, because she had been through it all. She would order everyone around, explicitly telling them what needed to be done. The last thing he expected to worry about was whether his wife would sleep to never wake up.
The room suddenly felt stifling. He found it hard to think. The thought of being alone came gushing back. The thought that Stacey would never wake and Dr Waheed telling him that there’s nothing more that they can do. Give him a few moments to say his long goodbye. Then, of course, there was his baby, another part of his life that was too good to be true. Something terrible would happen and he would get taken away and then there would be nothing left. He would be alone with a huge gap that would never be filled.
“I’m just going to get some air,” he said and left the room without waiting for a response.
He stood outside the hospital and breathed in the wintry air and car fumes. It was horrible but far better than the suffocating smell of disinfectant. The stench, the bright fluorescent lights, the loud beeping noises – it was all too much for him. He had always hated hospitals, but the last 48 hours made him despise them on another level. He secretly wished he never ended up here. Even in his time to depart this place, he hoped and prayed it would happen suddenly and without even a moment in a hospital. He couldn’t endure it. It would be much easier to just die.
He was glad his mother and father turned up. He needed someone to be there, so he didn’t have to. Just for a while, give him enough time to process everything. He thought of doing something normal, just for a moment. Something, anything – a way to distract himself, recharge himself so he could go back in with new thoughts, renewed optimism. Perhaps he could walk to the local newsagents and pick up a newspaper, sit on a bench and read it, pretending it was a normal day – not that he would do that sort of thing on a normal day. He envied people like that. People who could just stop even when the world was still spinning. Stop to sit and observe and enjoy the here and now – not be the ones rushing past trying to keep up. Trying to catch something that will never be theirs. Was never meant to be theirs.
Love and loss often change people’s perspectives; he knew that better than most. When he lost Michael and Katie, he had also lost himself. With Stacey, he was given a second chance. Another opening to prove he was a good husband, and a good father. Not everyone gets a second chance. He didn’t know whether Stacey would make it, that was the truth. Even if he didn’t want to admit it, even if it broke his heart into a million pieces. But his son has made it. He is alive and he needed a father – a real father. He would have to be that father, even if he had to pretend. He would do whatever it took.
He glanced at his phone – he’d been stood outside in the cold for nearly 30 minutes. His ears felt as if they had turned into ice cubes and his fingers were numb enough to amputate. His phone displayed 3 missed calls and a voicemail.
Who still left voicemail? The world was now all texts, acronyms and emojis. Even he had had caught onto that.
Hi Nick. It’s Harold. I got the message that you’re off and just checked in to see if you and Stacey are OK. Let me know if you need anything.
It was just the kind of message he expected from Harold. He was an old school gentleman. Courtesy calls, chivalry, perfectly pressed attire and polished shoes.
Although grateful for the message, Nick couldn’t face anyone yet. He knew talking, much like eating, could help but he wasn’t ready for either. The hunger headache was in full force, but his appetite was still absent.
He appreciated that Zoe didn’t tell him what was going on. He knew he could trust her. She was a loyal friend.
“There you are,” Nick’s father said as he walked in and saw them in the exact place he left them. “We thought you might have gone home to get some rest and freshen up.”
“What? No, I can’t leave her,” he said as he approached the bed.
“You’ll be no good to her when she wakes up, if you’re in a state!” his mother said sternly. Not the type to mince her words, that was sure. But he admired that, and to a degree, relied on her optimism. When she wakes up… He was glad she didn’t say if she wakes up… which is how he would have worded it.
“Your mother’s right,” his father said tenderly. “You need to go home and get some rest. We’re here now – we’ll keep an eye on the little fella,” his eyes fell on their grandson and his smile grew wider, “and the minute Stacey wakes up, we’ll give you a call.”
He didn’t want to go. Leave Stacey. Leave his son. But his eyes were stinging, his head was banging and his feet throbbing. He could do with a few hours of rest. Perhaps a nice shower and change of clothes. He didn’t smell great with all the sweating in the overheated room.
“Go on,” his mother commanded, “Get yourself sorted, and brush your hair.” Even at the most complicated of times, his mother had a way of letting the most trivial things bother her.
Dressing up, smelling nice and combing your hair is all part of being polite and proper, she would say.
“OK,” he forced a smile, “But I’ll only be a few hours and—”
“We’ll call you straight away,” his father said with a reassuring nod, “Promise.”
Thank God for parents.
The house felt empty. Lifeless. It was as if he was walking around in a strange monochrome reality. Everything had lost its colour and appeal. Stacey brought the place to life, she gave it its vibrance. It was true, you don’t know what you have until it is gone.
He spent way longer in the shower than he usually did. The sound of the gushing water helped drown his thoughts. It was a good substitute to other methods of drowning thoughts. Safer.
His grumbling stomach complained but he couldn’t eat. He laid on the bed and faced the side Stacey would usually lay on. He imagined her laying next to him smiling. Making a sarcastic remark, cracking a joke. It was moments like this that distinguished the important parts of relationships from the insignificant. If he knew she would be in a coma and may never wake, would he have argued with her last week about whatever it was they argued about? He couldn’t even remember what they argued about – it was no longer important. Nothing was. The colour of the curtains, the size of the television, choice of restaurant – nothing.
The age-old argument of whether it would be better to have loved and lost or to never have loved at all sprang to his mind. It was a nonsensical question. It was never meant to be answered – the one who created it, did so as a clear warning, not as a riddle. There was pain at the end of both roads. You just had to decide which type of suffering you could endure.
Chapter 34
The psychological evaluation had been delayed by 2 days and Dominic was to be transferred.
“Typical! Just bloody typical!” Zoe said under her breath.
The last couple of days had been a like whirlwind for her. Her mind should have been focused solely on Dominic the deranged psychotic killer but instead it was a cocktail of Dominic, Harvey and Nick. Not a great combination.
She finally built up the courage to text Nick.
Hey, hope you’re OK. If you need anything, let me know.
Short and to the point. She wanted to ask: what’s going on? 3 days and no updates! What’s happening with Stacey? Why are you going through this alone?
Surprisingly, Nick replied almost instantly.
Hi, I’m fine, thanks.
She read the message a few times as if by reading again she might glean more from it. But it was what it was. Brief. Generic. A brush off.
She wondered whether she should message back. What would she say? How’s Stacey? The baby? No, she couldn’t ask. What if something was wrong, badly wrong?
Her phone beeped again. Another message from Nick.
Thanks for the message. Stacey came around yesterday, thank God. She’s a bit weak and needs some treatment, but the Docs have said she’s going to be OK.
Relief.
Zoe let out a breath as if she had been holding it since he had gone into hospital. She was pleased Stacey was recovering and hadn’t died. And she hated that she’d thought about how things would be had she died. Thoughts that she had brushed away and pretended never occurred.
“Zoe,” DCI Harold popped his head into the office, “Mind if I have quick word?”
“Sure,” she said putting her phone away and sitting up straight. “My office in 5.”
From his tone, it was clear that it wasn’t a request. The feeling of being back in school and called into the headmaster’s office overcame her. And just like she did when she was a child, she thought about all the reasons she might be being summoned. There was one reason that stood out. He knows about her snooping around Harvey’s brother’s murder investigation.
She should have known it wouldn’t go down well if he caught a whiff of it.
Idiot! Learn to let things go!
“Sir,” she said as she stepped into Harold’s office. He gestured for her to sit down on the chair opposite his desk as he typed away on the keyboard. He then stopped, removed his glasses and leaned back on his chair.
“Nick’s wife isn’t well,” he said in a matter-of-fact way.
“Oh,” she said trying to sound surprised.
“She had fallen into a coma but has come around and is recovering.”
“It’s good that she’s recovering.”
“Yes, it is. But it means he might not be in for a while,” he said as if he suddenly wasn’t Nick’s friend, and this was simply a work-related dilemma.
“Of course, that’s understandable.”
“It also means that I am heavily relying on you to stay on top of the Sarah Fowler case.”
“Sure, I’m on it.”
“I know you are,” he said but she could sense that he wanted to say something else. “But I also know that you have been looking into Harvey Morrison’s brother’s case.” He let that hang for a while. She knew her poking around wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. She was hardly subtle in her approach – requesting files, chasing witnesses, questioning other officers.