The Secret Dawn

by Solomon Carter

  “DC Sim… Mark, I mean…” said Ecrin.

  Simmons looked at her, steeling himself for whatever new hell was coming.

  “Look. I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know they were coming here. But I haven’t seen Olivia in ages… I couldn’t be rude to them. I hope you understand.”

  Understand? Why the hell did people expect him to be so bloody understanding? DS Simmons, the official walkover of Southend Police Station, sponsored by Carpetright. Walk over him whenever you like, he’ll understand.

  “Yeah. I understand.”

  He looked into the young woman’s eyes and saw there was more to be said. Simmons put her out of her misery.

  “You haven’t seen them in ages and now want to go and spend some more time with them…”

  “Sorry…” said Kaplan, squirming. “Is that terrible of me…?”

  “Look. This isn’t work, Ecrin. Don’t be sorry. Go and have some fun.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Simmons nodded and forced a smile.

  “Thanks for being so understanding.”

  Somewhere inside Simmons, there was a silent explosion. Kaplan never even noticed.

  She leaned in, hugged him very briefly, and gave him a peck on the cheek. As soon as she had turned away, Simmons turned to the bar and raised his hand for the dinner bill. Grim faced, he knocked his posh lager down in less than half a minute. A kebab and a four pack of Export lagers were calling. Perhaps it was time to stop being so damned understanding. Until morning, at least.

  Three

  Saturday.

  There was a buzz at the door downstairs. Simmons stirred in his bed and peeled his head up from the pillow. The second buzz forced his eyes open. He pulled himself, seal-like, from beneath his duvet, and flopped onto the floor. His tablet was still showing the tail end of the boxed-set he’d started on when he finally fell asleep. Not that he’d been following the storyline. The alcohol had done for that, and the grease and fat of the doner kebab had seen to everything else. Now he was almost awake again, he wondered what had possessed him to buy a kebab. The memory of Baba Sen’s body strewn across the tiles in Hamlet Court Road taunted him and made him queasy. But it was too late for regret. Some fool was at the door. Simmons pulled himself upright, stepped around his bedroom and picked carefully at the edge of the curtain to look down to his doorstep. He counted six crushed lager cans at his feet. How much had he drunk? He looked out of the window and saw a dark-haired woman in a fuchsia pink hoody and fancy trainers. Maybe it was one of the neighbours – best avoided in his condition. He hadn’t drunk too much, at least not by Hogarth’s impressive standards. But by his own, Simmons had sunk a ton. He was about to drop the curtain back into place when the young woman looked up and caught his eye. Jeez! It was Ecrin Kaplan. She smiled at him and Simmons leapt back, keeping his soft white chest – not a pectoral muscle in sight – well away from the window. Damn. He needed a shower. He needed to brush his teeth. Why had she come here? For some conscience appeasement? Another dose of his understanding. Simmons wasn’t in the mood to supply much of that, at least not until some caffeine had been ingested.

  “Deal with it,” he ordered himself. There was a half-finished pack of chewing gum on his beside chest of drawers. He grabbed it. Ran into the bathroom and splashed some water on his face and picked up his T-shirt of choice – a surf logo tee which had cost him twenty-five quid. It was un-ironed but it would have to do. He took his time going down the stairs, arriving in a T-shirt, with a freshly splashed face and minty-fresh breath. His eyes felt like raisins set in cushions, but there was nothing he could do about that. Much as he wanted to resist it, his heart was beating harder than he liked and he knew it wasn’t just down to hang-xiety.

  Simmons opened the door and found Ecrin Kaplan looking as fresh faced as ever. In her pink hoody she looked much more like the PCSO he knew and less the stunning enchantress. Either way, she still looked pretty. He was caught off guard by her bright smile, and the hint of regret in her eyes.

  “DC… Mark… Morning,” said Ecrin.

  “Morning, Ecrin. I err… Not that I mind, of course, but I don’t remember telling you where I lived…”

  “You didn’t. But I spoke to DS Palmer, and she said you wouldn’t mind. Not if it was me calling round.”

  Simmons glanced back over his shoulder and pulled the door closer to his back to block the view into his dwelling.

  “Um… You talk a lot to DS Palmer then, do you?”

  “Yes. Her and Bec Rawlins. And you. Mostly I suppose – among the male officers, that is.”

  Simmons nodded and did his best to check the state of his own breath. A bit sour, but not too bad.

  “Then to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

  “You told me you liked to take a stroll at the weekend… But…” she looked at his face. “It looks like today is not one of those times.”

  “You wanted a walk?” he said.

  “I wanted to apologise, Mark. For how I was last night. Leaving you in the lurch like that. It wasn’t very considerate of me.”

  Simmons nodded. “Oh.”

  “As a friend,” said Ecrin with a little ‘forgive-me’ shrug of the shoulders.

  Simmons couldn’t help but smile. Kaplan was too cute to dislike.

  “If you don’t want to walk, can I come in then? We have some unfinished business.”

  Simmons’s eyes widened and his heart started beating faster.

  “Unfinished bus—”

  “We were talking over dinner then I bailed on you. I thought we could finish our little chat…”

  Ecrin smiled and took a step towards his front door. Simmons stepped across the gap and pulled the door tight to the frame.

  “No. Uh, I mean. Not in there. I haven’t tidied up. Not that I live like a slob or anything like that. It’s just better if we go out for a walk. It’s a nice day after all.”

  The day was grey. The clouds were thick with the threat of rain, but a hint of sun was trying to break through.

  “Sure,” said Kaplan, looking doubtful. “We can walk.”

  Two minutes later Simmons emerged with a navy-blue hoody over his surf top. His jeans hadn’t been cleaned in four days, but they still looked okay. But as soon as they started walking, a fine smattering of rain began to fill the air and prickle their faces.

  Neither of them mentioned it. Simmons lived at the back of Warrior Square park, overlooking the green at the back of the high street. In the warmer months the green was occupied by students and street drinkers. Simmons was glad none of them had yet worked out that a copper’s flat overlooked their favourite venue for mischief.

  “You wanted to talk?” said Simmons, his voice croaky, his stomach still not right.

  “To chat. Like you did. That’s all. So, what did you get up to last night?”

  “Oh? Nothing much. Went home to bed for my beauty sleep. You?”

  “Olivia and Refik wanted to go to the seaside night clubs. I went with them in case Refik got drunk. Refik has a really big mouth. It gets him into trouble.”

  “See? You’re a true copper now, Ecrin. Part of you will always be on duty.”

  Ecrin grinned, accepting the compliment.

  “So? Was there any trouble?” he said. They ambled slowly away from his front door, turning along the back of the square.

  “No,” she said. “Not unless you count me staying out until three in the morning and drinking white Russians.”

  “Crikey. It doesn’t show,” said Simmons. He started to do some quick social arithmetic. Kaplan got drunk. She was a looker. The inevitable must have taken place afterwards. Male interest, a kiss, a fumble, maybe the rest too.

  “I would have liked you to be there,” she said quickly. It was almost as if she had read his mind. Simmons turned his head.

  “I think I might have cramped your style, Ecrin.”

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t think so. I meant it. I’m sorry I left
you in the lurch like that.”

  Simmons nodded and shrugged off the girl’s words as a platitude from a newbie who was worried she had harmed her interests at work. Simmons felt a tug on his arm. He glanced down and saw Ecrin Kaplan’s petite hand on his forearm. As he looked, she briefly squeezed his arm then quickly dropped her hand. He looked up into her eyes.

  “I mean it Mark. I was out of order. You’ve been a decent friend to me already this last couple of weeks. I guess I was just nervous of putting a foot wrong in front of Yarrow, or gossips like Penner, so I may have overcompensated.”

  “Putting a foot wrong? How?”

  “You know. With everything. I’m new in. But you’ve been helpful. And sweet.”

  He looked into her eyes and saw a nervous sparkle. Simmons saw Ecrin was taking a bigger risk than he was. And he felt a sudden wild burst of elation. If he was reading her correctly – and he hoped he was – then she seemed to be suggesting that she might have had some kind of feelings for him too. Which seemed totally impossible and yet…

  “Where shall we walk?” he said quickly, before the overthinking had the chance to kick in.

  Right then, hangover or not, DC Simmons was sure he could have walked the entire globe

  “To a coffee shop? It is raining,” she said.

  Simmons looked up at the clouds as the wet stuff peppered his skin.

  “Rain. Uh. Yes, of course. Coffee it is, then.”

  As Simmons got ready to lead the way, a car drew to a halt in front of him at the side of the road, headlights bright in the rain. Simmons looked at the car’s badge, shiny black exterior, and finally the man behind the wheel. A man with silver hair and glasses. Bugger. It was Simmons senior. Simmons felt a sinking feeling as dramatic as the elation before it. He stopped in his tracks.

  “Mark?” said Kaplan.

  “That’s my dad. He called me about something last night. When we were in Laurence Yard.”

  “You don’t seem very chuffed to see him.”

  “No and I’ve got no reason to be. He’s my dad, but he’s not the most loving of fathers. He’s here because he wants something.”

  The door of his father’s Volvo opened and his father stepped out and lingered by the side of the car, as if he expected his son to run to his side. He bristled at his dad’s demeanour and looking at Ecrin, he decided he was only too glad to keep them apart.

  “Do you mind if I go and see what this is all about?”

  “No. It’s fine. Go.”

  “I’ll only be a minute, then coffee,” Simmons jogged down the street as the rain turned up a notch in intensity. His father gave him a firm smile in place of a hello. There was no hug. No hand on the shoulder. Just the show of a brief smile.

  “Thanks for saying you’d help, Mark.”

  Simmons shrugged. He felt the pull of the words.

  “You heard the news on the radio?” said Simmons Snr.

  “Not yet,” said Simmons.

  “You’ve been otherwise indisposed, I see. Girlfriend?”

  “No, Dad. She’s a friend.”

  “Hmmm. I think I approve of this one. She’s pretty enough”

  “I didn’t ask for your approval, Dad.”

  It was his father’s turn to shrug.

  “I’ll need you to help, like you said you would,” said his father, his eyes firmly latching onto his. “Look. I didn’t mean to rope you into this, I only said you’d help because the woman was so damn distraught and I felt sorry for her. And who can blame her? She’s lost her whole world…” His father looked away and stroked his chin. “But it’s now even worse than we thought. It’s complicated.”

  “Complicated? You mean, the accident?”

  “Grant Dawn. The man who had the accident. As I say, it’s complicated.”

  Simmons shrugged. “The man went into the water and didn’t come out. There’s nothing too complicated about that.”

  His father turned pale.

  “Sorry. It’s the job, Dad,” said Simmons. “I deal with death all the time.”

  “And that’s exactly why I think you can help. But this isn’t what you might think it is. To be honest, it’s not even what I thought it was. At least, by handing it to you, I can get on knowing you’ll be able to fix things for them.”

  “Now hang on a sec,” said Simmons. “I don’t even know what you’re asking me to get into.”

  “Oh, you soon will. As soon as you have a little chat with them it will all be quite self-explanatory. I need you to come with me. That pretty girl won’t mind, will she?”

  Simmons looked back and saw Kaplan watching them, intrigued. He could see her hair was getting wet in the rain.

  “Her name, Dad, is PCSO Kaplan. And while she may not mind, I’m not going to just dump her here in the rain.”

  “Son. This needs your attention. You promised you’d help.”

  “Yes, I did. But you still haven’t told me what it’s about.”

  “It’s about helping those in need. Now – are you coming?”

  “I’ll help, but I won’t let you rush me around like this.”

  “Hey. There’s no need to talk to me like that.”

  “If you want my help, pick me up in one hour.”

  “But—”

  “One hour, Dad. Okay?”

  The older Simmons didn’t look pleased, but he nodded, turned his head and opened his car door. DC Simmons walked back to Kaplan’s side. They stood together and watched as his father drove away.

  “What was all that about?” said Kaplan.

  “My dad’s version of showing his son some fatherly love.”

  “You were right. He didn’t seem too friendly.”

  “That’s just his way,” said Simmons.

  “And did I hear him mention Grant Dawn?”

  “Uh…” said Simmons, unsure yet how to respond.

  “Isn’t he the one who had the accident near some place called Puddlesham?”

  “Paglesham. It’s on the other side of town.”

  “What about it?” said Kaplan.

  Simmons thought about lying, but he didn’t want to go down that road with Kaplan. Not yet.

  “I don’t know to be honest,” said Simmons. “But he wants me to meet him in an hour. Here. Sorry, Ecrin. I’m afraid you’re going to have to take a rain check.”

  Ecrin smiled and looked up into the grey sky. Fat rain drops landed glistening on her face.

  “Well, it’s still raining. Maybe the weather’s trying to tell us something.”

  Simmons smiled, but he wasn’t happy. Just when things were looking promising. They turned and walked slowly back to his flat. There was no way he could let a girl like Ecrin Kaplan into his sweaty old pad. He gave her as friendly a goodbye as the circumstances allowed and walked inside to get changed. As soon as he was changed, he made a phone call. He called DI Hogarth.

  “Guv? It’s Simmons.”

  Hogarth grunted. His voice was croaky and full of sleep. “Simmons? It’s Saturday morning and we’ve got a weekend off. What do you want, man?”

  “I know, guv. Sorry. But I’m going to need your help…”

  Four

  Simmons peered out of the window to see his father draw up on Warrior Square in his black Volvo estate. He watched the older, silver-haired facsimile of himself lean over his steering wheel to peer up at the window of his flat. Their eyes met and his father nodded.

  “He’s here,” said Simmons.

  “Well, whoopedee-doo,” said Hogarth, slapping his knees. The DI stood up from the sagging leather armchair and placed his unfinished mug of instant coffee on the compact dining table along with the rest of the unwashed crockery from the day before. “And I thought my house was a state,” said Hogarth, casting an eye. “You’ve got a bad case of bacheloritis, DC Simmons. It’s beginning to look terminal.”

  “I hope not,” said Simmons. He thought of Kaplan but said nothing. Instead he looked Hogarth up and down. It was Saturday morning and Hogarth was dres
sed in the same navy blazer and tan chinos he’d worn for at least the last three days. There was a chance Hogarth had a set for each day of the week but judging by the state of his overgrown hair Simmons doubted his boss’s wardrobe was so well catered for, or organised.

  “What’s he like?” said Hogarth, as Simmons grabbed a denim jacket from the back of a chair.

  “Eh?”

  “Your dad. Anything like you, is he?” said Hogarth.

  “He’s a bit of a stiff, bless him. A bit locked-in, actually. Friendly but always to a point.”

  “Shame. And there I was looking forward to a morning out with The Chuckle Brothers. Let’s hope there’s some other way to brighten this trip as compensation for interrupting my weekend off.”

  “I’m not looking forward to this much myself. And my dad is definitely not one of The Chuckle Brothers.”

  “So you say. And he knows I’m coming, does he?” said Hogarth.

  Simmons gave him a look.

  “Oh great. That’s a no, then. I’m going to be the unwelcome guest on your magical mystery tour.”

  When they reached his front door, Simmons looked out to see his father standing by his car. His father checked his watch. When Hogarth appeared behind DC Simmons’ shoulder, the older man stiffened. DC Simmons saw the look and got ready for a standard issue argument – the kind he’d endured for most of his childhood, teens, and twenties.

  “Mark. This is a sensitive issue,” said his father, as Simmons and Hogarth made their way towards him.

  “Dad, you only asked for my help because I’m a police officer. Sensitive or otherwise, I won’t keep it a secret from my colleagues.”

  His father’s face darkened.

  “If you’re this laissez-faire with a very sensitive request maybe I shouldn’t have asked you at all.”

  “You said the woman is grieving. Her husband is dead. I don’t see any need for cloak and dagger tactics.”

  “I told you this was sensitive. They were friends of the family.”

  “Your friends, Dad, not mine.”

  “Either way, I told you it’s much more complicated than I first thought. Discretion is the better part of valour.”