by Jane Adams
Sarah had become so very special to him and he found that he was now eager to move on, to put his old life behind him — and that included this business with Halshaw. This hook-up George planned was fast becoming more and more exciting and he hoped fervently that Sarah would also be a big part of his future, though he was having a hard time getting used to the idea that someone like Sarah could possibly want someone like him.
He stopped at the motorway services for a late breakfast. Being midweek most of the people in the restaurant were on their own, reps and business people travelling to the next job. The woman at the counter stared at his hands when she served him and asked if he needed any help to carry his tray. Clearly, she meant it kindly and Ray managed to thank her, but he was taken aback. It suddenly occurred to him just how accepting the newest people in his life had been of him and how little of an issue the sight of his injuries was to them.
He sat down at a table close to one of the few family groups in the restaurant. A little boy stared at him, his eyes wide and his mouth falling open. Ray smiled automatically at him and was unprepared for the look of shock on the child’s face.
His mother bent towards him, telling him, very obviously, not to stare and she smiled at Ray, that kind of embarrassed gesture people make when they don’t know what else to do. Ray did his best to ignore them, turning towards the window and concentrating on his food, sugaring his tea and slipping the extra packs into the pocket of his jacket.
He’d met this kind of reaction before, but just lately had almost forgotten about the way he looked, his focus being so much on other things. It was only stupid incidents like this that reminded him. He caught sight of his reflection in the window. He’d seen it every day for months but suddenly he viewed his appearance as a stranger might see it and, despite himself, he felt shocked. He thought of Kitty and how it must have been this way for her. Acceptance from those who knew her until her otherness had faded and almost gone, then the shock of strangeness when the new people came and they looked again only at the outside.
Suddenly, Ray felt hurt by it all and wished that he had never come. That he’d not strayed from the shelter that in these last few weeks he’d built around himself and to which he had so quickly become accustomed.
He wanted to talk to Sarah. The need so great that he groped in his pocket for his mobile phone and called her, knowing that she would be at work and maybe unable to speak to him.
‘What is it?’ she wanted to know. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘I’m OK,’ he told her, amazed at how true that was when he heard her voice. ‘Just missing you. It’s cold out here in the real world.’
‘Daft bugger,’ she told him. ‘Come back soon, OK, but don’t push yourself too hard. I’ll talk to you tonight.’
He felt better and was smiling when he switched off the phone. Once more he caught sight of himself in the window. His was a clown’s smile now, big and clumsy and mostly on one side of his too-fat face. But suddenly he didn’t care.
Make the most of it, he told himself, enjoying the euphoria. The bubble’s bound to burst.
* * *
He had problems finding Halshaw’s place. It was on a new development on the outskirts of Manchester, too new for his A-Z. Finally he asked at a garage and they gave him approximate directions. A local woman walking a mardy Pekinese filled in the rest. Halshaw’s place was a very ordinary modern semi at the back of the estate. It had a for sale sign outside, planted in the small patch of lawn. The remnants of a dying hanging basket hung by the front door and Halshaw’s car was parked outside. The same car that Ray had been standing next to the day he was attacked.
He had not been prepared for that. He’d not been prepared either for the sudden panic it evoked in him or the flash of memory, sharp enough to bring pain, which made him want to call the whole thing off and run away.
Slowly, Ray calmed his breathing. It’s just a car, he told himself. It’s just a bloody car. Even so, he walked to Halshaw’s front door across the patch of grass and not along the path beside the car.
Halshaw’s face when he opened the door was an absolute picture.
‘Ray, oh my God, Ray? How the hell are you? Come inside. Come in.’ He stood back and allowed Ray to pass. ‘That room there, go in. I’ll get the kettle on unless you’d rather have a beer?’
Ray was tired already, beer would, he felt, just about finish him off. He shook his head. ‘Tea, coffee, whatever, will be just fine.’
‘Right, well, make yourself at home.’
Ray sat down and looked around. By odd coincidence, the Halshaws had chosen the same wallpaper as Helen Jones. Only theirs was pink instead of blue and they had no border. In fact the whole room was very pink. The two sofas in dark pink linen, the curtains in an almost matching fabric. The carpet, fortunately, Ray thought, was a biscuity-beige and there were pale green cushions scattered across the furniture, mostly piled at the end of one of the settees as though someone had wanted to get them out of the way.
No one had dusted in quite some time.
Halshaw didn’t fit with this pink room, Ray thought, though Halshaw himself had changed greatly since the last time Ray had seen him. He was thinner, older looking, and Ray could never before remember Halshaw unshaven at two in the afternoon.
‘How’s Gaynor?’ Ray asked when Halshaw came back in.
Guy put their coffee on the table. ‘Left me,’ he said. ‘I mean, look at the place, you probably guessed that. She was always the tidy one, was Gaynor.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ray said.
‘She took the kids. It was about two months ago. She just upped and left one day.’
‘I didn’t know. It must be hard for you.’
‘We’re selling the house. You saw the sign?’
Ray nodded.
‘Not had much interest. A couple of people came to look, but that’s all.’
Ray wondered if he should suggest Guy dusted, tided himself up. He decided not to bother. ‘I was surprised,’ he said, ‘when I heard you’d left the force. What are you going to do?’
Halshaw shrugged. ‘Haven’t thought about it yet.’ He grinned, there was a touch of the old Halshaw about his smile. ‘Wait to see how much she stings me for first, I suppose, then decide. There’ll be alimony and money for the kids and she’ll want her share of this place. Not that it’ll be much, we’ve only been here five minutes.’
‘There’s no chance of making up then?’
Halshaw’s smile faded. He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No chance of that. Not that I’d want to now, you understand, we’d not been getting on, not for a long while.’
Ray couldn’t help but wonder how much of Guy’s inveterate womanizing Gaynor had known about. Which particular blonde had been one too far? He decided not to ask, instead he said, ‘I heard you were part of a big bust. That the Pierce job was just the start of it?’
Halshaw seemed to brighten, then he looked suspiciously at Ray as though trying to decide just what he knew. He nodded. ‘I guess that’s what did it for me in the end,’ he said. ‘Doctors said it was stress.’
‘That’s too bad, Guy. It’s taking out a lot of good officers these days.’
‘Yeah, dead right it is.’ Halshaw smiled again and again Ray caught a glimpse of the man as he had been. ‘I’ll tell you, Ray, we hit the big time with that one. FBI, Interpol, they were all in on it. Three fucking continents, we smashed the chain right back to the source.’ He paused, frowned and reached for his coffee mug. His hands shook a little and Ray caught the whiff of brandy as he lifted the mug from the table.
‘It must have felt good,’ Ray said, trying to be enthusiastic, thinking of what George had said about Guy’s stupid mistakes.
‘Damn right it did. But it finished me.’
Guy swallowed half his coffee and peered thoughtfully into the mug. ‘Look, I’ll just go and get a top up. You all right?’
Ray nodded that he was and watched Guy as he left the room, wondering i
f he ought to tell him just to bring the bottle in. It was a revelation seeing Guy Halshaw like this. So close to breaking and with so little left in his life. Silently, Ray blessed everything that he had so recently gained. Then he blessed it again, just to be sure.
When Halshaw came back Ray said, ‘I saw someone the other day that you might remember. She’s one reason I’ve come to see you.’
‘Oh? Who?’
‘Helen Jones. Widow of Frank. They pulled him out of the river.’
Halshaw gulped more of his coffee. ‘That bitch,’ he said. He made no comment on Frank. ‘She nearly landed me in the shit, that one.’
Ray looked interested. ‘Oh?’
‘Sexual harassment. So she said. It never stuck.’
‘Someone sent me a newspaper clipping about Frank, with a note that inferred he did this to me. I thought it might have been you?’
‘Me, why the hell should I do that?’
‘I don’t know, hoped you’d tell me.’
Halshaw shook his head and drained his coffee mug. ‘So, Frank Jones falls in the canal. Good riddance to him, that’s all I can say. He was filth. Just like the rest and we’d have proved it in time.’
By planting evidence? Ray wondered. Interesting, he had deliberately said that Frank had drowned in the river, Halshaw had unthinkingly said canal.
‘She’s a nice-looking woman,’ Ray commented. ‘No one could have blamed you for having a go.’
Halshaw grinned. He was playing with his coffee mug, clearly wondering about getting another refill. ‘Yeah,’ he admitted. ‘She was something. Too good for Frank though, everyone said so.’
‘She seems to have loved him.’
‘Loved!’ Halshaw was amused. ‘Love didn’t come into it. Just out for what she could get. Just like all of them.’ Then he seemed to brighten. ‘On her own now though, isn’t she? Might be glad of a little company next time I’m down that way.’
Ray made no comment. This was a parody of the Halshaw he’d known, an exaggeration of the worst traits. He was depressed by it, but certain now that Halshaw had sent the clipping. He doubted though, whether he was about to find out why. ‘Did you send me that clipping, Guy? What did you want? I’m not bloody psychic. If you want me to know something then include a letter, a bit of a clue.’
Guy Halshaw was silent, he played with his coffee mug, turning it restlessly in his hands before finally setting it down on the table.
‘Look, Guy, I’ve come all the way up here. If there’s something you want me to know you may as well spill it.’
‘I didn’t ask you to come.’
‘If you sent me that clipping, and I think you did, then you as good as asked. Guy, I’ve heard there was trouble in the Pierce investigation. Accusations that you were a little overzealous when it came to the evidence.’
‘Who the fuck told you that?’
In the brief flare of anger Ray saw again the Halshaw of old. So certain of himself. He pressed on. ‘I heard you weren’t the only one up for it. That it went right to the top. That someone was on the take and you took the rap for it.’
This last bit of speculation was thrown in on impulse but Halshaw stiffened. ‘Someone’s got a big mouth,’ he said.
‘True, is it? So why’d you send me the clipping, Guy?’
Slowly, Guy Halshaw shook his head. ‘I’m out of all that, now,’ he said. ‘And bloody glad I am. Nothing more to say, is there.’ He got to his feet. ‘Look, I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve things to do and I really ought to be getting on.’
‘Sure,’ Ray told him, getting to his feet. He searched his pockets for a scrap of paper, found a sachet of sugar and a pen. ‘Look, this is my number. Just in case there’s anything you want to say. If I’m not there, leave a message on the machine and I’ll get right back to you.’
Halshaw made no move to take it so he put the crumpled pack of sugar on the table. ‘Nice to see you again, Guy. I mean that. Hope things start to work out for you.’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ Guy Halshaw said.
* * *
Ray had been gone for only a few minutes when Halshaw’s doorbell rang again. He opened it cautiously.
‘Oh, it’s you. You’d better come in.’
The visitor glanced at his watch.
‘Still wearing that thing?’ Halshaw said.
‘Yeah, well, it’s a souvenir, isn’t it?’
Halshaw made no comment.
‘What did Ray Flowers want?’
‘Nothing. What could he want? He heard I retired, came to look me up.’
‘It’s a long drive to make, considering he hardly knew you. What’s wrong with the telephone?’
‘How the hell should I know?’
The man pushed Halshaw backwards, trapping him against the wall. ‘What’s your game, Halshaw? Conscience getting to you, is it? Remember, your wife and kids might have left you, but we still know where they are. You’re in this up to your neck.’
He released Halshaw and let himself out, slamming the front door behind him. For a moment, Halshaw stayed where he was as though still held by the other man, then he dived for the phone and dialled his wife’s number.
There was no one home.
Guy Halshaw took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. They wouldn’t do anything, not really. They might threaten but . . . He shook his head, wondering who he was kidding. Then he went through to the kitchen and poured himself another drink.
* * *
Ray had driven away from the house feeling very depressed. He was tired from the journey, even more tired from his encounter with Halshaw and his hands were hurting him. He didn’t think he could face the drive back today.
He found a Travelodge and booked a room. It was still too early to call Sarah at home and he didn’t want to interrupt her at work again. He lay on the bed and tried to watch the television, channel-surfing until he found a Columbo rerun. It was a programme he’d always had a perverse liking for. It must be nice, he thought, to be able to be that certain all of the time.
Though he felt pretty sure that Halshaw had sent him the clipping he was still puzzled by the fact that the letter had a Middleton postmark. Guy had told him that he’d not been there in months. The clipping had been redirected from Ray’s old address but Ray had no memory of Guy ever having been there. Of course, it wouldn’t have been so difficult to get Ray’s address, a phone call or two would have managed that, but it still didn’t explain the postmark. If Guy had genuinely not been there then someone must have forwarded it for him. Someone who had Ray’s old address. The people who had his new one could be numbered on the fingers of one hand. Even the hospital didn’t have his new address until more than a week after he had left.
Now, who would Guy ask to forward a letter for him? It had to be either an ex-colleague or the hospital and Ray felt he would bet on the second. Guy had visited him there, would be likely to remember what ward he was on.
OK, next step, talk to the hospital and ask if they’d passed on a message to him, see if he could definitely track it back to Halshaw.
Satisfied with that small step and that Columbo was close to solving his case, Ray closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Chapter Thirty-eight
The earth was baked hard. The month was June and it had been unusually hot for weeks now. The dust from the path wormed itself into her shoes and ground between her toes. More tired than she cared to think, Kitty turned gratefully off the main path and into Southby wood.
The wood was cool and green, and the light soft, filtered through the trees. Halfway between the path and the village, just off the track, was a deep pool fed by springs. Kitty promised herself that she would rest awhile there before returning to the cottage.
The birth she had attended was a difficult one. The woman had been in labour three days before her husband finally came for Kitty. Before Randall came to the village there would have been no hesitation. Kitty would have been asked for as soon as the first contractions came. But the
Randalls’ continuing disapproval had made things hard for Kitty, Martha’s hatred of her growing despite Kitty’s attempts at reconciliation.
The child had presented wrongly and it had taken all of her skill to birth it safely. The woman had lost a great deal of blood, but by the time Kitty had finally left, the bleeding had slowed and the woman and baby slept peacefully. She would have liked to stay a little longer, Kitty reflected, but a messenger had arrived to give notice that Martha Randall would be attending on them later to see how the mother fared. It was something Martha had taken upon herself to do frequently of late, seeking to undermine Kitty’s position even further. Kitty had decided it was best to leave. She thought of the child she had helped to birth and she smiled, remembering the red and grumpy face and the relief and pride of the parents. It was worth all the time and worry.
She reached the pool and sat down. The water was always clear and cold and green, reflecting the canopy of trees. It was late on the Sunday morning and, knowing that the entire village would be in church by now and that no one would be surprised at her absence because of the birth, she could not resist the impulse. She took off her clothes and stepped naked into the water, breaking the mirrored green and splashing silver towards the sun.
* * *
Martha was not in church either but was, as promised, on her way to see the new child and its mother. Her path led through the churchyard and into the woods. It was a relief to be out of the hot sun for a time and Martha did not hurry herself. In her mind she was rehearsing what she would say to the new parents. How she would welcome the baby and make arrangements for the churching of its mother as soon as she was fit enough to rise. Martha had been slowly discouraging the villagers from calling on the Hallam woman in time of need and Martha was pleased that, more often now, her advice was asked for. It grieved her though that she did not have Kitty’s skills to call upon and could not more completely take on her role.