“No.” He frowned and looked into her eyes. “I did.”
Chapter Sixty
“Martin. Hello again.”
He shifted his feet. He was due to appear before the Magistrate this morning, to give his plea. Not Guilty, despite his solicitor’s advice.
“Sit down, will you,” she said. She took a file from a shopping bag and placed it on the table between them. “Now, let me see…”
She bent to the file, yawning as she read. Martin stared at the ceiling, unconvinced that this woman would be able to help him.
“Right,” she said. She slapped the file shut and leaned back in her chair. She smelled of a heavy musk perfume mixed with garlic. “So, I’ve spoken to the CPS lawyer.”
“The who?”
“Sorry. Crown Prosecution Service. They’re keen on plea bargaining these days.”
He swallowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means you’ve got a chance to avoid a long prison sentence.” She smiled at him, her brightly lipsticked lips crooked.
“How?”
“If you plead guilty when you go before the magistrates, then they’ll give you – hang on.” She licked her thumb and leafed through her file. “Twelve months inside then another year under curfew. Ankle bracelet, the usual.”
“Sorry. If I plead guilty to what?”
“To killing those boys.”
“You mean, they’ll give me a year if I plead guilty to murder?”
“Well, no. It’s been commuted to manslaughter. On the grounds that they supposedly attacked you first.”
“Even so…”
“I know, I know. This would never have happened in the old days. But they’ve only got half as many prisons now, and twice as many people to lock up. They’re keen to get rid of as many of you as they can.” She put a hand on her chest. “And thanks to Judith here, you hit the jackpot.”
She grinned at him. He felt sick.
“But I didn’t kill them.”
She waved a hand. “Whether you did it or not is pretty irrelevant.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Look, Martin. Can you produce any witnesses?”
“There’s Bill.”
She opened her file again. “Bill?”
“Bill Peterson. He was there. I think.”
“And he’ll vouch for you.”
Martin let his limbs go numb. “No.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”
“Yeah.”
“So. Anyone else?”
He thought of the deserted farm, the disappeared men. At first he’d thought Bill was lying, that they’d gone off on a foraging sortie. But all their gear was gone.
“No,” he said.
“So you don’t have a very strong case, do you?”
Stop talking to me like I’m a child, he thought. “No.”
She stood up. “I’ll let you think about it.”
He looked up at her. She had at least two chins and a bead of sweat hanging at the end of her nose. “How long have I got?”
She checked her watch. “Half an hour. There’ll be a copper in here, keeping an eye on you. I’ll be back.”
“Right.”
“Seriously, Martin. I suggest you take the deal.”
Chapter Sixty-One
“You did what?” Sarah pulled away from Bill.
“Well, I didn’t actually kill them. But it was me who gave the order.”
“What the hell does that mean?” asked Sam. “This isn’t the military.”
Bill raised an eyebrow. “I think Robert had ambitions in that direction, at one time. He ran things on strict lines of authority. He would tell me to do things, and I would pass them on to one or more of the more junior men.”
“Even murder?”
Bill lowered his eyes. “You have to understand. Those were hard times. We were all scared. Those lads were trouble.”
Sarah thought of Martin, alone in a police cell. “The lads who attacked Martin?”
“What?”
“When he met you. He told me he’d been attacked, that Robert told your men to kill them.”
Bill’s brow was creased. “No. It’s not them. I’ve no idea who those little fuckers were.”
“Who were they then?”
Jacob and Zahir were part of our group.”
She felt her jaw drop. “What?”
“Yeah. They attacked some girls. We told them to get packing.”
“You didn’t kill them?”
“We roughed them up a bit. Well, the lads did. I wasn’t there. They told me it got nasty. Quite a lot of blood.”
“They died?”
Bill shrugged. How could he be so calm about this?
“I guess so,” he said. “Never thought about it till the police showed up.”
“But why have they arrested Martin?”
“Ah.”
“Ah what?”
“Yeah. Our lads. They nicked Martin’s knife. I guess that’s what they used on them.”
Sam shifted his weight. Sarah felt as if the shed walls were pushing in on her. The dead men weren’t even the ones she’d thought they were.
“Was Martin with you, when this happened? Was he a part of the group?”
“He’d been with us a couple days. Robert commented that it was fate, losing two bad ‘uns and picking up a good ‘un.”
She stared at him, gathering her thoughts.
“We didn’t mean to kill them,” Bill said.
“Rubbish,” she replied.
Bill’s forehead creased. “What?”
“Surely you know if you’ve hurt someone badly enough to kill them.”
“You wouldn’t understand, you’re— well, you’re you. But you walked here too, with your parents. You know what it was like. You’re telling me your dad didn’t use violence at any point?”
She sensed Sam avoiding her eye. “He protected us,” she said.
“He defended you, right?”
“Yes.”
“He hurt people?”
She felt her head fill with clouds. “There were some men. They broke into my tent, tried to…” She swallowed. “They ran off.”
Bill stared at her evenly. “Did you see them again?”
“No. I assumed they’d…” She straightened up. “This has nothing to do with it.”
Bill arched an eyebrow.
“No,” she said. “It doesn’t. You killed those men. If you didn’t do it, you told someone else to do it. Isn’t that conspiracy?”
“Yes,” said Sam. “Conspiracy to commit murder.”
“What if we were defending ourselves?” said Bill.
The cramped shed seemed to shrink in on her, as if it would squeeze them in place. “Were you?”
“No. Not at that moment, no.”
“So you murdered them.”
A pause. She heard an animal scurry up the outside of the shed and land on the roof, its legs beating against the wood. Her breathing was heavy.
“Yes,” said Bill. “We did. But Martin had nothing to do with it.”
She stared at him. Why hadn’t he told the police this, when they came to the farm? Did Martin know?
“You have to tell the police,” she said.
Bill shook his head. “I can’t do that. Those lads, the ones who did it, they’re long gone. It’s no use.”
“Who was it?”
He eyed her, chewing his lip. He sniffed and lifted his head. “Leroy and Mike.”
Leroy. She felt a shiver crawl down her back.
“But what about Martin?”
He eyed her. “He killed Robert, didn’t he?”
“He was defending me.”
“Was he? As I recall it, your dad had just dragged Robert off you when Martin pounced.”
She clenched her fists. Her palms were clammy.
“I suggest you leave,” said Sam.
Bill nodded at him. “Fair enough.”
Sarah shrank back, almost
leaning on Sam, as Bill clambered over the tools to the door of the shed. He hesitated, listening for anyone outside.
“Go,” she said. He looked back at her then pushed the door open.
“Now,” she said. She felt hot, her body steaming with anger. He stepped outside and let the door swung shut behind them, plunging her and Sam into the mist of the early morning.
She closed her eyes, listening. If there were people out there, they would stop him. What would they do to him? Would they know who he was? Would they take him to Jess?
Not if her father got to him first.
“Come on,” she said to Sam. “I need to find my dad.”
Chapter Sixty-Two
Martin allowed himself to be led up the narrow stairs into the dock. He could hear echoing voices above his head and smell disinfectant.
At the top, he turned to see his solicitor with two men beyond a panel of glass. Beyond them was a desk with a woman sitting at it. Another desk, to one side, held two more women. None of them looked at him.
Judith turned and gave him an encouraging smile. He didn’t return it.
One of the women at the table to the side started speaking. The woman in the centre, the one he thought was the magistrate, stared at him with dark eyes. She was dressed in a neat grey suit and had hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her eyes weren’t friendly.
“Can you state your name please?”
Martin turned to the woman who had spoken. She was almost his mother’s age, with a thin face and greying hair. “Martin Walker,” he said.
“And your address.”
He looked at his solicitor. She cleared her throat. “Er, my client currently has no fixed address.”
He looked down at his hands, ashamed. He’d tried so hard to find a home for himself, in the village. But it had been futile from the outset.
“Mr Walker, you are here today because you’ve been charged with the murder of Jacob Cripps and Zahir Ali on the first of March two thousand and—”
He leaned forwards. “What?”
His solicitor gave him a look. He wasn’t supposed to speak.
“March?” he said. “March?”
The woman checked a sheet of paper on the desk in front of her and repeated the date. “March the first, two thousand and eighteen.”
He shook his head. “No! No, it was the middle of February. I know that, because of the supermarket.”
The magistrate raised a hand. “Mr Walker, you need to calm down please. We will tell you when it’s your chance to speak.”
“But you’ve got it wrong! It was February when it happened. Not March. How can you—”
Judith was leafing through her file, looking panicked. Martin heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see a policeman standing a foot away from him.
“You’ve got it wrong!” he shouted. “It’s not me. The dates are wrong, you see!”
“Mr Walker.” The magistrate stood up. The solicitors in front of her shuffled backwards. “If you can’t keep calm, then I will hold you in contempt.”
He stared at his solicitor. Her cheeks were red and her hair uncombed. “Tell them!” he shouted. “Tell them they’ve got it wrong.”
“Remove him from the court, please,” the magistrate said.
The policeman gripped Martin’s arm and pulled him away.
Chapter Sixty-Three
The allotments were empty, the only life the crows pulling worms out of the rutted earth.
“Where did he go?” breathed Sam.
“I don’t know,” said Sarah. “Back to the farm, I hope.”
Sam turned to her. “Are you alright?”
Her heart felt like it might burst and her legs felt hollow. “Yes.”
“You look pale.”
“I’ll be fine.”
What next? Did she have enough to take to the police herself? Bill hadn’t told her which of his gang had actually killed those men. And without alternative suspects or a witness, Martin would have little chance.
She thought back to her own experiences on the road. Martin had been beaten up, but she’d faced worse. If it hadn’t been for her father…
She felt the ground shift beneath her. She groaned and swayed a little, her head suddenly empty.
Sam grabbed her. “You’re coming with me.”
She blinked and leaned into him, gathering her breath. “No. I need to tell them. I need to talk to the police.”
“What are you going to tell them?”
“That it wasn’t Martin, of course.” She swallowed.
“What about Robert’s murder?” Sam said.
“That was different.”
“They brought Ruth back, so they’ll have charged Martin with that too.”
She brought her fingertips to her forehead. It was beaded with sweat. Martin was under suspicion of three murders now.
“I have to talk to them,” she croaked.
“You need to rest first.”
She let Sam steer her towards his house, which was thankfully close to the allotments. She dreaded explaining herself to his family, but didn’t have the strength to argue.
He propped her against him as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.
“Hello?” he called.
No reply. She felt a wave of relief flow over her, followed by nausea. She retched.
“Shit,” Sam muttered. He grabbed a flowerpot next to the door and held it up to her face. She retched again but nothing came out.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“It’s OK.”
He guided her inside the house and onto the sofa. The house was cluttered and homely, dirty plates piled up next to the sink and books littering the floor between the sofa and the fire. There was another armchair, faded and green.
“I didn’t take you for a reader,” she said.
He held a book up. The cover featured a man with no shirt on. He was tanned and muscled. “Not me,” he said. “My mum. Escapism.”
She smiled weakly. Plenty of people needed a dose of escapism, here. Her own was found in the folds at the back of her cat’s neck, which she liked to nuzzle.
She blinked to clear her vision, focusing on each part of the room in turn. There were pictures on the walls, framed watercolours which probably dated from before the floods. Surrounding them were rougher, less polished pieces of art on scraps of paper. Crayon, coloured pencil and one or two in paint.
“My sister’s work,” Sam said, spotting her gaze. “She likes to paint.”
“Where does she get the paints?’
“There were some in the shop, from before. No one had claimed them. Mum’s friendly with Pam.”
Pam was the stern-faced woman who presided over the village shop. It was less a shop, more a distribution point, with people being allowed their allocated rations and no more. Sarah knew that Pam liked to help the families of the men who went out to work, who brought cash in. Ted had complained about favouritism often enough.
“They’re lovely,” she said.
“You think so?”
She nodded.
She pulled herself forward in the chair. Sam had placed a glass of water on the table next to her and she drank from it eagerly, the water hitting her empty stomach like a hailstorm. She belched.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise.”
She nodded and pulled herself to her feet. She was better now; the lightness had gone from her head and her body felt solid again, not as if she might pass through the nearest object.
She remembered her mother, standing in the hallway, calling after her. How long before her father came home?
“I need to go home.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
She shook her head.
“Has it occurred to you to tell your mum the truth?”
She stared at him. He was looking away from her, at one of the crayon drawings. It depicted a family; two parents, four children.
“What truth?” Her heart was racing.
His lips tightened. “About Martin.”
Her mouth fell open. Did she want to tell the truth? Did she even know what the truth was?
“If you can’t tell her,” he said, “what about the police?”
“I don’t have any evidence.” She tugged on his arm and he turned to her. His eyes were red. “I shouldn’t have told Bill to leave.”
“That wasn’t you.”
“No. But what he told us… I don’t know, Sam.”
“He killed them. If not that, he was responsible for their deaths.”
“I don’t know.”
“Sarah,” he said, standing up. “You need to do something. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.”
She let him pull her up to her feet.
“I have to go home,” she said.
“You’re going back to your mum.”
“No. I’m going to get the bike.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
The house was still, no sign of her mother. She’d left the bike against the far wall after bringing it home the previous night, but would it still be there?
“Let’s go round the back,” she said. She gestured to Sam and he followed her round the side of Sanjeev’s house, next door to her own. They flattened themselves against the back wall, feeling spray from the sea on their faces even this high above the waves. The sky was the washed-out grey of old towels.
She peered round the back window of Sanjeev’s house. His younger brother was in the living room, crouched on the floor with what looked like a pack of cards spread out on the coffee table.
She smiled, wondering if she’d ever find normality like that.
She stepped out onto the grass and started to stroll towards her own house, past her neighbour’s back windows. After a few paces she turned towards the boy. He was watching her, a card dropped to the floor.
She gave him a friendly wave and carried on walking.
Sam followed suit, hurrying to catch her up.
Anish was only sixteen years old; he wouldn’t bother himself with the neighbours’ business. She doubted he’d ever spoken to her mother.
At the corner of her own house, she stopped again. The bike was tucked under an overhang, right in front of a window.
Sea of Lies Page 20