Hit and Run

by Maria Frankland

  “I just did.”

  “Well, you can bloody well turn around again.”

  “You didn’t really leave me a lot of option Mr Turner.” His name sticks in my throat. “You wouldn’t speak to me on the phone.”

  “My dealings were with your husband, not you.” I’m absolutely sick of people looking at me and speaking to me like a piece of shit. Maybe I’d punch him or put his windows through if I wasn’t already on bail.

  “You admit to having dealings with him, at least?” I will make him talk, even if I have to squeeze the words out of him through his gonads.

  “I’ve already said, I’m not telling you anything.”

  “Have the police spoken to you yet?”

  “I’ve told them everything they need to know.”

  “Where’s our money?”

  He looks thoughtful for a few seconds, then his shoulders seem to sag. “OK, Rob and I had an investment opportunity, but we lost out on this one, unfortunately. You win some, you lose some in this game. That’s the way it goes. It’s a gamble. You must know that. There is no money. Sorry.”

  “Don’t give me that crap.” I look up at his house and across at their car. “Where are the trappings you emailed Rob? All those pictures of - the house, the Porsche, the wife? The wife I’ve seen through Facebook is nothing like the woman you sent us a photograph of.”

  He steps from the door and pulls it behind him. “I’m just a salesman when all’s said and done. I sell a dream. Sometimes it wins. Sometimes it doesn’t.”

  “Well, if it hasn’t won, I need proof of that.”

  “What you need is to keep your beak well out of my business.”

  I swallow. “Look, I’m not here to cause trouble. I just want my money back.”

  “It was a transaction between me and Rob. And like I said. It’s gone.”

  “Gone where.”

  “Gone from your account.” The skin of his lip drags across the top of his teeth in his attempt at a thin smile. “I’ll enjoy it properly, when all this shit has blown over. All you need to know is, like I said, you win some, you lose some.”

  “You can’t do that to us – you can’t take our money.”

  He lowers his voice. “Look here you thick bitch, I already have. It was your stupid husband who was gullible enough to go along with my suggestions. I didn’t force him to transfer me the money.”

  I glance around, hoping to see one or two of his neighbours around. I’m in a strange city at the home of a man who is obviously a nasty piece of work. It’s too late to acknowledge how vulnerable I’ve made myself. “He trusted you. He thought you were friends.”

  “More fool him then.” He folds his arms across his fat chest. “There’s no room for conscience in business. It’s every man for himself.”

  I want to cry. This shit is real. He’s robbed all our money. “You will not get away with this. I’ll make sure of that. I’ll…”

  “What will you do? I don’t like threats, as your husband found out.”

  I stare at his pudgy face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Look love. I don’t want you here. I don’t want the police here. Deepest condolences about your husband, and all that, but really, I want leaving alone. By the lot of you.”

  “Do you know how much trouble I’m in because of you? I’m getting accused of killing him, fraud, and everything. Do you know how much money he stole from his employers?”

  He grins. I want to slap him. “Of course I do. I helped him set it all up. I knew I was on to a winner, didn’t I?”

  “What went wrong? What changed?”

  “Nothing. I picked out a couple of companies to invest in. I just decided not to invest in them.”

  “But they’re blaming me for it all. If you think I’m going down without a fight.”

  “You can’t prove a thing.”

  “Watch me. You’ve fleeced us out of three hundred and seventy-five grand. I will make sure you get what’s coming to you.” I stare at him, the shock at his cheek, momentarily crowding out my anger. I glance at his dirty fingernails and faded jeans. He’s a far cry from the man in the photographs.

  “The police have accepted that I invested in legit companies, I’ve proven it to them, so you’ve no reason to be here.”

  “But you didn’t even invest it, did you? You’ve admitted to that. You’ve just put our money in your pocket.” My voice rings out into the quiet garden. His wife can’t possibly be here – I’m sure she’d have been out by now to see what all the commotion is about. “Where’s your wife anyway? Does she know how you have been making your money lately?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “Well I’d like to see her. I’d want to know if I was married to someone like you.”

  “I’m warning you love. You stay away from me and my wife. You can’t prove nothing.”

  “Do you know Rob was coming after you? I saw his note to you.”

  “Yeah, on my car windscreen. Not to mention all the threatening messages. He got a bit worked up, your husband.” His face breaks into a grin. “In fact, he was an accident waiting to happen.”

  “You what? What are you saying?” The mist of fury descends on me again. He’s lucky I’ve hung onto my temper so far.

  “Right, I’ve said all I’ve got to say to you. Get off my property.”

  “Your property! I’m going nowhere without my money.”

  “Good luck with that one. Go on, piss off and don’t come here again. You can either walk away, or…”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “We’ve said all there is to say here. Business is business. Sometimes you’ve got to learn the hard way.”

  “But you’ve admitted taking our money to invest, and then not investing it. I’m sure the police will be interested in knowing about it.”

  “Perhaps they would be, if you could prove it.” He laughs. “You’ve got no proof that I haven’t invested your money.”

  “Gotcha!” I back away from him toward my car, waving my phone in the air. What he didn’t know is that I had hit the voice record button on my walk from the path to the front door. I’ve now got everything I need to nail him for all of it.

  Quick as a flash, he’s after me. Shit – what did I show him the phone for? I break into a run, yanking my keys from my pocket. I’ll be in the Jeep before he gets anywhere near me. He’s that fat, he won’t be able to run. I’m wrong. He slams me against the car. “Give me the phone.”

  “No chance.”

  He tries to yank my bag from my shoulder. “I said give me the fucking phone, you little bitch.”

  “Get the fuck off me!” We’re both gripping my bag handle for dear life. His hand tightens around the one I’m holding my keys in. I feel one of them gouging into my palm. “Get away from me,” I shriek, hoping one of his neighbours will hear. He’s not getting my phone. It might be the one thing that saves me from everything. Me and my big mouth. But I had wanted to wipe the pathetic smirk off his face.

  He moves the hand that’s gripping my shoulder across my throat. “Help!” I yell as he rams my head against the top edge of the car, his grasp on my throat tightening. I’ve got both hands free. I’m gasping for breath but find the strength to reach between his legs, ready to twist whatever I can get hold of like they once taught me in a self-defence class, but he’s too quick for me and jumps backwards.

  “Get your bloody hands off her.” A well-built man comes out of nowhere. “Let her go.” He lurches towards us. “You arsehole. I saw all that.”

  I turn towards the voice. Turner takes full advantage of my being suddenly off guard and yanks the bag from my hand. With a sneer on his face, he holds my phone aloft, before bringing it crashing to the ground.

  “No.” I shout, watching it bounce.

  He stamps on it again, and again. Pieces of glass and plastic splinter off in all directions. “Prove it now, bitch.” He strides back towards his house.

  “I’ll be back,” I sho
ut after him. “I’ll be making sure your wife knows what you are.”

  “Are you OK?” The man who came to my aid gathers up what is left of my phone.

  “Thank God you came along when you did.” I feel certain that Turner might have choked me to death if he hadn’t.

  He hands the bits of my phone to me. “Shall I call the police for you? You can wait at my house if you need to. My wife’s there.”

  “Thanks, but no. I’m going to see them in person now. This is all part of an ongoing investigation.”

  “Are you sure you’re OK to drive after that?”

  I look at him. He can’t be older than his mid-twenties. If he hadn’t interrupted, Turner seemed set to throttle me. “I’ll be fine. Thanks so much for helping me.”

  “Make sure you report him. It’s blokes like that who give the rest of us a bad name. Here’s my card, get the police to call me if you need a witness.”

  * * *

  With still no firm evidence,

  I’m nearly home and dry.

  Chapter 37

  The woman behind the desk looks bored. “Name please?”

  “Fiona Matherson. I’m here to see DI Green about the case involving my husband, Robert Matherson.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” She runs her pen down a list.

  “No, but it’s urgent.”

  “I’ll see if she’s free. Really, you should have made an appointment.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve had my phone smashed so I couldn’t ring.” I slide the remains of my phone from my pocket to show her.

  Her gaze flits to my throat. “Are you OK? Your neck?”

  My hand automatically flies to it. “That’s partly what I’m here about.”

  “Take a seat. I’ll find her.”

  “PC Robinson has also been dealing with my case, if DI Green isn’t available,” I call after her.

  I sink onto the metal bench, grateful there is no one else in the waiting room to stare at me. I guess a Monday afternoon will never be the busiest day in a police station. It’s nearly two o’clock. I must get this over with so I can collect Jack at three. I feel lost without my phone. Dad may have already planned to collect him, but without being able to speak to him, I can’t bank on that. We’ll probably both turn up. Dad will go mad when he sees the state of my neck.

  I can’t believe it’s only half-way through the day. So far, I’ve arranged a funeral wake, driven to Manchester, had an altercation with that arsehole, driven back, and now this. Not that I recall much of my journey back – my brain was too busy turning the conversation with Turner over and over in my head.

  “Fiona. How can I help you?” DI Green opens the door from the custody suite. “Do you want to come through?”

  I take a seat in the all-too-familiar interview room. The drive back from Manchester has calmed me somewhat, and I’m able to relay the events with James Turner coherently. “I’ve got it all on my phone,” I tell her when I’ve finished the story. “Him admitting to taking our money, knowing he would not invest it. Him admitting to being part of Rob’s fraud with his company. And in not so many words, it sounds as though he might have been admitting to his role in Rob’s death as well.”

  “Right, you’d better play it to me.” She leans back in her chair. “I will record it as well.”

  “Well, that’s it. He realised what I was doing, recording him, I mean, and he smashed it.” I pass the sorry-looking remains of my phone across the table. “It’s my own stupid fault. I got cocky and let him know I had his words on record. I thought I could get back to my car in time. Get away from him.”

  “I see. We should still be able to get access to the recording, as long as it saved onto the hard drive. You saved it, didn’t you?”

  “It was still recording as I was running away from him. Something might have got pressed on the phone screen whilst he had hold of me which saved it. I really hope so.”

  She looks at me, sympathy etching her face this time. Over the last week, I’ve never known what reaction I’m going to evoke in this woman. I’ve had it all - suspicion, disbelief, respect, and distaste.

  She records my version of the episode with Turner.

  “Whether this is backed up by the phone recording or not, are you planning to speak to Mr Turner again,” I ask her.

  DI Green pauses. “Leave it with me for now Fiona. I’ll do what I can with this phone, then we’ll see what happens when we talk to Turner again.”

  “Well, I want to press charges for assault. I’ve got a witness.” I pull the card he gave me from my bag. “I want the book thrown at him.”

  I am relieved to find my pale green chiffon scarf in the boot of the Jeep. At least no one at school will have cause for gossip, even though it is too warm to be wearing it. I race into the playground with seconds to spare before Jack will be taken to wait at reception. Dad emerges from the year two cloakroom with him in tow.

  “How come you’re both here?” Jack looks from me, back to his Grandad.

  “I didn’t know if you’d remember to collect him,” I say to Dad. “And I couldn’t ring you to ask.”

  “I’m hardly likely to forget about my grandson.” He pats the top of Jack’s head, whilst giving me a look that says, not like you. “And why couldn’t you ring me?”

  “Long story. I’ll tell you when we get home.”

  “Can we go to the park? Pleeeese!”

  “Fiona. Hi!” Lynne leaves the huddle of women she is chatting with and hurries towards us, bracelets rattling and hair flowing out behind her. “How are you doing?” She lands in front of us. “I saw the funeral announcement earlier on Facebook.” She puts her hand on my arm as though we’ve been friends forever.

  “Hanging in there, I guess. I didn’t realise you were friends with my husband on Facebook?”

  “Oh yes. Now I’m friends with you. He came up as a suggestion of someone I might know.”

  But he’s dead. I want to say. We shouldn’t be talking like this in front of Jack, but he’s totally engrossed in a discussion with Sam about what film and pizza topping they should have tomorrow.

  “Is this your Dad?”

  “Yes, I’m Roger.” Dad steps closer to Lynne and holds out his hand. “It’s nice to meet one of Fiona’s friends.”

  “Pleased to meet you too.” She accepts Dad’s handshake. He always has to be so formal. “Will you be there tomorrow when I come around for a glass of wine?”

  Worry creeps into Dad’s eyes as he looks at me.

  “Well, I’ll be on tea. I don’t drink anymore.”

  “Of course you don’t. You’ve mentioned it before.” She pauses. “Why not, anyway? I don’t think I’ve asked you.”

  She must know I used to have a problem. Sam only started at this school when they moved here a year ago, but there’s no way that the year two mummy in-crowd will have kept a juicy piece of gossip like that from her. I feel like she’s fishing for more information to go back to them with. “Health reasons, mainly.”

  “Ah right. Tea it is then. It will do me good not to drink for a change!”

  “I’m glad I’ve seen you Lynne.” At least I remember her name now. “My phone’s in for repair, so I won’t be able to text you after I’ve picked Sam up tomorrow. But don’t worry – I won’t forget or anything.”

  Dad glances at the boys and smiles. “I doubt these two would allow you to!”

  * * *

  I shall take my funeral seat on Friday

  and then get on

  with the rest of my life.

  Chapter 38

  Jack doesn’t normally come bounding into my room at ten past seven.

  “Mum! Mum!”

  Usually I’m dragging him from his bed after eight. He likes his sleep. But today is his eighth birthday, and I’m happy to see his excitement.

  It’s surprising how resilient kids are. I keep noticing clouds of sadness crossing his eyes, when he’s possibly thinking of his Dad, but overall, I’m pleased by how well
he’s coping. If he shows any sign of not doing, there’s grief counselling that can help him. I’ve already got the number in a brochure from the funeral director.

  Dad has been a godsend this week. For Jack, and me. I think the sense of purpose Dad feels from looking after us has kept him from moping about Mum and getting worked up about her affair. It sounds as though her latest extra-marital indiscretion is over. I’m sure there will be another though. Mum is a person who seems to think that the grass is always greener on the other side. I doubt she will ever change.

  “This is from me and Grandma.” Dad slides a card across the dining room table.

  “One hundred pounds,” Jack shrieks. “I’m rich!”

  “He’s got a lot to learn.” Dad laughs.

  He rips the gift wrapping from his new scooter. “Can I show it to my friends?”

  I laugh now, for the first time since Rob died. “After school you can, love. But you need to get ready now. I’ve got you a big bag of sweets to hand out to your friends.”

  “Maybe my birthday will not be so bad after all.” He picks up his money and walks to the dining-room door.

  Dad and I smile at each other.

  “It’s good to see him back to himself,” he says. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Strange,” I reply. “I expect things will change after Friday. I just want to get it over with and then get the police off my back.”

  “I know.” Dad sighs and looks up at the wedding picture of me and Rob. I can hardly bear to look at it now. I should take it down. Even on my wedding day, with my beautiful dress, and hair and make-up done, I still felt like a dog’s dinner.

  Whilst Dad was proud to give me away, Mum had a face like a smashed crab all day – she didn’t even make it to most of the night do, claiming she had fallen asleep in her hotel room after too much champagne. Rob had spent most of the evening with his bike and golf friends. I felt neglected but didn’t let on. It seems the writing was on the wall, even then.

  Since he’s died, I know for certain why he married me. He got everything he wanted. I hope they can prise the conversation from yesterday out of my phone, so I have some hope of getting my money back, and clearing my name. Somehow, I will pick myself up and start again. I have done it before.