As Lucy was drinking, she forgot for a moment why she’d rushed over to the water fountain in the first place. Then the detectives came into view in her peripheral vision, and she went tense, keeping still as they passed by. Once they’d taken several steps away from her, she straightened up and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. She couldn’t help but look towards the officers as they moved away from her, noting how tall both men were, the left-hand one built like a barn door across the shoulders. The right-hand one was taller than even Jackson had been, and Lucy pictured how he’d look down on her, sneering like Jackson used to. She shuddered.
To her shock and horror, the two men stopped outside Max’s room, talking quietly to each other as they paused by the door. They were here because of Max? Were they investigating Jackson’s death? Would they come to the house, seeking information about her? Maybe they’d even suspect that it was her fault somehow, or they’d see that Lucy was looking after Eva and try to take her away.
The panic in her chest that’d been building up pressure ever since she stepped into the hospital reached a peak, and she clenched her hands repeatedly, trying to make her legs work so that she could get the hell out of here. Just as she was about to move, the taller of the two policemen turned and glanced her way and their eyes locked. Her heart felt like it seized up as the officer looked at her, nothing but faint curiosity in his gaze. His partner said something, and he looked away from her.
The break in eye contact seemed to be just enough to make Lucy’s legs work again, and she walked away, her knees feeling weak but the fear in her gut spurring her on. There was a burning prickling in the back of her neck, and she felt certain that the police officer was staring after her. Any second, she expected him to call out to stop her or chase after her, but it didn’t come, and she managed to get around the corner of the hallway without falling over or breaking into a run.
From then on, Lucy couldn’t help but break into a shambling jog as she headed for the lifts, her breathing coming too fast. She jabbed the lift button and silently begged it to arrive faster so that she could get the hell out here. Jackson might have died on one of these beds, or else he was lying somewhere under her feet, cold and still. She hadn’t loved him or even liked him most of the time, but picturing him like that made her want to be sick.
Lucy made it out of the front doors in one piece and staggered over to the bike rack off to the side, leaning her hip against the cool metal bar and gasping at the mild air.
So now she knew. Jackson was gone, and he’d left her alone. She’d have to fend for herself against the sharks, even though he’d been the one to bait them in the first place, and she’d have to do it all whilst protecting her sister. She drew back her shoulders and walked back to her car, surprised at how steady her legs felt all of a sudden.
Now that Lucy knew what she was up against, she would look after herself and Eva. She’d done what was necessary before, and she’d do it again if she had to.
Four
I watched the petite, dark-haired woman walk away down the hospital corridor and wondered whether the fear I thought I’d seen on her face had been real or imagined. When she’d met my gaze, she’d looked like a rabbit facing down a fox, and I wanted to know why.
“Darren?” Stephen prompted from my side.
We were here to speak with Max’s parents further, and I couldn’t afford to go after the woman and ask her who she was. Not that it would have been totally appropriate for me to go up to her without any indication that she was related to our case or had done anything wrong. All she’d done had been to give me a fearful look, but incessantly curious as I was, I wanted to know why.
“Mate, they’re waiting,” Stephen said, bumping his shoulder against mine when I continued to stall.
“Aye, alright,” I said.
The corridor was empty now, and I pulled my thoughts away from the strange encounter and into the present. We had a number of questions to ask the Riders, and I couldn’t afford to be distracted.
I knocked lightly on the door and received a faint call to enter from inside. Only Max’s mum, Angela, was there when we came inside. She was sitting by Max’s bed, holding his limp hand in hers like she could will him awake and well through touch and love alone. I really felt for her and her husband.
“Nigel’s gone to get some coffee,” she told us. She kept her voice low as if Max was merely sleeping and not in some kind of medical coma.
“Okay. Thanks for agreeing to talk to us,” I said, matching her volume.
There was only one spare seat in the hospital room, and I gestured for Stephen to take it. He resisted for a moment before giving in. He had an old knee injury from his uni rugby day, and it’d flared up this week after he fell badly on it during an amateur game on Wednesday evening. He was still limping a little but refused to take any time off. He’d fondly called me a hypocrite when I tried to get him to go home, and I could hardly argue with that. I was awful at being patient and resting up when I was the one injured.
Max’s mum shifted slightly in the hard plastic hospital seat, and I refocused my attention on her.
“Has there been any news from the doctor since we talked last night?” I asked her.
“Not really,” she sighed, looking down at Max while she talked. “They said it was definitely an o-opioid overdose. You know what that involves, I suppose.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, and she took a breath.
“I do, yes. And did they confirm whether or not that was the same with Jackson?”
She nodded silently, and I shared a glance with Stephen. I had my notebook and pen out and made a brief note, even though I doubted I would forget this conversation. The pause gave her a chance to take another couple of breaths and gather herself.
“What’s Max been like recently? Can you tell us about him?” Stephen asked, using his softer voice. He could be a scary-looking bloke when he wanted to be, but he wasn’t trying to right now, and it was obvious in the gentle concern on his face.
“He- he’s been troubled. Missing school, doing badly in his exams, refusing to talk to me or his dad. He was a sweet child, polite and eager to please. He wasn’t always like this.”
She seemed to be half-pleading with us to believe her, though her voice was carefully even. She was much more tidily dressed today than she had been last night, and I assumed that she must have gone home at least for an hour or so to freshen up.
“When did this behaviour start?” I asked her.
Nigel returned before she could respond, carrying two cups of tea in hand. He seemed momentarily surprised to see us before he just gave us a nod and went over to his wife, handing her a cup. She held it carefully with both hands like it was an eggshell she was afraid of breaking and didn’t take a sip.
Nigel also appeared far more put together today than he had before, proving my guess from last night correct. Both of Max’s parents seemed to have pride in their appearances and the money to do so, and I wondered whether there had been some pressure related to that which had influenced Max’s decisions. Not that I was placing the blame on the parents just yet; there could be any number of reasons why a teenager might start skipping school and taking illegal drugs, and it wasn’t always due to a poor upbringing.
“Mrs Rider?” I prompted after a moment.
“Hm? Oh, what was the question?”
“I was wondering when it was that Max’s behaviour changed,” I said.
Nigel and Angela looked at each other.
“Early last year, I’d guess. It was cannabis to begin with, which was bad enough before he started taking… other things,” Nigel said.
“Do you know where he was getting the drugs from?”
Angela gave a heavy sigh. “No, we have no idea. We tried and tried to get it out of him, to get him support and help. We really did all we could short of locking him in the house. We did what we could.”
“Do you think it was school friends?” Stephen pressed.
“We don’t know,” Nige
l said, an edge to his voice now. I gave him a nod of acknowledgement and moved on.
“Did you know that Jackson and Max were out together last night?”
“No. He must’ve gone down the drainpipe again.” Nigel passed a hand over his forehead in clear exasperation. “I tried locking that window, painting it shut even, but he still manages to get out somehow.”
“I understand. I suspect that Jackson and Max weren’t out alone, do you-”
“Why’s that? Do you know who was with Max?” Angela cut in, leaning forwards to fix me with an intense look.
I held up my hands. “It’s an educated guess. When teenagers and young people go out to have a good time, they usually go in groups. I’d be surprised if Jackson and Max were alone, that’s all.”
“I see.” She visibly deflated.
“I was hoping you might know who Jackson and Max usually hung out with, who their friends were. They might have some information for us.”
They might also have some of the same drugs that Jackson and Max had taken, I thought privately. And if they did, then they needed warning that the dose they had was dangerously strong, and they needed to be careful if they didn’t want to end up like Max or worse.
“We forbid Max from associating with people like that. If they left my boy alone when he was very ill, then we were right about them, weren’t we?” Nigel said stiffly. “You ought to track them down and lock them up for plain cruelty.”
I decided to ignore that last statement and thought about my next question instead. Stephen got in there first, and I turned to him.
“Did Max make any calls to your phones last night?” he asked.
It was a good question. We’d know for sure whether Max had phoned anyone if we could get hold of his phone, but we hadn’t got around to tracking that and Max’s wallet down yet. No doubt one of the hospital staff had them stored safely somewhere, or else they’d already been given to Max’s parents.
“No,” Nigel said. I blinked in surprise at his quick answer, and his wife sent him a quizzical look, too. “I checked already,” he added.
Angela pulled out her phone to have a look and, after a long minute, she shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Did the hospital give you anything belonging to Max or Jackson?” I asked, and that got a shake of the head from both of them.
“Were the two of them close?” Stephen asked curiously.
“Unfortunately,” Angela said with a slight frown.
“He was a poor influence,” Nigel agreed.
“In what way?”
Nigel waved his hand. “Every way. That boy is- was going nowhere. He dragged our son down with him.”
“I see. Was Max displaying any other strange behaviour other than skipping school?” I asked. Angela cast me a sad look like she wished I wouldn’t make her talk about it all.
“Yes. He received phone call frequently-”
“All the damn time,” Nigel said.
“And he was often travelling around. I’d find bundles of train tickets in his bin, which didn’t make any sense to me. He didn’t have many friends out of town, and he never liked to travel a great deal before all of this began. It was very odd.”
The more Angela talked, the more concerned I grew. This might not be an isolated case, I thought bleakly. I cast a look over at Stephen to see whether he was thinking along the same lines as I was, but his expression was quizzical. I shook my head, silently promising to tell him later.
“Was there anything else? Did he have more money than usual?” I asked quietly. I glanced over at Max’s slack, unconscious face as I asked and thought about how young a person could look when they were asleep.
“How did you know?” Angela said, her thin eyebrows raised.
“He was buying himself new things all the time. Game consoles, designer shoes, flashy coats, new phones. You would think we’d deprived him,” Nigel said, his mouth twisting bitterly.
“Now, now,” his wife chided him. “We don’t know what he was doing. We were worried about him. Remember the time he came back with a black eye? That was very concerning, but he wouldn’t say who did it, and he refused to receive medical treatment either.”
“The damn fool,” Nigel said. His words were harsh, but the bitterness had slipped from his tone, and sadness remained.
“Thank you for telling us. Did you ever happen to see any weapons in the house?” I asked. I tried to be gentle with asking, but it was a difficult question, and both of Max’s parents looked taken aback, despite all they’d already told me.
“Weapons?” Angela repeated.
“What do you mean? Knives? Guns? Do you think our son was some kind of thug?” Nigel snapped. His wife tugged at the crook of his arm as he got halfway out of his seat to glare at me.
“He was misguided, lost. Taking those substances makes a person very ill, in the mind, too. He wasn’t a violent boy, not really,” Angela hurriedly said. Nigel let her pull him back down into his seat, but he was still glowering at me.
“I understand. It’s a question I have to ask, that’s all,” I said.
“Well, I don’t like what you’re implying,” Nigel snapped. I could see that it was time to change the subject.
“I apologise. I didn’t mean any offence. Was there anything else you think we might like to know? Anything that happened recently that stood out to you?”
Nigel pulled back, his frown changing to confusion. “About Max?”
“Or Jackson, aye.”
They thought on it for a minute, Angela looking blank and giving me a shrug. Nigel seemed to have thought of something, though, and he gave his wife a look I couldn’t read.
“What about that letter?” he said to her.
I leaned forwards in interest. “What letter?” Stephen’s knee must have been aching because he was rubbing it, but he was paying absolute attention to the Riders too.
“Well, a few months ago,” Angela started slowly, “we received a letter through the door. I didn’t recognise the writing. It was quite childish.”
“What did it say?”
“It warned us that Max was in danger and that he was taking cocaine,” Nigel said when Angela fell quiet. “We knew he’d been taking something stronger than cannabis, but that was our wake-up call to get him to a medical facility. It didn’t last, unfortunately. He didn’t want to be helped.” He looked down at his son, lying still and pasty on the bed.
“Have you still got that letter?”
The mention of a mysterious warning caught my attention. I couldn’t think of anyone we’d met or heard of yet who’d do that. Jackson certainly didn’t send it, if everything we’d heard about him so far proved to be true, so who had?
“I’m sure I could find it,” Angela said.
“We’d appreciate seeing that. We’ll come with you to pick it from your house. It might be possible to retrieve fingerprints from it.”
“What? After all this time?” Nigel said.
“Aye, years-old fingerprints have been recovered from undisturbed objects.”
“We’ve handled it a great deal, I’m afraid,” Angela said.
I’d suspected as much and gave a shrug. “It may be worth looking, anyway. We’ll take your prints so we can eliminate them if you wouldn’t mind.”
The pair looked at each other before they both nodded.
“Anything we can do to help. But do you really think whoever sent that letter could be involved? They were trying to help us, to help Max, surely?” Angela said.
“That may be so, but them sending it implies they knew about Max and were invested in his life somehow. They might know something else that they could tell us.”
“Oh. I suppose that follows,” Angela conceded, though she seemed reluctant. I couldn’t tell whether it was a reluctance to let us into her house or that she wanted to think of the letter-sender as some kind of guardian angel. She glanced over to her husband to judge his opinion, and he gave a nod.
After
a short discussion, we agreed that Angela would stay here with Max and that Nigel would come with me back to the house. Angela wasn’t convinced that Nigel would be able to locate the letter, but he just waved her off.
“Are you alright to stay here and talk to the hospital staff?” I asked Stephen.
“To find Jackson and Max’s things?” he said.
“Aye, exactly. We could really do with Max’s phone and anything else they might’ve had on them.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll come and pick you up if finding the letter doesn’t take too long.”
“If it does, I’ll take a cab.”
I gave a nod of agreement, and we split up. I followed Nigel’s car over to the Riders’ house and hung back as Nigel hunted through desk drawers and piles of paperwork. He ended up having to call Angela to ask her where she thought the letter was, and it turned out to be pinned up on the kitchen cork board.
“There,” he grumbled, waving at it.
“Thanks.”
I put on a pair of gloves and carefully took the letter down, slipping it into an evidence bag whilst Nigel put the kettle on. I had a quick cup of tea with him before I headed back over to the hospital to pick Stephen up.
“Any luck?”
“Yep,” he said brightly as he climbed into the passenger seat. He held up an evidence bag with a phone and wallet inside. “There’d been a mix-up. The Riders should have been given Max’s phone and wallet once they turned up, but they were still being held by staff.”
Country Lines (A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller Book 8) Page 4