Isolation

by Jay Nadal

  Abby smiled at the gesture. “And where did you meet Janet?”

  “We met at Warwick University. We both studied English and Economics. During the first year, we seemed to click.” Her lips tugged upwards as her mind drifted back to the campus lifestyle they had shared. Abby’s question shook the woman from her reverie. “Sorry, dear, her job? Well she could never let go of her attachment to university life. When a post came up for a part-time research assistant at Sussex University, she jumped at the chance.”

  “Do you know what the research was about?”

  “She is,” Andrea paused, her eyes misting with unshed tears. “She…was working as a research assistant on a research project about family influences on children’s fears. It’s the Child Anxiety Theory and Treatment Laboratory, which is part of the School of Psychology. As you can see, the subject of children was never far from her mind. The research focused on how children were affected by anxiety and worry, and the greater psychological problems that it caused in their young lives. She took a particular interest in the effects of broken homes, abusive parents and poor social economic influences on their young lives.”

  Abby nodded as she scribbled away, jotting down the most pertinent points.

  Scott continued the questioning, keen to keep the ball rolling. “What more can you tell us about Janet Ashman? We are still trying to build a picture of her, and with her husband being in hospital, we need to reach out to those who knew her the best.”

  Worry lines creased Andrea’s forehead at the mention of Samuel being in hospital. She’d returned to wringing her hands in her lap. “Am I allowed to visit Samuel? I hate to think of him being alone at such a difficult time.”

  “That’s not possible. Not for the next day or two. He’s sedated, so we have had little opportunity to interview him and get a clearer account as to what happened. Perhaps leave it for thirty-six hours and then contact the hospital and see whether he is up for visitors.”

  “Mrs Edwards?”

  Andrea shook her head, confusion freezing her features. “I’m sorry, Inspector, what was your question?”

  “Janet Ashman. What more can you tell us about your friend?”

  Andrea smiled and dropped her shoulders. “She was a lovely, fun, caring woman. She wouldn’t say boo to a goose. If you needed help, then she would give her time. The research work is a prime example of that. She’s got a full-time job as a librarian, but still wanted to do more. That’s why she got involved with the university.”

  Playing with her bottom lip, she thought about other examples she could give the officers. “A close friend of ours passed away from cancer about two years ago I would imagine. She was a widow and struggled through the final stages of her battle. Yet, Janet would pop in every other night just to help with keeping her apartment tidy, doing washing for her, and getting in some groceries. She was never asked, she just wanted to help. That’s the kind of person she was.”

  Andrea’s head dropped, as she cried into her hands.

  Abby offered a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Andrea, this is helpful. I know this is very difficult for you.”

  Andrea nodded at the sentiment.

  Scott leant forward and studied the woman. “She sounds like a lovely lady. Do you know of any reason why someone would want to harm her? Did she have any enemies? Has she fallen out with someone?”

  The woman looked as if she’d been asked the most absurd questions. “No…No. She hadn’t mentioned anything of the sort. She worked with fantastic people at the university. Everyone knew her at the library.” Andrea let out the softest of laughs. “She always used to joke about the library. There were a few she found a bit stiff. Sticklers for rules and regulations. But that was about it. Even those who used to return books late would joke with her about being ticked off.”

  Scott smiled. “So she never told you about anything where she believed she was in danger?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “Samuel Ashman. What did you think of him?”

  “Samuel’s a nice enough man, Inspector. Hard-working, very talkative, but a good listener. He always kept abreast of the latest political developments, both local and national. I saw him as a one-man crusade for local issues. He felt they never got the airtime they deserved. We would throw the odd dinner party for each other, and Samuel would end up having a heated debate with Clive. He could be argumentative if he was passionate about something.”

  “Heated?”

  Andrea picked up on the seriousness in Scott’s tone. “Oh, nothing major. Clive is a solicitor, from a legal family. His father was a High Court judge, and Clive’s brother Anthony is a matrimonial lawyer. Most of our family, friends and acquaintances have law or banking running through their veins. Others are self-made successful businessmen and entrepreneurs. All are well-educated and very successful in their own fields. Janet was fine with that, Samuel, not so much. In our larger social gatherings, he often found it hard to fit in and engage in fluid conversations.”

  “Why do you think that was?”

  The woman grimaced. “If I’m honest, I don’t think he really fitted in. I think he had a chip on his shoulder. Very much a them and us situation.”

  Scott and Abby exchanged a brief glance.

  “Do you think Samuel may have had any enemies?”

  Andrea shrugged. She knew more about Janet than she did about Samuel. To her, he was a dark horse. “I don’t know to be honest, Inspector. If he had had one too many, which was often the case, he would tell us about the tight spots and scrapes that he experienced in London.”

  A brief lull in the conversation followed. Andrea Edwards seemed to toy with a myriad of thoughts. Her eyes bounced from one wall to another. Scott noticed how her eyes travelled down to the floor and gazed off to the right. With his in-depth understanding of eye movement patterns, he knew she was in deep conversation with herself.

  Andrea poked a finger in the air as if a thought had sprung into her consciousness. “Mind you, I do remember on more than one occasion Janet expressing her concerns. She would worry about the people that Samuel had represented as a criminal lawyer, and more recently, those he’d investigated. From all accounts, they weren’t people to get on the wrong side of.” Her eyes searched both officers looking for some comprehension or assurance.

  Scott caught Abby’s eye and nodded towards the hallway. “Mrs Edwards, you’ve been helpful. Thank you for your time, and I’m sorry for your loss. Please call us if you can think of anything else.”

  Andrea Edwards glanced at the business card after she saw them out. She stood in the hallway and thought about everything she had told them, and what she hadn’t told them.

  8

  “Do you not get bored of the same places?”

  Scott had tempted Abby to a quick bite at the Munch coffee shop. He tucked into a cheese and ham toasted panini, whilst Abby had opted for a plain and boring omelette with mushrooms.

  Abby wasn’t hungry, but then again she never was. She never thought about food, and she never experienced that feeling of hunger in the way Scott did. Hunger only gnawed at her belly when she sat in a restaurant or café and could smell the food.

  “Food is food, Abby. And it’s good here. Besides, I know how fussy you are. Whenever we try something new, you end up pulling one of your faces. You moan there’s nothing on the menu you can have, the coffee’s shite, and the cutlery is not up to your standards of cleanliness.”

  Abby pulled a face of sarcasm, knowing the truth of his words but never admitting to his face. “You think you have an answer for everything?”

  Scott rolled his eyebrows and smiled. “Pretty much.”

  “So what did you make of Andrea Edwards?” Abby took a sip of her cold skinny latte.

  “I think she’s a mixed bag. She had a privileged background, but is a bit of a do-gooder.”

  Abby agreed with the assessment.

  Scott couldn’t help but notice how Abby had been looking more gaunt and t
ired in recent weeks. He had figured that a multitude of issues probably contributed to her pallor, her sunken eyes, cheeks, and her general lethargy. Abby was forever pushing the boundaries in all aspects of her life. She worked excessive hours, and was known as a stickler for efficiency and thoroughness. It meant that she often stayed later than most of the team, to make sure that her officers conducted their investigations with the attention she expected.

  He admired her as a friend and as a colleague. She was hard-hitting when she needed to be, but always fair. Abby hated personal failure and would give one hundred per cent in everything.

  “Abs, you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, fine.”

  That was Abby’s standard reply whenever Scott broached the subject. He sighed knowing full well that his words would fall on deaf ears. “I know you’ll probably flip out, but I am worried about you. You look shattered.”

  Abby rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks. You know how to make a woman feel better.”

  Scott wiped his hands. “Listen, I’m not having a pop. You look exhausted. And knowing you, you’re working too hard; you’re running round like a headless chicken, and you’re training too much, without eating enough.”

  “I eat fine,” she snapped.

  “No you don’t. I’ve watched you on most days. You don’t have breakfast. You have a banana at around eleven a.m., and then you will have two pieces of toast in the afternoon, and then a handful of nuts to graze on. And by your own admission, you have a bowl of cereal in the evening.”

  Abby started to interject when Scott held up his hand to silence her. “Hear me out here. If someone sat on their arse all day, then that might be enough. But you often train four to five days a week. You clock up a minimum of seventeen thousand steps a day using that thing,” Scott continued, pointing at the Garmin watch on her wrist. “You do over twenty miles of running a week, spin classes, HIIT classes and circuit classes. Your body is eating itself from the inside out to sustain that level of activity and just daily living. And you wonder why you look like that and feel like a sack of shit?”

  Scott hated giving Abby a lecture. She was one of the most stubborn women he had ever met; she hated taken advice from anyone. Even the doctor’s advice of having regular B12 injections and iron supplements had fallen on deaf ears.

  Abby’s eyes narrowed as she glared at Scott. He was the only man who could get away with talking to her like that. Despite her obstinate nature, she knew Scott was speaking sense. “Listen, I know what you’re saying is right. But I’m fine. I eat enough. Most nights I get at least nine hours sleep, but I still wake up shattered. It’s just the job. I can’t imagine doing this until retirement, yet alone another year.”

  “You don’t eat enough. I’m just saying, I think you need to nourish your body. You check everything for its fat content. Not all fat is bad for you. Every cell in your body needs a certain amount of fat in order to function. Your body fat content must be in single figures by now. You’ve got a better six-pack than most men. Just be careful that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Finished?”

  “For now.”

  Abby smiled. She hated his lectures. Every few months, this subject about her health would pop up, and Scott would get on his soapbox. But deep down, there was a part of her that loved Scott’s caring nature. Until she had worked with Scott, she had never met another man who had cared for her health and her well-being in the way Scott had. Perhaps that’s why she was so defensive when he brought up the topic. She wasn’t used to anyone showing an interest in her life. Scott was like the father or the brother she’d never had.

  Abby had had a tough life, with a difficult upbringing. Being defensive and stubborn were her self-protection and self-preservation mechanisms. Letting that guard down was something she didn’t feel capable of doing. A fear of failure coupled with a sense of helplessness, were weaknesses she evaded. Somewhere deep within laid a vulnerability that terrified her. A foreboding so powerful that it often woke her, her heart pounding and her body damp with sweat. A dread so ingrained in her psyche that she refused to acknowledge its presence for fear it would destroy her.

  The smell of antiseptic, disinfectant and air freshener sent waves of nausea through her as Abby fought to quell the queasiness, her omelette threatening to make an appearance.

  Janet Ashman’s body lay on the cold steel table, the post-mortem in its advanced stages, as Scott and Abby stood to one side. The full extent of the incision across her abdomen was clear to see.

  “You took your time getting here?” Cara asked.

  Scott and Abby exchanged an awkward glance, like two misbehaving children in school.

  “Yes, sorry. We got sidetracked. We had a few things to discuss.”

  “You mean you were giving Abby a lecture? I can see it in your eyes, Scottie.”

  “Is he that predictable?”

  Cara laughed in response to Abby’s observation.

  “What can you tell us so far?”

  Cara stood back. She looked like a mad professor, wearing blue surgical scrubs and a white plastic apron covered in blood smears. Her gloves were stained red up to her elbows, and a ghoulish clear visor covered her face. Neil her assistant, stood at the end of the table, instruments in hand.

  “Janet Ashman was of average height and build. Her heart, liver, kidneys and lungs were within prescribed weight allowances. There was no evidence of organ disease.”

  Scott looked up and down the cadaver. The chest cavity was open in the familiar Y formation, and her ribcage levered back. Her chest looked as if it had exploded like a scene from Alien, and a creature had erupted from deep within.

  “Cause of death?”

  Cara dropped her head to one side. “Well, my initial assessment was excessive blood loss. Which contributed to her death. However, she died from a heart attack. Most likely through shock. The combination of injuries sustained to her face and abdomen, proved too much.”

  “She didn’t stand a fucking chance.”

  “You might want to see these,” Cara continued, as she looked over her shoulder towards Neil, who brought over a small steel specimen dish from the ventilated dissection table.

  Scott and Abby stared in silence and disbelief at its contents. A pair of eyeballs. Some moments passed before Scott broke the silence. “Where did you find them?”

  “They were stuffed inside her bra. From a closer inspection, they were removed with little care. I would say they were gouged out. There are rough laceration marks to the optic nerve and the six eye muscles that secure the eye into the socket. A sharp instrument, like a thin blade, tore them out but the manner in which it was used was brutal.”

  Abby pulled air through her teeth, her chest rising in frustration. “And Samuel Ashman watched all of this. No wonder he’s in fucking shock.” Having seen as much as she could handle, Abby turned and left the room.

  Scott leant back against one of the empty examination tables. “Was she alive when they were removed?”

  Cara nodded once.

  He’d wait for the full report from Cara. Abby had escaped the claustrophobic environment of the post-mortem room. She paced around in the car park, her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, her head lowered, as her eyes fixed to the floor. She questioned why she’d chosen this godforsaken career. Only a few light-hearted moments peppered what was a stressful, depressing and often harrowing job. And they wonder why I don’t smile, she thought to herself.

  “You okay?”

  She joined him as they stood by his car. “Guv, I don’t think I can do this any more. Every day we have to deal with this shit.” She pointed back towards the mortuary. “I’m not excited about it. I walk through the back doors of the station, and my heart sinks. I get this anxious ball of worry in my belly, and I think to myself ‘fuck this’. Too much work, too many cases, and not enough time. We’re short of staff, and we get poor support from senior management, present company excluded. I’m a mum, and I’ve neglected my kids. I n
eed to be home with them.”

  Abby’s outburst surprised Scott. She wasn’t the most optimistic person. She was a glass half-empty person. But this was the first time he’d heard her talk like that.

  “Is that all?” Scott whispered, trying to lighten the mood.

  Abby appeared lost, consumed in her thoughts, her brow furrowed, and her lips tight in a thin line.

  “Abby, we all feel like that from time to time. After we lost Sian, I doubted I was up to the job. I doubted my ability to make executive decisions. We lost Sian and I took full responsibility for that. Every day after that point, I would wake up and question whether I could put my officers in situations that posed a threat to their lives.”

  Abby leant against his car saying, “You’re the best guv I’ve had. I dream of being as good an inspector.”

  “Here’s the thing, Abby. You’re a bloody good copper. I could never do my job without you by my side, and I would never want to do my job without you by my side. Yes, we deal with a lot of shit. But we make a difference. We are the last line of defence between sanity and anarchy. We took an oath to protect and serve. And it takes a certain character to do the job.”

  Abby shook her head. Tears threatened to engulf her. “I don’t think I can do this any more, Guv. I think I want out.”

  Scott stared at Abby for what seemed like an eternity. His mind thought one thing, his heart felt something else. He loved Abby as a friend and respected her as a colleague. He wanted to reach out to give her a big hug, let her cry on his shoulder, and reassure her that everything would be okay. The fact was, he couldn’t promise her anything. But he had to try.

  “Abby, listen. You are one of the bravest, competent and dedicated people I have ever met. I’m very proud of you. And there’s no way on this bloody earth that I’m going to let you walk away from something that you are so good at. The police, Sussex, Brighton, and me, would be poorer without you. I know what you’re saying, and I don’t blame you. But rather than make a rash decision, please let’s think about it. Let’s talk about it. Take a few days off if you have to. Give yourself some space to think. We can manage.”