Isolation

by Jay Nadal

  He looked a former shadow of himself as he sunk deeper in to the chair. It was as if he was folding inside, the life sucked out of him, his life laid bare.

  “Look, please don’t think this was some sordid tryst. We loved each other. We shared a common loneliness, and we seemed to hit it off. I’m not some serial adulterer, Inspector. There was a genuine attraction between us.”

  “We’re not here to cast judgement, Mr Ainscough. We’re here to simply find out more about Mrs Ashman’s life. When was the last time you saw her?”

  Ainscough ran a hand through his grey hair. “I can’t be certain, perhaps twelve to eighteen months ago?”

  “And the relationship ended because?”

  Ainscough sighed. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted more, but Janet couldn’t offer it. She’d go home to her husband, and I’d be left…alone. I got fed up. Janet didn’t take it well. I don’t blame her. What happened to her?”

  “I can’t go into much detail. It appears someone broke into their house. They were tied up, assaulted and as a result, Janet Ashman lost her life, and Mr Ashman was forced to witness the attack on his wife.” Scott kept the details brief, not wishing to divulge too much. He was far more interested in gauging Ainscough’s reactions for authenticity.

  “Poor Janet, she wouldn’t hurt a fly. Who could do such a thing? Was it random or premeditated?”

  “We’re still investigating potential motives.”

  “Why only Janet and not her husband? Why was he spared?”

  “I’m sorry, we haven’t got an answer for that yet. Can you tell me your whereabouts two nights ago?”

  Ainscough glared at Scott, before shooting both officers an uncomfortable look. “I was out.”

  “Where?”

  “Am I a suspect, Inspector?”

  “Should you be?”

  “I refute this invasion of my privacy. Where I was has no bearing on this case,” he fumed, his cheeks flushed red with rage.

  “Well, let me see. You had an affair with the deceased for four years, or thereabouts. You wanted more, but she couldn’t give it to you. You said yourself that it was a physical relationship. And you’re avoiding my question about your movements two nights ago.” Scott let his words hang in the air.

  “I was at a private event at Funked in The Lanes. The organisers can vouch for my attendance. I was there until three-thirty a.m.”

  “A private event. What type of private event?”

  Scott noticed how Ainscough was fast descending into an uncontrollable mess. He kept scratching his brow and then pulling his tight collar away from the pulsating veins in his neck.

  “Mr Ainscough?”

  The man stumbled as he attempted to regain composure. “Yes, yes, I know. It’s…It was a BDSM party.” Ainscough didn’t have the balls to maintain his gaze, staring at the table instead.

  “Is this something you attend regularly?” Scott asked catching Abby’s curious stare.

  Ainscough shrugged. “They hold events once a quarter. It’s a place where I can go to let off steam.”

  “Had Janet been to one of these events with you?”

  “Yes. She knew I attended these parties. Janet came to one event and only one event. Out of curiosity I guess. I think it was an eye-opener for her. It seemed to awaken something in her. After that point, our sex life went through the roof. She dressed up in bondage gear, wanted to use toys, experience pain, role-play, submission, rimming, and water sports. Nothing was off the menu.”

  “Were you devastated that she refused to take your relationship to the next level and leave her husband. Were you angry?”

  Ainscough looked a dejected man, broken and embarrassed. He shook his head and smiled. “I know where you’re going with this, Inspector. But you’re looking in the wrong place. Now if there’s nothing else?” he asked, rising to his feet and holding the door open for them. He seemed to have aged ten years in the space of just a few minutes.

  11

  Scott had ordered in several large pizzas from Domino’s for the team due to the lateness of the team briefing. On reflection, he should have ordered something less appealing as the team surrendered to the delicious, stomach growling smell. The faint meaty smell of bacon and cooked dough wafted across the air, whilst the gooey creamy smell of cheese, and the zesty smell of pepperoni had the team scrambling for the boxes. Abby, the first to moan about calories and fat content, relented first as she fed the burning hunger, having eaten nothing but a banana all day.

  If there was one thing that brought this team together, it was food rather than work, Scott mused.

  Gathered around the incident board, Scott relayed the outcome of their meeting with Ainscough. Scott felt they had built a better picture of Janet Ashman’s personal life, though Ainscough hadn’t given them the full picture.

  “There are several key areas we need to explore further. I need someone to check out Ainscough’s alibi. Contact the club, and get the contact details for the event organisers. Secondly, we need to find out if there have been any similar cases recorded.”

  Raj confirmed that having spoken to the NCA, there had been no cases recorded in the past five years with a similar MO. There had been cases where victims had had an eye gouged out as part of a beating, but none involved the victim being a female tied to a chair.

  That news dashed Scott’s hopes, but extending the search back a further five years might help, as well as speaking to Interpol to identify cases on the continent.

  Abby confirmed that she would visit Hove library with Mike to speak to those who worked alongside Janet.

  “Raj, can you pull up all you can on Ryan McCormick and leave it on my desk?”

  Raj confirmed with a nod. He was far too engrossed in the meat feast pizza slice to give Scott his full attention.

  “Do you think Ashman pissed off Irish Mick?” Abby asked, wiping her greasy lips with a napkin.

  “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time that a reporter pissed off a criminal.”

  They had one final recap around the team before confirming their objectives for the next twenty-four hours.

  Scott pulled up the search bar and typed in Samuel Ashman. The result pulled up three thousand and sixty-two results. As he scrolled through the first few pages, most of the entries provided links to various reports and articles that Ashman had published.

  After opening a few of the pages, Scott learnt that Ashman had investigated and reported several key areas he seemed passionate about. Scott had to scroll on to find articles relating to the man’s investigation of the criminal activity in London. His journey had taken him from north to south London. From sprawling, decaying and poverty-stricken housing estates that harboured feral youths that he called street rats, to the leafy suburbs, where criminal masterminds hid behind electronic gates, high walls and CCTV in their multi-million-pound mansions.

  Wherever crime existed, Ashman stuck his nose in. Scott spent the next hour perusing various articles where Ashman had experienced close calls, intimidation and threats. Ashman had a knack for being a brilliant journalist, but the gift appeared to be a curse that meant he would forever be looking over his shoulder.

  Scott sighed. He saw the case unfolding and opening in different directions. Several possibilities bubbled to the surface. He thought about the exchange with Ainscough, Janet Ashman’s private life, and Ashman sticking his nose in places where it wasn’t welcome. Any one of these avenues and several others could be a credible cause for Janet’s death.

  He entertained the idea that the attack could have been the work of a random nutter. If that was the case, then finding the perpetrator would be much harder. They would be reliant on DNA evidence, mistakes made by the killer, and the potential that if he or she struck again, they would be in a better position to build a psychological profile of the killer.

  There was no reason to dispel the suggestion that this was the work of a new psychopathic killer. Rubbing his temples didn’t seem to ease the dull thud that be
at inside his head, like a set of African drums in the jungle.

  Scott needed a credible working theory, something that would allow the team to focus their energy. He often thought of a case like a funnel. Everything and anything, whether relevant or not, would be fed in to the top. As it progressed, information would be condensed, analysed and discounted, until the raw facts, evidence and breakthrough, came out of the bottom. They were swirling around the top of that funnel.

  Scott stared at his sparse pad of paper. With every case, he reverted to his trusted pad and pen to help him crystallise the myriad of thoughts that swam around his mind. For the time being, he had names circled. Janet Ashman, Samuel Ashman, Matthew Ainscough, and Ryan McCormick. A few sketchy lines were drawn between the key players. It looks pitiful, Scott thought as he powered down his computer and flicked off his office light.

  The familiar scent greeted him as he walked through the door, soothing his frustration. Cara.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. The warmth of her body, her familiar curves and the softness of her skin soothed his aching head. He closed his eyes as he breathed her in. A wave of calmness, and peace washed over him. Regardless of the day he’d had, Cara’s presence had a way of melting away all his troubles.

  “Hard day?” she asked, running her hands up and down his back.

  “Hmm, something like that. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it back for dinner.”

  “Hey, listen. It’s fine. I’ve helped myself to a jacket potato and lashings of grated cheese. I’m sorry you had to work late, babes.”

  Scott shrugged and flicked on the kettle. He waved the coffee jar in Cara’s direction, she nodded in return.

  “Are you making progress with the new case?”

  “Not sure it’s what I’d call progress, but we’re building a better picture of Janet Ashman’s life. It’s early days yet, but because her husband is a crime journalist, senior management has taken a keen interest in the case…as usual.”

  Scott continued to give the briefest of outlines, and what they had uncovered so far. Cara doubted the randomness of the attack simply because of the time that the killer had remained within the property. Random acts of violence were carried out by people who feared being caught and moved quickly. He certainly agreed with her reasoning.

  He enjoyed this was the part of the relationship. After the death of his family, he would return home from work and have no one to talk to. Coming home to Cara felt normal. It felt like any other working couple, who’d sit down and talk about their days as they went about their evening routine. Cara was a good listener and her work meant they shared similar experiences.

  With a blanket of darkness outside, they cuddled up on the sofa. The dim light from a standing lamp, cast a warm yellow hue that bathed the surrounding walls.

  Work faded into the distance, a million miles away. Scott reached for Cara’s hand and their fingers interlocked. They kissed with passion and tenderness. Neither wanted to avert their gaze from the other.

  “When I see you, Scottie, it’s as if space and time collapse into one tiny speck and explode at light speed. It’s as if my world begins and ends with you. I think about you all the time. Whatever I do, something deep inside pulls me right back to you. I love you with my heart and soul.”

  He felt the same way, but could never imagine saying it so well. He squeezed her hand. “Thank you, babes. I’m blown away. I can’t believe I have this effect on, because that’s how I feel about you.”

  “Well, that’s that then.” She grinned.

  He let out a deep breath he must’ve been holding subconsciously. “Listen, you can say no if you want to. Considering that you’re at mine pretty much most of the time, how do you feel about moving in with me?”

  Cara craned her head, and narrowed her eyes in suspicion, trying to figure out if Scott was being genuine.

  “Don’t look at me like that. I’m being serious.” He laughed at her searching expression. “I want to be with you. It makes sense. I’ve got a big enough house, so if you wanted to, you could move in with me. After all you’ve got a two-bedroom apartment, so space would be tight there. And, after all that stuff with Jason, your ex, I know you’ve been uncomfortable there ever since.”

  Cara’s eyes widened in surprise. She had been the most vocal about taking their relationship to the next level. She’d pushed for them to spend more time together, to go away more often, and think about a future together. In the back of her mind, she got the impression that Scott was reluctant, with one foot stuck in the past.

  “I…I don’t know what to say? You’re not saying this just because I’m always pressurising you?”

  “Nope. Certain things have happened in recent days and months that have made me realise that I can’t change the past, and life’s too short for regrets. So what do you say?”

  Cara grinned from ear-to-ear like a cat that got the cream.

  “Can I take that as a yes?”

  Cara nodded, words failed her for once, as she pulled Scott on top and kissed him hard.

  12

  It felt like Groundhog Day. A different location, but the same unpleasant smells of disinfectant and antiseptic wafting around the corridors.

  Scott felt elated. Finally his life had begun again with an amazing woman. Cara would make calls today to arrange for her apartment to be rented fully furnished. She would box up her most precious items and bring them over in the coming weeks as they both grew accustomed to the idea of living together.

  The hospital, however, didn’t offer such pleasant memories. He struggled to push back the unpleasant memories. Then there was Abby’s shocking news. He cursed himself for not finding the time to sit down with her. To lose Abby now would be a huge blow for him and the team. In reality, Abby was the backbone of the team. His number two.

  A solitary constable stood guard by Ashman’s private room. He jumped from his seat as he saw Scott approaching. “Sir.”

  Scott nodded. “Anything to report?”

  “No, Sir. Dr McAllister has visited twice. The usual coming and going of nurses. He’s sitting up in bed, eating and moaning.”

  “Sounds like he’s ready to leave?”

  “That’s the impression I guess. I asked a nurse earlier.”

  Ashman sat in a chair by his bed, channel-hopping as Scott walked in. Having had a wash, combed his hair and now in striped pyjamas, he looked better than last time Scott had seen him. The bruising around his face had taken on a purple tinge, and the bandages around his ankles and wrists poked out from beneath his pyjamas.

  Ashman turned his head and stared at Scott. His empty, hollow and lifeless eyes looked straight through Scott. His features had aged. Several days of grey stubble and sunken cheeks left the man a former shadow of himself. To an extent, Scott felt sorry for him. He had little in his life other than his career and his wife. Both had vanished in a blink of an eye. Wherever he looked, whenever he closed his eyes, Ashman would see his wife’s final dying moments. Scott imagined that Ashman would remain on medication for the foreseeable future.

  “Mr Ashman, how are you feeling today?” Scott felt foolish for even saying those words, but they tripped out of his tongue like a normal greeting. “Thank you for giving us the time on our last visit.”

  “I didn’t have much choice, did I?” He mumbled through parted lips. “Does Manning know?”

  “Yes. I’ve been to see him. He mentioned that you are working on a couple of interesting articles, but he didn’t go into detail. He got the impression you were keeping something close to your chest?”

  Ashman shook his head. “Nothing major. And to be honest, I’m hardly about to reveal who I’m talking to, am I?”

  Scott stiffened. “I appreciate that. But we have to investigate every conceivable angle. We need to identify if this was a random attack, or whether it was aimed at you or your wife.”

  “I can’t see how my work will explain why a nutter walks into my house
and kills my wife.”

  “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask. Manning said you were working on something to do with Ryan McCormick. What’s that all about?”

  Ashman battled to regulate his breathing, but he appeared to be breathless. “I’ve been snooping around Ryan McCormick for a long time. He may claim to be a legitimate businessman, but I don’t buy that. He’s led a life of crime since he’s been out of nappies.”

  “So what’s your angle?”

  “Inspector, there’s no angle. There is no story. I was hoping there was. He’s a nasty piece of work. He always has been, and always will be. The stuff he’s been involved in is just despicable. I’m sure you know more about that than I do. So you pumping me for information will not help your cause.”

  “Who is he mixed up with?”

  There was a lengthy pause as Ashman turned his gaze towards the TV, transfixed by a daytime chat show. He muttered in the slightest of voices, “The face of the criminal world has changed. Once upon a time honour lived amongst thieves. Now, they’ll stab you in the back when you’re not looking. They have no scruples. There are no limits; it’s all about money, power and control.”

  “Hasn’t that always been the case?”

  “Perhaps. Back in the seventies, there was little human trafficking, drugs trade, or a black market in human organs. They are the viruses of today’s generation.”

  Scott walked around the room, stopping at the end of Samuel’s bed to review his chart of vital stats. “I need you to work with me, Mr Ashman…Samuel. Tell me what you know. Tell me who you’ve met or looked into. We need to find out why someone would do this to Janet.”

  Just the mere mention of his wife’s name enraged him. A red rash spread across his cheeks and down his neck. “She’s gone. She’s fucking gone. What more do you want from me? There’s nothing more they can take from me.”