by Jay Nadal
“Who Samuel?”
Ashman refused to acknowledge the question.
“Please, Samuel, work with me. If it wasn’t about you, it must have been about Janet. Did she have any enemies? Did she have any run-ins with anybody? I don’t believe this was a random attack. Do you?”
Ashman laughed. “She was a fucking librarian, and a research assistant. Who could she piss off?”
“Does the name Matthew Ainscough mean anything to you?”
Ashman turned towards Scott. The slightest of wry smiles broke on his face. “Inspector, you ask the most stupid fucking questions. You know full well that I know that man or you wouldn’t be asking, nor would you be analysing my response.”
A stalemate hovered between them for a few minutes, neither man wishing to fill the void. They glanced around the room avoiding eye contact.
Ashman relented. “I know that fucking idiot. It’s an episode that finished a long time ago.”
“How long ago?”
“I don’t know. At least a year ago. Maybe longer.”
“Did you do anything about it?”
Ashman laughed to himself. “If you are asking whether I confronted him, then no I didn’t. But I confronted Janet. She told me about the affair. She left out all the gory details, and, I didn’t want to hear them.” His face soured.
Ashman drifted off. The numbness of his loss had yet to pass, and the pain hit him out of nowhere, turning his insides, and racking his body with pain.
Scott sensed the man’s agony. He’d experienced the pain, the grief and anguish. The loneliness felt like a vice on his heart, squeezing with just enough pressure to be a constant ache. He’d gone through periods of darkness so black, that it killed a part of him every day, taking what was once his inner light and replacing it with a darkness that overshadowed each moment. They were the fuel of his nightmares, the reason he’d wake in the night struggling to breathe.
“I loved her,” he muttered, still lost in his thoughts. “The killer. I have tried to throw him out of my head. But he keeps coming every night. I don’t know if I should call it a nightmare. Because I always wake up before I get to see the part where I kill him. Maybe I will never get rid of it, or maybe I don’t want to. It’s the only part of him I can hold on to. And every time I see him, I go through all the other options I had. Escape, attack him, create a diversion or let him kill me. But I didn’t do any of them, and what’s done is done. I can’t ever change that. I let him haunt me every night. I’ll never escape, Inspector.”
Scott tapped Ashman’s shoulder. “I think you need to rest up Samuel. We’ll talk again soon.”
13
Scott stopped off at the hospital coffee shop. Any hope of getting an Americano that tasted better than those he tortured himself with at the station, were dashed the moment he took his first sip. The bitter, acrid taste punished his mouth. Settling into a corner, he watched daily life. Doctors, nurses, patients and families crossed in all directions in front of him like busy bees. An old woman sat in a wheelchair, clutching her handbag. She’d been left by the doorway to the hospital, no doubt waiting for transport to take her home. She looks lonely and sad, Scott thought.
He watched two patients standing just outside of the main entrance, draped in hospital gowns. Bare ankles and slippers finished their ensemble. He shook his head in despair as he watched plumes of smoke rising from their cigarettes. Residual smoke hung in the air, shifting like ghosts in the light breeze. It obscured the entrance like a fog in an alley on a humid night. It astounded him how patients still felt the need to escape for a cheeky fag.
A call in to Helen offered little in the way of promising news. Her trawl of CCTV footage had yielded nothing, nor had there been any further witness statements from neighbours. Disappointing but not unexpected.
Scott kept thinking about the Ashmans. It didn’t feel like a random attack. He hadn’t come across a killer who took his time in the way this perpetrator had. Unless he’s a sick psychopath who gets off on taking his time to execute a premeditated murder? Being made to watch? Is it revenge? It has to be revenge? For what though?
Sympathy for Ashman washed over him in waves. The man was haunted by what he had experienced, and Scott didn’t blame him. Anyone in that situation would have been traumatised.
Scott lived vicariously, as if he had been there witnessing it for himself. He visualised a man dressed in black, forcing Janet to tie up her husband before being tied up herself. He could hear her muffled guttural screams piercing the intense silence. Tearing through him like a great shard of glass. He felt his eyes widen and his pulse quicken, his heart thudding like a rock rattling in a box. The screaming came again, desperate, terrified…human. The blood drained from her face as she bled out. A cold shiver raced down his spine.
Scott’s tortured thoughts rattled him, the raw images wreaking havoc on his nervous system. His mind had a nasty habit of playing out the worst situations. He’d recalled Tina’s and Becky’s deaths a thousand times. He had learnt long ago to never take things at face value. For all he knew, Ashman’s recollection of what happened that night could be nothing more than an elaborate hoax or fabrication. It would not have been the first occasion he had seen a guilty man grieve, irrespective of whether it was genuine, or crocodile tears.
His thoughts turned towards Matthew Ainscough and his relationship with Janet. She had led a double life, ending it, when she couldn’t give her lover more. Had it been enough for Ainscough to seek such brutal revenge?
It bothered Scott. He knew from official figures, that female murder victims were far more likely to be killed by partners or ex-partners and less than ten per cent of murders were committed by strangers. That put both Samuel Ashman and Matthew Ainscough in the spotlight where they would remain until proof of their innocence satisfied him. Ashman, more than anyone, would have had reason. His wife’s affair.
As was so often the case, the immediate family were always the first to be investigated. The Ashmans had no family, which reduced the focus of attention. When he thought back to the insight he’d seen from Ashman’s inner thoughts, he couldn’t see the man committing the crime. For a start, it was too elaborate and complicated. If he had any reason to kill his wife, he could have done it differently.
With a background in law and criminal investigations, Samuel Ashman would have known easier ways to get away with murder. He could have stabbed her, and then claimed to have come home to discover her body, or paid someone through his network of connections to murder her.
Snapping back to the present moment, he stared down and sighed. The black slurry in his cup forced him to go in search of something better suited for human consumption.
Hove Library’s façade had a Renaissance look, faced with Doulting stone. At the top of the building there was a balustrade and a central, classical cupola. Abby couldn’t help but admire the architecture as she went through the doors, followed a few steps behind by Mike. He didn’t share her admiration of the building, dismissing it with his comment of “it’s a decrepit pile of old bricks”.
Carvings of scrolls, ribbons and swags of flowers embellished the façade and charming amorini arrows on either side of the inscribed stone sign ‘Pvblic Library’. Abby had read somewhere online that the ‘v’ was not a mistake, because like many Carnegie buildings, the Roman alphabet was employed, and it didn’t possess a ‘u’.
Abby took in the splendour of its interior. A sense of light and airiness gave it a spacious feel with echoes of a grand Edwardian past. She observed a calmness and serenity commonplace in many libraries. Visitors sat on chairs and desks flicking through newspapers. The familiar sound of laptop keyboards tapping away to their own tune echoed in the distance. She spotted an old gentleman dozing in a comfortable leather chair in the corner. A newspaper lay on his lap, his head tilted back, and his mouth gaped open. A warm cosy place to take a nap, she thought.
Mike asked for the senior librarian at reception when Abby joined him. “I don�
��t think the inside of a library has changed since I was a little kid. They’ve always got that familiar musty smell,” she commented.
They were directed towards the back of the library where they found the admin offices, and a door with a nameplate that said “Angula Baskara, Senior Librarian”. A slim Asian woman with dark tussles of black hair that cascaded over her shoulders, large almond-shaped eyes, and full lips, answered the door.
“We are looking for Angula Baskara. I’m Detective Sergeant Abby Trent, this is my colleague Detective Constable Mike Wilson.”
“You’ve found her,” the woman replied extending her hand, and offered them a warm smile. “Please come in.”
She offered them a seat, and refreshments which they declined. “I understand you needed to see me urgently, so how can I help?”
“There isn’t an easy way of telling you, but I’m afraid the body of Janet Ashman was discovered a few days ago. We’re treating her death as suspicious.”
Angula Baskara shook on hearing the news. Her eyes widened further as she placed a hand over her mouth. “I…I can’t believe it. She had so much annual leave to take; she decided to take a few days off. What happened to her?”
“I can’t go into the details of the case. All I can say is that there are suspicious circumstances surrounding her death. I know this will come as a shock to you all. If any member of staff feels that they need extra help to get through this, then please do contact us, and we will put you in touch with the right services.”
Angula shook her head, and stared at her desk.
“Can you shed light on Janet?”
It took a few moments for Angula to reconnect with the officers. Lost in thought, she found it difficult to find the right words. “She was a lovely lady. Very bright. She’d been a librarian here for something near nine years, but I can check her records to give you a definite date. She was one of most experienced members of staff we had. She had an innate ability to help people, and I think she loved being surrounded by people who shared her passion for books.”
“How did she get on with other members of staff?” Mike asked.
“Fine. I don’t believe recalling an occasion where she fell out with a member of staff. She was highly respected by everyone.”
“Did she have any run-ins with members of the public?”
“No. Not as far as I am aware. You get the odd person complaining about the book fines, but they are easy to pacify.”
“How about outside of work? Did you or any other members of the team spend much time with her?”
“Not that often. We would celebrate with a quick drink or a pizza to celebrate birthdays, and the Christmas meal with a secret Santa.”
“Did you know much about her family?”
“We didn’t generally bring our partners to gatherings. I can recall meeting her husband on perhaps two or three occasions. A pleasant chap, perhaps grumpy and stern-looking. He always seemed a little impatient. On one occasion, he was parked outside waiting for us to finish a meal, and he must have rung her three or four times telling her to hurry up.”
“I want you to carefully consider this Angula. Can you recall an occasion where Janet had confided in you, or had told you something that was alarming her, upsetting her or causing worry? Even if trivial?”
Angula stared through them and to the wall beyond, racing back through her memories, before shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but nothing springs to mind.”
Abby sighed and gave the woman a smile. “Angula, you’ve been very helpful. Here’s my card. If you remember anything, no matter how trivial, can you please call me? In the meantime, DC Wilson will remain to have a chat with your other colleagues, is that okay?”
“Of course. I only wish I could help more.”
Mike glared at Abby, sarcasm in his eyes, a look of “thanks, Skip” etched on his face.
14
Scott had already downed his third Americano of the day by the time Abby arrived. Coffee was having a detrimental effect on his body. He felt so wired and charged he could jump-start a car without cables. He was grinding coffee beans with his mouth he was consuming so much of the stuff. Despite his repeated efforts to switch to something less potent, his body pulled him back to the deadly black stuff.
He promised himself for the umpteenth time, that he would try harder to switch to herbal teas. On the few occasions he had tried green tea and peppermint tea, he had found them light and refreshing. But as he knew, old habits die hard. If he didn’t change his ways, he kept joking that his eyes would stay open when he sneezed.
Abby joined him, having grabbed a skinny latte, and another black Americano for him.
“How did you get on at the library?”
Abby took a sip and pulled a face, unhappy with the quality. “A lovely, helpful lady. I spoke to her line manager, who didn’t have a bad word to say about her. If anything, it only deepens the mystery as to why she was killed. The only thing I picked up was that her husband seems a grumpy fucker.”
“No disagreements with staff or members of the library?”
“Nope, nothing. I’ve left Mike there to interview the other members of staff. You should have seen his face when I dropped him in it.”
They both laughed. He took a few moments to update Abby on his visit to the hospital, and Samuel’s state of mind. There was something else that couldn’t wait any longer.
“Abs, I was surprised by your feelings around the job. I didn’t see it coming at all. I’m hoping it was an off day?”
Abby pursed her lips and crossed her arms. “Guv, some days are great, and other days I wake up thinking I can’t do this any more. I’m a mum, a single mum. Do you have any idea how guilty I feel when I leave the house at five-thirty in the morning, so I can be in for six? I’m not there to wake my kids, feed them breakfast and see them off to school. Most of the time, I’m not there for them when they come home. I end up relying on grandparents to feed them, and to look after them.”
Sympathy for Abby’s predicament coursed through Scott. She was a bloody good copper but struggled with the internal battle between working and being a mum, something that affected women up and down the country in every profession.
“I could get a nine-to-five, and have some sense of normality in my life. Instead, I’m dealing with the dregs of society, seeing dead and disfigured bodies in the mortuary, and turning up to decomposing bodies that have died in suspicious circumstances. And I haven’t even got to the case reviews I need to do on my officers, or the studying I want to do for my inspector’s.”
Scott’s stomach flipped over. He had hoped that she would have a change of heart before he mentioned it again. Abby seemed just as determined as she was the last time they spoke. He could see a mixture of frustration, anger and despair etched in her face. The job of a police officer was hard at the best of times. Long hours, too many cases and not enough time, and a lack of resources meant their job was a thankless task.
“Scott, just look at my rota. I’m on for the next sixteen days without a day off. Three earlies, four mids, four lates, a weekend of nights, followed by a weekend on.” Abby shook her head, her shoulders dropped in defeat. “I’ll be fucked at the end of that. Where is the quality of life? Where’s the time with my kids? I work all the hours God gives me, so that I can give my kids the things they deserve, and have a pension that I’ll enjoy if I’m not dead by then.”
Scott sighed, feeling helpless. “I want you to do something for me. I want you to promise me that once this case is over, you’ll take some annual leave. Have a few days off. Have a week off. I don’t care. But I want you to take the time out to think about this. I can understand everything you’re saying. If I was a parent…What I meant to say is, I can’t imagine how you juggle home life with a work life. With my work hat on, I don’t want to lose you. Promise you’ll take time off?”
Abby felt torn. Part of her wanted to shake Scott’s hand, give him a hug and walk out of the door, in search of a new life. But she
hated failure, she hated feeling weak, and ineffective. It seemed an eternity before she nodded.
Scott felt a wave of relief wash over him. For the time being, he felt relieved that he wasn’t about to lose his best colleague ever.
“On a lighter note, I know something that will make you smile.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me, we’re going to get some food?”
Scott laughed. “I think you’ve got the wrong impression of me, you seem to think my whole life revolves around food.”
“That’s because it does.”
“Well, try not to fall off your seat, but I asked Cara to move in with me.”
Abby didn’t have to say anything. Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “Nooo way! You dark horse. And what did she say?” She squealed and clasped her hands together.
“What could she say? The chance to move in with a handsome, fit detective. She said yes.”
Abby’s eyes warmed with excitement. “That’s fantastic news. I can’t wait to call her.”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t called you already.”
“I did get a missed call from her, but I’ve not had the time to call her back. Exciting times.”
Scott couldn’t agree more. The different parts of his life were slipping into place like a jigsaw. After a couple of turbulent years, his love life was on the up, and he was excited about the future. A part of him also knew that he wanted the same satisfaction in life for the woman sitting opposite him. And he would do whatever he could to help her achieve that.
The late, weak autumn sun fast dissolved, replaced by a thick blanket of grey cover as evening approached.
The team gathered around the incident board. En route back to the office, Abby had missed a call from Angula Baskara. She made a mental note to call her back after the briefing.