“Cheers.” It was a strangely muted celebration. When the second pint came my way, Jacob proposed a proper toast.
“What shall we drink to?” Andy asked me. I thought for a moment.
“I think we should drink to justice.” I picked up my glass, enjoying the cold sensation on my fingers. “To blind justice.” They both raised their glasses and repeated my words.
“To blind justice.”
I sat in the back of the car for the drive from Norwich to Sheringham, much to Jacob’s disappointment. The only way I could persuade him was to say I wanted to sleep on the way back. The two pints I’d had in the pub had knocked me for six, or at least that’s what I’d told him. I spent the journey with my eyes closed, pretending to sleep while thinking about the future. I had no idea what I would do. I couldn’t go back to my flat, not with the tenants, and I didn’t think that throwing them out of what was now their home was the right thing to do. There was also the issue of the Romanians to deal with. In my mind, being found not guilty of Robert’s murder would get me off the hook with them. That would only work if they followed the same logic I was trying to follow though, and there was no guarantee of that. They could decide that as I was last man standing as it were, the debt would stay with me. I’d have to cross that bridge if I came to it, though. For the immediate future, I didn’t have many places I could stay. Andy had offered me a bed for as long as I needed it, and I was sure that Tommy would put me up if necessary. Even Jacob had offered me his spare room, but when he’d said that in the pub earlier on I got the impression he wasn’t that keen. I didn’t know his other half, and while the idea of staying with two gay men didn’t bother me in the slightest, something about Jacob’s tone made me think twice about accepting the offer.
It took about an hour to get to Sheringham, and Jacob and I said goodbye in the car park in front of the small block of flats that Andy now lived in. We promised each other we’d catch up soon, grab a few beers and chew the fat properly. He hugged me before he left, and I was reminded how well built he was.
Andy’s flat was in a two storey block with a sign outside advertising the fact there were a couple of flats available for the semi-retired. Not quite sheltered housing, but not far off it. I followed Andy through the communal hallway, wondering why he’d decided to move here, to this flat. He was hardly ready for retirement from the look of him. Andy opened the door and led me into the thin hallway of his flat, past an old-fashioned coat stand.
“So why did you choose here, Andy?” I asked as I followed him through to the kitchen. He turned with a smile.
“I’ve always loved Sheringham. We used to come here for family holidays years ago.” His smile faltered just a touch. “When Jennifer was young, you know?” I didn’t know that, but I kept my silence. The flat was bigger than it looked from the outside, and Andy had covered the walls with photographs. As I looked at the photos in the hallway, I realised that they were of a much younger Andy. There were photographs of him, his wife, and Jennifer and Jacob as babies. One of them was taken on the seafront of Sheringham, which had changed little over the last twenty or so years. Further back toward the front door were even earlier photographs, Andy in cricket whites wielding a bat. I took a step back to look at the earlier photographs, interested in what he looked like when he was my age. There was one of his cricket team, all smiling, with a young man front and centre holding a trophy on his lap. I scanned the faces in the black and white picture, looking for Andy. I found him in the back row with one of his colleague's arms draped across his shoulders. Both men had broad grins on their faces, and eyes full of promise.
“That was the championships, when my school won the ESCA One Day Cup,” I heard Andy say over my shoulder. I turned, frowning at him. “Sorry, English Schools’ Cricket Association,” he continued. “I think they’re still going, even now. 1971 that picture was taken, though. A long time ago.” The next picture along was a close-up of a young Andy, cricket bat angled backwards as he waited for a ball to be bowled. A real action shot. There was something off about the picture, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. “Do you want a cup of tea?” Andy interrupted my thoughts.
“Yeah, that’d be great. Thank you,” I replied, following Andy into the kitchen. As he rummaged through the cupboards, I looked around the small but functional space.
“Have you got a dog, Andy?” I asked him, pointing at a bowl of water on a mat by the back door of the kitchen.
“Yeah, I’ve had her for a while now,” he replied, putting two mugs on the granite worktop. “I got her from a rescue centre not long after Jen died. Bit of company, you know?” The next words Andy said cut me like a knife. “I think you’d stopped coming round by then.”
I looked at him, wondering for a second if he was having a dig or just making a statement. He didn’t look at me, but carried on making the tea. I decided that he was just making conversation, or at least that’s what I hoped.
“Where is the dog anyway?” I asked, looking around. I couldn’t see or hear one anywhere, and there couldn’t be that many places for one to hide.
“Jacob’s other half has been looking after her while we’ve been at court the last few days. She’s getting on, and I didn’t want to leave the poor old girl on her own all day.” Andy’s face softened and the sad expression I remembered so well returned. I realised that he was going to have to face yet another bereavement at some point soon.
“I really appreciate you putting me up, Andy,” I said when we were both sitting at the small table in his kitchen. He shook his head in reply.
“Not at all, you stay as long as you need to.” He looked relaxed, comfortable, quite at ease with the whole situation. “And I mean that. I don’t want you thinking you have got nowhere to stay, or that you’re not welcome.” He reached across the table and gripped my hand, looking at me intently. “I’m so pleased you’re out, Gareth. A bloody travesty, that’s what it was.”
I’d figured that I’d stay with Andy for perhaps a day or two. A week at the very most. Just until I got myself together. Looking at him now, he seemed quite happy for me to be here. I sipped the tea, relishing the fact that it was made with decent teabags and not the cheap rubbish that was the only thing you could get in prison.
“Thank you,” I said, almost in a whisper. “That means a lot.” Andy didn’t reply, but stared at his tea. We sat in silence for a few moments, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I tried to think about the future, what I would do now that I was out of prison. I’d have to find somewhere to live for a start, somewhere of my own. I wasn’t sure how long I could stay with Andy for, despite his offer. A week was probably about the longest that I’d be comfortable with. As if he was reading my thoughts, Andy spoke.
“So what are your plans then, Gareth?”
“I really don’t know, to be honest,” I replied. “Sitting here having a cup of tea with you is a bit of a surprise, that’s for sure.”
“I bet it is,” Andy laughed. “Bit of a turn-up for the books, eh?” That was the understatement of the century.
“I think maybe a holiday,” I said. “Somewhere hot, with a beach. Just for a few days.” The more I thought about having a holiday, the more sense it made. After being cooped up for so long with so many other people, sitting on a deserted beach somewhere appealed a lot. I’d be fine on my own, I’d even prefer it.
Andy and I spent the rest of the evening sitting in his lounge, watching nonsense on television. He’d suggested the pub, but I’d declined. I was happy just chilling out and, if anything, had found going to The Buck overwhelming. Andy popped out at one point to the corner shop and came back with a couple of bottles of wine, but after one glass I’d had enough. The two pints from earlier had pretty much finished me anyway, and the last thing I wanted to wake up to on my first proper day of freedom was a hangover. At around ten o’clock, I decided that I’d go to bed, and I let Andy faff around me for a bit. He showed me the bathroom, gave me a towel and a spare toot
hbrush, and showed me into what he called the guest room. It was only just bigger than my old prison cell, with a single bed and a small set of drawers. As far as I was concerned though, it was paradise.
I lay in bed for a while, enjoying the luxurious feeling of both the soft mattress and what must have been the cleanest duvet I’d been under in months. I could hear Andy moving around the flat, and after around half an hour I heard him close the door to his bedroom. For the next hour, I tossed and turned in the narrow bed. Although I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, sleep evaded me. I gave it another twenty minutes, and then decided to get up and find a book to read. If the flat had been bigger I would have put the television back on and moved to the sofa, but I didn’t want to disturb Andy. I swung my legs out of bed and made my way as quietly as I could to the lounge.
On top of the bookcase in the lounge was a photograph I’d noticed earlier. It was of Jennifer and me on our wedding day, and was another one of David’s unposed snaps. I had my back to the camera, and Jennifer was looking over her shoulder at the camera. She had a broad smile on her face that was so genuine it hurt. I could feel a lump forming in my throat, and sat on the sofa with the photograph in both hands. As I touched Jennifer’s face with the tip of my thumb, I let the tears flow. There were no sobs, no clenched fist pressed against my mouth, no gripping pain in my chest. Only tears.
I put Jennifer’s picture back on the top of the bookcase once I’d decided that I’d cried enough for that evening, and picked a book out from Andy’s small selection without looking at it. I didn’t really care if I’d read it or not. I just wanted something to take my mind off not being able to sleep. On the way back to the guest room, I diverted to the kitchen to see if there was any wine left. Maybe a large glass would help me get to sleep, I reasoned with myself as I filled the largest one I could find to the brim. Putting the glass and the book back in my room, I padded to the bathroom for a pee. On my way past the photographs of Andy on the wall, I looked again at the one of him about to smack a ball for six. There was definitely something odd about it.
I was mid-pee when I realised what was off about the picture. I finished my business and washed my hands before returning to the hallway, turning on the light as I did so. Leaning forward to examine the photograph, I could see that I was right. It was the wrong way round. I looked at the scoreboard behind Andy’s shoulder and realised that it wasn’t the photograph that was the wrong way round, it was Andy. His right shoulder was toward the camera when it should have been his left if he held the bat the way I would hold it. The only reason he would face the way that he was would be if he was left handed. I looked at his hands, gripping the cricket bat so hard that even in the photograph I could see his knuckles had whitened.
My mind went back to the night I’d attacked Robert, and I looked over at the coat stand. I picked up a hat that was hanging on one of the arms and looked at it in profile. Beneath it was a dog’s lead, hanging from the same hook. My heart rate increased a notch as I realised that I recognised the shape of the hat. When had Andy got the dog? Just after Jennifer had died, he’d told me. Dogs had to be walked. I knew that as I’d seen the silhouette of a dog walker that night. A dog walker wearing a hat just like the one in my hand. I looked back at Andy’s hands wrapped around the cricket bat and imagined them wrapped around another type of bat.
I moved back across to the photograph of the team and looked at the man with his arm draped over Andy’s shoulder. Although there were no names on the photograph, I didn’t need them to recognise the man. The widow’s peak was less distinct in the photograph than it was now, but there was no doubt in my mind I knew him. Paul Dewar.
Behind me, I heard a soft click as Andy’s bedroom door opened. I turned to see Andy peering around the door. His hair was awry, and his eyes were half closed against the light.
“Are you okay, Gareth?” he asked, glancing at the hat in my hand. “I heard the toilet then saw the light come on under my door.”
“Sorry, Andy,” I replied, not sure what to say. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” I put the hat back on the stand. We stood in silence for a few seconds, and I waited to see if Andy would say anything else. When I realised that he wasn’t, I carried on. “I see that you’ve known Paul Dewar for a while,” I said, my finger pointing at the team photograph. A slow smile appeared on Andy’s face as he smoothed his hair over his head.
“I have, yes,” he replied. “We go back a way, Paul and I.”
“You kept that quiet.”
“Not really, no reason for you to know,” Andy said. “Shall we have a drink? A proper one? I think a chat is needed, don’t you?”
Andy and I sat in the lounge, a bottle of whisky on the table in front of us. When I drank whisky, I always went for quantity over quality, but tonight I had both. Andy had poured out two very generous measures into tumblers, adding a splash of water to each from a small jug he’d brought through from the kitchen. It was all done in silence as I contemplated what to say to him. With a glance at Jennifer’s smiling face on top of the bookcase, I decided how to approach things.
“So, you’ve known Paul since school?” I asked.
“Yes, we’re old friends,” he replied, curling his fingers around the glass in his hand.
“Did you ask him to look into my case?”
“I may have mentioned it to him,” Andy said, almost in a whisper. “I do know he likes a challenge.”
“But I don’t understand why you’d do that, Andy. Unless you knew I was innocent, that is.”
“But you always said you were, Gareth. Right from the start. Is that not enough for me, to take you at your word?”
“But what if it’s not enough?” I replied. “What if you knew for certain I was innocent? Because you knew who the real killer was?”
He put his glass down on the table, and I took a large sip of whisky from mine. As the liquid burned its way down my throat, Andy looked at me with his eyebrows raised.
“And how would I know that, Gareth?” He was smiling, his eyes no longer wrinkled with sleep.
“What’s your dog’s name?” I asked. His smile faltered for a second before returning.
“She’s called Phoenix,” he replied. “I didn’t name her. That was the name she already had when I got her from the rescue centre, but it seemed apt in any case.”
“Were you walking her the night Robert died?” I asked. There it was, out in the open. The killer question, as it were.
We sat in silence, both knowing the reply to the question would change both our lives. The knowledge that we would share of who had really killed Robert Wainwright, who had really avenged Jennifer’s death.
“When I saw you convicted, Gareth,” Andy said after a few minutes. “I knew I couldn’t let that go. I couldn’t see the man who loved my daughter being convicted for a crime I’d committed.” He looked at me, his eyes serious and unwavering. “What sort of a man would that make me? If Paul hadn’t managed to get the conviction overturned, my next step would have been to take your place.”
Jennifer stared at us both from the top of the bookcase. Two men who’d loved her, one who’d wanted to kill for her, and one who actually had.
“Your toast in the pub, to blind justice,” Andy said, picking up his glass from the table. “It was very apt. But justice isn’t always blind. Sometimes she just needs a bit of a hand to see the light.”
“Maybe another toast is called for?” I replied. “What would you suggest?”
Andy raised his glass in the air and looked over at Jennifer’s picture, tilting his glass in her direction.
“How about we toast that young lady over there?” He got to his feet, and I followed him. We both raised our glasses toward the photograph on the bookcase and spoke in unison.
“To Jennifer.”
Finding Milly
Chapter 1
Jimmy Tucker shrugged his shoulders against the cold September air and pulled up the zipper on the front of his coat as far as it
would go. He regarded the small, single storey building on the other side of the road and the black Transit van with tinted windows that was inching its way down the narrow alley to the side of the building. He shivered against the wind, remembering the young woman on the television earlier promising more of the same over the next few days. Even though the North Sea was over twenty miles away, when the wind came in from the east it was biting. The best thing that could be said about the icy breeze was that it would stop the fog forming over the top of the Norfolk Broads and rolling across Norwich.
He looked left and right and, after waiting for a few seconds for a gap in the traffic, set off across the road towards the squat building. It was a bizarre rectangular shape, standing on its own with the alley that the van was pulling out of separating it from an equally squat Indian restaurant next door. The front of the building Jimmy was heading toward was painted cream, divided in half by a frosted glass door with an opaque window that were both designed to hide whoever was inside from curious stares from the outside. The only real clue to the building’s purpose was the painted sign over the top of the window.
Ignoring the passive-aggressive sign that implored visitors to the restaurant next door not to park in either of the parking spaces in front of the cream building, Jimmy stepped up to the door and pushed it open, leaving the busy road he had just crossed behind him. Above the door, a small bell tinkled, and a blast of warm air hit Jimmy in the face as it rushed past him and out into the cold. Jimmy shivered with relief as the door eased itself shut behind him, and he pulled the zipper of his coat down a few inches as he looked around the inside of the building which he remembered well.
The room he was in didn’t extend to the back of the building—the back wall was much further forward than it should have been, and an internal door leading to another room was painted in the same cream colour as the front of the building. The interior was sparsely occupied but well appointed. In front of the opaque window were two expensive looking sofas with an ornate coffee table between them. On top of the table was a glossy brochure advertising the occupier’s services. The only other furniture in the office was a small mahogany desk tucked away in the room's corner, with a receptionist sitting behind it.
Gareth Dawson Series Box Set Page 32