Just what could be so terrible about their lives that they felt the need to end them? When you were a teenager you had your whole life ahead of you. You’d barely scratched the surface of living at the tender age of fourteen.
It was a question he’d asked himself more than once.
The senseless death of one teenager was one too many as far as he was concerned. But to find himself called out to the third one in so many months was too much. There was something going on here but he was damned if he knew what it was. And if there was one thing Drew hated, it was feeling like he was out of the loop on something vital.
He’d known the moment he’d received the call exactly what would await his arrival.
The muffled scream of anguish that rose from the house sent a shiver down his spine. Christ, if he had to look into the face of one more set of parents as he questioned them about their child’s state of mind, he was going to scream himself.
“Sir, should we go in?” The softly spoken uniformed officer that paused next to him fidgeted nervously. Clearly Drew wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to step inside the front door.
He sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Standing around out here like a plonker wasn’t going to make going in the house any easier.
“Give me a minute, would you?” he said, making up his mind to head around the back of the dwelling. If he was going to talk to the parents, then the least he could do was see what they had seen.
The path that led down the side of the house opened up into a wide-lawned garden at the rear of the property. Drew had the sneaking suspicion that in the summertime the place would be a veritable paradise, with the tall ash trees that lined the back wall of the space lending pools of dappled shade.
But the brisk autumn wind that tunnelled at his back now had ripped most of the leaves from the trees and left them discarded like yesterday’s rubbish across the neatly mown grass. Drew’s gaze was drawn inextricably toward the trees, their thin skeletal branches reaching toward the grey sky like the long fingered limbs of a monstrous creature.
And it was there he saw her, body stretched out on the grass beneath the trees. Her skin was the unnatural colour that came from death and even from this distance he could see the evidence of petechial haemorrhaging. Her tongue was clamped between her teeth. Blood and foam had dried to her chin and lips. Drew tore his horrified gaze away from her but not before his eyes slid over the deep furrow—so purple it was practically black—around her delicate throat. From the corner of his vision, he spotted the frayed rope that had been ripped from her throat and tossed aside.
Only those who were truly desperate would ever subject themselves to such a torturous end. But she was just a child. What could have been so terrible in her life that this had become the answer to her problems?
Ducking his gaze away, Drew turned to the find the uniformed officer hovering near the corner of the house.
Shaking his head, he moved back toward the front. “We should go in now.”
“Why go back there?” The female officer asked.
“Crandell isn’t it?” he asked, his voice as weary as he felt.
“Yes, sir.”
“I went back there because if I’m going to face that girl’s parents, then I need to do it on an equal footing.”
She creased her brow. “I don’t understand.”
“They called the ambulance this morning, correct?” he said.
She nodded.
“So they found their daughter out there. The rope isn’t around her neck anymore, so my best guess is they cut her down and tried CPR on her. I can’t begin to imagine the horror they faced finding her like that. The least I can do when I go in there is have a working knowledge of their daughter’s end. That way I can fill in some of the blanks without forcing them to relive that torture in minute detail.”
“Isn’t that wrong?”
“What’s wrong here is that a young girl is dead. Took her own life and hung herself in her own yard. As far as I’m concerned that’s wrong. Everything else is just a matter of form, Officer Crandell.”
She blushed, a becoming shade of red that spread all the way up into her blonde roots.
“Sorry, Sir, didn’t mean to question you.”
Drew shrugged it off. Everyone was on edge, there was no point in adding fuel to the fire by carrying the argument on.
“Let’s just get this over with, shall we?”
She nodded and lead the way back to the front of the house.
Pausing on the front porch, Drew took one last deep breath of fresh air.
“Once more unto the breach,” he muttered beneath his breath, drawing a speculative glance from the young female officer who had paused next to him.
That’s great, Drew, have the uniforms add mentally disturbed to their laundry list of problems they’ve got with you. He smiled tightly at the officer and gestured her to head inside.
Chapter Three
The incessant shrill ringing pulled Harriet Quinn from her thoughts. Tilting her head to the side, she let the sound wash over her as she struggled to pinpoint just what she was hearing.
It took a couple of seconds for the penny to drop and when it did she scrambled through the pile of academic paperwork spread out over her living room floor.
“Crap, crap,” she swore violently as she slipped on an errant page on patient behaviour. At the last second, she managed to catch herself and she narrowly avoided doing the splits between her coffee table and the couch. It had been a long time since she’d been flexible enough to do something as demanding as that and she winced as her sudden movement tweaked a muscle inside her groin.
Banging out through the living room door, she made it into the kitchen in time to hear the answering machine kick in.
“Hi, Harri, it’s me. Just giving you a quick buzz to see how you’re getting on. I’m hoping you’re really out on a hot date and not on the couch with your head stuck in a musty old book. Anyway I—”
Harriet scooped the receiver up from the cradle and dropped down onto the chrome stool next to her breakfast counter. Considering she’d been living here for three years and she hadn’t yet had breakfast at the counter could she really in good conscience call it a breakfast bar? She eyed the stack of psychology books piled neatly in the corner.
“I’m here,” she said, her voice a little more breathless than she was comfortable with and she found herself wondering when she’d last been to the gym. Was it one month, or two? Not that spending forty minutes huffing and puffing away on a treadmill was conducive to fitness. Not when she spent so many hours with her head buried in a book.
“Damn, and here was me thinking you’d finally got sense and went out with one of those guys hankering after you from the college.”
Harriet rolled her eyes, despite knowing Bianca couldn’t actually see her.
“Nobody is hankering after me. Or at least not for a very long time.”
“You don’t sound too broken up about it,” Bianca said, sounding a little worried. “Please don’t tell me you’ve turned into one of those oddball feminists who see all men as the enemy.”
Harriet smothered that bubble of laughter that poured out of her.
“No, that’s not what’s happened. I just don’t have the time for dating right now. I’ve got two papers that need to be delivered in the next three months and I still have to correct the midterm papers for my students.”
Bianca’s laborious sigh travelled down the length of the telephone line and tugged a rueful smile from Harriet. Despite being best friends, they really couldn’t have been more different if they tried. But then what was that old saying? Opposites attract and all that.
“How’s Tilly getting on?” Harriet asked, changing the subject as quickly as possible.
Bianca took the bait without realising and Harriet sank into the familiar warmth of her friend’s voice as she sang her daughter’s praises.
“Sounds like you’ve got a budding prodigy on your h
ands there,” Harriet said not unkindly as Bianca finished telling her about Tilly’s latest piano recital.
“You’re just jealous you haven’t got one of your own.” Bianca’s laughter softened the sting in her words. “Anyway, there’s something I didn’t tell you.” There was a sudden coyness to her friend’s voice that piqued Harriet’s curiosity.
“Give me a sec,” Harriet said, pushing up from her seat at the counter. She crossed to the fridge and pulled a half full bottle of white wine from her fridge. Taking a glass from the cupboard above her microwave, she poured herself a hefty glass before retreating to the living room again.
“Let me guess, Australian Chardonnay?” Bianca said.
“Actually, it’s a Pinot Grigio tonight,” Harriet said. “Aldi had an offer on.” She clicked the phone over to loudspeaker and Bianca’s laughter filled the room. It was almost like having her here… almost.
“Go on, what’s this big secret you want to tell me?”
“It’s not a secret and it’s not big.”
“Could have fooled me with the way you’ve set this thing up. It better be good now or I’ve wasted this wine on nothing.”
Bianca sighed. “I think I’ve met someone.”
The words hung in the air and Harriet did her best to suppress her joy. Ever since Tom had died, Bianca had become the skittish type when it came to the idea of dating anyone else. On one drunken, tear-filled occasion she had confessed to Harriet that she felt the idea of starting a relationship with someone new was too much like cheating on Tom. No amount of persuasion on the matter had convinced her otherwise and Harriet had resigned herself to the idea that Bianca was perhaps the type to forever cut herself off from experiencing the happiness Tom would have wanted for her.
“I’m listening,” Harriet said warily.
“Don’t be like that, Harri,” Bianca said, more than a little defensively.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re talking to a fragile patient. For tonight I just need you to be my mate. Be normal, like it used to be.”
Harriet took a gulp of the acidic wine and winced as she swallowed. Whether Bianca realised it or not, there were times when her words cut like a razor.
“So, who is he?”
“You don’t know him. His name is Ryder and we met online.”
Harriet sat up a little straighter as she folded her legs up beneath her so she was in semi-lotus. “But you have met him though, right?”
“We’re going to meet this weekend and—”
“Wait, you’ve met some stranger online and you haven’t even met him in person yet?”
“He’s not some weirdo if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s a business man from Nottingham, he’s single and—”
“I can come up this weekend if you want a bit of back-up.”
“I don’t need you to hold my hand, Harri. I’m an adult. I can go on a date by myself.”
“That’s not what I meant it’s just—”
“Look, I know the kind of people you study but not everybody is out to hurt someone else. Some people are just good, normal types who are trying to make a connection.”
Bianca had a point; not everyone was out to harm another human being—psychopaths only made up one percent of the population—but there was a huge difference in meeting someone face to face, getting a feel for them in person, versus getting to know the avatar of someone hiding behind a computer screen.
“And I’m not saying that this Ryder isn’t one of those normal people,” Harriet said, choosing her words carefully. “But I want you to be safe. Is that so terrible?”
Bianca sighed. “I guess not.”
“When are you meeting him?”
“Saturday night.”
“Then I’ll drive up Saturday morning. If you want me to, that is…”
“Fine, Mom,” Bianca moaned but there was an edge of laughter in her voice.
“Did he send you a picture?” Harriet asked, as some of the tension that had been building between her shoulder blades slowly loosened.
“I’ve sent it to your email.”
Harriet reached over and set her wine glass down before she snagged her laptop from the coffee table. A couple of clicks later and she tapped her nails impatiently against the edge of the laptop as she waited for the picture to download.
When it did, she was confronted with a handsome man. If she had to guess she’d have said he was in his thirties although with the advancements in men’s skincare regimes it was possible that he was older and just took care of his appearance.
“So, what do you think?” Bianca actually sounded nervous and Harriet felt a swell of empathy for her best friend.
The man in the photograph was the complete opposite of Tom. Where Bianca’s late husband had been dark haired, and had a gentle kindness to his features, Ryder’s hair was fair and cropped short and his expression was a little more severe. In the picture he sported a smattering of designer stubble across his sharp jawline. His aquiline nose was enough to prevent him from being model perfect.
But it was his eyes that truly caught Harriet’s attention. They were so dark they looked almost navy blue and they lent themselves to an almost penetrating gaze. Harriet found herself wondering if perhaps it was just the poor quality of the camera which had taken the picture or if whether his eyes truly were so dark.
“He looks handsome,” Harriet said, choosing to play it safe. It wasn’t uncommon for those who were grieving to completely change their taste in partner and who was she to pass judgement on Bianca’s newfound taste for austere and cruel-looking men?
If she had been the superstitious type, she might have thought it was an ill omen but as it was, Harriet didn’t hold much store in superstitions. To her they belonged to those whose anxiety made them paranoid about the world they lived in. A superstition at the end of the day was just a left-over emotion from a time when our ancestors still believed in magic, much like a vestigial tail or an appendix.
“You don’t like him, do you?”
“I never said that.” As much as she wanted to keep her resentment in check, Harriet found a little more of the emotion than she was entirely comfortable with slipping into her voice.
“Come on, Harri, how long have we been friends? I know you better than you know yourself and there’s something about Ryder you don’t like so why don’t you do us both a favour and spit it out?”
Harriet sighed. Every alarm bell in her mind ringing she opted to buy herself a little more time. Reaching over the arm of the sofa she grabbed her glass and took a large mouthful. The wrong answer here and she would do untold damage to Bianca’s fragile ego. If she tried to fabricate the truth, Bianca would know. It was a catch-22.
“I do think he’s very handsome.”
“But?”
“But I think you were right earlier when you said that the work I do clouds my judgement on the world. It’s not easy for someone like me to just let all that go.”
“Well what can you possibly know about him just by looking at his photograph?”
Harriet shrugged and caught herself; Bianca couldn’t see her gestures down a telephone line.
“Honestly, I can’t tell anything from it.” And it was the truth. Physiognomy had been pretty much debunked as little more than a pseudoscience a number of years ago. “I think my job has made me overly cautious and that’s not a bad thing.”
It was the other woman’s turn to sigh. “I know you’re right. Maybe I’m rushing into all of this. I mean Tom hasn’t been gone that long…”
“Five years is not an insignificant amount of time.”
“But it’s longer than we were even together. If I’m honest I feel a little stupid. You hear about all of these couples who have been together for decades and then there’s Tom and me and we only got five years.”
“But they were five good years.”
Bianca went silent on the other end of the line and Harriet glanced down at the screen of the phone to m
ake sure the line was still active.
“You know it’s not fair.”
“I know it’s not.”
“We were supposed to be together forever. We deserved more time.”
“You did.”
Bianca sniffed and Harriet found herself wishing that she wasn’t separated from her friend by so many miles. At least if they were in the same room together, she would be able to wrap her arms around her friend’s shoulders and give her the hug she needed right now.
“I’m sorry,” Bianca said, her voice gruff with unshed tears.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, you’re grieving and there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re allowed to, whether you believe that or not.”
“I do believe it,” she said, although Harriet found herself wondering just how much she truly meant it.
“And if you think you’re ready to move forward—not on—just forward. Then I’m behind you one hundred percent.”
“Thanks,” Bianca said. “I think I needed to hear that.”
“You know I’m always here for whatever you might need, right?”
“I know that.”
The silence stretched out between them and Harriet found herself wanting to say something more. Something more concrete. But she couldn’t think of anything that would help her friend to come to terms with everything she was going through.
“I suppose I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Bianca said, breaking the silence before Harriet could gather her thoughts together.
“You’re not taking up my time, I—”
“It’s fine, Harri, I need to go anyway. Got to be up early in the morning for Tilly’s swimming lesson.”
“Of course, give her my love.”
“I will.” There was another awkward beat. “You don’t have to come up at the weekend you know.”
“I know I don’t have to,” Harriet said. “I want to.”
“Well if you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“I’ll see you then.” Before Harriet could say goodbye Bianca ended the call, leaving her to sit there in silence.
Ever since Tom, Bianca hadn’t been able to bring herself to actually say goodbye to anyone on the phone. Just another nod to the many phases of the grieving process she was going through.
The Hanging Time Page 2