The Hanging Time

by Bilinda P Sheehan

  If her mother saw her, she didn’t make any indication of the fact. Her gaze was pinned on the landscape of the moors beyond the glass.

  The rain had become a mist. It clung to Harriet’s eyelashes as she stared up at her mother inside the window.

  The older woman leaned forward, her forehead almost pressed to the glass and for a moment Harriet’s heart stalled in her chest as she half expected her to force her face into the glass. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time she’d self-harmed since her illness had been diagnosed. But her mother didn’t collide with the glass. Instead, her face became obscured by mist as she breathed out onto the glass. Raising her finger, she quickly drew a circle, it was followed by three dots inside and a quick half-moon shape to make up the mouth of the smiley face. Beneath the drawing, with hands that shook, Harriet watched as her mother wrote the word ELYK.

  It took a moment for it to sink in and when it did Harriet’s heart sank. She was viewing the word backwards. It seemed Kyle was never far from her mother’s thoughts.

  Her mother caught her eye then and raised a hand to the glass as Harriet waved up to her.

  Her mother’s expression was blank, devoid of any feeling. It was an expression Harriet had grown used to seeing on her face. She turned away and started down the steps.

  As much as she was used to seeing the blank in-comprehensive mask her mother often wore it still hurt. And no amount of professional understanding would ever take that away.

  Chapter Ten

  The world was in so much pain. Every day of the week there was a new horror to deal with. And right in the middle of it all, people kept trying to battle against that pain instead of just giving in. There was something to be said for the acceptance of not being able to carry on. There was a strength in that and it was beautiful to behold.

  But it took a special person to admit defeat like that. It took the kind of strength that only came along once in a lifetime.

  Sliding down in the car seat, he watched as she pulled open the front door and strode out. The little girl in her arms laughed and wriggled to get down.

  She would never give up. That much he knew with the kind of conviction that came to those who watched people suffer every day of the week. She would keep struggling, fighting to keep her head above water and for what?

  Who would thank her for it?

  Nobody, that's who. Nobody would see the struggle. Nobody cared.

  Except for him.

  He loved her for her struggle. Admired it. But the time was drawing to a close and soon it would be all over.

  It was so close he could practically taste it.

  “Soon my love. So soon. Then all of this will be over and your pain will just float away.”

  The tune he hummed under his breath—a lullaby—brought a tear to his eye. He dashed it away with the back of his hand as he started up the car and pulled away from the curb.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What time did you say she’d be back?” Drew asked the severe looking woman—who’d introduced herself as Mrs M. Metcalf—perched behind the desk opposite him.

  “She was supposed to be back an hour ago.”

  Drew nodded and ducked his head in an attempt to keep his smile to himself.

  “I don’t know why you find all of this so funny, Detective Haskell,” Mrs Metcalf said. “This institution is one of the finest in the country and this blatant disregard for—”

  “Blatant disregard for what?”

  Drew jerked in his seat as Mrs Metcalf’s tirade was interrupted by the cool tone of another woman who’d slipped silently in the door next to him. He turned and glanced up at her, noting the way her still damp cream blouse clung to her frame in spite of the raincoat she carried. Her dark hair curled around the collar of her shirt and seemed to emphasise her large, expressive blue eyes.

  If Maz was here he’d probably declare they were the kind of eyes a man could lose himself in, or some other such nonsense. Not that he’d be wrong but Drew preferred to keep things simple and a lot less poetic.

  There was something so terribly familiar about her but as much as he tried to grab onto the elusive memory it slipped out of reach.

  He leaned back in his chair and adopted and air of mild interest as Mrs Metcalf flushed.

  “I was merely stating that your continued disregard for your office hours—office hours I might add that you set yourself—reflects poorly on you and everyone around you.”

  The woman in the doorway opened her mouth but caught Drew’s eye and turned to him instead.

  “You’re not James,” she said, as though his presence instead of the elusive James was somehow an affront to her.

  “I am not.” Drew pushed to his feet and held his hand out to the woman in front of him. “My name is Detective Inspector Drew Haskell. If I could have a few moments of your time and—”

  Her eyes widened. “Martha mentioned that the police had tried to contact me earlier today. Is this visit pertaining to the same matter?”

  He nodded and tried to give her a reassuring smile. Not that he was very adept at the whole reassurance thing. That was for other people. He was much more a go out and attack the problem head on kind of guy. He’d never found platitudes or reassurances to be particularly useful during his life as a police officer. People tended to look to him for action as opposed to empty promises too easily broken.

  “I did try to get you on the phone earlier,” he said. “I was hoping I might pick your brain over a case I’m currently working on?”

  Drew watched as her expression became guarded and her eyes shuttered. She took a tiny step backward and only the doorjamb at her back prevented her from leaving the room entirely.

  “My assistance?” She repeated the question as though trying to familiarise herself with the concept.

  “Yes. I had heard you have a particular area of expertise and I was rather hoping you would take a look at the case files for—“

  Before he could even finish, she shook her head. The smile on her full lips was polite but she gave him an air of disinterest.

  “I’m sorry, Detective Haskell, I don’t think I would be of any use to you. I—"

  “Detective Inspector,” he corrected. It was a stupid pedantic thing to do and the moment the correction left his mouth, he could tell he’d made a mistake. But he just couldn’t help it. His inability to keep his mouth shut when he was supposed to had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count and her seeming disinterest rubbed him up the wrong way. Not that he believed it for a second. Behind the polite façade, there was another side to her; one that was more than interested in looking over the case files. But there was something holding her back.

  Of course, if he couldn’t find a way around whatever it was that was holding her back then he’d just wasted an entire afternoon coming over here to see her. The DCI would have his arse in a sling if he got back with nothing to show for the day and no files to hand him come the end of shift.

  “Look,” he said, deciding that starting over was definitely the right thing to do. “I’m sorry we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot here. I need your expertise on this and—" He held his hand up to ward off her protests before continuing. “I know you’ve got it in your head that you can’t help but that’s where I think you’re wrong.”

  “And you would know what I’m qualified to help you with, how?” She arched an eyebrow at him but Drew knew her interest was piqued.

  “I’ve read some of your papers on suicides,” he said, going straight for the kill. “Or at least your exploration of why suicides appear in clusters.”

  She looked surprised and Drew straightened his shoulders, a small kernel of pride igniting within his core.

  “You’ve read my papers on the Werther effect?” She didn’t bother to keep her surprise to herself, and Drew found himself wondering if she knew all of her emotions played out across her face for anyone to see.

  “I have,” he said. “And I’m man enough to admit
I first thought it had something to do with a Werther’s Original.”

  She stared at him for a moment longer before she threw her head back and began to laugh. It was a rich sound and the smile that curled her lips brightened her face, making her appear younger, almost vulnerable.

  “I take it you haven’t heard that one before?”

  She shook her head and placed a hand over her mouth as though she was suddenly self-conscious about her laughter. He caught her casting a surreptitious glance in the direction of her disapproving secretary before she beckoned for him to follow her into the office.

  “I suppose you better come in.”

  She held the door for him before she poked her head back into the main room.

  “Martha, hold my calls until I’m through with Detective Inspector Haskell.”

  “But you have a four o’ clock—"

  “I said, hold my calls. Please.”

  “Fine.”

  Not for the first time, Drew tried to stifle his smile with his hand as he took the seat directly opposite Dr Quinn’s desk.

  She settled into the swivel chair and peered at him over the large pile of folders that dominated her tiny desk.

  “I’m sorry about the mess.” Her tone was contrite as she cast a baleful eye over the items in front of her.

  Drew shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. You should see my desk.”

  She smiled at him again but it wasn’t a patch on the one she had shared with him in the hall and he found himself wishing he could make her laugh like he had before.

  Get a grip man. One pretty woman and suddenly your head is turned.

  “You have the files with you?”

  Drew jerked in his seat. “Pardon?”

  “The files, from the case you’re working. You brought them with you, yes?”

  Nodding, he withdrew a small packet from inside his khaki overcoat and reached across the desk. She took them and this time he was certain that what he saw in her eyes was a kind of eagerness.

  “We’ve had three suicides in the village of Tollby,” he said. “Three teenagers actually.”

  “And you want to know why?”

  And this was where it all got a little complicated. Was he supposed to tell her the truth about his suspicions, or was he supposed to let her do her thing and make up her own mind?

  Drew leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees as he steepled his fingers. “Well you see that’s just it.”

  “You don’t think they are suicides, do you?”

  He smiled ruefully at her. “Am I that transparent?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t be here if it were that easy, now would you?”

  He sighed. “No. If these were just open and shut cases then I wouldn’t have bothered you at all.”

  She glanced down at the file in front of her but made no attempt to open it. “Why did you really seek me out?”

  Drew opened his mouth to answer but she smiled indulgently at him. “The truth now, Detective Inspector.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Drew stretched his long legs out in front of him and closed his eyes. He knew how it looked to others. He was the picture of ease. It was a calculated move on his behalf though, one that gave him the time he needed to formulate an answer in his head.

  Hadn’t he spent the entire drive over here asking himself the exact same question. He hadn’t come up with an answer then so why should he have one now?

  “Because I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place if I’m being perfectly honest with you.”

  “Go on.”

  In for a penny, in for a pound mate. “My boss wants me to file these as suicides and if I was a smart man that’s just what I’d have done.”

  “But you’re not a smart man, is that it?”

  Was she just teasing him now?

  “I suppose not.” Drew closed his eyes again and this time he was treated to the image of Sian Jones’, her body laid out on the still dew damp grass, the discolouration of her face and protruding tongue. It was an image that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

  “Are you all right, Detective Inspector?” There was no denying the concern in her voice and it was sufficient to pull Drew out of the dark direction his thoughts had taken.

  “I’ve been to these kid’s houses. Yesterday, I watched them cart the body of another teenage girl out of her back garden where she’d allegedly hung herself and then I had to question her parents.” He didn’t dare meet Dr Quinn’s eagle eyed gaze as he spoke, choosing instead to plough ahead. “I had to sit there in front of the poor bastard who cut his step-daughter down and watch him fall apart as the realisation struck that his daughter—his baby girl—was really gone. I can’t in all good conscience just pass these kids off as suicides when I know deep down that it’s not.”

  Dr Quinn remained silent, obviously giving him a few moments to compose himself after his emotional outburst. It wasn’t like him, he was normally so in control of his emotions but there was just something about the case that slipped under his skin and got to him.

  Deep down he knew why but he wasn’t fully prepared to face it just yet. Maybe he never would.

  “I will look at the files,” Dr Quinn said, her tone decisive.

  Drew let go a long sigh and felt some of the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders slip away. He’d known he was uptight about the meeting but it wasn’t until she’d agreed to take a look at things that he truly began to comprehend just how affected he was by the entire situation.

  “Thank you,” he said and he meant it.

  She sat there and stared at him a moment longer, he could practically see the questions hovering on the tip of her tongue. Instead of asking them, she pushed onto her feet and held her hand out toward him.

  “It was good to meet you, Detective Inspector.”

  Startled by the suddenness of her dismissal, Drew climbed to his feet and took her hand.

  “I thought you said you were going to review the case files.”

  “And I am,” she said, glancing down at the stack on her desk. “But I can’t very well do it justice with you hovering at my elbow?”

  “Oh, right, of course.”

  What a stupid mistake to make. She was busy, judging by the mountain of yet to be filed paperwork cluttering her desk it would take her quite a while to get around to reviewing his case. Shit.

  Dr Quinn pumped his hand firmly before releasing her hold on him.

  “I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve had the chance to review it.”

  Drew nodded and couldn’t help but feel like he was being dismissed. How he was supposed to face his boss when he had nothing at all to show for it. The Monk was going to have his guts for garters.

  It definitely wasn’t like the television shows liked to make it out to be. There would be no understanding nod as he explained to the Monk about his gut feeling and the case. And there definitely wouldn’t be an opportunity to pursue things further. Once it was closed, the case would remain that way and not even God himself—if he appeared in the office—would make the Monk re-open the files.

  “I don’t mean to sound like I’m pushing here,” he said. He was grasping at straws but what else was he supposed to do?

  “But I really need your opinion on this.”

  “Sooner rather than later,” she said with a broad smile.

  Despite her openness earlier, Drew found himself at a loss and unable to read her expression now. The knowledge that she wasn’t as transparent as he’d first thought wasn’t exactly comforting.

  “My boss thinks these cases should be closed,” he said, as she manoeuvered him toward the door.

  “I understand,” she said. “Like I said, as soon as I have anything useable, I’ll be in touch.”

  Drew’s heart sank in his chest as he watched his last chance to get justice for the kids whose lives had been so cruelly stolen from them slipped through his fingers. If he was better at this then he could make her understand the urgency.

 
; But this wasn’t his forte, never had been. As it was the idea of schmoozing and charming those he needed favours from brought him out in hives.

  Before he knew it, he was outside the door and Dr Quinn had shut it in his face. Either her social skills were sorely lacking or he’d just allowed himself to get the brush off.

  “Sent you packing?” Mrs Metcalf asked as he paused in front of the door.

  Turning on his heel he gave her his best hundred-watt smile but his heart wasn’t really in it.

  “No,” he said. “I got everything I came here for.”

  Mrs Metcalf snorted derisively and turned her attention back to the computer screen she sat behind. Just why Dr Quinn had a woman who clearly didn’t think a whole lot of her was beyond him. If Maz behaved in the same way, it wouldn’t be long before Drew’s temper got the better of him.

  With one last lingering look over his shoulder at the closed office door, he made his way back toward the corridor. There was no point in hanging around in the hopes that things changed. The sooner he got back to the office now and began the necessary paperwork for the Monk the better.

  The elevator doors dinged open and Drew stepped inside.

  “Well, shit,” he muttered beneath his breath as the doors slid shut, cutting him off from his last chance at serving justice.

  Chapter Twelve

  Harriet buried her face in her hands and sucked in a deep breath. He didn’t remember her. That, at least, was a blessing in disguise.

  But then why should he?

  When they’d last met, his entire world had just been ripped apart. It stood to reason that his ability to recall the faces of everyone he met during that period would be compromised.

  When she’d first seen him sitting there in the waiting area, her heart had stalled in her chest and her mind had started to race over all the possibilities for his appearance. Ever since that fateful day, DI Haskell hadn’t been far from her mind. Although he hadn’t been a DI then, clearly his career path hadn’t been overly affected by the death of his fiancée.