The Hanging Time

by Bilinda P Sheehan

  Sometimes maybe even more so.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  They pulled up outside the first house and Drew’s palms were so slick with sweat he found it difficult to keep a firm grip on the steering wheel.

  She said she wasn’t afraid to face the grief—perhaps if she kept telling herself that lie it would eventually become truth—but he was.

  Well, fear was the wrong word. But he couldn’t figure out a better way to describe it, especially when it came to what they were about to do. It was no mean feat to take all the grief and pain of the families left behind and compound it.

  Enough time had passed that the families in question, while not accepting of their children’s passing, had begun to live with it. That was all you could hope for when it came to the slippery evil that was grief. Necessary, yes, but evil all the same. It had the power to rob even the strongest of those of their joy. Memories became grenades lurking in your mind that at any moment could detonate and rip your already broken heart into further shreds.

  Anyone who told you that time was a healer was either a well-meaning liar or they hadn’t suffered a loss themselves. Time didn’t heal jack-shit. All it allowed you to do was to learn to live in the new world. A world without your loved one in it.

  “If we sit out here for much longer, they’ll wonder what’s going on.” Harriet’s words cut through his thoughts, jerking him back to the moment. “This will be difficult enough for them without making them worry unnecessarily.”

  How could she be so calm about it all?

  “Yeah.” Drew shoved the car door open with a little more force than he’d meant and the hinges creaked ominously.

  He slammed the door behind him and paused, resting his hands on the roof of the car as he waited for Harriet to climb out. The last time he’d been here—

  He closed his eyes in an attempt to block the memory out but it only served to make it stronger.

  “Are you all right?” He felt her hand tentatively touch his arm and he jumped, pulling back out of reach.

  “I’m fine,” he lied, swallowing back the bile in his throat. He would get through this. This was his job and he would get through it. The families deserved to know the truth. They needed to know the truth.

  “We’re doing the right thing here,” Harriet said softly as though she’d peeled back his skull and peered into the soft mush that made up his brain.

  “So why does it feel like I’m causing more pain; doing more harm than good?”

  “Because you are,” she said simply.

  “Thanks, doc, I feel really reassured now.”

  Harriet smiled at him, a warm affectionate expression that brought a rush of heat through his body.

  “I don’t mean to sound so flippant,” she said. “But we will cause pain here today. Unfortunately for the people in that house it’s a pain that will help them heal.”

  Drew gave her a confused look. “I don’t understand. How can pain help you heal?”

  “Think of it like a wound. It’s already scabbed over but the wound itself is infected. Beneath the surface, it’s festering inside and if you do nothing, the poison will eventually spread to the rest of the body. A slow painful death. But if you open the wound again, expose it to the air and clean out the infection it will eventually heal.”

  “Losing a child isn’t like healing a wound,” Drew said sharply. “Losing someone you love isn’t something you just get over.”

  “I know,” she said, and for the first time since they’d met, she actually sounded like she meant it. “Nothing we say or do here today will make their loss greater than it is. They’ve suffered the worst thing imaginable in the loss of a child.” She sighed.

  “What I’m trying to say here, is that letting them believe a lie about the people they’ve lost is a poison. They need to know the truth. It’s not going to make it better or even take the pain away for them but they need to hear it just the same.”

  There was a kind of perverse truth to what she was saying as far as Drew could see. When Freya had decided to remove herself from the board completely he’d spent days, weeks—hell he was still thinking it now—wondering if there was something he should have done, could have done differently. The answer was always the same; nothing he thought or felt would change what had happened. But deep down in the darkest recesses of his mind there was a cruel voice that whispered to him that he hadn’t been enough for her. That it was his fault she was gone, if only he’d been better, more loving, more empathetic of her suffering then she would have stayed.

  And as he stood there outside Jack Whitly’s family home, Drew understood that the woman up in the house was probably thinking and feeling the same as he did; wrongly or rightly. No amount of someone telling you that you weren’t to blame would take that guilt away.

  “What are we waiting for then?” He strode toward the path but Harriet caught his arm, drawing him up short.

  “It was never your fault.”

  He glanced down at her hand and then raised his gaze to her face. There was a sincerity there that he hadn’t seen in the faces of any of the counsellors he’d been forced to visit after Freya’s death.

  “So why does it still feel like it was?”

  She shrugged and let him go. “Human nature,” she said. “We blame ourselves for the impossible believing if only we were better, more godlike, then we could have saved them. It’s a universal flaw but it proves one thing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “It’s proof of the love you had for them; have for them still.”

  He swallowed around the lump in his throat and inclined his head. “Now we really should go in,” he said. “Or they’re going to assume the worst.”

  Harriet let him go with a sad shake of her head. “I’m afraid for them, that already happened.”

  He remained silent but he agreed with her. For the families of those left behind their world had come to a grinding halt the day they discovered their child dead. There was no coming back from it, no return to the happiness that had once been. There could only be forward progression and a grim determination to carry on.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Harriet let Drew knock on the door and when it was answered by a woman with wide expressive eyes, she stood aside to let him do the introductions.

  Despite his initial uncertainty, he handled himself with care and precision. There was a softness to his voice as he dealt with Jack’s mother, a warmth and compassion to his manner. Harriet found herself wondering just how many facets the detective truly had.

  Within a few moments, Harriet found herself ensconced in a comfortable cream leather armchair. accepting an offered cup of tea from Jack Whitly’s grieving mother.

  The room was modern, the walls painted and wallpapered in silvers and whites lending it an air of cold detachment that to Harriet felt too much like a treatment room in a hospital. She’d never really understood the desire to decorate a room in nothing but a monochrome colour scheme. Not that she could really have an opinion on interior design. Her walls were still the plain white they had been since the day she’d moved into her house.

  “Mrs Whitly, I think you already know that we’re here today to discuss Jack with you,” Drew said, his voice and manner gentle as though he were afraid Mrs Whitly would startle and bolt like a prize racehorse.

  “I figured as much,” the woman said, her Yorkshire accent suggesting she’d lived her whole life in the area. She closed her fingers around the handle of her tea cup so tightly that her knuckles turned white and Harriet found herself worrying she would snap the handle off entirely.

  “We only buried him ten-days ago,” she said. Her voice hitched. “He seemed smaller than I remembered.”

  “I am so very sorry for your loss, Mrs Whitly,” Harriet said, leaning forward in her chair. It was a pointless statement but a necessary one all the same. Being sorry for someone didn’t make it better but it was more what the words represented that truly mattered. By telling some
one you were sorry for their loss you were showing them you empathised with them, a show of solidarity over something that was usually so deeply personal.

  “Thank you,” Mrs Whitly said, keeping her eyes trained on the cup in her shaking hands. “Call me Kate, everybody does. What was it you wanted to know?”

  “Your son was very handsome,” Harriet said. “He had a very open smile. That’s so rare to find in people these days.”

  Kate raised her gaze and shot Harriet a watery smile. “He was, wasn’t he?” Kate’s eyes flickered to the side and up toward the mantle where a solitary framed photograph of Jack sat beaming down on them all.

  “He was kind, too. Jack took after his dad in looks and personality. I always joked that it was lucky I wasn’t sensitive, or I might feel left out because he didn’t take after me at all.”

  Harriet smiled and took a sip of her tea. “I was sorry to read about your husband’s passing,” she said. “That must have been quite a blow to both of you.”

  “It was. Jack took it hard.” Kate said. “He was only eleven and I worried that he was getting a bit too introverted. You see Jack’s dad was a teacher in the local school Kirkbridge Academy so I got some advice and moved Jack out of there. He did better.” She paused and stared down into her cup. “I think he needed a fresh start. At least I hoped it was the right thing, you can never really tell with kids, can you?“

  “Of course, you were doing what you thought was right and that’s what mattered. It’s difficult for anyone to come to terms with loss and I suppose for Jack having so many of his memories tied up with his dad and the school made it particularly painful. I think a fresh start was just what he needed.”

  Kate set her cup down on the small glass coffee table in the centre of the room and tugged a worn tissue from inside her pocket. “Sorry. It’s just—"

  Harriet shook her head. “No need to apologise.”

  When Kate seemed to have herself under control again, she lifted her head and stared at both Drew and Harriet. “You’re not really here to discuss Jack’s depression over his dad dying, unless...” She trailed off as her voice grew more choked. “I thought he was doing better. I thought we were passed it and then—"

  “You said you took some advice on moving Jack out of Kirkbridge, does that mean you took him to see a counsellor?”

  Kate nodded and sniffed loudly, dabbing at her tear-filled eyes with the shredded tissue. “I didn’t know what else to do and it seemed like such a good idea at the time.”

  “Do you remember the name of the counsellor?” Drew interjected.

  “What has this got to do with my son’s death?”

  Harriet shot a look in Drew’s direction.

  “You’re aware that since Jack’s death there has been two other teenagers who have died.”

  “The said on the radio that it was suicide. I hear about it everywhere now. Before Jack it never even occurred to me to pay attention to something like that but now it’s all I hear about on the news and the radio. I stopped having the papers delivered because it’s just every day, a new death.”

  “Well we’re investigating the possibility that there’s a link between the deaths of these teens and your son.”

  “Like a suicide pact?”

  Drew shook his head. “Not exactly.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kate said, and Harriet’s heart constricted in her chest.

  “We’re pursuing the possibility that there was another person involved. That perhaps Jack’s death wasn’t voluntary on his behalf.”

  “You mean someone murdered him?”

  The colour drained from Kate’s face and the shake in her hands became so pronounced Harriet was glad she’d set her cup down earlier.

  “It’s a possible line of enquiry, yes.” Drew’s tone of voice was brisk and professional, and Harriet cast him a sideways glance in an attempt to get a read on his state of mind.

  “Why would anyone want to harm him? He was a good boy. He was so kind and—" Kate’s voice broke off into a sob and Harriet tugged a packet of tissues from inside her own handbag and handed a fresh one to the grieving woman sitting opposite her.

  “It’s possible your son was targeted for all those reasons,” Harriet said. “Some people are drawn to the bright stars among us because they crave what it is they have. They want to be just like them, possess them even because they know they can never hope to be what they are.”

  “So, you’re saying my son was too nice and that’s why he was murdered?” There was a harshness to Kate’s voice that hadn’t been there a moment before.

  “I’m saying, Kate, that your son was special. He loved and was loved in return and there was nothing you could have done to stop the person responsible for his death. You did everything right.”

  “But how can I have? Jack’s dead. I’m his mother and I was supposed to protect him and I failed.”

  “You didn’t fail,” Drew interrupted. “What Dr Quinn is trying to say is that you were the best mother Jack could have hoped for. It was your love for him that turned him into the man he was growing up to be. Kind, generous, and loyal. But you couldn’t have known that the monsters of this world would see all that and want to take it. You couldn’t have known because that wasn’t your job.”

  “But we need your help now,” Harriet said, drawing Kate’s attention back in her direction. “Is there anyone you can think of that would have wanted to harm your son?”

  Kate shook her head, her tears flowing more freely now. “Everybody loved him.”

  “Did anyone new come into his life in more recent months, perhaps? Someone new at the school, or down the rugby club?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He didn’t talk to me about things like that.”

  “What about online, did he spend more time on his computer or did you notice him becoming more secretive or withdrawn?”

  Her face brightened then.” He was always on his laptop, clicking away at it and when I’d ask him what he was doing he’d just brush it off.”

  “Where is the laptop now?”

  “I’ve got it here. When your lot finished with it, they sent it back to me.” Kate sounded stronger than she had before, and Harriet detected the vaguest hint of accusation in her tone as she addressed Drew.

  “Has anyone else had access to the laptop?” Drew asked, seemingly oblivious to the danger that awaited him.

  “Shouldn’t you know all of this?” Kate quipped back, tightening her fingers around the tissue so that it ripped in half. “You came in here and searched this place from top to toe or at least that was what you told me.”

  “We did.”

  “But it’s taken you this long to figure out that my son was murdered. What kind of detective are you anyway if you can’t even investigate properly?”

  “I’m sorry,” Drew said. “It’s a little bit more complicated than that—"

  “Complicated?” Kate pushed onto her feet, two spots of colour riding high on her cheeks as she stood over Drew. “My son is dead, Detective. Don’t you stand there and talk to me about complicated.”

  “I’m sorry, I just meant—"

  “Maybe we should go,” Harriet interjected. It wasn’t as though they would get any new information from Kate Whitly now anyway, at least not now that she was so upset. The best thing they could do was leave her in peace and maybe call back in the next couple of days to try again.

  Drew opened his mouth as though he was about to protest but whatever he saw reflected in her eyes caused him to keep silent.

  “Thank you for your time,” Harriet said, climbing to her feet alongside Drew. “You’ve been a big help, Kate.” She held her hand out to the other woman who stared at her with barely concealed anger.

  “What you’re going to both scurry back underneath your rocks now that you’ve brought all this upset to my door?”

  “We will find the person responsible,” Drew said, hesitating in the doorway.

  “It’s a little late for that,�
�� Kate spat back at him. There was a moment where Harriet wondered if the other woman would give into the rage coursing through her body. Instead, the moment passed and Kate’s face crumpled, tears spilled over her lashes and tracked down her cheeks as she dropped back into the chair she had stood up from.

  “He was still my baby,” she said. “He was all I had left and they took him from me.”

  “Kate,” Harriet said, crouching down next to the arm of the chair. “Is there someone I can call to come and sit with you? A friend or a relative perhaps?”

  Kate shook her head. “He was all I had and now he’s gone.”

  Harriet shot Drew a concerned look. They couldn’t just walk out and leave the woman like this. As it was, she was barely clinging on and it would be all too easy now for her to tip over the edge.

  “Get out,” she said.

  “Let me call someone and—"

  “I said, get out!” Kate’ voice rose and in her eyes, Harriet saw a confused mixture of rage and grief both of which were clamouring for control.

  Harriet hurried to the door alongside Drew and out onto the steps leading up to the house.

  “This is a murder enquiry now,” Harriet said. “Isn’t there some kind of family liaison officer you could call to come over and be with her?”

  “You saw her, even if I did get Gregson to sign off on having a FLO call here she’d probably slam the door in their face.”

  Harriet shook her head. “I don’t think so. She needs a sympathetic ear right now. Someone who can sit there with no judgement and who has no negative connections to the case.”

  “You don’t think she’d do anything stupid, do you?”

  Harriet glanced back at the door. “I can’t say with any kind of real certainty but I’d feel better knowing she has someone with her just in case. It’s not worth the risk. You heard her in there, he was her world and now he’s gone.”