An Accidental Death

by Peter Grainger

  The taxi was slowing down. The driver half-turned and said, ‘This our first stop?’

  They were outside the Subic house. Smith said yes, to hang on here, he wouldn’t be a moment. As he walked up the drive, a figure appeared behind the front door, just a silhouette on the light from the hallway. The door opened before Smith needed to knock on it, and Mirsad Subic was there with a document wallet in his hand.

  ‘Good evening, Sergeant Smith. Is all going well?’

  ‘So far, so good, sir.’

  ‘Some of the information is here – there is much more than I had time to collate. I still do not see how this will help tonight, but…’

  ‘It’s only a precaution, Mr Subic. I doubt if I will even need to look at it. But it’s best to cover as many possibilities as one can.’

  Subic looked hard at him again before handing over the wallet.

  ‘I think that you see possibilities here that I do not, sergeant. But we have to trust you – we have little choice in that.’

  ‘We call that being damned with faint praise, sir, but don’t worry, I’m used to it. Has Hanna come home as I suggested?’

  ‘No. It is as I said – she will stay with him until the end.’

  Smith frowned and thought it through again.

  ‘I’d rather she had done so, best for her to be out of the way. We are going to have to arrest him there and then, Mr Subic – we don’t need any, how can I put it, emotional scenes.’

  Subic smiled at that and said, ‘When you meet my youngest daughter, you will see.’ Despite all that had happened, there was an unmistakable note of pride in his voice.

  ‘OK, sir. No doubt she’ll be back with you tonight but I will call you from the station as soon as we get there. Is there anything else?’

  No, said Subic. Smith walked away, the wallet tucked under his arm, and when he reached the taxi, he gave the driver the second address.

  When the tail-lights of the taxi were out of sight, Smith stepped back a little into the shadow of a tall privet hedge. The road was quiet and shiny after the rain but the sky was still full of cloud – there would be more rain later. On the other side, a little way to the left, was the house, a quiet, modest suburban semi with one light on downstairs and one upstairs, directly above it. He waited five minutes and then walked slowly to his right for some fifty yards, looking into the few parked cars but they were all empty, with their alarm lights winking in the darkness. He went back to his starting point and repeated the procedure to his left, all the while taking note of any car that came along the road. A look at his watch told him that he was now a few minutes late; inside they would be getting nervous but better safe than sorry. A mistake now and they might all be very sorry indeed.

  Finally, he crossed the road, opened the little wicket gate, reached the front door and pushed it open, as agreed. No-one was waiting for him. He stepped inside and closed it quietly, making certain that the latch engaged. The hall was dimly lit from the downstairs light in a room off to the right – the door was ajar and he went silently towards it and looked into the room. No-one there either. For a moment, he thought that they had changed their minds and disappeared – and then he heard steps coming down the stairs further along the hallway.

  It was the girl. She saw him, stepped off the last of the stairs and planted herself firmly in the way of anyone intending to go up them.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Smith. Your father sent me, assuming that you are Hanna Subic.’

  She looked him up and down; if she had made any effort to conceal her contempt, it was a signal failure.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Well, I’m pretty sure that I am who I say I am. And your father, Mirsad, seemed fairly convinced, as well.’

  ‘ID. No, just throw it over, don’t get too close.’

  She didn’t appear to be armed but, he thought, she probably doesn’t need to be. She caught the wallet and opened it. Beyond her, hanging on the post of the banister, he could see the red jacket and the baseball cap – he had no need to ask for her own ID. She read the card and then turned it over while he watched her and waited. She had close-cropped, dark hair, it must be almost jet black, and large, almond eyes set far apart. Her wide, full mouth pursed a little as she read the card once again and glanced up at its owner. At five feet six or seven, and with a strong rather than a slender build, she was not a model – but that face was less than a millimeter from true beauty.

  ‘Yes, my father… You are not what we were expecting.’

  ‘I seem to have that effect – I don’t why. Where is Petar?’

  She bridled a little at the mention of the name, and her look up the stairs was involuntary but still she made no move.

  ‘Look, Hanna, if we’re doing this, let’s do it. It’s up to you. I’ve come here alone and I’m not going to be fighting anyone. I’ll walk away if that’s what you want – but you’ve got to understand what his alternatives might be if I do. There are other people looking for him.’

  It was very hard for her, he could see that, and it was several more seconds before she stood aside and invited him to climb the stairs ahead of her.

  ‘Hanna? The front door? We’re going to be here for a few minutes. It might be an idea to lock it.’

  The key was in her jeans pocket. She walked to the door, locked it and returned the key to the same pocket, taking no chances once again. He remembered what the father had said – now that he had met the daughter, he was beginning to understand.

  Petar Subic got to his feet with some difficulty when they entered the bedroom. He had taken quite a beating. Although it was almost two weeks ago now, his face was still heavily bruised and there was a cut that had been stitched in the eyebrow. From his movements, Smith guessed that there were other less visible injuries but one was quite obvious – the left wrist had been broken. There was clean bandaging and a splint in place but it should surely have been put into a cast by now.

  Hanna had gone to his side. They make quite a couple, thought Smith, because Petar was a full six feet three and built to match; the black T shirt he wore was tight around the muscular arms, and the man’s neck was as thick as most detective sergeants’ thighs. Injured as he was, Subic was in no danger of falling over but Hanna had taken hold of his arm. Smith couldn’t tell then whether or not they were actually a couple but what difference did it make – it’s legal here even if it might not be in Bosnia. Smith took out Waters’ phone and held it up to them.

  ‘If we’re going ahead, I need to send a message to get us a lift. Alright?’

  They both understood. She looked up at Petar, who eventually took his eyes from hers and nodded to Smith. He had already typed in the text, ready to send – “John, it’s the address I said. As soon as you like.” – and now he pressed the green button. A good signal, four bars, and he noted that the phone was fully charged. Waters really was destined for great things.

  ‘He’ll be a few minutes. I didn’t want anyone sitting in a car close by, just in case. You never know who’s about these days. You’d be more comfortable sitting down, lad.’

  Smith went over to the window, pulled the curtain aside a couple of inches and peered out into the street. All very quiet. He replaced the curtain and turned back into the room.

  ‘I think we’ll get some more rain.’

  They were sitting together on the bed, watching him and saying nothing. He moved across to the only chair in the bedroom, took out the phone and sat on the chair, facing them. He had questions, of course, a dozen of them, but this was a potentially awkward situation – the one of him and the two of them. Making an immediate arrest would have been stupid and provocative, as would beginning an interrogation, and so he sat, looked back at them and waited. Murray should not be more than fifteen minutes. Smith looked around - on the bed-side cabinet was a packet of cigarettes matching the one that still lay in his jacket pocket.

  It was Petar Subic who broke the silence.

&n
bsp; ‘You are here to arrest me, I think.’

  ‘My main concern is to get you out of here and to somewhere a bit more secure. And to get this young lady safely back home.’

  ‘‘More secure’? ‘Safely’? You think there is some danger. Surely you think I am the danger.’

  Smith looked down at Petar’s damaged arm and then with raised eyebrows back into his face. Hanna had followed the look; she reached across and made some unnecessary adjustment to the bandage, and Smith saw the wince on the young man’s face before he spoke again.

  ‘I do not think those people find me here. Mirsad suggest that you have other kinds of policeman searching for me – these he seemed to think are the dangerous ones. Is it so?’

  Smith shrugged.

  ‘It’s very complicated. Very messy. You understand that I am just an ordinary policeman? I was asked to look into the death of Wayne Fletcher – the boy who died in the river.’

  That was risky, he knew, but he wasn’t prepared to skirt around it any more than necessary. The effect, however, was not what he might have expected. Petar Subic’s eyes had filled with tears in seconds. The girl’s arm went around his shoulders, though it barely reached, and for the first time her look at Smith was less angry than concerned. She said something softly to Petar that Smith could not catch, and after a moment the Bosnian looked up, making no attempt to hide the tears.

  ‘I am sorry. So sorry for this. What is to be said? That boy…’

  ‘You don’t have to say anything. You are not under arrest. You haven’t been cautioned,’ and then Smith looked at the girl to make sure that she at least understood, ‘and you’re going to need a solicitor. If I were you-’

  ‘But I tell someone! Tell you! You know his family, yes? You could tell them.’

  ‘Tell them what?’

  ‘I did not mean for this – never. A terrible accident. I…’

  ‘I’d already come to that conclusion, son. If you like, you can tell me how it happened.’

  Hanna had found a handkerchief. First she went to wipe Petar’s face as if he was no more than a little boy, and then she pushed it into the giant hand. He clenched it but didn’t apply it to his face.

  ‘Yes, I tell you. This boy, I did not understand what he was doing. I saw them by the river, young people laughing and shouting as I go by. I saw this boy in the water but I paddle on, away from him. Then I slow down to look at the map – I have a map. He has kept swimming, very quick he has caught up. He holds the canoe, shouting something, I do not understand. I almost fall in as he shake the boat. Then I paddle hard but he is holding on to the canoe, holding on, he will not let go…’

  His voice was shaky. He had to stop for a moment, overcome by the memory as he lived it again. Smith glanced at the girl and saw that now her eyes were brimming, too.

  ‘I push at him with the paddle, I shout to get off the canoe. What did he want, I say. He rock the canoe again, laughing, and I push the paddle at him, two, three times. He let go, so I paddle away quickly maybe twenty metres. When I look around, he is gone. I know he cannot have swum so far I cannot see him – I guess what has happened.’

  ‘So you dived in then. You tried to save him.’

  ‘Yes, yes I did try!’

  Petar’s face was suddenly eager, now that someone seemed to understand.

  ‘I tried but it take a long time to find him. Underwater too long but I pull him out into the bank. I turn him over, I …’ and then he mimed pumping at the chest. ‘Ten minutes or more I try. But no breathing, no heartbeat. You believe that I try this?’

  ‘Yes. I saw the body. Where you tried to revive him, there was bruising, here, on the chest.’

  Now the girl looked grateful, too.

  ‘And there was a bruise on the boy’s head. Can I ask you a question, Petar?’

  ‘I think you soon ask many questions. Yes.’

  ‘Why did you turn the paddle around? Why use the handle?’

  Petar looked surprised that he had known that, and the girl looked from Smith back up at him.

  ‘Yes, I did this. The blade is sharp. I did not want to – hurt him.’

  They were all silent then. Smith pressed the phone and looked at the time – Murray should be here soon. He resisted the impulse to get up and go to the window again; there was no point in making the two of them any more nervous than they were.

  Petar said, ‘You said his name just now. What was it?’

  ‘Wayne Fletcher.’

  Another pause before he asked, ‘How old was he?’

  ‘Seventeen.’

  What came next was almost an outburst – ‘Still it goes on, deaths of young men! This time I am responsible!’ but this was to Hanna, and he almost pushed her away in his disgust at what he had done, at the waste of such a strong, young life. The girl turned to Smith, looking differently at him now.

  ‘What else do you know?’

  ‘I don’t know a great deal but I seem to have guessed right on a couple of things. I don’t know exactly what you two intended when he got inside Manley Hall but I can guess roughly why you intended to do it. I do know that revenge is a kind of wild justice, it always gets out of control. I know that if you set out to take revenge, you need to dig at least two graves.’

  Petar looked at her and whispered, ‘Two graves?’ She looked at Smith for another moment and then looked away.

  Five more minutes and then he’d have to ring. He flicked the phone open and checked that no message had come in silently; then he made sure that he could find the number he needed.

  ‘Petar wasn’t armed. He didn’t even have a knife.’

  ‘Good. That always helps with the ‘intent’ bit.’

  ‘Are you going to arrest me as well?’

  ‘Not if I can help it. Have you any idea of the amount of paperwork involved in all this?’

  For the first time he saw a momentary smile, and that made him feel the deep sadness of it all more than anything that had been said so far. They were just children. Outside in the street he heard a car – it slowed and then drove on.

  ‘I do have another question.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Why a canoe?’

  Petar was back with them, and he answered.

  ‘I have no licence here. Hanna would drive but I do not want her near that place. No-one else involved. I see the map, the river very close to him. And back home, I canoe often, all my life on the river Drina.’

  The Drina… Home to him yet unknown to Smith, what was it to Hanna Subic? She looked lost, small and vulnerable suddenly, as this hopeless scheme neared its conclusion. She had played her part, Smith knew; he could see it vaguely in the visits between the two countries, and the fact that Hamilton had been found so close to her home, her parents’ home, could not be a coincidence. She had offered to drive Petar – how differently things might have turned out if she had done so.

  Smith pressed the call button, standing as he did so and going over to the window. It rang once, twice, three times and then John Murray’s voice answered.

  ‘DC? What the hell’s going on?’

  ‘I was about to ask you the same thing. Are you nearly here?’

  ‘Eh? No – hasn’t Waters called you?’

  ‘Why would he do that? What’s happened?’

  Smith turned back from the window, his eyes on the couple, speaking calmly, not wanting give anything away just yet.

  ‘I told him everything – what’s he up to? DC, another lorry jammed itself under the Tideway bridge. The traffic is tail-backed for miles, there’s no way I could have got through in time.’

  ‘OK, what did you do?’

  ‘I kept ringing you and getting through to someone else. Eventually I realized that it was Waters, so I told him what had happened.’

  ‘What else did you tell him, John?’

  Smith looked out of the window again but the street looked just the same. He knew what Murray was about to say, and knew that the three of them would be out on tha
t street in a couple of minutes, but he still had to hear it to be absolutely certain.

  ‘Well, he said he’d sort it from there. He was still at the station, I think.’

  ‘You gave him this address, when he was on my phone?’

  ‘Yes, otherwise how could he… Sorry, DC, this is a cock-up. Is there a problem? Do you need support, I can radio in…’

  Smith motioned to Hanna and Petar to stand as he spoke to Murray.

  ‘No John, no time, we’ll just get out of here now.’

  He snapped the phone shut and smiled.

  ‘Change of plan. We’ll need to take a short walk before we can get a lift. No time to pack, just as you are. Off we go.’

  He was at the top of the stairs with the two of them behind him when they heard the first heavy blow on the front door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the time Smith had them back into the bedroom, the door had given way. There were voices, followed the sound of steps, more than one set of steps on the stairs. He had taken out the phone but there had been no time to make a call, and it was too late now. He made a ‘keep calm’ gesture to Hanna and Petar, and then placed himself in front of them, facing the door.

  When it opened, no-one appeared there at first but they could hear the sound of gasping or heavy breathing. Then a figure was pushed into the room, half-staggering, tripping over itself. It was Waters. He turned to look at Smith, his lower face covered in fresh blood from an obviously broken nose; he tried to speak, saying something that resembled sorry, as if he had brought all this upon them himself. Then he straightened up and leant against the wall with one hand.

  Smith’s expression never altered – his gaze was fixed firmly on the doorway. Three men followed Waters into the room, and the first of them was Hamilton’s head of security. He was smiling and seemed half-apologetic as he spoke to Smith and pointed to Waters.

  ‘I don’t know what he thought he was doing. I explained to him that we were here to detain a suspected terrorist and he tried to prevent our entry to the premises! I didna’ see a warrant card. A friend of yours, Sergeant Smith?’