The car was where they’d left it outside the dog walker’s house.
Albie stared up at the windows as he guided Darcy to the passenger’s side of the car.
“You’ve done enough for one day.” It wasn’t until they’d both collapsed onto the seat that he spotted a movement in the upstairs curtain. Tempted to wave, instead he started the car and pressed the horn as they left the curb.
Darcy stared at him in disbelief.
“What?” He shrugged, a huge smile spread across his face. “Well, she was a selfish cow. More concerned about herself than helping Shelley. We’d have found Sian hours ago if it wasn’t for little miss self-indulgent.”
The pubs they passed were full of customers, some overflowing to outside tables in the evening heat. A slight dip in temperature didn’t seem to bother them. If anything the storm had barely cleared the air. The noise and lights from the windows, street lamps, and passing cars brought a crazy kind of calm to the car after the desolation and darkness of the White House.
“Home, or are you up for one more stop?”
“One stop where?”
Albie smiled, a real dimpled smile, “D’ya fancy seeing if Billy Stanton’s home?”
A nod from Darcy was all he needed to turn left towards the estate. Although it was past eleven by the time they pulled into a parking space, the area was anything but quiet. The estate that never slept—Albie would have gone mad living here. He’d never be comfortable living a life to everyone else’s beat. He watched Darcy slip her jacket over the ripped and bloodstained blouse. Superficial scratches and grazes they’d said. She’d refused treatment, adamant she’d clean up at home.
Buttoned up, her jacket covered the majority of damage from earlier in the evening. The rip to her trousers was a little more difficult to ignore.
“You’ll do.” He said rounding the car and heading into the square. He killed the lights as he pulled into a visitor’s space at the end of the road. One thing he knew for sure was that Billy Stanton had been running from police most of his life. They needed the element of surprise. The front of the house was in darkness.
“Round the back.” He led the way, half expecting a wasted journey.
Darcy edged round him. “There’s a light on in the kitchen. Shall we take a look?”
Albie shared an angry hand gesture until she retraced her steps so he could lead. Before he took a step, a door slammed. He stilled and listened to the clomp of footsteps, one footfall heavier than the other until they were within spitting distance.
“Billy Stanton, good to see you again.” Albie grabbed onto his arm as Billy bounced on the toes of one foot. If he’d made a run for it, Albie knew he’d have a struggle on his hands to keep up. Albie gritted his teeth and clung on by the tips of his fingers. One final yank and Billy was out of his grasp and struggling to keep his balance. Darcy darted forward, picking up her stride. Just before they entered the quadrant she took a flying jump and flung her body forward, crashing into the back of his legs. He toppled to the ground, his shoes slipping beneath him, arms flailing.
One more knee to the back of his legs kept him down. Albie strolled to their side. “Great work, PC Nicholls.” He held out his hand and helped her to her feet. He caught his breath and yanked Billy to his feet.
“Piss off. Get your hands off me, filth.” Albie smiled as he dragged both Billy’s hands behind his back and tightened the cuffs. They sandwiched him as they led him back to the car. Darcy remained silent while Albie read him his rights and knocked dust from his trousers.
“Billy Stanton, just the person we were hoping to see.” Fawn walked towards them as they approached the duty sergeant. “It’s been quite a day. Some of your friends stopped in for a chat. Oh, and just in case you’re wondering, Shelley’s doing fine and talking.”
Frankie stared past Fawn as Albie emptied the prisoner’s pockets. “Nothing to say, Billy? That’s okay, Shelley can do the talking for you.”
He cracked his fist on the counter and lunged at Fawn, restrained by Albie and Darcy’s quick interception.
“You’ve got nothing on me. She’s a lying cow, just ask her mother.” Spittle sprayed from his mouth. His face was contorted, eyes slit, and a protruding blood vessel pulsated in his neck.
Fawn took one step back and grinned at Stanton’s reaction, the first she’d seen since they’d marched him through the doors. “See you later. Look forward to our chat.” She backed towards the double doors. “Oh, and I wouldn’t count on support from Angie Wilkins. Not now. You see, Sian. She didn’t make it.” She let the double doors spring back and watched through the glass as he strained against Albie’s grip.
“You’re talking shit. I didn’t do anything to Sian, you can’t put that on me.”
“Okay, lad. Calm down unless you want me to add a charge of assaulting a police officer to the list.” The unfortunately named Gregory Peck held one arm and nodded to Darcy to hold the other until they reached the reinforced door. “Just some paperwork to sign, Sergeant.” He nodded in the direction of his desk then accompanied his prisoner through the corridor towards the holding cells.
Darcy slid down the wall, head in hands and sobbed. Albie sat by her side and rubbed his hand in small circles over her shoulder and the top of her back.
“She’s dead. We did all that and Sian’s dead.” She caught her breath and hiccupped.
“It’s tragic, I know. He’ll get his and you’ll get used to the job.”
Darcy shook her head, wiped the back of her hand under her nose and sniffed. “No.” Her body shook as she stood and she supported herself with the wall. “I don’t want to get used to this, hearing that a seven-year-old died because her sister tried to hide her from some pervert. It’s not tragic, it’s twisted.”
Albie stood holding out his hand to help steady Darcy. “Go home, get some sleep. You’ll feel differently in the morning. See you tomorrow.”
She stopped and spluttered, wide tear trails etched in the dirt on her face. “You won’t. Goodbye, DS Edwards.”
For a moment he thought about following her, talking some sense into her, but instead he watched Peck escort Stanton to his cell. As the duty sergeant leant forward to unlock the cell door, Albie locked eyes with the girl’s attacker. There was no doubt in his mind that was not the only label that would fit Billy Stanton. He hoped Fawn found enough to put him away for a long time. Instead of lowering his gaze, Billy stared back, the corner of his mouth turned into a sneer, a challenge.
The first man who’d smiled at Albie with a challenge in his eye was his father. That night in the woods with the woman who resembled a bleeding angel.
8
A shudder ran down Albie’s spine. He was on his knees in a squelch of mud and leaves. The silence terrified him as much as the woman’s sobs and begging had earlier in the evening. He scanned the immediate area, but there was no sign of anything untoward, and for a moment he questioned his own sanity. He knew he’d witnessed something horrific, but his father’s involvement peppered his memories with disbelief. It caused Albie to disassociate from the pleads and screams that had now left him alone in this dreaded silence.
His father knew he was there; he’d known from the start of the journey. From behind the trees the three men returned, two with mudded shovels over their shoulders, both walking a few paces behind his father. They passed close to the thicket which was barely adequate coverage even for a small child of Albie’s stature. His pulse quickened and his body shook uncontrollably. A squeal left his lips, a sound like a wounded animal and his need to run overwhelmed his common sense. He bolted.
“Stop.” Freddie’s shout was guttural and final. He froze, knowing what should have been a father son moment was now compellingly frightening.
“Jerry, take my son back to his mother.”
Albie’s shoulders relaxed and he turned towards his father, surprised that his mouth smiled—forced perhaps but still a smile. “We’ll just pretend you weren’t here this evening, sh
all we? After all, I said no to seeing you tonight.” Albie mouthed sorry, but no sound came out.
“Oh, and happy birthday, son.”
“I think he’s had his initiation Jerry…Home.”
Jaws opened the boot and rearranged the content before ridding himself of the shovel and wiping his hands on an old cloth. He began to hum a tune Albie thought familiar but couldn’t quite recognise. He strode towards Albie and picked him off his feet before opening the front passenger door, turning the engine over, and switching on the heater which made a melodic soothing purring sound.
Once driving, Jaws tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of a song on the radio, Albie thought it was the Rolling Stones but couldn’t be sure. He didn’t speak, just occasionally glanced at his passenger and grinned, showing his teeth. A few metal caps glinted when the street lights caught them.
Albie tried to temper his shaking body, cold from exposure and relenting to the overwhelming shock of the evening events. In one swift movement, Jaws angled his arm around the driver’s seat and pulled the blanket from the back before whipping it over Albie’s lap. Thanking the man under his breath, he snuggled under the blanket which still smelt musty, like it had been stored in a damp closet for years. But at least it wasn’t too long before feeling tingled in his fingers again.
Once they’d driven through the town, still abustle with party goers, the streets became sleepier and Albie found it difficult to keep his heavy eyelids open.
“Nearly home, young man.” Jaw’s deep, bass voice pulled him from the brink of sleep. Jaws bounced the wheels of the car onto the curb just a few houses down from Albie’s home, grasped his shoulder, and twisted Albie to face him.
“You’ve been on quite an adventure today, young Albie. We know you weren’t supposed to see Freddie. It’s best if you keep this to yourself. Don’t want to go upsetting your mum now, do you?” Jaws winked and pointed to the street door. “Off you go. Don’t forget, our secret.”
Before lifting the second house brick from the end that bordered the flowers and hid the spare door key, Albie slowly turned full circle to ensure he wasn’t being watched. It took a few attempts for Albie to grasp the key between his cold numb fingers. Syncing the lock with his shaking hands was even more of a challenge. He replaced the key and tiptoed inside, squeezing through a narrow gap to stop the creak of the hinges. The light was on in the living room although the door was ajar. The sounds of David Bowie reached his ear as did the tearful tones of his mother’s normally angelic singing voice cracked by her sobs. He glanced through the gap in the doorway and watched her swaying with her back to the door, hugging a cushion from the couch in one arm while drinking wine from a glass in her outstretched hand. David Bowie sung of ‘Sorrow’ while his mother epitomised the very emotion.
Albie slid past and took the stairs with a nimble tread, unclear of exactly what he’d witnessed on the evening of his seventh birthday. Two things he was sure about: he was home safe and some memories were best kept buried.
Acknowledgments
I want to thank the wonderful people who have provided invaluable input and kept me sane through this process. To my husband and my children, Dan, Lee, Samantha, Ben, Steven and Luke who have listened to me ramble on incoherently as I tried to think through story ideas.
Beth and Tom, thanks for asking the awkward questions. Chris (aka Mum) thank you for feedback. Yvonne, your encouragement and friendship in everything ‘new author’ has helped keep my eyes on the finish line. First readers, Colin and Diane, thank you for your feedback and I am glad you enjoyed the story. To my editor, Josiah, you are a saint!Finally, I would like to thank you, the reader, for taking time out of your day to read ‘Buried Memories’.
Please consider leaving a review at the online store where you purchased this book and/or telling a friend about story.
About the Author
Kimberley Shead is an emerging author of crime fiction. She lives in London with her husband, Roy, two of her children, and Rex, the family’s German Shepherd.
Kimberley loves to write as near to the sea as possible. She is inspired by music and part of her writing process involves building playlists to evoke the emotions of the characters in her books.
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For more information please check out:
www.kimberleyshead.com
Also by Kimberley Shead
The Voyeur
This is book one of the DS Albie Edwards Series and you can get it on pre order now on the link above.
Buried Memories: A DS Albie Edwards Short Story Page 4