Dark Vet

by CJ Hannon

  ‘Can I tell you something?’ Melody says. ‘Sheridan and I, as children were in the same foster home together. We scarred one another, were split up and took our separate paths. I do believe it was his hand that inadvertently pushed me towards being a vet.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say something? Does he know?’

  ‘I don’t know. But I wish it was him who got sent down today and not Kathy,’ she shakes her head. ‘I misjudged it.’

  ‘I know. But you must have known that this was always a risk, right? There aren’t any absolutes when you do what we did. Failure of the justice system aside, I’d say it couldn’t have gone any better.’

  The bartender comes. They order, their conversation pauses while the bartender tongs two discs of ice in pre-frosted Copa de Balon glass. A generous glug of speciality gin with hints of Cape gooseberry. A dash of vermouth. Premium tonic water. Limequat zest sprinkles the surface, and a lemon spiral.

  Ally lifts the glass. ‘Salut.’

  ‘This better be strong.’’

  It chills her lips, her tongue, teeth, and gums. It’s surreptitious. Astringent. Blissfully alcoholic.

  Ally lowers her glass, a question in her eyes. ‘So, what do you want to do?’

  59

  Astrid

  The traffic is snarled up into Brighton. Astrid seethes, smacking her hand against the steering wheel.

  ‘Fuck!’

  She’s been played. They all have. She knows it, bone deep.

  She drives to Ian Goodworth’s, as if brought by some internal satnav. He is up a ladder, scooping moss from the gutter. He descends, smiling, but it fades the nearer he gets to the car.

  ‘Astrid? What’s wrong?’ The car door opens and he’s there.

  Her knuckles are white, still gripping the wheel.

  ‘Come on. I’ll get the kettle on.’

  She sips at the sugary tea. Ian, in the armchair by the fireplace watches her, his cup rattling a little on the saucer. In a silver frame, there’s a photo of her father and Ian shoulder to shoulder outside the police station. In the shade of his helmet, his eyes are sunken, hidden, watchful.

  Ian squints. ‘Was it today the trial finished?’

  She grips the handle cup like a railing in a storm.

  ‘I haven’t had the radio on. Did she get off, then?’

  Astrid drains the tea, puts it down on the table. ‘Oh no. She got sent down, but she didn’t do it.’

  Ian’s eyebrows shoot up, a leg crosses over the other. ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Now that it’s too bloody late. It was the wife. I’ve never felt so sure about anything in my life. When Spellerman got sent down, Mrs Kitteridge had guilt wracked all over her, I could smell it on her.’

  ‘You have actual proof?’

  She tells him about her suspicions being raised by the snake tank. Too much didn’t add up; the dust signatures under the tank suggested it had been planted. The fact it had been wiped with bleach.

  ‘It’s not enough. You must have investigated her?’

  ‘Of course. But it was her alibi, Christ, it was perfect. Suspicious enough that we’d check it. We chased it to death, witness statement, got her on CCTV, even a tracker on her car puts her miles away the whole time.’

  ‘I see what you’re saying. Too perfect. So… she had an accomplice?’

  Astrid snorts. ‘Ian, if you’d met Mrs Kitteridge, maybe you’d understand. She’s just not… what’s the term? Neurotypical? To imagine her working with an accomplice just felt impossible.

  ‘We eliminated her early, and had other suspects we couldn’t strike off: Pemberton, Sheridan, and then we got blinkered with Kathy Spellerman. And there was Melody protesting Kathy’s innocence the whole time! Christ, she might as well have been waving a flag in our faces saying “It’s me! It’s me, you blind fucks!”’

  ‘Astrid,’ he stands, rests a hand on her shoulder. ‘This isn’t on you. Smithes should have picked this up. A more experienced SIO would have.’

  She sends him a weak smile. ‘Cold comfort, Ian.’

  ‘I imagine you want to burst into Smithes’ office and tell him you’ve made a dreadful mistake? Or perhaps Burrows, even?’

  ‘That’s where I was going.’

  ‘But you diverted yourself to my doorstep.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Wise. What stopped you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Instinct,’ Ian says, ‘You were thinking ahead. What would Smithes have said?’

  Once upon a time she would have thought the best of Bill Smithes. But a quiet cynicism pervades her thoughts.

  ‘He’d remind me that both of our promotions were founded on the Spellerman case. A climbdown now would be an embarrassment to the force.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He’d probably threaten me with a transfer to keep me quiet.’

  ‘I think you’re entirely correct.’

  ‘This isn’t me saving myself either Ian, I’d give back my promotion in a heartbeat to put this right.’

  ‘But you know it doesn’t’ work like that, Astrid. There’s no undo button. You’re more likely to influence things from a position of power.’

  She can’t sit any longer. She stands and paces in front of the empty hearth, hands jammed in her pockets.

  ‘I know this case cost you a lot, Astrid. Your mother told me about Jenna. I am sorry. The job takes its toll.’ His fingers rub at the pale edges of the armrests. Worn fabric. A habit. ‘You should take some comfort.’

  ‘In what?’ she’s incredulous.

  ‘That you’re the only one who knows, you alone figured it out who really killed that man. It might not feel like it now, but it isn’t nothing.’

  He’s wrong. It is nothing.

  ‘You experience cases that haunt you over the years, Astrid. And you have to learn to make peace with them or it’ll eat you inside out.’

  Christ. Make peace? He almost sounded like Smithes. ‘But how, Ian?’

  With a shaky hand, his cup and saucer rattle as he places them down on the side table.

  He looks apologetic. ‘I never figured it out, sweetheart. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. You’ll have a lot worse than this one, believe me.’

  Her heart breaks for him. The photo frame is in her hand. Impossible not to compare this younger, fresh-faced Ian standing next to her father, on the side of the good and just. Naïve no doubt, as she has been. Now diminished, red-eyed and with red capillaries spidering over his skin, like an over-ripe grape about to burst with little else than bitter advice to give.

  ‘I’ll find a way,’ Astrid says and places the frame back on the mantelpiece. Her watchful father holds her stare.

  She had always thought it the height of unfairness that her father had been the one murdered that day, all those years ago. He, with the family had died, and Ian, without a family had survived. But looking at Ian now, perhaps her father had been the luckier of the two after all.

  60

  Three months later

  Melody can feel the back of her neck burning. She swats away flies, takes a drink from her water bottle and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

  ‘Thoughts?’

  Kathy chews a lip, makes a humming sound, something she always does when she thinks. ‘Closed fracture, should he not have splinted it in the first place? Would it be better to get him on a trailer to avoid the fulcrum effect?’

  Melody is pleased at this response, but tilts her head one way, then the other. ‘It’s a judgement call. Generally if it’s below the midtibia and midradius, temporary stabilisation or a cast can be helpful. The idea of a splint isn’t wrong per se…’ she doesn’t give any more of a clue.

  ‘Well, Dapper’s made a right hash of the splint, then.’ Kathy crouches down, patting the flank of the calf. ‘These splints are too small, the angle isn’t right.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘More pad
ding?’

  ‘Precisely. So-’ she shields her eyes against the sun, a figure is emerging over the horizon. A walker being pulled by a dog.

  ‘Who’s that? George doesn’t have a daughter, does he?’

  ‘Wait… isn’t that…’ Kathy is shielding her eyes too. The walker is close enough now. Out of place. ‘It’s the detective.’

  Is she here to arrest me? But the clothes… the dog…

  Kathy waves. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Beautiful day, isn’t it?’ Van Doren says. She is in rock band T-shirt, darkened with sweat patches, and khaki shorts; in a soothing Bath Stone by Little Greene. Kathy explains about the injured calf at their feet.

  Melody bends down and ruffles the head of dog. ‘Beautiful Border Collie. I didn’t realise you had a dog, detective?’

  ‘Got her a couple of months ago while I took a few days off. She’s a rescue. Gets me out and about on my days off, some company in the evenings.’

  ‘Good for you. She’s adorable,’ Kathy says.

  ‘I spoke to Hugh Forrester, he said you had just set up again.

  ‘Ah, so that’s how you knew we were here.’

  ‘Well we fancied a walk, didn’t we Bella?’ she fusses over the dog. Melody inspects the dog’s teeth, eyes and ears.

  ‘She looks in fine good condition. Beautiful coat. Don’t give her too many scraps and leftovers or you’ll ruin her teeth.’

  Van Doren smiles, and gives Kathy an affectionate squeeze on the arm, ‘I was so happy to hear you’d been released, Kathy.’

  She snorts. ‘Not as happy as I was. Thank you though, Astrid, for visiting me in there. My lawyer said you were my secret weapon.’

  ‘I don’t think it would have mattered if Olaf Gudmundson hadn’t recanted.’

  ‘Well I don’t know how or why, and frankly, I don’t care. I’m going to get on with life, make like, much better choices. I’m going to train to be a vet.’

  Van Doren has a knowing smile. ‘Good for you, Kathy.’

  ‘Kathy, could you go and get George to bring the trailer over. We’d better move this bull calf, get him X-rayed.’

  ‘Of course. Nice to see you, Astrid, and to meet you Bella.’ Kathy sets off at a brisk pace towards the barn.

  Van Doren shifts from one foot to another. Maybe it’s the heat. The flies. Her presence. The sun lotion stinging her eyes from her sweat, but she’s uncomfortable.

  ‘You clearly want to say something. So, say it.’

  Astrid lets her stew, fiddling in a backpack and gets out a bottle and container, and fills it, placing it in front of Bella. She laps it up greedily.

  Kathy is out of earshot now. ‘You think you got away with it, then?’

  There’s a twitch in Melody’s cheek, her jaw set. ‘Got away with what?’

  Astrid laughs. ‘Oh, you want to play it like that do you? Fine. You know, it’s all been bouncing around my brain ever since that day in court. The more I thought about it, one thing came into sharper focus. The snake tank.

  ‘It was a deliberate mistake. You thought you were being so clever. You were careful enough that it couldn’t be linked to you. You did it to get Kathy off. But it was too cute. The jury didn’t see it. And it didn’t work. The guilt on your face told me what you’d done. And you know what I think?’

  ‘I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.’

  ‘You didn’t feel bad for what you did to Martin. It was because Kathy was wrongly convicted.’

  Melody lets out an ugly smile and shakes her head. ‘I suppose you’re recording this somehow, detective? Turned up all disarming with your Border Collie. Try and catch me with my guard down?’

  Astrid shakes her head, lifts her top, shows her phone. ‘I understand your paranoia. But no. We’re just two women having a chat, okay?’

  Mrs Kitteridge looks doubtful.

  ‘You had some deal with Olaf Gudmundson to identify Kathy, to keep the spotlight off yourself and Ally Campbell. But when Kathy got convicted, you realised it had worked too well. You got him to recant, and the case against her fell apart.’

  ‘Let’s indulge this for a moment. Saying you are correct, just hypothetically. What would be your next move?’

  ‘That depends.’

  Melody crosses her arms. ‘On what?’

  ‘Why you did it.’

  ‘As if you really care.’

  ‘Actually, I do, Mrs Kitteridge. You’ve shown you can forgive cheating, at least to Kathy.’ Astrid points to Spellerman, nearly at the barn now. ‘But not your husband. Why was that?’

  Mrs Kitteridge looks off into the distance, possibly weighing up whether to be straight with her or not.

  ‘I loved Martin. He was the first man to really see me. I mean really see me. We really were rather good together, and for a long time too.’

  ‘Until?’ She prompts.

  Melody takes a deep breath, and rolls up her shirt. There’s an ugly scar on her inner arm by the bicep.

  ‘Did he do that?’

  ‘Martin wanted us to have a child, to the point of obsession. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. Motherhood is just a burden of agonies. I would not endure it for anyone. Even him.’

  ‘Did you know–’

  ‘–And yes, I knew Kathy was pregnant. For a while I was hopeful, he could have his extra-marital child as far as I was concerned and leave me out of it. I was more than happy to play along. It seemed like a fair compromise. So I pretended I didn’t know. But no,’ she gives a pained sigh, ‘Evidently it had to be with me or not at all.’

  ‘And “not at all” was what turned him violent?’

  ‘It was complicated. I pretended to be infertile.’ She points at the scar. ‘When he found out, he drugged me, cut out my birth control implant with a dinner knife and… well, tried to inseminate me, forcefully.’ Even as she says this. Melody Kitteridge seems hard as a stone.

  ‘You’re not cattle, Mrs Kitteridge, and Martin was no bull stud. What you’re describing is called rape.’ Astrid fights the urge to tell her she should have gone to the police. ‘That must have been incredibly traumatic.’

  ‘So now you know.’

  The calf makes a guttural noise and Melody stoops to soothe it. The tractor is coming. The giant wheels kick up loose grass and cow pats, the trailer leaping and crashing behind it.

  ‘Back to work.’ Melody offers a hand.

  ‘That hand’s not been up that cow has it?’

  ‘Leg fractures don’t usually happen in their intestines, detective.’

  Astrid takes it. ‘I appreciate you sharing the truth with me. It doesn’t make what you did right, it makes it understandable at least.’

  ‘If you come, I’ll fight tooth and claw.’ Melody says.

  Astrid sucks in her cheek. Nods. ‘I know.’ She crouches down, runs her hand between Bella’s ears. ‘Come on you.’

  They walk a few paces, then she turns. ‘You know. Now I’ve got Bella, I’m in need of a good vet.’

  ‘Well. You’ll be able to find us, I’m sure.’

  ‘Always,’ Astrid calls back. Bella is strong, insistent and pulls her across the field, back towards the rippling pastoral greens of the Downs.

  There she can run free.

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  What’s next?

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  Other Titles by the Author

  Psycholog
ical Crime Thriller

  Beachcomber (Short story)

  Young Adult

  Perry Scrimshaw’s Rite of Passage

  Orca Rising

  Orca Rogue Agent

  Orca Divinity Fix (2021)

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank my beta readers, particularly fellow author Shaun Baines, and my wonderful wife Beccy– not just for her insightful feedback, but her support and encouragement. My parents for their unfaltering support, SGH’s sharp eye for detail and AH knowledge of nature! Louise Walters, for her sharp editing and Nick Castle for his work on the creepy cover. Thanks also to my ARC team for your speedy reading and support.

  About the Author

  CJ Hannon writes YA fiction and Psychological Crime Thrillers in front of snow-capped mountains to the soundtrack of frogs and crickets (and the odd barky dog). A recent convert to through the year sea swimming, CJ also has a side line in avocado and chirimoya cultivation.