Someone To Save you

by Paul Pilkington

Sam followed the logic, he had run it through his head many times, but there were still so many unanswered questions, so many contradictory facts. He couldn’t just reject all that he had believed, even after such a revelation. ‘The evidence was there, Louisa, the evidence that Marcus had been lying about being with Cathy. You were in that court room too.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she said, getting more animated, ‘but what if Marcus had been telling the truth all along? What if he had just been scared of admitting that he’d been with her? And now we might have found the one thing that proves he’s innocent. We can’t just dismiss it.’

  ‘I’m not. Believe me, if Marcus is innocent, I’d be the first to want to prove it, but it’s not that easy.’

  Just saying his name was painful. And even contemplating that he was innocent seemed so wrong, like he was betraying his sister. The certainty of Marcus’ guilt had become part of him – it had become the truth, the explanation that he had craved for why his sister had been so cruelly taken from them. But it had never been enough.

  Louisa seemed surprised. ‘So you think he might be innocent?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think, Louisa. But I know we’ve got to keep an open mind. What do you think?’

  ‘I’d like to believe that Marcus is innocent.’

  ‘But do you think that Richard Friedman could have done it?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Sam sat forward. ‘Let’s say Richard Friedman did kill Cathy. He took her necklace. Got away with it, and Marcus went to prison. Then, fifteen years later he reappears, as one of your patients.’

  ‘It sounds unlikely, I know.’

  ‘Could he have selected you in some way? Deliberately chosen for you to counsel him?’

  ‘Not really,’ Louisa replied. ‘People can be asked to be referred by their doctor to a certain hospital, but not to a particular psychologist.’

  ‘But he could have known that you worked at the hospital, and there aren’t that many of you.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘So he could have asked to be referred, thinking that it was a way of getting close to you, and me.’

  Louisa nodded.

  ‘Maybe he wasn’t really unwell. Do you know for sure that his wife really died in a road accident?’

  ‘Definitely,’ she replied. ‘I’ve seen the official records. It happened the way he said it happened. And he was ill, Sam. It wasn’t an act – you couldn’t have acted the way he was. I would have spotted it, I’m sure.’

  ‘Maybe something triggered off a need for him to contact you,’ Sam said. ‘And things went from there.’

  ‘It sounds like you’re starting to believe he did it.’

  ‘I’m just thinking things through. There is the other possibility.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘That he got the necklace from someone else.’

  ‘You mean from Marcus?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Sam admitted.

  ‘You really think that Marcus has something to do with what Richard has been doing?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Sam said, running a hand through his hair. ‘This is just so hard to get to grips with.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Meet Marcus face-to-face. Look him in the eyes and then decide whether you think he’s telling the truth.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Sam, consider it, I know it’s hard, but after what’s happened today it could really help.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I understand, Sam. But don’t dismiss it as an idea, please. You might find out more in a ten minute conversation with Marcus than you could ever find out by just sitting here and discussing it with me.’

  Sam looked off.

  ‘Just think about it, Sam.’

  Sam put a hand to his face. ‘I just don’t think I could do it. I don’t know how I’d react.’

  ‘I could come with you, support you.’

  Sam stood up and moved over to window, looking out across the park. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think so.’

  Louisa moved over to him. ‘So what now?’

  ‘We wait for the police to contact us,’ Sam said, watching the cars go by.

  ‘Do you think they’ll reopen the case?’

  Sam didn’t turn around. ‘I don’t know. Part of me hopes not. But it’s out of our control, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess so. What are you going to tell your parents?’

  Now he did turn to face her. ‘No idea. But I want to tell them in person. This can’t be done over the phone. I know how much this could upset them. I’ll go up there tomorrow.’

  ‘I want to come with you,’ Louisa said.

  ‘What about work?’

  She shrugged. ‘I was meant to be on a training day, but it’s nothing that can’t be missed.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Sam didn’t want to pressure Louisa by revealing his happiness at her offer, but it was a great comfort to think that he would have support up there.

  ‘I’m certain,’ she said. ‘I’d like to speak to my mum and dad too. And I don’t think you should be left to do this on your own.’

  ‘You’re a good friend,’ Sam said. ‘You okay for travelling there first thing? I want to get an early start.’

  ‘Absolutely fine by me – just name the time and I’ll be ready.’

  ‘Good. I need to get to them before the police do. This has got to come from me.’

  18

  The first call came at ten minutes past midnight, waking Sam from shallow sleep. He had struggled to settle, lying in bed for over an hour, staring at the ceiling and listening to the traffic outside, wishing beyond anything that Anna had been lying next to him. He longed for the comforting warmth of her presence. Instead his only bedfellow was the haunting image of Richard Friedman, slicing across his throat, and those words that changed everything.

  I did it. I’m the killer.

  And then there was the thought that for all these years he may have been wrong about Marcus.

  Could he have been so wrong?

  Reaching over to the bedside table, he brought the mobile’s illuminated display towards him.

  No caller ID.

  ‘Hello?’

  Silence.

  Sam sat up. ‘Who is this?’

  Still no answer. But he could hear someone breathing.

  ‘Is that you, Marcus?’

  And then the line went dead.

  Sam lay back down, thinking, the phone still in his hand by his side. Who would call at this hour? Just as he was drifting off, the phone rang out again from under the sheets.

  He sat up again, this time throwing off the covers and swinging his feet out onto the wooden floor. ‘Who is this?’

  Again a moment of silence, followed by the cutting of the connection.

  Sam stared at the mobile as the display darkened. This time he didn’t bother to return to bed, instead getting up and pouring himself a drink of water. Settling down in front of the television with only a single lamp lighting the room, he channel-hopped, thinking about who the caller might be.

  Before his death, Richard Friedman would have been the prime suspect. But now, who? Marcus? Or maybe it was Anna trying to get through on a bad line. But then, she would have called the main phone.

  Sam stuck on a sitcom, but he didn’t feel like laughing.

  Phone still in hand, he got up and moved towards the window, pulling back the curtain. The street outside was quiet, with just a few taxis and a lone bus passing by. Across the street, the park was shrouded in darkness. The trees, silhouetted by the full moon, swayed rhythmically in the breeze. It had been raining again.

  He sat on the window ledge, waiting for the caller to return. And three minutes later, they did.

  ‘Hello?’

  Sam did not expect a reply. ‘Sam.’

  It was a girl’s voice.

  He stood up
and moved back into the lounge, in front of the television, trying to remain calm. He had made contact at last. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Help me, Sam.’

  Sam placed a hand behind the back of his head. ‘Help you how? Do I know you?’

  ‘Please, Sam, help me.’

  And then the realisation dawned.

  Please help us.

  He recognised the voice.

  ‘Alison?’

  No answer.

  ‘Is that you, Alison?’

  Still no answer. But now he was sure it was her. How on earth had she got his number? Sam strode back over to the window and pulled back the curtains again. Could she be calling from outside?

  ‘Please, Alison, talk to me,’ he said, scanning the road outside. There was no-one in sight, but if she was in the park, amongst the trees, she would be next to invisible. ‘Your family are worried.’

  Still she didn’t respond. He didn’t want to push it and risk losing her. Like a fish on a line, he had to reel her in carefully. This could be his one and only chance. ‘You’ve been through a lot, and you shouldn’t have to do this on your own.’

  For a horrible moment, Sam feared that she’d gone. But then he heard a low sob.

  He tried to make his voice appear as calm as possible. ‘Alison, where are you? I can come and pick you up. Or I can call someone else, anyone you like, to come and get you.’

  ‘It’s too late,’ she stated.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘It’s too late.’

  The ominous nature of that statement chilled Sam. ‘Too late for what?’

  A louder sob now.

  ‘Alison, please talk to me.’

  ‘I can’t take it anymore,’ she spluttered. ‘It’s all my fault and I can’t take it anymore.’

  Sam continued to look out of the window, hoping that he might see a movement in the tree line that would reveal her presence. ‘Let’s talk,’ Sam offered, ‘face to face. Let me know where you are, and I can be there right away. You don’t need to come back with me, just meet me to talk. We can sort things out.’

  ‘It’s too late,’ she repeated, stifling another sob. ‘I’m already here now. I’m going to do this, I’m going to jump.’

  Dear God, not again, please. ‘Where are you, Alison? Please, tell me.’

  ‘Oakley Bridge.’

  ‘Oakley Bridge,’ Sam mouthed silently, rushing back towards the bedroom. The bridge was about five minutes at pace from the flat. He knew it well and sometimes ran that way in training. ‘Please, Alison,’ he pleaded, ‘just stay right there until I get to you, okay? Please, just stay right there. Don’t do anything.’

  Silence.

  Sam grabbed his jogging bottoms from the bedside chair and threw on a t-shirt and tracksuit top, cradling the phone awkwardly between his ear and shoulder as he put on his socks. ‘Please, Alison, promise me you won’t do anything until I get there.’

  Another sob.

  Now dressed, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door. ‘Alison, stay where you are, I’ll be there in just a few minutes. Promise me you’ll do that.’

  But she had already put the phone down.

  Sam closed the door behind him and set off up the path, glancing back to see the light on in the apartment upstairs. He needn’t have worried about disturbing the neighbours.

  Days were long for City Traders.

  He set off at pace, pulling out the mobile from his pocket and punching in the three digits. The rain, a light drizzle, was cool against his face.

  ‘Police, please. There’s a girl threatening to jump off Oakley Bridge in Islington, North London, just off Central Street…No, I’m just on my way. I think she’s serious, please, get someone there quickly. You might need an ambulance too.’

  Sam believed that he would get there first, but then again, there might have been a patrol car nearby.

  He picked up the pace, lengthening his stride, occasionally glancing down at his phone, in case she had called back. But the phone, which he held like a relay baton, slicing through the night air on the rain-washed deserted streets of North London, remained silent.

  Just a minute or so from the bridge, he cut straight across a junction. Too late, he saw the car speeding around the bend, towards him.

  Sam froze in the headlights as the black BMW screeched to a stop, no more than a couple of metres from him. The horn blared angrily as Sam held up an apologetic hand. He couldn’t see past the tinted windscreen and the blinding halogens, but the horn blared again.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  Then the front passenger door opened and a towering Jamaican man started towards him, gesticulating. Sam took a step back in the otherwise deserted road.

  ‘What d’ya think you’re doin’? Tired of livin’ eh?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Sam repeated. ‘But I’ve got to go.’

  Sam sprinted off past the man.

  ‘Yeah, you just run man, keep runnin’.’

  Shaking off the near miss, Sam raced along the road that ran parallel to the stone bridge, which was just off the main road. It was not open to traffic, being instead used for walkers and cyclists to get to and from the adjacent park.

  As he turned the corner, the rain came down harder, sweeping across in a sudden, swirling gust that made Sam wipe his eyes. A sharp turn to the left and the bridge was ahead of him, lit only by an aging, dull yellow-hued street lamp. It was completely deserted.

  Sam shook his head. ‘Oh no.’

  He slowed as he reached the bridge, scanning three hundred and sixty degrees for any signs of Alison. But there was nothing. He peered over the side down to the blackened water below, praying that it wasn’t already too late. But he saw nothing amidst the gloom. Crossing over to the other side, he repeated the exercise, but still he could see nothing but the reflective ripples of the water.

  ‘Where the hell are you?’

  Maybe she’d changed her mind. And now she was somewhere safe. Maybe that short phone conversation had been enough to convince her that she had something to live for. She could be on her way back to be reunited with her grandparents.

  Or it could have all been a hoax. She could have just been playing with him, making him suffer for what she believed he had done to her mother. After what she had told Shirley, blaming him for her mother’s death, it was a possibility.

  But she’d seemed so genuine on the phone.

  She had been afraid and distressed, just like by the railway track. There was no faking that.

  Again the thought returned; how did she get his mobile number?

  He crossed the bridge once again, and peered over. And then he saw something, up against the bank on the left hand side, resting against the reed bed.

  ‘My God, please no.’

  It was too dark down there to see exactly what it was, but the size and shape could have been that of a young girl.

  ‘Please, no.’

  Sam raced around to the side of the bridge, vaulting over the safety gate that led onto the bank. He slid down the small bank, and then he knew.

  It was a body, face down in the water, floating a metre or so from the shore.

  ‘Oh my God.’

  He waded into the cold, murky water, up to his knees and grabbed the body, pulling it towards him. He dragged it onto the bank and turned it over.

  It was Alison. Unmoving, eyes closed. Her skin was ghostly white, her lips purple.

  Although expected, it was a hammer blow to his system. Why did you do this? Why?

  There was no pulse. He began resuscitation, pressing his mouth onto her cold lips, blowing in life-giving, warming air, before pumping on her chest. Fight, Alison, fight, for God’s sake! But with each passing second, hope faded. After two minutes of determined, frantic effort, that hope was extinguished.

  She was gone.

  He cradled her head in his hands. Her wet hair spilled through his fingers as her body slumped against his. That’s when he noticed the wound on the back of her h
ead. An impact from the bridge, or maybe as she had hit the river bottom – blood caked his hands, blackened against the night. Sam rocked her back and forth. ‘I could have helped you. I could have helped. I’m sorry I couldn’t save your mum.’

  He was crying now, sobbing again for the second time that week. It was like fifteen years of well-constructed dam had just burst.

  What must she have been going through to do this?

  Sam looked up at the bridge, sensing something. Someone was standing there, watching. Light from the street lamp illuminated the observer’s face - it was a teenage girl. Their eyes met, holding a gaze as Sam continued to cradle Alison. The girl was crying too.

  And then she turned and ran.

  19

  Jody watched from the bridge as the man pulled the body from the water and brought it onto the bank. She stood there, with one eye to her left, as he tried to save her. For a moment she thought everything was going to be alright, but then he stopped and just held her.

  And then he looked up and their eyes met as the tears started to fall. She thought about staying and explaining everything. But then a noise and a flash of headlights ended that delusion. The car had turned into the side road and was approaching the bridge. She couldn’t tell whether it was them, but there was no room for taking chances.

  She had to escape.

  Fear rippling through her, Jody turned and ran into the park, and sheltered behind some thick bushes, safe in the darkness, listening to the noises coming from the bridge. It sounded like the police. There she waited, but not for long. She took her chance, moving through the park and out onto the road on the opposite side. She hurried through the deserted backstreets, not sure where she was heading. All the time looking out for signs of them.

  She decided to try Locky’s place. It would be as good a place as any to lie low. And it was only a few minutes away.

  Locky didn’t exactly look pleased to see her. He’d been asleep when she knocked and was obviously drunk and stoned, but he had let her in without question. She hadn’t needed to explain anything, which was good, because all she wanted to do was sleep and to try and forget about what she had witnessed. She had seen many terrible things over the past three years, and she would have to deal with this the same way; just try to block it out, place it in that mental box inside her head and lock it securely.