Darkest Night

by Jenny O'Brien

  ‘They’ve arrested her?’ Dennis interrupted, taking hold of Hazel’s hand as if his life depended on it.

  He lifted his head. ‘Not exactly. More like detained her while she assists them with their enquiries,’ he said, looking at their interlaced fingers. ‘She asked me to come – to explain, but I wasn’t allowed to see her or anything.’ He lifted his cup to his lips, eyeing them both over the rim. ‘I know it’s been a shock – a shock for all of us – but there must be some simple explanation. I’ll make us another drink while we talk about it.’

  One mug led to two and a gentle request to stay for lunch, something he couldn’t really spare the time for but, instead of repeating one of his standard excuses, he found himself reaching for his phone and calling Noel Barnes, his deputy. Sitting in the painfully familiar south-facing dining room, with views over the back garden, he could be forgiven for thinking that some magical force had turned back the hand of time but it only took one look at his ex-mother-in-law’s wary expression to realise that some things were impossible. He placed the fork on the centre of his plate, unable to eat another bite, determined like never before to get some answers to the questions that had been tripping him up ever since she’d walked out.

  Taking a breath, he fixed on her face, his jaw clenched. ‘The one thing I can promise is Christine’s innocence. Despite everything that’s happened between us, I think you can still probably guess that my feelings haven’t changed.’ He stopped, swallowing the lump that had suddenly appeared and when he continued, his voice had fallen a key. ‘There’s no way she’d be party to any of the stuff the gutter press will probably accuse her of and I’m sticking by her until she’s freed – whether she likes it or not.’

  He sat back in his chair only to lean forward again as he intercepted a look between them, a look which had him press his hands flat against the table. ‘What is it? What aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘We can’t … it’s not our place—’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Hazel, if you know of something that might help, it’s your duty to say.’

  ‘It’s not what you think, Paul.’

  ‘How the hell do you know what I’m thinking?’ He ran his hand over his head. ‘Look, I’m sorry, all right. I have no right … It’s—’

  ‘It’s just that you love her as much as we do, son.’ Dennis wrapped his arm around Hazel’s shoulder, hugging her tight. ‘This travesty has gone on for far too long, love. It’s about time he finally knew the truth.’

  He couldn’t leave them straightaway. If he was being honest, he had trouble leaving them at all. They were lost, the pair of them, like he was lost.

  He unlocked the car and opened the back door for Ruby before settling in his seat, a wave of tiredness enveloping him. Just when had he become the grown-up? He’d known instinctively that they’d turn to him in the same way they’d turned to him in the past but, for the first time, he had no answers to their questions. It wasn’t a case of calling out the plumber or electrician anymore. Now they were in the big league and he no more knew what to do than they did. He’d promised them that he’d keep in touch, the only positive thing that had come from the meeting.

  Pressing the ignition, he started the car, his brow wrinkling. There’d been something nagging him since the divorce – something gnawing away at both his self-confidence and faith in humanity. He’d expected awkwardness in this, their first meeting. After all he had no idea what fairy-tales Christine had told about the break-up of their marriage. She could have made up all sorts of stories to disguise the truth. But the one thing he’d never felt was uncomfortable around them. He’d worked hard in the beginning to gain their acceptance. He had no illusions that they’d thought him too old and, as her tutor, probably not the most suitable of individuals for their daughter’s hand. But he’d thought all that was in the past.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he checked that the road was clear before pulling out. The one thing he’d never have guessed at in a month of Sunday’s was the truth. His chest heaved at the futility of the situation because now it was immaterial. She obviously hadn’t loved him enough to trust him and, with her decision, they’d all lost. Him, Ruby and Christine.

  Chapter 9

  Gaby

  Sunday 10 May, 4 p.m. St Asaph Hospital

  Gaby was hoping for at least Sunday afternoon off if only to sort out her washing. But, with half the force still off sick and the other half trying to cope with the sudden influx of work, she was the only one free for what was viewed as one of the most unpleasant jobs of all – accompanying the next-of-kin when they went to ID the body.

  Slamming her car door shut, she walked round to one of the many side entrances to the hospital, this one marked private, all the time trying to remember if she had a clean white shirt hanging up in her wardrobe for her interview tomorrow. But, after the Saturday from hell, she couldn’t even remember if she had any teabags left let alone the state of her ironing pile, and teabags were far more important than whether she had to wear the same shirt two days on the trot. Her expression altered at the direction of her thoughts, a wave of guilt flooding her face with colour. Even now, a grieving mother was sitting in the pathology department, trying to pluck up the courage to perform a task that no parent should ever be asked to carry out. Her troubles were minor in comparison. She’d make do – it wouldn’t be the first time.

  She stopped on the threshold, putting a hand up to her trademark plait, tied off with a coordinating navy band to match her trouser suit, before glancing down at her watch. She should have been off duty hours ago, but these things couldn’t be rushed. People’s grief couldn’t be managed like a MacDonald’s drive-through and she’d be here for as long as it took. She couldn’t remember how many viewings she’d been present at now, which probably said a lot – certainly more than ten but probably less than twenty. At a guess, she’d hazard eighteen. Eighteen lives lost – eighteen lives too many. Some old. Some young but, whatever the age of the victim, it was always the survivors that hurt the most. She grimaced, her hand reaching out to push the door open. Of all the jobs she had to do, this was the one she found most difficult.

  The autopsy viewing suite at the hospital was situated in the basement, well out of the way of the day-to-day patient-focused activities. No one wanted to think about what happened in these rooms and that included her. But a depressing environment for such a depressing task didn’t help and Gaby couldn’t complain at the welcome she’d received or indeed the facilities – the hospital had done its best with the limited resources available. The waiting room, with plush blue fabric sofas and coordinating sea-themed walls was nice enough, not that anyone would be interested in interior decorating at a time like this.

  The woman sitting in front of her was a surprise and Gaby had to struggle not to raise both eyebrows at the neutral expression and orange face that had been baked to an overripe grape in the hot Spanish sun. Penny Jones-Steadman wasn’t what she’d been expecting with her tight white jeans and body-hugging T-shirt, the picture of a leopard emblazoned across the front, the ears and nose carefully picked out in glittering sequins. The shoes were six-inch spikes in red with nail varnish and lipstick to match. Gaby noted the contrast between her plain suit and low-heeled loafers in a coordinating shade of navy with a heavy sigh. While she liked clothes and loved shoes with a passion, she’d never have the nerve to wear anything so blatant even with her recent two-stone weight loss. Perhaps she should start?

  ‘Thank you for flying over at such short notice,’ she said, a brief smile on her lips, her attention on the expression flickering across Nikki’s mother’s face. ‘It shouldn’t take long. They’ll bring your daughter into the viewing room next door.’ She hesitated, taking time to choose her next words carefully. ‘I feel I must point out the temperature.’

  ‘I always feel the cold here so it’s not going to make a blind bit of difference,’ Mrs Jones-Steadman said, wrapping her arms around her middle.

  ‘No, I don�
�t mean about the room. It’s your daughter. If you feel the need to touch her … I must warn you that she’ll feel … cold.’

  Mrs Jones-Steadman stared; her lips compressed into a thin line. ‘I get the picture. Let’s get it over and done with, shall we?’

  The viewing room was another place where the fundraisers had been busy. While essentially a bland square box of a room, it was painted in calming yellows, which toned in with the tongue and groove ceiling and wooden flooring. There was even a flower arrangement in the corner, a recent addition since the last time she’d had to attend. No one could make this any easier, but the staff did what they could under the circumstances.

  They’d laid Nikki out on a hospital trolley, one of those expensive stainless-steel hydraulic ones that raised and lowered at the push of a button. The pathology porters had wheeled her body into the wooden frame, masked with yellow curtains, that was a permanent fixture in the centre of the room. So, in effect, it looked as if she’d laid down on her bed for a rest. The only part visible was her head resting on a pillow, a yellow counterpane pulled up to her chin.

  ‘That’s her.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I said, that’s my daughter.’ She pulled the door open. ‘Is that all, or is there anything else you want from me?’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Gaby shot a brief look across at Nikki before following her mother back into the seating area. Of all the viewings she’d attended this had to be the shortest. Her thoughts returned to the last time she’d been here, to the fisherman’s wife, almost prostrate with grief. Despite working in the force since she was a teenager, she’d never understand what made people tick and, staring at the bitter expression on Penny Jones-Steadman’s face, she didn’t particularly want to learn.

  ‘I need you to sign here,’ she said after a brief pause, gesturing to the form she’d prepared earlier. It was obvious the usual platitudes were meaningless to someone like Nikki’s mother and without them she was at a loss. There was no emotion expressed and no wish to prolong the identification. Gaby couldn’t begin to work out what must be going on in her head and that more than anything puzzled her.

  ‘I’m not sure when we’ll be able to have the body released for burial …’

  ‘Well, you have my contact details in Málaga,’ Penny replied, groping round in the bottom of her bag for a pen. ‘I’m heading to Manchester shortly – I don’t want to miss my flight.’

  You don’t want to miss your flight? Don’t you care at all? But instead all Gaby said was, ‘What time do you have to be at the airport? I can give you a lift if you like.’

  ‘Only if it’s not out of your way?’

  ‘No, it’s the least we can do after having dragged you all this way. My car’s in the unloading bay next to the entrance.’

  She pulled her keys from her pocket, careful not to leave the signed declaration behind. She didn’t want to drive the two-hour-plus round trip to Manchester, but she felt she had little choice, not if she was to find out any more about Nikki.

  The roads were empty for a change, which was the only positive thing Gaby could take from the trip. So much for her dedication to the force, she scowled, remembering both the teabag and shirt situation that had yet to be resolved.

  ‘So, how long have you lived in Spain, Mrs Jones-Steadman?’

  ‘Call me Penny. Steadman and Jones were my ex-husbands’ names, therefore ones I can do without hearing every couple of sentences,’ she said, ruffling her hair with her hands. ‘I moved when Nikki was eighteen so twelve years now.’

  ‘And were you in regular contact with your daughter?’

  ‘Do you have children, Officer?’ Penny turned in her seat to glare at her.

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  ‘Well, it’s hard to sit there condemning me when you don’t know what I’ve been through with that girl.’

  Gaby eyed her briefly before returning her attention to the road ahead. ‘Why don’t you tell me? Anything, any background about the – about your daughter that might help the investigation would be very welcome.’

  ‘I’m probably not the best person to ask. I haven’t heard from her apart from the odd text in well over a year.’ She flipped the visor down, checking her hair in the mirror before continuing. ‘If I didn’t have the dogs to look after it would be a lot easier, but I can’t leave them for more than a night or two.’

  ‘Do you have many pets then?’ Gaby said, sliding her another look.

  ‘About a hundred.’ She laughed at the obvious look of dismay on Gaby’s face. ‘There’s no need to drop me off at the nearest funny farm, Officer. I run a dog sanctuary. There are lots of dogs abandoned in that part of the world and I try and do what I can to fill the gap.’

  ‘Really? That sounds amazing but hard work, I’m guessing. Did Nikki give you a hand when she used to visit?’

  ‘That would be difficult.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because she never visited. Travelling wasn’t really her thing. In fact, I can’t remember if she ever travelled outside the UK.’

  ‘That’s unusual these days.’

  ‘Yes, well, Nikki was nothing if not unusual.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘In every way miss – er, sorry. I can’t remember your name?’

  ‘Darin. Gaby Darin.’

  ‘Well, Gaby, is it normal to spend all day sitting in front of the television eating to the extent that you get so fat you can’t even get up out of your chair?’

  But surely not recently, Gaby thought, switching on the wiper blades to clean the windscreen. Nikki certainly hadn’t been fat when she’d seen her lying across Christine’s bed. If anything, she’d been thin, far too thin. Obviously, something had happened for her to decide to change her life in such a dramatic fashion. But she’d had the wherewithal to get a job, a job she wouldn’t have been able to hold down if she’d refused to move from her chair. She flicked on the indicator before pulling over into the next lane, thoughts pinging in all directions. What could have been the motive for the attack or was it as simple as the newspapers were saying, a love affair gone wrong? Maybe Christine had decided to go back to her husband only for Nikki to go berserk, the blade puncturing her chest in the ensuing struggle.

  She continued driving in silence, playing out all the possible death scenarios in her mind as if watching a cine-camera stuck on fast-forward. But none of them seemed to fit. There was something about the case that didn’t make sense – the only problem was she had no idea which part.

  ‘What about when she was younger?’ she finally said. ‘Her dad, for instance?’

  ‘She adored her father. Like two peas in a pod they were. When he walked out it felt as if she’d joined him – she did in spirit,’ Penny said, her fingernails beating a silent tattoo against her thigh. ‘They were always planning something, whispering in corners. I wasn’t surprised when he found someone else, our marriage had been dead for years but for him to do that to Nikki … I could never forgive him for that and, when I remarried shortly after, Nikki hated my new husband. She hated school and she hated me. She blamed me for everything, her only solace the bottom of a biscuit tin. By the time she’d finished her A levels and managed to win a scholarship to that fancy university, we’d well and truly had enough of each other.’

  Gaby stared into the distance, the lights of Manchester clearly illuminated on the horizon. What must Nikki have been feeling, deserted by both parents when they went on to new partners. A troubled young woman left to flounder in the world. She’d like to know about the intervening years since she’d left college. What had she done? Where had she been? By the antipathy seeping out of the woman at her side, she knew she’d have to look elsewhere.

  ‘What about the school? Couldn’t they do something?’

  ‘You’re having a laugh. The school was useless. Look, Gaby, you can judge me all you like but the truth of the matter is that my daughter was dysfunctional. Oh, she was bright, perhaps too bright for her own good,
but without the common sense she needed to survive in this rat hole of an existence. I tried everything to help but she kept pushing me away and there’s only so much a parent can take.’ She lifted her bag onto her lap and started searching for her passport and ticket. ‘You’ll never know how much I regret failing my daughter, but Nikki was on her own path to destruction long before I decided to move to Spain.’

  Chapter 10

  Gaby

  Monday 11 May, 9.20 a.m. St Asaph Hospital

  Gaby should have known that her Monday was going to be worse than usual. The autopsy had been scheduled for eight o’clock, while the teabags and the white blouse issue had yet to be resolved. But, not only that, there’d been a pile-up along the A55, which entailed a long detour in addition to an emergency stop to fill up the car. Despite her interview lined up for later, she could just about manage wearing the blue frilly blouse with lace ruffle at the collar and cuffs instead of one of her plain work ones but driving on thin air was, as yet, outside of her current level of expertise.

  She ran along the dingy corridor to the autopsy suite, situated in the bowels of the state-of-the-art hospital. The untidiness of the place never ceased to amaze her. While the front-of-house reception area looked immaculate, obviously the NHS budget didn’t run to spending much-needed money on areas that weren’t routinely available to the public.

  Before pulling open the door, she glanced down at her serviceable wristwatch but whichever way she looked at it, she was late – the one thing she couldn’t abide in others. And it was bound to be another black mark against her by the caustic pathologist.