Darkest Night

by Jenny O'Brien

  The seven o’clock news was starting on her car radio as she pulled up outside her house and she waited a moment, her keys clutched in her hand, listening to a rehash of the search up to now. There was nothing about the murder of Nikki Jones. After only four days, the story had sunk without trace only to be replaced with juicier bits of local gossip. She slammed the car door shut, her briefcase under her arm, her shoulder bag hanging from her fingers as she fumbled with the key fob, her mind looping back to the murder victim and whether there was any mileage in pursuing the fact that both Christine and Tracy had red hair. There was also the knife to think about—

  ‘Damn and double damn,’ she said, her voice ringing out into the deserted road, scaring next door’s cat. ‘Sorry boy,’ she continued, casting a rueful smile in the direction of the large tabby who’d stalked away, his tail tucked between his legs. But she didn’t have time to worry about upsetting Scratch. She’d suddenly remembered the one thing she should have done and hadn’t.

  She opened her front door and, placing her bags on the hall table, walked into the kitchen, her hand reaching for the open bottle of red on the counter – wine was the priority. Only after the first sip did she rescue her meal from the fridge and place it on the top shelf of the oven. Wandering back into the lounge, she checked her phone before resting it beside her glass on the coffee table and, slipping off her shoes, curled up on the sofa, her laptop balanced on her knees.

  After booting it up, she logged onto the police network and quickly banged off an email to Rusty, including a photo of the knife that Marie had found, before copying Owen and Amy into the email and clicking send. Instead of shutting it down, she launched Google and did a quick search on the use of diving knives, only to widen her eyes at the sight of the broad, serrated-edged blades staring back at her and all only a click away. To kill someone with a knife was bad enough but to use something that had ripped and torn as it had journeyed between Nikki’s ribs was quite frankly barbaric. No wonder at the amount of blood soaked up by the duvet and mattress. She picked up her glass and took a long sip, her gaze now concentrating on anywhere but the screen. Blood and guts were all very well in the day job but her evenings, such as they were, were meant to be a time to relax …

  The ringing of her mobile cut through the air, causing her to spill her wine down the front of her blouse and, with a muttered curse, she picked up her phone. It was probably only Amy calling for a catch-up but even so.

  ‘Good evening, Detective. Thank you for your email. I think you’ve solved my little mystery for me.’

  She glared at the phone for a second, her mouth tightening at the sight of Rusty Mulholland’s name on the screen, before jerking to her feet and starting to dab ineffectively at her blouse with a tissue, random thoughts scattering.

  What the hell was Rusty doing phoning? He never phoned. She glanced down at the spreading stain with a sigh. Thank God he can’t see me wearing my glass of Barolo. The blouse is ruined, or it will be if I don’t get it soaking in a vat of cold water.

  ‘My pleasure. You’re working late,’ she said, all the while thinking that the quicker she could get rid of him the more chance she had of working a miracle on her favourite M&S blouse that cost £39.99 and was worth every penny. She headed back into the kitchen and the sink, the phone tucked under her ear, trying to puzzle out his reason for phoning. There was time enough in the morning for that kind of thing, she thought, her nose wrinkling at the smell of melting cheese starting to come from the oven.

  ‘I could say the same about you, but I hear you have a crisis on at the station?’

  ‘You could say that. With a bit of luck, it’s not something you need to concern yourself with.’

  There was a pause and then. ‘Never say never, Gaby. What’s the Gaby for, by the way, surely not the name you were christened with?’

  She continued sponging at her blouse with the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be a tea towel. Part of her was pleased that he was starting to treat her like a human being. The other part wondered at the change and what exactly he was up to. No doubt he’d tell her before the large pink stain became a permanent fixture.

  ‘Gabriella. It’s Italian.’

  ‘Charming. Well, Gabriella Darin, if I can be of any assistance with your little problem, please let me know.’ There was another pause.’ I’ll see you tomorrow at the station. I’m just finalising the full report.’

  She returned the phone to the counter before switching off the oven and making her way upstairs, unbuttoning her blouse along the way. What she needed was an early night and not an evening thinking about the true reason for Rusty phoning – it wasn’t as if he’d had anything new to tell her. Dragging on her pyjama top, she headed into the bathroom and started filling the sink before dropping her blouse into the centre. At least she knew exactly where she was with him when he was being rude. But staring at her reflection, she was still unable to completely disregard Amy’s take on the situation. She flung back her head and laughed, the sound harsh in the otherwise quiet room. He needed a few lessons on how to speak to women but he’d better not look to her as a potential teacher!

  Chapter 27

  Christine

  Tuesday 12 May, 6 p.m. Oswestry

  Christine woke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. Lying there, staring up at the same ceiling she’d known since childhood, the dream fell away, leaving only a hazy trace of memory. She rested back into the pillow, trying to drag the strands back, trying to mould them together into something tangible, something she could work with. Something she could tell the police. But the dim figure of a man was all she had. It could be anyone, even Paul, for God’s sake.

  Glancing at her watch, she scrambled to her feet and headed for the stairs. If she stayed in bed any longer, she wouldn’t sleep later. She’d laid down for half an hour after lunch only to fall into a deep dreamless sleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. Not surprising after three nights of being locked up in a cell.

  She made her way for the kitchen, only to pause, some sixth sense making her walk to the lounge instead. Her parents had disappeared off for the afternoon so the house should be empty … She pushed open the door only to wish she hadn’t when she saw who was sprawled out on the sofa.

  ‘What are you doing here, Paul?’

  ‘Perhaps I should be asking you that exact same question,’ he said, his gaze never leaving her face. ‘You have a perfectly good flat along the West Shore.’

  She blushed, even though it was the last thing she felt like doing. But Paul here, now, was the very last thing she could cope with. Stepping into the room, she resisted the urge to turn and flee back up the stairs. After all, she had every right to be at her parents’ house – much more of a right than he had. Instead she ignored him, giving all her attention to an ecstatic Ruby, the soft wriggling body bringing back a host of memories she was ill-equipped to deal with.

  After a moment she settled her back on the rug before picking up Paul’s empty mug and walking to the door. So what if she’d decided to run away on the pretext of making him a coffee? So what if her feminist alter ego was currently bashing her brain with a host of reasons why the very last thing she should be doing was making him a drink? She wasn’t just making him a drink. She was making a tactical withdrawal while she regrouped – the coffee-making was a subtle form of defence, only that.

  As Christine filled the kettle, she tried to count the number of times she’d been in his company since the divorce and couldn’t get past two. Two times in two years and two times more than she could cope with. Paul – the man she’d met and fallen in love with, if not at first sight, then pretty much at the second. The man, if she was honest, she still loved but, knowing what she did, the man it was impossible for her to be with.

  She didn’t see the country kitchen with its rustic wooden beams and hand-worked pine cabinets. Plucking a couple of clean striped Cornish-ware mugs from the dresser, she only truly became aware of her surroundings at th
e feel of the smooth ceramic in her hands. Her parents had bought a set of six on their honeymoon and, over the years, her father had added to the collection on birthdays and Christmases so that the shelves were now heaving under the weight of the distinctive blue and white pottery. It was a tradition they’d hoped to start with her, she remembered. Her mind strayed to the set of mugs tucked away at the back of one of her kitchen cupboards. And with that thought, tears started trickling down her face, tears that felt long overdue. Now, at a time when she could least afford it, she found herself having to squeeze her emotions back down her throat while she continued making the coffee. And the worst of it was she didn’t even know what the tears were for, except the realisation that she’d never have the kind of relationship that her parents had. She’d given it her best shot only to have fate screw her over at the last hurdle. Her future had been sealed that first day she’d walked into the lecture hall and found the man of her dreams addressing the audience. When she’d realised that he’d been struck by the same lightning bolt, it had taken both of their combined resolves not to act on their feelings until after she’d sat her finals.

  Heading over to the sink, she scooped up handfuls of water and sluiced under her eyes before picking up the mugs, hoping the icy cold would detract from any lingering redness. She could find no excuse for not returning. There was no excuse apart from cowardice.

  He was standing by the window, his fingers pleating the corner of the curtain and she took a moment to examine him. Tall and sparse, his lean frame barely had an inch of spare flesh, something that had always annoyed her. He could eat what and when he liked and yet she’d never known him put on an ounce. The last few years had been kind to him apart from his hair, which was receding on all sides, but that couldn’t detract from his good looks. He was handsome when she’d first met him. He was still handsome.

  He must have heard her make a noise because, before she knew it, he’d turned and pinned her with that intense blue-eyed stare he used to reserve for his students – it had been years since she’d fallen into that category.

  ‘You look well, considering,’ he said after a moment, settling onto the sofa and resting back, his legs crossed.

  ‘Considering what exactly?’ She pushed a mug in his direction before choosing a chair on the other side of the room, her gaze resting on his face. She’d always had more trouble with softly spoken words, which wasn’t surprising considering the seriousness of her head injury as a child. As his wife, she hadn’t worried. She’d had normal hearing in her right ear and, apart from minor adjustments in seating arrangements, she’d coped just fine. In the early days it hadn’t made any difference. She’d always been able to guess at the words he was about to utter. But not anymore. Now she was in dangerous territory and she didn’t like it – she didn’t like it one bit. She couldn’t even put her hand up to her ear for fear he’d realise what she was doing. Being deaf in one ear was totally different to the bilateral deafness she was currently facing and something she was determined not to tell him about. He’d feel sympathy and sympathy was the very last thing she needed in her life right now.

  ‘Considering a few nights in the cells. What else? I did try and visit, you know, but they wouldn’t let me even write you a note.’

  ‘They probably thought you were trying to help me get rid of clues.’

  ‘Would there have been any then?’ he said with a frown. ‘I had hoped that you were innocent?’

  ‘Of course I’m bloody innocent. What the hell do you take me for!’

  He spread his hands. ‘Well, it’s not as if Nikki was your best friend or anything.’

  She stared at him. ‘And what exactly do you mean by that? You more than anyone must know how difficult it was for her. She was that proverbial square peg no matter how many times people tried to help her to fit in.’

  ‘So, what happened to change all that, hmm?’ He picked up his mug, taking a long sip before continuing. ‘I would have thought you’d have been the last person she’d ever have turned to.’

  She managed a laugh of sorts. ‘I’m not that bad.’

  ‘I never said that you were. But you must know that, to her, you were toxic.’

  ‘Only because she thought herself in love with you.’

  ‘Here we go again. I’m pretty sick of this, Christine. I’ve told you time and again that I did nothing to encourage her.’

  ‘Just as I’ve told you that she didn’t need any encouragement. She loved you and nothing you or anyone else said could have dissuaded her.’

  ‘And then she disappeared off the scene only to turn up dead in your bed. A likely story. Are you sure there isn’t something you’re not telling me?’

  The urge to turn away at the sound of his words was immense but Christine couldn’t. She only had two choices here, neither of which were ideal. If she left the room, he’d most likely follow, which would defeat the object. She drew in a breath at the option left. She had to stay and argue with him at the risk of chipping away at the memories that she’d tucked deep inside, memories she couldn’t afford to lose. If she lost them there’d be nothing left.

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business but no. I’m not nor have I ever been gay. And before you ask, yes, I did bring a man back to the flat but, again, what’s it to you?’

  His face visibly paled underneath his tan, a remnant of the walking tour he usually opted for each February half-term, a tour she used to join him on. She wondered where it had been this year. Spain? Greece? Italy? She blinked rapidly. She’d lost the right to think such thoughts when she’d decided to walk away from their marriage in the same way he’d lost the right to question who she hooked up with. She took no pleasure in knowing that she’d hurt him with her words. Her comment had been an act of desperation by someone only interested in self-preservation.

  ‘So, what are you doing here, Paul? Rubbing salt into the wound or have you some other motive?’

  ‘Ah. I take it your parents haven’t told you then?’

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘I’ve left the school. They’ve offered to put me up for a few days because of Ruby,’ he said, now staring at the floor.

  She scrutinised the top of his head, her thoughts ricocheting. She’d only ever wanted the best for him, and he loved working at St Gildas. She wondered what could have happened but, knowing the board, she didn’t have to wonder too long. Poor Paul. Loving her was probably the worst decision he’d ever made. She heaved a sigh. This living at her parents, if only for a couple of days, wasn’t going to work. She couldn’t bear being in his company and, as he had nowhere else to go, she was the one who’d have to leave.

  He opened his mouth to speak but she stood and held up her hand. She couldn’t answer the sort of questions queuing up on his tongue. Questions like what the man’s name was, in case he was able to provide an alibi. She still couldn’t remember a thing about him except that there had been somebody and she’d had sex. The fact that she couldn’t remember anything else was one of the things that worried her the most. No matter what she did to try and jolt her memory it still came back as a complete blank and that scared her. She’d let a man break through the protective wall she’d built after the divorce and yet she couldn’t remember the first thing about him.

  ‘’Look, Paul. I’m not prepared to answer any more of your questions. You can have the house and my parents for as long as you need them. I’m more than happy to sort myself out.’ She bent down and gave Ruby a quick cuddle before picking up her mug and heading back towards the kitchen, only to pause and turn. ‘Did you say something?’ She watched him shake his head and, with a frown, she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  Paul returned his now empty mug to the coffee table before resting his head in his hands, the words I love you still echoing across his mind, words she hadn’t been able to hear.

  So it was true, all of it. Not that he’d doubted for a minute what Dennis and Hazel had told him. Christine, his little Chrissie, hea
ding towards the thing she feared the most. Total deafness. He’d known from the beginning about the riding accident that had deprived her of her hearing in her left ear, but she’d coped. She’d coped to such an extent that most people hadn’t even realised.

  He sat up, dragging his hand across his face, his thoughts now in the past and the dark days of the divorce. He’d tried to speak to her, tried to sort out whatever the problem was with their marriage, never dreaming for one minute what the problem could be. But she’d refused. Apart from one scrappy letter, she made sure all communication had been via her lawyer. He’d felt confused, hurt and finally angry that she could even think to throw away what they’d had together. They’d had the perfect life, both in jobs they adored – they’d even talked about having kids for God’s sake!

  He shivered, drawn to the multitude of photos of her dotted along the mantelpiece. He knew her better than anyone. She’d never have accepted second best and a mother that couldn’t hear her child’s first words, their cries, their laughter … He dropped his head into his hands, for once in his life at a complete loss as to how to proceed. He had no back-up plan. No what comes next. She’d walked away from him for the second time. He clenched his hands into fists. He was determined there wouldn’t be a third.

  Chapter 28

  Gaby

  Wednesday 13 May, 6.30 a.m. Rhos-on-Sea

  After a restless night Gaby donned her running gear, her determination to continue with her exercise programme only partly the reason for her jog. She always thought better when she was active, and she might as well kill off a few calories at the same time. But with work still on her mind she propped open her laptop and started reading through her emails before heading out.