Walker’s frown deepened. ‘Splitting hairs indeed,’ he said, his eyes narrowing. ‘Whatever way you look at it, Tia Bradshaw died as a result of that crash.’
‘But not in the crash,’ Will said, pushing the matter.
The detective shrugged. ‘If it makes any difference, no, not in the crash as such. Our theory, and one the coroner agreed with, was that she was relatively uninjured in the actual crash and acquired the head injury as she was getting out of the car. It is quite a drop from the side of an upturned vehicle to the ground, she probably jumped, missed her footing and fell, hitting her head as she did so. The terrain is rocky and we found blood on a number of rocks.’
‘Tia’s blood,’ Will said sadly.
Walker pursed his lips. ‘Blood from both women to be exact. Your wife bled extensively from cuts she sustained. She was lucky.’
‘Yes,’ Will said, ‘she was.’
Walker stood abruptly. ‘If that’s all, I really need to get going.’
‘Just one last thing,’ Will said, holding a hand up to stop him, ‘I’d really like to visit the crash site. Could you tell me how to get there?’
‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ the detective said, looking down with a puzzled look on his face.
Will had prepared for this. ‘I promised Ellie,’ he said, dropping his eyes to the table, ‘it’s in the way of a pilgrimage, I suppose you could say.’
Detective Inspector Walker continued to look at him for a moment and then, as if he couldn’t find any reason not to, he gave him the directions. With a brief nod, left the room.
Opening his briefcase, Will took out a notebook and scribbled them down. He sat for a moment thinking over the conversation. It could have happened just the way he said. Tia could have fallen onto a rock and then crawled away from the car. Head injuries were like that, he’d heard many stories of people getting a bang on the head, being able to talk and walk and then collapsing a short while later. It could have happened that way.
Picking up his briefcase, he left. Next stop, the coroner’s office.
It was, to his surprise, more straightforward.
He told the receptionist at the front desk what he wanted. She pointed him toward the correct department where a helpful administrator asked for proof of identification. Looking at his driving licence, she smiled and handed it back. ‘Do you want the full report, including photographs?’ she asked him.
‘Yes please,’ he said.
Leaving him to stand and wait, she headed off and returned a few minutes later. ‘That’ll be ten pounds, please,’ she said, handing him a thick A4 envelope.
He handed over the money and took it from her, putting it into his briefcase without looking at it and, smiling his thanks to the woman, left.
Out in the street, he couldn’t see anywhere to have coffee, but this was Brighton, he wouldn’t have to go far. In fact, he just had to turn the corner to see a large sign proclaiming a cafe to be the Best coffee shop in Brighton.
It might be the best, but he was glad to see it wasn’t the busiest. He asked for a flat white and, glancing at the menu board, chose a sandwich to go with it, nodding to a table in the corner when he was asked where he’d be sitting.
He took out the envelope and put his briefcase on another chair. There was nothing written on the outside of it, but he stared at it until his coffee and sandwich arrived. Then he reached for the envelope and opened it.
The report was comprehensive and detailed. He flicked through it all and then started at the beginning, reading line after line, looking for something, anything to prove that Ellie couldn’t have been responsible.
The paramedic, the first professional at the scene, reported finding Tia face down. The theory was that she’d fallen as she dropped down from the side of the car and cracked her head on a rock, managing to crawl away from the car before collapsing. Will put the report down and picked up his coffee. So far, it was much as the detective had said. Taking a deep breath, he took out the photographs he’d been avoiding. Most were of the scene of the crash, the skid marks on the road, the tree trunk they’d hit before somersaulting down the slope, the car on its side.
Markers indicated where the women had lain. He was surprised at how closely together they were. And there were photographs of blood on various surfaces including the rock that they theorised Tia had fallen on. There was a report on her head injury, a diagram showing exactly where the injury had occurred and an X-ray showing the concave indent in her skull. He looked at it, frowning. She had come down heavily on that rock.
Or the rock had come down heavily on her.
He read the rest of the report. There was no indication there was any doubt. But then, they didn’t know Ellie had a motive, did they? They never asked.
Did his suspicion hold more weight than their theories?
Maybe he should just forget about it all, accept that he’d never be sure, and move on. Words echoed in his head, just you and me. Reaching into his pocket, he took out his mobile and hit the speed dial button for home. ‘Mary,’ he said when the phone was picked up. ‘Is Mrs Armstrong awake yet?’
‘No, not yet, Mr Armstrong,’ she said, ‘do you want me to bring the phone to her?’
‘No, that’s fine, Mary. I just wondered how she was this morning. She mentioned yesterday about taking Bill out in his buggy. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. She’s not very strong as yet.’
‘It’s not a good idea anyway, Mr Armstrong. Bill has a bit of a cough this morning. I’m keeping a close eye on him.’
Feeling relieved that Ellie couldn’t take him out, he immediately felt guilty for being pleased his son wasn’t well. ‘Good,’ he said, ‘I’ll check in with you again later.’ He hung up and put his phone away. He thought about getting more coffee, looking toward the server to see if a raised hand would do the trick. But the small coffee shop was busy and she was tied up with other customers.
Forgetting about it, he put the coroner’s report into his briefcase, left the cafe and headed back to where he’d seen a taxi rank earlier. He was in luck, a taxi stood waiting. Climbing into the back seat, he thought to himself the day was going fairly well even if he hadn’t managed to prove anything. He gave the driver directions and sat back.
‘Where?’ the taxi driver asked, turning around to look at him, his eyes taking in the smart coat and briefcase.
Will leaned forward and repeated the directions. ‘Twelve hundred meters from the junction of the A27 and B2123.’ He frowned when he saw the puzzled face of the driver. Surely the directions were clear. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Do you have a postcode for where you want to go?’
He’d tempted fate by thinking his day was going without a hitch. ‘No postcode,’ he said. ‘There isn’t a building, I just want to go to that stretch of road.’
The taxi driver stared suspiciously. His eyes lingered on the briefcase. ‘This isn’t something dodgy, is it?’
Will closed his eyes briefly and let his breath out in an exasperated huff. ‘No, it’s not,’ he said emphatically. He shouldn’t need to explain why, but it was that or find another taxi. ‘It’s in the way of a pilgrimage,’ he said finally, using the same line he’d used on the detective. ‘My sister-in-law was killed in a crash on that part of the road. I promised my wife I’d visit.’
Not convinced, the taxi driver nodded at the briefcase. ‘Gonna lay flowers, are you?’
Cursing the lie that necessitated his bringing the briefcase, Will nodded. ‘Something like that. Now, either you’re going to take me or I get out and find someone who will.’
With a final speculative glance, the driver shrugged, turned on the engine and pulled into traffic. Will tried to relax but he couldn’t. The man’s suspicious looks had increased his own doubts. What was he hoping to find there?
Thirty minutes later, the taxi turned onto a tree-lined road. He sat up straight, his eyes peering down the road ahead. Was this where it happened? Moments later, the taxi pulled to the sid
e of the road and stopped. ‘Here we are, twelve hundred metres, give or take a few centimetres.’
Will ignored his sarcasm and looked around. The detective had mentioned a fallen tree. It shouldn’t be too hard to locate. ‘I’ll be twenty minutes or so,’ he said to the driver.
‘Meter is running, mate, take as long as you like.’
He thought about leaving his briefcase in the cab but, catching the driver’s eye in the rear-view mirror, changed his mind.
Getting out, he looked up and down the road. Which way? He walked back down the road, hoping he’d chosen correctly. If he didn’t see the fallen tree in a few hundred metres, he’d turn and go the other direction.
He was in luck. Minutes later, he saw it. It had to be the one. There was damage to the upper curve of the trunk which he imagined had been caused by the car. How unlucky they had been. It was the only fallen tree around. He agreed with the consensus that had they come off the road a few metres away, they’d have been slowed by dense undergrowth and might have escaped with just minor injuries.
He circled the fallen tree and headed downward. There had been a lot of rain in recent days, and the undergrowth was lush and slippery. It wasn’t the place for leather-soled shoes. Before long, he’d slipped to the ground. Swearing loudly, he hauled himself to his feet with the help of a sapling and eyed the grass stains on his coat with disgust. They weren’t going to be easy to explain away.
Standing a moment, he looked around. Straight down from the tree, the detective had said. Only by using his imagination could he see evidence of the car’s tumble down the slope, imagining the broken branches here and there as proof of its passing. Truth was, in the six weeks since the accident, the undergrowth had covered any evidence there was.
He should have given up, gone back to the taxi and headed home to his wife and child. But he didn’t, clinging tightly to his briefcase, he slipped and slid onward, until he came to the clearing where the car had finished its journey.
The car, of course, had gone, but it was easier to imagine the scene here. The police hadn’t bothered to remove all evidence of their presence; some of the tape they’d used to cordon off the area from curious dog-walkers still hung limply from the trees.
The undergrowth, well trampled by all involved, hadn’t as yet recovered so it was easy to identify the area where Tia and his wife had lain close together.
A pilgrimage, he’d told the taxi driver. He wished it were that simple. Opening up his briefcase, he took out the coroner’s report, removed the photograph of the crash scene and, with it, figured out where the car had landed. As the inspector had said, the terrain was rocky. It could have happened just as they said.
Moving back to where the bodies had lain, he looked around. More rocks. He kicked one with his foot and it rolled a few inches. Bending, he picked it up, weighed it in his hand and then dropped it. It could have happened that way either. But if there had been evidence, it was long gone.
He’d been fooling himself, he was never going to know the truth.
A last look around, and he turned to head back up the slope. It was time to go home.
He slipped again on the climb back to the road, coming down heavily on his knee, feeling the wet mud seep through. Back in the taxi he looked at it and swore under his breath.
‘What was that?’ the taxi driver said.
‘Nothing,’ Will said, irritated. ‘Just take me to the train station.’
He arrived at the station, paid the driver without bothering to tip, and walked off hearing sarcastic comments fading behind him as he marched briskly into the station. He swore viciously when he realised he’d just missed a train and would have an hour to wait before the next.
In the gents, he tried his best to rub the mud from his knee, but it was wet and his endeavours simply spread it over a larger area. He’d have been better to wait until it was dry and then he could have brushed it off. Too bloody late now.
The stain on his coat was less visible; he ignored it, took a final look at his knee and, with a groan, left. He was going to sit and have a coffee while he waited but changed his mind. Something stronger was in order. Leaving the station, he headed to a nearby pub and ordered a whiskey. ‘Make it a double,’ he said.
There was a fire lit. He sat beside it and sipped his drink. Before he’d finished it, he took out his phone and dialled home.
‘Just checking on how Bill is?’ he said when Mary answered.
‘He’s much the same,’ she said. ‘He’s been a bit fretful because he’s not so well, poor boy, but Mrs Armstrong has been soothing him. He seems happier now.’
Will couldn’t think of anything to say apart from, ‘Oh, that’s good.’
Ellie was looking after Bill. That was good, wasn’t it? He finished the whiskey and ordered another double. By the end of the second, he didn’t know what he thought any more. Maybe he was just thinking too much. Maybe, he was so consumed with guilt for that night with Tia that his brain was addled. After all, wasn’t it then that everything had started to go wrong?
Tempted to order another drink, he glanced at his watch. The train would be leaving in ten minutes. If he wanted to catch it he needed to leave now. He staggered slightly when he stood. Hard spirits weren’t really his thing, and two doubles was a lot of alcohol on a fairly empty stomach.
The train was a few minutes late, giving him time to order a large takeaway coffee to sober himself up. He sipped it as he waited, taking the remainder on board and finding a window seat where he drank it as the train chugged towards London, continuing to sip it long after it had gone cold.
It was the heartburn rather than the caffeine which sobered him up before he arrived in Victoria. He walked around until he found a pharmacy. Armed with antacids which he sucked on the tube, popping one after the other until the pain subsided, he headed home.
51
Ellie was holding Bill in her arms when he arrived home. He was conscious of the mud on his trousers, the stain on his coat and a lingering reek of whiskey that the faint smell of mint from the antacids didn’t disguise.
If Ellie noticed, she said nothing but Mary gave him a strange look before offering him a mug of coffee. He took it, colour appearing in cheeks already red from the alcohol and drank it staring across the room at the unusual sight of his wife comforting the fretful child. They looked good together, and this was what he’d wanted; so why did the sight make him anxious?
‘Don’t overdo it, Ellie,’ he said, moving to her side. ‘You should give him back to Mary, have a rest.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m fine, Will.’ It wasn’t until he mentioned that he was hungry an hour later that she stood up and handed the sleeping child to Mary, who immediately put him into his cot.
‘Hungry?’ Ellie said, looking around the kitchen for inspiration. She turned to him with a bright smile. ‘Let’s get a takeaway.’
He tried to look enthusiastic. It was all he seemed to eat these days. She’d never been a great cook, but she could unpack an M&S dinner and make it look as if she were. The only thing she really enjoyed cooking was steak. Maybe he’d get some tomorrow on the way home.
Adam rang while they were waiting in the sitting room for the takeaway to arrive. Will spoke to him briefly and handed the phone to Ellie, leaving her talking to him while he got the plates and cutlery ready. He took the last bottle of wine from the fridge. The cupboards were definitely getting bare.
Ellie had put the phone down by the time he got back. ‘Are they coming to visit?’ he asked her, handing her a glass of wine.
She shook her head. ‘I mentioned Bill wasn’t well. They don’t want to risk coming in contact with an infection when they’ve a long flight ahead of them in a couple of days.’
Will shrugged. ‘I got the impression they weren’t really interested in seeing him anyway,’ he said.
She sipped her wine. ‘I’ll send them a photograph; at his age it’s just as good.’
For a moment, he thought she was jo
king and waited for her to smile. When she didn’t, he gave an uncomfortable laugh. ‘Hardly the same as meeting him, is it?’
The look she gave him was critical. ‘Hardly,’ she said and turned back to the television.
Will didn’t bother asking her to mute the television while they ate. He filled his plate and sat back into the chair that was quickly becoming his seat in the sitting room as Ellie’s preference to spread out on the sofa continued. Normality, he sighed, didn’t appear to be heading back his way.
The next morning, Bill seemed worse. Mary frowned when he came into the kitchen. ‘I’ve been up most of the night with him. His cough seems a lot worse.’
‘Do you think he needs to see a doctor?’ Will asked, peering into the cot. Bill’s round, chubby face looked much the same as usual, but what did he know?
Mary shook her head. ‘He doesn’t have a temperature, so it’s probably just a cold. If you think I should take him, of course, I will.’
‘Perhaps it would be as well to wait another day or two,’ he said, taking his cue from her. ‘As you say, he doesn’t have a temperature so there’s no point in exposing him to all the bugs that a GP surgery will have.’
She smiled. ‘My sentiments exactly,’ she said, apparently relieved. ‘I’ll make sure he has lots of fluids and keep him warm and comfortable. He’ll be fine.’ She hesitated and then added, ‘Mrs Armstrong was great with him yesterday. It seems like she’s feeling much better and her maternal instinct is returning.’
He pulled his lips up in a smile, hoping it didn’t look as forced as it felt. ‘Good,’ he said and then, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he nodded and repeated, ‘Good.’
He didn’t bother with coffee and headed off to work.
During the day while at his desk, Ellie’s change of heart continued to bother him. Was he being too hard on her? ‘After all,’ he muttered, ‘Mary seems to be happy with her.’
His secretary appeared in the doorway. ‘Were you calling me?’
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