by Adam Croft
‘If you’re trying to ingratiate yourself with the locals, try a drop of that,’ he said, pointing to one of the real ale pumps. Tiger, from Everard’s Brewery.
‘That’s from Leicester,’ she said.
‘Yeah. When I said locals, I meant me.’
‘You’re a dick, Dex. I’ll have a pint.’
‘Blimey, in at the deep end. Don’t you want to try a bit first?’
‘What, and if I hate it you’ll not be offended in the slightest?’
‘No, I’d never speak to you again.’
‘Tempting as that is, I need the alcohol. Pint please.’
As she’d fully intended, one pint became two, then three. Partway through her fourth, Sara and Aidan had made their excuses and gone home. Dexter, perceptive as always, had hung around, sensing this wasn’t an ordinary evening in the life of Caroline Hills. She’d asked about his life growing up in Leicester, but hadn’t yet volunteered many details about herself.
‘Have you never wanted to live anywhere else?’ she asked.
‘Sometimes. I can see the appeal of getting out of the city, definitely. But it’s where my friends are. My roots. Plus it’s too bloody expensive to live anywhere else.’
Caroline smiled. ‘Everything seems cheap to me, compared to London. That’s a city I was more than happy to get out of.’
‘And now,’ he said, chinking his glass against hers, ‘we just have to get the city out of you.’ After a few drinks, Caroline had to agree. ‘So why were you so keen to leave? Just had enough of it?’ he asked.
She sighed. ‘Yeah, sort of. Lots of things going on at once. Mark’s dad and brother both died within the past two years. Cancer. Josh had trouble with bullies at school. I was sick of dealing with knife murders, gangs and drugs. I came to realise it wasn’t the sort of place I wanted to bring my kids up in. I didn’t want them around London anymore, and I didn’t particularly want myself around there either. One thing led to another, I started looking around and heard about the vacancy here.’
‘Why Rutland?’
‘Honestly? Because I’d never heard of it. We googled it and it looked nice, so we came to look at some houses. Bought the first one we looked at.’
‘Blimey. You must’ve been keen to get out.’
Caroline shrugged. ‘Maybe so. Life’s a learning curve, eh? You staying for one last drink?’
Dexter looked at his empty glass, then back at Caroline. ‘Yeah, go on then. Coke again, please. One last one. Then I’ve really got to go.’
She stood up, picked up the empty glasses and started to walk to the bar. And that was when she spotted Patrick Walsh.
17
Patrick Walsh looked exactly as he had in the photos, except clearly a few years older. He looked as though he’d tried to keep fit since retiring from professional rugby, but even he was unable to stop the barrage of passing time.
‘It’s Patrick, isn’t it?’ Caroline said, feeling far more confident and outgoing thanks to the alcohol.
‘It is indeed. And to what do I owe the pleasure?’ Walsh replied, evidently used to women talking to him in bars.
‘I’m Caroline. I recognised you and wanted to say hi.’
‘Ah. Tigers fan?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said, stoic on the outside but laughing inwardly to herself. ‘Huge fan. Lifelong.’
‘Glad to hear it! Not doing so well the past few years, mind. I’m not going to point out that it coincided with my retirement, but it definitely coincided with my retirement.’ Walsh let out a huge belly laugh — enough to make a couple of punters in the saloon bar next door turn their heads.
Caroline didn’t want to get boxed into a discussion about rugby — a sport she knew nothing about until very recently — and decided to change the subject.
‘Did you hear about the murder over at Normanton?’ she said.
Walsh narrowed his eyes. ‘I did, yeah. Why’d you ask it like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Ah. You’re a copper, aren’t you?’
‘Guilty,’ she said, raising her hands in mock salute, although she’d never intended to claim to be anything else. ‘I’m working on the case, but I’m technically not on the clock right now. Still can’t help myself from asking if anyone’s heard anything, though. You know how it is.’
It wasn’t the way Caroline had intended her first meeting with Patrick Walsh to go, but it seemed to be working in a strange way. Walsh was clearly uneasy, and that in itself was an advantage for Caroline.
‘If you hear anything, get in touch, yeah?’ she said, handing him her card. ‘You can give me a call on that mobile number. Any time.’ She added a wink for good measure. ‘Ooh, while I remember, can I get a photo with you, please? I wasn’t lying about the Tigers thing, I promise. I’ve been a fan ever since the Courage League win in 1988. First ever league champions, eh? They’ll never take that away from us. I even got Rory Underwood’s autograph that year.’ She might not have been a rugby fan in the slightest, but she wasn’t afraid to do her research when a potential suspect popped up on her radar.
‘Yeah, course,’ Walsh said, breaking into a smile.
Caroline waved Dexter over and handed him her phone. ‘Can you get a photo of us, Dex? One for the scrapbook.’
‘I’ve never understood that saying,’ Walsh said. ‘The word “scrapbook” always sounds a bit tatty and derogatory, doesn’t it? I’m not sure I’d want to end up in anyone’s scrapbook.’ He laughed as he said it, making clear this was a lighthearted comment and not a serious request.
‘Oh no,’ Caroline said, feeling his tree trunk of an arm around her waist as she leaned in and smiled for the camera. ‘I’ll be keeping this picture very close at all times, don’t you worry.’
18
When she woke up the next morning, Caroline didn’t need to think back to how many drinks she’d had. She could feel every one of them. But despite the hangover, she felt good. She’d made two breakthroughs the previous evening: she’d connected with Dexter and finally opened up — at least partially — and she’d got the distinct sense that there was more to Patrick Walsh than met the eye.
She shouldn’t have had a drink at all last night. A healthy body and a clear mind were vital today, and she was going into it with neither. She wasn’t looking forward to it in the slightest. She never had done. But it was always fine when she got there, and it was something that needed doing.
She felt an incredible wave of guilt every time. She’d thought it might diminish after the first time or two, but it hadn’t; it had got worse. She knew she’d have to tell Mark at some point. It was only a matter of time before he guessed or worked it out. But that wasn’t something she was ready to do just yet.
She walked down the stairs like any other morning, dressed for work and trying to hide any emotion from her face. Mark was waiting in the kitchen.
‘Morning,’ he said. Caroline could hear the boys watching TV in the living room.
‘Morning.’
‘Good night?’
‘Yeah. Made a nice change.’
There was still an undercurrent of frostiness after the previous morning, but Caroline didn’t want to think about that. She had other things to focus her mind on. More worthy distractions.
‘Good. It’d probably do you good to get out more,’ Mark said. ‘See people. Make friends.’
‘They’re work colleagues.’
Mark raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Alright. Just saying. It might help you loosen up a bit, that’s all.’
‘I don’t need to “loosen up”, Mark. I’m a forty-year-old woman with two kids, and I’m the Senior Investigating Officer in charge of a murder case. I’m not backpacking round Tibet on my gap year.’
‘It’s all relative. Quick pint in the pub, three weeks smacked off your tits on magic mushrooms. Although I don’t think anyone could call last night a quick pint.’
‘Oh, encouragement in one sentence and a reprimand in the next. How very carin
g.’
Mark chuckled. ‘I’m not reprimanding you. I’m just pointing out you clearly had fun.’
‘It was fine. I had one or two drinks with colleagues, then I came home.’
Mark took a sip of his coffee. ‘What time did you get in?’ he said, over the rim of the cup he was cradling.
‘I dunno, I didn’t look at the clock. Just after eleven, I think.’
‘Try half twelve.’
‘Try asking me questions you don’t already know the answer to, Columbo.’
Mark smiled. ‘Good job you’re a copper. You’d be dreadful in the dock.’
‘What’s that meant to mean?’ Caroline said, feeling her chest constrict and her voice tighten.
‘Nothing. It was just a joke.’
‘Well it’s not a very funny one.’
‘Alright, alright. Calm down. What’s got into you this morning?’
‘Nothing. I’m fine. Sorry. Just a headache.’
‘What’s the bag for, Mum?’ Archie said, rounding the corner into the kitchen.
‘Hmmm?’
‘The bag by the front door.’
‘Oh. Yeah, I was thinking about going to the gym after work. There’s some new scheme they’re doing. We get it half price with police ID. Thought I’d give it a go. Will see how I feel later.’
‘A gym?’ Mark asked. ‘You’ve never set foot in a gym in your life.’
‘All the more reason to start now, then, isn’t there? Anyway, like I said, I might not bother. I’ll see how I feel after work. Speaking of which,’ she said, glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall, ‘I should get going. I’ve got a meeting first thing.’
19
Even though he liked to think he was quite an easy-going guy, the last few months had been difficult for Mark.
He’d been far less attached to London than Caroline and the boys had been, and only lived within the M25 because it was convenient on the odd occasion he needed to visit clients in town. That had become rarer over the years, with emails and video-conferencing meaning it mattered very little where he lived. Their only links to London had been Caroline’s work and the boys’ schooling — both things which were easily moved.
When the time had come, it had proven remarkably easy to pull the trigger. It wasn’t difficult to sell a house in North London at the best of times, and they’d actually found it much harder to decide where to move to. It had been Caroline’s work which had dictated that, and the house in Oakham had appeared on Rightmove on the same day Caroline applied for the position of Detective Inspector with Rutland Police.
There was a definite undercurrent of unease, though. The family were settling into life in Rutland as well as could be expected, but Mark could tell Caroline wasn’t happy. She’d lived in London all her life, and although he knew she’d find it difficult to adjust to a rural existence, he’d thought she would at least take solace in the positive impact it would have on Archie and Josh.
They both seemed much happier up here, and had made friends quickly. The change in Josh had been extraordinary, especially after the bullying he’d suffered in London. It had, without doubt, been the right decision to move. He just needed Caroline to realise that.
With the boys dropped off at school, Mark headed to the fridge to grab a bite to eat. As soon as he opened it, he noticed the distinctive white carrier bag on the middle shelf and sighed. He could tell Caroline had something on her mind that morning. She often did — but it was never usually enough to make her forget her lunch. Realising he could do with the walk anyway, he took the bag out of the fridge, slipped on his shoes and walked down Ashwell Road, towards the police station. It was a sunny day, and he’d reward himself by having a quick mooch around town and a bite to eat in one of the cafes before heading home to work.
As he reached the gates on Station Road, he saw a familiar figure walking to his car.
‘Dexter!’ he called, holding the white carrier bag up in the air.
Dexter walked over to him, only realising who he was once he was a few feet away. ‘Oh! Mark, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah. We met a few weeks back. Sorry. I just wanted to drop this in while I was walking past. It’s Caroline’s lunch. She left it in the fridge.’
‘Oh right,’ Dexter said, holding out a tentative hand.
‘What?’ There was a tone in Dexter’s voice that made Mark feel uneasy.
‘No, nothing. It’s just… Well, she’s not in today. Maybe there’s been some confusion or something.’
‘What do you mean she’s not in?’
‘She’s got the day off. She’s back tomorrow.’
‘Day off? No, she said she was going to work. She made a packed lunch. She even had her bag for the gym, and said she was going to go after work.’
‘Gym?’ Dexter said, trying to stifle his laughter. ‘Caroline? Are you sure you didn’t dream all this?’
Mark swallowed and forced a smile. He very much hoped he had.
20
She always felt numb afterwards. The natural physiological response was to feel elated and exhilarated — almost as if her body was preparing her for the inevitable crash and burn — but it had since adapted into skipping that whole charade and going straight to sheer guilt and exhaustion. All she wanted in that moment was to open up and tell Mark, but she couldn’t. She needed to protect him, protect the boys. The time would come when she’d have to open up and admit it, but she wasn’t ready yet.
Back in her work clothes, she stepped into the house and walked straight through to the utility room, putting her casual clothes in the washing machine and setting the cycle. Mark knew Caroline wasn’t exactly a gym bunny, but even that wouldn’t explain her coming home with the clothes worn, but still clean.
‘Good day?’ he asked, appearing behind her.
‘Yeah, not bad,’ she said, forcing a smile.
‘You left your lunch here.’
‘Yeah, I know. Sorry.’
‘It’s in the fridge.’
‘It’ll keep for tomorrow.’
‘You going in tomorrow?’
‘Course I am. Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Just wondered. Dinner’s nearly ready if you want to sort out the table.’
They ate in almost complete silence. Usually, she’d tell Josh off for playing with his Nintendo Switch at the table, but this time she didn’t care. Archie was clearly cheesed off at something his brother had said or done, and was keeping quiet himself. With Mark offering no attempts at deep conversation, Caroline was secretly quite happy with the peace.
When dinner was finished, Mark cleared away the plates.
‘Boys, do you want to go upstairs for a bit?’ he asked. They didn’t need telling twice, and bounded up to their rooms like puppies.
Caroline didn’t know whether the tension was still left over from Mark’s careless pregnancy remarks the previous morning or if there was something else she’d done wrong, but she didn’t have the energy to challenge him.
‘What’s going on, Caz?’ he asked, eventually.
‘What do you mean?’
‘With you. You’ve changed. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I’m just tired and stressed. There’s a lot going on at work.’
‘How’d you know?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You didn’t go to work today.’
Caroline blinked. He’d said it with such conviction, there was no point in denying it.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because I went to drop off your lunch and they said you had the day off.’
Caroline sighed. ‘No, I was out of town. We’ve got a lead in the case I’m working on. We’ve got to keep our powder dry and there are things we can’t discuss.’ It was wishy-washy enough to be convincing, but Caroline hated lying to Mark.
‘What kind of lead?’
Caroline looked at him for a moment. ‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Yes you can. You don’t have to be specific. But right n
ow I’m honestly not believing a word of this. Something’s going on, Caz. I know it is. And if you’re not going to tell me what, then I think that says more than anything else.’
‘There’s nothing going on.’ All she wanted to do was sleep.
‘Look me in the eye and tell me everything’s fine. Tell me you’re not hiding anything.’
‘Mark, can we just drop this please? I’m really tired.’
‘Surely you’ve at least got the energy to tell me you’re not keeping things from me?’
She swallowed hard. There was no easy way out of this. She didn’t want to hide things from Mark, but above all else she needed to protect him. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. She raised her head and looked her loving husband in the eye.
‘I’m not hiding anything,’ she said.
21
After she arrived at work the next morning, Caroline asked Aidan Chilcott to take a closer look at the church. She wanted details on regular churchgoers, people involved on a voluntary basis and anyone who might have had a reason to want Roger Clifton dead. She felt sure the answer lay with Patrick Walsh, but there were still a few dots that needed connecting. Often, the best way to do that was under formal interview. Fortunately, she’d had the foresight to get his number before leaving. She knew there was little chance he’d get in contact with her, and she’d had a feeling she was going to need to get hold of him.
She called the number she’d saved in her mobile and called it from her office phone, which she knew would come up on Walsh’s mobile as an unknown number.
‘Hi, is that Patrick?’ she asked when the call connected.
‘Speaking.’
‘Hi, Patrick. It’s Detective Inspector Caroline Hills here from Rutland Police. We met in the Wheatsheaf on Wednesday night.’
‘Hi. How can I help?’ Walsh replied, barely able to disguise the worry in his voice.