There was a certain desperation in Donaldson’s voice when he called after him, ‘I’m sure if you speak to your boss, Hugo-Watkins, Walter will assure you of my dedication and commitment to all the youngsters here.’
When Dylan didn’t respond, he added, ‘He’s a very good friend of mine.’
Chapter Fourteen
Jennifer Jones stood rooted to the spot outside the Chief Superintendent’s office, trying desperately hard to block out the words she’d just overheard her new boss say about her to Walter Hugo-Watkins. His office door was slightly ajar and Avril Summerfield-Preston was standing half in, half out. Her long, pointed fingernails gripping the metal handle were as bright red as freshly spilled blood. She leaned inward, her face unseen, but Jen could sense that she wanted to impress him. Her perfume was strong and heady; in fact, it was so overpowering that while Jen waited patiently in the corridor to hand over some papers for him to sign, she had to stifle a cough. Avril either didn’t know, or didn’t care, that her cutting remarks could be overheard.
‘She’s a hairdresser, no less. Comes from the Isle of Wight, where …’ here Avril’s voice lowered a little, ‘I’ve heard there’s a lot of inbreeding. I fear she’s the archetypal dumb blonde.’
Jen continued to listen, hearing a man’s snooty voice ask, ‘Not a graduate, then?’
‘I don’t think they actually have a university on the Isle of Wight,’ Avril sneered and giggled. ‘But then, for the pay on offer, what sort of people do HQ expect to attract?’
Jen’s eyes began to fill up, and she swiped angrily at the single stinging tear that slipped down her cheek as the woman continued her character assassination.
‘You should see what she’s wearing today, too. Talk about mumsy!’
Jen looked down pensively at the wraparound navy-blue and white polka dot dress with its asymmetric hem, frilled short sleeves and attached patent leather belt. It had seemed highly suitable for working in an office when she’d purchased it. But now, as she began to scrutinise the material in the unflattering corridor lights, she conceded that it might be a bit frumpy, just as Avril had implied. In her defence, when choosing what to wear she had made a conscious effort not to fuel Martin’s jealousy. In the process, perhaps she had managed to lose a vital part of herself: her femininity and pride in her appearance.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her back and turned away, anxious that Avril should not catch sight of her tears, and walked straight into the arms of Rita.
‘Loitering with intent?’ Rita whispered jokingly. At the sight of Jen’s crumpling face, Rita’s jaw dropped. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ she asked, concerned, pulling a tissue from her pocket and steering Jen along the corridor to the steps that led to the outside yard and the property store. Looking over her shoulder, Rita saw Avril Summerfield-Preston step out of the office, with her nose in the air, and totter off in the opposite direction.
Jen and Rita sat huddled together in the property store. There was so much that Jen needed to learn about the job she would ultimately cover, but for now Rita was more interested in what had happened to upset her young colleague so much. Of even more concern to Rita was what had caused the massive bruise on Jen’s neck.
Simply listening to Rita’s soothing voice had a positive effect on Jen, so she confided in her precisely what had happened when Rita had dropped her off at home on the night of the retirement party – omitting some of the most horrid details – and on what course she feared things were ultimately heading. She sighed, long and deep, her head bowed down.
‘Everything is pointing in the same direction. It seems that I’d best go back home to the island.’ She looked up momentarily into her friend’s kindly face with doleful eyes. ‘Maybe I’m just not destined for a life on the North Island.’
‘The North Island?’
Jen gave Rita a brief smile. ‘It’s what the islanders call the mainland.’
Rita reached out for her hand. ‘Well, I think you’re like a breath of fresh air around here: keen to learn, always helpful and willing and never without that lovely smile. As far as we’re concerned, Personnel couldn’t have chosen anyone more suitable to complete our little admin team.’
Jen remained unconvinced. ‘Look at me though, Rita. My life’s a complete mess. I don’t want to cause problems for you, especially since I won’t be around for long either way.’
‘Why ever not? Don’t you like it here?’
Jen’s eyes flew open. ‘Like it? I love it. It’s just …’
‘Just what?’
‘I heard Ms Summerfield-Preston telling the chief superintendent that, well, basically, she didn’t think that I was … let’s say the right person for the job. I doubt she’ll sign off my probation at the end of the month.’
Rita scowled. ‘I don’t see how she can’t. I typed up your report from the chief inspector in Personnel and it’s excellent!’ Rita’s eyes softened. ‘Welcome aboard the train, Jen. I’ve a feeling you’re going to be here for as long as you want to be.’ Rita squeezed her hand. ‘You’ll get to know all about Avril Summerfield-Preston and Hugo-Watkins. And don’t beat yourself up about your failing relationship with Martin either. The most important thing is that if you want to, we can get you out of that, and very quickly. I’ll help you all I can. In fact,’ Rita paused, a twinkle in her eye, ‘I happen to know about a two-bedroomed terraced cottage that’s coming up for rent in Brelland. I could put a word in for you, if you think it would suit you and Max.’
Jen found herself feeling suddenly optimistic. ‘Really?’ she asked.
Rita put her arm about Jen’s shoulders and hugged her tight. ‘I reckon after all these years in the job I’m not a bad judge of character, and I reckon you are one of the good guys who’s just having a shitty time. We’ve all been there at one time or another. Believe it or not, I was bullied because of my ginger hair and freckles – and for being six feet tall – by my first boss. He was four feet ten in his stockinged feet.’
The smile spreading across Jen’s face made her look younger and even prettier. It was the first time she had seen Rita let her guard down and she warmed to her even more.
‘Now then,’ said Rita, slapping the palm of her hands on her thighs and standing up. ‘If you’re going to get any work done, and I’m going to see about that property, we’d better both get our skates on. Catch you later, eh?’ she said with a reassuring wink.
Whatever Jen had once seen in Martin, or felt about him, certainly didn’t exist any more. She had wondered why the sickly feeling rising in her stomach at the end of the working day had begun the minute she’d started her new job at the police station. On Fridays, when everyone else in the office was excited about their plans for the coming weekend, she would hope against hope that she’d be asked to work some overtime. After all, she said to Martin, the police station opened twenty-four seven and there was always something to do. But she knew that the lies couldn’t continue for ever.
When Dylan had left Field Colt, he had intended to drive straight back to the police station. He realised that he’d have rattled a few cages and once Donaldson got in touch with his Freemason friends there would be some sort of fallout heading his way. He sat in his car and switched on the engine, wondering exactly what that would turn out to be.
He noticed among the cars in the car park a private registration plate which he knew belonged to Marcus Thornton MP. He frowned and muttered to himself, ‘That was fast. I wonder what he’s doing here?’ His eyes scoured the building, checking out each of the windows one at a time. ‘If I find out you’re involved, I’ll have great pleasure in feeling your collar, Mr Thornton,’ he said to himself.
His mobile phone rang, making him jump, his heart rate quickening when he saw the caller was Isla.
‘Dad?’ she said. ‘I’ve been offered a place at a residential home in North Yorkshire to undergo therapy and observation. There are workshops there that the doctor thinks might help me.’
‘And have you
accepted?’ Dylan asked eagerly. He waited with bated breath for her reply, knowing this would be a voluntary admission.
‘Yes, Dad, I have. The doctor says that the place comes highly recommended and that I am really fortunate to have been given this opportunity at such short notice.’
‘Good. How do you feel about it?’
‘I feel lucky, but also a bit sad, because I know that the person in the queue before me, who had been waiting for the chance, didn’t make it. So, I guess I’ll have to make it count for them too, eh?’
Dylan swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. ‘Yes, I guess so,’ he said, softly.
There was an eagerness in Isla’s voice. ‘When are you coming home? I could do with a hug.’
‘Tell you what. I’ll drop by on my way back to the nick and have a sandwich with you, shall I?’
‘That’d be nice. I’ve got lots of paraphernalia to work my way through, if I’m to be prepared for next week.’
When Dylan arrived back home, there was a letter waiting for him. He opened it, read the contents and put it back in the envelope, leaving it lying on the kitchen worktop.
‘Looks like we’re both going to be away next week,’ he said to Isla, who was busy chopping tomatoes.
‘Huh?’
‘I’ve been invited to go on a two-day conference in South Yorkshire, including a buffet reception, no less, the night before.’
‘Mm … Well, I hope the menu is better than mine. I’ve got to gain weight, the doctor says, and at the clinic all the meals are monitored so that I get the right number of calories.’ She quoted rough extracts from the brochure and scowled as she continued reading the material the doctor had given her.
‘HUGS, NOT DRUGS; ONE DAY AT A TIME; YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL; EATING DISORDERS THRIVE IN THE DARK BUT DIE IN THE LIGHT,’ she read.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘I’m trying extremely hard to rein in my sarcasm and negativity, if I’m honest. This positive-attitude, recovery-speak propaganda is utter bullshit, if you ask me.’
When she looked up, she saw what looked like disappointment in his eyes. ‘But anything is worth a try, isn’t it, Dad?’ she said, giving Dylan a forced smile.
‘Where’s your mother?’ he enquired.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I think she said something about being called in to work when I saw her dashing out the front door earlier.’
When Jen arrived at Martin’s house that night, she had only one thought in her head: she was moving out and taking Max with her. Unusually, there was a smell that reminded her of her mother’s Sunday roast coming from the kitchen. Max pushed himself through the gap in the open front door and bounded towards her.
Martin was down on his hands and knees in the small cupboard space under the stairs. Years of rubbish, it seemed, was piled high around him in the hallway. Noticing the puzzled expression on Jen’s face, he said, ‘My mother used to make me hide in here, when I was little. I didn’t understand why at the time, but from the peephole I made in the door I could see everything, and now I understand that she was just trying to protect me. The vegetables won’t be long.’
‘Protect you from what?’ Jen said, putting her work bag down on the floor. She removed her shoes and bent down to fuss Max, closing the door behind her.
‘My philandering father,’ Martin replied, fingering a tiny hole in the dark wood panel of the door. ‘I never knew she was aware that I’d made this, until one day when he came home from work and I was under the stairs, just playing. She shut the door; I had a bolt on the inside to keep me safe. I heard her saying to my father that she knew he was going to leave us. He got very angry – I’d never heard my father so angry, he’d always been quite kind and loving and reassuring towards my mother until then – I couldn’t hear exactly what was happening, but suddenly my mother was wielding the kitchen knife at him, the one I’d seen her use to peel the vegetables earlier. There was a struggle and I saw my mother fall to the ground. As she bled on the carpet, her life leaving her, she caught my eye and smiled and I knew she was at peace at last.’
Martin held out the knife as he stood, a photograph of Jen and her ex-fiancé Shaun in his other hand. Suddenly, the meal didn’t smell so good.
Jen’s screams had been heard outside and a neighbour had reacted to them. When uniformed police officers spread out across the garden, Max barked incessantly, thus unintentionally shrouding the noise. Jen had tried to comfort Max and her sense of relief at seeing a uniformed officer at the kitchen window was overwhelming. How would Martin react, though, once he knew the police had arrived? She knew she should try to distract him until they were ready to intervene. However, frozen to the spot, with the sharp-bladed knife fixed in the stud wall next to her head, all she could manage to do was stare into his eyes, pleading with him to let her go.
She could feel his warm breath on her face: it didn’t smell of alcohol. He pulled the knife out of the wall with ease and, although he held it to her throat, she didn’t feel at all threatened by his actions even when he gently traced the outline of her face with its tip. Maybe it was his words that calmed her.
‘We will be together,’ he whispered in her ear.
Surely he wasn’t planning to kill them both?
Taking her shaking hand, he brought it up to his lips and kissed it tenderly, before closing his eyes and looking down at the photograph in his hand.
‘No!’ He spat the word out and ripped the photo clean in half, removing Shaun from it, then he kissed the other half and tenderly placed it in his top pocket. From another pocket he produced a book of matches. With pure hatred glinting in his eyes, he lit a single match and, when the flame became strong, slowly slid Shaun’s picture into it. Flames shot up the sides and Shaun’s face began to distort and melt. Martin smiled at the sight, but didn’t let go, even when the flames licked his finger and thumb. Little pieces of ash drifted down to settle near their feet and for a brief moment Martin looked perplexed. Then he ground the ash into nothingness beneath his shoe and proceeded to take Jen’s half of the picture out of his pocket, sucking in his breath.
‘I know one thing for sure,’ he said, staring at Jen with wide, vacant eyes. ‘If I can’t have you, then no one else will either.’
She was by no means out of danger yet.
The sudden banging at the door startled him. He put a finger to his lips. ‘Sh …’ The knife’s blade stroked her cheek. Martin’s eyes darted from Jen to Max and back again. He didn’t move. ‘Quiet,’ he whispered. ‘They’ll go away.’
The banging persisted, accompanied by the shout, ‘It’s the police. Can you come to the door, please?’
‘They’d better go away, because if they don’t, there’s only one thing left for me to do. I’ll stab you and I mean it. I’m serious, Jen. It’ll be them who’ll have blood on their hands, not me.’
Without any warning the front door suddenly flew open, crashing noisily against the wall. When Jen opened her eyes she could see one, two, three, four police officers standing at the entrance to the kitchen.
‘Step away,’ the police officer with stripes on his epaulettes shouted at Martin. When Martin didn’t move, he shouted again. ‘That’s an order! Not a request!’
Martin took two small steps backwards. Jen found herself holding her breath. She didn’t know what she had expected when she’d arrived home, perhaps another argument, but certainly not this. Martin held the knife tightly in his right hand, waving it in Jen’s direction. Confusion showed on his face, as if he was trying to process what was happening.
The sergeant took a step forward and spoke to him calmly. ‘Put the knife down now, there’s a good lad. Now! Before someone gets hurt.’
Martin was not yet ready to relinquish the weapon. ‘Don’t tell me what to fucking do, in my own fucking house,’ he screeched. ‘If you know what’s good for your friend here, get out, or she’s going to get seriously hurt. Do you understand?’
Jen’s eyes silently pleaded with the
officer to stay.
The four stood their ground.
An ongoing stand-off situation meant that, behind the scenes, the request had already been made for the on-call negotiator to attend. The officers’ remit was to continue an open dialogue with Martin, although his attention remained focused on Jen.
‘Is one of them your boyfriend?’ he screamed at her.
‘Martin, stop. Please, just stop,’ Jen begged, as tears rolled down her cheeks. Trembling now, but with every piece of courage she could muster, she spoke calmly. ‘The photograph you just burned was one of my ex-fiancé Shaun. He was the reason I left the island, remember? He’s got someone else, he isn’t a threat to you.’
Martin turned angrily on the officers, his eyes bulging and foul expletives pouring out of his gaping mouth. Jen could no longer recognise him as the man she had once fallen in love with.
‘Get out of here now,’ he screamed. The knife was once again pressed against her throat. ‘Unless you want to see your friend here start losing blood.’
If his intentions hadn’t been obvious to the officers before, then the swift stroke across his own throat with his free hand couldn’t have made things any clearer.
Sensing the threat, Max emitted a low growl and started snarling as he crawled on his belly, inch by inch, towards Martin and Jen.
‘Do you fucking want some as well?’ shouted Martin, wielding the knife threateningly at the golden retriever. But Max, too, stood his ground, his lips curled back to display a set of sharp white teeth. His snarls grew more persistent, louder than anything Jen had ever heard from him before.
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