The Scorched Earth

by Rachael Blok

  He peels open the box of chocolates he’d brought in. He doesn’t really like chocolate that much, but he offers one to her and takes one himself. ‘Well, it can’t come soon enough. We miss you. I miss you.’ He reaches out for her hand. Her lips stain dark and sweet like expensive lipstick, truffle-dressed.

  ‘Love you, liefje.’

  ‘You’ll have to take them flowers home with you,’ the nurse calls on her way out. ‘They’re banned in hospitals.’

  *

  Fabian Irvine sprawls in his chair. Long legs crossed at the ankles, back slouching slightly, even his hair hanging out – swept over to one side, casually, carefully. He wears a T-shirt, dark shorts and flip-flops. If he were styled by Vogue, it would be hard to get a more picture-perfect look of a beautiful man dressed for the ideal summer. He half stands as Adrika enters the room to join Maarten for the questioning, not sitting until Adrika does, and, smiling, leans forward to shake her hand: ‘Fabian Irvine. Good to meet you. We didn’t really get a chance to say hello the other day.’

  Adrika shakes his hand and catches Maarten’s eye, pulling out her notepad.

  ‘I’ve not been back to the UK for a while. Can’t believe this weather. I’ve been up in the Hamptons for a few weeks before catching the flight, but I swear it’s hotter here.’ His smile is white teeth and charm. Even his slouching is appealing, making the room feel more relaxed. Maarten is used to interviewing people who are tense, nervous, sad… Rarely are they as at ease as they would be in a bar, or on a beach.

  ‘I just have to make you aware we’re taping this interview…’ Maarten begins, gesturing to the camera, and Irvine gives his consent and his name clearly, in vowels like English crystal.

  ‘Would you like to tell us a little more about the disturbance in Ayot at the weekend?’ Maarten says.

  Irvine laughs, chocolate sweet. Rich. ‘I think you’re better off talking to Maisie Seabrook about that,’ he says. ‘I honestly have no idea why she thinks I’ve killed their dog. Jam was a great little mutt.’

  ‘Well, we have spoken to Maisie, and to Ana, and they believe you might have reason to wish them harm.’

  Slowly, as though considering carefully, Irvine shakes his head. ‘Well, I have no idea why. My relationship with Ana finished years ago. I live in New York – I’m in a relationship there. It’s quite serious, actually.’ He tilts his head, as though confiding. ‘Ana’s last boyfriend is doing time for murder, you know?’ He shrugs, smiles. ‘Maybe she is casting back to better times, trying to get my attention.’

  ‘How did the relationship end?’ Maarten asks this casually.

  Irvine offers a shrug, a smile. ‘So-so. It’s rare that anyone comes out of these things completely unscathed. But it was a few years ago. We’ve both moved on since then.’

  ‘The sisters have both claimed it was, how should we put it, “somewhat acrimonious” at the finish?’

  No one speaks for a second and Maarten smiles. Irvine shakes his head a little. Maarten waits it out.

  ‘I was upset. Who isn’t upset at the end of a relationship?’ he offers easily.

  ‘We have spoken to the festival you attended. Your alibi checked out for the first night up to about 10 p.m., but not past then,’ Adrika says.

  ‘What?’ Irvine scowls. ‘You need to account for my every minute? I was tired. I’d just flown in. I held the hand of my act who was going on, then I checked in to a hotel. I’ve had enough of tent living. I went along the next day for a meeting, but the band I was due to meet didn’t turn up. Too drunk, probably. So I left and came back to Ayot. I pretty much slept for two days.’

  ‘So you were in Ayot the night that Jam was killed? You sure you didn’t do it? A final kick when your ex-girlfriend was down? The body that was found has been all over the news. You knew the details of the first case. It wouldn’t take much to scare her, to sneak into the garden and to kill the dog, to make it look as though it was something else.’ Adrika has gone hard, driven it home, and Maarten watches Irvine’s face. The man shows nothing. The scowl darkens but it could be anger or guilt. His eyes slip easily into anger; his long fingers flex. His arms, tanned and smooth, cover broad muscles. Their definition is sharp.

  Irvine cracks two knuckles, sits up slightly straighter.

  ‘I can’t quite remember the ins and outs of our break-up. It was a while ago. But to be honest, I don’t really see how that’s got any bearing on a dead dog.’

  Maarten ignores this last statement. ‘Apparently Ana Seabrook woke early one morning to find you asleep on the floor next to her. In her flat in London.’ He tips his head slightly to one side, still smiling. ‘That’s illegal.’

  ‘She makes it sound much worse than it was.’ Irvine’s voice is colder, yet it still sounds reasonable. Maarten doesn’t buy it. Doesn’t believe him. But the temptation is there. It’s his tone: steady, honest. Unperturbed.

  Irvine continues. ‘She’d told me where she hid the spare key. She’d gone home drunk. I used the key to let myself in and check on her. I was worried about her. We hadn’t quite broken up then. You don’t leave an upset, drunk girl on her own.’ Chivalrous.

  You do if she asks you to, Maarten thinks. You don’t break into her flat. Ana Seabrook had been believable because she had been reticent, embarrassed. She should have been angry – but instead she wanted it in the past. Irvine, in contrast, is confident, forthright. He is convincing, when the embarrassment should be all his.

  Vicious, Maarten thinks. Dangerous. That he believes his own words; he can’t see he crossed a line. Chivalry – you save the girl and you lock her in the tower.

  ‘Well, Ms Seabrook asserts that you had indeed broken up. That in fact you continued to “let yourself in” until she changed the locks. That she saw you near the flat on a number of occasions. And that in the end, she moved to get away from you.’

  ‘London isn’t as big as everyone thinks it is,’ Irvine says. ‘Bumping into your ex-girlfriend is bound to happen. It’s not my fault if it makes her jumpy. I can’t avoid her completely. It doesn’t work like that. And I still don’t see why all this is relevant. I didn’t kill her dog.’

  The problem, Maarten thinks, is that the lack of evidence means he’s right – they’ve pushed him, but he doesn’t really seem as though he killed the dog. He can justify his past actions to himself, he can’t see his flaws – dresses them in silk. But if he didn’t kill the dog, break in, then there’s no point in holding him.

  And it’s not murder, which at the end of the day is the big question here. But it’s interesting to rattle him slightly. To see what falls out.

  ‘Look, DCI Jansen.’ Irvine manages perfect pronunciation. ‘I’m a busy man, you’re a busy man. Neither of us wants our time wasted. I didn’t kill the dog. I’m sorry Ana feels our relationship ended badly. But that’s over now.’ He pushes his chair back, stands and offers his hand. The smile has slipped back in place. ‘Do let me know if I can be of any other service.’

  Adrika hisses by his side as Irvine walks ahead of them towards the exit. ‘Vile.’

  Maarten nods, but knows there is nothing they can do. Nothing to charge him with. He feels deflated.

  ‘Sometimes you let them go,’ he says. ‘I don’t think there’s anything here. Time to examine Ana Seabrook a bit more closely, I think. Can you check the Proof of Life on Leo Fenton? And I think we need to have a look at Ana Seabrook’s phone. See what text she received that spooked her in your interview. Get a warrant to search the pub as well, just in case there’s any resistance from the Seabrooks to having a look around. If she’s hiding something on her phone, she’s capable of keeping other secrets. If there is anything to hide, I don’t want to have to pause to give them time to do so. We’re changing tack.’

  32

  Tuesday 19th June

  BEN

  Irvine, was it Irvine who killed Leo? Is it Irvine who has buried the body? It would make sense that he buried it in Ayot – to bring it close to Ana, to make her feel it
. But why would he kill Leo?

  ‘Tabs,’ he nods as the Scotsman walks alongside. They are outside, heading over to the gym. They’re both on good privileges at the moment, and there’s only a few of them. Macca’s nowhere to be seen. He’s lost the gym for a few weeks.

  ‘Aye, lad, how goes it?’ Tabs falls in line with him.

  ‘Irvine. Fabian Irvine. You said you remember him?’

  ‘The one we talked about the other day? Yeah, I remember him from school. I was head of Year Seven. I had to bring him in for detention – bullying some of the younger kids. His parents moved him to a private school after that. They came up to protest but I wouldn’t move an inch.’

  ‘He was in the UK the night before they found the body. He used to go out with Ana. She left him in the end because he bullied her. He was a real shit. You think it’s a coincidence? You think there’s any mileage in it?’

  ‘Woah… hang on. You think he’s the killer? You think he set you up in here?’

  ‘Might have done. To get back at Ana. To get back at me for being the one who was with her? Bit handy he comes back the day before all this starts.’

  ‘What do the police say? Tell you what, let’s chat in a bit.’

  They’re almost at the gym. Now the group is closing up it will be easier to be overheard.

  Ben glances around, whispers. ‘They mentioned it. To see what my reaction was, I think. I didn’t know what to say.’

  They filter in, get ready, start on the machinery. Ben and Tabs are used to falling in side by side. They work quietly to start with, stoking up a sweat.

  The equipment is old, but looked after. The officers use the gym in their lunch break, and the sauna – an old wooden slatted one, but it does the job. Inmates behave in here. No one likes to lose this privilege. Weights fill most of the room. Ben picks up some dumbbells and starts the exercises he’d been advised to do by a physio he’d seen in here. With all the sitting in the first month, his nerves had become tingly, his hands bursting with pins and needles. He does the same set of exercises three times a week to strengthen his shoulders and keep his body moving. He’d never needed the gym before. With all the chest infections, it’s getting harder and the weights are getting lighter.

  ‘I can ask around. See if anyone knows what the background is, if there’s any whisper of anything. Bodies don’t move themselves easily. If there’s anything to know then someone in here might know it.’ Tabs lifts heavy. His barbell is stacked, and Ben wonders at the weight: he’d be crushed.

  Tabs’s arms strain, and the veins from beneath the edge of his T-shirt bulge.

  The mat is threadbare in patches, the colour scrubbed out where Ben stands. There’s no air con and the smell of the men’s sweat gathers quickly, sitting in the air. It makes Ben gag, but he pushes through it, enjoying the feeling of his body working hard. It keeps him alive.

  ‘You know, it’s a shame you didn’t stay longer at the school,’ Ben says. ‘Bet you were a great teacher. You must have been young – I had a science teacher who was as old as the hills.’

  Tabs barks a laugh. ‘You always think that when you’re young – bet he was only forty or something! Yeah, I was a young ’un. Started out with my teaching practice there and stayed on. I was only twenty-two. Wet behind the ears.’

  ‘Come on, lads, got the next lot in soon,’ the guard shouts, checking the clock on the wall.

  ‘I’ll get back to you if I hear anything,’ Tabs says on the way out. The planes in the sky scratch the roof of the Earth, leaving criss-crossed lines like white chalk against the cloudless blue. ‘Someone must know something. Bodies don’t stay hidden for too long without someone noticing. I wish I’d known your brother.’ He lands his hand on Ben’s back in a clap, and Ben swallows hard.

  33

  Tuesday 19th June

  ANA

  ‘Come on.’ Maisie pulls her hand.

  Ana, in vest top and shorts, doesn’t feel ready for something new; it’s too late. ‘Where are we going, Mais? It’s 11.30. I was off to bed.’

  ‘Maybe bed, but not sleep. I heard you last night, up and down. I can’t rest here. I’ve been thinking about Leo.’

  ‘Leo?’

  ‘Yes. Jess was telling me this morning about how this body was discovered. I knew they’d found it, but I didn’t know how they’d found it. Did you know she’s Charlie’s mum? Wasn’t he in Ben’s year at school? Such a small world.’

  Maisie is carrying something. There’s a jute bag; items poke from the top.

  ‘You’ve got candles and flowers,’ Ana says. ‘Why are you carrying candles and flowers?’

  ‘Well.’ Maisie has now successfully pulled her downstairs, pushes flip-flops into her hands, unlocks the house front door. ‘When Jess told me – I love her, by the way, she’s great – when Jess told me about the fact that this body was discovered in a grave, it made me think. It’s like his resting place. I know they’ve exhumed him and taken him off for the autopsy, but he was actually buried there. And we’re all hoping it’s Leo. So let’s give him a goodbye.’

  They now stand outside; the night air is fresh. The dense skin of heat Ana wears during the day has fallen away, the warmth more like a cardigan, like cashmere against her skin. The night is wearable.

  ‘Mais, please don’t tell me we’re going—’’

  ‘To the temple graveyard, yes. Yes, we are. He needs a send-off, Ana. You need to send him off. He was your best friend for years. He’s part of your history.’ She takes Ana’s hand and squeezes it. ‘What if when we’re buried, we lay our souls to the earth. What if his soul is resting now, and no one has said goodbye. There must be a reason people all over the world stand by graves and weep. It’s for a goodbye.’

  ‘But for us, not for them. Not for the dead! You don’t think Leo’s soul is lingering in Ayot, do you?’ Ana whispers furiously. What if someone sees them? Whoever it is: the picture, the text, the body – what if they are here now, skulking? She still hasn’t told Maisie that she wonders if Leo ever died at all.

  Maisie has pulled them off the road. They walk along the path in the field that leads up to the Palladian church. The marble pillars gleam white under the moon. The fields are quiet, the sky cloudless. Stars are bright and Ana looks up; the heavens are open wide.

  ‘Who knows if he’s here or not. But if he is, then I’m lighting a candle to tell him he’s not alone. That we miss him. We never really cried for him, Ana. Your crying for Leo muddled with crying for Ben, and then crying for you. One big ball of grief. Leo deserves some candles, some flowers. Leo deserves our tears.’

  They step through the kissing gate. Its wood is still warm from the heat of the day. Wood and stone soak up the heat, Ana has realised. When she stands next to the old stone walls of the pub in the evening, it’s like someone has lit a fire beneath them. Residue of the day. She strokes the wood as she weaves through the gate, letting it fall behind her, softly.

  She thinks of coming here with Leo when they were young. Planning their futures, discussing school, plotting band tickets. Leo is knitted in her memories.

  The graveyard rests, empty.

  ‘This must be it.’ Maisie has stepped up to a mound of earth that is grave-size. The police tape has disappeared. The hole has been filled back in, but it takes a while for the earth to settle.

  ‘Leo,’ Maisie says, ‘Leo, we’ve come to say goodbye.’

  Maisie unloads the contents of her bag. She shakes out a rug, laying it next to the grave. There’s wine, complete with picnic glasses – tall plastic stems. Ana laughs, quickly covering her mouth.

  ‘Maisie, for God’s sake, it’s not a picnic!’

  Maisie hisses, ‘Red wine. Like blood. We’re doing it properly. Dust to dust and all that.’

  ‘Where’s the dust?’ Ana shakes her head, but pours the wine. Maisie lays flowers on the earth and picks up a handful of dirt, and Ana thinks less of who might be watching, and more of Leo.

  Maisie is right. She’s never crie
d for Leo without also crying for Ben. She’s let him down.

  Maisie hands her some earth. It’s hard and crumbles quickly beneath her fingers. The sun has banished all the water.

  ‘Dust,’ Maisie says. ‘Dust to dust.’ Maisie starts to cry, and holding the earth over the grave, she speaks quietly. ‘I’m sorry, Leo. We forgot about you. In all the police investigation, the court case – all of it – we forgot to cry just for you. We loved you. We all loved you.’

  Tears flood Ana’s eyes. Rubbing the dirt between her fingers, she thinks of him at the start, in her class at school. Clever and quiet. Then a clown as he grew. The funny geek. She’d told him about her first kiss. He’d been the first one she’d told – of teeth gnashing, with James Blunt blaring away in the background at someone’s birthday party. He’d been the first person she’d told everything to, back then.

  Then she thinks of New York, and her eyes squeeze shut.

  Even when she’d been with Ben they’d been close. They had all gone sailing a fair bit; he and Ben had taken her. The boat had caught the wind; it flew. She’d hung on to the side, and the boat had tipped slightly – she’d clung harder and he’d shouted, his eyes bright beneath his cap, ‘It’s OK! It’s called heeling!’ His words had arrived on the wind and the spray. The boat had tipped further, and she’d clung, white-knuckled, as she rose high out of the water. ‘You’re on the windward side,’ he’d said. ‘Amazing, isn’t it!’

  And it had been amazing. The whole bloody time had been amazing.

  ‘I’m sorry, Leo,’ she says.

  Maisie throws in a flower she’d kept back, giving one to Ana. ‘I’ve heard that the Greeks started the throwing of flowers onto graves. If they took seed and blossomed, then it meant the souls had passed to the next world, and found happiness.’

  Maisie’s face is streaked with tears. She must have had glitter on at some point today, as there are sparkles that catch the light.