Beneath the Ashes

by Jane Isaac

  Nancy snapped back to the present. But as she walked down the short pathway today, she felt the same uncertainty. The curtains shouldn’t be drawn in the daytime. It was a bad sign, and only served to confirm her fears that her mother was back on the drink.

  “You okay?” Ryan asked, as they reached the front door.

  Nancy searched in her bag for her key. “Think so.” She could hear the babble of conversation in the background as she crossed the threshold. The sound confused her. Maybe her mother had company. As they approached the door to the lounge she suddenly felt relieved to have Ryan with her.

  Nancy halted at the bottom of the stairs and called out. “I don’t think she’s home,” she said to Ryan when there was no answer. She pushed open the lounge door and peered inside. It had been a while since her last visit. She noticed the dining room table and chairs had disappeared from the sitting room, no doubt sold to fund her mother’s habit. The sticky smell of nicotine pervaded the room.

  Ryan followed Nancy up the narrow staircase. Although dull, the conversation was stronger up here and more animated. The door to the back bedroom, where Cheryl slept, hung open and was empty. Voices emerged from a radio in the corner.

  “She must have gone out,” Ryan said. “Left the radio on.”

  Nancy ignored him. She crossed the room and started opening the drawers to her mother’s dresser, searching through the piles of clothes.

  “What are you doing?” Ryan asked.

  “Searching for bottles. She always used to keep a spare in her underwear drawer.” But although she ruffled up the tops, bras and pants, nothing came to light.

  Ryan looked uncomfortable. “Maybe we should come back?”

  Nancy fished her mobile out of her pocket, selected Cheryl’s number and pressed dial. The voicemail immediately filled her ear. “She’s not picking up. Where is she?”

  Nancy bent forward, switched off the radio. The encounter beside her flat flashed into her mind. “We’ll wait,” she said.

  Ryan peered over his shoulder. “I’m not sure, Nance.”

  Nancy sat on the edge of the bed, sweeping back her arm. She felt her sleeve catch something. Turned quickly. Too quickly. Her cuff caught the edge of a glass on the bedside table, sending it crashing to the floor.

  Ryan leapt forward. It bounced on the deep rug once, twice before he caught it. He placed it back on the side and gave Nancy a guarded look.

  The sound of a door snapping open was followed by a croaky voice. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me,” Nancy said.

  Cheryl’s head appeared around the doorframe. She was dressed in a long nightie, her mousy hair sticking out at odd angles. She frowned at them. “What are you doing in here?”

  Aware that she’d left the top drawer of the dresser open, Nancy felt sheepish. “We were looking for you.”

  “I was asleep. You never said you were coming.” Her mother’s eyes slid to the top drawer of the dresser hanging open, the second drawer with edges of clothes peeking out. “What are you doing?”

  Nancy could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. “Just checking.”

  “For what?” Her eyes spanned the room. She glared at Nancy. “How dare you?”

  “You can’t blame me. You haven’t been in touch.”

  “I phoned the flat. You were sleeping. Becca said you were okay.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday.”

  They stood in silence. “You didn’t get my message so you thought I must be drinking again? What gives you the right to come over here and snoop around?”

  “You weren’t in your room.”

  “I sleep in the front when I have a migraine, away from the barking dogs over the back. I can’t believe you thought I was back on the bottle, just like that.”

  For a split second Nancy felt guilty. Then she remembered all the other broken promises made with the same convincing face. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

  “That’s not fair, Nancy.”

  “Where’s gran’s old dining room suite, then?” She spat the words out, feeling the heat of the venom beneath them.

  “I lent it to a friend from AA. She just got a flat and she’s got nothing to sit on. It’s only until she sorts herself out.”

  “Likely story.”

  “How dare you? You know how hard I’m trying.”

  “How dare I? After all you’ve put me through. I’ve just lost my boyfriend and it’s all about you. It’s always been about you.”

  “Nancy, please…”

  “Please? What about the people following me, demanding money. I’m sick of paying your debts.”

  Cheryl started. “I don’t know what you mean. I don’t owe any money.”

  “Well, you obviously owe somebody. And, as usual, it’s me that gets the hassle.”

  “Nancy, you have to believe me. I’m clean, I have been since you and Evan—”

  The mention of Evan drove a spear of anger into Nancy’s chest. “Don’t you dare mention his name.” She turned back to Ryan who had stood there mute, watching them both. “We’re going.”

  Nancy couldn’t wait to get out of the house and back to the car. It wasn’t until they’d pulled out of the road and were on their way back to the centre of Stratford that she tried to make some sense of the conversation. Her mother had been insistent that she hadn’t borrowed any more money. ‘Next of kin’, the note had said. She was an only child. She’d never met her father. Her mother was an only one and her grandmother before her. They had no other family, apart from some very distant relatives that she’d never seen. The note had to be related to her mother. Didn’t it?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Erik’s low gruff brought Jackman in from the garden where he was stretching after his run. Jackman yanked the door open, surprised to find Carmela standing on the doorstep. She almost dropped the bottle of wine in her hand when Erik hurled himself at her, wagging his tail so hard that his whole body moved in unison.

  Jackman reached forward and grabbed the dog by the collar. “Sorry, I’d never have let him out if I’d known it was you.” Erik made another friendly lunge, but Jackman held firm and pulled him away. “Please come in.”

  He gestured for Carmela to go into the lounge and put Erik behind the stairgate in the kitchen. By the time he arrived back, she smiled up at him, her usual serene self. “You didn’t put him away, did you? I’m dog-friendly, you know.”

  Jackman grinned. “Good job. I only let him through because I thought it was somebody selling something. Erik is able to put the most ardent sales person off.” She chuckled. “I thought you were coming over at eight?”

  “I had time to kill, so I left early to pick up a bottle of something.” She passed over the wine. “Then I was really early, so it was either stop for a coffee, go back to the hotel, or come now and find out what you get up to when you’re not working.”

  An awkward silence followed. “I’ll get you a drink.”

  “Just a small one, I’m driving,” she called after him.

  Jackman opened the stair gate and busied himself with uncorking the wine and finding a glass. He could hear Carmela chatting to Erik through the open door. By the time he wandered through with a glass of wine, Erik was sat on the sofa beside her. “Ah, sorry about that. We’ve got him into bad habits,” he said, handing the wine over.

  “It’s no problem, really. He’s adorable.” She took a sip of wine and rubbed Erik’s head with her free hand.

  “Well, he isn’t going to move now,” Jackman said. “Look, I was just about to get a shower…” He pointed his thumb towards the stairs.

  She raised a hand. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  Jackman rushed upstairs, quickly undressed and climbed into the shower. It had been a long time since he’d entertained at home, certainly not since Alice’s accident. But strangely he’d been looking forward to this evening. Carmela was such easy company, at least it made discussing the tedious subject of managem
ent policies slightly more bearable.

  By the time he had dried off, dressed and was back downstairs, Carmela had finished her glass of wine. A whiff of her perfume caught him as he grabbed the empty glass. “Another?” Before she had time to answer he’d picked up the glass and made his way to the kitchen. He returned with a fresh refill and passed it over, placing his own glass of water down on the coffee table beside him and squeezed in beside Erik.

  Carmela looked at the water, “You don’t like wine?”

  “I don’t drink.”

  She nodded but said nothing, leaning down to retrieve some papers from her briefcase. “Okay, where would you like to start?”

  They sat there for a while, Carmela firing questions at Jackman. She smiled at him when he gave the wrong answer, corrected his language. The time passed easily. Before Jackman realised, the light had faded. He rose, flicked the switch on the lamp, brought in the bottle and passed it across to Carmela. “I shouldn’t,” she said. “I have to drive back.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “You’re too kind.” She poured another glass, took a sip, then placed it on the floor beside her and stretched her arms above her head. The movement exposed the sleek curvature of her breast. “You interview well,” she said. “Just remember the key terms. It’s all about getting those in. And the current policing priorities. If you do that, I can’t see you going far wrong.”

  “Well, it’s not my first time.”

  She averted her gaze. “I did hear.”

  A raised voice in the road outside cut through their conversation. Erik lifted his head, growled. The voice grew louder, accompanied by intermittent bangs. Jackman crossed to the window. A man was shouting outside the house opposite, punctuating his yells with kicks at the front door.

  “Excuse me.” Jackman left the house and crossed the road. “Hey!”

  The man didn’t turn. The door bowed as he booted it again. “Bitch!” he yelled.

  The house looked empty, bathed in darkness. “What’s going on?” Jackman said. He’d reached the man now and was immediately assaulted by the pungent smell of alcohol.

  “Nothing to do with you.” Another kick. The door juddered.

  Jackman moved forward. “That’s enough.” He made to grab the man’s arm, but was forcibly pushed back. A sharp pain emitted from Jackman’s temple as he collided with the brick edging around the doorway. He swung forward and struck the man on the shoulder. The man wavered, just long enough for Jackman to move forward and wrestle his arm up his back into a tactical hold.

  The man cried out in pain. Then leant forward and cast the insides of his stomach over the doorstep.

  ***

  Jackman flinched as Carmela pressed the damp cotton wool to his forehead. “Well, I can’t say the evening wasn’t eventful,” she said.

  In all the furore, Carmela had called the incident in. Uniformed officers arrived just in time for the offender to throw up again, this time in the back of their patrol car.

  “Who was he anyway?” Carmela asked.

  “No idea. Sounded like a spurned ex-partner from the slurred account he gave to uniform,” Jackman replied. “A woman lives there alone. She’s waved a few times whenever I’ve seen her, but we’ve never spoken. She’s only lived there a few months. He obviously didn’t realise she lived near a cop.”

  “Always on duty, eh?”

  “Isn’t that what we’re taught?”

  Carmela replaced the cotton wool pad with a clean one. “At least the cut’s in your hairline. Are you feeling okay. No dizziness, blurred vision?”

  Jackman gave a mock smile and shook his head.

  “Are you going to make your statement tonight?”

  “No, I’ll do it in the morning. He’ll only be in a cell, sleeping it off.”

  “Well, your neighbour’ll have a shock when she comes home and sees the state of her door.”

  Jackman moved his head away. “I think it’s stopped bleeding now.”

  Carmela put the cotton wool in the bin, washed her hands and tidied the medical box. “Wow. You’ve got a mobile ambulance here by the looks of things.”

  “Alice was very organised.”

  “Your wife?”

  He nodded.

  “How is she doing?” she asked. Jackman reached across to his glass and took a gulp of his water. “I’m sorry. Should I not ask?”

  “No, it’s fine. The answer is we don’t know. The doctors aren’t sure how much she knows or feels because she can’t communicate.”

  “That must be hard.”

  Jackman looked away. This wasn’t the usual tea and sympathy he’d grown accustomed to. Nobody, apart from his damn counsellor had ever referred to how Alice’s condition affected him. “What about you?”

  “Divorced.” She sniffed. “Long story.”

  Jackman snorted. “Shall we talk about something else?”

  “We could talk about your mean right hook. Although that’s one skill I wouldn’t recommend sharing with the interview panel.” They both laughed.

  Carmela finished the last drop of wine. Her glass wobbled as it touched the side. “What happened at the last promotion board?” she asked.

  “Alice’s accident.” The night of the collision slid into his mind. It was a friend’s retirement party. He’d drank. Too much. Couldn’t drive. Alice had been irritated about coming out to get him and arrived late. They’d had crossed words on the way back. The car appeared from nowhere. A pair of headlights rounded the corner on the wrong side of the road. Jackman blinked, pushed the vision away.

  Carmela was still putting the contents back into the medical box when a pile of plasters glided to the floor. She crouched to pick them up. He bent down to help, inadvertently brushing her shoulder with his.

  “Sorry,” Jackman smiled. They rose together. Clumsily.

  Carmela moved closer to him, staring into his face sincerely. The soft aroma of her perfume filled his senses.

  The ring of his mobile made them both start. Jackman excused himself and moved into the lounge, picking it up without checking the screen.

  Celia’s chirpy voice filled the line. “Hey, Dad! Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.” Jackman hesitated momentarily. The sound of his daughter’s voice induced a deep feeling of guilt, although he had no idea why. “You’ve forgotten.”

  “No, I haven’t. You’re coming back with Adrian. Staying until the weekend.”

  “Are you okay? You sound odd.”

  “It’s been a long day. Got a case on.”

  “Okay, well, we should be there around seven-ish. Don’t worry if you’re not home, we can sort ourselves out.”

  “Sure.”

  “And, Dad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Be nice to Adrian, please? He’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

  ***

  An hour later, Jackman heeled the door closed behind him. It had been an eventful evening, but he’d enjoyed it nevertheless. In fact, he couldn’t remember when he’d laughed so much. He moved into the kitchen, tucked the medical box away in a cupboard. As he poured the rest of his water down the sink, Alice’s face entered into his mind, sobering his thoughts. He knew he wasn’t responsible for his wife’s condition, but the problem was, she would never have been on the road that night if it wasn’t for him. And he’d never forgive himself for that.

  He was just drying his hands when Erik sauntered over. Jackman ruffled his fur. Erik enjoyed the moment for a split second, then jumped back, skipping about in mock combat. “Celia’s coming to see you tomorrow,” Jackman said. A smirk grew on Jackman’s face as he remembered Celia’s final words, ‘Be nice to Adrian.’ Of course he’d be nice. What else did she think he was going to be? Just as long as Adrian was good enough for his daughter.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The sound of his phone ringing woke Jackman. He blinked, staring at the illuminated digits of the bedside clock a moment, desperately trying to focus. It was 6am.

&nbs
p; Jackman grabbed his phone and swiped the screen, just before the voicemail kicked in.

  “Morning.” Davies’ jaunty tone made him flinch. “Sounds like you’ve had a busy night.”

  Jackman rolled his eyes. Davies had obviously already seen the incident log that morning. “Tell me that’s not why you called?”

  “Not the only reason. The DNA results are in.”

  Jackman sat up. “When?”

  “The labs are working through the night at the moment, trying to clear their backlog. The email came through half an hour ago.”

  “And?”

  “His name is Richard Garrett.”

  Jackman detected a hint of excitement in her voice. “I take it he’s known to us?”

  “Oh, very much so. How quickly can you get down here?”

  Jackman glanced back at the clock. “Give me half an hour.”

  ***

  Twenty minutes later a freshly showered Jackman raced up the back stairs of the station, two at a time. The incident room was empty apart from Davies who was sitting at a computer screen with her back to him. She appeared to be searching through a plethora of photos. She turned her head as he drew near, her mouth curling into a teasing smile. “You took your time.”

  He ignored her quip, perched himself on the edge of her desk. “So, who is Richard Garrett?”

  Davies pulled a typed A4 sheet from the side of her desk and thrust it at him before turning back to the screen. “Richard Garrett. Born 16.3.81, to Bryan and Audrey. Father deceased. But the interesting part is…” She scanned down the screen. “Here it is. He was arrested for rape, five years ago. Charged too. The case went to trial and he was acquitted.”

  “Anything else?”

  “A reel of intelligence reports. Antisocial behaviour when he was young, connections with drugs and firearms, but no charges. Until the rape allegation.”

  “What about the victim?”

  “Not good. Her name was Alicia Wainwright. She committed suicide eighteen months after the trial.”