by Joy Ellis
‘Oh, I’m fine. I wanted to talk about Carter.’
‘I thought that would be the case. But first, let’s try again, and this time the truth. How are you?’
Marie didn’t answer immediately. She wished she had that glass of wine in her hand. ‘I feel like I’m breaking up, from the inside. Someone I care about has stuck me in a pressure cooker and is tightening the weights over my head.’ She listened to her own words, and felt mildly surprised. Laura was nodding. ‘I’m lost. I used to know all about priorities. I had very clear views. I could listen to my heart and my head, and know that morally I could nearly always get it right, but now . . .?’ She bit her bottom lip to stop it trembling.
‘That’s perfectly understandable. Someone close to you is in turmoil and you feel the need to be there for him, but you are also a committed police officer. You never shirk your duties, and you resent Carter because he has interposed himself between you and your hundred per cent loyalty to your job and your colleagues. And it hurts, because you want to do the right thing by Carter and the force.’ She paused. ‘Marie, you have to do the right thing by you. You are not responsible for everyone else.’
‘It feels like I am.’
Laura leaned back in the chair and stared at her. ‘You are a strong woman, Marie, but you must not become a crutch. People who rely on crutches never learn to walk properly on their own two feet. It’s alright to be there for them, but to fully support another person you have to have almost superhuman strength, both inside and out.’ She sighed. ‘Forgive me for saying this, but you look exhausted.’
‘I just wish I could stand back from the situation, and get a better perspective.’
‘And that is exactly what you should do.’
‘I’d like to know how, when we have a major missing person investigation running, and now another high priority case,’ murmured Marie, hating the accusatory tone.
Laura laughed softly. ‘I know you can’t distance yourself physically, but you can look at the situation differently.’ She leant forward. ‘Look, I know some very useful techniques that could help you. Want to try one?’
Marie shrugged. What did she have to lose except for a few minutes of her precious time? ‘Not sure about all that New Age stuff, but, hey, whatever, I’m game.’
‘Okay. Well, you were talking about gaining perspective. Do you ever use Google Earth?’
Marie nodded. What an odd question. ‘All the time. To find specific locations.’
‘Right. Close your eyes and think of that program, but we’ll run it backwards. Don’t zoom in. Zoom out from where we are sitting right now.’
Marie put her head back and closed her eyes. Laura’s voice was almost hypnotic.
‘So here you are, Marie Evans, with all her worries, sitting in this chair, in this room, in this house, on this road. Now, imagine yourself floating effortlessly upwards, away from your body and towards that satellite spinning around the earth. Keep looking down at yourself, but allow yourself to pass through the ceiling, through the floors above, through the roof and up into the sky. Go up through the clouds, higher and higher into space. See the town become little more than a spot on the map, the countryside a hazy tapestry of green and brown, until you see the clear outline of the island we live on. Are you with me?’
Marie gazed down from above the clouds. She nodded.
‘Can you see yourself? Can you see your problems?’
‘No. I’m too far away. They are too small.’
‘Exactly. Every house in every street has people with problems, and they all seem insurmountable, but seen from where you are now, those problems are very small indeed.’
Marie exhaled and reluctantly floated back down to earth.
‘It’s a way to escape your pressure cooker, if only for a short while.’
‘Mmm! Do you have any more of those?’ Marie drew in a long breath. ‘Just for a moment there, I felt really good, so apart from all the crap.’
Laura nodded. ‘Sure. I’ve got a few relaxation exercises that might help. And by the way, you may not think so, but you’re very receptive to this sort of thing.’
‘Comes from having a Welsh Witch for a mother, I guess.’
‘Have you ever been hypnotised?’
‘No.’
‘You’d be a brilliant subject.’ Laura smiled. ‘Unlike Carter.’
Marie understood at once why that would be.
‘But I’m digressing. I want to know what your particular worry is.’
Marie stretched, and took a deep breath. She told Laura about Carter and his evening soirees with his dead friends.
‘Don’t get me wrong, I could completely understand his believing that he sees their faces in a crowd. I can even imagine him holding conversations with them. It’s natural. I did that when my Bill died. I still do sometimes, but I’m fully aware that I’m talking to myself, or to a mental image. And I don’t get answers. Ever.’
‘And Carter does?’
‘Oh yes. And I don’t know how to handle it, Laura. He talks about them so casually, as if he were going down to the pub for a drink with them. Next thing, he’s telling me he watched them fry.’ She gave a long shaky sigh. ‘If I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was either psychotic, or messing with my mind.’
‘But you do know him, don’t you? And you know it’s not his fault,’ said Laura gently. ‘The shock and the grief have changed everything for him. It’s a bit like someone doing a really bad job of rewiring the circuit board in his head. He’s working his way through the components of his grief, but they are all getting jumbled up. I think he’s trying desperately to move on to resolution, to acceptance, but he gets sidetracked by his denial and guilt.’
‘Will he ever get his life back?’ Marie blurted out. ‘Okay, he’s working, and doing a damn good job, but I’m afraid that it’s all an elaborate facade.’
‘His life was not ruined, you know, just terribly altered. He will get through this, I’m certain of it. He is very much like you. You are both strong-willed, comfortable in your own bodies, aware of who you are. He’ll survive, Marie, but when I said get through, that is exactly what he has to do, go through the whole horrible process. There are no short cuts and no slipping around the outside. He has to walk across those hot coals until he reaches the other side.’
‘So I just go along with these bizarre ideas?’
‘The idea of doing a good turn for each of them is actually not so bizarre. And if at the completion of each goal he “releases” that particular friend, then I’d say he’s found a mechanism for moving out of his nightmare and back into the real world. Wouldn’t you?’
‘Maybe. Well, that’s what I hope. And the things he’s doing, these targets, as you call them? They are things he already knows about? Things his friends talked about when they were alive, and now Carter is remembering them subconsciously and using them to try to make amends?’
‘Oh yes, most definitely. Carter is recalling old conversations that he had with his friends, and transposing them into new ones. It’s possible that after the accident he really did forget, and now it’s all coming back to him.’
‘So these “chats” with his dead friends are simply memories. It all sounds very plausible sitting here. It’s just so damned spooky when it’s Carter talking.’ Marie shivered.
‘Just listen to him, Marie, and don’t argue with him, but do try to be the voice of reason. Help him keep his feet on the ground.’ Laura looked at her intently. ‘But not at your expense, okay?’
‘I’ll try. I hope you didn’t mind me off-loading on you like this, but his last call at three in the morning and then that panic attack when he smelt burning really freaked me out.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve been terrified of doing the wrong thing. You know, like feeding his delusions.’
‘I honestly think he has hit on a very good way of cutting the ties that bind him to his dead friends. And the sooner he can complete his targets, the sooner he will be able to move forward.’<
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Marie stood up and held out her hand. ‘Thanks, Laura. I really appreciate this.’
‘Any time.’ Laura Archer looked at her shrewdly. ‘And I mean that, Marie. Don’t let yourself be pulled back and forth. Be there for your friend, do the job that you love, but do both on your own terms. Don’t be bullied by your own emotions, or by guilt. Okay?’
Marie nodded. Easier said than done.
‘And don’t forget Google Earth.’
* * *
Back in the office, Carter looked at Marie quizzically. ‘Get everything done?’
‘More or less, thanks.’ She hung her jacket over the back of her chair. ‘Anything helpful turn up regarding Leah?’
Carter shook his head. ‘Sorry, nothing definite yet. Max found you a street CCTV camera though, just a little way from her home. He’s taken a quick run through it and he’s isolated someone he described as looking “dead shifty.” He’s sent it to IT to get it cleaned up a bit. It’s pretty grainy, so don’t hang by your eyelashes on it.’ He grimaced. ‘To be honest, I’m finding it hard to get my thoughts off Ray and his money.’
‘Then try harder, Carter. The super is getting greyer with every moment that passes.’
‘Maybe I don’t have the same bad feeling about Leah Kingfield that you do. Blokes get the hots for girls all the time. Just because they are total arseholes in the way they show it, doesn’t make them actually dangerous, does it?’
‘And you’re prepared to take the risk, are you?’
‘Of course not. Anyway, you’re the one with the sure-fire gut instinct. You know I’ll go along with you whatever.’
‘And so you should.’ Marie gave him her best schoolmarm glare. ‘So, where are we now with Leah?’
‘I’ve had a quiet word with a friend in uniform. He’s got a couple of bodies keeping a general eye on her college. The university has been informed,’ he looked at his watch, ‘and right now she’s being bored to death in a two-hour tutorial. She has a special cell phone that is linked directly to Control and her auntie. Personally I don’t think we are going to get too much from what has already happened. The best we can do is to keep watching her, and hope he shows himself again.’
A young civilian stood by the desk, holding out a large printed black-and-white photograph.
‘Sarge? Orac sent this for you. She said it’s crap and don’t blame her for the state of our street cameras.’
Marie grinned. The head of IT was always acerbic.
Carter took the photo and stared at it. ‘Bloody hell! Is this the best you can do?’
The man looked downcast. ‘Sorry, but the film quality is rubbish. Orac reckons the cameras on that estate were last used to keep tabs on Jack the Ripper. They belong in a museum.’
Carter nodded. ‘Well, thank Orac for trying.’ He stared long and hard at the grainy, indistinct picture.
‘Hand it over,’ Marie demanded.
‘It’s seriously pants. Look.’
She took it and swore softly. ‘You’re right. I’m not even sure if it’s a male.’ It was the stalker, she was sure, but to get identification from it was impossible. It could have been any of a hundred local yobs.
‘Oh, I think it is,’ said Carter, ‘And I think it’s probably Leah’s admirer, but we’ll have to find a better shot. This is just about useless.’
Marie put down the picture. ‘Any joy from the street cameras around Superintendent Crooke’s house last night?
‘Nothing. It’s as if he dropped out of the sky directly into the super’s herbaceous border.’ Carter shrugged.
Marie pursed her lips. ‘Then it looks as if our surveillance boys aren’t going to faze him any. He’s really determined to get to Leah, isn’t he?’
‘Oh yeah, he’s persistent alright,’ said Carter.
‘So what now?’
‘I guess we wait to see what he does next.’ He smiled grimly. ‘Ten to one he won’t keep us waiting very long.’
‘You reckon?’
‘I reckon.’ Carter sank back into a chair and stared up at her. ‘I’m going back to the boat tonight. Want to come?’
‘Can’t this time. Sorry.’ Marie bit her lip, but remembered Laura’s words. She badly needed some downtime. ‘Gary’s cooking dinner tonight. It would have been his sister’s birthday today, and he said he wanted to do what he always did and cook something special.’
‘Ah, I see. That’s nice.’
‘So? What’s the plan then? Dismantle the Eva May, plank by plank?’
‘Dunno, but that doesn’t seem like a bad idea.’
‘Silas Breeze.’ Marie surprised herself. The thought had literally just come to her.
‘Silas? What about him?’
‘Go talk to him before you turn your precious Eva May into matchwood. You say he got on with Ray. Well, if you spend your time waiting for some elusive bird that’s only seen once every forty years, surely you chat to pass the time, don’t you?’
Elation and relief spread across Carter’s handsome face.
‘There are times when I could kiss you, Detective Sergeant Evans!’
‘Don’t even think about it!’ said Marie in mock horror. ‘I’ll accept the accolade graciously, but let’s skip the slushy bit, shall we?’
‘Silas! Of course! Why on earth didn’t I think of him?’
‘Because it’s too personal. Try looking at it like a case and do it with your copper’s hat on. It’s easier that way, I promise.’
‘You’re right, as always. I’ll go see Silas tonight, and now, back to work.’
Marie watched him stride away. This was more like the old Carter. When he had the bit between his teeth, there was no stopping him. If he could use that determination to pay back his friends, then maybe they could all find some peace.
Ten minutes later he re-emerged from his office. ‘Guess what? Matey-boy just couldn’t help himself. He’s had another stab at getting Leah’s attention. This time with luxury chocolates placed inside her car. Her locked car.’
‘Shit! How the hell did he do that? And right under our noses!’
‘Mmm. He’s either very lucky or very clever.’
As far as she knew, there was only one place in town where you could buy really posh chocolates. Surely they’d be able to ID the purchaser? Or did he send someone else? And how the hell did he manage to bypass the university security and get into a locked vehicle? Her mind swam with suppositions.
Carter perched on the edge of her desk. ‘I’ve decided he’s clever, not lucky. Uniform have paid a visit to the shop, and guess what? It was a cash sale, and they have no security cameras. Not considered necessary.’
‘What about the CCTV in the street?’
‘That end of Lytton Alley doesn’t have any.’ He twisted a pen around and around in his fingers. ‘Clever. Oh, and the car hadn’t been forced. He used a key. How do you suppose he got hold of that?’
‘Obviously from Leah, without her knowledge. A party maybe? Someone nicks her keyring and either gets a copy made or finds where she keeps the spare and “borrows” it.’
‘This makes him a contemporary of hers. Maybe even a college mate? Maybe I was right. It’s some infatuated prat who hasn’t got the balls to confess he has the hots for her.’
Marie spoke quietly. ‘Attraction. Obsession. Destruction.’
‘The three stages of stalking,’ added Carter. ‘I wonder if the super is thinking about that right now. If she is, she must be hurting.’
‘I’m sure she’s thinking about nothing else.’ Marie felt a chill creep through her. ‘She must be beside herself with worry.’
She hated stalkers. There was something unhinged about them, so out of control and unwholesome. She’d told Carter it had never happened to her, but it had. It left her looking over her shoulder for months. She knew just what Leah was going through. Right now, she would give a month’s wages to get her cuffs around the stalker’s dirty little wrists.
CHAPTER SIX
Somewhere
a skylark soared on the evening air. Carter heard its song across the marsh, all the way to Silas Breeze’s cottage. He often saw Silas at a distance, a dark silhouette against the twilight sky. Silas flitted about the marshes like a shadow, impossible to touch.
Like its owner, Silas’s ramshackle cottage was part of the landscape. It blended into the reeds and shrubby trees like a part of the earth. It had stood there for decades before Carter was born, even withstanding the great flood of 1953.
He called out. His voice echoed across the water and faded into silence. No answering bark from Silas’s dog. The cottage door was unlocked. Carter peered around it and smiled, transported back to his childhood and his father’s gamekeeper’s lodge. It was the smell, a potpourri of old leather, freshly cut kindling wood, bunches of herbs and stored root vegetables. Blood, too. That particular stink of a skinned rabbit or a recently hung pheasant. The good times. Times spent away from his father.
The old man’s belongings lay scattered across the old oak table. Carter made out the stained and yellowing covers of old books, an old cigar box full of handmade fishing flies, a half chewed marrow bone, three empty milk cartons and a set of scales with a pile of rusted weights.
Two overstuffed armchairs pressed close to the soot-stained fireplace. Beside one was a tiny circular wooden table holding a grubby whisky glass and a pair of binoculars. The other wore a check blanket covered in hairs. Carter pictured Silas and Klink the dog sitting opposite one another of an evening like an old couple.
Carter noticed the picture hanging above the cluttered table. It was slightly faded by the sunlight, and speckled with the bodies of tiny thunder flies. Carter remembered his younger self carefully removing it from a pile of other framed paintings in the attic of their house. It was an old watercolour, depicting a shabbily-dressed old man lifting a salmon from a river. At the man’s side was a reclining dog, some fishing tackle and a large bag. It was titled “The Poacher,” and the young Carter was certain it represented Silas. He had waited for his father to go off on one of his business trips, wrapped the picture in an old horse blanket and taken it to Silas’s place out on Carrion Fen. Silas had looked long and hard at it, and then nodded to Carter. It had stayed with him ever since.