by Joy Ellis
Now there was little to do, and Carter was alone. But he needed to finish what they had all started.
He climbed up the ladder and saw Silas standing on the quay.
‘I’ve got some time to spare, young’un. Want a hand? I’m still good with a paintbrush.’
Silas had been working on boats all his life. Carter swelled with pride when he saw the admiration in the old man’s eyes. At first Silas had laughed at their efforts, but he kept an eye on their progress and offered some invaluable advice.
‘Come aboard, Si.’ He helped the old man climb aboard.
‘When’s the big day?’ Silas asked.
‘Next week. John Baxter from the Greenborough Marina is bringing down some lifting equipment and hoists on Tuesday.’
‘And then?’
Carter breathed in deeply. ‘And then, I take her out.’
‘Alone?’
Carter wasn’t sure how to answer that. He was rarely alone these days. Tom Holland seemed to dog his every footstep. ‘Not sure, Si. Maybe.’
Silas made no comment.
They spent the next couple of hours tidying up and putting small finishing touches to the paintwork. Carter heard Klink barking from the quay.
A Sportage was pulling in next to his Land Rover. He squinted into the sunlight. What on earth was Laura Archer doing here?
Klink eyed her suspiciously, but made no move.
‘Well, I should be getting along now.’ Silas wiped his hands on his trousers and stood up.
‘Thanks for your help, Si. I appreciate it.’
‘I’m always here if you need me.’ He looked intently at Carter. ‘Always.’
Carter touched his shoulder and nodded.
Klink and his master disappeared from sight.
Carter waved across to Laura. ‘Come up and take a look!’
Laura climbed the ladder into the boat and ran a hand over the smooth paintwork. ‘I thought she was going to be a wreck, but she’s beautiful!’
‘She was a wreck when we started.’
‘What an achievement!’
‘It’s just a shame the lads can’t see her.’
Laura nodded.
Carter suddenly frowned. ‘There’s nothing wrong, is there? Only you’ve never been here before.’
‘I had an hour spare, and I thought it was time I checked out what you’ve been up to for so long.’ She looked at the planed and polished wood and gleaming brass fittings. ‘I didn’t expect anything like this.’
‘We did have help, but basically the Eva May was ours. Blood, sweat and tears.’
‘I think you should contact some marine heritage group. This should be seen, and maybe even used by people who love our island history. I bet she has one hell of a story to tell.’
‘She does. Tom did some research on her life. She was involved in lots of heroic rescues, and many of her crew drowned at one time or another. You wouldn’t believe the kind of seas this little vessel braved in order to rescue others.’
‘I would. I used to live in Northumberland, close to a lifeboat station. I used to pray whenever I saw it go out.’ She looked at him. ‘Why not use it? Maybe for river trips or seal watching, or something like that. It could be a memorial to your friends. What better way to pay tribute to all their hard work?’
He tried to look as if he were considering her suggestion, but he had something else entirely in mind for the Eva May. ‘Want a beer? We have a small fridge on board. All mod cons, you know.’
‘No thanks. I’ve not had lunch yet, and some enthusiastic copper might stop me on the way home.’
Carter pulled a face. ‘I used to think like that too.’ He sat down and patted the seat facing him. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘At the moment I am involved in a case where a young woman is being followed by an amorous admirer. I honestly believe that she is in no real danger, but nevertheless we need to sort it out — especially as it’s the super’s niece.’
Laura listened in silence.
‘The thing is, the others are working the Suzanne Holland disappearance. They are getting nowhere fast, although if anyone can help them, it’s me. But they refuse to let me work with them.’ He leaned towards her. ‘I need to get on that case, Laura.’
‘Need is a very strong word, Carter. Why do you need to be on the case?’
‘For Tom.’ Carter tapped his fingers rapidly on the side of the boat. ‘They have all gone but him. Matt, Ray and Jack, all gone.’
Laura didn’t ask him to explain. After a while, she said, ‘You’ve done something for each of them, and you believe you’ve allowed them to rest. Is that it?’
Carter nodded. ‘Except for Tom, and . . .’ He wanted to cry. He swallowed. ‘The thing is, I know what he wants me to do, and he’ll keep haunting me until I do it.’
‘What does he want?’
‘He hasn’t said it in so many words, but he keeps whispering “Suzanne,” over and over. He wants me to find out what happened to her, I know he does, but I’m not on the case! How can I help him if I’m shut out of the investigation?’
‘Have you spoken to DI Jackman?’
‘And tell him what? That my dead friend won’t get off my back until I’ve tracked down his wife’s abductor, or maybe murderer? How would that sound?’
Laura spoke calmly. ‘Perhaps you could just offer to assist, since you knew Tom Holland so well?’
‘I’ve done that. They don’t say it, but they want me well away from the case. Even Marie was as wary as hell when I broached the subject.’
‘They are trying to protect you, Carter. They don’t want you being overwhelmed with memories from the past. Jackman will want to ease you back into the job, not chuck you straight in at the deep end.’
Carter shook his head. He still felt like crying. ‘I know, but you have no idea how horrible it is, not being able to help.’
Laura smiled gently. ‘You do know that your “seeing” Tom is part of what we call survivor guilt? It’s a common reaction, Carter. When others have tragically died and you have survived, it has a massive impact on you. Many people in similar circumstances try to keep the memory of the deceased alive.’ She leaned a little closer to him. ‘Actually you have devised a brilliant way to move forward, and you did it without anyone’s advice. Lots of therapists recommend finding a way to memorialise the deceased. The way you’ve done it is by helping their loved ones, and that is wonderful. It’s a very positive action, Carter.’
Carter rubbed his eyes. ‘Maybe. But why does he seem so real? And why do I always smell burning?’
‘It’s all part of the terrible thing you witnessed. As I recall, Tom was the last face you saw before you lost consciousness?’
Carter’s expression hardened. ‘I don’t want to go there.’
‘And I don’t want to take you back, but you asked for a reason, and that is the answer. Carter, you’re making incredible headway considering what happened, you are getting there. You are functioning well at work and generally holding things together. Please, please, do not be so hard on yourself. The past is immutable, but you can learn to find a new future.’
‘That won’t happen if I can’t give Tom what he needs in order to rest. We have to find Suzanne. I can’t handle this much longer. I need to fulfil the last challenge, Laura, I really do.’
Laura sat back. ‘Then we’ll have to see if we can get you involved in the investigation.’
‘Will you talk to Jackman?’ Carter asked urgently.
‘I’ll need to think about it. Leave it with me, and I’ll do what I can.’
Carter drew in a shaky breath. ‘Thank you! Thank you.’
Laura left. He had seen her expression. He had put her in a very difficult position, but what choice did he have?
There was no way Laura could actually interfere with police procedure. It was not her responsibility or her business. But Carter knew that for his sake, she would talk to Jackman. He just prayed tha
t she could convince him.
Carter leaned back against the side of his beloved Eva May and heard it again, whispered above the lapping of the water. ‘Suzanne . . . Suzanne . . .’
He choked back a sob. ‘Leave me alone! I’m doing my best! What more can I do?’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Robbie touched down at Heathrow in a daze. Had his trip been a waste of money? Maybe not. At least he’d found somewhere new and beautiful to go hiking. Robbie didn’t travel abroad much. In his childhood he had been dragged from one resort to the next by his gold-digging, social climbing parents, and had vowed never to get on a plane again. But he had fallen in love with the coast of Galicia.
He thought about his new drinking partner, Harvey Cash. After three hours drinking together, Robbie had begun to like this bitter, disillusioned man. By the time he left the apartment, he felt truly sad that he could do nothing to help him.
The beautiful young Suzanne had been the end of the road for Harvey. She’d tricked him into marriage, bled him dry and tortured him with stories of her unfaithfulness. When she divorced him, he thought it was finally all over. But then she took him to court, accusing him of stealing thousands of pounds from her savings. ‘Should have known, should have realised.’ Harvey had paid a high price for simply loving her.
Harvey hadn’t provided much real evidence, but at least Robbie knew more about Suzanne Holland’s character. It wasn’t pleasant. He walked out to the car park wondering about her marriage to Tom Holland. It didn’t fit with what Harvey had told him. He wondered if Harvey had been honest with him, but he had seemed genuine enough. Robbie desperately wanted to talk to Carter McLean. The two had been best mates, and Robbie was sure Tom would have confided in him. Maybe that final argument had been more than a simple tiff. Perhaps Tom and Suzanne were not as blissfully happy as they’d seemed to have been.
Robbie recalled what Harvey had said, shortly before he put his head back and began to snore. ‘She hurts the ones she claims to love. And I mean hurts, Robbie-boy. Hurts.’
Robbie wasn’t quite sure what he meant. An old song had briefly flitted across his mind, You always hurt the one you love . . . But Harvey seemed to mean more than this. He had kept repeating the word “hurts.” By then it was too late to ask. Harvey Cash was out cold.
Robbie was convinced that Suzanne’s past had caught up with her.
He drove away from the airport, full of a fresh enthusiasm for the case. He had copies of all the original investigation reports on his desk at work, and suddenly he felt the need to read them again, especially the ones about Tom and Suzanne’s marriage. He glanced at his watch. Just after ten. By the time he got back it would be around midnight. Yeah! He’d call in and frighten whoever was on CID night cover, and spend a quiet hour reading up on Saltern’s own Black Widow.
He entered the CID room to the sound of gentle snoring coming from behind a desk.
Charlie Button was fast asleep. For a moment he was tempted to drop a filing tray onto the desk, or yell “fire!” in Charlie’s ear. Robbie smiled and went across to his own desk. The kid had been working long hours. Let him grab a bit of shuteye while he could.
Robbie sifted through the papers, took out those that referred to her marriage and settled down to read.
It took around thirty minutes to get the picture, and it did not coincide with Harvey’s story in any way. There had indeed been that acrimonious divorce from Harvey, followed by a string of casual affairs. But from the moment she met Tom, Suzanne seemed to have become a model wife. Until the week before Tom’s death, they seemed to be the perfect couple. Apart from the time Tom spent working on the old lifeboat, they spent every other moment together. So what had happened to shatter love’s young dream?
Robbie turned pages and checked statements but found nothing. Then he remembered that Ray had been about to get married. They had died on their way to his stag do. Robbie logged into his computer and accessed a site that gave a report of the aftermath of the light aircraft crash. It listed the mourners at the remembrance service.
Joanne Simms, Ray’s heartbroken fiancée. He nodded to himself and scrolled through again, watching for the name Joanne.
And there it was.
‘Can you tell us the reason why Tom Holland was staying over at Ray Barratt’s flat?’
‘He and his wife had had a bit of a falling out, that’s all.’
‘Do you know what about?’
‘A something and a nothing was all Ray told me. He was sure it would all blow over quickly, but then . . .’
Then they all died, thought Robbie.
‘How long did he stay?’
‘Four or five nights, yes, five I think, and then it was the stag . . .’
In the quiet of the big room, Robbie almost heard the girl sobbing through Charlie’s soft snores.
A something and a nothing. It clearly wasn’t serious as far as Joanne was concerned. But maybe Tom thought it was. Or Suzanne. Maybe he hadn’t walked out. Maybe she had thrown him out.
Robbie yawned. If he couldn’t ask Carter, Joanne seemed the best place to begin. He scribbled her name on a memo and left it on his desk.
He closed the door quietly behind him. Charlie Button slept on.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Jackman was pacing the office. ‘No news about our witness?’
‘Not yet.’ Marie looked at her watch. ‘The duty sergeant said he would notify us as soon as he arrives. Maybe the traffic’s bad.’
Jackman didn’t answer. He had spent half the night worrying about Alan Pitt. He wished now that he had disregarded the man’s wishes and just gone to the hospital. This Pitt was the only person who might have seen something that could move the case forward, and now he was thirty minutes late.
Marie nibbled on her lower lip. ‘There’s a lot of reasons why he could be held up, sir. He didn’t even give us an exact time, so let’s not give up hope. He’ll be here.’
Jackman knew Marie, and he knew she was trying to buoy him up, while feeling just as concerned as he was. ‘We should have got to him yesterday, the minute he rang.’
‘We should have, but we didn’t. Spilt milk and all that.’ She heaved a sigh. ‘Want a coffee?’
‘Another coffee?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s something to do.’
Then the phone rang. They looked at each other. ‘Jackman.’
‘Your man is here. I’ve put him in Interview Room 2, okay?’
‘Thank you, Sergeant. We’ll be down immediately.’
‘Saved from the coffee!’ Marie smiled.
Jackman nodded. ‘I really thought . . .’
‘Me too, if you must know.’
‘I did. Right, let’s go. We have a possible witness.’
* * *
As soon as Marie saw Alan Pitt, she knew Jackman had been right. He had been undergoing chemotherapy.
Pitt wore a woolly beanie hat with the Lincoln Imps logo embroidered across the front. He was painfully thin under his several layers of clothing. His face was sallow and his cheekbones protruded. She was very pleased that they had not bothered him yesterday.
Jackman introduced them, and she offered Pitt a cup of tea or coffee.
‘Just water, please. The drugs make anything else taste really odd.’
‘It’s very good of you to come in, sir. We’d have been happy to visit you at home.’
The man looked around the cold, grey room and grinned. ‘Funnily enough, this makes a refreshing change from looking at those sterile hospital walls. I’ve never been in a police station before. It’s quite exciting.’
Marie wished she could feel the same about the place.
Jackman switched on the tape machine, raced through the introductions and explained that it was just an informal interview. Afterwards, Mr Pitt would be asked to sign a statement affirming that what he had said was correct to the best of his knowledge.
‘You believe that you saw two males on the evening of Tuesday, February 9, in the
vicinity of the missing woman’s home, is that correct?’
Pitt nodded. ‘Oh, I need to speak, don’t I? I did. Yes.’
‘Can you tell us why you were on the towpath at that time of night? And what time you were there.’
‘Ten fifteen. I know because I usually walk my dog then. We go out at ten o’clock, walk along the towpath for a quarter of an hour, then walk home.’ He sipped his water. ‘I was just about to turn around when I heard voices, and I saw these two men on the lane leading to the Holland Cottage garden. They were just off the main path, by the gateway that leads across the fields to Mallard Lodge.’
‘Did you speak to them?’
‘I was going to, but they seemed to be talking in a rather heated manner, so I left them to it. I don’t think they even knew I was there.’
‘And you never saw them again?’
He shook his head. ‘I went straight home and no one passed me.’
‘Now we come to the million dollar question, Mr Pitt. Could you describe them for us?’
‘Oh yes. Well, as I said, one of them.’
Marie wasn’t holding her breath. She’d heard that so many times before.
‘It was a clear night, and almost a full moon. He was tall, around six foot I think, good physique. By that I mean he looked a pretty powerful guy.’
‘Hair colour?’ asked Marie.
‘Moonlight distorts colour, doesn’t it? But he had pale hair. I think it was blond, but it could have been silver grey.’
‘Style? Long, short, straight, curly?’
‘Ah, that one’s easy. He had a long ponytail, you know? Like some of the foreign footballers have? That’s why I remember him so well. My cousin Henry went through a period of wearing his hair long and tied back like that. This man looked just like Henry, and he wore similar glasses too.’
Jackman let out a whistle. ‘That’s a couple of very specific points of identification. Can you recall what he was wearing?’
‘Dark clothing, but I couldn’t say what.’
‘And the other man?’
Pitt shook his head. ‘He stayed very much in the shadows. He was tall too, but I never actually saw his face.’ He drank some more water and gave a rasping cough.