by Adam Croft
‘Dan? Is everything okay?’
I just look at her, unable to say anything. I can see that she’s spotted something in my eyes as they well up, the tears clouding my vision as I blink furiously to hold them back. I manage it.
‘Fine,’ I say.
‘Are you sure? Where are you going with all your stuff?’
‘I have to go,’ I say. ‘I need to check out.’
‘You’re not due to check out until tomorrow,’ she says, almost as if I’ve somehow got the days muddled up – silly me – but with more than a hint of concern in her voice, too. ‘You don’t look well, Dan.’
‘No, I feel ill,’ I say, hoping this somehow explains everything. ‘Sorry, I have to go.’
I pick up my bag and head for the exit, my hand fumbling in my pocket for my car key as I walk quickly in the direction of where I parked. My head’s pounding and I can’t even remember what my car looks like. Did I even drive here?
Before I can answer any of those questions, there’s a hand on my shoulder. Jessica.
‘Dan, what’s wrong? What’s happened?’ she says, a real look of concern in her eyes now.
‘I’m sorry,’ I reply. It’s all I can think to say. I kiss her on the forehead.
I press the unlock button on my car’s key fob and walk over to where I heard the bleep and saw the lights flashing. Jessica’s still trying to talk to me as I open the boot and throw my bag in, closing it before I walk round and climb into the driver’s seat. Before I get there, Jessica’s opened the passenger door and got in.
‘What are you doing?’ I say.
‘I don’t know, but I’m not letting you go like this. Something’s not right, Dan. Tell me. I’m not taking no for an answer.’
I sit in silence, staring through the windscreen for what seems like an age. Suddenly, it feels like I’ve got all the time in the world to work out my reply, almost as if the solitude of the car has provided some sort of barrier. I know I need to tell her. She’ll find out in a few hours anyway, but she should at least know that I’m innocent. The police won’t believe a word she says, but I hope that at least she will know. Someone needs to know.
‘My wife. Lisa. She’s here.’ All that time sat silently and that’s the best I can come up with.
‘Here?’ she replies. ‘Where?’
‘In my bathroom.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘She’s lying in my bathtub. Dead.’
Jessica just sits looking at me. I’m still looking straight ahead, but I can feel her eyes burning into the side of my face.
‘Dan, what happened?’ she whispers.
‘I don’t know. I came back up to my room after dinner and she was lying there. I swear.’
‘But how? How did she get in there? How did she die?’
‘It looks like she was strangled.’
Jessica takes her eyes off me for the first time. ‘Jesus, Dan. We need to call the police.’
I sigh. ‘We can’t. They’ll think it was me.’
‘Why would they?’ she says. ‘You were down in the restaurant. If it wasn’t you, you can prove it. They have forensics and stuff. If you didn’t do it, what’s the matter?’
‘I can’t explain,’ I repeat.
‘I really can’t get my head round this,’ she says. ‘This is crazy.’
‘Tell me about it.’
She puts her hand on my upper leg. ‘Dan. Look at me. Look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t kill Lisa.’
‘I told you, I didn’t. I just came back up to my room and—’
‘I need you to look me in the eye and tell me, Dan. It’s important.’
I do as she says. Her eyes look lost, hopeful and desperate.
‘I didn’t do it.’
She closes her eyes and nods, then puts on her seatbelt. ‘Start the car.’
7
Before I even know where I’m going, I’ve put the car in gear and I’m driving out of the car park, my tunnel vision focused dead straight ahead of me.
‘Head for town,’ Jessica says, pointing out over my front-right headlight.
‘Why? Where are we going?’
‘As far away as possible,’ she says, ‘but we’ll need money. The banks will still be open if we’re quick.’
‘What about an ATM?’ I ask, my head filling with a mixture of a fog of confusion and the screaming of a thousand violins.
She just looks at me. ‘How far’s three hundred quid going to get us? We need to be able to go into the branch and withdraw as much as we can. What’s your bank’s limit?’
Right now I don’t even know my name. ‘I dunno. I’ve never asked.’
‘Which bank are you with?’
‘Lloyds.’
‘There’s one on the High Street,’ she says. ‘Keep going and I’ll show you.’
I try to start to make sense of my thoughts. ‘Should we not be getting as far away as possible? I don’t feel comfortable staying around here.’
Jessica smiles and chuckles slightly. ‘You need to try to keep a level head. No-one’s going to know about Lisa until tomorrow mid-morning at the earliest. That’s when the maid service will be up to clean the room. We’ve got, what, eighteen hours? We can be on the other side of the world by then. Let’s take our time, think this through and stay calm.’
Now it’s my turn to laugh. I can’t help myself.
‘What? What are you laughing at?’ she says.
‘You. How can you stay so calm? The wife of a bloke you’ve known a couple of days is lying murdered in a hotel room and you decide to jump in the car with him and escape to God knows where.’
She’s silent for a couple of moments before she speaks, whispering, ‘I trust you.’
‘I wouldn’t trust me.’
‘Why not?’
I shake my head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
We drive in silence for the next minute or so, weaving slowly through the traffic, towards the High Street, before Jessica speaks again.
‘I haven’t always worked on a hotel reception. I’ve known some bad people. I know when I’m looking into the eyes of a killer. If you’d ever looked into the eyes of a killer, you’d know, too.’
I consider this for a moment. This young slip of a girl, barely – actually, I realise I don’t even know how old she is, but she can’t be any older than twenty-three – how can she have looked into the eyes of a killer? I know from work I’ve done in the past on documentaries that everyone has a story. There are children who’ve suffered the most horrendous physical and sexual abuse before they’ve even reached their second birthday. I’ve been there and seen it myself. So why not a young adult who’s seen murder?
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I ask.
‘No. I don’t,’ she replies, firmly enough to let me know that this subject is off limits – but only for now.
When we get to the High Street, Jessica points out the branch of Lloyds and I swing into William Street, parking up on the double yellow lines. An elderly couple sitting on a bench give me a look of reproach, but I don’t care. There are at least two other cars doing exactly the same further down the street. I get out and jog across the road and into the bank.
I already know what I’m going to do: I’m going to draw out as much as I possibly can. Yeah, it’ll arouse suspicion, but so what? In a few hours’ time I’m going to be suspected of murder, so what the hell do a few raised eyebrows in a bank matter?
There’s a queue, as there always is in any bank. I guess this is a busy time for them – lots of people have already finished work or are trying to get something done before the bank shuts for the day. I’m torn between panicking over the fact that more people here means more people might see me and the sheer desperation to get as far away from this place as possible.
Slowly, the queue moves forward. The only person left in front of me is a young mother with a screaming baby. That might not be so bad under any other circumstances, but right now my head is pounding
and I just don’t need the added aggravation. I can see we’re going to be here a little while longer, though: the two clerks are each occupied serving their own pensioner, neither of which looks like they’re going to be done any time soon.
‘Sorry about the noise,’ the young mum says. ‘She’s had a right day of it.’
‘Her and me both,’ I say, trying to sound as polite as possible.
‘Can’t tell them to shut up at that age, neither. They don’t listen.’
I smile and nod. ‘How old is she?’
‘Four months.’
The first thing that pops into my head is how mothers always refer to their children’s ages in terms of months. He’s eighteen months. No, he’s a year and a half. This is my son Malcolm. He works as an insurance broker. He’s four hundred and twelve months.
‘She’s probably teething,’ I reply.
‘I bloody hope not. Don’t much fancy having to deal with that.’
Before I have to fight too hard to bite my tongue, one of the pensioners has cashed in his five hundred pounds in ten-pence pieces and is shuffling towards the door, leaving the single mother clear to land. Not long after, the other pensioner has finished, too, and I approach the clerk, trying to look as normal and comfortable as possible.
‘I’d like to withdraw some money, please,’ I say, placing my debit card into the privacy tray.
‘You’ll need to pop your card in the machine, love,’ she says, pointing at the chip-and-pin machine next to the bulletproof glass. ‘How much would you like?’
‘What’s the limit?’ I say, sliding my card into the slot at the bottom of the machine. ‘I’m buying a car and the guy wants a deposit to secure it.’ I’m impressed by my own quick thinking.
She looks at me for a moment. ‘There’s not a limit as such, but it depends on what cash we have in the branch. It’s getting towards the end of the day.’
‘Right, I see. How much do I have in my account?’ I say.
‘One moment,’ she replies, tapping a few keys on her computer keyboard before getting up and walking off behind the partition wall that presumably separates the cash desks from the offices behind. A minute or so later, she’s back, accompanied by a man in an immaculate suit who looks no older than thirty, but whose well-styled hair is already greying at the temples. I assume he’s the manager.
‘Can I help, sir?’ he says, as if he hasn’t already been briefed by the cashier.
‘Yeah, I’m looking to take some money out. I’m buying a car,’ I say, trying to make it sound like the most normal thing in the world.
‘And how much are you looking to take out exactly?’
I swallow, trying to hold back the panic that’s surging inside me. ‘Well, it depends what I’m allowed to take out.’
‘How much is the car?’ he asks, throwing me off balance.
‘Does it matter?’ My voice wobbles slightly.
‘Presumably, yes, if you’re looking to buy it,’ he replies.
‘Well, obviously I need to know how much I’ve got in my account,’ I reply.
The manager pauses for a moment. ‘This isn’t your usual branch, is it?’ he says, knowing damn well it isn’t.
‘No. I use the East Grinstead branch. I’m in Herne Bay because that’s where the car is. I came to view it.’ My voice is more confident now. This seems to placate him.
‘Do you have any ID?’
‘Of course,’ I reply, fishing into my inside jacket pocket and pulling out my wallet. I extract my driving licence and put it into the privacy tray. The manager slides the guard across, picks up the licence and looks at it, comparing me against the picture. Fortunately for me, the licence is only a few months old so I still look like the picture.
‘Did the seller not tell you how much he wanted for a deposit, then?’
‘No, I forgot to ask,’ I say, immediately regretting doing so. ‘Stupid, I know. I need to get it insured and taxed and everything, so I can’t drive it away until tomorrow. I’m staying overnight, but I just wanted to secure the car.’
‘I see. We can authorise a withdrawal of one thousand pounds this afternoon. If you have some sort of documentation or sale agreement for the car, we could look at authorising more.’
I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing. There’s at least ten grand in that account. The red mist descends and I can’t help challenging this.
‘Wait a second. This is my money we’re talking about, right?’
‘Yes, sir, but we have to abide by very strict rules to protect ourselves from money-laundering regulations.’
‘Money laundering?’ I say. ‘Are you serious? I’ve been paying my money into my account for years, and now you’re telling me I can’t take it out?’
‘We have to abide by the guidance of the Financial Conduct Authority,’ the manager says. ‘If you can—’
‘It isn’t your money,’ I say, more forcefully this time.
‘I appreciate that, sir, but I’m afraid I can’t do anything more at the moment. Would you like to withdraw the one thousand pounds?’
I look at him for a moment, and then at the female clerk. I don’t want to be drawing too much attention to myself.
‘Yes, please.’
Crestfallen, I head back outside with the one thousand pounds in my pocket and climb back into the driver’s seat of my car.
‘How much did you get?’ Jessica asks.
‘They’d only give me a grand. Some shit about money-laundering regulations.’
‘Fuck. I thought they might try pulling that one. We can’t do anything with a grand,’ she says.
‘Well, there’s not much else I can do, is there? This is stupid. We should just go to the police, tell them what happened.’
‘Are you mad? Tell them what? “Hello, officer. My wife, who’s meant to be seventy miles away, is lying dead in my hotel room. Yeah, I know it looks like I killed her, and I know I did a runner and tried to clear my bank account straight after, but it wasn’t me, honest.” That’ll work a treat, that.’
‘Do you have any better ideas?’ I say, trying to keep my cool.
‘Yeah, I do. Do you use PayPal?’
‘For eBay and stuff, yeah,’ I reply.
‘Right. Is it linked to your Lloyds account?’
‘Yeah, I’ve only got one bank account. Why?’
‘Go to the PayPal site on my phone,’ she says, handing it to me. ‘Then send a PayPal payment to my account and make sure it takes the money from your Lloyds account. Then I can transfer the money to my HSBC account and withdraw it myself. If you do it quickly enough, we can get it out before the banks shut for the day.’
My head’s spinning, but I do as she says. ‘Won’t this implicate you, though?’ I say, watching the progress bar fill as the browser loads the website. ‘If my money is transferred to you, they’ll be looking for you, too. How are you going to explain that one?’
‘I don’t need to explain anything to anyone,’ she says. ‘I’m already implicated, aren’t I? Besides which, I’ve got plenty to be getting away from myself. I’m not exactly panicking at the idea of leaving the country.’
It makes me feel slightly sad that a woman of her age feels the need to get away from things. She should be having the time of her life. But then I don’t know what her life up until now has been like.
‘Will you tell me about it? One day, I mean.’
‘One day,’ she says. ‘One day.’
8
When he’s outside, Daniel feels like a free spirit. Most young boys do, the wind in their hair, their imaginations running wild. One minute they’re a pirate, then a footballer, then they’re a soldier. Right now, the game is much simpler. Daniel doesn’t know where the frisbee came from. All he knows is that there’s no way the Mother Superior would allow them to play with it. If she knew. It would be ungodly, he’s sure of that. Most things are.
He thinks it probably came over the wall from outside. Lots of things come in that way. Usually toys – f
ootballs, bags of marbles, now a frisbee. He’s never seen any of it come over, but he knows it happens. The other boys tell him. Besides which, there’s no other way it could get in here. There are never any visitors, apart from Mr Duggan. Laurence Nelson reckons the toys come over the wall from people who used to live here. People who know what it’s like. Teddy Tomlin calls Laurence Nelson a shit-stirrer.
Around this side of the building, they can play without getting told off. There aren’t enough nuns to keep an eye on every boy in every part of the grounds. If they’re found – when they’re found – they’ll be marched back inside and given a dressing-down, but it’ll be worth the half an hour of fun and forgetting about everything else. It’s a regular routine, and it’s one they actually quite enjoy.
One of the boys throws the frisbee too far, and it clatters against a tree before falling to the ground. Daniel chases after it, laughing and grinning as he runs, the oxygen burning his lungs in the happiest way imaginable. When he finally reaches the tree, he bends down and picks up the frisbee, the plastic warming in the late-morning sun. He knows he’ll not be able to throw it as far as the others from here, so he closes the distance with a run-up before releasing the frisbee at a perfect angle, the disc continuing to rise upwards on its cushion of air.
He realises it’s going to overshoot the rest of the boys at about the same time as he sees it’s heading towards the window of the morning prayer room. The first thing that goes through his mind is how stupid a place that is to put a window – not only eight feet up in the air so no-one can actually see out of it but also right in the path of a flying frisbee.
His thoughts are punctuated by the shattering of the glass pane and the deathly silence that follows it. None of the boys say a word, but they all look at each other and then at Daniel. He knows he’ll be in trouble, but he doesn’t know how much. This is unprecedented.
The silence is broken by the all-too-familiar call of the Mother Superior. It helps that the boys are all stood stock-still, looking guilty as sin, but Daniel will bet she already knew who it was before she even left the building. She seems to have eyes and ears in all places.