‘Have I done something wrong?’ she asked Steph, who was looking through the blinds to the adjoining CID office.
‘Apart from being a shit magnet, no. I’ve been trying to ring you all morning. Don’t you answer your phone?’
Jennifer reddened. She had switched off her phone the previous night to stop the ever increasing silent calls. ‘Sorry, I forgot to turn it on, she said. ‘What’s wrong?’
I hear you were one of the last people to talk to Charlie Taylor in custody.’
Immediately Jennifer’s heart began to pound a little faster. Judging by the tone of Steph’s voice, either she was in trouble or Charlie was in danger. ‘Yes I was, why?’
Steph sighed. ‘I’m afraid he was found dead in the early hours of this morning.’
‘No. He can’t be ...’ Jennifer swallowed back the lump in her throat. It felt substantial, as if her anxiety had formed into a hard ball and wedged in her neck, ready to choke the life out of her.
‘Sorry Jennifer, I didn’t think you knew him that well.’
Charlie’s death was a shock – another broken link from the past. Jennifer reached for a tissue as her tears welled in her eyes. ‘He was my teacher in school. My parents used to invite him around for dinner parties. After my mum died, he stayed friends with my dad. Well, when I say friends, more like drinking buddies.’
‘God, I would have broken it to you gently if I’d known. You don’t make it easy for people to know you, Jennifer.’
The comment was harsh but accurate. Jennifer nodded, twisting her tissue.
‘Have the undertakers collected his body yet?’
Steph hovered uncomfortably. ‘It’s not straightforward. There was a fire. His death … it wasn’t natural causes.’
Charlie’s pleas for help replayed in Jennifer’s mind. I don’t want to die. Why hadn’t she listened, instead of walking away? The realisation was too much to bear. She needed to get outside, as the walls began to close in. Grasping the desk, she tried to stand, but the air left her lungs as she fell into depths of confusion. This isn’t real. None of this is real, she whispered, as blackness descended on her, weakening her legs and loosening her grip. Steph shouted for Will and he bundled through the door, dropping his belongings on the floor.
Steph ushered him in. ‘Help me get her onto the chair, I think she’s fainted.’
Jennifer blinked as she came to, seconds later. Will’s ashen face exhaled in relief and Steph put the phone back on the receiver.
‘Are you OK? We were just about to call a medic.’
Jennifer rubbed her face as she tried to conceal her embarrassment. ‘Sorry. Low blood sugars. I’m fine,’ she lied.
‘Will, can you stay for a few minutes? I have to go to briefing,’ Steph said.
‘Of course,’ Will said, dragging a spare chair to sit beside Jennifer, who was cradling her head in her hands.
Steph briefly returned to place a cup of hot sweet tea on the desk in front of her, and closed the office door as she left.
‘Do you know what’s happened to Charlie?’ Jennifer asked, taking slow, controlled breaths.
‘I do, but I’m not sure if telling you is a good idea,’ Will replied.
‘Just tell me. I’m going to find out anyway, it may as well be from you.’
Will handed Jennifer the cup of tea and she took a sip. Satisfied she had gathered her composure, he began to speak. ‘He shouted for a while after you left, then it all went quiet. CCTV showed him standing, staring at his cell wall. He refused a medic and his clock was running out, so they had to let him go.’
Officers were only allowed to keep prisoners for as long as necessary and twenty-four hours was the maximum amount, unless an extension was applied for, and only with very good reason.
‘About an hour after that, a call came in to say there had been a fire at his address. It was very strange. When the firefighters got there, the house was fine, but Charlie …’ Will frowned, unsure whether he should continue.
‘Tell me.’
‘It was as if he had been set alight, but nowhere else was affected, not even the chair he was sitting on. His legs … all that was left was his legs, from the knees downward. Everything else was just soot. It’s very grisly. The people that found him are going to be offered counselling.’
Jennifer looked up from her hands, a depth of emotion behind her eyes ‘Did he have any implements, anything that could have lit the fire?’
‘No, nothing, but they’re launching an investigation as it’s still counted as a death in custody because it was so soon after release. PSD may need to talk to you, as you spoke to him.’
Jennifer blotted her face with a tissue, her stomach churning at the thought of being interviewed by the Professional Standards Department. What on earth was she going to tell them? She looked at her watch. ‘Right, well, I’m off to briefing.’
‘You can’t be serious? You’ve just had a shock.’
‘I’m absolutely fine. Now if you’ll excuse me.’ Jennifer pushed back her chair, hoping the briefing would provide her with some answers.
Will grabbed her arm and firmly sat her back down. ‘Jennifer, wait.’
‘I’m OK, Will. We weren’t that close any more, in fact, I hadn’t seen him in years. It’s just the fire – it brought back memories.’ Jennifer twisted the tissue between her fingers.
‘I don’t understand.’ Will’s face creased in a frown.
‘When I was young we lived in a boathouse. It was a wooden cabin beside the river. One night it caught fire. Amy and I were upstairs asleep and dad was downstairs, drunk. We got out just in time.’ Jennifer looked down at her trembling hands.
Will gently placed his hands over hers. But some things could not be undone.
‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about the fire.’
‘It was my fault. I asked for it.’ Her words were cold and flat.
Will frowned and opened his mouth to respond, when Steph opened the door. ‘I’ve spoken to the DI, he said you’re to take the day off and come in tomorrow. He’ll brief you then.’
Jennifer opened her mouth to disagree, but Steph was having none of it. ‘You can’t go to briefing anyway, conflict of interest and all that. I got into hot water just for suggesting you should attend.’ She turned to Will.
‘You pair up with one of the guys on attachment. There’s lots of prisoners to be dealt with. C’mon Jennifer, I’ve work to sort out. You get off home.’
‘Are you OK to drive?’ Will said, his eyes cloaked in concern.
Steph’s shrill voice interrupted the scene, her patience having reached its limit. ‘Of course she’s OK, and you need to get cracking. You’ve got a three handed domestic to deal with.’
‘I’ll go to my sister’s, I’ll be fine,’ Jennifer said, ignoring Steph’s outburst.
Will rested a hand on her forearm. ‘Remember, if you need anything at all, just call me.’
Jennifer steered her car onto the gravel drive of St. Michael’s church on her way home. A visit to the graveyard was long overdue. The fragile sun reflected off the leaves dancing in the cold crisp breeze. She walked through the headstones, the damp grass leaving trails of dew on her boots. Her mother’s grave was shaded under an oak tree, which made a gentle rustling sound in the summer, but the bare frozen branches gave no such comfort today. Three pots of pansies quivered in the breeze, and a drawing of an angel held firm under a rock. She picked it up and brushed off the dirt. Joshua was such a sweetheart. It was a shame he had never got to know his grandmother.
Jennifer returned the picture to the grave, her brown eyes misting with unshed tears. She strained to remember the good times. They must have been happy once. Living in the boathouse, fishing and playing in the water. But each happy memory was tainted with a bitter taste; being pulled out of the river when her father was too drunk to watch her, putting Amy to bed because her mother was working another twelve-hour shift, then later, trying to bring up her sister at ten years of age because he
r father had fallen apart.
Footsteps broke the silence and Amy smiled as she pushed the pram towards her. ‘I didn’t expect to find you here.’
Jennifer brushed off her clothes as she stood up. ‘I’ve got the day off. Where’s Josh?’
‘Playgroup. He’s excited about starting school, so I send him a couple of afternoons a week to make friends.’
‘He’s a bright spark, that one. He won’t have any problem there.’ Jennifer peeped in at Lily, her tuft of red hair visible from beneath the soft pink blankets.
‘She’s so sweet. You look nice today, going somewhere?’
Amy looked every inch the content mum in her blue knee length dress, cream pumps and tan cardigan.
‘Thanks. I don’t always look like crap you know,’ Amy said, looking pleased with herself. ‘I’m meeting David after work then we’re going for a bite to eat after we collect Josh.’
‘That’s nice. So how’s the retail trade?’ Jennifer asked, grateful for her sister’s good mood.
Amy laughed. ‘Sis, you are no more interested in the inner workings of a supermarket than I am. Still, it pays the bills.’
Jennifer smiled. ‘You’ve got me there. I’m glad you and David are happy together. He’s good for you.’
‘He is.’ Amy said, her eyes wandering to the headstone. ‘You know, Mum would be happy to see us here together like this.’
Jennifer nodded. ‘I think she would.’
Amy pulled an empty carrier bag from under the pram and began to pick up bits of debris from the grass. ‘The kids come down here sometimes, you find all sorts of crap lying about.’ She pulled back a strand of loose hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
Jennifer turned to leave, not wanting to spoil the moment. It was only a matter of time before her sister brought up the past and she didn’t want to go there. Not today. ‘Well, I’d better go.’
‘Wait,’ Amy said, touching her sister’s arm. ‘Is there something wrong? You don’t seem yourself today.’
‘I received some bad news. Charlie Taylor was released from custody last night and died.’
Amy cocked her head to one side and frowned, trying to recall the name. ‘Taylor … that name rings a bell.’
‘He was our old teacher. You probably don’t remember him as well as I do, but he was a good man. Anyway, I’ll see you later yeah?’
‘OK Sis, take care.’
Jennifer walked down the path, thinking of Charlie. He was a good man and she owed him. More than her sister could ever imagine.
Darkening clouds threatened rain as she shoved her key in her front door. She paused, her senses picking up the feeling of someone staring at her. It crept like an itch between her shoulder blades. She peered across the parked cars and lace curtained houses across the road. Cursing her paranoia, she pushed opened the door and double bolted it from the inside.
She turned up the heat a notch and changed into a slate grey tracksuit and woollen socks. Grabbing a spoon from the drawer, she rested it on the worktop and reached into the fridge for a tub of ice cream. This was long overdue. Jennifer stared at the spotless granite counter space. The spoon was gone. She scratched her head, muttering to herself. ‘I’m sure I left that there.’
Jenny… a whisper blew in her ear. It was not the malevolent voice she had heard in the car, but a gentle call. Jennifer gasped as she spun around, half expecting to see someone standing behind her. She flinched as the chimes of the doorbell cut in, alerting her to a visitor. Cautiously she padded out to the hall to answer it. A dark shadow reflected through the stained glass.
She opened the door to DI Allison, his unshaven face appearing drawn and haggard. ‘Are you all right?’ he said, ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I … No, I’m fine, sorry, come in.’
‘I can’t stay long, I just wanted to let you know how it’s all going.’
‘Time for a coffee?’ she asked, hoping he could stay long enough for her to gather her nerve.
DI Allison stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand. ‘No thanks, but I’ll have a glass of water.’
He followed her into the kitchen as she took a glass from the cupboard. Frowning, she stared at the dessert spoon on the counter.
‘Something up?’
‘Oh, it’s just that … the spoon … it went missing and now it’s turned up again.’
‘Oh right,’ DI Allison said, before pulling back his sleeve to glance at his watch. ‘Anyway. I just wanted to let you know, this business with Charlie Taylor is going to hit the press. They’re coming out with all sorts of ridiculous theories. They’re even suggesting spontaneous combustion.’
Jennifer nodded in response as she poured filtered water into the glass, reminding herself to act normally. The last thing she needed was her DI putting her on restricted duties. ‘You look tired,’ she said, handing him the glass.
He popped open the top button of his shirt and loosened his crumpled tie. ‘I got called in at three this morning and I’ve not stopped all day.’
‘Are you any closer to finding out what happened?’
‘No. Your teacher friend blew very high in the intoximeter when he was arrested, but we don’t know how he ignited. Steph told me what happened in the office. I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be thinking about this.’
Healthy? What did he mean by that? Jennifer chose her words carefully as the lines between work and their friendship blurred. ‘If you’re worried about my mental wellbeing you don’t need to be. I’ve been given the all clear.’
‘Good, I’m glad to hear it. I’ll keep you updated about Charlie, but if the press call, refer them to the police media department.’ DI Allison drained his glass. ‘I’ve got to shoot off, but if you need anything, just give me a shout.’
‘Sure. Thanks for calling in.’
DI Allison’s visit unnerved her. It was as if he wanted her to believe she was sick. She returned to the counter and the spoon was gone. She pulled open the drawer to find it nestled with the others. ‘Maybe he is right,’ she mumbled, ‘maybe I am losing my marbles.’
Jennifer found therapy in cleaning, and was in the middle of hoovering the living room carpet when the evening news flashed up on her television. A young news reporter spoke of the suspicious death, which was being hotly discussed as ‘spontaneous combustion’. He was flanked by a man each side, which was the channel’s usual way of dealing with the case for and against whatever topic they were reporting.
Jennifer switched off the hoover and perched on the edge of her sofa as she took it in.
‘What is your take on this being a case of spontaneous combustion, Professor Morgan?’
The newsroom cameras panned to the right of the reporter to a disheveled expert they appeared to have found in a hurry. He patted his bristled hair. It had the same erratic form as his eyebrows, which were now knitted together in a frown.
‘Well, it would seem that a certain set of circumstances need to exist to make this condition occur, and there have been very few genuine cases. Up until now it has been almost impossible to measure correctly, so while it’s very sad for the family involved, the police are the best people equipped to deal with this forensically.’
Jennifer bristled to hear them talk of Charlie Taylor as a throwaway piece of news. All the same, she found herself straining to hear what the red-faced man to the left of the presenter had to say.
‘ex-Superintendent Jim Reynolds, what do you make of this?’
A film of sweat glistened over Mr Reynolds’ brow under the heat of the studio lights. His chin wobbled as he spoke, his shirt button stifling his thick neck. ‘It’s preposterous; there is no reliable evidence to back up the theory of spontaneous combustion. What we have here is an unfortunate death in police custody, cause unknown. I, for one, will be waiting for the coroner’s report before jumping to any wild conclusions, and it is wholly unlikely one of those conclusions will be spontaneous combustion.’
The professo
r leaned forward to argue. Jennifer turned off the television as images of Charlie’s face returned to mind. Turning the hoover back on, she attempted to lose herself in the numbness of everyday life. But she could not keep out the thoughts that demanded attention. Something had entered Charlie’s body before death, and she seemed powerless to stop the contact that was persistently invading her own mind. No matter how much she tried to deny it, she knew it was the truth. Whatever had entered Charlie was evil and had killed him. It was most likely the same thing that had killed Johnny Mallet.
Her gut twisted in fear as she raked the hoover over the spotless carpet. She could cope with voices, and vague shadows could be ignored, but this thing had taken form and she was too scared to contemplate it. She was living in two worlds, never fully accepted in either of them. But she couldn’t run away forever. They were calling, drawing her near. It was time to make contact. She owed it to Charlie.
13 Chapter Thirteen
Frank - 1980
Frank replayed the killing so many times in his head it became like a worn rug, loved but in need of replacing. As he left his teenage years behind, his hunger for experimentation grew keen. The hunt was almost as thrilling as the kill. He wasn’t one of those spree killers he read about in his magazines. He was happy to play the long game, even if it meant waiting years. That way he never got caught. Getting one over on the police made him feel invincible, and he was only doing their job for them, after all.
He was amused to discover he was not the only one lurking in the shadows. That evening, as he dragged his feet through the damp grass, the lone figure of a man swigging from a brown paper bag aroused his attention. The man wore a brown leather aviator hat, obscuring his face, and his bulbous nose was flanked by the furry ear flaps either side of his ruddy jowls. The trees bordering the playing fields provided ample cover and Frank followed the man’s gaze to the young boys playing football on the green. He had seen the old man before, leaning against the black spiked fence surrounding the local playground. The curious thing was that none of the children seemed to know who he was. Frank tilted his head and narrowed his eyes like a crow about to pick at a worm. This one was worthy of his attention. Pre-empting his next move, Frank cut through the fields and hid behind the black thorny undergrowth at the back of the boys’ changing rooms. His suspicions paid off. As the game ended, the lecherous old man ambled to the back of the small brick building and peered through the gap in the open frosted windows. Frank watched, disgusted, as the man’s breath quickened, hands fumbling for pleasure under his coat. Hatred rose within, tinged with satisfaction at his find. The man had sealed his own fate, and Frank was happy to take his time delivering it.
Don't Turn Around: A dark, thrilling, page-turner of a crime novel (Detective Jennifer Knight Crime Thriller Series Book 1) Page 9