by Lynda Stacey
He began hammering at the keyboard, writing full sentences and then deleting them again with the ferocity of a jackhammer. He slammed his fist down on the desk, making cold coffee jump out of a mug and splash over the sides. He then pulled a tissue from his drawer and began to dry up the mess.
He had to find a way to prove to Ella that not all reporters were bad. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together. He knew that Ella felt as though the system had failed her, felt as though her attacker had walked free, that justice hadn’t been done and, in her own words, she wouldn’t rest until she brought her attacker back to court and sent to prison for what he’d done.
Will opened his eyes and stared back at his screen. If only he could help her, if only he could find out what really happened that night. If only he could unravel the clues, find out who Rick Greaves really is. Surely if a man of his size and physique had attacked Ella, he would have easily killed her. So why hadn’t he? Why had he left her for dead? Why hadn’t he finished the job? Had he been disturbed? Had he had second thoughts? Had something happened to make him flee the scene? And why, after he must have known that Ella had seen it, why had he been so stupid to put the hoody in the gym’s dustbin? But then, on the other hand, what if the jury had been right? What if Rick was innocent? What if … A host of possibilities swirled before him.
Will was determined to find the truth. After all, it was his job to dig into things that didn’t appear right. It was his job to get to the bottom of things and, if he could, he’d make sure that Rick Greaves was brought to justice not only for Ella, but also for his two wives that had previously died in suspicious circumstances. Had their deaths been a horrid coincidence? Had Rick Greaves really been so unlucky that he should lose two wives so quickly after marriage, and both before they were thirty-five?
He knew he had to find a way to give Ella peace of mind. It was the only way she’d move forward with her life. And only when she began moving forward would she start trusting again. After doing the job for so many years, deep down she must realise that not all reporters were bad. She cared about everyone and everything and it must occur to her that others cared too.
A noise in the corridor startled him. He looked up, stood up from the desk and walked to the back door of the building, and opened it at speed.
‘Josh, what the hell are you doing here?’
Josh fell through the door, his trousers undone and hanging around his knees. Both he and Sarah landed heavily on the carpet, with Sarah still practically attached to his anatomy. At the sight of Will, Josh forcibly pushed Sarah away, fastened his trousers and looked around as though he hoped, for some bizarre reason, that Will hadn’t noticed what they’d been doing or that Sarah was now comically crawling on hands and knees towards the back door.
‘Boss, you gave me a fright. It’s after midnight.’ He looked at his watch as though confirming the time. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ It was more than obvious that both he and Sarah had drunk far too much since leaving the beach and they both began to giggle.
‘Sarah, it’s time to go home. Josh, phone a taxi and put her in it,’ Will growled. ‘Right now!’
Josh stopped laughing and nervously pushed his glasses up his nose, before staring at the floor. ‘But, Will, come on, don’t be so grumpy, we’re not hurting anyone … are we?’
‘NOW,’ Will shouted as he walked back into his office and slammed the door behind him. He didn’t have time to listen to Josh’s excuses, nor did he really want to hear them. He had too much to do, too much to think about. He sat down and once again began tapping at the keyboard. He searched his own newspaper archives for Rick Greaves, flicked through several pages of data and then clicked on the image icon that appeared at the top of the page. Numerous pictures popped up and he moved slowly through them, one by one.
Rick Greaves stared back from each of them. All had been used by his newspaper in the past, but most had been years before. Will scratched his head, wondering why there were so many. He seemed to be with many different women and Will recognised one or two of them from the courtroom. ‘Quite the lothario, aren’t we?’ Will whispered, and continued to flick forward until he came to the ones from the time Rick’s first wife had died, then the second. He quickly took note of the article numbers. Rick’s first wife, Julia Greaves, had died when she had fallen into a cesspit while out running. His second wife, Patsy Greaves, had been an estate agent and she’d fallen down the stairs while giving an evaluation on an empty property. Both were strange ways to die, but both could have been legitimate accidents.
Will listened for sounds of Josh, but heard nothing. He sighed and then flicked backwards until he came to one of Rick’s wedding photographs. For a few moments Will looked at the bride who was looking up at Rick with a look of pure love. But Rick’s face told a different story.
Why did he glare at the crowd? Who was he glaring at?
‘What are you still doing here?’ Will asked as Josh fell back through the door and into the office. He dropped haphazardly into the chair by Will’s desk and slouched into an almost laying down position.
‘I can explain, you know, about …’ Josh blushed and stared at the floor.
Will sighed. ‘Do you know what, Josh? Don’t … don’t explain, because I really don’t want to hear it. She’s in the force, for God’s sake. Can’t she get dismissed for that sort of thing?’ He waved an arm around in the air. ‘You know, in a public place?’ He tapped his pencil on the desk, wondered how he was supposed to deal with Josh, shook his head and tried to calm down. Josh was young, was ruled by his libido. In the short time that Will had known him, he’d quickly worked out that Josh’s sole purpose for living was to get to his next lay, preferably within a single day of the last.
‘It’s hardly a public place, is it?’ He looked around, over his shoulder and then back to where Will was sitting. ‘And she wouldn’t really get sacked, would she?’
Will looked up. ‘I have no idea, Josh. I think the cockle sheds might have been a bit public, don’t you? And if you hadn’t been too busy trying to get into her knickers, you might have thought about how many people were enjoying the view.’
‘Come on, boss. We didn’t do anything on the beach. We were trying to give you and Ella a bit of space. But me and Sarah, well, there was no trying about it, we really would have got laid if you hadn’t been here.’
‘Enough. I really don’t need to know. Is she safe? Did you put her in a taxi?’
‘Yes. She’s on her way home.’ He overemphasised the nod, wheeled the chair further away from the desk, crossed his legs and nervously began poking his ear with a finger.
‘Good. Now, for God’s sake, Josh, don’t do it again.’ Will stood up and walked round the desk to perch on its edge. ‘This is an office, it’s where we work, it’s not a goddamned knocking shop. Is that clear?’ Will sighed. ‘Besides, she has her own house. Why don’t you go there next time?’
Josh continued to stare at the floor. ‘Yes. Sorry. I guess we didn’t think of that …’ he said, with a glazed, drunken look.
‘Good, now I’m going to make you some strong coffee, help sober you up, and while I do so I want you to look at that photograph on my screen and tell me what you think.’ He moved away from his desk and walked towards the kitchen.
Josh looked up, sighed and then stood up to walk around the desk, where he stared at Will’s computer screen. ‘That’s that bloke’s wedding day, isn’t it?’ His finger touched the screen. ‘For a man who just got married, he doesn’t look very happy, does he?’ He picked up the cold coffee and took a sip. ‘Yuk, this coffee’s cold.’
‘Of course it’s cold. That’s mine from earlier,’ Will shouted from the kitchen. ‘Who is Greaves looking at in the photo?’
‘Isn’t that the guy that got done for fraud?’ He tapped at the screen. ‘We did a story on it. He used to be Rick’s business partner, but now he just works for him.’ Josh laughed and leaned closer to the screen, caught the stapler and sent
it flying off the desk, where it broke open, spilling staples all over the floor.
‘Shit, sorry.’
‘Ex-business partner, that’s interesting,’ Will’s voice shouted as he came through from the kitchen. ‘What’ve you just broken?’
Josh looked puzzled as he took the coffee from Will’s outstretched hand. ‘Err, just a stapler, I’ll clean it up. But can you rewind a bit? Why do you care about who Rick Greaves is looking at? I mean, fill me in, I’m totally lost.’
Will paused and wondered whether it was worth carrying on. Josh could barely focus, never mind make a sensible assumption. ‘Go home, Josh, we’ll do this tomorrow.’
‘No, not yet. I’m intrigued. I want to know what you’re thinking.’ Josh had now switched into work mode. He studied the picture.
‘Well, this photo is from our archives, not from the internet. Which means we used it in a story.’ Will wrote the reference number down. ‘Here, I want all the details about this story. I want the headline and the facts.’ Will’s finger tapped at the screen. ‘I want you to find out as much as you can about his former business partner. I’m sure it’s him that Rick is glaring at.’ Will paused and enlarged the picture. ‘And on Monday morning, go down to the register office. I’d like to get hold of a copy of the death certificates.’
‘Whose death certificates?’
‘I want to see the death certificates of both Patsy and Julia Greaves. I want the hospital report, the coroner’s report. I want everything. And, above all that, I want to know who the business partner is, what went wrong and what he’s got on Rick Greaves.’ He once again used a finger to stab at the screen. ‘I’ve got a feeling that something isn’t right and I think he’s at the centre of it.’ Will picked up his coffee. ‘We’re going to get to the bottom of this, Josh. Even if it kills me.’
Chapter Eleven
Ella couldn’t sleep. It was almost daybreak and she’d tossed and turned for hours. Her body ached, her mind spun and she’d sat up, pumped up the pillows and thrown herself back at the mattress so many times she’d lost count. She’d tried every technique she could think of, yet she was still wide awake and for the past two hours she’d literally counted the tiny red rose buds that were embroidered on her curtains.
Eventually she stopped counting and stopped trying to get back to sleep. She sighed, wriggled around and finally tossed the duvet to one side. After opening the curtains, she sat back down on the bottom of the bed and stared out of the window across to the farm and to where Bobby’s tractor stood by the side of his barn. The sun was just beginning to rise. Its amber glow looked all hazy, giving the fields a misty yet ambient look.
Her mind had been going over and over what had happened the night before, what had been said and how she’d felt. Her trip to the beach had been fun, but not what she’d been expecting. Sarah and Josh disappearing on her had set her on edge and, even though Will had been great company and Sarah had assured her that she was still watching, the whole evening had made her just a little bit anxious. She thought about how she’d have handled the situation three or four months before and came to the conclusion that she wouldn’t have coped at all, and with a nod of her head she decided that progress towards her recovery had definitely been made. She cast her mind to Will. He was so good looking. He appeared to be reliable and, deep down, she was sure that she trusted him. But despite all that, the drive home had given her palpitations. Her stomach had been turning, her heart had been pounding and she’d felt so nauseous that she began wishing she could get out and walk. She’d eventually resorted to opening the window a little to allow the wind to blow in her face, while all the time she’d gripped the door handle of the car as though her life had depended on it.
Walking down the stairs, Ella allowed her hand to press against the wall, knowing that Will’s staircase stood to the other side. His cottage was a mirror image of hers, identical in every way except for the conservatory she’d added the year before. She whispered a silent apology to him through the wall. He’d done nothing wrong, yet when they’d pulled up outside, she’d scarpered into her cottage like a frightened animal. And now she really thought about it, she’d been rude and hadn’t even thanked him for bringing her home.
Ella stepped into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. She felt the need to speak to Will. She wanted to sit with him, chat to him and share food with him. She laughed. ‘Why do I feel the need to share his food?’ She opened the fridge door, pulled out the milk and poured it into her coffee, before walking through to the conservatory where she stood for a moment with the door wide open.
She’d already watched the sunrise and now from where she stood at the back of the house, she saw the day was promising to be warm. She pulled her dressing gown tightly around her, picked up a magazine from the hallway table and headed for the garden bench with her coffee in hand, where she sat and stared at the garden.
It was just after seven o’clock in the morning when Will pulled the car up his drive. He slumped in his seat, too exhausted to move. He’d spent the whole night at the office. He was tired, couldn’t wait to climb into his own bed and felt relieved that it was Sunday. A day when he could curl up for hours, without any good reason to get up.
The time spent at the office had been useful. He’d been pleased with the information he’d dug up on Rick Greaves and more than that, he’d now worked out who Rick had been glaring at in the photograph, as well as all the relationships he’d had, hadn’t had and had almost had. He’d been quite a guy in his time and not always for the good. All of that knowledge was moving around his mind, like a production line where one piece of jigsaw after the other was zooming along and dropping heavily into place. He just wasn’t sure which piece of information fit where or whether there would be gaps in the jigsaw once he’d finished throwing it all together.
Will stretched in the car seat. Ella’s kitchen light was on and he stared at the amber glow, wondering if she’d left the light on for safety or whether, like him, she was either already up or hadn’t slept.
The thought that she might be so close made him smile. She could be standing in the kitchen right now, making coffee. He contemplated going around, knocking on the door, and checking that all was okay. Realistically he hoped that she might make him some tea and toast and that they’d get to sit together on the bench, chatting.
Climbing out of the car he crept over to the fence that separated his and Ella’s garden. He crouched down to peep through the same hole that he’d looked through just a few weeks before. But instead of spotting Ella through the kitchen window, he could clearly see her, fast asleep on the bench. She looked beautiful, peaceful with a magazine clutched in her hand and her dressing gown pulled tightly around her. Will noticed an abandoned coffee mug on the small wall, which meant that she’d probably been there for a while.
Once again, he found himself staring through a fence, feeling uneasy and wondering what he should do next. Should he shout, wake her or sneak away and allow her to sleep? Would she be embarrassed if she knew he’d been there? He stood up and stretched, deciding that it would be better if he never mentioned that he’d seen her.
He looked back at his own house, to where his own bed waited, to where he’d finally get some sleep and, after a few moments, he made the decision to leave Ella be.
Ella stirred. The sun had warmed her face and she moved her shoulders in an attempt to get cosy, but couldn’t. She was uncomfortable; confused she stretched out her leg in an awkward movement. A sudden crashing sound made her jolt and she opened her eyes to see the broken mug where it had fallen from the wall and landed with a bang on the patio. ‘What the …’ She suddenly remembered the night before. The memory came back to her, along with the long sleepless night she’d endured before she’d made her way out to the bench. She sat up, pulling the dressing gown around her body.
There was a noise. The gate flew open and she jumped up from her seat. ‘Hi, Miss Ella. How are you today?’
Ella froze on the s
pot.
‘Bobby, what the hell are you doing here?’ she asked as he trotted past her and into the garden.
Her breathing became erratic, her heart pounded and she began to inch her way towards the back door as she weighed up the situation. Bobby had made his way to the bottom of the garden with a huge smile on his face, while all the time pushing a lawn mower across the grass.
‘It’s Sunday, Miss Ella. So I thought I’d cut the grass for you.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t think God will miss me at church, not for one week.’ He suddenly stopped in his tracks, looked Ella up and down and then spun around to face the other way. ‘Oh … oh no. I’m so sorry. You’re not dressed.’ He shuffled on the spot and kept glancing over his shoulder. ‘I should go. I’m sorry.’
Ella had already reached the back door. Her whole body shook and she hesitated, took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice calm. ‘Bobby. Please. You really don’t have to cut the grass.’ She clung to the door handle and watched as Bobby stood with his back to her. His head suddenly dropped and he looked down at the path. ‘I mean,’ she continued, ‘I really appreciate that you did this for me, but I can do it myself now.’
‘But I like doing it for you, Miss Ella. You’re my friend and I like to look after my friends.’ The words were heartbreaking; he sounded so sad. But Ella couldn’t cope. The anxiety was too much and she really didn’t want anyone invading her personal space. Her eyes closed, but then flashed open again. ‘Bobby. You have to stop. We’re not friends. We barely know each other and as for cutting the lawn, I can bloody well do it myself,’ she shouted at him, then slammed the door, locked it and slid down to the floor behind it. Images of axe murderers crossed her mind and, in her panic, she quickly grabbed the phone and moved to the stairs, where she sat halfway up, shaking. Her whole body shook. She couldn’t breathe and her fingers stumbled over the numbers as she searched for Will’s number.