Thicker Than Water

by Anthea Fraser

  The sound of an approaching car pierced his musings, and he turned as Bob’s Porsche skidded to a halt beside them, and Bob threw himself out of it and hurried over to them. Automatically, Callum introduced him to the constable.

  Bob said briefly, ‘I’m grateful for your help,’ then, turning to Callum, ‘How in God’s name did this happen?’

  Wearily, Callum went through the episode again – the episode that at the time had seemed so trivial, a minor delay in their return home, but which turned out to have had such unlooked-for consequences.

  ‘He wouldn’t have gone off anywhere without telling you,’ Bob insisted. ‘He’s a reliable kid.’ Then, with a sharp look, ‘You hadn’t had an argument, had you? Something that might have upset him?’

  ‘No, of course not. We’d had a great day, he’d been having a ball and kept saying so. He was looking forward to telling you all about it.’ Callum’s voice cracked and Bob looked away, his hand briefly squeezing his friend’s arm.

  ‘Right,’ he said, squaring his shoulders and turning to Dawson. ‘So where do we go from here?’

  ‘We’ve laid on a police helicopter, sir. They’re scouring the surrounding area for any sight of him.’

  Bob voiced Callum’s secret fear. ‘Could he have been abducted? Forced into a car against his will?’

  But Dawson shook his head. ‘This road’s been closed to traffic all day. From the field where the cars were parked to the display arena at the far end was all pedestrianized – apart from the motorbikes, that is.’

  Bob’s mobile sounded, and he turned away to answer it. ‘No, darling,’ Callum heard him say. ‘Not as yet, but there’s a search in progress and it shouldn’t be long . . . Yes, I’m with him now. No, I’ve heard the whole story. Josh just went to get a coke a few yards away, but the crowds were thick and Callum lost sight of him. That’s the last he saw of him. Try not to worry. I’ll keep in touch.’

  ‘Excuse me, officer.’ All three men turned as one of the search party, dripping rain, approached Dawson, holding out a small object. ‘We found this in the gutter at the far end of School Lane, and wondered if it’s of any significance.’

  Bob, peering over Dawson’s shoulder, was shaking his head, but Callum’s heart plummeted. ‘It’s a whale’s tooth,’ he said in a choked voice. ‘Josh bought it earlier.’

  ‘Then what was it doing right down there?’ Dawson demanded.

  No one had an answer. Slowly, Callum’s legs gave way and he sank down on his haunches, covering his face with his hands.

  Soon after Bob’s arrival, they were taken to the village police station, a converted bungalow halfway up the main street, where they’d been gently dissuaded from joining the search themselves. Instead, they were plied with hot strong tea, feeling a modicum of comfort as the liquid coursed through their chilled bodies. Callum was escorted into the interview room to make a formal statement, repeating the sequence of events while notes were taken, then reading it through and signing it before rejoining Bob in the foyer, which had originally been the main room of the cottage.

  Both Judy and Elaine phoned a couple of times, but there was nothing to report. Callum gathered they were all at the Nelsons’, waiting for news. Good that they had each other, he thought. Bob had suggested Callum go home to join them. ‘You look done in,’ he’d said. But Callum had replied that he’d come here with Josh, and he wasn’t going home without him. Though he didn’t say so, he also felt Bob needed his support, such as it was, as much as Elaine needed Judy’s.

  The atmosphere in the small room was warm and steamy, and an overwhelming tiredness descended on him. It was an effort to keep his eyes open, but his drowsiness was shot through with shafts of fear that kept jerking him fully awake. Bob said little, sitting forward with his clasped hands between his knees, staring at the floor.

  From time to time, groups of policemen, their uniforms sodden with rain, came in to report progress and briefly warm themselves before returning to the search. Radios buzzed, phones rang, and muted conversations were held. Time ceased to have any meaning. Outside, daylight had faded, and their reflections were imposed on the darkness beyond the glass, a mirrored world giving a false impression of normality.

  But then, as they were becoming used to the lack of progress, a seemingly routine phone call elicited a quite different response. The man who had taken it rose quickly, went to knock on one of the interior doors, and disappeared inside, closing it behind him. Bob gripped Callum’s arm painfully as both men strained unsuccessfully to hear what was being said.

  Minutes later, the door opened and a grim-faced sergeant stood there. ‘Could we have a word, Mr Nelson?’ he said.

  Both Bob and Callum had come to their feet.

  ‘Say what you have to,’ Bob said harshly.

  The sergeant cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps you’d like to sit down, sir.’

  ‘The hell I would. Get on with it, man.’

  ‘I have to tell you that the body of a boy has been found just outside the village.’

  Bob swayed, Callum’s breath was sucked forcibly out of him. They both stared wordlessly at the man.

  ‘Of course, it might not be your son,’ the sergeant continued, ‘but I have to tell you the description and clothing fit with what you told us.’ He paused. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ he added in a low voice.

  ‘How—?’ Bob choked to a halt.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s impossible to say at this stage.’

  ‘For God’s sake, man! I’m not asking for a pathologist’s report! Had he been hit by a car, or what?’

  The sergeant struggled for a moment with official caution, but compassion won over. ‘We’ll be regarding it as a suspicious death,’ he said.

  Bob stood unmoving, and it was Callum who whispered disbelievingly, ‘You mean he was killed deliberately?’

  ‘I must go to him,’ Bob said, his voice loud in the silent room, but the sergeant shook his head.

  ‘I’m sorry sir, the surrounding area has become a crime scene. Only authorized personnel—’

  ‘Authorized personnel?’ Bob’s voice cracked. ‘I’m his father, for God’s sake!’

  The policeman said gently, ‘He’ll be taken to the mortuary, sir. You can see him there.’

  Buffeted by myriad questions, Bob randomly selected one. ‘How long has—?’

  ‘Again, we’ll need time to ascertain that, sir.’

  He nodded. ‘Of course.’

  Callum said violently, ‘I don’t believe this! It can’t be Josh!’

  Bob turned a white face towards him. ‘We have to hope to God it’s not. But in the meantime, what do I tell his mother?’

  The rest of that terrible day and night passed in a merciful blur. The police having decided neither of them was fit to drive, they were taken home in a police car, with officers following in their own vehicles.

  Afterwards, Callum retained only a few vague impressions of that homecoming: Elaine’s low, despairing cry; Judy’s white face; the three children who, having refused to go to bed, were curled up asleep on the sofa, blissfully unaware of the tragedy. But over and above it, his agonizing sense of guilt weighed heavily on him. He had been responsible. He should not have let this happen. Though he gave Elaine a fierce hug of sympathy, he could not meet her eyes. How could she not blame him?

  It was Josh, of course. They had known that all along, but final confirmation came when Bob and Elaine went to the mortuary to identify him. In the days that followed, even worse horrors emerged. The boy had been sexually assaulted and strangled, though death might have been inadvertent, resulting from an attempt to silence him.

  Bob, good friend that he was, made a point of coming round to tell Callum that he and Elaine did not hold him responsible, that Josh’s darting back for a coke could as easily have happened when he was with them. But despite those reassurances, Callum doubted if Elaine would ever forgive him. How would he and Judy feel, if something unspeakable had happened to Luisa in the Nelsons’ care?
r />   The following day, Callum was summoned to the local police station, where samples of his blood and DNA were taken – ‘just routine’, he was assured – and a much more intensive questioning took place, this time conducted by CID.

  His account of Saturday was once again gone over minutely, presumably in case he contradicted himself, but fear only kicked in when the senior man said casually, ‘You see, Mr Firbank, we’re in a difficult position here. As I’m sure you realize, we have only your word for the sequence of events. Is there any way of proving you returned to the main street after the second dodgem ride? Might you, for instance, have gone for a stroll in the opposite direction, where the whale’s tooth was found?’

  God in heaven, Callum thought, appalled, were they actually putting him in the frame for this? And immediately came the annihilating realization that had they known about his past, they might indeed be looking no further.

  He swallowed, forced himself to say, ‘Of course we went back. It was looking like rain, and in any case I had a headache and was anxious to get home.’

  The detective tried another tack. ‘You were fond of him, weren’t you? Took him about a lot?’

  Callum flushed angrily. ‘I’ve known him all his life. Of course I was fond of him.’

  ‘Perhaps overfond? Perhaps, away from the crowds and suddenly alone with him, your feelings got the better of you? And when he resisted your advances, you lost your temper?’

  Callum came to his feet, colour suffusing his face. ‘That’s a filthy thing to say!’

  ‘It’s a filthy thing to have happened. Please sit down, Mr Firbank. Now, take us through what you tell us was your last sighting of Josh. You were on your way back to the car?’

  ‘God, how many more . . . ?’ He broke off, and wearily, mechanically, retold his story. ‘I should have gone with him, I know,’ he ended miserably. ‘I fully accept that.’

  He looked up, hope dawning. ‘The man on the coke stall! He’ll confirm I came looking for him.’

  ‘Oh, he did. But he hadn’t seen Josh, had he? If he was already dead, you could have been establishing an alibi.’

  And so it went on, hour after hour, until, having asked him not to leave town without notifying them, they finally released him. Drained, resentful and frightened, Callum was free to go home. He would, he knew, remain a suspect until the real killer was found. And, among all those crowds, what hope was there of that, especially when the heavy rain must have obliterated vital traces?

  The following day he returned to the office, grateful for the familiarity of work surroundings and the scheduled business meeting, which would require undivided attention. The murder had, of course, made the headlines of the local paper, and although Callum’s own name didn’t appear, his staff knew of his friendship with the Nelsons, and were quick to offer their sympathy.

  It was unfortunate in the extreme that Clive Benson happened to be at the meeting, even more so that he had his back to the door as Callum entered the room. In a sudden lull, his voice came clearly.

  ‘The boy was with Firbank, I hear? I always thought there was something unhealthy about that relationship.’

  The appalled silence and the frozen look on the faces of his companions must have alerted him, because he spun round to find himself face to face with Callum.

  Above the ringing in his ears, Callum heard himself say calmly, ‘I hope you’re prepared to repeat that in front of my lawyer, Benson.’

  Recovering from his initial shock, Benson began to bluster. ‘Look, Firbank, it was an off-the-cuff remark. In bad taste, I grant you, and I apologize, but we’re among friends, aren’t we? No need to take it any further.’

  ‘Your definition of friendship doesn’t coincide with mine,’ Callum replied. ‘That was slander, as you know damn well, and in the present circumstances I’ve no option but to defend myself.’

  ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen,’ the chairman intervened from the other side of the room. ‘If we could take our places, please.’

  For an instant longer the two men’s eyes remained locked, and it was Benson who first looked away. In silence, those present filed to their seats.

  Elaine took the cold flannel Bob handed her, and pressed it against her burning eyes.

  ‘Penny was asking me about Callum,’ she said. Penny Turner was the family liaison officer assigned to the Nelsons.

  Bob frowned. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Oh, how long we’d known him, and so on.’

  ‘Bloody cheek. Poor Callum’s crucifying himself with guilt as it is. Josh was like his surrogate son – you said so yourself.’

  ‘She asked how I’d describe him. Said she knew he was a friend, but to imagine I’d just met him, and say how he struck me. You know, it was surprisingly difficult.’

  ‘It would be with anyone. What did you say?’

  ‘I tried to be dispassionate. Said he was a bit of a workaholic, that he was devoted to Jude and the kids, that he’d been very kind to Josh.’ Her voice trembled on her son’s name, and Bob pressed her hand. ‘He’s quite a complex character, though, isn’t he, when you think about it?’

  ‘We all are, I suppose.’

  ‘She also asked how much he saw of Josh, where he took him – things like that.’

  Bob shook his head in annoyance. ‘She means well, no doubt, but I think we’d be better off without her. I don’t like her being here all the time, nosing around and trying to stir things up.’

  ‘That’s hardly fair,’ Elaine protested.

  ‘Anyway, darling, you should try to get some sleep. Have you taken the pills?’

  Elaine nodded. ‘I don’t like doing, but they seem to help.’

  She stood up, tossed the flannel through the open door of the en suite, and climbed into bed. Then, suddenly, she stopped.

  ‘Oh, my God!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve just remembered something Josh said last week. I wasn’t really listening, but – oh, my God!’

  Bob sat on the bed next to her, taking hold of her hands. ‘What did Josh say? Tell me.’

  ‘We were in the car, and he suddenly said, suppose someone likes you – someone older – but you didn’t want to be with him. What could you do?’ She stared at Bob. ‘He was talking hypothetically, wasn’t he? Not about himself?’

  Bob moistened suddenly dry lips. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I fobbed him off,’ Elaine said aridly. ‘I was only half listening, and my mind was on something else. I think I said to make an excuse.’

  Bob straightened. ‘Well, he couldn’t have meant Callum,’ he said stoutly, ‘because he certainly liked being with him.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Elaine doubtfully. ‘Of course he did.’

  Eight

  Callum told Judy about Benson that night. He hadn’t intended to – he was too ashamed – but when he got into bed, he started shaking, and she was alarmed.

  ‘Oh, darling, stop blaming yourself,’ she implored, holding him close. ‘It was the most horrible thing to happen – unbelievably awful – but no one blames you. You really mustn’t shoulder all this guilt.’

  ‘You do still love me, Jude?’ he demanded urgently. ‘Even after all this?’

  The old insecurity, she thought, her heart going out to him. ‘Of course I love you! More than ever, after what you’ve been through.’

  Gradually he relaxed against the warmth of her, probing his anxieties like a sore tooth. ‘People are saying pretty dreadful things,’ he went on after a minute.

  ‘What people?’

  ‘Benson, for one.’

  She made a dismissive sound. ‘Don’t take any notice of him; he’s in a class of his own.’

  ‘The trouble is, he made his opinion known at the meeting today.’ And he related what had happened.

  ‘You must take him to court!’ she cried furiously. ‘How dare he spread vicious rumours like that?’

  ‘But if I do,’ Callum said wearily, ‘even more people will hear about it, and might wonder if the
re’s something in it. You know what they say: no smoke without a fire.’

  ‘That’s just giving in to him.’

  ‘But it’s not only Benson; the police were hinting at much the same thing.’

  Judy burst into tears. ‘I can’t bear this!’ she sobbed. ‘As if it’s not bad enough grieving for little Josh and the ghastly thing that happened to him, without other people digging the knife in.’

  It was his turn to soothe her, and as his caresses became more urgent and she quickly responded, both of them sought and found some measure of comfort in each other’s bodies.

  Sandra Lomax watched her seven-year-old son slowly climb the stairs.

  ‘I’m really concerned about Mikey,’ she told her husband. ‘This murder’s hit him extremely hard.’

  ‘Well, it’s not surprising,’ Tim replied. ‘Damn it, it must have happened while we were actually there. They’re offering counselling at school, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, but it doesn’t seem to be helping much. Thank goodness they break up at the end of this week, and we’ll be away for Easter. It’ll help to take his mind off it.’ She paused. ‘He didn’t know this boy personally, did he?’

  ‘I doubt it; Josh Nelson must have been in year eight – they wouldn’t have come into contact.’

  ‘That’s what I thought; I could have understood it better if they’d been in the same class. I’ll have another chat with him after his bath, and try to help him put it into perspective.’

  ‘And just where is the perspective, when a kid at your school gets murdered?’

  Sandra sighed, and did not reply.

  Why did children always look younger in bed? she wondered half an hour later, as she sat on the edge of her son’s bunk. Something to do, perhaps, with the rosiness left over from bath time. She’d read the next chapter of their current book, but she could tell he’d not been listening, and his face had a haunted look that disturbed her.

  ‘Darling,’ she began tentatively, ‘are you still thinking about Josh? He’s safe now, you know. No one can hurt him any more.’

  The large grey eyes came back to her, but he didn’t say anything.