A New Dawn Rising

by Michael Joseph

  'What was that, then?' asked Sam, raising his eyebrows.

  Lucy blushed a little.

  'Just that you were a good person.'

  'Bloody hell,' said Sam with a smile. 'A compliment. I haven't had too many of them lately.'

  'Well, don't get used to it,' said Lucy, her eyes twinkling mischievously. 'But, seriously, I panicked...and then I listened to Gareth-'

  'Ah, you're guardian angel,' laughed Sam. 'He's very protective of you.'

  Lucy's face coloured again.

  'Oh, he's a sweet thing when you get to know him. He's just got it into his head that you're not-'

  'A very good influence?' suggested Sam humorously.

  Lucy laughed.

  'I suppose that's one way of putting it.'

  'Well, he can join the club,' said Sam, serious once again. 'I'm not exactly flavour of the month anywhere right now.'

  They both went quiet for a moment, lost in their own thoughts. Each mulling over questions they wanted to ask. It was Lucy who spoke again first.

  'Last night-'

  'My turn to say sorry,' Sam butted in, raising his hand to confirm his apology. 'I've had a lot on.'

  'Okay,' replied Lucy. 'Apology accepted. But I still want to ask you about it.'

  Sam accepted he wasn't getting out of this one.

  'You mentioned your door being broken when the police turned up yesterday morning. What was that about?'

  Sam had only a vague recollection of what he said to Lucy last night. He realised that mattered little now. What was important was he had let something slip about recent events. Now, he had to decide whether to tell her anything else. But could he trust her?

  'Look, Sam,' she said. 'You helped me out. So, if I can be of any help to you...'

  Sam told her everything, starting from the moment he first clapped eyes on her.

  Chapter 34

  'So, if you hadn't seen me and chased that man to get my purse back, you wouldn't have got involved in any of this?'

  Lucy had listened attentively to Sam as he relayed everything that had happened over the last few days. Now, having heard the entire story, she stared at him, eyes wide open in astonishment.

  'Well, I suppose when you put it that way,' said Sam soberly.

  Lucy put her hands to her face, mortified.

  'Now I feel terrible,' she said. 'Everything that's happened to you is my fault.'

  Sam's face cracked into a wide smile.

  'Lucy, I'm only joking,' he told her. 'It's nobody’s fault. I just happened to be in the wrong place when Carl was looking for someone. Bad luck, that's all it is. And as far as Carl is concerned, somebody was determined to get him sooner or later.'

  Lucy nodded in agreement, deep in thought.

  Sam watched her. She was still taking it all in. He couldn't explain what had finally pushed him to confide in her. He couldn't deny he was feeling better for it. A weight had definitely been lifted off his shoulders. But he hadn't told her because he wanted her to share the burden or provide him with an answer.

  It dawned on him he had told her because she had put her faith in him. Trusted and believed in him. Coming out here last night. Tolerating his drunkenness. Coming back again today. All at a time when others were viewing him as a psychopathic murderer.

  Telling her was his way of repaying her.

  Suddenly, he felt a touch of anxiety. Lucy had wanted to hear his story, and he didn't believe he had put her in any danger by telling it to her, but that had to be it now. He silently vowed not to involve her any further past this discussion. Not to ask anything of her. He didn't want her put at any risk.

  Chapter 35

  'Who do you think killed him?'

  Sam drank the last of his tea and put the mug down. He ran his hand through his hair, looked at Lucy and shook his head. She had asked the million dollar question and he didn't have an answer.

  'Take your pick,' he replied, recalling the shadowy figure he had seen leaving the burning factory. 'There were plenty of people unhappy with Carl for one reason or another.'

  'I know...but to go to those lengths?' said Lucy. 'To murder him and burn the factory down?'

  Sam could see the disbelief on her face. He remembered a time when such cases were part of his everyday life. And how the motives behind them were nearly always money or jealousy.

  'Do you know what I don't understand?' he said, thinking out loud.

  Lucy looked back at him blankly.

  'I don't understand any of it,' she said quietly. 'How anybody could do something so evil.'

  Sam watched her trying to comprehend it. It was sinking in now and the true horror was hitting home. He had to remind himself this was a novel experience for her. An unpleasant one, at that.

  'I know, Lucy. It's hard to believe.'

  She offered him a weak smile.

  'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Take no notice of me.'

  'Are you sure you want to carry on talking about it?' asked Sam. 'I don't want to upset you.'

  'No, honestly, it's okay,' she insisted. 'What were you saying?'

  'Oh, yeah. I was going to say that I don't get how Carl could have had so much happening around him and not been aware it. Or at least not thought it important enough to take seriously.'

  'Maybe he simply chose to ignore some of it,' offered Lucy, arching her eyebrows.

  Sam considered the implications of her words. By ignoring matters, Carl must have known he was leaving himself vulnerable. Had he underestimated how much danger he was in?

  'I just thought he was a bit naïve and eccentric,' said Sam. 'Or I did until I realised he had lied outright about the environmental activists. I mean, why lie about that? He had to have a reason.'

  'Perhaps he was a lot smarter than he let on,' shrugged Lucy. 'Not that it helped him in the end.'

  Sam realised he was still no nearer making sense of it all.

  He looked at his watch, surprised at how long they had been talking. He had enjoyed Lucy's company, despite the unfortunate topic of conversation.

  'Lucy, can I borrow your phone?' he asked.

  'Why?' she asked playfully. 'Have I got you hooked on the internet?'

  Sam wished he had never had cause to use it. But now he had, he may as well use it to his advantage. She passed him the phone.

  'I just want to check that blog-'

  He stopped and looked at the screen.

  No tears will be shed for Carl Renshaw. Justice at last.

  Silently, he handed the phone to Lucy. He watched her eyes widen as she read it.

  'This was put on by Martytaylor only an hour ago,' she said, her eyes still glued to the screen. 'Whoever this person is, it hasn't taken them long to start celebrating.'

  'They must have had one hell of a grudge against Carl,' suggested Sam. 'To be this happy he's dead.'

  He gazed towards the window, looking at nothing in particular.

  'What did you do, Carl?' he whispered. 'What on earth did you do to deserve all this?'

  ***

  Lucy gave Sam the sternest of looks.

  'Why can't you leave it to the police?' she pleaded.

  Sam was getting impatient. He had decided his next move. However, Lucy was unconvinced.

  'Lucy, all I want to do is find out more about Peter Canning. He was following me, after all.'

  'Yes, I know that,' she said, looking exasperated. 'But surely it's the police's job to do that? Things have been hairy enough for you lately.'

  Sam could understand her concern, and it wasn't that he didn't appreciate it. He just wanted to do things his own way.

  'Normally it would be,' he said, 'but I told you I don't trust Mason-'

  'I still don't get why he's so determined to blame you!' huffed Lucy in frustration. 'What's made him so sure you're the culprit?'

  Sam was afraid this would happen.

  He hadn't been entirely truthful with Lucy. He had glossed over his interview with Mason at the station, omitting the discussion about his time i
n the force and the circumstances under which he had left. She didn't even know Sam had been a police officer.

  He hadn't wanted her delving into his past. Asking questions.

  'Like I told you,' he said, 'Mason knows I was with Carl at the factory, and he's also got it into his head that I was trying to run away-'

  'I still don't-'

  'Lucy, please. You're beginning to sound like an old wife.'

  It was a throwaway comment. Impulsive and unintentional. One Sam instantly regretted.

  They looked at each other. Lucy spoke first.

  'It's okay, Sam. I know you didn't mean any offence. I shouldn't have pushed-'

  Sam shook his head. He couldn't believe he had used that word.

  'Lucy, it's time I got off.'

  Chapter 36

  There it was, a red brick house, just as Molly had described. Its tidy front lawn enclosed by a low picket fence. A smattering of colourful flowers lined the borders of the garden. Hanging baskets above the front door swayed gently in the light breeze. It was a picturesque scene. Arthur Bennett clearly took great pride in his home.

  Sam rapped on the door. Within seconds, he heard movement from inside. The door opened and an elderly man appeared.

  'Good afternoon, young man,' the man said, greeting Sam with a warm smile. 'Can I help you?'

  Sam had given great consideration on how to play this out. He presumed Arthur was reeling from the news of Carl's demise, and Sam didn't want to upset the old boy any further. Nor did he want to arouse Arthur's suspicions. The last thing Sam needed was Mason getting another phone call about him interfering with known acquaintances of the deceased.

  'Hello, I'm looking for a Mr Arthur Bennett. Carl Renshaw's former gardener? I was given this address by his wife, Molly.'

  The mere mention of Molly's name caused the man to sigh deeply with sadness.

  'Yes, I'm Arthur Bennett. What can I do for you?'

  Sam stepped forward and offered his hand.

  'Pleased to meet you, Mr Bennett,' he said confidently. 'My name is Ryan Harley.'

  Arthur took Sam's hand and shook it with as much energy as he could muster. It was a limp effort. Sam could see Arthur was ailing in his twilight years, his physical strength rapidly vanishing. His hunched shoulders accentuated an already bony frame, and his skin had an unhealthy pallor, dotted with numerous liver spots. Sunken cheekbones gave Arthur's face a gaunt look. He didn't look well at all to Sam, who wondered how Arthur had managed the physical effort of keeping Carl's grounds in order until so recently.

  'I'm looking for an old friend of mine,' continued Sam. 'Peter-'

  Sam realised he couldn't remember Peter's surname. He berated himself for the oversight. Fortunately, Arthur's mind was still sharp.

  'Ah, you mean Peter Canning,' he said. 'The man I recommended to the Renshaws. Apparently, he's been doing a lovely job looking after the place. At least he had been until the...'

  Suddenly, Arthur looked choked up. Sam could see tears welling up in his eyes. Struck by a pang of guilt, Sam decided he should leave. It had been a bad idea to come here.

  'Look, Mr Bennett, it's obviously a bad time for you, so I'll get off.'

  Arthur took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew into it noisily. Tucking the hankie away, he fought to regain his composure.

  'No, no, young man. Take no notice of an old codger like me. Come inside and have a cuppa. I could do with the company.'

  He gave Sam a wide smile.

  It was the face of a lonely man.

  Sam stepped reluctantly into his house.

  ***

  Arthur rested a tray down on the coffee table. He took the teapot off it and poured boiling water into two mugs, then added milk and sugar before stirring the drinks thoroughly. It was a slow and tortuous process, giving Sam the opportunity to gaze around Arthur's front room.

  It was a homely affair, neat and tidy, just like the garden outside. Gracing every wall were photographs of Arthur and a woman, taken throughout various stages of their lives. The portraits from their earlier years reflected a young couple full of vigour and happiness. He was big, strong and handsome. She was tall, slim and attractive. Sam thought them a fine couple.

  'That's my wife, Elsie,' said Arthur, noticing the interest Sam was taking in the pictures.

  'She passed away three years ago.'

  'I'm sorry to hear that,' replied Sam, taking a couple of biscuits off the plate offered to him. 'She was beautiful.'

  Sam watched Arthur gaze tenderly at a photograph on the sideboard. Taken more recently, the picture showed a frail looking Elsie sitting alongside her husband. Arthur, still looking fit and powerful, had one broad arm protectively placed around his wife's shoulder. Even after all those years, Sam could see they were still a couple very much in love.

  A chance to grow old with the person you loved.

  A familiar sadness swept over Sam.

  'Cancer took her,' said Arthur, matter-of-factly. 'God rest her soul.'

  'That must have been hard.'

  'It was. She was a wonderful lady and I miss her dreadfully. But I'll be with her again soon.'

  Sam watched Arthur cup his hands around his mug, relishing the heat sinking in his bones. The old man stared wistfully at the picture for a moment longer, then looked back to Sam.

  'I was diagnosed with the same cancer a few months ago,' he said in a hushed tone. 'I've not got long now. Anyway, me and Elsie have been apart far too long.'

  Sam was touched by the man's quiet dignity. His everlasting love for his wife.

  'Is that why you stopped working for the Renshaws?' he asked, posing the question gently. 'Because of your illness?'

  Arthur smiled thinly.

  'That's right, young man. I just wasn't able to look after such a big place any longer. Now, I just potter about here. It's all I can do. I didn't tell Mr Renshaw about the cancer. Him and his wife were always good to me and Elsie. I didn't see the point in upsetting them. They took Elsie's death badly enough.'

  Once again, Sam felt admiration for Arthur. It compounded his own guilt at coming here under a dishonest cover.

  'Anyway, listen to me rambling on,' said Arthur. 'You came-'

  He began to cough. A horrible, rasping cough emanating from deep within his chest. It went on for some time, eventually moving Sam to stand over him in concern. Arthur waved for him to sit back down. Gradually, the cough subsided enough for Arthur to continue speaking. He looked tired and drawn now.

  'I was going to say,' he uttered, his chest still wheezing, 'that you came here about Peter Canning, didn't you?'

  'I did,' confirmed Sam. 'But if you're not well enough-'

  'Never mind that, young man,' said Arthur, giving Sam a grim smile. 'This is as good as it's going to get for me. Now, what did you want to know?'

  'Peter's an old friend of mine,' said Sam, reciting the spiel he had rehearsed. 'We lost touch years ago and I'm trying to track him down again.'

  Arthur looked bemused.

  'Well, I wouldn't know,' he said. 'I only introduced him to Mr Renshaw. I haven't heard from him since.'

  Sam feigned mild surprise.

  'Oh, right. I got the impression from Mrs Renshaw that you knew him well. I must have got the wrong end of the stick.'

  'No, I only met him a few months ago,' said Arthur, shaking his head. 'He started coming into Bursleigh Social club. I used to be down there regular and we got talking. He'd just been made unemployed and was desperate to get back into work. I happened to mention I was planning to retire, and when he told me he'd done a bit of gardening in his time, I recommended him to the Renshaws. Thinking about it, I haven't seen him down the club since.'

  The last sentence caught Sam's attention.

  'Yeah, that makes sense,' he said. 'Peter was always good at the practical stuff.'

  Suddenly, Sam didn't want to bluff the old man any longer. Arthur would be asking awkward questions any time now. Questions Sam wouldn't have the answers to. He di
dn't want to cause alarm to a kindly, widowed man trying to live out his remaining days in peace.

  'Apparently so,' said Arthur. 'Mrs Renshaw pops round to see me every now and then, and she's always happy with his work. I don't think she's too keen on Peter as a person, though. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. Not after this terrible business with the fire...Mr Renshaw...his poor wife and kiddies left without-'

  Arthur's eyes began to mist over again. Sam levered himself up out of his chair. He hadn't bargained for so much emotion.

  It was time for him to leave.

  Chapter 37

  Sam found it difficult extracting himself from Arthur Bennett's living room. Despite his tiredness, Arthur was clearly reluctant to lose the company of his visitor, while Sam found himself strangely drawn to the pleasant old man. Perhaps it was the common themes bonding them.

  Pain and heartache.

  Loneliness.

  Sam didn't dwell on that.

  He was forced to make his excuses and leave the moment Arthur innocently asked Sam why Molly hadn't given him Peter's contact details herself. Sam's hurried reply that she had, but Peter was no longer living at the address, seemed to satisfy the old man. Then again, Arthur looked shot by that time and in no state to be conducting an interrogation. The bout of coughing had totally worn him out. Edging hastily to the front door, Sam asked if there was anything he could do for Arthur before he left.

  Arthur told him there wasn't and thanked Sam for coming.

  Sam asked silently for forgiveness.

  ***

  Driving away from Arthur's, Sam once again had that unnerving sense of being followed. It was a feeling and nothing more. He couldn't make out a tail behind him, despite taking the precaution of going out of his way and venturing up and down some quiet side roads. If someone was tracking him, they were making a better fist of it than Peter had.

  Continuing on to his original destination, Sam thought about Arthur's description of meeting Peter. It was highly suspicious the way Peter had been in the right place to take over Arthur's job. No, it was more than suspicious. The more Sam considered it, the clearer it was Peter had turned up at the club with the intention of talking his way into a job at the Renshaws. Then, having got what he wanted, he dropped the false pretence and stopped going there. It had all been done subtly enough to manipulate a vulnerable old man. A sociable bloke happy for company, willing to go out of his way to do someone a favour. And, of course, Carl would have been happy to offer Peter the job on Arthur's recommendation. Arthur had worked for the Renshaws for years. They weren't going to question his judgement.