‘For God’s sake, leave it, Mum,’ Cassie said. ‘Claudette’ll sort it. It’s her house.’
Jane glanced at Lockyer and then the reverend to gauge his reaction to his daughter’s choice of words and manner, but he didn’t appear to be listening. His eyes were almost closed, and his hands were clasped together as if in prayer.
‘Maybe I’ll just go and check—’
‘Sit down, Mum,’ Cassie barked. ‘I’ll do it.’ She turned to Jane and then to Lockyer. ‘I’ll just do a pot, shall I?’
‘Thank you, Cassie. I’ll help,’ Jane said, thinking she could use the opportunity to ask Claudette to show Abbott and Pimbley Pippa’s room, so they could take some photographs and collect her laptop and any other relevant hardware. She assumed the two of them were hiding in the kitchen after Cassie had bollocked Pimbley for calling her ‘Casey’. ‘You might want to work on that bedside manner, mate,’ she had said. Abbott had hidden a grin, but Pimbley had looked mortified.
‘Fine,’ Cassie said, turning to leave the room. ‘Is it appropriate to offer biscuits?’
‘We’re fine,’ Lockyer said. Jane looked at him. His eyes flicked to hers for not more than a second but she got the message. Yes, I think she’s weird too.
‘I wasn’t thinking of you, detective,’ Cassie said with a sneer. Jane heard the reverend sigh as he clasped his hands tighter. If his daughter heard him or recognized his exasperation, she showed no sign. Her overall demeanour was just so aggressive. It must be exhausting to be around her for any length of time. Jane turned at the sound of raised voices, followed by a loud bang coming from the kitchen.
‘What now?’ Cassie said, not making any move to find out.
Lockyer pushed past Jane and opened the sliding doors that led to the dining room. He stopped, blocking her view. She stepped around him to see Abbott and Pimbley wrestling with someone on the floor. They were halfway under the dining-room table. It took her a second to realize the third person was Aaron. He was struggling as the two officers tried to pin him down. ‘What the hell’s going on?’ Lockyer said.
‘Stop fighting,’ Abbott said. ‘Just relax, mate. For Christ’s sake, relax.’
‘I don’t know what happened,’ Claudette said from the doorway to the kitchen, her hand to her mouth. ‘Aaron was . . . listening to his voicemail, I think, and then . . . I don’t know – he threw his phone and it hit her, and these two just jumped on him.’ A man Jane didn’t recognize was standing behind Claudette, his hands on her shoulders. Who was he and where did he spring from?
‘All right, that’s enough,’ Lockyer said, pulling Abbott up by the arm. Pimbley sat back on his heels, panting. Aaron sat up and shuffled backwards, hanging his head between his knees. ‘Aaron, are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said, swiping his hand under his nose.
‘What happened?’ Lockyer asked.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Pimbley said. ‘There was an altercation in the kitchen. I stepped in to calm things down. However, things escalated. DS Abbott was just trying to assist.’
‘Danny wasn’t to blame, sir,’ Abbott said, folding his arms, tipping his chin up. ‘The guy was going nuts, lashing out and then he lobs his phone – hit his girlfriend square in the face.’
‘It was an accident.’
Jane turned. Lockyer’s daughter appeared in the kitchen doorway, holding a tea towel up to her face. When she dropped her hand Jane saw blood and a livid mark on her right cheek, just under her eye. She reached out for Lockyer as understanding dawned, but she was too late. He had already launched himself at Aaron.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
12th December – Saturday
‘I’m fine,’ Aaron said, although he didn’t feel fine. ‘It was my fault.’ He felt like his head was full of swarming bees, the high-pitched drone driving him mad. He looked up at Abbott and the other officer who had gone for him. They were standing with their backs against the windows of the dining room, shoulder to shoulder, arms folded across their chests. They looked like a couple of bouncers outside a sleazy nightclub. Where Abbott was tall and lanky, the other one was stocky and short, his head shaved. Lockyer was nowhere in sight.
‘I think you might need a couple of stiches,’ Jane said, dabbing a tissue over his right eye. He winced when she made contact.
‘I’m fine,’ he said again, wondering if anyone could hear him. If they could, they weren’t listening. His parents were huddled at the far end of the dining table, his mother’s arm linked through his father’s. Neither spoke. Neither moved. Their expressions were blank. He noticed the cups of steaming tea. Claudette, aka Cinderella, must be in the kitchen.
‘I’ve got some steri-strips in my suitcase,’ Cassie said, barging Jane out of the way, grabbing hold of his head and pulling it towards her. He almost came off his chair. ‘Bit of antiseptic and a few of those and you’ll be fine. The skin’s just split. It’s not deep.’
‘Maybe we should take you to A&E just to be on the safe side,’ Megan said, squeezing his hand. Her face was a mess. ‘I can drive. It won’t take long, I’m sure. Better to get it checked, don’t you think?’ Aaron figured she wasn’t really addressing him, so he didn’t bother answering. What could he say? The mothers’ union was in full effect surrounding him, suffocating him: his sister, his girlfriend and his boss.
‘I think Megan’s right,’ Jane said. ‘It might do everyone some good to have some breathing space.’ He sighed and let his shoulders sag. He couldn’t tell if Jane’s concern was about his well-being, or that he might decide to have Lockyer up on assault charges. He figured given her allegiance, it was probably the latter.
‘He said he’s fine.’ Aaron pulled his head out of his sister’s grip and looked between the gaggle of women to see Lockyer stalking into the room from the lounge. ‘Stop fussing over him.’
Aaron felt his sister tense. He dragged his tongue off the roof of his mouth. ‘I’m OK, Cass,’ he said, catching her eye. ‘It was a . . . misunderstanding.’
‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Lockyer said, ‘but you can break the circle, ladies. He’s quite safe – for now.’
Aaron pushed himself up, shrugging off his sister’s hands. He turned to Megan. ‘Are you OK? I’m so sorry.’ He looked at the bruising coming out over her right cheek and eye. He couldn’t see the cut, but she pulled back when he reached up to touch her face. ‘If we’re comparing injuries, you came off much worse than me, Megs.’
‘I second that,’ Lockyer growled from the other side of the dining table.
‘This is nothing,’ Megan said, pulling her hair over her eye. ‘It’s a graze. It’ll be healed by tomorrow.’
‘I doubt that,’ Lockyer said. He took a step towards the table and Aaron felt the circle of women tighten around him.
‘Let it go, Dad,’ Megan said. ‘It was an accident. I got in the way . . .’
‘Of him throwing his phone?’ Lockyer said.
Aaron felt heat rising in his chest. His phone. He saw it bouncing off Megan’s cheekbone and flying through the air until it landed with a thud on the kitchen floor, the back coming off and the battery skittering across the lino. ‘Where’s my phone?’ he asked. ‘I need to . . .’ Before he could finish, he felt his centre of gravity shift. He reached out to the table to stop himself falling. He didn’t have the words to describe what was happening to him. All he could hear was her voice. She was inside his head, pleading with him. He retched, but nothing came up.
‘Aaron, sit down,’ Lockyer said. ‘Jane, can you take everyone into the other room for a moment. Megan, you go with them. Cassie, you too.’
Aaron looked up at his sister. He could see she was angry. She held out her hands as if waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t. He just shrugged. There was no fight left in him. He blinked his eyes once, then again. When his vision came back into focus Cassie was gone. Jane and Megan too. He felt his eyes starting to roll, but then a steadying hand gripped his elbow.
‘Come on,’ Lo
ckyer said.
Aaron felt his body sag. He had forgotten how to make his feet move.
‘It’s all right. I’ve got you.’ The low timbre of Lockyer’s voice vibrated through Aaron’s head. ‘You’re all right. You’re all right.’ Aaron felt his body moving, but he was no longer in control. His legs bent on reflex as the chair touched the back of his knees. He closed his eyes. ‘Just take some deep breaths.’ He heard a chair scuff the carpet as Lockyer took a seat next to him. He tried to look at his boss, but found he couldn’t make his eyes focus. He dragged in a breath, trying to pull himself back into the room. Her voice was everywhere. It was in the air he was breathing. He was choking on her.
‘Let it go,’ Lockyer said, putting a hand on the back of Aaron’s neck and pulling his head to rest on his shoulder.
He took one breath, then another, his lungs squeezing in his chest. He felt as if he was pulling the oxygen up from his toes and through his body, each breath saturated with memories of his sister. He felt the strength of Lockyer’s grip. His own father had never hugged him – never comforted him. Aaron heard someone crying – a desperate, keening sound, like that of a wounded animal.
It took him a second to realize it was him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
12th December – Saturday
Lockyer pulled open the back door and stepped out into the gloom of a courtyard garden. Snow or no snow, he needed some air. Jane, Megan and the rest of the Joneses were still in the lounge. He had left Aaron half sitting, half collapsed at the dining room table. The poor kid was hanging on by a thread. Lockyer was all too accustomed to seeing people in pain, but with Aaron he could feel it – feel being the operative word.
‘Hi.’
Lockyer turned to find a bloke huddled under a garden umbrella, smoking. ‘Hi.’
‘Pathetic, isn’t it?’ he said, gesturing first to the cigarette then to his shelter. ‘Every winter I think, that’s it – this is the year I’m going to quit.’
‘Sure,’ Lockyer said, not knowing what else to say. He pulled the kitchen door closed behind him and flattened himself against it, avoiding the snow.
‘I’m Lester Hamilton,’ the man said, extending his hand. ‘Les.’
‘Hi, Les,’ Lockyer said, shaking his hand, realizing he was the guy who had been in the house before. He had been standing with the aunt. He looked like a rugby player gone to seed. His ample frame, still thick with muscle, was also covered in a layer of fat.
‘How’s Aaron doing?’
‘OK . . . considering,’ Lockyer said.
‘He’s not a violent kid, but I guess you already know that.’
‘Sorry, you are . . . ?’
‘I’m his uncle,’ Hamilton said. ‘Claudette’s ex-husband. I’d hoped to get a moment of your time. It’s Lockyer, isn’t it?’
He reached for the doorknob. ‘DI Lockyer, yes,’ he said. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to—’
‘Escape?’ Lockyer looked at him. ‘Don’t worry, we’re on the same team,’ Hamilton said. ‘Although I’m not technically here in an official capacity.’ He ran a hand over his head, smoothing his hair. It was jet black. Lockyer wondered if it was natural or the stereotypical over-fifties’ dye job.
‘I didn’t realize anyone in the family was on the force, other than Aaron, of course,’ he said, thinking this was yet another detail Townsend had either missed or neglected to pass on. Not that Aaron had mentioned anything about his uncle, either. ‘Where are you based?’
‘Somerset,’ he said. ‘I’m DCC for the area.’
Lockyer opened his mouth, then shut it again. Roger’s mystery phone call wasn’t so mysterious any more. ‘You’re DCC for Avon and Somerset?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re Pippa’s uncle?’
‘And Cassie’s and Aaron’s too,’ Hamilton said. ‘Though I doubt he’d have told you that. Keen to make his own way. Worried people will think he had a hand up.’
‘I’m sure,’ Lockyer said, his forehead crumpling. ‘So . . . are you here to see me?’
‘No,’ Hamilton said. ‘My ex-wife asked me to come over for moral support. It’s a difficult time for the family . . . as I’m sure you can imagine.’
‘Right,’ Lockyer said with a nod.
‘What?’ Hamilton asked.
Lockyer realized too late he was still frowning, replaying his conversations with Roger over and over in his mind. ‘No, it’s nothing. I’m just not sure I’d be my ex-wife’s first call in the same situation, that’s all.’
Hamilton shrugged. ‘Anyway, I would have given you a heads-up about being here, but today’s meeting was rescheduled, as I understand it, so when Claudette called it was all very last minute.’ Lockyer could sense a rebuke. ‘But as I said, I’m not technically here in an official capacity, so I thought I’d just keep my head down.’
‘You succeeded,’ Lockyer said.
‘How’s the investigation coming?’
‘Are you asking me as Pippa’s uncle, or in an official capacity?’ Lockyer asked.
Hamilton looked at him. ‘Both.’
‘Forgive me, sir,’ Lockyer said, conscious now who he was speaking to, ‘but you are the one who wanted me here, aren’t you?’
‘Yes and no,’ Hamilton said, taking a long drag on his cigarette, the burning embers making his face glow red. He had the look of Desperate Dan, minus the plaid shirt and meat pie. ‘Superintendent Atkinson was the one who started that particular ball rolling at our end the second he realized who Pippa was. Or rather, as soon as he realized who she was in relation to me.’
‘Why?’ Lockyer asked.
Hamilton took another drag on his cigarette before flicking the butt into the snow. ‘I think Terry felt the case warranted outside assistance to ensure it was dealt with expediently, so he called your boss in London, asked for the Met’s best and . . . well, you know the rest.’ The dismissal in Hamilton’s tone was evident, the meaning implied. You haven’t proved you’re the best . . . yet.
‘And this is because of who you are – your position, your relation to the . . . victim?’
‘Partly, yes,’ Hamilton said, ‘but Terry was also concerned about issues with the press and, of course, the DI in charge. He was Townsend’s SIO on a previous case so he knows what can happen with that guy at the helm.’
When he didn’t say more, Lockyer decided to just ask the question straight out. ‘Sir, if you’ll forgive me. What exactly is the problem with DI Townsend?’
‘What isn’t?’ Hamilton said, widening his stance and shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘It’s a long story.’
Lockyer looked at his watch. ‘I’d say we’ve got time, sir, but as it happens we don’t. Can you give me the short version . . . the highlights?’
‘Can I trust that this will be just between us?’
‘Of course,’ he said. Hamilton didn’t need to know that Lockyer would in fact tell Jane and no doubt Roger as well.
‘DI Townsend was brought down from Bristol six or seven months ago to replace another DI who’d had to leave on medical grounds,’ Hamilton said. ‘She was pregnant.’ Lockyer knew this part. He had heard Townsend’s version. He was curious to see how Hamilton’s would differ. ‘A girl had been murdered. Someone had made a right mess of her by all accounts. Her body was found in woodland up on the Quantocks . . .’
‘This is the Evans case, right?’
‘How do you know about that?’ Hamilton asked. He looked agitated.
‘It’s come up,’ Lockyer said, realizing the position he was in. He was stuck between someone he was trying to work with and someone who could get him fired before the day was out if he put a foot wrong. ‘I’ve spoken to Townsend about it.’
‘What did he say?’
Lockyer paused. He had no choice. Whatever little loyalty he had for Townsend, Hamilton was the senior officer – senior by a very long way. If he said, jump, Lockyer would be saying, how high? But that didn’t mean he needed to tell him everything. �
�He just said the case hadn’t gone well. That he’d been unable to press charges against the guy he thought did it.’
‘Not thought,’ he said, ‘did. Ashworth was the victim’s ex-boyfriend, and he would have been charged if Townsend hadn’t dropped the ball. He made a complete cock-up of the investigation; arrested the suspect too soon, with too little evidence. He pissed the locals off to such an extent, no one would make a statement, incriminating or otherwise. He’d also pissed his team off with his officious working methods, so they weren’t inclined to help him either. Evidence was lost . . . Oh, and of course, I mustn’t forget: he attacked the suspect.’
‘Townsend attacked a suspect?’ Lockyer couldn’t believe that.
‘Yes,’ Hamilton said. ‘The lawyer had a field day with that one. The case should have been a slam-dunk.’
‘What actually happened?’ Lockyer asked.
‘Chloe Evans was dating this lowlife, Kevin Ashworth. He’s from the Sydenham Estate.’ He waved away Lockyer’s confusion. ‘If you lived here, you’d know it,’ he said. ‘Ashworth was a low-level drug dealer. Chloe’s parents were very vocal about their desire for her to end the relationship. As so often happens, Chloe got pregnant. Whilst I hate to be indelicate she wasn’t what you’d call fussy. She already had two kids from different dads, Ashworth being one of them. Anyway, according to her friends the kid she was carrying wasn’t Ashworth’s, despite the fact that they were dating. Ashworth was, perhaps understandably, upset, but the two of them stayed together. However, within a few months Chloe was persuaded by her parents to break it off with Ashworth, with them saying they would help her with the baby. So she breaks it off. Next day, she’s dead,’ he said. ‘She was found by a local school group a week later. Some kids tripped over her body.’
The Night Stalker (Detective Jane Bennett and Mike Lockyer series Book 4) Page 15