by Will Carver
Owen wasn’t sure, at first, whether the detective was being sarcastic or caustic, but the darkness around his eyes and his very demeanour… He felt sure that Pace was not a man to waste his faith on anything other than himself and justice. Probably in that order.
Sometimes, I have to watch. Not get involved. See how things play out. And I wonder. How do people have faith?
‘I didn’t kill her, detective.’
‘Let’s get you out of that cell and switch the tape to record before we start talking about any of that, shall we?’
Owen Brady ran through his story. How Faith had been after Jacob was shot in front of her. The way she wouldn’t talk to Michael. She blocked him out of her life. She couldn’t face him, couldn’t even be near him. It was her way of dealing with it, he’d thought. To detach herself from everything. Everyone.
‘She blamed herself for what happened. But she was the only one who felt like that. How could she have known?’
‘There weren’t any … difficulties … in your marriage before that day?’
‘What do you mean?’ He knew what Pace was getting at.
‘Were you arguing, Mr Brady? Were you going through a testing time? Was there a chance that she had strayed?’
‘No. No way.’ He was adamant about this. Pace thought a little too sure. ‘We had our disagreements and quarrels like any other couple. And I have to work late occasionally when there are deadlines, but that’s not often.’
‘And you?’
‘Me?’
‘You had not strayed? A colleague? A secretary?’
‘I resent the suggestion. We have two sons together.’ He said this as though that were proof that neither of them would indulge themselves outside of their union. ‘We had two sons.’ Owen Brady took his glare away from the detective at this point and stared down at his side of the interview-room desk.
‘I have to ask these questions, Mr Brady. Somebody approached your family and shot only your youngest son. This person probably knows who you are. I have to wonder why your eldest son—’
‘Michael.’
‘Why your eldest son, Michael, was unharmed – physically, at least. Why kill an innocent little boy? My only conclusion is that he was trying to hurt the child’s mother.’
Pace was right about this. It was the motivation that escaped him.
‘And, if he was trying to hurt the mother, it may be that she had rejected him in some way. Perhaps called things off. That is the reason these questions have to be asked and answered truthfully.’
Normally, Pace would not divulge his theories and workings to a possible suspect, but he did not consider Owen Brady to be a suspect. He’d pulled him in at his inspector’s behest. This was a sensitive case; the man had been through a lot in a short space of time. If there was one thing Detective Sergeant Pace knew, it was that sometimes it paid to work outside the book.
And sometimes, you paid for working outside the book.
‘I feel certain that she wasn’t having an affair. She devoted her time to the children, to our home.’ It stuck in his throat to talk of her so fondly after she had been so cowardly and given up on him and Michael.
The more they spoke, the more it came across that Faith Brady had been an attentive, warm mother and wife – until the end. Everything Pace heard, though true, was leading him no closer to Jacob Brady’s killer. The Ordinary Man.
The wind blew wildly through Hinton Hollow and the clouds covered the Berkshire sky, leaving their small town in a state of continuous twilight.
Pace looked out of the rectangular window that stretched across the back wall of the interview room. It was close to the ceiling and too small to fit a person through but the sky was visible. He shuddered, disquiet prickling his skin.
It was catching up with him.
He knew it. I threw some black flames his way as a warning.
‘Mr Brady, you are free to go.’
SOMEHOW
You are probably wondering about the boy on the train. If you’re not, why not? Why have you forgotten about the kid? He’s a good kid.
LITTLE HENRY WALLACE
He has spoken.
He has eaten.
He is safe.
He will not tell the police he lives in Hinton Hollow.
He will not break when they try to paint his mother in a bad light.
I checked in on the mother when Owen Brady was released.
She was a wreck. But hid that so well from the son that had stayed.
Henry could have been anywhere. He may have been noticed by the time he reached Oxford. He is small, she thought, maybe nobody noticed him. She couldn’t remember whether the train was headed towards Bristol or Birmingham. Maybe he made it that far. It didn’t matter. As long as he was out of The Hollow.
The news had been focused on the Brady boy. Nothing about a kid being abandoned on a train. She had to tell herself that he hadn’t been ‘abandoned’, she had saved him.
I looked inside her. She was good. But there was a guilt eating away at her that had nothing to do with her son being dumped on a train out of town. When the information came in about Jacob Brady, she thanked God. She was almost pleased, almost proud, that she still had two children.
It stabbed at her. Because she was good. That is why she did not need me to interfere. And that is the reason I did not.
THE TWO SOMEHOWS OF MRS WALLACE
Somehow, she knew that I was coming.
(Though she didn’t know what I was.)
Somehow, she was certain that Henry would soon knock at her front door.
A LITTLE FAITH
He pulled the sleeves of his jumper over his hands and gripped the wool to shelter them from the bitter wind. Owen Brady was free. So why didn’t it feel that way?
He’d told his version of events to the best of his memory, embellishing some details like the amount of blood and the scent of the alcohol. These things are expected when recalling situations of high trauma. Talking about it once had been enough for him. He started to understand why his wife had not wanted to go over that day in the park again and again and again. He still didn’t understand why she had taken her own life when she still had enough time left to deal with what had happened.
And he would never know of the choice that she made. How that had been a bigger fuck-up than the vodka and the razor blade.
All he cared about was Michael. Once he had established his own innocence, he just wanted to get back to his son. Pace had informed him that Michael was safe. He was still at home. And Inspector Anderson had assigned a family liaison officer. But they would need to speak with Michael again. He was the best chance they had of catching this guy.
That terrified Owen Brady.
This man. This cowardly predator had already killed Jacob and he may not have poured the vodka down his wife’s throat or stuffed the pills in her mouth or sliced the top of her thigh, but he’d killed the woman she once was and turned her into somebody that could leave her family behind without a thought.
Owen had been certain of everything he’d said during his interview but now he was doubting himself. Maybe Faith had found time to see somebody else. Ablett was always fishing around. That Hadley hairdresser may have been derided by the men in town but the women seemed to love him. How many men were there that he didn’t know in Hinton Hollow? What if he wanted to come back and finish things off? Take the other son? Kill the husband? Wipe out the family.
After everything that had happened, Owen Brady’s only certainty was also his biggest problem. He had no idea who his wife was.
YOU DON’T EVEN WORK HERE
‘You just let him go? Fuck, Pace, you didn’t think about talking to me first? You’ve been at the station for three days.’ Inspector Anderson was not pleased. His giant joke moustache bobbed heavily on his top lip as he vented at his detective but he never stood up from his chair. ‘The people in this town might not know who you have become but you arrive here with a reputation.’
; Part of that reputation was for not backing down and he wasn’t about to change now.
‘A reputation? For success, I’d imagine. For cracking cases slightly more high profile than a missing pet or stolen newspaper.’
Anderson was taken back by this. He’d taken a shot and missed. He could dish it out to Reynolds and the other local constables but nobody had ever come back at him before. It was in this conversation that Pace realised Anderson was a bully and the don’t-give-a-fuck attitude was a front for his insecurity – one of the easiest things for me to work with. He’d taken this post to be the big fish in the small pond.
Well, guess what, buddy … there’s always a bigger fish.
I’m on to you.
‘The guy found his wife dead in the bath the day after she watched their five-year-old son get shot through the heart. This is an investigation into the murder of Jacob Brady. His father was at work when that happened. The person we need to speak with is Michael Brady, but the kid is understandably catatonic at this point.’
Anderson wanted to interject but had nothing to add.
‘It’s unfortunate, but I don’t care about the woman that slits her own wrists as much as I do about catching the guy that can pop a bullet in a child and run off. I don’t want to waste my time with anything else. If you want to fuck about getting proof of a suicide then be my guest, but I’m on the hunt for a child killer.’
‘All right. You’ve made your point. You’re right. You’re bloody right.’
Pace thought a little more of Anderson for admitting this. He could see by the inspector’s expression that he was wishing he could backtrack.
‘Another thing.’
‘Go on.’
‘Keeping the schools open is the dumbest thing this town has ever done in what I see as a long series of dumb fucking decisions.’
Anderson wasn’t sure what Pace was referring to with that comment. He’d only been in town for fifteen years. A relative newcomer in the grand scheme of things.
‘That’s not me, Pace. Councilwoman Hayes has the final say. You know I agree.’ He was creeping now. All power in this conversation had been handed over to the dark, stubbled insomniac standing before the chief’s desk.
Pace exhaled and rubbed at his face, the beard that was forming scratched against his right hand. The air speeding around the building in ever-increasing circuits was whistling. At first, a harsh, unsettling pitch that became a hum once it was accepted as usual.
That is the reason the people of Hinton Hollow were losing. They were too comfortable. In their bubble. They couldn’t see the woods for trees. That’s where the answer was being held.
The problem was that nobody had gone missing. The kid had been shot and left. If they’d been searching for a body, the police would have scoured every inch of The Hollow. They’d have plotted a grid of the woods and raked every millimetre of it. They’d have found the car that Oz Tambor was locked inside. Then they could get the answers that Michael Brady had been failing to provide.
‘What have we got to go on so far?’ The moustache moved closer to Pace as Anderson leant forward on his chair, his elbows resting on the flimsy desk, his eyes showing genuine interest.
‘Not a lot. The kid said he looked like an ordinary man. The sex of the attacker is the only thing we can confirm as concrete.’
‘But it must be an outsider? Michael Brady would have recognised him if it was someone local.’
‘Despite the closeness of the town, Inspector, there are still five thousand people here. Nobody knows everyone, not even Mrs Beaufort.’
‘Has anyone checked to see how she’s doing?’
‘Again, sir, she is not a part of the investigation. I’m sorry about her health issues but she hasn’t crossed my mind.’ He was cold. Anderson was recalling some of the other details that came with Pace’s references and they seemed spot on. ‘It might be an idea to get one of the constables to call the hospital and check on her condition. Reynolds is hardly inundated with queries.’
‘He’s about to change shifts. I’ll get the next one to do it.’
‘I have checked in with stations in the surrounding area and there have been no similar incidents in the last couple of days. It doesn’t seem that a crime like this has occurred anywhere across the country so I’d rule out some kind of spree.’ Pace continued to run through his thoughts, demonstrating his unwavering focus to his superior officer.
‘Well, that’s a relief.’
‘It looks like an isolated incident so I think we are looking at someone local, somebody who knows the Bradys, rather than a drifter who just happened on the town and had an itch to scratch.
‘You think Faith Brady was getting doinked by the delivery boy or something?’ Matter-of-fact Anderson had returned to the conversation with his thoughtless comments. Pace raised an eyebrow.
‘I thought the same thing. It happens so often. But Owen Brady was so sure of her fidelity. I think we need to talk with some of Faith’s friends. I’ll get on that right away.’
‘Get yourself home first, Pace. Clean up. Maybe even grab an hour of shut-eye. You look tired and sinister.’ He hadn’t meant to say that last word but it crept out of his mouth, like his other meat-headed statements. Pace brushed it off, he’d made himself known already.
‘Will do. I’ll check once I’ve had a chance to speak with Michael Brady again.’
Reynolds was no longer on the front desk when Detective Sergeant Pace emerged from the back door. The kid was younger. Scrawnier.
‘You must be Detective Pace.’ He held out a bony right hand. ‘I’m Constable Lynch, I’ve heard a lot about you.’
He hadn’t, but he thought it was the right thing to say.
‘Lynch. I need you to call the hospital and get an update on how Mrs Beaufort is doing. You know Mrs Beaufort, right?’ Pace said all this while shaking the intimidated officer’s hand.
‘Sure. Sure I do. Everybody knows old Mrs Beaufort.’ He smiled as he helped perpetuate the myth of the close community.
‘Good. Report to Inspector Anderson when you have information from her doctors.’ He started to walk towards the wind. Without looking back at him, Pace added, ‘And, Lynch. Don’t let her hear you calling her old, eh?’
Pace couldn’t light his cigarette in the open, the flame from his match kept dying at the hands of the worsening weather.
This fucking town, he cursed to himself.
If everybody really knew everybody, then there had to be someone in Hinton Hollow who could identify the chicken shit that shot Jacob Brady. He couldn’t pin his hopes on a seven-year-old suddenly becoming lucid.
Pace looked out across the street. The terraces on the opposite corner to the police station seemed to change their form. Like a theatre safety curtain had been dropped in front of them, shrouding them in shade. He leant forward and looked up at the overcast sky. Then accepted his fate and stepped forward.
He was growing increasingly paranoid. All eyes were on him.
It was catching him up, he knew that now.
Facing his old life was not punishment enough.
Pace suffered that week. But unlike the others in The Hollow, he knew that he was getting what he deserved.
THIS PLACE IS TOXIC
The traffic light changed from grey to red just as Pace reached the crossroads at the centre of town. He knew he was tired because reality was distorted. Everything seemed to be in extreme close up. He had lost his peripheral vision.
I could be right next to him.
He could see the red circle that was ordering cars to stop until further notice, and coming into shot was the giant rectangle of a silver transit van heading in the other direction towards the train station.
An indicator flicked to turn right.
He knew he was tired because the truth was being deformed. The subtle kih-kuh kih-kuh kih-kuh of the indicator sounded more like someone being slapped in the face repeatedly. He could no longer hear the engine ticking over.
Anderson had been right, he needed some sleep. Not long. He could live on three or four hours each night. Sixty minutes would keep him going until the early hours of the next day if he needed to. The only obstacle was that he had been told to go home.
And Pace had no idea where that was.
He could only get a room at The Arboreal for a couple of nights. For the rest of the week, he had paid up to stay at one of the several bed-and-breakfast establishments in the area. The Cider Orchard was more than a B&B. There were six en-suite rooms that had been converted from stables. It was private and a little pricey but within walking distance of the police station. Everything was within walking distance. Everyone in Hinton Hollow walked.
Pace had arranged a meeting with a local lettings agent, Charles Ablett, for the next day in order to understand his options. Surely the minimum was something that would keep him attached to a lengthy rental contract. It would demonstrate his intent to stay in town, to make the temporary transfer more permanent. But the detective still didn’t know where he was meant to be, only where he should not. He wasn’t ready to return to the city.
To Pace, that was good enough for now.
IF THE WIND CHANGED
Charles Ablett was very careful with Rachel Hadley. She may have been stepping out on her husband but she’d also taken the time to make him pursue her. There was a touch of class to this one, he thought. Even if she had turned up unannounced at his door wearing no underwear, it was their first time together, and she didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would appreciate him unloading on her face. She’d probably never like it but he’d make her do it eventually.
They always let him in the end.
He also liked to get physical. Smack his ladies about a bit. Nothing untoward, in his mind, just some light choking and maybe a slap while the woman was bent over as he took her from behind.
But not today.