A Cry in the Night

by Tom Grieves

  ‘I think she just thought I was stupid and easily bought.’

  ‘She offered you money?’

  ‘She didn’t get the chance.’

  ‘Shame. We could have used that against her.’

  Zoe nodded as best she could.

  ‘You’re a good girl, Zoe,’ Mr Frey said, and she dared to believe she had passed a test.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said.

  ‘Poor old Malcolm’s problem is that he thinks you’re not part of the team.’

  Her mind raced back to this old line.

  ‘You’re loyal, I can see that. You need to make him see it too.’

  ‘By writing a false report on what happened?’

  Mr Frey waved his hand as though this was no longer an issue.

  ‘I’ve told you, men get over-eager. Sam gets over-eager. It happens. I’m here to be an umbrella for them, an umbrella against the shit that others want to throw at them. It’s not the most pleasant of jobs, but I think I do it rather well.’

  He pulled some gum from his pocket, took a small tab and offered some to Zoe, who politely declined.

  ‘I’ll protect you and I’ll protect Sam and I’ll make sure Sergeant Cartmell falls in line.’

  ‘And what do I do?’ she asked. It was meant to come out meekly, but Zoe just needed to know the facts, however good or bad.

  ‘You bring me Helen Seymour’s head on a plate.’

  He said it with no obvious pleasure, but she knew it was there.

  ‘I’m not entirely convinced by your rendition of events, but I’m willing not to press too much harder if I see that your loyalty really is to us. She clearly thinks you can be trusted too.’

  Zoe didn’t know who she trusted, but she could feel the knife being turned.

  ‘And that’s useful for us. As you’re part of our team. One of us.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I bet a clever girl like you will be able to get under her skin, find her weaknesses. She’ll never see you coming.’

  Zoe thought of the intimacy she’d felt with Helen. He was probably right. If she did what he said.

  ‘Oh, and if you don’t? Well, we’ll all know whose side you’re on for real then, won’t we?’

  He continued to smile and chew, but his eyes were ice-cold. She stood up and nodded.

  Destroy Helen Seymour and all would be fine. Follow Sam and his mad obsessions and join the male brigade that wants another mouthy woman silenced and then you can breathe again.

  Zoe didn’t know what she thought of Helen Seymour. At the very least she was tough and exploitative, but her failings felt slight compared with the monster in front of her. Unless she allowed him to abuse his power then she would drown. Malcolm and his rogues were waiting downstairs with more than just dead rats. And she loved this job. She bloody loved it. She loved the physicality, the sense of action, of doing, of immediate effect. And she was good at it. Who was one man to stop her? Who was one woman?

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said and turned and left. She waited for a parting shot as she walked out of his office, but he didn’t say a word. She wondered, as she walked past his secretary, whether he was on the phone now to the thugs downstairs, telling them to put down their cudgels.

  *

  The corridors below were quiet and she was able to find an empty office – an incident room which was unused after the successful conclusion of a case. Zoe was able to work at a desk without anyone knowing about her.

  She began with the cases that Sam had investigated. The terrifying women and their infanticide. The details made her feel sick. She turned the facts over and over, just as he had done.

  In time, she saw the connection that he had been led to – Helen Seymour’s involvement in each case. She discovered it with a gasp. But she worked on, through it and out to the other side. And it was here that she found the second connection. The connection that Sam hadn’t yet discovered. One other person was connected to each and every case. Just as Helen had made sure that she was introduced to each woman, so another figure made sure that they were the Senior Investigating Officer’s first port of call, every single time. And that person was Chief Superintendent Michael Frey.

  Zoe didn’t know what this meant. She didn’t know why Helen would want to be involved in every case either. But Mr Frey was right about one thing. She would be able to get Helen to tell her.

  She made photocopies, making sure that no one saw her. And then she dug deeper into the cases. Her work took her hours. Once done, armed with what she needed, she headed out, well aware that she was unlikely to sleep any time soon.

  SIXTY

  The village was muffled and gagged in white. Inside the pub, the men drank and the mood corroded further.

  David stoked it up. Without him, the men might well have just grunted and growled, but the strangeness of the night, the booze and the lust of the mob got things going.

  ‘She’s laughing at you, you know that don’t you?’

  The question was easily dismissed, but it still buzzed about in the crowded room.

  ‘There’s a woman who’s killed her kids and she’s got away with it.’

  Sam sat still and stared David down, but he could feel the heat that the words generated.

  ‘Are we seriously going to let her get away with that shit?’

  People tried to calm David down, and for a while he was willing to let them. But memories of Zoe meant that he couldn’t leave the itch unscratched. He brought it up a little later and noted the way men said less against him this time.

  Five whiskies later and they were nodding.

  It only needed a little more. And then a glass smashed on the floor and soon chairs were upended.

  David ushered Tim towards the door, and somehow this kind and gentle man found himself swearing and encouraging others. Men burst out through the back doors, suddenly high on the freezing air, giddy and overexcited. They marched together with grim purpose, not really sure if they were going to do this or not, not really sure what ‘this’ even was.

  ‘Let’s fucking show her!’ someone had yelled, and that was the fuzzy mission.

  It was a ten-minute walk to Bud’s place, but the booze made it feel like a thirty-yard stroll. As they got there, a few men slowed, the realisation dawning that the words now had to be translated into action. But Tim, David and four others marched ahead, not willing to entertain doubts. As they got to the house, Bud opened the door and stood there, shiftily. They’d made plenty of noise on the way and Sarah had, no doubt, shoved him out to face them. No one had any truck with Bud.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked meekly.

  ‘Send her out,’ Tim said. His voice was set with rage.

  ‘Don’t think I should, Mr Downing,’ Bud replied.

  ‘Give me my wife,’ Tim countered, and Bud faltered under such authority.

  ‘Get her out!’ David screamed in agreement.

  Bud shook his head. ‘I don’t think you should be here.’

  ‘Get out of the way!’ David yelled, but Bud didn’t move. And he was such a big lump that no one was quite sure how they’d get past him.

  ‘Bud, you dumb shit—’

  ‘Give me my wife!’

  ‘Get out of the way!’

  The abuse rained down but Bud stood firm. It seemed like the more they screamed, the firmer his resolve. It might have remained like this, but there was a momentary pause and someone heard Sarah’s voice call out from behind Bud.

  David and another man ran at Bud, and while he pushed David away with ease, the other was able to knock him to the floor. Tim and two others were right behind him, barging into the house, tripping over his heavy boots, crashing into the corridor.

  Sarah stood in front of Tim, and he slowed for a second until he saw that she was wearing the silk pyjamas that he’d bought her for Christmas. The top buttons were undone and hinted plenty at the flesh beneath. She’d worn them in their home, in their bedroom, in their bed.

  Tim reached out t
o grab her. Sarah pulled back but he had a hold of her arm and he dug his fingers into her flesh. She yelped with pain. He needed to hear that and he wanted to hear more. He was about to slap her in the face when something pulled him up and away and he found himself outside the door with a new barrier between them. But the barrier was not Bud, but Sam.

  ‘I can’t let you do this,’ he said.

  David was up in his face, shouting that Sam was one of them, and to get out of the way. But Sam was immovable. He looked at Bud and offered him a hand. But as he pulled him up, he saw the cut above Bud’s eye open up and blood spurt out. It hit the snow and suddenly everyone was silent.

  ‘You should all go home,’ Sam called out. ‘Everyone. Go home now.’

  Those at the back were happy to be directed and immediately began to trudge away. A straggle of men remained.

  ‘There’s nothing here for you,’ Sam called out. ‘Go home now, please.’

  He spoke so calmly, his words were undeniable. Eventually they all left. David and Tim were the last to go, muttering to themselves, but mollified nonetheless.

  Bud smiled shyly. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  ‘You’re hurt.’ Sam’s voice was painted gentle. ‘Is there someone who can help? It might need stitches.’

  ‘Sarah could fix me up,’ Bud replied.

  ‘No, she won’t be up to it, not after what just happened. It’s not fair to ask her.’

  The words seemed sensible. Bud frowned and then nodded.

  ‘Mrs Pascoe will sort me out, I bet,’ he said.

  ‘Great. You go see her. I’ll stay with Sarah.’

  ‘Okay,’ the big man happily agreed. He grabbed a coat and then bounded off.

  Sam watched him all the way to make sure he didn’t turn back. Then he went to the door and quietly closed it. Inside, Sarah watched him from the small distance of the living room, retreating when she saw the way he looked at her. She saw that the mob was still there, now distilled into one man. Its purpose, its violence, its deafness and blindness; it was all still there.

  Sam turned and checked that the door was locked and that no one could disturb them. Then he walked back towards the living room, ready to finish the job once and for all.

  SIXTY-ONE

  The men walked away from the house, the mob dispersing into smaller groups, then petering out into individual, shamed journeys home.

  For a while, Tim and David walked together until a fork in the road forced them into different directions. They paused momentarily, but neither could think of a thing to say. Tim walked on, head down against the falling snow, blood still pumping, but now with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Slowly the usual drain of tiredness and misery sapped his anger and left him fumbling with the key in the door like the sad, lonely drunk that he was.

  He went inside, but didn’t bother to turn on the light. He didn’t want to see the unwashed dishes dumped in the sink, or the rooms where nothing had changed because there was no one to change them. But then he tripped on something and slipped on the floor. And when his hand went out to steady himself, he realised that the floor was covered in other things. Confused, he found a switch and turned on the lights.

  The house had been trashed. While he’d been in the pub, someone had come in and ransacked the place. He went from room to room, and in each he was greeted by the same sight – debris and carnage. His first thought was to call the police, but then he remembered the deluge of snow and knew it was a waste of time.

  And then he wondered why.

  What had he done?

  What did they know, whoever they were?

  He went to his bedroom where the drawers’ contents spilled out across the floor. His wife’s jewellery was gone. But somehow, this didn’t feel like the work of common thieves.

  He went back downstairs. There was no clear sign of how the burglar, or burglars, had got in, so he double-checked all the windows, pushed latches across doors where he could, and heaved the heavy fridge across the back door.

  He grabbed some blankets and sat down on the sofa, swamped by the exhaustion of fading adrenalin and the spiky fear that something worse was about to come.

  When he finally slept, he did so upright.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Sam walked into the sitting room, and there she was, waiting for him. Sarah stood behind an armchair, tightly gripping its tatty fabric. The room was lit by the flickering fire, well stocked and burning brightly. She didn’t move but the flames seemed to make her shimmer.

  ‘Go away,’ she whispered.

  ‘Where’s Lily?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. How could I know?’

  He took a step further and saw her flinch.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, and neither believed him. ‘I got rid of that lot, didn’t I?’

  She didn’t have an answer for this.

  ‘I just want you to tell me the truth. About everything. If you do that, I can end all of this. You must be so unhappy, living like this. Am I right?’

  She looked around at the shabby room and shrugged a little miserably.

  ‘I’m here to help you, believe it or not.’

  Bud’s dog stumbled in from the corridor. It stared at them both with a mournful look then collapsed in front of the fire and promptly fell asleep.

  ‘Everyone hates me,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘Yes, you have.’

  ‘No, I’m just, I’m not right for here.’

  Was that it? No. She was out of place, for sure. But it wasn’t just this village where a woman like her was out of place.

  ‘Where’s Lily?’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘No, you’ve said nothing. You’ve hidden behind lawyers and rules. But there are no tapes here. We don’t have to do things by the book tonight.’

  Sam threw a log onto the dwindling fire. The dog rolled onto its back and stretched.

  ‘Please, Sam,’ she said, and she gave him her widest eyes. ‘Please believe me.’

  It was a mistake, to try to win him over like that. He’d been expecting as much.

  ‘You’re good at getting men to do what you want, aren’t you, Sarah?’

  She frowned at the question.

  ‘Tim, now Bud.’

  ‘I do what I have to,’ she said after a moment’s thought.

  ‘I think you do a little more than that.’

  ‘If you were a woman, you’d do exactly the same.’

  ‘I doubt that.’

  A shove in the street can easily deteriorate into something worse. It’s a short leap from kissing to killing.

  ‘Where’s Lily, Sarah?’

  ‘Stop asking me that.’

  But he wouldn’t be deflected. Not now when he was so close.

  A woman’s eyes, the sway of her hips, the pull on her lip to force a smile. Sarah lied with every movement of her body.

  ‘I will make you talk,’ he said.

  ‘You’re a cop. You can’t make me do anything.’

  Sam rolled his heavy shoulders as though he was warming up for something.

  ‘How long do you think the snow will last? I heard them saying in the pub that we’ll be snowed in all night. It’ll melt tomorrow, sure enough, it’s only November after all. But tonight, no one can get to us. I don’t think I need to be a cop, not tonight.’

  The snow began to fall again outside, as if to make his point. Sam saw the flakes, illuminated by the fire inside. They seemed to glow red, like it was raining fire.

  ‘If you touch me,’ Sarah said with a slow, clear calculation, ‘then Bud will kill you.’

  She smiled after saying it. Sam just rolled his shoulders again, looser and looser.

  ‘He’ll come after you if I tell him to. You have no idea how much he loves me.’

  ‘You have a way,’ Sam said.

  ‘I have a way.’

  ‘Just like your lawyer.’

  She just shrugged.
r />   ‘Where’s Lily?’ he asked again.

  And again, she just shrugged. The casualness felt so cruel. He took a step forward and saw her retreat again.

  ‘You killed your son, didn’t you?’

  He thought of the little boy, smothered in his mother’s embrace, floating like jettisoned cargo in that empty swimming pool.

  ‘How did it feel?’ he asked.

  Maybe she and Helen did it together, maybe they smashed his head on the rocks, before dumping him in the lake, just like Jenny Smeeton – her nephew broken to pieces against a kitchen sink.

  ‘Is she still alive, Sarah?’

  Nothing. A blank stare. Maybe it was too late. The thought made his hand shake. He grabbed for her, but she was quick and pulled away. He pushed over the armchair that she hid behind and heard the wood crack as it fell.

  ‘Where is she?’

  She couldn’t run now. He could hold her by the throat, he could tear her apart. Where is your daughter? What did Helen Seymour make you do? Why did you kill them? Where is your daughter? The questions burst upon her but she wouldn’t answer.

  He stepped forward and she screamed with terror. But he was trying to save her. Why didn’t she see that he was trying to save her? He had to rip the truth from out of her, but she wouldn’t let him. He just wanted to save a little girl. He just wanted to find Lily and stop this. Stop it all. Bring everything to a halt so that people could be people again. So he could be his old self, a cop, a dad, a good guy. She had to stop fighting him. She had to stop the lies and tell him where Lily was. It was so simple, so fucking simple.

  He went for her again, and as she ran from him she slipped and tripped on the upturned chair, sprawling onto the carpet.

  ‘Why won’t you help me, Sarah?’

  He should grab her and shake her, but she seemed so small, so frail, and he found he couldn’t do it. Outside the snow had stopped falling. The window was now just a black rectangle, a leap to the stars. He looked down at her again, forcing his resolve.

  ‘You never loved them, did you?’

  The question brought a miserable cough from her.

  ‘You were a terrible mother. They were better off without you.’

  And finally, she spoke.