by GB Williams
Implications were something she didn’t want to think about. ‘Someone wants us out of the prison, but not dead.’ Which made her wonder, why? ‘They probably want to implicate the pair of us in Tommy Walters’ murder.’
There was a pause. ‘How?’
‘I don’t know. But, throw enough mud and some of it will stick. Maybe I had access to the murder weapon. Then, there’s Charlie’s track record for murder.’
‘What weapon?’
Again, something about the voice nagged at Teddington. ‘I don’t know. Not for sure. No one’s figured out what the weapon was yet. That DCI Piper’s as incompetent as he seemed, maybe he’s even in on the cover up.’
‘He’s not.’ Charlie sounded so certain.
‘Ha! You didn’t see how cosy he was with the Guv,’ she growled. ‘That aside, there are a couple of things it could have been, and whatever it was, it was in Blackmarch. I work there. I could have had access to it. At this point, it’s just useful circumstantial evidence, but that doesn’t mean more can’t be fabricated, and that’s got to be easier if neither of us is there and in the way.’
‘What do you think it was?’ the third man asked.
‘Could be anything. A knife, a shiv, even a wooden stake. There …’
‘There, what?’
‘There are wooden stakes used in the garden – usually for holding strings across the veg patch. They disappear sometimes. They’re only balsa wood, but they could be sharpened and used against a man.’
‘Have any disappeared lately?’
She thought about it. ‘One got broken about a week before Tommy died. I only got the smaller half back.’
‘Have you reported that to the police?’ the third man asked.
‘No. I didn’t think about it ’til now.’
‘And if you had?’
Unsure how to say it, she swallowed, and decided honesty was probably the best policy, though she wasn’t entirely sure why, when on the run with a convict and his ‘reliable’ friends. ‘I doubt I’d have said anything.’
‘Why?’ the third man asked. ‘You’re on the same side as the police. You work with them.’
‘Actually, I work with the Parole Service more. Rarely have actual contact with the police. Besides, at best, it’s circumstantial. I’d only be putting my head above the parapet to get shot at.’
‘There’s something rotten in the state,’ Charlie quoted.
‘What?’
‘Corruption,’ Charlie told the unseen man. ‘The only reason to target either of us, is we’re too close to seeing who, what, and where. Me, because of the questions I’ve been asking about Tommy, Teddington, either because she’s got unwitting access to the evidence, or because she’s incorruptible.’
That made her smile. She’d never considered herself incorruptible. Charlie’s faith in her was rather warming. ‘Works rota.’
‘What?’
‘The works rota,’ she said again. ‘I was looking at it last time I was in. Tommy never worked in the garden or the workshop; he didn’t like getting his hands dirty. Literally, he had a phobia about it. But, the day before he was found dead, he was on the rota for working in the garden.’
‘When you were on shift?’
‘No, that was my day off. I was officially on afternoons the day he was found, but got a call the previous evening, so Robbins and I were working a double the day he was found, to cover. So, I was in when he was found, but not when he would have been working, and maybe not when he died. I still have no idea of time of death, so can’t say where I was then.’
‘Who authorised the rota sheet?’
She tried to recall the officer on duty. ‘No idea. I didn’t get that far.’
Charlie opened the door wider, ‘What d’ya mean, “you didn’t get that far”?’
‘I mean, I didn’t get that far. I heard about him being on the detail after his body was found, but the only chance I had to look was earlier this week, at handover. I had the book open, but I was just doing the check when Enzo walked in, closed the book, and started all this nonsense about me and him being an item. Well … reinforced it. He’d started it in the pub before. Then, Turner, Robbins and Roberts came in. Couldn’t look after that.’
‘Enzo?’
‘Enzo Sanchez,’ Charlie supplied to the unseen man. ‘The officer in ICU.’
Teddington ignored them, knowing they were talking but thinking this through. ‘We have to go back,’ she said eventually.
‘Are you kidding?’ Charlie argued.
‘Never more serious. I don’t want to run away from my life, but if I don’t take you back, my career is over, and you’ll be on the run for the rest of your life. It is, at best, a time-sensitive option.’
Apparently, Charlie wasn’t in the mood to be persuaded so easily. He opened the door to see her as he spoke. ‘You figure that someone in there is trying to set us up, but you want to go back into the lion’s den?’
‘Yes.’ She stared at him in the dim light. ‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on any more than you do, but if someone’s prepared to go to all that effort to get rid of us, then, stirring them up―’
‘Is a really bad idea.’
His expression largely covered by the fact the light was behind him, but she got the impression he was glaring. She tried another tack. ‘Depends how we do it. If we just slink back, then it can all be hushed up, and anything that can be used against us will be … but your “reliable” friend out there says we made the national news, which means the public will be interested. Chances are, at some point, the police are going to call a press conference. If you and I turn up, and turn ourselves in under the glare of the media spotlight, if anything later happens to either of us, it’s going to be obvious. It’ll hit the headlines again, an investigation will be required, and the fear of that is what will keep the pair of us safe. If we keep running, this won’t end well for either of us.’
For a while, silence reigned.
‘She has a point,’ the third man said.
Charlie drew in a breath, bracing like he was about to go into battle. He closed the door, and their words were completely muted. Feeling sick, the pain in her shoulder throbbing into her neck and head, Teddington let their words wash away from her. She really needed that painkiller. Hating the weakness, she carefully lowered herself to the bed, laying on her left side, her arm uncomfortable with the cold metal around her wrist.
The door opened with surprising haste.
‘Teddington, are you–’ Charlie cut himself off, ‘Are you alright?’
‘No.’ She didn’t like either the concern in his tone or the plaintiveness of her own. ‘I need that painkiller now.’
18
Teddington slept better than she had in a while. She woke with fewer aches and pains than before, and her mind quickly clouded with thoughts of what was to come, of the things that could go wrong. The pale glow from the moon shone in from the open doorway – just enough light to catch the outline of shapes. All of this was the excuse she gave for not realising sooner there was a weight over her waist, and a warmth behind her back. She was spooned against a virile male body.
After Charlie had given her the painkiller, she’d been aware of his talking, remembered him coming in after, helping her sit up to drink, telling her something about a press conference, but it was all a bit of blur. At some point, he must have come in and snuggled up behind her, though she didn’t remember his doing so. For now, she enjoyed the additional warmth, the improved scent, but baser needs intruded.
She turned her head as far as she could towards him. ‘Charlie?’
He murmured and snuggled closer.
‘Charlie.’ This time her voice was stronger, louder.
He groaned and opened his eyes, blinking, as he came awake, he picked his head up to look at her, a slow beguiling grin spreading. ‘Morning, sweetheart.’
‘Yeah …’ She smiled. ‘You can quit that right now.’
‘Are you always this grumpy in the morni
ng?’
‘Only when I’ve been shot, kidnapped and handcuffed to a bed in a slum. Besides, I’m not even sure it is morning.’
He scrubbed his face with his hand, before checking the digital watch he wore. ‘It’s not. Just gone ten o’clock.’
‘Take it the painkiller knocked me out?’
Charlie nodded. ‘Doc said that might be a side effect.’
‘It’s also left me really dry-throated. Is there anything to drink?’
Charlie nodded, as he pushed himself up and shifted down and off the bed. ‘We’ve food, too. Hungry?’
‘Yeah.’ Every muscle pulled, as she eased her feet over the edge of the bed. She was grateful she’d worn boots; they had stayed on and kept her feet warm. Teddington drew in some deep breaths, unsure if the spinning in her head and the rebellion in her stomach were just effects of movement or hunger, or the remnants of the drugs.
As she fought the nausea, the light in the other room increased; apparently, Charlie also had a lantern of some sort. When he returned, he carried the lantern over his wrist, along with a two-litre bottle of water and a carrier bag of food. With her right arm too sore to move and her left cuffed, Teddington suddenly saw the problem.
‘Any chance you could uncuff me?’
He paused. ‘I can’t let you go.’
She couldn’t help it, she rolled her eyes. ‘Where am I gonna go? I don’t even know where I am. Besides, I’ve been shot. It’s uncomfortable just sitting here, so the jolting of running would probably hurt like hell. I’ve got a fuzzy head and early stage dehydration. And I’m wearing heeled boots, so no way could I run faster than you right now, anyway. Which means any attempt to get away from you would, frankly, be an exercise in futility. Uncuff me.’
He put the food and lantern on the end of the bed and reached into his pocket for the key, kneeling before her to release her wrist. His hands felt surprisingly warm against hers.
‘God, you’re cold.’
Apparently, he felt it, too.
He sat on the bed beside her and something snapped. The end of the bed shifted slightly, and the two of them froze, waiting for something more to happen.
‘That didn’t sound good,’ Teddington observed.
‘I’ll check it out after,’ Charlie promised, but she noticed he moved gingerly back to lean against the wall.
How little effort it took him to shift forward again and drag her back beside him, was a worry. Knowing he was stronger than her was one thing, realising how much stronger was another. She wasn’t exactly the skinniest woman she knew, and she wasn’t used to being treated like a lightweight, but she wasn’t going to complain, either. His arm remained casually round her shoulders, and she appreciated the shared body heat.
He opened the bottle around her, letting her guide the plastic to her lips, so she could drink her fill first. It was welcome relief. Next were pre-packed sandwiches. They weren’t the tastiest thing Teddington had ever eaten, but they were no less welcome for that.
‘Your friends provide this?’
‘Yep. Not exactly a feast, but better than nothing.’
‘How did you contact them? When?’
‘You sure you want to know?’
She thought about it, sighed. ‘Best not.’
‘Did anything I was telling you earlier sink in?’
She frowned. ‘Something about a press conference tomorrow we could turn up to?’
‘Eleven-thirty tomorrow morning, to be precise. DCI Piper will lead a press conference, telling the world what they know, and appealing for me to give myself up, or at least, give you up, since you must be in need of medical assistance.’
The frown knitted her brow again. ‘How do they know that?’
He just raised his brows at her.
‘Oh yeah. TV’s great, huh?’
As they finished eating, he told her the plan. It was clear and surprisingly simple. Without complications, there was less to go wrong.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Teddington asked, picking at the last crust of her sandwich.
‘Sure.’
‘How the hell did you ever get involved with a woman like Cathy Hamilton?’
Charlie took a deep breath, then huffed it out. She suspected he wasn’t going to answer her, reconciled herself to that.
‘She and I were both trying to take care of the same teenager, to get him clean. She worked in a rehab centre, and I took him there. She was held up as an example of someone who had kicked the habit and turned her life around. She was there to help and inspire others. Given the nature of the place, I didn’t think it was a great move to let on what I did for a living; it might have put people off. So, I lied by omission.
‘After about three months, I told Cathy I was a DS, and she freaked out, screamed all sorts at me, chucked me out of the studio apartment she kept. I found out a little while after that the reason she liked working at the centre was that sometimes junkies who really wanted to quit would hand in their stash. She was supposed to log it all, and then, it would be turned over to the police for destruction. Only she would skim some off before logging it, and indulge her habit. Something she omitted to tell me. She managed to stay clean through the pregnancy, though.’
‘Really?’
Charlie nodded. ‘She had to be tested as part of the visitation rights case I brought against her. It showed she hadn’t taken anything from the time she found out she was pregnant.’
‘How would they be able to tell that?”
‘Hair tests,’ he explained. ‘The drugs grow into the hair, so you can get a fairly accurate indication of when someone was and wasn’t using.’
‘Oh, interesting. And at least, it shows she wasn’t entirely irresponsible.’
‘No, but she obviously got back into bad habits at some point. After Oscar was born.’
Charlie balled up the wrapper of the sandwich he’d eaten and threw it across the room. It couldn’t have been a satisfying shot. The plastic un-crinkled and fell within a couple of feet. Teddington watched its insolent rocking, and said nothing. He was going through enough.
‘When I did what I did,’ he spoke softly, ‘I knew I’d go to jail; I accepted that. What never occurred to me was without the threat of me taking full custody of Oscar, Cathy would start taking again.’ Charlie pushed his hair back this time. It needed a cut.
‘Oscar’s death was not your fault,’ Teddington told him softly.
The grunt Charlie replied with suggested he didn’t entirely agree with that statement.
The conversation dwindled. Teddington shifted up, stood, stretching as much as she dared with her shoulder. ‘I need the bathroom.’
‘You don’t need this one.’
Still, he led her to the bathroom, and she baulked but didn’t comment when she saw the state of it. The stench was stomach-turning, but her innards had been empty too long to let go of food now. There were limits, she supposed, to what could be expected from an abandoned squat.
Only when she came out did she see that he’d been gentleman enough to move away from the door, to give her space, as well as time. He wasn’t stupid, however, and still stood between her and the front door, the way out to whatever freedom there might be. But, when she looked up at Charlie, all the emotions came crashing in again. She couldn’t abandon him. She didn’t want to admit it, but she needed him. She moved into the room, and he crossed to her, following when she wordlessly returned to the dark bedroom. Once in there, he used the weak light of the battery lantern to check the bed.
‘Just a broken slat. Should be okay for the night.’
She didn’t move when he faced her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about sharing a single bed with him. That, she admitted to herself, was a lie. She knew exactly how she felt about it, which was the real problem.
Then, he was right there in front of her. He moved, put his arms around her, drawing her gently against him, cradling her, carefully avoiding any pressure on her right shoulder. It would only take minimal
effort to move away from him, but she didn’t want to. No more did she resist when he tilted her head up to his. Kissing him was all too easy, his firm lips knew what to do, seemed to know what she needed. His taste was a drug, activating and thrilling every sense she had.
She laid her head on his chest. His heart thumped in her ear, beating as crazily as her own. ‘It’s not real.’
She made herself say it. Felt and heard his in-drawn breath. His arms held her, no more willing to let her go than she was to remove herself.
‘What?’
‘This,’ she told him quietly. ‘All this emotion. What you’re feeling for me.’ At least what she hoped he was feeling for her, since she knew what she was feeling for him. ‘It’s not real.’
‘Feels real to me.’
She closed her eyes, and wished this was different. ‘It would, but it’s not. In the last three years, I’m one of only five women you would have seen in the prison, and the most consistent for being around. But, we don’t really know one another, we don’t know any of those little things you’d learn about someone you know socially for three years.’ She took a breath. ‘You don’t even know my first name.’
‘Ariadne,’ he said.
She frowned, shifting to look up at him. ‘How do you know that?’
‘News reports.’ He shrugged. ‘My friends brought a paper when they brought the food.’
‘Oh.’ Made sense. ‘But, see, it’s a recent nugget, and only because of this ridiculous situation.’
He reared at the phrase, his hands falling away from her. ‘So, explain why you feel it, too.’
She stepped away, but he grabbed her left arm, making her face him.
‘Well?’
She didn’t have an answer for the harsh demand.
‘Ariadne?’
Oh, Lord, did he have to say her name with such seductive softness? ‘I prefer Ari.’ She took a breath, inclining her head away. ‘You should keep calling me Teddington.’ Her voice sounded dull, even to her own ears. Her breath shook. ‘This is so impossible, you must see that.’ If he did, he made no indication.
‘Explain why you feel it, too.’
She couldn’t, wouldn’t admit the truth. So, she fell on the one thing she had left. ‘Stockholm Syndrome.’