by NC Marshall
Will sat down and sighed loudly, then stretched his long legs out under the table in front of him. His joints screamed out in protest and he ached from head to toe. Carrying Megan away from the wreckage on Thursday night had made him realize how unfit he had become. Years of manual labour in the local shipyard had kept him on top of his fitness, but the two and a half years of running his father’s old business, based primarily behind an office desk, were now noticeably beginning to take their toll on his once enviable physique.
Picking up his pint he took a well-deserved gulp and spun round in his seat to look out of the window in an attempt to stop his racing thoughts.
Although he had lived here for all of his 35 years, Will never tired of that view. Even on a chilly autumn afternoon like this, the vast waters of the estuary, maze of winding cobbled alleys, and brightly painted fishermen’s cottages that lined the streets of his home village never failed to tug at his heartstrings.
Usually, this is the place he would come to unwind with Elliott after they’d endured a stressful week at work together, or to sit and enjoy a quiet pint alone, contemplating after a visit to the care home to see his dad. Usually the view alone would succeed in calming him. Tonight though, it simply didn’t come near.
No more than 10 minutes had passed before Elliott pulled up his chair opposite Will and placed his bottle of cider next to his. Will was relieved; the past 10 minutes had been filled with acquaintances passing his table and asking how he was holding up; wanting to talk to him about his father’s rapidly worsening health. Morteford was a diminutive village and everyone knew about his dad’s current battle against cancer. It was evident that people were concerned and, although he was grateful for their kindness, he was simply not in the mood for polite conversation tonight.
“You alright, mate?” asked Elliott.
Will studied the face of his oldest friend and, as he settled down opposite him, he noticed his worried look. Just like Will, Elliott was an only child, and the two men were like brothers. Will could turn to Elliott for anything, and he hoped that the feeling was mutual. He was the only one who knew the full story – about Megan and where Will had been 3 nights ago; what had happened. He’d called Elliott to fill him in, the morning after he had returned to Morteford, and he had been totally shocked!
“I've been better mate,” replied Will honestly, rubbing at his rarely unshaven chin.
“You look like hell!”
“Cheers.”
“Do you know how she’s doing?” asked Elliott.
Will looked down at the battered wooden table and picked at the corner of the peeling beermat that his drink was resting on, the feeling of guilt once again surging through him like an electrical current.
“No, but I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he answered sheepishly, finally looking back at Elliott.
Elliott took a gulp of cider and nodded thoughtfully, before rolling up the sleeves of his chunky knitted jumper and placing his hands on his knees.
“So, where do you go from here?”
Will sighed and shrugged his shoulders before draining what was left in his glass and placing it back on the table.
“I really don’t know, but I've got a favour to ask of you El, a really big favour.”
Elliott leaned back in his seat, smiled warmly, and replied in a way that Will had been hoping for.
“Just name it, mate.”
Chapter 6
I’m on the phone to my friend Eva, when a black Vauxhall Insignia pulls up outside my living-room window, and a man and woman climb out, making their way to my front door.
“Eva, I’ll have to call you back. There’s somebody coming to the door,” I follow their shadows, cast by the early morning light, up the driveway, until I can no longer see them.
“Yes, no problem, Meg, I’ve got to get off to work anyway – I really just wanted to check that you got home from hospital OK?” replies Eva.
“I did, and I’m fine, honestly. Thanks for calling Eva.”
“Alright, Meg, look after yourself!”
I finish the call, set my mug down and, as the bell goes for the second time, I hurry to the door, wondering who my surprise visitors are at such an early hour on a Monday morning.
“Hi, can I help?” I ask, as the couple I’ve never seen before, smile pleasantly. The man takes a step closer; he looks to be in his early forties, the woman maybe a little younger. I can tell their profession before they even introduce themselves.
“Hi Mrs Cooper. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Morgan, and this is Detective Inspector Taylor.” The man flashes a warrant card before my eyes. “Do you have a few moments to spare – we would like a quick chat with you, if that’s alright?” He takes another step forward.
“Yes, of course,” I reply, stepping to one side to allow the smartly dressed detectives into my home. Confusion sets in as I take them through to the living room and gesture for them to sit down. I offer to make them a coffee before we talk, unsure about the etiquette for a police visit. Both detectives politely decline.
“Nice place,” says DCI Morgan. He takes a brief look around the room as he settles into the sofa nearest to the window, turning to glance at the view behind him. The hills of the Northumberland countryside are shrouded in early morning fog, the grey clouds above outlined by the haze of imperceptible rays.
“Lovely area too, my wife’s brother lives close by and I used to live not too far from here myself,” he adds, turning his focus back to me.
“Really?” I smile, trying to show interest, but honestly, I couldn’t care less. I want to know their reasons for being here.
“Can I ask what this is about?” I ask, balancing myself on the edge of the opposite sofa and crossing my ankles uncomfortably.
“We’re sorry to barge in on you first thing on a Monday,” says DI Taylor. She unbuttons her navy mac and removes her brightly coloured scarf before sitting down next to Morgan on the sofa. Her accent isn’t local, instead revealing a clear Cockney twang. “We realize you were only discharged from hospital yesterday afternoon following the car accident,” she adds.
I nod, feeling even more confused.
“We won’t take up much of your time, we promise,” says Morgan, reassuringly.
“Is this about the crash then?” I ask impatiently, focusing my attention on DCI Morgan. He places his hands on his knees and leans forward, his grey suit jacket pulling tightly across his torso.
“Yes, as I said, we just have a few questions Mrs Cooper,” he responds, in a clear Geordie dialect and as he leans further forward, his broad shoulders block the minimal amount of daylight coming through the small nearby window. His intimidating presence makes me nervous.
“Please, just call me Megan,” I say. The words come out rather frostier than I had intended; my married name is a firm reminder of the pain I endured last year and at times it’s too hard to hear. This is one of those times.
“OK Megan. Could you explain what happened on Thursday night please, and how you ended up steering off Kitley Bridge?”
“I've already told the police about this,” I reply, feeling irritated. “Two officers came to visit me yesterday morning while I was still in hospital and they took a statement from me then.”
“Yes, you spoke to Sergeant Thompson and PC McLean, but if you can just tell us what you told them?” says DI Taylor. She smiles, and her perfectly made-up face and bouncy blonde hair makes me feel unattractive in comparison. I instinctively touch my own hair, smoothing it over the shoulders of my sweatshirt, before I clear my still-sore throat to continue.
“I was driving home from work on Thursday night…” My voice instantly breaks. I hold up my hand and cough before I start to reiterate the exact story I had told the police officers in hospital.
“You work as a marketing manager at Brightdale House in Newcastle city centre, is that correct?” interrupts Morgan, before I barely begin.
I nod. “Yes, I’d been holding a late meeting, so didn’t finish work ti
ll after 7 pm, and it's a 40-minute drive home. I was only 10 minutes from home when the crash happened.”
DI Taylor jots down a few notes on a pad and then focuses her attention on me, silently coaxing me to continue the account.
“There’s not a lot to tell,” I admit. “There was a car coming towards me; it didn’t slow down, and when I tried to brake it didn’t work.”
“And the car approaching you definitely didn’t attempt to reduce its speed?” asks Morgan.
“No.”
“How fast would you say the other car was going?”
“It must have been travelling at least 60 miles per hour when I hit the bridge, that’s why I had to try and steer to avoid it. I lost control of my car and came off the road.” I shudder as I am suddenly back in the car, flying through the air, branches scratching the windows and pounding on the roof, glass shattering in front of me.
“Did you get a good look at the other car?” asks Morgan.
“Not really.”
“You told Sergeant Thompson that you believed the other car to be a white SUV?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Morgan nods, “and did you say that you were having problems with your brakes before the accident?”
“Yes,” my gaze falls to the floor. “I’d been meaning to get them looked at, but just haven’t had the time.” I think of Luke, hounding me to get the car checked when the brakes started sticking a couple of weeks back, and now feeling a complete fool for not listening to him.
“You told the police that a man pulled you from the car, approximately 10 minutes after you went off the side of the bridge, Megan?” asks Taylor.
“I think it was only around 10 minutes, but it could have been a lot longer. I'm not too sure of the exact timeframe, to be honest.”
“That’s OK,” replies Morgan. “You also said that you were carried back up to the road leading to the bridge?”
“Yes. We staggered together from the car and then he covered me with a jacket and carried me the rest of the way.”
“The gentleman carried you back to the road leading to the bridge?” Taylor confirms.
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know who this man is?”
“No.”
“Can you remember anything at all about him?”
“No – I didn’t get a good enough look. It was really dark, I was in shock and too much of a state to be fully aware of what was going on.”
“That’s understandable, given the circumstances.” Morgan flashes me a gentle smile.
“The only thing I can remember is that he had black boots on, and a very strong aftershave.” I offer, feeling wholly useless. “Also, I think he burnt his hand when he tried to open the car door. I noticed it was injured when he reached over to unclip my seatbelt.”
“So then he lifted you up to the road and called for an ambulance?” asks Taylor.
“I think so, but it’s all still very hazy.”
“He didn’t accompany you to the hospital?”
“No, my brother spoke to the paramedics who looked after me that night. The man called for an ambulance and waited for it to arrive, but they had to rush me straight off and he didn’t give his name.” I recite word for word what Luke had told me on the Friday morning in hospital.
Taylor and Morgan glance at each other.
“You said the man covered you with a jacket?” asks Morgan.
“Yes.”
“Do you still have that jacket Megan, or did he retrieve it before you got into the ambulance?” asks Morgan, adding “any evidence at this point is greatly appreciated.”
I move to retrieve the jacket from the kitchen bench where I left it. Evidence? Why the hell are they collecting evidence? The man saved me!
Removing the key and concealing it in the pocket of my sweatshirt, I return to the lounge and hand the jacket to Taylor. She carefully studies the front of it.
“What about the blood?” she asks, noticing a small red stain on the left shoulder, which before now I hadn’t spotted.
“I think that must be mine.” I touch my head, trailing my finger along the line of small stitches running parallel with my eyebrow, and then adjusting my fringe to cover them again.
Taylor slides the jacket into a large clear bag, which leads me to question the real reasons they are here.
“Can I ask why you are involved?” I ask, as politely as possible. “Like I say, the local police have already been through all this. They think the car was probably stolen by kids, so just a typical case of Thursday night joyriding in a small country town where there’s very little else for them to do. It’s a frighteningly common thing.”
Morgan seems to ignore this statement.
“Have you ever heard of a man named Rick Donovan?” asks Morgan. His question is a little random and catches me off guard.
“No,” I answer immediately. I don’t even need time to think – I’m good at remembering names, and a skill I’ve always prided myself on. Years of being a manager with a large team and a high turnover of staff has given me the ability to remember names incredibly well, and I know straight away that this name has absolutely no meaning to me.
“OK, well, I think that’s all we need for now,” replies Morgan abruptly, suddenly standing and straightening his jacket. Taylor wraps her scarf back around her neck before following Morgan out into the hall.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs Cooper.” The two detectives return to the front door and I see them out. As I close the door behind them and hear their car pull away from my drive, I wonder what they are investigating and who the hell Rick Donovan is.
Chapter 7
Tony couldn’t help but reminisce as he and Charlotte made their way along the Northumberland coastal route after leaving Megan Cooper’s house. Feeling nostalgic, he’d purposely chosen a detour so that he could drive part of the route, knowing that Charlotte would be none the wiser to his cunning plan.
Tony liked where he lived now. He’d become fond of his life in the North West and he loved the fact that his family was so happy and settled there. However, Tony’s heart would always be in the North East, and every time he came back to visit, it only reaffirmed the fact. He would always be a Geordie lad at heart!
Glancing across at Charlotte, who was in her own world staring out of the window, he pulled onto the A19 and checked the car’s illuminated clock. Even though it was now approaching 9 am, the sky above remained gloomy over the surrounding farmer’s fields and a dense grey fog floated on the horizon, fast approaching from the nearby North Sea. He switched on the car’s headlights and cancelled the unnecessary sat nav instructions, telling him where he should be going. He had driven this road hundreds of times and knew each part of it like the back of his hand, so could probably drive it blindfolded if he had to.
Charlotte reached forward and changed the radio station. Tony was impressed! In the first half an hour of her being picked up yesterday, not only had she already programmed in all of her favourite stations, and figured out how to operate the stupidly complicated sat nav, but she had also successfully paired his mobile to the car’s system and worked out the hands free. These were actions that Tony hadn’t fathomed in the whole time he’d been driving the car.
Charlotte had been uncharacteristically quiet since they’d left Megan’s home, and he knew that it would be less than 5 minutes before her thoughts would eventually spill out. It took 2!
“That house she has is something pretty special, hey?” she asked, her attention still fixed on the road ahead.
“Yes, not that big, but very nice. Fabulous location, and I bet the views from the back garden, over the countryside, are stunning.”
“I agree it has nice views, but I reckon it would be a bit dull living out in the sticks like that. Anyway, sheep are highly overrated, Tony.”
“Jealous much, Taylor?”
Charlotte ignored Tony and continued with her trail of thought that Tony was yet to guess.
“Y
ou said Olivia’s brother lives in the same area as Megan Cooper?”
“Close yeah, why?”
“How much do you think a house like that goes for?”
“Well, Ewan bought his house 5 years ago, and didn’t get much change from a million.” Tony thought about his brother-in-law. Although a decent enough bloke, he never missed an opportunity to gloat about his wealth, and he was full of his own self-importance. Tony always thought narcissism an ugly trait to possess.
“Christ, what does her brother do to be able to afford a place like that?”
“Plastic surgeon.”
“Ha,” Charlotte raised her eyebrows, “I always knew I was in the wrong profession.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Charlotte, it’s obvious that you love what you do.”
Charlotte paused to consider, before replying, “Yeah, but I’d also really like a fancy crystal chandelier, like the one in Megan’s hallway.”
“I’ll bear that in mind as a wedding gift, for when you eventually get married.”
“You’ll be waiting a while then!”
Tony laughed. “Nah, I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“And who do you think I’m going to marry? I can’t hold down a relationship for longer than 4 months!”
“Our Shaun has taken a bit of a fancy to you, you know. Hasn’t stopped asking about you since the summer, when you showed up at Liv’s 40th barbecue.”
Charlotte laughed – Tony’s younger brother was a great guy, with the same family values and hardworking ethic as his older brother. Coupled with a similar build and handsome features, there was no denying that Shaun Morgan was a catch, but the thought of going out with her boss’s brother just didn’t sit right.
“I’m happy on my own for the time being, but thanks for the advice, Cupid!”
“Nobody’s happy on their own! It's just something single people tell themselves to feel better,” Tony joked.