by NC Marshall
Charlotte had developed a firm grasp on the workings of a man’s brain, and it was true that all of them had a weakness. For some it was sport, some alcohol, for others it was money, and for many it was sex. Tony’s weakness, however, was sugar and she had quickly learnt over the 2 years of working together that there was very little he wouldn’t do if a Mars bar was wafted enticingly under his nose.
Tony stood to put his empty cup into a nearby bin and, as he was making his way back to the table, his phone vibrated. He reached into his jacket pocket to promptly answer the call.
“Hello, Ma’am.” Charlotte stood up in reaction to the faint sound of his boss' voice back in Manchester. Tucking her long hair behind her ears, she tried to hear what Detective Superintendent Anderton was saying to Tony, but the busy restaurant was full of screaming kids who refused to shut up.
“Yes, that’s fine Ma’am. Charlotte and I just stopped off at the services for something to eat on the way, so we should be back in Newcastle within the next hour or so… OK, yep, got it, will do. Speak later.” Tony ended the call, making his way to the door without further elaboration as Charlotte chased after him.
“What did she want?” asked Charlotte, jogging to keep up with Tony’s fast-paced stride. She shoved the food bag into a bin and followed Tony outside to the car park. It was only late afternoon, but it was already starting to get dark, the lights from the motorway vehicles beyond whizzing past in a steady and noisy stream.
“There’s more info on the other car that was on the road, the night of Megan’s crash,” he replied, reaching the car and throwing Charlotte the keys.
“It wasn’t a false lead like they thought then?” Charlotte caught the keys effortlessly and jumped into the driver’s side.
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“The original witness who suggested that Donovan was involved was an unreliable source though?”
“Nope, the witness’ story checked out, and there’s been more evidence that’s come to light.”
“So, Emery was right – Rick Donovan’s back on the radar?”
Tony reached for his seatbelt and clicked it into place as Charlotte pulled out of the service station car park without even glancing in the mirrors.
Tony usually enjoyed the buzz he got from being right, but had really hoped that on this occasion he would be proved wrong. Stamping his foot impatiently in the foot well, he watched as Charlotte switched on the indicator and pulled onto the motorway heading North towards Newcastle.
“Yep!” Tony eventually replied, his sights set firmly on the road ahead, “Donovan’s definitely back on the radar, and it appears that Megan Cooper’s crash was no accident.”
Chapter 10
“You all ready to go then?” asks Eva, as she helps me outside with my bags and pops open the boot.
“I think so.” I reply, lowering my luggage and surveying her case, which is three times the size of mine. “We’re only going away for 2 nights, Eva, Christ you'd think we were going for a month!” I slam the boot as Eva opens the car door.
“A woman can never travel with too many shoes!” she replies, in a half-serious tone.
“It’s a tiny fishing village! I think wellies and an anorak will probably be more appropriate attire,” I joke.
“I'm not going to pick up a new man dressed like an old fishwife, now am I?” I give a chuckle, but am suddenly on edge as I cross round to the front of the car.
“What’ve you been doing?” I ask, stopping to bend and inspect a small dent and deep scratch on the bonnet of her 3-month old Audi.
“The driveway gatepost and I had a bit of a scuffle,” she responds, laughing, as I climb in next to her and fasten my seatbelt. My heart leaps unexpectedly. It’s the first time I’ve been back in the front seat of a car since the accident and, although I had felt a little apprehensive while I was waiting for Eva to come and pick me up, I didn’t anticipate feeling as nervous as I do now.
“Are you alright?” asks Eva, as she pulls away. I've been friends with her since we were 13, and the 17 years that have passed have enabled her the ability to read me like a book.
“Yes, yes, I’m OK,” I lie, as I wrap my hand around the seatbelt and grip it firmly.
“We don’t have to do this you know, Meg,” she replies, pressing on the brake so that the car comes to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road.
“No, really, I want to,” I say, untangling my hand from the belt and shifting back in my seat in an attempt to relax. I’m stronger than this – I’m not going to let it beat me.
“Alright then,” says Eva, giving me an uncertain glance before she adjusts her rearview mirror to check her make-up, turning to look at me with a bright smile, “Morteford, here we come!”
***
A while later, we arrive in the quaint fishing village of Morteford. Driving down into the village via a steep hill, the appeal of the place is soon apparent. Charming pastel-coloured cottages line the narrow, winding cobbled streets, which lead down to a broad waterfront promenade overlooking a large estuary. The hazy autumn sun reflects off the water, where small fishing boats bob on its calm surface, and the rolling hills of the countryside lie in the far distance; a patchwork design of greens and browns which create a domineering backdrop. We park in a large public car park overlooking the water.
“What a pretty place!” I announce, as I get out of the car and stretch my cramped legs. I take in a deep breath of crisp, fresh air, feeling silently relieved that the long car journey is finally over.
“Yes, it hasn’t changed too much from how I remember it,” replies Eva, barely glancing up as she pops open the boot and pulls out our cases. “According to the sat nav, the address on that keyring is back that way.” She points behind us, towards the main road that we came along to enter the village, “…and our cottage is around here somewhere.” She spins around, holding the email that possesses the holiday-home details, as if she’s holding a map.
“OK,” I answer, “lead the way.”
I follow Eva as she passes a play area and small church, towards a heavily cobbled narrow street beyond it. The graveyard at the front of the church is full of ancient-looking stones, and a memorial for the fallen soldiers of World War II has been erected in front of the grounds. I've only been here for 5 minutes, but already I can sense the place is steeped in history. Adjusting the handle on my small case, I lower the wheels to the bumpy ground and clumsily make my way forward to catch up with Eva.
We quickly find the small cottage located at the end of a row of almost identical properties, all with individual coastal themed names. Ours is painted light blue, with a decorative hand-painted picture of a buoy attached to the wall, and it’s aptly named ‘Fisherman’s Retreat sign.’ I find myself wondering about the age of the property and how many residents it’s had in its time. Births, deaths, loves, losses. If walls could talk I’m sure that this cottage would have many fascinating tales to tell.
Eva fiddles with the lock, using a key provided by the local booking agency, and we let ourselves in to the welcoming cosy space. Just before the door closes behind us, I spin around to look over my shoulder and survey the deserted street beyond.
“What's wrong?” asks Eva, dropping her bag on the floor and joining me back in the doorway.
“Nothing,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders as the door clicks shut, and I quickly dismiss the feeling I had. “It’s just, I could have sworn someone was behind us.”
Chapter 11
Will was walking along the local docks when Megan arrived in Morteford, and although he felt he’d known she was arriving today, it was a case of pure coincidence that he was in the right place at the right time when they showed up. It didn’t take a genius to work out it that was her though; even the car she pulled up in looked totally out of place – far too lavish and ostentatious for a working-class village known more for its beaten-up old trucks and push bikes than top of the range German SUVs with private registration plates.
&
nbsp; As soon as he spotted the car entering the village, Will made his way towards it. He had a feeling Megan would be here, though he didn’t think it would be quite as soon as this. Reggie – his mother’s 8-year-old Golden Retriever – trotted along happily at his side. Holding a red rubber ball in his mouth, he kept looking up at Will, then out to the water, expectantly.
Nearing the car park, he pulled up the hood on his sweatshirt and positioned himself so that he was partially hidden behind a cottage wall where he could clearly make out Megan stretching her legs, as her friend – who he was guessing was Eva due to the number plate of her Audi – pulled something out from the back of the car.
“Shit!” He stamped his foot angrily when he registered the luggage, and Reggie’s ears pricked up at the sound as he continued to watch Will. He had hoped it would just be a flying visit when Megan eventually tracked him down, but it looked like she was planning on staying in the village longer than he had anticipated. He only prayed that they weren’t going to be here for too long.
Even from a distance, Will could tell that Megan looked well, and he was relieved that she was back on her feet so quickly after the accident. Although it was highly inconvenient that she was now in his hometown, he was grateful for the visible evidence that she was on the mend.
Will followed as the women started to walk away from the car. He needed to know where they were staying so that he could keep track of them while they were here, and he was pleased when, after only a few minutes, they stopped outside a cottage not far from his own.
Megan pulled back her long red hair and held it as the wind picked up strength, and her friend – who looked like she’d walked straight out of a glossy high-fashion magazine – fiddled with the lock on the cottage door. He managed to pivot on the spot and disappear out of view, just before Megan turned to glance at the empty spot where he’d been standing.
Burying his hands in his pockets and breathing down some much-needed heat into the zipped-up collar of his windbreaker, Will picked up his pace towards the ferry landing. Reggie trotted by his side and appeared, rightfully, a little confused by the sudden change in plan which took them away from their regular daily route along the shores of the small bay at the opposite end of the street.
Once at the end of the promenade, and clearly out of view of the cottage they were staying in, Will pulled his phone from his pocket and began to mentally put into action the plan that he had hatched. He wasn’t sure how long it would take the ladies to find the address on the keyring and track him down, but he needed to be quick.
For every step they took, Will was going to make absolutely sure that he was always one ahead.
Chapter 12
“Can everyone come and join us NOW please, I really don’t have all day!”
Tony grimaced. Charlotte’s tone was as condescending as always when talking to a team she had little to do with on a daily basis. Even after working with her for over 2 years, Tony still felt the overpowering impulse to step in and delicately explain to anyone who didn’t personally know Charlotte that her manner was not intended to come across like it did. It was purely due to the passion she had for her job as a detective, and that this case, like all of them, was of massively high importance to her.
Instead, Tony remained silent and decided to leave her to it and let her play her part, just as she had stood back and let Tony take charge an hour ago, when they had arrived back in Newcastle. He made his way to the office, which had been assigned to him while he was working in the area, and closed the door.
Taking a seat on a battered office chair, he studied the photo of Rick Donovan on the desk in front of him, along with his case files from previous years. For a man who was capable of so much, Donovan wasn’t significant in any way, shape or form, and Tony found himself wondering again if they had it wrong this time.
***
He had experienced a turbulent past with Rick Donovan, to say the least. He’d been on the crime scene for more years than Tony could care to remember, and the vast majority of his years as a DI in the Northumbria Criminal Investigation Department had been taken up investigating Donovan.
Money laundering, drugs and robbery had been Donovan’s forte, but the murders, assaults and trail of destruction that Donovan had always denied involvement in, were the main reason for Tony’s involvement. Donovan was well known throughout the North East. A dangerous and insanely clever man, he was the mastermind who pulled the strings of his idiotic puppets, but always managed to remain rooted firmly in the background. He had been in and out of prison over the years, and Tony’s crowning glory was being the one to get justice – arresting him after an anonymous tip off, and sending him down for the lengthy, rightfully deserved, sentence.
A few years later, Tony was promoted to a DCI and transferred from Northumbria CID to Manchester, with his family.
Now though, Rick Donovan was out of prison and had been for almost 2 years. He swore to everyone he encountered within the force that he was a changed man – he now had a wealthy wife, and a 6-month-old son. He’d already missed out on his eldest son growing up, Connor, and, as it appeared that he was following in his father’s footsteps, he didn’t want his youngest to follow suit. From all angles, it seemed that his last stint as a ‘model’ prisoner had reformed him, and until now, Tony himself had almost believed it.
Donovan had spent the last couple of years lying low, and Tony was unexpectedly shocked when he received the call from his old boss in Newcastle to alert him that a car, fitting the description of Donovan’s, had been sighted close to the location of a hit-and-run, which had left a 30-year-old woman trapped in a burning car. He knew that the team here were more than capable of dealing with Donovan; they had, after all, kept a keen eye on him since his release and they were headed up by the best Superintendent Tony had ever encountered in his lengthy career within CID.
However, there was a personal connection with Rick Donovan, which only Tony had. It was one forged from years of watching him, and it was this correlation that had, many times, kept him awake at night, and kept him away from his wife and growing children for too many hours, simply because he wasn’t prepared to stop until he finally got justice for what Donovan had done.
He knew Donovan inside out. He understood how his mind worked and what made him tick and, although it meant being away from his family for a little while again now, he had to agree that he was indeed the best person for the job. Also, any case he was involved with would not be complete without Charlotte’s steadfast and indefatigable approach to fill any gaps that he happened to miss.
Charlotte was great at her job, and it was clear to Tony that she was well on her way up the career ladder. Her approach wasn’t always as proficient as he would like; her professional veneer would often crack and she had a tendency to get too personally involved with the vast majority of their cases and, already, he could see that this one was no exception. Sometimes, though, that passion, and the kind of instinct that simply cannot be taught, is what set her head and shoulders above the rest, figuratively speaking, anyway.
At 5 ft 3 ins in heels, 8 stone dripping wet, and the face of an earthbound angel, Charlotte Taylor’s exterior was misleading. She was shit hot at her job and a disgruntled Rottweiler when it came to putting the guilty behind bars. Therefore, when it came to Rick Donovan, Charlotte was just what Tony needed and he was the first to admit that he was lucky when she was assigned to work with him shortly after he arrived in Manchester 2 years ago. Although he dearly missed living in the North East, he didn’t have any regrets, yet.
There was a knock on the door and Tony looked up to see his old boss and still-close friend, Detective Superintendent Joe Emery, popping his head round. He had known him for years and Joe had even been one of his ushers when he and Olivia were married 12 years ago.
Joe had been working in CID for more years than Tony could recall and now, as he approached 60, the man was showing no signs of slowing down. He had been here from day one, when Tony star
ted working for the department almost 14 years ago, as an ambitious and overly enthusiastic young DC, and he had become both a role-model superior and a close friend to Tony and his family over the years.
Emery was a good guy who he missed the most after relocating to Manchester, and it was because of Emery that Tony was now back in the North East helping out. After returning yesterday, Tony had quickly realized that there were no longer many faces he recognized here, and seeing Joe again today had made him feel at home, as he always used to.
“Settling in alright, Tone?” Joe asked, in the same heavy Glaswegian accent that had taken Tony many months to decrypt, back when they had first met. The 30 odd years that Joe had lived in the North East had not even slightly softened the heavy Scottish accent.
“Yeah, great cheers, Joe.” Tony moved a large pile of papers to one side. “Feels like I’ve never been away.”
“Yes, can’t deny, things haven’t really been the same without you around here these past couple of years. A lot quieter for one!”
Tony smiled.
“How’s the job treating you down in Manchester then?” asked Emery.
“Yeah, not bad. I’ve inherited a great team so can’t complain. Still miss CID, though to be honest.”
“Not quite the ‘Life on Mars’ experience that you had imagined, then?”
Tony smirked, “Not quite.”
“Ah, don’t take it to heart Tone. You’re bloody good at your job, but let’s face it, you’re no Gene Hunt.”