by Ian Skewis
‘What about your car, Matthew?’ asked Jack. ‘I should explain that it was hauled away because we needed to check it out. Didn’t you want it back? I mean, it’s a very nice vehicle – a Porsche, I believe.’
Matthew stared at him, unmoved by his false politeness. He caught sight of the other two officers – Campbell, who kept a poker-straight face, and Driscoll, who gave another smirk.
Matthew smiled tolerantly and said, ‘I figured I’d come and collect it sooner or later.’
‘So you decided that you could manage without your car for a while,’ concluded Jack. ‘I’m curious, Matthew, to find out what you got up to when you arrived. I mean, you’ve been here for quite a while now, so how did you pass the time?’
Matthew began to grow impatient. ‘I’m not here to pass the time. I’m here to protect Caroline.’
‘From what, Matthew?’
‘From Alistair.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t trust him.’
‘That’s not really a reason now, is it?’ commented Jack.
‘It’s reason enough,’ replied Matthew sullenly.
‘But you haven’t done a very good job of protecting her now, have you?’ added Jack, who Matthew observed was beginning to take a leaf out of Colin’s book. He could see the malignancy become increasingly transparent in the exchange of looks and the cruel narrowing of the eyes.
‘I did my best,’ he retorted.
He saw Colin smile disbelievingly. Matthew could read him like a book. He was envious. Not only did Matthew tower over him when standing, but his other physical attributes – muscular build, good looks and even tan – were the antithesis of the pot-bellied, bespectacled detective. It was obvious to him that DCI Clements was making a concerted effort to appear professional, at least whilst the tape was running.
‘So what exactly did you do in order to protect her?’ queried Jack.
Matthew thought for a moment. ‘I watched everyone’s movements.’
‘Watched everyone’s movements,’ Colin repeated – his voice almost, but not quite mocking.
‘So you were playing the detective?’ asked Jack.
‘That’s a question you certainly do not have to answer,’ said the solicitor firmly.
‘Well, this is what the landlady at the Warm and Friendly told us. Margaret Crawford said she thought you were a detective because that is what you said you were. Didn’t you? I mean, impersonating an officer of the law. Bit much, isn’t it?’
‘Hearsay,’ the solicitor barked.
But Matthew dropped his guard. ‘Yes, I suppose I was.’ Then something caught his eye. He saw that the other detective was limping slightly. A moment later he left the room.
‘Did you find anything interesting?’
Matthew felt his face redden a little. ‘No. Except…’
‘Yes?’ Jack said softly, leaning forward.
Matthew felt a warning hand on his forearm again. He ignored it and thought back to the mysterious figure he’d seen in the field, surrounded by flames. A woman. Or a ghost. Maybe both. But what does that have to do with anything? he wondered. It seemed irrelevant now.
‘I think my client is a little tired,’ added the solicitor helpfully.
‘This is all very intriguing, Matthew,’ said Jack, snubbing her. ‘The lengths you have gone to in order to observe your ex-girlfriend’s movements – some people would call that stalking.’
‘That’s not what I was doing,’ said Matthew emphatically.
‘So what did you do, Matthew, when you realised you’d failed to protect her?’
Matthew watched as the detective punctuated this with a flurry of note-taking. He looked right at him, determined to get even. ‘When I found out she’d gone missing, my suspicions were confirmed.’
‘And what were your suspicions?’
‘I don’t believe he was ever truly capable of looking after her.’
‘So what did you do next?’
‘I searched the woods, where she was last seen.’
‘And what did you find there?’ enquired Jack.
‘Nothing,’ replied Matthew, with an air of disappointment.
‘So would you agree that it’s best to leave these things to the experts?’ asked Jack, with an overt tone of insincerity.
Matthew didn’t want to admit to any failure on his part and replied, ‘No. I did my bit. I don’t like the look of him. End of.’
‘Plain old jealousy, huh?’ quipped Jack, flicking through his notes once more.
‘No,’ Matthew replied indignantly. ‘What have I got to be jealous of? I mean, look at him.’
‘I can’t, Matthew, because he’s still missing.’
Touché, thought Matthew again, feeling uncomfortable.
He watched as Jack folded his arms and stared at him. He then seemed to lose interest and got up from his chair, before terminating the interview.
Matthew felt relieved as he was led through the corridors of the station and back outside into the daylight and fresh air. His car was returned to him.
‘They found nothing incriminating,’ the solicitor told him, her humourless disposition interrupted with a triumphant smile. ‘You’re free to go.’
It was still raining by the time he arrived at his parents’ home. They were only too pleased to see him. Later that night he was standing upstairs in his old bedroom, his swimming medals proudly displayed on the shelves, his bicycle in the corner. He stared out of the window and reflected on how things had turned out. Matthew could easily recall how elated he’d felt when he had won his prizes. His parents had been so happy for him. He smiled at the memory, but his smile faded when he recalled the reason why he stopped swimming.
He wondered at the narrow escape he’d just had. And he wondered at the reaction from the detectives if they’d discovered that there had been a murderer in their midst.
Chapter Fifty-Two
September 8th
‘We found blood.’
Jack allowed himself a brief moment for the news to sink in. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, pressing the phone more firmly against his ear so that he could be certain that he heard correctly.
‘Yes. We found some traces of blood on the blade inside the walking stick. It matches with Alistair’s.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jack quietly, and hung up.
Moments later he was addressing the team and they were heading to the farmhouse.
‘You all right?’ Colin asked, pulling his seat belt over him in the passenger side.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Jack. ‘I feel I should be asking you that.’
There was a silence from Colin as they drove off. Then he said, ‘I’m okay.’
‘I saw you limping earlier,’ replied Jack.
‘Aye. Had to leave the room. I’ll be fine.’
There was another silence. Jack felt Colin glancing at him.
‘You always get like this,’ his partner stated.
‘Like what?’ replied Jack, surprised.
‘Down in the dumps. Whenever you’re about to close a big case like this one. You get all maudlin.’
Jack smiled at his partner’s astuteness. ‘Yes. You’re right. The thrill of the chase, I guess. Once the case is cracked, the thrill is gone.’
Colin smiled in agreement.
‘La petite mort,’ added Jack.
The detective looked at him questioningly.
‘The little death,’ Jack explained. ‘The French say it’s what happens after sex. Every time you make love a little part of you dies. It’s their way of explaining the mild melancholy after the thrill of, well, a…’
‘A good shag?’ added Colin helpfully, with a mischievous grin.
‘Yes, that’s the one,’ replied Jack, laughing.
A moment passed. He could feel Colin watching him again. ‘There’s something else,’ Jack said.
‘I knew it,’ said Colin. ‘What?’
‘It just seems too easy, you know?’
They pu
lled up outside the farmhouse, another police car pulled up beside them. ‘Well,’ said Colin, unbuckling his seat belt, ‘I reckon you deserve an easy ride on your last case.’
‘I suppose so,’ replied Jack, but as he approached the house he didn’t feel convinced. The old doubts and fears were still there. Something about this case made him feel that it was going to be anything but easy.
Chapter Fifty-Three
September 8th
‘How did it go?’ asked Helen, one hand neatly clasping the other.
Alice put her shopping bag down on the worktop and seemed despondent. ‘I wish I hadn’t gone,’ she replied distantly.
Helen smiled sympathetically. I told you so, she thought and then consigned herself to putting Alice’s groceries away for her. Helen became aware she was being watched.
‘You’re being very helpful today,’ Alice commented, with a tone that made Helen feel self-conscious.
‘It’s nothing,’ said Helen lightly, and finished putting the last of the tins into the cupboard. ‘Shall I make you some tea?’
Alice shook her head and sat at the table. Their eyes met. Helen could sense that Alice wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin, so she seated herself opposite.
‘I’m sorry about how things have turned out,’ she said, hands clasped once more.
‘I went to see her family,’ explained Alice.
‘Good,’ replied Helen, but she saw that Alice’s eyes were filling with tears.
‘What is it?’ asked Helen softly.
‘They didn’t want to talk to me,’ she wailed suddenly.
Helen instantly got up from her chair. Putting an arm around her shoulder, she asked fretfully, ‘Why ever not?’
‘It was the mother I spoke to,’ began Alice in between sobs. ‘She hated me. Looked at me like I was something she’d found under her shoe.’
‘Then she’s not worth talking to,’ reassured Helen, and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
‘She said she didn’t think that Alistair was good enough for someone like her daughter, and when I told her that both my husband and my son were missing – do you know what she had the gall to say to me?’
‘No, what?’
‘She said that I was an unfit mother.’ Alice broke down again.
A sharp intake of breath. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say,’ commented Helen.
‘Maybe she’s right, though,’ said Alice, calming down. She looked at Helen wide-eyed. ‘What do you think?’
Helen felt her heart fill with pity. ‘I think you should ignore what that cow has to say and get on with your life,’ she answered, pouring Alice a glass of water and handing it to her.
‘Thank you,’ said Alice quietly. Helen wasn’t sure if this was for the water or for her supportive comment.
‘She’s nothing more than a gossip,’ continued Helen, ‘and gossips should never throw stones in glass houses.’
‘I forgot to water the plants in the conservatory,’ Alice said suddenly.
‘Leave it to me,’ replied Helen dutifully. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’ And off she went to tend to Alice’s garden.
When Helen got there she stopped beside the table and grasped the back of one of the white wicker chairs, brooding about the situation that she now found herself in. Finally, she returned and said what had been on her mind for some time now.
‘Do you remember when I told you that I saw Caroline with a man?’
Alice put her glass down and said, ‘Yes, I do.’
Helen carefully considered her next move. Bracing herself, she swallowed, and said slowly and deliberately, ‘I know you told me to forget about it, but I couldn’t. It’s none of my business I know, but if there’s the slightest chance that it might help you to find Alistair then I think I did exactly the right thing.’ She looked at Alice, whose forehead creased suddenly.
‘What have you done?’ she asked, her voice stern but nervous.
‘I went to the police, Alice. I told them what I saw.’
Chapter Fifty-Four
September 8th
It was late and Jack was driving through the darkness of the countryside, the car headlights illuminating the road in stark and spectral contrast. He was supposed to be off duty, but for Jack there had never been any such thing. Besides, he couldn’t sleep. The need for closure was simply too irresistible. He relayed all the recent events through his mind and cursed himself. Why is it when I suspect that something bad is going to happen I always end up right? Why can’t I be wrong, just for once?
A strange case, this one, he thought. A boy missing, presumed dead, and a girl with no idea of what happened. And now, his forebodings confirmed – Jerome Jennings had disappeared, too. No sign of him at the farmhouse earlier that day. Nothing in the fields. The search party still hadn’t found him. Jack left Colin in charge and drove back to the station in order to figure out what to do next.
Then there was the eyewitness account from Alice’s carer.
‘This man that you saw with Caroline, what did he look like?’
He noted how Helen Patterson had seemed very nervous. Almost timidly, she responded, ‘He looked like a movie star.’
Almost certainly Matthew, he concluded. Now his team were looking for him again. Jack thought back to Matthew’s capture near Loch Ness. They had already been there because of William Smith. Jack had reopened his case because every time Matthew showed up someone seemed to go missing. Caroline was being questioned again, too, now that her infidelity was known. But Jack felt sure there was something else, something indefinable, something that bound all the disparate threads together. As he flew down the winding lanes, he thought of Alistair and Caroline and he pictured himself and Rachel in their early years – youthful, naïve and in love. The world at their feet. A time when they were happy and had their whole lives ahead of them. He had just taken his first step onto the rungs of a promising career – a police officer patrolling the streets of Hobbs Brae.
Yet his rosy-hued memory didn’t compare with what he had seen so far. Caroline seemed a trifle distant when informed that Alistair was quite likely dead. She was upset, but there was something about her reaction that didn’t quite ring true. Initially, he had put it down to his own mistrust, for after countless years engaging with liars and criminals, he found it difficult to believe anyone anymore. He did reason that she was suffering from trauma, which was certainly the case. But something never seemed quite right. Now he knew why. She had been two-timing Alistair. It explained perfectly why Matthew would go to such lengths to track her, especially if there was a hint that he was still in with a chance. Jack had almost overlooked it, believing that Alistair and Caroline were probably very much in love, and this made him wonder. Am I so resigned to my own marriage as having failed that I’m desperate to see someone else having a chance, no matter how unlikely? He hummed to himself and shrugged his shoulders, adjusting to the fact that his life with Rachel was the one mystery he had never managed to solve.
He cast his mind back to the photo of her that sat in his study. Her smile, despite being made of steel, was an expression he hadn’t seen on her face for years, but it was the person behind the camera who still haunted Jack’s every waking moment – his son. The memory of Jamie’s death was indelibly etched into his brain and seemed destined to obscure all sense of proportion forever. Even now, at the summit of his career, he was still being plagued by pessimism and self-doubt, still deliberately conjuring up imaginary conversations with his deceased son, which, if he was really being honest with himself, was symptomatic of someone suffering from depression brought on by grief. Jack wasn’t yet ready to face up to that particular nemesis because he feared that it would destroy him. He felt vulnerable enough right now. He knew Rachel wanted desperately to talk about it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.
Instead, his thoughts turned to Colin’s wife. He wondered how Mrs Clements was coping. Probably very well, he reasoned. He could almost hear her now, talking
in that clandestine tone of hers, party to her husband’s dirty deeds over the years, for she was equally ambitious. There wasn’t a local committee that she wasn’t involved with. She knew everyone’s business. He pictured Colin returning home to her at the end of each working day, only too eager to boast about his mean little endeavours. She’s probably keeping score, he thought, and began tapping the steering wheel with frustration at Colin’s lack of professionalism. Next in line for Jack’s throne, he figured that Colin – always one for rubbing somebody up the wrong way – would lose that throne of his own volition if he wasn’t careful.
Jack did feel sorry for him, but he doubted his cancer would make much difference, for Colin’s biggest problem was his attitude. He thought back to those times that Colin had jumped the gun in the past, introducing himself to all and sundry as a DCI before he had even been promoted. Then there was Jack’s clumsy recommendation to the Chief that Colin should not be the one to take Jack’s place when he retired. But then something changed. They ended their little war. Jack named him a DCI. It seemed like a kindness, perhaps – the equivalent of giving a dying man one last wish. Except Colin wasn’t dying. He was ill, but not out of the running. Maybe it was simply that Jack had decided it was time to close a few doors on his life. Clements was one such door. Jack smiled fondly. He wished Colin well, but he wasn’t convinced that he would know how to use his new found power for the best. Colin enjoyed what limited power he currently had a little too much as it was. But when had it ever been any different?
Jack’s heart skipped a beat when suddenly something flew past the windscreen and he swerved to avoid it, coming to a rest on a lay-by. In the headlights, he saw a crow perched on the hedgerow opposite, eyeing him curiously.
History repeating, he mused, and Jack wondered if it was the same crow that had nearly made him crash the last time. He was about to think of some method of retaliation when it spread its wings and flapped towards him, landing with a soft clack of its claws on the bonnet of his car. Jack peered at it menacingly through the windscreen, his distrust of the animal kingdom growing at an unprecedented rate. He could see the blue-black sheen of its feathers.