A Murder of Crows

by Ian Skewis

  Narrowing her eyes with pleasure at this cruel bitching game, she said, ‘I hear Campbell isn’t too happy at being sidelined by someone such as yourself.’

  Colin dropped his fork. ‘How do you know that?’

  Mrs Clements smiled as if in collusion with an unknown entity, got up from the table and, leaving the room, said airily over her shoulder, ‘Perhaps you’re more like Jack than you care to admit, dear.’

  He thought about it for a moment, acknowledging the tragedy that had changed Jack and the illness that was now eating away at his own body. Their respective wives. And their sons. Too much in common. Maybe that’s all it ever was.

  Either way, as he now idly flicked through the case notes, he wryly observed that they had another similarity – neither he nor Jack had successfully located Alistair Smith, and despite being questioned again, there was still nothing definitive from Caroline Baker.

  ‘Sure, she two-timed Alistair, but that’s hardly a crime now, is it?’ the Chief Superintendent had said.

  ‘I need more time,’ pleaded Colin.

  ‘Time is running out and you have nothing more to go on. Focus on the evidence you do have.’

  ‘Aye, okay. By that you mean Jerome Jennings.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘What about Matthew?’

  The Chief gave a stern expression. ‘What about Matthew?’

  ‘I received a call from the emergency services. He was found at the sight of the car crash.’

  The Chief raised an eyebrow.

  ‘At first, they assumed that it was Matthew who made the emergency call, but they discovered that this was not the case.’

  The Chief raised a hand, interrupting him. ‘It was Jack who made the call. His voice can be heard on the recording.’

  ‘Yes, he did call for reinforcements, but I’m referring to the car crash. Someone else found and reported the crash, and that person is unknown. The caller, whoever it was, cannot be traced. Matthew himself has claimed he made no such call. He just happened to be there, it seems.’

  ‘That’s very compelling evidence,’ the Chief said, with a wry smile. ‘And Matthew said that, did he?’

  Colin smiled back. ‘He’s being very helpful with our enquiries. It’s almost as if he wants to be caught. And he does seem to be in all the wrong places, Chief, at all the right times.’

  The Superintendent leaned forward. ‘Haul him in.’

  Colin got up immediately, eager to get his hands dirty. ‘Shouldn’t be too difficult. What about Jerome?’ he asked, almost as an afterthought.

  ‘Jerome is being held in the interview room. Congratulations on finally tracking him down, by the way. He can sweat it out while you go and get Matthew. Driscoll will act as your partner.’

  Some time later, Colin was interviewing Matthew. Driscoll was in his favourite position beside the door with Campbell. The solicitor with too much eyeliner was there too, her face like stone.

  Colin began, ‘So, Matthew, you were the sole witness to a near fatal accident involving one of our officers. What were you doing there?’

  ‘I was following him.’

  ‘You were following Detective Chief Inspector Jack Russell?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Colin sat down in front of him. ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought it best to observe him, see what he found. After all, my luck had run out. I never found Alistair.’

  ‘You were looking for Alistair, not Caroline?’

  ‘Caroline was found. I knew she was okay.’ Matthew smiled confidently.

  ‘Why were you looking for Alistair?’

  ‘I had to know.’

  ‘Had to know what?’

  ‘Whether he was dead or alive.’

  Colin smiled. ‘Why would that interest you?’

  ‘He’s competition. I don’t want him taking my girl again.’

  Colin glanced at Driscoll, who narrowed his eyes shrewdly.

  ‘You mean Caroline Baker?’

  ‘That’s right,’ replied Matthew. ‘I know she’s pregnant but we’re still together. She was never sure about Alistair and wanted to keep her options open. Her mother certainly didn’t approve of him, so in the end she came back to the better man.’ Matthew smiled supremely.

  ‘The better man. I see,’ replied Colin, with a smirk.

  Matthew leaned forward suddenly and said, ‘Between you and me, I think she was only after a bit of rough, know what I mean?’

  Colin pretended to be in on the joke and gave a little laugh. ‘Aye. I know what you mean.’ He flicked through his notes, and eyed the solicitor, who was looking on edge. He wondered at Matthew’s sudden change of tact. His demeanour was much more assured this time round. He seemed to be gearing up for something, though for what Colin did not know. Either way, he believed that Matthew was behaving like a contemptible snob. We’ll knock that out of you soon enough, he thought.

  ‘I see that you used to live in Hobbs Brae,’ he commented, still looking at his notes.

  ‘I did,’ replied Matthew.

  Colin suddenly looked up at him. ‘You worked for Alistair’s father, didn’t you?’

  Matthew blinked. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  The solicitor’s ears pricked up. ‘My client doesn’t need to answer that,’ she said hastily.

  ‘Fourteen years ago you worked for William Smith, yes?’

  Matthew gazed at him steadily. ‘Yes…’

  ‘Did you know that he used to disappear at regular intervals?’

  ‘I think we can take a break now,’ the solicitor interjected, giving Matthew a meaningful stare.

  Matthew blinked again, swallowed hard, ‘No. I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Did you forget?’

  Matthew coughed a little. ‘Sorry, I don’t follow.’

  ‘Well, according to the notes from the investigation that took place at the time, you were questioned about this particular fact – so are you saying that the report is wrong?’

  ‘I can assure you that my client is not saying that,’ maintained the solicitor, who shot Matthew a warning look.

  ‘No, of course not. I mean, they probably did tell me about it – but it was such a long time ago. And I can’t remember every little detail.’

  ‘A moment please so I can brief my client,’ said the solicitor.

  Colin watched with some amusement as Matthew had a whispered and somewhat heated exchange with his legal eagle. Once they had finished their discourse, he continued.

  ‘Let me refresh your memory regarding those details that you can’t recall. It seems that after his wife, Alice, reported him as missing, the police investigating the case discovered a little anomaly regarding her husband’s clocking off habits. You see, he used to clock off, but he didn’t always return home. Well, not right away. Instead, he used to disappear for two whole days, and only after this would he return to his wife. Do you have any idea where he might have been going on these little excursions?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ answered Matthew tersely, reaching for a plastic cup of water. Colin noted that his hand was shaking.

  ‘Yet, according to the police files of the time, you were routinely questioned, as were all the crew, and had nothing more to add. There was no further evidence and eventually the case turned cold. And William Smith was never seen or heard of again.’ The detective watched for a reaction. Matthew looked distinctly uncomfortable. Colin decided it was time to go in for the kill, so he leaned forward and said through a smile, ‘You know the biggest mystery of all, Matthew? It’s not just that people keep disappearing up here, but that every time it occurs, you just happen to be in the vicinity. Now, how do you explain that?’

  ‘Objection!’ shouted the solicitor.

  Matthew shrugged, smoothed his perfect hair. A self-comfort gesture, thought Colin, and he decided to turn up the heat.

  ‘I wasn’t the only one at the crash.’

  Colin was startled. He looked at Driscoll, who stopped leaning against the wall and m
oved closer. Campbell checked the tape was still running.

  ‘There was an old man there. He had a walking stick,’ added Matthew.

  Colin and Driscoll exchanged looks once more. ‘Would you recognise him if we showed you a photo or in an identity parade?’

  Matthew snorted derisively. ‘Hardly. It was dark. I could only see his silhouette.’ Colin watched as Matthew looked expectantly at the officers. He didn’t seem to be aware of the bombshell he had just dropped.

  Moments later, Colin and Driscoll were marching down the corridors to speak to Jerome.

  ‘Where did you find him?’ asked Campbell, eagerly following in their wake.

  ‘Hiding in the basement,’ said Colin over his shoulder.

  ‘With the rest of the rats,’ joked Driscoll.

  ‘Let’s give him hell,’ said Colin, and he opened the door. There was a solicitor there, dressed in a smart suit the colour of charcoal. Good, thought Colin. If Jerome’s got him in tow, then he must be feeling nervous. The solicitor was young but his hair was dyed jet black, making his already pale face look anaemic. Colin was surprised to see Jerome standing in the corner.

  ‘Why is he not sitting down?’

  ‘My client has to stand from time to time because he has a herniated disc,’ the suit replied loudly.

  Bullshit, thought Colin, but he smiled and said, ‘I see.’ He then sorted his papers at the desk and said, ‘For the benefit of the tape it would be helpful if he could at least step a little closer to the table in order for the microphone to pick up his statements.’ He eyed the suit expectantly, and watched with good humour as he in turn looked at Jerome. The old farmer nodded.

  ‘Mr Jennings wants to help with your enquiries in any way he can,’ said the solicitor as Jerome hobbled over to the table, grimacing slightly as if in pain when he arrived, but casting a shrewd look at Colin.

  Sitting down, Colin said, ‘Jerome Jennings, you have been arrested on suspicion of the murder of Alistair Smith. Can you explain where you were on the night of…’

  ‘September the first?’ Jerome concluded. ‘I already answered that question the last time you hauled me in here.’

  Colin saw the solicitor raise his hand a little to silence him. ‘I’m actually referring to the night of September the eighth, through to the early hours of the ninth,’ the detective continued. ‘Where were you at that time?’

  Jerome looked at the suit, who nodded and smiled at his client, his bright red lips stretching across his slightly yellowed teeth, accentuating his almost vampiric appearance.

  ‘I was in the pub,’ said Jerome.

  ‘And which pub was this?’

  Another glance at the vampire. ‘The Crow’s Beak.’

  Of course, thought Colin. He’d seen him there on many occasions, usually blind drunk and on the border of disorderly. He’d been arrested twice for his violent behaviour and he’d been done for possession of cannabis. But he knew if he brought it up now that the solicitor would dismiss it as irrelevant to the case in question. ‘Any witnesses to corroborate this?’ he asked, knowing there probably would be.

  ‘Plenty,’ replied Jerome predictably, regaining his usual mettle. ‘It was a lock-in, see?’

  ‘I think you will find his alibi is solid,’ the vampire added with a smile.

  *

  Hours later and Colin returned with Driscoll from the pub.

  ‘Well, that was interesting,’ quipped his sidekick.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Colin. ‘I quite enjoyed grilling everyone.’

  ‘So, what do we do now?’

  ‘We have enough evidence against Jerome for the murder of Alistair Smith. His blood is on the blade in his walking stick. And we now know that he lied about being in the pub that night. He has no alibi. No witnesses to say he was there. He’s been in trouble with the police before. And let’s face it, he was never the most likeable guy. Matthew, on the other hand, used to live in Hobbs Brae. So I’m sure he knows of Jerome and his reputation.’

  ‘So you reckon he lied about seeing the old man at the crash site?’

  ‘Difficult to say. Something odd is going on. We have evidence of foul play on Jerome’s part. But Matthew does seem to have a history of being there whenever someone pops their clogs.’

  ‘So this is two separate cases now?’

  Colin shrugged. ‘Fuck knows. My head’s about to explode.’

  ‘That’s the drink talking,’ sneered Driscoll.

  ‘Shut it,’ replied the DCI, ‘or I’ll demote you.’

  Chapter Sixty-One

  September 11th

  Helen sat alone in her house watching television, the light dimmed, a big bag of crisps beside her. There was a bold, romantic drama series on and she was crying, not at the lovers’ tragedy that was unfolding before her on the screen, but at her own life, and the way it had turned out.

  ‘She’s always been shy,’ she overheard her mother say when she was still at school. ‘Rubbish at algebra or maths in general. Excels in home baking. And eats far too much of it.’ There was a brief pause. ‘Very conscientious, though,’ she said as an afterthought.

  Being conscientious didn’t give her the breaks in life that she had expected. Helen had savings, lots of savings. She had a nice home and the mortgage would be paid off in a few years’ time. She had a well-kept garden. Food in the cupboard. Lots of food. It was her comfort. It made up for what she didn’t have. She had no man. No children. She had desperately wanted a family of her own, but somehow it never happened. It was something exotic that happened to other people. Time and again she would watch young couples holding hands and pushing their prams and it would seem the easiest and most straightforward thing in the world. But love was her algebra. She couldn’t work it out.

  And now, at the age of 46, she remained a virgin.

  She could only dream of love and babies and relationships, which seemed to roll away from her with increasing speed, like the end title credits of television programmes.

  She switched the set off and stomped heavily upstairs, taking her crisps with her. As she sat in bed reading a book, her thoughts kept drifting to the day she saw Caroline with that man.

  Helen was usually so diligent, but she had delayed talking about it. She remembered saying to Alice that it was because she didn’t want to upset anyone. In fact it was because Helen was worried that if she went to the police they would ask her lots of probing questions. She was concerned that they would find out about her true motives, but in the end she saw what she saw, regardless of whatever misgivings they might have had, and above all, it was the truth.

  Yet Helen knew if she was being honest, really honest, she only went to the police because a small part of her that she had kept hidden was jealous.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  September 11th

  Margaret Crawford began to tear up the newspaper reports of the investigation that she had proudly collected over the past few days. She had read all the sordid details about Matthew White being interviewed as a suspect and she recognised his photograph. Margaret decided there and then that she would never let anyone cross her threshold again – especially if it was a man.

  All she could think about was the fact that she was almost murdered in her own house. There’s been a psychopath prowling about and I could have had my throat slit or anything, she thought, horrified. Matthew White was nothing more than a fraud. Using a false name. Jason Black indeed, she concluded bitterly, as she binned the last of the clippings. And passing himself off as a detective? He couldn’t detect flies in shit. It disgusted her that the very man whom she had placed on a pedestal – an officer of the law, for god’s sake – was a monster that she had given bed and board to. His handsome face had exuded decency and innocence. Now Margaret knew just how gullible she had been, and how vulnerable, for that very same face was now branded a suspect in the papers. Thankfully, Jason Black/Matthew White was now gone, though where she did not know – it still made her flesh creep that she had played hostess
to such horror, that an undesirable had been stalking her hallways. None of us are safe in our homes, Margaret decided, and she shuffled through the hotel, shutting the windows and locking the doors as she went.

  You were right all along, Mother, she thought. Men – they always disappoint in the end. She arrived in the gloomy reception hall and looked around. It was as quiet as the grave. Margaret then announced haughtily to her late husband Hugh that she was ‘giving up this lark’.

  To that end she put a No Vacancies sign on the window and carefully locked the front door before retiring to the safety of her bed.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  September 12th

  Colin left the interview room with the formal arrest he had hoped for. On closing the door behind him, he punched the air in triumph. He had successfully put Jerome Jennings away.

  ‘A great start to your new position,’ said the Chief, ‘provided we can make it stick.’

  Colin felt himself flinch slightly, his feelings hurt as he watched the Chief saunter away down the corridor back to his office.

  ‘Does that pompous oaf never give you credit for anything?’ commented Driscoll incredulously.

  ‘Still in love with Jack,’ explained Colin. ‘The Chief was his mentor.’

  He thought back to the day he visited Jack in hospital. He had to show his ID before he was allowed into the ward. He smiled with an element of superiority at the security guard as he strode past him and into the room where Jack was being kept alive.

  He sat there for a moment and stared, his feelings as mixed as ever. Envy at Jack’s career. Guilt at the things he’d said behind his back. But in the end he felt only sorrow. ‘No man should end up like this,’ he said quietly to himself.

  Just then, Jack’s eyes flickered open for the briefest moment, and with a strain of desperation in his voice he croaked something that did not seem to make any sense.