Deep Fear

  ‘I’m so sorry about that, it was really insensitive,’ Kelly said.

  ‘Your mother’s in room twenty-five, Kelly. It is Kelly isn’t it? It’s not long that she was in, is it?’

  ‘No, I’m thinking of moving in and renting a room,’ Kelly said. She managed a weak smile but both women knew that it was far from being flippant.

  ‘I wouldn’t. Far too many chiefs and not enough Indians around this place,’ the nurse said. Kelly understood; the police force was the same. They shared a knowing glance. She went to see her mother but Nikki had beaten her to it.

  ‘I heard you both, you know. Can’t you give it a rest? How do you think it makes me feel, knowing that when I’m gone you’ll be at each other’s throats?’ Wendy looked agitated and in pain. Kelly felt wretched.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum. Everyone’s tired, but abusing the staff won’t make them any quicker,’ Kelly said.

  ‘How dare–’ began Nikki.

  ‘Stop it!’ Wendy intervened again. ‘If you continue to argue, I’ll have the staff get rid of both of you, and you won’t be welcome back! I mean it, I’ve had enough. I’m sick enough as it is without listening to your racket.’ Wendy finished and laid back onto her pillows, exhausted. Both siblings had more to say, but both had the sense to heed their mother’s warning.

  ‘Can I get you a cup of tea, Mum?’ asked Kelly.

  ‘No, I’ve had five already, I think. Can one of you go to the shop and get me some fruit?’ Both sisters said yes at the same time, and they looked at one another.

  ‘I’m happy either way, I don’t mind,’ said Kelly.

  ‘I don’t mind either, I’m happy to go,’ Nikki said.

  ‘Right, I’ll stay here,’ said Kelly. Nikki left.

  ‘Have the kids been in, Mum?’ Kelly referred to Nikki’s three children.

  ‘Yes but they didn’t stay for long, I think all the dials and tubes scare them.’

  ‘They won’t understand.’

  ‘Why do you and Nikki fight, Kelly? It’s torture for me.’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum. I hate it too. We were never close really, remember when we were growing up, we always had different friends and different interests, I suppose. The world would be pretty dull if we got on with everyone.’ It sounded weak.

  ‘It’d be bloody quiet though!’ Wendy said. ‘I raised you the same, I did everything the same.’ Wendy looked out of the window, wistfully. Kelly realised that her mother was taking the blame.

  ‘Mum, it’s not your fault! Christ, we’re adults!’

  ‘I worry, Kelly. About when I’m not here.’

  ‘Mum, you’re going to be here for a lot longer than any of us!’ Kelly said, half believing what she was saying. Wendy looked at her, and managed a smile. They both knew that wasn’t true.

  ‘Why don’t you rest and I’ll try to find out when your scan is,’ Kelly said. She left the room and walked along the corridor. She could hold a conversation about a million ways to die, but she couldn’t be honest with her own mother. Nikki was on her way back from the shop.

  ‘I need a word,’ Kelly said to her. Nikki was unwilling to follow her sister but, eventually, she did. They went into the day room and, thankfully, it was empty.

  ‘Look, I think we should be civil in front of Mum,’ Kelly said.

  Nikki began to object. Kelly held up her hand.

  ‘Hold on, it doesn’t have to be fucking genuine. Just play along, ok? At least let’s try and avoid arguing in front of her. We could arrange different visiting times, or something. I don’t know. But what I do know is that Mum is sick of it.’

  ‘If you didn’t make everything an argument, we wouldn’t have the problem in the first place,’ Nikki said belligerently.

  ‘For God’s sake, Nikki! That’s what I mean. Can’t we just not have this pathetic competition in the first place? Listen to yourself! Tell me when you’re coming and I won’t. If it’s too difficult for you to be in the same room, I’ll come some other time, I really don’t have time for this, just grow up!’

  ‘Who do you think you are?’

  Kelly couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Her sister was levelling up to her again and Kelly couldn’t help but laugh. It was the least appropriate thing to do, but she’d had enough.

  ‘I’ve bought a house,’ was all she said. It did the trick, and Nikki stopped in her tracks.

  ‘What?’ Nikki asked.

  ‘Like I said, tell me when you’re here and I’ll come some other time. I won’t be at the house for much longer,’ Kelly said. She turned to walk away.

  ‘So, now Mum is ill, you make plans for your escape. That’s so typical of you, Kelly,’ Nikki wasn’t giving up. Kelly turned around.

  ‘Look, throw mud wherever you like and for as long as you like. I haven’t got time for bullshit. Mum has me, and she has you. Me moving out will give her, and me, breathing space and it’s best all round. Don’t try and make this into something it’s not. Penrith is not exactly fucking Texas. I’m only in Pooley Bridge!’ This time, she walked away without turning back. She zoned the noise of her sister’s voice out of her head, and went to find someone who could help her.

  A group of doctors and nurses wafted along the corridor, like a swarm of bees looking for pollen. Kelly knew that this meant they were doing their rounds. She went back to her mother’s room, followed closely by Nikki. The group walked in and looked at Wendy’s notes. No-one spoke.

  ‘Mrs Wendy Porter?’

  Wendy acknowledged the doctor. She looked small in the presence of such a collection of medical experts, as anyone would. Kelly wanted to speak for her, but she knew that Mum would want to do everything herself. Kelly and Nikki took in all the details for later, when Mum would forget, and ask them to repeat everything.

  The blood tests were good, but the doctors were changing Wendy’s medication, and it would make her feel sick. Kelly wrote down the name of the drug. They told Wendy that she could expect a three-day stay, as things stood at the moment, while they sorted her medication and organised an MRI. The young doctors took notes, and the nurses scuttled around them like waiting staff. The power of these people unsettled Kelly, and she thought of Timothy Cole again. The entourage left as rapidly as it had appeared, and Kelly looked at her mother. Was this it? Was this the beginning of more and more hospital stays, until finally, she never left?

  ‘Look, there’s no point either of you staying here, you heard what they said, they have a plan for the next few days. I have my phone, I am perfectly capable of calling you when I need you. I think I’d like a snooze,’ said Wendy.

  Kelly couldn’t decide if this was Wendy’s way of saying she’d like to be left alone, or in fact she was genuinely tired. Both daughters decided to leave, and they kissed their mother and walked to the ward exit in silence.

  Kelly took the stairs, Nikki took the lift.

  Chapter 36

  Johnny sat on his decking reading a book. He was on duty, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the sunshine. He could get a call at any minute.

  He loved his job.

  It wasn’t the kind of thing boys grew up dreaming about – that was more likely to be a soldier, but it was something that adult men often thought about. The isolation, the freedom, the vastness of the terrain – all pitted against a man with a back pack, helping to save people. He’d been told he was saving people when they’d deployed to Iraq. They were helping the Iraqis, they were told. And they believed them.

  ‘Theirs is not to reason why, theirs is but to do and die…’

  But officers were supposed to be thinking soldiers, and their burden was their penance. Soldiers were supposed to get PTSD, not officers. Officers were supposed to accept what came with the job: their decisions that got men killed, their choices that maimed teenagers, and their unwavering loyalty to the crown. Johnny remembered the eyes of the father he’d looked into, as the details of his son’s death were read out at the inquest. The helicopter had taken too long to get to
him and he’d bled out. The lad had been nineteen.

  Johnny pushed the thoughts away and replaced them with pleasant ones: of pinning Kelly up against the wall in her empty lounge. There were only a few things that truly relaxed him in life and the other one was being in the fells. Kelly was good at both.

  He didn’t need much, and what he had delivered most of that. He’d mellowed since leaving the army, and it felt good. No more frenetic, testosterone-driven marches through Wales, no more kowtowing to senior ranks, no more carrying fifty kilos up a mountain in a hundred degrees heat, and no more dead bodies.

  That was Kelly’s world now, not his, and he had no regrets.

  Being on the mountain gave him space and peace, despite his job. It wasn’t combat: helicopters were readily available, they didn’t take enemy fire, equipment wasn’t held up by politics, money flowed in (thanks to charitable donations), and the people rescued were thankful, not hostile.

  It was satisfying.

  Johnny thought of his daughter. She was too far away. They’d made a go of it, him and his wife, moving from one patch to another, pretending that it was some form of life, always running away from reality. He’d known Carrie was unhappy but they never talked about it. They fell into a routine of ignorance and bliss, and used Josie as a screen behind which to hide.

  Josie. She was nearly twelve, and she was beginning to look like a young woman. She’d been through a lot, more than Johnny would like, but he’d told himself that no-one was a perfect parent. They didn’t hand out manuals at the birth. You just struggled blindly, making it up as you went along, and hoping for the best.

  Johnny closed his eyes, turned his face to the sun, and thoughts of Kelly returned once more.

  When his pager rang, he was almost asleep. He stretched and got out of the sun lounger. He called the switch board and spoke to Marie. Johnny covered both Patterdale and Penrith, and someone needed medical assistance on Riggindale Crag, close to High Street. They’d summited and begun their descent, but a female in her sixties had twisted her ankle and couldn’t be moved. A group of students had called it in. The helicopter was ready but Riggindale was tricky to navigate and cloud covered a few patches.

  It didn’t matter how many videos, YouTube posts, Twitter drives and public safety posters they produced each year, the Lake District teams never failed to be dismayed at the amount of ill-prepared walkers who found themselves in trouble each season.

  But Johnny didn’t judge them too harshly. It had taken him years to qualify for mountain rescue, and it wasn’t difficult to underestimate the treachery of the fells.

  They’d been working with a new fleet of S92 helicopters, and it was Johnny’s job to locate an ideal spot to land. But first he needed to locate the casualty. The group of students who’d made the call had stayed with the couple who, by all accounts, were experienced hikers.

  High Street was so named thanks to the Romans, who built their tracks over the open fells rather than through the dense woodland of the valleys. Johnny often wondered what their ancestors would make of the fells now, with the hordes of walkers, helicopters, and litter strewn across the landscape. In under thirty minutes, Johnny would be flying over the popular route, one that often reminded walkers not to take Mother Nature for granted.

  Johnny thought about The Teacher as he drove. Kelly didn’t need to spell it out that the guy was strong. He’d dumped two bodies, and Johnny knew how heavy a dead body was. Johnny was strong. Not gym-strong, in that he lifted weights above his head three times a week, but instinctively strong. His muscles had borne huge loads over terrain similar to Cumbria for two decades, and for days on end. The common view of soldiers is of them patrolling through villages and towns with rifles, looking for the enemy, and retreating to base when they’re finished. The reality is that most of the time, they’re carrying equipment weighing close to fifty kilograms for days, and most of that is water.

  But the thing that Johnny struggled to get his head round most was the urge to hurt a woman, and then dump her like trash. He pondered briefly on which was worse: torture and murder for war, or for enjoyment? He shook his head, and the thoughts along with it.

  He parked at the centre, and he could see the helicopter blades whirring. Whatever he needed was on board. He was no medic, but the casualty would be dropped off at the nearest available hospital in good time. The two biggest were Penrith and Lakes, and Furness General in Barrow-in-Furness.

  As he climbed into the red and white helicopter, Johnny wondered if Kelly would catch her killer, or if he’d strike again. He shook the hands of two colleagues and wondered if the killer had an ordinary job and an ordinary life. He might go to the same pub every Friday night to play cards. It struck him that anyone he knew could be capable of leading a double life. Wherever he went: the corner shop, the pub, Marie’s office, everywhere, people discussed The Teacher.

  The great machine lifted and ascended quickly. Johnny looked out of the window and readied a stretcher. Ullswater sparkled below them and stretched away into the distance. They flew south, over Loadpot Hill and High Kop, and Haweswater came into view. The Lakes looked tiny from the air. To the west, he made out the Isle of Man, to the east, the Yorkshire Dales. It was a beautiful day.

  The students had been told to lay down something colourful and wave their arms about, and Johnny was impressed to see a square shape, made from humans, formed below them. He familiarised himself with their location and knew a good spot to land. It would take three of them to carry the injured woman back to the helicopter, but it wouldn’t be taxing. Johnny guided the pilot to a flat area, who lowered the machine to the ground. Johnny led the way, and they jumped out and jogged to the woman. She was called Pat.

  ‘Hello, Pat,’ Johnny said. Pat smiled bravely. His colleagues spoke to the husband.

  Johnny lay down his stretcher and undid the straps. He also made an initial assessment. Pat was in pain, but she was bright and cooperative. The ankle was twisted nastily and Johnny knew from experience that it was broken. Somebody had had the common sense to take off her boot, and the ankle was swollen and purple. Pat was a tough lady. The couple looked prepared: they had adequate equipment, maps, water, and good walking gear. They looked experienced too; it was simply a terribly unlucky accident.

  ‘She slipped as we stepped over that rock, her foot was caught and she went the wrong way,’ said the husband.

  Unfortunate, thought Johnny.

  The three men loaded Pat onto the stretcher, and soon they were back at the helicopter. The husband came on board too, and the students continued their hike, buoyed with exciting stories for the pub later.

  As the helicopter lifted off, Johnny’s pager buzzed again.

  Marie’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

  Johnny was required to escort the police for his next job. Two hikers had reported seeing a body near Hart Crag, a place inaccessible by air or road. There was no confirmation yet as to if it was indeed a body, but Johnny experienced a sensation in his gut that would only be confirmed when he led the officers to the spot.

  It hadn’t sounded like a prank call, Marie told him. The police had to take the call seriously, and it was Johnny’s day to be of service.

  He called Kelly.

  Chapter 37

  ‘Kelly Porter?’ the man asked.

  ‘Yes, speaking,’ Kelly replied.

  ‘Ah, good. May I introduce myself? Dr Philip Modus, forensic analyst. Handwriting specialist to be exact. I’m calling from The Minatour Lab in Oldham.’

  ‘Ah, Dr Modus, thanks for getting back to me. Please tell me you have some news.’ He had her full attention. She prayed for a break. Testimony from people like Dr Modus was more likely to get the case accepted by the CPS when the time came.

  ‘I do hope so. I do apologise for the delay, we’ve been snowed under down here, you know.’ Kelly had heard it all before. Get on with it, she thought.

  ‘I’m sure you have, Dr Modus.’

  ‘So, the first s
ample you sent to us – a beautiful example by the way – it was an excerpt from Shelley, am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’ This was not going to be a short conversation. But it was worth the extra effort if it bore results. She crossed her fingers.

  ‘Not my favourite, I have to say.’

  Kelly impatiently tapped her pen on the desk.

  ‘Anyway, the brain guides the hand, Detective, and this is a fascinating subject. Their emotional energy is off the chart, I wonder – do you have the original? My guess is that the writing can be felt on the underside – like Braille – you see, it depicts much passion in the subject.’

  Kelly looked at her watch. Johnny would be on the mountainside now.

  ‘The backwards slant is also unique: ‘cool as a cucumber’ is the phrase that sprung to mind when I saw it. Now, everyone has their own unique set of characteristics when they write, just like a fingerprint.’ Kelly had heard this before too. Every expert in their field swore that their methodology was the most unique, be it dentals, hair follicles, gait analysts, camber of toes, or eye lash direction. And each expert would happily talk for hours on their preferred field of interest, if allowed to. The trick was to show enough respect while at the same time hurrying them along. She didn’t say a word.

  ‘So, the dot over the ‘i’ in both cases is just off to the right of the letter: this indicates that the writer finished the sentences before going back to dot the i and cross the t, so to speak.’ Dr Modus wasn’t sure that Detective Porter was still on the end of her line, and found her lack of response puzzling.

  In fact she was concentrating. She’d brought the first sample sent to the Doctor up on her computer screen. She could see what he meant.

  ‘Yes, I can see that, Doctor, what does it mean?’ She wanted to know where he was going, and follow his thread but, more than that, to know if he was going to be helpful.

  ‘You’ve got a forceful character here, angry and in a rush. It’s as if they’re writing a threatening letter rather than poetry.’ Kelly doubted that the Doctor had any idea how important what he had just said might possibly turn out to be.