Chasing Ghosts: A Detective Jack Buchan Novel

by Michael Fowler

  Her face lit up again and she gently punched his arm, ‘You rotter. Seriously though, did I do all right? I have to confess when they told me who I’d got for my mentor and the legend you were I was bricking it.’

  Jack expression turned sheepish. ‘Now you’re embarrassing me. Seriously Fabi, you did brilliant. You’re a natural. You’re going to make a great detective. And I don’t say that to everyone.’

  ‘I know, I’ve been told. Thank you, that means so much. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.’

  Jack face reddened, ‘Well it’s a long time since a girl’s made me blush.’

  Fabi burst out laughing. Then, she said, ‘Well what now. What happens when all the excitement dies down?’

  ‘Probably a shit job to deal with.’

  Fabi’s eyes drifted away for a moment and then they locked onto Jack. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying…’

  He issued a half-smile, ‘Even if I did, I know you’re going to say it.’

  ‘…Back there in the court. I didn’t say it at the time, but yesterday you just didn’t seem with it.’ She dropped her voice, ‘Did the case get to you, or were you thinking about Claire again?’

  ‘Honest truth Fabi? Everything’s getting to me. I know I’ve not been the same guy since I came back to work.’

  ‘Too early, you think?’

  He pondered on her question and replied, ‘No I don’t think it’s that. Claire’s death, or at least the manner of her death has got to me, there’s no denying it. And deep down I blame myself for that, but I also blame the job as well. Do you know before we lost the baby we had everything mapped out? We were going to be a family, look forward to my early retirement and then use my pension to travel round the world. Now look at what I’ve got to look forward to.’

  Fabi grabbed Jack’s wrist, ‘Come on Jack you’re young enough to begin again. You don’t have to retire if you don’t want to.’

  He pulled back his gaze, ‘I know that Fabi, but I’ve had my good ride and now I think it’s time to get off the roundabout.’

  39

  Jack sat hunkered over his desk, his eyes glued to the incident board, which hadn’t yet been taken down. He was in the CID office alone, having left everyone else still celebrating at the pub. Half an hour earlier, having determined he wasn’t in the frame of mind for a drinking session, he had taken Fabi to one side and whispered in her ear that he was off home, telling her he wanted to sneak away without any fuss and he asked her to cover for him. She said she understood and told him she’d see him in the morning, but as he stood outside, taking in the last of the warm evening, he changed his mind, deciding to grab some fish and chips and head back to the office to eat them before going home. He had done so, and now he was swilling them down with a mug of tea, letting his eyes drift around the photographs on the white board, flicking from Mathew’s mug shot, to Carrie’s burned out mini, and finally to the digital impression they had of Carrie, before repeating the process again. He had never known a case like this; a case where they hadn’t managed to find out anything about the victim as well as not get closure for the victim’s family. He hoped in the not too distant future someone will come forward and claim to be Carrie’s parent or relative, and although he’d be unable to give them back her body, he’d at least be able to tell them they had got the person responsible for her murder. For a moment he stopped his thoughts there, locking eyes with Carrie’s digital image. That niggling doubt he had felt many times during this enquiry had leaped into his thoughts again, but he couldn’t understand why, especially after today’s verdict. In fast-forward mode he played out the investigation inside his head, pausing at each key fact, and at each of the witness’s testimonies, wondering if he had got any of it wrong. As he got to the end he knew he hadn’t and yet something was gnawing away inside. He took a deep breath and pulled back his gaze, freeze-framing it at Fabi’s desk where he spotted the coroner’s file on Angel May’s suicide. Could it be that case? He had to admit he had been extremely frustrated when CPS had informed him that the Judge had ruled that they could not present this evidence, after all Mathew had a hand in her death, albeit that they couldn’t prove he had actually killed her. He leaned across, dragged the case papers toward him and unfastened the bundle. Then he began separating the paperwork. He had read through the file twice, but now that his thoughts took a different approach, he wondered if he’d find anything that he might have missed. There was certainly no harm in looking, he told himself as he picked out the first statement. An hour and half later, after only getting up from his desk once to switch on the lights, he had finished the file and sighed as he turned the last page. It was as he thought, he had missed nothing. He began to bunch it back together when he spied the digital newspaper headlines that Fabi had printed out and used as background information and he picked them up. Quickly scanning each copy there was one that took his interest. It was the funeral report with a cast of mourners around Angel’s grave. He recalled what Fabi had said about the model’s celebrity status and he began to search among the mourners faces to see which of them he could name. On the front row he picked out a couple of soap actors he recognised, although he couldn’t recall their names and then he moved up to the second line. At the fourth face he stopped. There was something about the blonde haired woman he recognised, but he couldn’t think why. He knew she wasn’t a celebrity. Bending closer to the photograph he studied her image while searching his mind. It was something about the eyes and the nose, he thought. Then, in a flash, it came to him. Shaping fore-finger and thumb he covered part of her face and he instantly knew why she had grabbed his attention. Dropping the newspaper printout, he reached back to Angel’s file – there were some documents at the back that he wanted to check through. He quickly found the records he wanted – they were printed across two pages – and scrolling down the list he found what he was looking for. Marking the spot with his finger he picked up the phone and tapped in a number. This would confirm everything.

  Three months later…

  40

  Jack stopped off in Singapore and had three days of sight-seeing before hopping back on another plane to take him onto his destination of Australia. At Sidney airport he hired himself a top-end 4 x 4 and drove at a leisurely speed along the Great Western Highway for six hours to the final destination of his journey – Rockley. He had already researched the place before leaving England and learned that it was just a small village in the vastness of New South Wales with a population of just a few hundred people. With only one main road and a couple of long side roads he knew it wouldn’t take him long to find the person he was looking for.

  As he approached the outskirts he couldn’t help but be impressed by the lushness of the surroundings, with rolling hills and shady parkland. It reminded him so much of his home county of Cornwall – but on a grander scale. Upon entering the village, he was even more impressed – it was a place where time had almost stood still. Either side of the thin stretch of road was either a porch-fronted wooden house or a homestead stereotypical of those he had seen in books during school geography lessons back in the early 1970s.

  The house he was looking for was on Hill Street, and spotting the sign at a junction he dropped down two gears and took a left onto an even thinner stretch of tarmac and kept his speed slow. The number he wanted was a bungalow and, after passing a tree-lined rise, he zeroed in on a green painted single-storey wooden building perched above him, and he took his foot off the accelerator and cruised onto the grass verge which served as a parking area.

  For five minutes he remained at the wheel with the engine idling, steadying his breathing as he stared up at the house. Although the bungalow was old, he could see it had been kept in good condition and the paintwork looked fresh. He was just admiring the bush of purple flowers cascading over the porch roof, wondering what they were, when the silhouette of a figure appeared at the window. It remained there for the best part of a minute and although Jack couldn’t see the eyes he knew they
were looking down at him. He turned off the engine, pushed open the car door and, stretching the cramp out of his legs, began his ascent up the stone steps leading to the bungalow. As he stepped onto the porch a mesh door opened outwards and a woman appeared in the doorway. She was the same blonde haired woman he had seen in the photograph of the mourners beside Angel May’s grave.

  ‘Caroline Jefferson?’ he asked, stepping toward the door and, as he gripped the frame and stared into her intensely bright blue eyes added, ‘Or should I say Carrie Jefferies?’

  Her face remained expressionless. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘It wasn’t easy I can tell you. Can I come in?’

  She walked back into the house without answering and Jack followed letting the mesh door swing back into place. Inside the kitchen, panelled walls were painted white and blue and the furniture was dark wood.

  She went to the fridge and opened the door. ‘Can I get you a cool beer?’ she said without looking back.

  ‘A beer would be great.’ Jack answered.

  The woman took out two beers, whipped off their tops, handed Jack one and then took a swig of her own. Wiping the back of her hand across her lips she said, ‘So how did you find me?’

  ‘It was fluke really. I happened to see a photo of Angel’s funeral and you were one of the mourners.’

  She gave Jack a meek smile and shook her head. ‘And I thought I’d covered my tracks.’

  ‘You had. Believe me. It was sheer luck I saw that photo in the paper. Your hair fooled me of course because it wasn’t auburn like in Mathew’s paintings, but your eyes gave you away. That was one thing Mathew captured in his paintings – your eyes.’ He dipped his head toward her face, ‘And he got them bang on.’

  She seated herself at the kitchen table and presented Jack a chair opposite. ‘There’s one thing I’ll say about Mathew he was a good painter.’ She took another swig of her beer and, holding the neck of the bottle close to her bottom lip continued, ‘But that’s the only good thing I will say about him.’ Then, pointing the bottle toward Jack she said, ‘Recognising my photograph is one thing, tracking me down is another. How did you do that?’

  ‘Your phone calls.’

  ‘Phone calls?’

  ‘Angel. I saw from her phone records that you used to ring her on a regular basis.’

  Her heavy sigh was half laugh. ‘My, you are a good detective.’

  ‘Want to tell me about it. I think I know but I’d like you to tell me.’

  She set her bottle down on the table. ‘You know Angel’s my sister?’

  Jack nodded and took a drink of the cold beer. It was the best he’d tasted in a long time. ‘I do now. It took me a while to find out, but after a couple of phone calls I got there in the end.’

  ‘You know all about how we got separated?’

  Jack nodded again, not removing the bottle from his mouth.

  ‘So you know then that Mum and Dad got killed in an accident when I was eight and Angela was eighteen months old.’ She paused, exchanged glances and continued, ‘My aunt looked after us at first, but she’d already got the offer of a job here, and she decided she could only manage me because I was old enough, and so she left Angela with the Mayberry’s who were her best friends. They couldn’t have children and had always wanted one so it was the ideal solution. I, of course, was brought up here, and it was only when my aunt died of cancer five years ago that I was told exactly where Angela was. When I contacted her I discovered that she was a famous model. I couldn’t believe it. I was so pleased for her and as you know we kept in touch regularly. She sent me money, paid for this house, and helped me buy a few luxuries and then we arranged for me to come across to London to stay with her. Then she started telling me about this artist she’d met – Mathew. She was so besotted with him, but after about six months I could tell on the phone that she was different. Not only acted different but sounded different – really down. She eventually told me that Mathew had got her into drugs and she was trying to stop. Then the next thing she told me was that Mathew had drugged and raped someone. I told her she had to end it, she told me she was going to and the next thing I saw on the news was that Angela was dead.’

  ‘And you set out for revenge?’

  ‘Not at first I didn’t. I thought Mathew would be arrested. But then I discovered he’d got off.’

  ‘The inquest said she committed suicide.’

  She shook her head. ‘Mathew was responsible for Angela’s death.’

  ‘And so you set out to get him.’

  Dipping her head, she said, ‘I didn’t know exactly how initially. I just wanted to punish him, but first I needed to meet Mathew and find out about him. I’d managed to put some savings to one side, thanks to Angela’s money, and once I got to England I did a bit of travelling for six months. During that time, I grew my hair longer, dyed it and changed my name. It wasn’t hard finding Mathew and, guessing what type of person he was, I thought I’d have no difficulty in drawing him in. I wasn’t wrong. It was just a matter of time before I worked out the best way of dealing with him.’

  ‘And when did that idea come to you?’

  ‘A lot of ideas came to me. I planned lots of things. I even tried to get him to talk about what had happened to Angel, which I taped, but all he would say about it was that it was a bad memory that he wanted to erase. You can imagine how that made me feel?’

  ‘Furious?’

  ‘You bet that. And that’s when I knew that it needed some radical thinking. Then one night it came to me courtesy of the news. There was report on about this woman who’d disappeared, and who the police believed had been murdered, although they’d not found her body… and that was it. The seeds were sown.’

  ‘And you put the plan into action that Sunday.’

  Caroline gave a snort. ‘That was pure luck. It happened because of an accident when I cut myself.’

  ‘In the kitchen?’

  She nodded. ‘After I drove Mathew home that night from the Callaghan’s we got back and he was still in a foul mood. At first I was going to sleep in the spare room and leave him to it, but he said he wanted another drink and told me to get him one. I said I thought he’d had enough and he just went crazy, started shouting and swearing at me. He threw those wine glasses across the kitchen and smashed them. He told me to pick them up, and that’s when I cut myself. There I was on my hands and knees bleeding from a cut hand and the bastard just said I was fucking useless. He just went up to bed leaving me there. When I saw the blood dripping on the floor that’s when I knew that the time was right.’

  ‘Don’t you feel guilty that Mathew has gone to prison for a murder he didn’t commit.’

  She laughed. ‘He killed my sister didn’t he? Not directly, but he was responsible for how she died and he got away with it. Now the scores settled.’ She took a long drink of her beer. ‘What happens now? Are you here to arrest me?’

  Jack leaned back in the chair. ‘Arrest you? I can’t arrest you I’m not a detective anymore. I retired two months ago.’

  ***

  After saying goodbye, Jack sat at the wheel of the 4 x 4 staring out through the windscreen, watching the heat haze rise from the tarmac and replaying in his head what he’d just heard. He thought about the decision he’d made to not contact the Australian Police and he knew that on this occasion the decision was right.

  He started the car. He had got a long journey ahead. A long time to think. At least he had exorcised one ghost and he felt happier than he’d done in a long time.

 

 

 
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