by Dan Clark
Out in the fog, she spins around to find that Julio Alcala and Patrick Sawhill are nowhere to be seen. Their chuckling laughs echo off the trees and thin out into the air. Her chest aches and she’s panting. She bends over to catch her breath, but the dense fog makes her feel as if she’s sucking air through a straw.
CAW! The raven calls from behind her, followed then by a low cry.
“Help me… please,” the young voice begs.
Carolyn turns slowly and is now facing the well. The raven tilts its head at her and takes flight, heading back towards the trees.
She stares at the well. The young voice calls out again. “Help me… please.”
She creeps forward slowly, and the grass squelches under her bruised, bare foot.
She peers down the well.
The mangled, bloodstained body of Elwyn Roberts stares up at her. White broken bones pierce his freezing flesh, and his whole body glints with frost.
“Help me… please,” he says, from dry cracked lips.
Carolyn shrieks and wakes, seconds from crying out. Her neck and chest are wet with sweat, and the mattress beneath her is damp. She must have managed just under three hours of sleep.
Jeanette is brushing her teeth in the bathroom and glances over through the open door. She shows no sympathy, and returns to the mirror, closing the door.
Carolyn skips breakfast and tells Jeanette she has to head back into town to speak to the police. She urges her mother to stay in the room and watch some television. Jeanette doesn’t argue, and makes little effort to conceal her obvious annoyance.
Now, on her way to the hospital with the radio turned off, tears fill Carolyn’s tired eyes. She imagines Barry’s room, only to see his usual warm smile replaced with a look of pure hatred, maybe the same hatred she felt towards the lorry driver who’d slammed into the back of Simon and Ryan, killing them. She thinks of the swearing that will leave Barry’s lips as he orders her to get out and that he never wants to see her again. Or worse, the doctor taking her aside before looking at her with sympathy and informing her that Barry has not made it through the night.
Her heart thumps against her chest and pounds in her ears. She puts her foot down. She has to get to the hospital. She has to face whatever is waiting for her.
Once she’s parked in the hospital grounds, she takes a moment to ready herself. A few minutes later she’s walking across the car park, passing three girls in their teens. Music is playing loudly from their phones. Two of them are smoking, and one is gulping an energy drink.
Carolyn passes a car to her left and spots her reflection in the window. She’ll be the first to admit that she looks like crap, but at least the heavy rain will hide her tear-stained cheeks. Her unbrushed hair has been scraped up into a messy bun, and she’s not applied any makeup. She’s wearing a red, baggy jumper with creased blue jeans and a pair of battered white trainers. Winning a fashion contest isn’t on her agenda today. She dressed in whatever she pulled from her case this morning, eager to leave the room in a hurry, unable to stand any more of the silent treatment from her mother.
She is standing outside Barry’s room with her trembling hand on the door handle and looking through the glass. Barry is sitting up on a thirty-degree angle and looking out of the rain-pelted window, rolling the stress ball between two fingers. Carolyn wonders if he saw her walk across the car park. Did he grimace at the sight of her? Did his anger build up so much that he needs the stress ball?
At least he isn’t dead, the voice admits, and today Carolyn has to agree with it. A porter pushing a trolley passes behind her. He looks at her warily, which forces her to act.
She opens the door.
Barry turns and looks at her with an expression Carolyn hasn’t seen before. She waits in the doorway for him to begin yelling, calling for Security and for two burly guards to turn up and order her to leave. Instead, he smiles and holds out his arms. She runs over and flings herself against his chest. He groans in pain, but keeps his arms locked tightly around her back.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Barry. This was my fault. I should have listened to you. We should have gone to the police,” she manages before Barry shushes her.
His voice breaks as he speaks. “It’s not your fault. I wanted to go with you. Imagine if I hadn’t? Where would you be today, hey? I’m just sorry I didn’t get a look at the bastard that did it.” They release their hug but stay close, holding hands. It doesn’t feel awkward or uneasy for either of them.
Carolyn shifts a leg on to his bed to sit at his side.
“So, you’re okay?” she asks, still close to tears. It’s breaking her heart to see him so defenceless.
“Well, I’ve had better days… But I’m okay.”
“You don’t hate me?” Carolyn asks, the tears now running down her cheeks.
“What? No, of course not. But I’m a little disappointed you haven’t brought me grapes…” Barry says with a smile.
Carolyn laughs. After last night, she wasn’t sure she’d ever laugh again. “I think it could have something to do with the laptop,” she says.
Barry considers it. “I don’t know. The person that stabbed me sounded lean, quiet. The man who owns the party shop wouldn’t have been able to creep up on me. I’d have heard him.”
“I don’t mean he’s the one who attacked you, but I definitely think he’s involved. He has something on that laptop that he doesn’t want anybody to know about. I told the police about it last night.”
Barry’s eyes widen. He tries sitting up straighter, but pulls a pained face and stays where he is. “You told them? Carolyn… They’ll arrest us.”
“No, no. I told them that I went to the party shop, and that the laptop was already open in the storage room. I left you out of it completely. I think they’re going to talk to the party shop owner and Julio Alcala.”
Barry tuts. “Doesn’t that mean you’ve broken the law somehow? I’m sure there’s a law about privacy or something like that.”
“I don’t care,” Carolyn swiftly replies, and she really means it. “If they find some evidence that links them to your attack, then I really don’t care what law I have broken. Barry, last night after you were attacked, you were mumbling something I couldn’t make out. It looked as if you were trying to tell me something. Do you remember what it was?”
Barry’s eyes concentrate on the thin hospital bedsheet covering his legs. “No, I can’t remember anything from last night. All I know is that I was heading back to the van to find a crowbar,” he says, rubbing at his cheeks and scratching the stubble. “I was going to follow you down there, then I heard this crunch of glass. Next thing, I was on the ground and you were leaning over me. Then I woke up here today.”
Carolyn sighs and wonders if Barry is too frightened to confess who did it and is keeping it to himself. But what person in their right mind would know of their attacker and not tell the police?
“Okay, it was probably nothing. I’m sorry again, I feel awful,” Carolyn begins, then stops as DS Hughes and DC Dixon knock and step into the room.
“Ah Mr Cookson, you’re awake. Good. We have a few questions about your attack last night,” DS Hughes says. “Mind if we call you Barry?”
“Yes, I mind. You can call me Mr Cookson,” Barry replies. Carolyn chuckles under her breath but keeps herself from smiling. “If you’d listened to Carolyn when she told you lot last time, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. But you can’t be bothered pulling your fingers out of your arses to do anything.”
Carolyn can see that DS Hughes and DC Dixon look shocked. “We don’t believe that this attack has anything to do with what Mrs Hill thought… with what Mrs Hill claims she saw in the well,” Dixon says, with a cocky smile.
“What about the coat I found?” Carolyn asks.
Barry looks at her with confusion. Carolyn remembers that she hasn’t told him about the coat.
“Yes…” DS Hughes says. “We’ve shown it to the Lloyds, and Mrs Lloyd says she believes it is Dylan’s co
at.”
“What?” Barry asks, but is ignored.
“But we still don’t know if the disappearance of Elwyn Roberts and Dylan Lloyd are connected in any way,” Hughes continues. “We will be sending the coat off for examination.”
Carolyn turns. “Did you speak to the party shop owner?”
The two detectives look at each other before DS Hughes closes the door and steps forward. “After what you claimed you saw in his supply cupboard at the unit, we approached Mr Sawhill this morning with a warrant to search his home, business and any computers within his possession,” she says, her look fixed on Carolyn. Barry and Carolyn share a look that neither of the detectives see. “Mr Sawhill panicked and tried to flee, fighting his way past our officers… He suffered a major heart attack and died before we had the chance to question him.”
Barry and Carolyn look at each other and back to DS Hughes. Hughes goes on. “We’ve sent the laptop he had at his home address, along with any external hard drives and any USB storage devices, off to forensics.”
Carolyn and Barry are silent.
“And Julio?” Carolyn asks. “The one that visited the shop… what about him?”
“Mr Alcala has been arrested for breaking his terms of not owning or being allowed to use a computer, which we found hidden in his bedroom. We’re questioning him and, so far, he has never heard of you, Mr Cookson. We’re waiting for confirmation that his alibi matches the time you were attacked yesterday afternoon. His computer and any other storage device have also been sent off to forensics.”
“What about the werewolf?” Barry asks. “At the party?”
DC Dixon pulls a printout from his coat and holds it up, showing it to both of them. The picture quality isn’t the best. It’s dark and grainy, and the shape of the werewolf costume is only vaguely recognisable.
“The only thing that really stands out here is that the person is wearing white trainers,” DC Dixon says.
Carolyn frowns. “How are we supposed to identify anyone from this image?”
Barry shrugs.
“We’ve spoken to the staff working that night,” DC Dixon says, “and they’ve told us they didn’t even notice the person sitting at the end of the bar. As you can imagine, they were rushed off their feet for most of the night. We believe the person is male, at least from their size and build. He was at the bar for roughly ninety minutes before he was seen running through the door. We’re also checking Julio Alcala’s whereabouts that night.”
“Mrs Hill, do you mind stepping outside?” DS Hughes asks. “We’d like to speak with Mr Cookson in private… please.”
“Why? I’d like her to stay, if that’s all right,” Barry protests.
DC Dixon takes out his notepad. “We need to make sure your statement matches Mrs Hill’s from yesterday afternoon. It will only take a minute.”
Carolyn stands up, telling Barry she’ll go for a coffee and bring one back for him. She nods at the two detectives and leaves the room. At the coffee machine, she pulls change from her pocket, inserts it and presses the button for a latte, moving the first cup to one side. As she searches through her change for the second cup, a man approaches and inserts the correct money.
“There you go. I could see you struggling for change,” he says.
Carolyn looks up at the tall, smiling Indian man clutching his own cup. He has short black hair and thick bushy eyebrows, and looks to be in his early fifties.
“Thank you so much… Here, take whatever this adds up to,” Carolyn says.
“No, it’s fine, honestly. I have more change than I need,” he chuckles. “So, are you visiting, or do you like to hang out in hospitals?”
Carolyn glances over at Barry’s room and can see the shape of the two detectives still inside. She takes a seat.
“Visiting a friend. He… he had an accident yesterday. What about you?” she asks.
The Indian man takes the seat next to her after ordering a coffee for himself.
“My wife. She hurt her back a while ago. Fell down some stairs if you can believe that. She’s never been the same since. She’s always in and out of this goddamn place!”
They introduce themselves, and after Carolyn watches DS Hughes and DC Dixon leave Barry’s room, she thanks Thomas for the coffee and wishes his wife luck before heading back in.
Chapter Thirty-One
Julio Alcala is sitting in Interview Room Two with his solicitor, Mr Nelson, at his side. His hands are stretched out in front and trembling nervously on the table, his nails bitten down almost to the cuticles. Against the recommendation of Mr Nelson, Julio has decided, after learning about the death of his friend Patrick Sawhill, that he would like to come forward and discuss what he knows.
“Mr Alcala… What is it you would like to tell me?” DS Hughes asks, having returned from the hospital a couple of hours earlier.
“The… the laptop you found hidden behind my wall. Patrick… Mr Sawhill, he gave it to me,” Julio says.
“So what?” DS Hughes says. “I’m sure once we get it back from forensics, we would have found that out for ourselves.”
“Patrick gave it to me last year. It’s in my conditions that… that I don’t own anything I can use to access the internet or download pictures.” Julio stops, thinks for a moment and continues. “He… he gave it to me because I help him out… helped him out… running a site.”
“A site?” DC Dixon asks, running a finger across his auburn goatee.
Mr Nelson leans in and whispers into his client’s ear. Julio shrugs him away, frowning, and looks from DS Hughes to DC Dixon.
“This will show that I’ve been co-operative, won’t it?” he asks, nervously.
“Well, it’s on the tape and I’ll make sure to add a note to your file… of course.”
“The site that I’m talking about is what Patrick made most of his money from. He ran two sites, but he isn’t very tech-savvy, so I’d visit once a week.”
“And what do you do for Mr Sawhill, Julio?” DC Dixon asks.
“I do whatever maintenance is needed on the sites,” Julio says, his chewed fingertips tapping nervously at the tabletop.
“What kind of sites are we speaking of here, Julio?”
He ignores the question, his mind so full of scenarios about his future.
“Julio?” Dixon prompts.
“The type of site that is illegal and that people would pay money to visit,” Julio replies, as beads of sweat form on his forehead.
DS Hughes and DC Dixon look at each other.
“For the purpose of the tape, Mr Alcala, will you confirm what type of sites you were running for Mr Patrick Sawhill?” DS Hughes says.
Tears fill Julio’s eyes, and again he goes silent for a moment. His fingers continue to tap at the table.
Julio’s parents will certainly wash their hands of him this time. He knows his place in the family was already hanging by a thread, and this will surely be the last straw before they cut him out of their lives completely. In his last incident, he was found with indecent pictures on his computer and phone. Julio pictures his mother sitting at the table crying. His father will be in his room, pulling clothes from hangers and packing them to leave on the front doorstep.
His breathing increases and his heart thumps.
“They were… child pornography sites,” Julio finally says, keeping his eyes focused on the various scratches on the table.
DC Dixon flicks through his notes and leans over, whispering into his partner’s ear. Hughes nods.
“Mr Alcala, do you know of any ledgers that Mr Sawhill might have kept?” DS Hughes asks.
Julio thinks hard about it and then shakes his head. He pinches at the bridge of his nose and brings his hand down to wipe away the tears.
His next thought is that it will take roughly six bin bags to clear out his wardrobe, and a couple of boxes to clear his DVDs and XBox games. The television isn’t his, so that’ll stay on the chest of drawers. The neighbours will know. They’re already w
ary of him. The walls outside his house will once again be spray-painted with lewd words and crude symbols.
“And this coat,” DC Dixon begins. “Take another look at it and tell me if you recognise it.” He picks up the evidence bag containing the dirty coat Carolyn had found, and pushes it towards Julio.
“I’ve told you… I don’t know anything about that coat!”
“You’re positive you’ve never seen that coat before?” DS Hughes asks.
“Yes,” Julio snaps. “I’m absolutely positive.”
***
After the interview, Hughes and Dixon discuss their progress with Inspector Williams. Once forensics open up the laptops and storage devices, they should have clear evidence that Patrick Sawhill had been running child pornography sites with the help of Julio Alcala.
Williams nods at the report lying on his desk, and agrees that with Julio Alcala’s confession, it all makes sense.
“But who attacked Mr Cookson?” Williams asks.
Hughes shrugs. “I don’t know. Mr Alcala seems pretty certain he has never heard of Mr Cookson. And the coat, well, he claims he’s never seen that before either. I think he’s told us everything he knows in a bid to help against his sentence. But I guess we’ll have more to go on once the forensics come back with their findings.”
Williams nods. “Have the whole area searched thoroughly. If the results come back matching the coat to Dylan Lloyd… we might have to send out another search party.”
***
Carolyn and Barry are sitting talking about his future. He tells her not to be so ridiculous, and that he’ll support himself.
“It’s not as if I’ve lost my legs,” he says.
They move on, discussing his daughter, Amy, and how close he had come to never seeing her again. Barry promises that once he’s up and out of the hospital, he’s going to start thinking of places to take her. He could even fix up the spare room in his flat – that is, if she ever feels like staying.
“I look forward to meeting her,” Carolyn says, her voice still croaky. The guilt is heavy in her stomach. The conversation turns towards Simon and Ryan, and tears begin rolling down Carolyn’s cheeks. She wipes them away and stands up. “I’m getting us more coffee.”