by Dan Clark
“Thank God… I need a pee anyway.” Barry struggles to stand and Carolyn moves in to help. He takes her hand, and with great effort she pulls him to his feet.
“Oh crap. Do you have change for the machine?” Carolyn asks, remembering she’s not got enough.
“Jeez, I’m the one in hospital and you’re asking me for money!” Barry jokes. “Take it from the table,” he adds, heading into the bathroom.
Carolyn takes the change from his bedside table and heads to the machine. She inserts the coins and makes her selection before noticing the Indian man sitting in the corner.
“Still here?” she says, bringing the fresh cup of coffee over. “I owe you one, don’t I?” He smiles and stands up, taking it from her.
“Yes, I headed home a couple of hours ago. The wife is still in the consultation room. I’m going to have a beard by the time I leave here tonight,” he jokes. “How’s your friend doing?”
Carolyn smiles. The thought of turning up and finding that Barry hadn’t made it is long gone.
“Yeah, he’s actually doing okay, consid—” she begins, then stops. The Indian man’s face loses his smile as he notices Carolyn eyeing him suspiciously. She is examining his watch that has peeked out from under his sleeve.
It’s large, with a bright red strap.
“You’re the werewolf?” Carolyn says. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.
Before she can say any more, the Indian man drops the coffee and pushes passed her, nudging Carolyn’s shoulder and swinging her around. For a moment, she is motionless with shock. She thinks of shouting to Barry for help, then realises he’s useless right now. Something along the lines of Hey! and Stop! leaves her mouth, and she gives chase.
The man is lean, and fast on his feet. He’s almost reached the end of the ward. He pushes and dodges between nurses and patients in the corridor. Carolyn can see his footwear. White trainers.
The hospital staff stand by and watch the commotion. Carolyn reaches the double doors at the bottom and pushes through them; she’s forgotten about the pain in her leg and lower back. She looks all around for the fleeing Indian man, but he’s nowhere to be seen. She takes out her phone and calls DS Hughes.
DS Hughes answers on the second ring. Before she can say hello, Carolyn is shouting through her earpiece.
“The… the man in the hospital… He… he had white trainers and a… a red wristwatch!” she says, breathless.
“Calm down and speak clearly. What man are you talking about?” Hughes asks.
Calmly, Carolyn tells her she thinks it could have been the man wearing the werewolf costume.
***
DS Hughes and DC Dixon turn up at the hospital thirty minutes later and find the Head of Security. Gan Liu has worked Security at the hospital for the last nine years. He shows DS Hughes and DC Dixon to the surveillance room. He enters the code into the door and rushes in first. Empty Pepsi cans, chocolate bar wrappers and an open crossword book are scattered across the small desk. Gan Liu smiles and pushes them aside before taking a seat. He rewinds the last forty minutes, and they watch from there. Thomas, the Indian man, is seen sitting in the waiting area, with a clear view of Barry’s room. The CCTV at the hospital is much clearer than at The Red Fox.
DS Hughes asks if she can use the computer and then makes a call back to the station. She emails the CCTV picture over and they wait five minutes before it comes back to her. She prints out the clearest picture she has of Thomas, and attaches it to the police poster template before making copies. The poster states that the police would like to speak to this man.
The pictures are posted to the notice board in Reception and also to the Llanbedr Police website.
A uniformed officer is placed outside Barry’s room for the night. DS Hughes convinces Carolyn that Barry will be safe and she should head back to the hotel.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The next morning, Carolyn is sitting in the waiting area of Llanbedr police station, nervously awaiting the reason for DS Hughes’ phone call.
“Carolyn… come on through,” DS Hughes says, holding the door open to an interview room.
“Well… What is this about? Why did you need to see me in person?” Carolyn asks, sounding a little ruder than how she intends.
“The man you were speaking to last night at the hospital is Thomas Zaman. He’s a private detective from Fishguard. Mr Zaman tells us that he was hired to keep a watch on you and report back to his employer.”
Carolyn is speechless. Questions are fighting in her head.
“W… What… Why was he watching me?” Carolyn stutters.
“Mr Zaman handed himself in last night after finding out that your friend was attacked. He said you’d told him Mr Cookson was in an accident. After realising you’d figured out he was the one in the werewolf costume that night and began chasing him, he panicked and made a run for it.” DS Hughes finishes her sentence as DC Dixon enters the room with two mugs of steaming tea. He places them down and nods towards Carolyn before leaving.
“But that doesn’t answer my question. Why was this man hired to watch me?”
“He was hired to follow you and report back to whoever it was that hired him. Mr Zaman is a private detective who hasn’t had much work in the last year or so, and when a potential job came up, even given the suspicious circumstances, he took it.”
“Suspicious circumstances?” asks Carolyn, cupping her hands around the hot mug. Her fingers are cold and numb with worry.
“The person who employed Mr Zaman has stayed anonymous, not given their name and only communicated through email. The mystery person posted the asking fee through his letterbox and Mr Zaman replies with your activities through email. We’re trying to find out who the email address belongs to, but we think it may have been set up and used just for this purpose,” DS Hughes says, sipping at her tea before continuing. “Anyway, he found out that Mr Cookson had been stabbed and wasn’t, in fact, in an accident. After seeing the pictures of himself from the CCTV, he handed himself in in the early hours of this morning. He’s fully co-operating, and giving us full control over his computer and email account.”
“Who attacked Barry?” Carolyn asks.
“Well, it wasn’t Mr Zaman. His alibi stands up for the night of Mr Cookson’s attack. He was pictured at a birthday party all day with at least thirty witnesses.”
Carolyn sighs. “And his wife, in the hospital?”
“He has no wife. He’s told me to tell you he was sorry for lying to you, and didn’t know the sort of trouble he was getting himself mixed up in.”
“Couldn’t you have told me all of this over the phone? The hospital is releasing Barry today and I’m driving him home.”
DS Hughes takes another sip of her tea before placing the mug down and looking Carolyn straight in the eye.
“The forensics has come back on Mr Sawhill’s computer, storage devices and the note I took from your room. We couldn’t find any DNA on the note, apart from your own. But the computer… Patrick Sawhill had files well-hidden deep inside other files on the hard drive. Our computer expert said that even he struggled to find them and open them.”
“Okay…” Carolyn waits for DS Hughes to continue.
“The ledgers you found when browsing through his laptop that day were only the beginning. There were hundreds of pictures and videos of… children… found and saved under a code name.” DS Hughes’ jaw clenches, and for a moment Carolyn thinks the detective is either going to be sick over the table or use her wide manly frame to flip it over in anger. DS Hughes goes on. “The code names match most of the files that you snapped a picture of. Mr Sawhill was buying the content from an outside source and charging sick bast—… charging other people who have a similar interest in that sort of thing, a monthly fee to access his sites.”
Carolyn can’t believe how much DS Hughes is sharing with her. Her own stomach drops, and after another morning of missing breakfast, the sickly sensation hits her.
; “And the supplier? What about them?” she asks.
“We’re working on that. Mr Alcala seems to be pretty helpful. He thinks by telling us everything he knows, it will save him from a longer prison sentence… But that’s not going to happen. The person who attacked Mr Cookson could have had a personal vendetta towards you or him. It could have been a gang who sells drugs out there. We really don’t know, and with no evidence to go on there isn’t much I can tell you until we search the area properly. But I highly doubt it’s connected with Mr Sawhill or Mr Alcala. One’s dead and the other is locked up.”
“Okay… And the body I saw in the well? Is this all connected?” Carolyn asks nervously.
DS Hughes takes a moment to answer. “I don’t know what you saw in that well, Mrs Hill, but we’ve been through this. There wasn’t a body when we arrived on the scene, and even though we’ve caught these sick bastards, I genuinely believe they don’t have anything to do with the disappearances of either of the missing boys… Okay?”
Carolyn can see that DS Hughes still doesn’t believe her story about the boy in the well. Reluctantly she nods and lowers her head, pushes her chair out and begins to stand up.
“There’s one more thing, Mrs Hill,” DS Hughes says. Carolyn lowers back into her seat. “We wouldn’t have found out this side-business of Mr Sawhill’s if it weren’t for you. And with the help of Mr Alcala and our computer experts, we’re hoping to find the members of this site and the supplier of the content and have it all shut down.”
“Is that a thank-you?” Carolyn asks, this time standing up fully.
“Yes, it is. I would like to say, thank you,” DS Hughes says, with a genuine smile on her face.
Carolyn is a little taken back by DS Hughes’ praise. She thinks she might have also seen a glint of respect from DC Dixon’s nod when he brought in the tea.
“I… um, well, thanks, I guess.”
***
On the way to the hospital, Carolyn persuades herself that what DS Hughes said makes sense. It was probably local thugs that attacked Barry, she thinks.
But who sent the note?
Was that genuinely a person with information?
Was it the same person who planted the coat that could potentially belong to Dylan Lloyd?
Carolyn shakes the thoughts away. If any more notes are posted, she will hand them straight over to the police and let them deal with it.
In the car, on the way home from the hospital, Barry says, “So, hang on… she thanked you?”
“Yep, honest to God. She actually said Thank You.”
“But I was the one hurt in the line of duty and you got the thanks?” Barry jokes.
“It was hardly the line of duty, was it?” Carolyn smiles. “And I think she meant it for both of us.”
Blue lights come up quickly behind them and she pulls to the side of the narrow lane to allow the fire engine to pass. The car bumps up on a grass verge and Barry groans in pain.
“Sorry,” she says, re-joining the road.
“Thanks for driving me home.”
“It was the least I could do!”
“So what did DS Hughes say about the person who attacked me?” he asks, the laughter gone from his face.
“She said she doesn’t think it’s connected, and that it could have been a gang.”
Barry blows out his cheeks. “Yeah, well, it’s not going to happen again. I’m not going to let anyone creep up behind me like that.”
Carolyn watches him as he stares out of the window. He looks lost in thought.
“The main thing is that you’re okay and alive, isn’t it?” Carolyn says. Barry lifts his eyebrows and attempts a smile.
They pull into a space outside the café and betting shop, which are now both closed as it’s after five o’clock. Carolyn helps Barry out of the car. He can walk on his own if he takes it slowly. She walks him up the steel steps with a shopping bag of bread, milk and other bits so that he won’t have to leave his flat in the next couple of days. She sits him down in his favourite spot in front of the TV and makes him a pot of tea before leaving, telling him she’ll be back in the morning to check up on him.
“You don’t have to do that,” Barry protests.
“I want to,” Carolyn replies. “See you tomorrow.”
Carolyn heads for the B&B. The elderly woman greets her at reception, bringing with her the stench of cigarettes.
“Your mother has gone. She had a friend pick her up over an hour ago,” the woman explains, tapping her yellowed-stained fingers on the front desk. “She told me to tell you that she’s gone home, and you can find her there if you want her.”
Carolyn thanks the woman, and even though she’s paid up till tomorrow morning she decides to head home herself to keep Jeanette company. Carolyn drives home slowly, way under the speed limit as there’s no other traffic on the road. She figures she’ll give her mother more time to herself. Cruising at this speed also means Carolyn can brace herself for more of the silent treatment.
The lack of noise in the car causes Carolyn’s mind to wander. She thinks about who Barry’s attacker could be and who might have sent her the note.
NO! She pushes the thoughts away and turns on the radio. A song by Rod Stewart is playing, and she sings along to the parts she knows. The faces of Julio Alcala, Patrick Sawhill and Thomas Zaman begin to fade.
This is a police matter now, she thinks.
Yeah, sure, Carolyn! the internal voice sneers back.
The sky is a dull blue. Carolyn pulls into Alexandra Road and can see billows of smoke evaporate into the darkening sky. She increases her speed and heads for the blue flashing lights outside Jeanette’s home.
The bungalow is engulfed in thick, furious flames.
Still a police matter, Carolyn? the internal voice asks, maliciously.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Carolyn’s legs go numb as she steps from the car. She struggles to stand straight as she walks towards her mother’s home, using the car as support. The heat of the raging fire instantly scorches the flesh on her face. The surrounding noises – the chatter from the passing motorists who had been stopped and held back by the roadblock, the sounds of bricks crumbling from the walls of the bungalow, and the orders from the firefighter pushing her back – are all barely audible, as if for a moment the world is whispering.
She studies the aging, grey-haired fireman who is holding her back from the front path, his hands resting on her shoulders. She’s almost certain that he’s the one who’d made a comment that night at the well. The one at the back of the line as they climbed through the gap in the fence. The one who’d looked back and frowned at her.
He’s probably thinking that I’m the insane woman from the well, and that I started the fire too.
Carolyn wants to let go and fall into his arms to be held. But she has to know for certain if her mother is in the burning building.
This fire is her fault. The attacker had come back and set fire to her mother’s home because she’d been sticking her nose in where it wasn’t wanted. As if attacking and almost killing Barry wasn’t enough; the psychopath needed to see her suffer even more.
If Jeanette is in there, Carolyn won’t be able to ever forgive herself, especially after what’s happened to Barry. This will be the thing that finishes her. She won’t be able to go on living. Forget sessions with the Bereavement Counsellor; there’ll be no coming back from this.
The aging fireman’s words are soundless, she studies his lips and can read them shouting at her to stay back.
Then she hears the voice behind her, audible and sharp. The world becomes unmuted.
“CAROLYN… CAROLYN!” Jeanette shouts as she fights past bystanders. Father Joseph is at her side.
“Oh God, Mum. Thank goodness you’re all right,” she cries as they embrace each other. “I thought… that… maybe you might have been inside.” She catches her breath as warm tears trickle down her cheeks and rest on Jeanette’s shoulder. The muscles in her legs be
gin to wake up again. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?” she asks. The silence between Jeanette and her, the trouble Carolyn had brought, is completely forgotten, at least for now.
“I didn’t think. I’ve been at the church all afternoon. Father Joseph came for me after I called him from that B&B. I couldn’t stand any more afternoon TV. We noticed smoke from the window, and at first I thought it might have been someone lighting a fire behind… you know… in the woods… camping, maybe. But then we…” Jeanette begins to sob.
“It’ll be all right, Mum. It will be ok,” Carolyn says, holding on to her mother’s hands.
“But everything I own is in there – pictures of Simon and Ryan, pictures from my wedding day, pictures of your father, your father’s chair.” Jeanette cries and now rests her face on Carolyn’s shoulder. The battered reclining chair is nothing to look at, but Carolyn knows it holds great sentimental value to her mother, even if Jeanette has never been a very sentimental person.
“I’ve got copies of pictures, Mum,” Carolyn says, holding her arms around Jeanette’s back.
Father Joseph comes closer and rests a hand on Jeanette’s shoulder. Carolyn looks up at him and attempts a smile, grateful that her mother has someone to turn to, even if he can be a hypocritical dickhead.
Carolyn attempts to bring Jeanette inside Father Joseph’s home – the presbytery that is built on to the side of St Peter’s church – but she refuses, saying she wants to see it through to the end.
It takes the firefighters over an hour to kill the blaze. The road is reopened, and the bystanders are ushered on their way. Carolyn, Jeanette and Father Joseph are still on the steps of the church with blankets around them, and clutching cups of tea that they aren’t drinking. The smell of burning wood is overwhelming in the air. After the fire dies, and the smoke clears, all that’s left of Jeanette’s home is a pile of rubble.
Jeanette gives her statement to the uniformed officer and turns back to Carolyn.