In This Bright Future: A DC Smith Investigation

by Peter Grainger

  ‘Irish blackthorn, English silver. Another match made in heaven.’

  ‘And I love the rattle. It was the first thing John showed me. Maggie will have a few tears when she sees it tonight.’

  ‘That wasn’t planned either. I just wandered into a shop when I had a few minutes to spare and there it was.’

  Something had happened in Belfast – her instincts, either as a friend or a copper or both, were telling her that. She knew a little of the history, knew that he had been in the Army and undercover, knew that whatever he had been involved with had followed him back to England and tried to kill him more than once, but she knew no details. Even that was mostly station talk – he had never told her the story directly. Reeve was reminded of her grandfather who had led one of the night-time missions onto the beaches of Normandy to collect samples of sand before the D-day invasion. Eight men went and four came back – with the sand. Nobody knew until the old man died, not even her own grandmother, and then they found the medals and the citation that he had never shown to a soul for more than sixty years because he was ashamed of losing those four young men, guilty because he had not died alongside them. Something had happened in Belfast but she would not find out what by asking – she might never find out.

  She said, ‘So what’s the baby’s name? Have they chosen something? I forgot to ask.’

  Smith lifted the glass and said, ‘William. To William Murray.’

  ‘That’s nice and traditional. I like it.’

  ‘Scottish. After John’s dad, so he tells me.’

  The evening air stirred through the tree again, and a small piece of paper that Reeve had not noticed, which had perhaps been held down by the whiskey glass, was lifted and blown off the table towards her. She caught it before it had settled to the ground. It wasn’t folded and she could make out easily enough what was written on it; three pairs of numbers separated by two full stops. She put it back onto the table, her fingers remaining there with it until he had put the now-empty glass on top of it again.

  ‘Someone’s birthday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  A packet of cigarettes and a lighter also lay on the table, and he reached for the packet now. It wasn’t five minutes since he had put out the one he was smoking when she first appeared. She had never seen him do that before. He famously only has three a day, and now seemed to be chain-smoking.

  She said, ‘Well, if I’m to wet this baby’s head, I need a drink. What will you have, DC? Another one of those?’

  No protest, no sit down, I’ll get these… Instead he frowned and seriously considered the answer before, ‘I’m pretty sure I saw a bottle of Talisker Storm behind the bar. If there is, one of those, thanks. If not, any old single malt will do, thank you.’

  ‘OK. You’re not driving are you? I didn’t see your motor outside – who gave you a lift?’

  ‘Somebody trained you well, ma’am. No lift, though. I got a taxi.’

  A taxi. For some strange reason, the idea made her a little sad, and he saw that in her face.

  ‘I’m quite sold on it now, after this knee thing. It’s opened my eyes. I’m thinking of using them a lot more. Do you think Superintendent Allen would sign off on one for me, as a regular expense every month?’

  She was walking away as she said, ‘I’ll get you a double.’

  ‘Thanks. And then you can tell me your news.’

  She stopped and turned, genuinely surprised.

  ‘How did you…?’

  ‘Lucky guess?’

  Smith watched her all the way into the building, and then he lifted the glass and picked up the piece of paper again. Why had he kept it? It wasn’t as if he was ever going to forget those numbers now. Fifteen minutes, that’s all it had taken last night, and ten of those were mostly staring at the screen, wondering whether he should do it, knowing that in the end he would. It was a misdemeanour, a minor thing of course, just a scuffle in a pub and a small fine, and he had hoped that it might not have been recorded – sometimes these things slip through – but there it was. All the offender’s details. Address, occupation, date of birth…

  This morning, after a sleepless night, he had picked up the telephone, wondering whether he should do that too and knowing again that he would. In a way, a lot depended on who answered – he had waited until ten o’clock, thinking that she would be up and about but that it might be too soon for her to have gone anywhere while she was still able to do so. For a moment he thought that he had judged it well, and then he realised that he was talking to her sister.

  Lia Wisbey said, ‘Oh, it’s you. Is it about the identification?’

  ‘No. I wanted to speak to Cati – but have you heard something already?’

  ‘Cati?’

  She still disapproved of the diminutive when it came from him, which under the circumstances seemed ridiculous. And then, ‘Yes, we have, late yesterday. It is Brann. From the dental records.’

  ‘Right.’

  What does one say? Is it good or bad? Can it be simultaneously both?

  He said, ‘I’ve no idea how they got that so quickly.’

  ‘It’s the Inquiry, apparently. They get all that together at the beginning of an investigation, so it’s there straight away if they need it. Less stressful that way, the woman said.’

  ‘She was very professional, I have to say.’

  ‘She was,’ and then after a pause, ‘You know, he only had the one filling, when he was a child. Just the one. Perfect teeth…’

  Smith waited, guessing that Cati was there and that after her usual reluctance Lia would hand over the phone. Then, after a silence, he said, ‘Did they say anything else?’

  ‘Yes. That professor has told the woman, that Mrs Reece, that there are marks visible on the rib cage. He’s thinking already that it was a knife. That Brann was stabbed to death.’

  He was silent himself for a moment then before he said, ‘In a way I’m sorry that anyone had to hear that. In my job… You get used to it but even so – when it’s someone you know. How are they?’

  Lia said then, ‘I took the call. I haven’t told them everything she told me yet. They’re outside, the two of them, in the garden with a man who wants to cut down all the trees. I’m guessing that was your doing as well.’

  ‘If you don’t think he’s any good, send him on his way. He has all the qualifications but it was done on the phone, so-’

  ‘I can’t see anything wrong with him but when he came knocking on the door, I thought he was a tinker. I did send him on his way a couple of times until he said some Englishman had called him and said go and do this job, half now, half later. So here he is – a nice young man.’

  ‘He doesn’t have to cut them all down. I told him to discuss it with you. You get to choose. But I thought it would be good for her to see the hills. To let some more light in…’

  ‘It will. Thank you, again.’

  She meant it and the resentment had disappeared from her voice, but she was making no move to fetch either Cati or Diarmuid from the garden. He sensed that there something else to come from Lia, and it could only be one thing.

  ‘So, it was Cati you wanted?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He could hear her breathing; listening beyond that he thought once that he could hear other voices talking far away from the telephone.

  Lia said, ‘I have to ask you why.’

  ‘I think you know, Lia. I was wondering all night whether I should come back or whether I should speak to her first and let her decide.’

  ‘Have you considered doing neither of those things?’

  ‘Yes, that too.’

  She was not angry. When she spoke again it was slowly and quietly and thoughtfully.

  ‘Then there is something I have to say to you before you do anything of the sort. I hope you’ll respect it at least, though you and I haven’t always got on as we might have done.’

  He said, ‘I will. I’ve never doubted you have her best interests at heart.’

 
‘And his, the boy’s.’

  Smith had smiled to himself then. He could see where this was going, and how carefully, or perhaps simply with a woman’s instincts, she had chosen her ground.

  ‘Justin Kelly was more than a hero. He was a thoroughly decent and honourable man. Diarmuid worshipped him when he was alive, and he still does so. Justin’s birthday is never forgotten and his grave is the best cared for in the whole of that cemetery – it has been since the day he went into it. You need to think long and hard about this, Stuart… You think you might be giving him something? Think about what you will be taking away.’

  He had thought about that but not as much as Lia Wisbey had. He said, ‘Go on.’

  ‘Yes, she rebounded into Justin’s arms not a month after you’d gone. She was very young and very frightened. She told him everything and he didn’t walk away – he walked straight into it with his eyes open, just like he walked into the burning building that killed him. The medal is the boy’s most precious possession. I think you understand what I’m saying. You’re not a stupid man, and you’re not an insensitive one for all that happened, I think.’

  ‘Who else knew?’

  ‘Mother, obviously – she worked it out and she told father. That was all. It had hardly been spoken of again until you walked through the door a week ago. They planned to tell him when he was of an age but I think it was never the right time. And then, after Justin died…’

  Now he could hear voices. Someone came into the room where she was on the telephone –it was Diarmuid saying put the phone down and come out, see what this man is proposing. She answered him, told him she wouldn’t be more than a moment or two.

  When it was quiet again, she said to Smith, ‘I cannot tell you what to do but I thought those things should be said. I’m sorry for it in a way.’

  It took him another few seconds to find the words, and when he said them it sounded matter of fact.

  ‘Will you tell them that I called? Tell them you told me about the identification, and they won’t need to bother then.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  ‘No need for that. You’re right. Even a fool like me can see that. I should be thanking you.’

  She said, ‘They’re waiting for me now. Can I ask how you knew? Did you know before you came?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. A couple of small things made me wonder. But then, when we were up at the farm… Something you did. I knew then.’

  ‘You saw me? I did wonder. It was stupid of me. I don’t know why I did that.’

  ‘I do. It was a good thing. Have you showed it to her?’

  ‘No, not yet. But I will.’

  It was time to go.

  He said, ‘When you do so, will you send me a copy, too?’

  ‘Of the photograph I took, on my phone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I will. That’s little enough to ask, and I-’

  But he had gone.

  ‘Let me get those, ma’am.’

  ‘John, stop it, you’re as bad as he is. And isn’t it supposed to be us buying you the drinks?’

  Murray caught the barman’s attention by waving a twenty pound note, and then she said thank you and gave her order.

  Murray said, ‘I can’t remember. But I’m driving, I need to be off in a minute – just wanted to thank you before I left.’

  ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘All those days when I just nipped off with very little warning. I know the problems that causes but you never said no. It’s much appreciated by both of us.’

  ‘All three of us?’

  Murray nodded, raised his eyebrows and smiled. The baby had been born little more than twenty four hours ago, and already he was a different man. She asked him frankly how it felt.

  ‘It’s the strangest thing, ma’am. You’ve known for nearly nine months – well more like six in our case – but you’ve known it’s coming. You’ve spoken to doctors and nurses and midwives, family and friends. You’ve Googled the weirdest stuff and seen it getting bigger day by day. You couldn’t be more prepared except that nothing can prepare you for it. When you pick him up he’s so small but he’s like the biggest thing there is…’

  ‘The birth of a son, the first one? I expect it is the biggest thing there is, John.’

  She picked up her glass, raised it so that it was between their faces.

  ‘To William Murray!’

  Murray put out a giant hand very gently and stopped her.

  ‘William David Murray, ma’am.’

  ‘Really? I was just out there with him. That’s who told me you’d chosen William. He never said anything about that.’

  Then she drank from the glass and picked up the one that remained on the counter.

  Murray said, ‘No. Well… What about your own news? What did he say to that?’

  ‘I’m just about to tell him – or I was. He already knows but I’ve no idea how as they only told me on Monday.’

  ‘He’ll say it was a guess but he keeps up with some of his old connections, or they keep up with him – I don’t know which way round it works but it does. We’re all pleased for you, even though it means we might lose you, ma’am.’

  Alison Reeve thanked him, and thanked in her heart all the people who had congratulated her since she had been told of the coming promotion, but it was a small thing in comparison to what they were celebrating tonight, and she was glad of that sense of perspective.

  Murray said, ‘Thank you for coming, ma’am. I’ll let you know what we’ve decided about paternity leave by the end of the week. I might be keen to get back! Goodnight, ma’am.’

  It was not dark yet but it was getting there. She paused in the open doorway, allowing her eyes to adjust to the change. The Lighterman’s garden illuminations had been done well – enough light to create an atmosphere but not so much that the night itself had been banished. Smith still sat at the same table, his outline just visible against the paler light that came from the water beyond. In that moment, as she watched him, she saw the flare of a lighter and thought, not another cigarette. Then she realised that something was burning in his hand, there was a flame as if he was holding a candle. When it began to flicker, he let it go and the dying sparks drifted away from him, across the darkening garden and then upwards as they were caught by the breeze from the river.

  It must have been the piece of paper.

  THE RAGS OF TIME

  The next case for DC Smith, available now

  THE RAGS OF TIME

  Mark Randall lay dead in a field near Lowacre long before Smith had done what he had to do in Belfast. By the time he went back to work, the investigation was well underway. “It’s not my case” he says more than once, and he really doesn’t need it to be; he has enough to think about as it is. But going around the Norfolk countryside dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s, speaking to the local farmers and the Brothers of St Francis from Abbeyfields, Smith begins to suspect that the investigation might be heading in entirely the wrong direction.

  Arrests are made, charges are brought and Christopher Waters asks Smith if he has ever seen the wrong man convicted in a murder case. The answer is yes, and the next question is, what can be done to prevent it happening again?

  Text copyright © 2016

  Peter Grainger

  All rights reserved

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  Information about Smith’s subsequent cases and my other novels can be found at: https://www.petergrainger.com

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  As ever, thank you for reading,

  Peter

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

 
Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three