by Tana Collins
Fletcher worked hard not to roll her eyes. ‘Do you know where Roberts is now?’ asked Fletcher.
‘Naw. But we dinnae live in each other’s pockets. He told me no’ to worry if I couldnae get hold of him. Said he would be out on manoeuvres or something.’
Fletcher had heard it called a lot of things in her time but manoeuvres were a first.
‘When did you last see or hear from Roberts?’ asked Harris. Fletcher frowned. Harris’ eyes were not on Charlene’s face.
‘You men. You’re all the same,’ said Charlene. ‘And you’re old enough to be my dad. Stop staring at my tits.’
‘Just answer the question,’ said Fletcher wondering, not for the first time, how Dougie’s wife put up with him. From station talk she’d gathered that his wife was disabled and that he was her carer. His wife obviously saw a side to him that she hadn’t seen at the station.
‘Come tae think of it, I havenae seen him for a few days. But like I said, we dinnae live in each other’s pockets.’ Charlene resumed studying her nails.
‘So you weren’t with him last night?’ persisted Fletcher.
‘That’s whit I said, isn’t it? He wisnae seeing another girl if that’s what you’re implying. We’re exclusive.’
‘Did he tell you that?’
‘Well, no, but why would he go out for burger when he could have steak at home.’
Clearly Charlene had never had a decent steak in her life. Fletcher chided herself for the bitchy reaction. Thank God she’d only thought it.
‘OK, so who started the fight?’ asked Harris.
‘Well, me and Dave and a couple of his pals were having a quiet drink and in walked Callum and Lewis. They were looking for trouble.’
‘How do you know that they weren’t coming in for a quiet drink, too?’
‘In The Earl of Fife? Are you kidding? They’d never usually drink there. Can’t afford the prices,’ scoffed Charlene. ‘It’s six fifty for a glass of wine.’
Fletcher didn’t but the prices didn’t surprise her.
‘Daylight robbery,’ agreed Harris.
‘So there you were drinking your mojito, and in walks Callum Russell and Lewis Adamson. What happened next?’ prompted Fletcher.
‘Like I said, in walks Callum and Lewis. They were already steamin’. He comes over to me, Callum that is, and takes out the twizzler and cocktail stick, chucks ’em on the floor and stands on them.’
‘Big gesture,’ said Fletcher.
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘Anyway, Davey sees this and wants to know who the guy is. I tell him it’s my ex. Davey is no’ happy and they face each other off.’
‘Like in a western.’
‘Aye, just like a western. Anyway, there’s some pushing and shoving and the next thing…’
‘Who pushed who first?’
‘What?’
‘I said, who pushed who first?’
Charlene looked a bit confused. ‘Dunno, think it was Davey. Got fed up with Callum eyeballing him. I mean, it was Callum’s fault. He was nose tae nose wi’ Davey at this point. Davey hates anyone in his space. Makes him mad, see.’
‘Carry on. What happened next?’
‘Well, they both sort of pushed each other out of the pub. The next thing I know, we’re all in the street.’ Charlene’s eyes lit up as she retold the story. ‘Then the punches started flying in. It was a fair old stramash.’
‘Who threw the first punch?’
‘Callum.’
‘Thought you said it was Davey?’
‘Naw, I said Davey pushed Callum first. Callum threw the first punch.’
‘You sure about that?’ asked Harris.
‘Oh aye, quite sure.’ Charlene stood examining her nails again as she said that. For the first time, Fletcher noticed a fine gold charm bracelet on her wrist. As Charlene picked at a nail she appreciatively glanced at the bracelet.
‘New purchase?’ asked Fletcher.
‘Davey bought it for me. Eighteen carat gold.’ She blew another bubble.
‘So, as you were saying, Callum was the aggressor?’ said Fletcher.
‘I already said that, didn’t I?’
‘Did Dave throw any punches?’ asked Harris.
‘Well, he had to defend himself.’
‘Is that a yes, then?’ said Fletcher.
‘Aye, he might have thrown one or two. To be honest it was all a bit of a free-for-all.’
‘What part did Rhys Evans play in this fight?’ asked Harris.
‘He tried to break it up. He shouldnae have bothered.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, first he got smacked by Callum.’ Fletcher nodded. ‘And then he got smacked by Davey.’ Charlene laughed.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Fletcher. ‘You’re telling us Dave Roberts punched Rhys Evans?’ Fletcher’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘I don’t remember reading that in your original statement.’
‘I must have forgotten tae mention it. I cannae see that it’s important. He probably just got in the way.’
‘First, let us be the judge of what’s important,’ said Fletcher. ‘Is that what happened? Rhys Evans got in the way?’
‘Must have.’
‘So it was an accident?’ said Harris.
‘Guess so.’
‘So, how did Roberts feel about the fact Evans was trying to break up the fight?’ said Fletcher.
Charlene shrugged. ‘No’ very happy. I mean, Davey wanted to show Callum who was boss. He was fighting for my honour.’
Fletcher doubted it was about fighting for Charlene’s honour and more about the fact that Roberts was clearly a thug who wanted to throw his weight around, but she didn’t voice her opinion. She wondered if Roberts had also wanted to show Evans who was boss.
‘So the punch was deliberate?’ said Fletcher.
‘I never said that.’
‘Well, was it deliberate or not?’
‘Looking back, aye, I suppose it might have been.’
Roberts, the alpha male, thought Fletcher, wanting to show everyone on both sides just who was kingpin.
‘You do know withholding information is an offence?’ asked Harris.
‘I didnae do it deliberately. I just forgot. That’s all. I mean, everything happened so quickly.’
‘OK, moving on. What did you think of Rhys Evans?’ said Fletcher.
‘He was hot. Pity he’s dead. Had a nice bod. I didnae like his girlfriend though.’
‘Siobhan Mathews?’
‘Aye, stuck-up cow.’
‘Did you see much of them?’
‘Naw, usually it was just me and Davey or a couple of his RAF pals. We dinnae always go out either, if you ken whit I mean.’
‘You said there was a third airman on the night of the fight in the pub with you,’ Fletcher prompted. ‘Who was he?
‘Did I?’
‘Yes, you said you were out with Roberts and a couple of his pals. Obviously one of them was Rhys Evans. In your statement you mentioned a third person. Can you give me his name?’
‘Well, you’ve obviously read the statement. Why do you need to ask me again?’
‘With all due respect,’ said Fletcher, ‘you’ve told us things today that you never put in your statement. I just want to double-check, that’s all.’
‘Answer the question, Charlene,’ said Harris.
Charlene rolled her eyes. ‘OK, it was Sean.’
Fletcher referred to her little black notebook. ‘Sean? Do you mean Sean Coombe?’
‘Well, I dinnae ken his surname, do I? But if you say his surname is Coombe, then it must be.’
‘Where is he from, this Sean Coombe?’
‘He’s Welsh. Cardiff.’
Bloody hell, is there anyone in the RAF stationed at Edenside not from Cardiff? thought Fletcher. ‘What’s he like, this Sean Coombe?’ she said.
‘Quiet. Never says much. Pretty boring actually.’
‘What was the relationship like betw
een Roberts and Evans?’ said Fletcher. ‘I understand they’d known each other before joining the RAF?’
‘It doesnae mean they have to be pals though, does it? I mean, I went to school with Tracey Lovett who lives three doors away from me and she’s a right minger. Not that Davey had anything to do with Rhys’ death,’ Charlene added quickly.
‘You sure about that, are you?’ said Harris.
‘Well, why would he have? Look, can you go now? I cannae see how I can be of any more help.’
Fletcher started to put her notebook away. ‘OK, but just one more question. Is Dave Roberts aggressive?’
‘I wouldnae say any more than anyone else.’
Fletcher shoved the notebook into her shoulder bag. ‘It’s just that you said earlier somebody invading his space made him mad.’
‘Well, I suppose he doesnae like other people touching his possessions.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘There was one time we were oot and somebody picked up his lighter. Dave took it back and set their shirt on fire. The boy wisnae badly hurt though. Just first degree burns. He never pressed charges, or nothing.’
Probably too frightened, thought Fletcher. Dave Roberts is starting to sound rather psychotic. ‘Is Dave quick to anger?’ she asked, wondering if Charlene had become another one of his possessions, until he tired of her.
Charlene shrugged. ‘Look, are ye done? I’m needing away for my messages.’
Fletcher sensed that they weren’t going to get any more out of her. She stood up. Harris followed suit.
Fletcher gave Charlene a quick false smile. ‘Thanks, Charlene. We’ll be in touch if we need to be.’ She headed for the front door.
‘Davey willnae get into any trouble because of whit I’ve said, will he?’
Fletcher opened the front door. She walked out into the street leaving the question hanging in the air.
‘Your thoughts, Dougie?’
‘Interesting to find out Roberts punched Evans. They don’t sound best pals.’
‘That’s what I thought. Roberts has got a temper on him. Clearly possessive. I’m wondering what the relationship was really like between him and Rhys Evans. C’mon, Dougie, we’ve got interviews to conduct,’ said Fletcher, stepping over an enormous pile of dog mess.
FOUR
Carruthers was silent, mulling Siobhan Mathew’s words over in his head. She’s insecure, he realised. However, was she insecure solely over her relationship with Evans, or was it deeper rooted than that? He knew not to ask. He was already on dangerous ground. And really, why did he care? He changed the subject. ‘Why had he put in a request for a transfer? Was he unhappy at Edenside?’
‘He seemed happy when I first met him, but then he changed.’
‘In what way?’
‘He became withdrawn, quiet, moody. I asked him what was wrong. He wouldn’t tell me. Whatever was bothering him, he was very tight-lipped about it.’
‘So you have no idea at all?’
‘None.’
Strange that she hadn’t mentioned this earlier. But then she’s had a shock. Carruthers knew that sometimes information trickled out over time. The big question was who, or what, was Rhys Evans trying to get away from? Whatever the reason, it must have been sufficiently serious for him to be prepared to turn his whole life upside down, even risk losing the girl he was having a relationship with. Carruthers wondered if Rhys Evans had loved Siobhan Mathews as much as she appeared to have loved him.
His thoughts drifted back to his own situation and the relationship he’d had with his ex-wife. Hadn’t he been willing to move the length of the country for her? Not only willing, he’d actually done it. He’d put in a request for a transfer, and here he was back in Scotland. His boss in London had thought he was mad. He’d been told he had a bright future with the Met. He’d enjoyed living in London. However, he had been so blinkered and so desperate, that he had refused to see what everyone else must have seen – that his marriage was over and he was uprooting himself for nothing.
Had his situation been so different to Siobhan’s? Who was he to judge her anyway? Mairi had told him, while they were still in London, that she didn’t love him anymore. But he hadn’t believed her. Or if he had, he’d believed he could win her back. He’d left a good job with great prospects, friends and a life, for what? To move back up to Scotland. He swallowed. She didn’t love him. She’d said those words in the last conversation they’d had. It still hurt.
He wondered how she was. When she’d left him, she’d moved back in with her parents in Cupar. He knew she was now in her own flat in Ceres. Leaving her job in London as a part-time lecturer at Hackney College to focus, she said, on writing a short layman’s guide to the history of philosophy before resuming her lecturing career. She had laughed and said she was on a quest to make philosophy accessible to the masses.
It had also seemed that she had been on another quest – a quest to shake off her past life, and eradicate anything that reminded her of him. Over the subsequent months, she’d become more and more distant and unresponsive, refusing to take his calls. In the end, to his utter mortification and anger, she’d gone and changed her phone number, becoming ex-directory. For him, that had been the last nail in the coffin. All the time he’d been in contact with her, he’d felt that there was at least a chance of getting back together. Once she’d cut all ties, he knew there was no hope. It had hurt, he thought bitterly. Once they had been so close he couldn’t ever have imagined life without her. Oh yes, it certainly hurt.
‘Penny for them,’ said Siobhan. ‘You were miles away.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Jim?’
The use of his first name startled him.
‘Can you take me home now please?’
The drive across Castletown to the Edgecliffe Halls of Residence took twenty minutes. There was little said; each was lost in their own thoughts. Carruthers pulled up in the car park.
‘Thank you for being there for me today.’
He tried to smile. ‘All part of the job.’
‘Thank you. I appreciated it. I don’t know how I would’ve got through that if you hadn’t been with me.’
‘You would have found a way to cope. Will you be OK?’
‘I have to be. I’m going in now.’
Carruthers started to unbuckle his seat belt. The least he could do was see her to the door.
‘I think I need to be on my own for a bit. I might lie down. I’m done in.’
Carruthers hesitated, unsure whether to see her to the door or not. He wondered why he suddenly felt so unsure of himself. He was usually so professional and in control. He was beginning to realise he didn’t feel so professional around Siobhan Mathews. He didn’t know whether it was because she had reminded him of his former wife, but he realised he needed to get a grip on this unusual feeling of connection. Regaining his composure he said, ‘I’m not surprised. You’ve had a hell of a couple of days. You’ve got my number. If you think of anything that might be helpful to the investigation, call me.’
‘I will.’
‘We’ll find the person who did this, Siobhan, I promise.’
Siobhan looked across at Carruthers her eyes welling up. She bit her top lip. As she looked down to undo her belt Carruthers saw a single tear fall on to her cheek. Without looking up she opened the car door, got out, shut the door and walked over to her student flats, front door key already in her hand. She didn’t look back.
After she was gone, Carruthers sat in his car for a few moments drumming his fingers against the steering wheel thinking once again about the wanton waste of human life.
***
The man rammed his baseball cap down over his face, sat back in his car and watched the girl get out of the detective’s car. He rubbed a callused hand over his stubble. Heard the rasping noise it made. Wondered how much she knew. How much had she been told by Rhys Evans? Thinking of the girl he softened slightly. Something about Siobhan Mathews reminded him of his sister. He waited until the detective had driven
off in his old Vauxhall Vectra. Saw a light go on in the upstairs bedroom of her flat. Waited a few minutes. Then started the ignition and drove away. Back to the farmhouse.
The farmhouse. Renting this place had been ideal. Right in the middle of nowhere. Nobody for miles. Owner abroad. He flicked his cigarette butt, ground it into the earth. Walking over to the 4x4, he lifted the car boot, looked around him and, satisfied he was alone, brought out the shotgun, handgun and silencers. The others would be arriving soon. They’d already had their orders from him. But it didn’t hurt to go over the plan a fourth, fifth or sixth time. Almost laughed out loud at the thought of who he’d enlisted the help of. And from his own home town too. And with the boy’s expertise in bomb disposal, he’d be invaluable. He fished out his new pay-as-you-go phone and called his latest recruit.
***
Fletcher glimpsed the docks in Crosshaven from the passenger seat of Harris’ car, and that one glance was enough to trigger a powerful and long-forgotten memory.
I must have been about five years old. She remembered a country walk on quiet roads, holding her mother’s hand. The memory of the walk itself was all a bit vague and hazy, but she remembered the feeling of being overwhelmed and amazed when, after a steep climb of the lane, they had reached the top, to be greeted by the sight of the River Humber nestled down in the valley.
The river, with its enormous sandbanks, had seemed huge to her and the famous Humber Bridge was awe-inspiring to her five year old self. She remembered a wooden bench where she and her mother used to sit to admire the view. Her mother in silence, lost in her thoughts. Even at that young age she remembered having a strong sense of belonging – to the area, the people, being part of the fabric of the landscape. It had been a comforting feeling.
Her great grandfather on her father’s side had been into shipping and at one time had part-managed the biggest shipyard in the area. That had been during the Second World War when her grandmother had been small. She remembered her mother telling her that grandmother had been sent off to boarding school to escape the bombing of Hull. For the first few years of her life she had grown up in the area that her mother and her grandparents had grown up in.