by Louisa Scarr
She can’t believe what they’re saying about Finn. She’s never seen him lose his temper, not even raise his voice. So the idea that he could kill someone? It’s ridiculous.
The papers are painting him as some sort of evil genius: Finn the villain and Dr Sharp his innocent victim. But Sophie knows that tensions were running high, and the team were starting to crack. It’s no wonder Finn had to turn to drugs.
She catches a glimpse of the small suitcase in the corner of her living room. The plan for the rest of this week was for Finn to get some sleep, analyse the data, get his students set up to do the rest, then go away for a few days. They were going to Rome. To see the sights, to hold hands walking around the ruins of the Colosseum, to eat pizza and gnocchi and drink red wine. Finn had packed his case in advance and left it here, ready for their departure that coming weekend. Sophie knows the police are now searching his dirty flat, but what about this suitcase? What else has he been hiding?
She goes over and kneels on the floor, pulling it onto its side and unzipping it. Slowly, she takes the contents out. She goes through his toiletries, opening the bottles and sniffing the contents. Shower gel. Shaving cream. Some sort of hair product. Toothpaste. Deodorant. That’s all. Nothing sinister.
On the top is a sweatshirt, his favourite, that he wears far too often. Worn grey cotton, with the words UNIVERSITY OF READING emblazoned on the front. Sophie has often berated him for it, taking the piss and threatening to give it to charity, but now she picks it up, burying her face in the soft material. It smells of him, and she feels a wave of loss. She misses him. She wants to hug him, to hold on and push her cheek into the dip next to his collarbone, where she fits the best.
She goes to put the sweatshirt on, but in doing so, something falls out and rolls under her sofa. She crouches down and pokes her head under, pushing her arm until her fingers come in contact with the object.
She pulls it out.
It’s a small grey velvet box. She opens it slowly.
Inside is a simple platinum ring, the diamond in its centre sparkling in the overhead light. It isn’t big or flashy – a single stone – but the light catches the edge of the diamond and it shines. She pulls it out, turning it over in her palm, her brain struggling to catch up.
Then she starts to shake.
Finn bought this. He’d chosen a ring. An engagement ring.
On their trip to Rome, he’d been intending to propose.
The weight of how this week should have turned out presses down on her chest; Sophie feels like she can’t breathe. She imagines them excitedly sitting on the Spanish Steps, watching the sun go down, planning their wedding. The rest of their lives together.
She misses his hand in hers. His dark, kind eyes watching her intently behind his glasses, stylish by luck rather than choice. A man who has no idea how funny he is, who gives a small self-conscious smile whenever she laughs.
She wants to go to bed tonight with his long limbs wrapped round her, the feel of his slow breathing against the back of her neck.
Instead, Finn is in hospital. Ill. Confused. And the prime suspect in a murder investigation.
Sophie slowly replaces the ring in the box and shuts the lid. She tries to pull herself together. He needs you, she tells herself sternly. And she needs him. Back here, with her. And what Sophie wants, Sophie gets.
But the pep talk isn’t working. The worry for Finn, the guilt that she hadn’t known about his awful flat, takes over. Her body crumples and she puts her face in her hands.
Alone, in the darkness, in her empty home, she starts to cry.
13
The pub is noisy, filling up with jostling punters now it’s past half nine, windows already steamed with condensation. Freya sees Robin’s name flash up on her phone, but she doesn’t answer it. She glances to the bar. Josh is standing there, waiting to be served. The background music, multiple conversing voices – everything is loud. There’s no way she could hear a call from Robin in this.
‘Here you go,’ Josh says, putting the glass of wine in front of her. ‘Cheers.’
He holds out his pint and she clinks her glass against it.
‘How was your first day in charge?’ she asks him. Josh suggested a drink at the end of the long day and, desperate not to return to her lonely house, she found herself saying yes even before Mina agreed. But then Mina turned down the offer, and now Freya finds herself alone at the pub with her latest skipper.
Josh laughs. ‘Excruciating. Was I a nightmare?’
Freya scratches her nose for a second, not sure how to reply. Josh laughs again, taking her pause as confirmation. ‘Oh god, I’m sorry. I never know how to play it. Too chummy and no one gets anything done, but too harsh and everyone thinks you’re a wanker.’
‘Baker said you were a DS in Newcastle?’
‘Yeah, and nobody liked me there either.’ He smiles and takes a long pull on his pint. ‘Did you get any further with the CCTV?’
Freya shakes her head. ‘Nothing more than the few images outside the station. Where did you go this afternoon?’
‘I went to see the woman you were speaking to. About the freezer?’
‘Oh, no,’ Freya laughs.
‘Yeah. She was just as hard work in person. But I worked my irresistible charm and got there in the end.’
‘And?’
‘She’d sold it. Couldn’t remember who to. Dead end,’ he finishes. ‘So, tell me about you, Freya West? What’s your story?’
‘Not much to tell.’
‘I don’t believe that. Are you from around here?’
‘Grew up in Salisbury, then went to university in Southampton and stayed.’
‘What did you study?’
‘Law.’
‘Really?’ Josh sips his pint, smiling. ‘And you didn’t want to be a solicitor?’
‘I worked as a paralegal for a few months, then realised that it was the policing side I was interested in.’
‘So you joined the force?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Married? Single?’
Freya laughs. ‘I feel like I’m being interviewed!’
‘You’re avoiding the question, Ms West,’ Josh says, leaning across the table and adopting a mock-detective style. ‘You don’t fool me with your beautiful blonde hair and innocent blue eyes. What are you trying to hide? Hmm?’
‘Single,’ Freya grins. ‘Married to the job. Happy now?’
Josh smiles back. ‘Definitely.’
Freya’s caught off guard by his flirting. She feels herself getting flustered, her face going red. She’s used to banter around the station. Direct insults, fine. But this is new.
‘So why did you move down south?’ she asks, keen to change the subject.
‘For love,’ Josh replies. Freya raises her eyebrows in surprise. ‘What?’ he enquires in response.
‘You don’t seem the type, that’s all,’ Freya says.
‘What? To uproot my whole life, move hundreds of miles down the country, for a woman I hardly knew?’
‘When you put it like that, yes.’
‘How do I seem then?’ His words are confrontational, but his manner is light, accompanied by a smile.
Freya’s cheeks flush again, and she regrets getting into this line of conversation. ‘Just…’ She points to the pint in his hand, already half gone. ‘A bit of a lad.’
He reluctantly smiles. ‘That’s not wrong. What she said, too.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I met Elise when she was in Newcastle on a hen do. We hit it off. Fell in love.’ He winces a bit as he says the words. ‘And the long-distance thing was shit, so after six months of to and fro across the country, I applied for a transfer and ended up down here, just before Christmas. But there weren’t any vacancies for a DS, so now I’m a DC.’
‘So you got a demotion, and you got dumped.’ Freya smiles over the top of her wine glass.
Josh laughs quietly. ‘Absolutely. I’m surprised you haven’t heard
the story. Everyone round the station knows it.’
‘I’ve been busy.’ Distracted, more like, Freya thinks. ‘So why didn’t you go back?’
‘With my tail between my legs? No way! Besides, I like it here. My sister and her family live in Oxford, and the weather’s nicer, even in winter. Plus, I’d already met some good people by then.’
‘So here you are.’
‘Here I am.’
At that point, Josh’s phone rings and he answers it, shouting over the din of the pub. He hangs up and looks at Freya.
‘Some friends are out. I said they could meet us here. That okay with you?’
‘Course.’
‘Want another?’ Freya nods and Josh heads off to the bar. She watches him go. He’s not the man she thought he was. He was right; she’d heard the rumours, but she’d also heard that the reason the infamous Elise dumped him was because he slept with someone else within a month of arriving here. Yes, she had thought he was a bit of a wanker. But the self-awareness, the friendly charm, disarms her slightly.
The door to the bar opens and three men burst through. Jostling each other, they spot Josh at the bar and greet him with boisterous cheers, then manly handshakes. So yes, laddish, Freya thinks again. Josh points to her and their table, and one of the group heads over with a big smile.
‘Adam,’ he says. He’s big and brutish, wearing an English rugby shirt. ‘And you are?’
‘Freya,’ she replies, shaking his hand. He grabs a spare chair from behind them, picking it up with ease and sitting down next to her.
‘How do you know our Smudge?’
‘Smudge?’ Freya asks, but before Adam can reply, Josh is next to the table again, placing her drink in front of her. His other two friends are right behind him, and they greet her as they loudly find chairs and sit down. There’s not even close to enough room, and Freya finds herself shoulder to shoulder between Josh and Adam. Not an unpleasant situation.
‘I’m sorry,’ Josh whispers to her, as the other men catch up, shouting across the table, expletives and banter flowing freely. ‘I forget what we’re like when we get together.’
‘It’s fine. Smudge,’ she adds deliberately.
He laughs. ‘Football thing. That’s how I know these guys, from five-a-side.’
‘You have time for a life? I’m jealous.’
‘Not always. But when I can. It’s a laugh. Better than sitting at home alone every night.’
Freya says nothing. I’m sure it is, she thinks ruefully. She knows that only too well.
Adam leans across Freya. ‘You didn’t tell us about the lovely Freya,’ he says. ‘Shame on you.’
‘Freya’s a colleague,’ Josh retorts. ‘Nothing like that. Not yet, at least,’ he adds, with a wink to Freya.
‘Another copper, eh? All the better then,’ Adam replies.
‘You’re married!’
‘Details, details,’ Adam laughs.
Freya sits back, enjoying her wine and listening to the guys taking the piss out of each other. Being in the force, she’s used to large groups of rowdy guys and relaxes in their undemanding company. Josh seems to enjoy himself with them, laughing loudly at a joke, and every now and again glancing her way. He meets her eye and smiles. At one point he mouths you okay? and she nods. A gentlemanly gesture, and Freya finds herself warming to him.
But it’s getting late. She finishes her wine and stands up. She waves a hand over the gathering.
‘Nice to meet you all,’ she shouts over the din.
Josh stands. ‘I’ll walk you back.’
‘I was going to get a taxi.’
‘Then I’ll walk you to it.’
They fight their way through the bodies in the pub, out into the cool spring air. After the heat inside it’s a relief, and Freya takes a few deep breaths.
They start to walk down the road. Freya feels tongue-tied, not sure what to say. It’s been nine months since Jonathan died, and she hasn’t thought for a second about anyone else. But tonight? Tonight has been nice.
They stop at the taxi rank, and Freya holds her arm out for the one approaching.
‘Well…’ Freya begins.
‘See you tomorrow, Freya,’ Josh says. And he leans forward, placing a kiss on her cheek.
‘See you tomorrow, Sarge,’ she replies.
He laughs and holds up a hand as he walks away.
The taxi pulls up next to her, and she opens the door. But for a moment she allows herself to look behind her, at Josh’s departing back. Mina was right, she thinks. He does have a nice arse.
14
Thursday
Freya must have fallen asleep, because the alarm jolts her awake.
She’d arrived home from the pub tired, slightly groggy from the few glasses of wine, heading for bed without delay.
All day she’d felt knackered. Eyes itching, downing caffeine to keep herself alert. But once she was in bed, she couldn’t have been more awake. Her body felt twitchy and tense. Wound up to the max.
Her brain refused to switch off. She knew that the moment she closed her eyes, she would remember. She would hear Amy Miller’s voice, see her lying unconscious on the sofa. Her mind conjured up images of her dead on her kitchen floor, blood pooling from where she’d banged her head. She squeezed her eyes closed. She needed to sleep. She needed to forget. But how could she?
In the dim light of the morning, she lies in bed, forcing her eyes open. She knows if she closes them again, surrenders to the exhaustion, she’ll fall back to sleep. But one more hour surely couldn’t hurt…
Her phone buzzes, making the decision for her. A message from Josh.
Morning! Pick me up at 08.30 – we’re going to Eastleigh College.
Then another text with his address.
Christ, how is he so awake? He must have drunk way more than Freya did last night. She hauls herself to a sitting position, resting for a moment on the edge of the bed. She sighs.
‘On my way, Sarge,’ she mumbles to thin air.
* * *
The smell of disinfectant and cheap teenage aftershave is distinctly reminiscent of Freya’s old college. It reminds her of detentions and disappointment. Expectations not met. Efforts unrecognised. And sitting in the corridor outside of the principal’s office doesn’t help.
‘Bloody awful, isn’t it?’ Josh whispers, echoing Freya’s thoughts.
She doesn’t miss being eighteen. The constant uncertainty, all those bloody hormones.
‘How was your college experience?’ Freya asks.
‘I played a lot of sport,’ Josh replies. ‘So spent most of my time caught up in that. Rugby, football, cricket – the lot.’
‘Ah.’ Freya slowly nods in understanding. One of the in-crowd. A popular boy, getting the prettiest girls, spending evenings at the pub when still underage. She’d been on the outskirts of that. The one with the cheap cider in the park, looking on from afar. Wishing, wondering how to be that cool. That feeling still haunts her, even now.
A woman bursts out of the office, distracting her from her thoughts.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting. Come through, please.’
The college principal holds the door open and they go into her office. A bland space, impersonal except for the sign on the door. The woman is well groomed, precise hair in a chignon at the nape of her neck, wearing a suit over a crisply ironed shirt. She takes the chair behind her desk, gesturing towards the two in front of her. Freya and Josh sit down; Freya notices they are slightly lower than the principal. She wonders if it’s deliberate, to exert her authority over these kids in any way she can.
‘We’d like to talk to you about Connor Vardy,’ Josh begins. ‘And a few of his friends.’ He looks at his notepad. ‘Tyler Garratt, Mark Black and Lee Cernis?’
She nods. ‘I know them,’ she says slowly. ‘I wouldn’t describe them as Connor’s friends, though.’
‘How so?’
‘Tyler, Mark and Lee – yes. Thick as thieves, those three, and just as devi
ous. I’m surprised they’re not known to the police already, but I would guess they’re too clever to be caught.’
‘What sort of things do they get up to?’
‘I don’t know any of this for sure,’ she says, glancing towards the door. ‘But I’ve heard the teachers talk. Drinking, drug use, vandalism.’
‘And Connor?’ Freya asks.
‘Nothing like that. He’s a good kid. He missed college for a while when his grandfather died, played up in class, that sort of thing. But since he’s been working at Riverside, we’ve seen a change in him. I’d be worried if you said he was hanging around with those three.’
‘What’s his family life been like?’
‘Not good. His mother was in and out of prison. When she died, he moved in with his grandfather. He’s always been a key influence in his life. Can I ask why the interest?’
‘Their names came up in conjunction to a case we’re working,’ Josh says, cryptically. ‘Thought it would be helpful to get some background before we take their witness statements.’
‘And you want to use a room here?’ the principal asks.
Josh nods. ‘Please. If you wouldn’t mind.’
The three of them stand up to make arrangements. Freya turns back to the principal. ‘We appreciate your help. But if you don’t mind me asking,’ she says, ‘why are you being so helpful? It’s just, we don’t normally get this level of information from teachers. They’re usually more protective of their students.’
The principal smiles grimly. ‘I am protective of my students – but those three? They’re on their own. And between you and me, the sooner I have an excuse to expel them from my college, the better. Now. Shall we go and fetch them from the common room?’
* * *
Freya watches the three boys through the window. Men, really, all over eighteen, so no need for a responsible adult to be present when they speak to them. They are exactly the sort of kids she despises. Cocky little shits, baggy jeans, caps on, laughing with each other in the corridor. These are boys who think themselves smarter than their teachers, above the law. Entitled to do whatever they like.