Over Your Shoulder

by C J Carver

  ‘My Iron Man powered armour suit has rusted solid in the basement.’ I tried a smile but my lips felt stiff.

  She rose and came and stood behind me. Wrapped her arms around my shoulders and pressed a kiss against my neck. ‘Do what you have to. But be careful. And I mean careful, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ I sighed. My motivation to find Rob had been shaken by the events of the past forty-eight hours and all I wanted to do was go home. Maybe go for a sail if the weather cheered up, and try to forget about everything for a bit.

  Susie moved away and put the breakfast things away while I stared glumly out of the window.

  ‘Fancy an exhibition or something?’ she asked. ‘There’s bound to be something at the Royal Academy, or the Tate. We could have lunch at The Wolseley.’

  Susie’s favourite weekend place to eat. Sometimes I couldn’t understand why she liked the Viennese-style brasserie so much. I thought it overpriced and overcrowded, but she said she found the grand art deco glamour characterful and charming and she loved spotting the smattering of celebs over her eggs benedict. Personally, I’d rather go to the Regency and have a monster fry-up rubbing shoulders with a brickie rather than some posh nob in a Saville row suit.

  ‘I think I’ll go home,’ I said gloomily.

  There was a pause, then Susie said, ‘If I stay here, would you mind?’

  It wasn’t often we had a weekend apart and normally I’d grumble, but I thought some time on my own in my current mood was probably a good thing. I could brood as deeply and darkly as I liked and also drink as much as I liked without having Susie lift her eyebrows at me. I suddenly felt like getting drunk. Absolutely totally falling down drunk so I wouldn’t have to think, and wouldn’t have to see Arun Choudhuri’s savagely cut throat and his beautiful elegant hands with their long-tapered tips waxy and grey in death.

  ‘Sure,’ I said. I got up. I wanted to be in The Anchor Bleu pub with my head buried in a pint and talking of nothing but sailing, dinghy suppers and sailing club lottery draws. I wanted to put back the clock and never to have seen Rob on the TV screen. I wanted things to be the way they were. Even if it were just for a day.

  I barely felt my wife’s touch or her soft kiss goodbye, nor did I take in the tube ride to Victoria. My journey home was a blur. I parked outside the cottage but didn’t go inside. I walked straight to the pub, uncaring it was chucking it down. It was only when I stepped into the warmth of the pub that I realised how wet and cold I was.

  Charley the barman greeted me. I ordered a pint of winter ale. Drank it standing at the bar. Then I ordered a double whisky. Drank that. Then I drank another pint and another double whisky. I settled on a barstool. Drank some more. Darkness fell. The rain increased. I could hear it lashing against the windows. People came in with dripping waterproofs. Lots of laughter, shaking clothes dry.

  ‘Nick. Nick, it’s me. I’ve been trying to find you.’

  I turned my blurred gaze to a tall curly-haired figure standing at my side and said thickly, ‘Go away.’

  ‘Jesus, Nick. Give me a break. I’m not in a happy mood right now. I want to know what the hell’s going on. Where’s Rob, do you know?’

  I stared hazily at the rows of bottles shining cheerfully behind the bar, the nautical bric-a-brac Charley had collected over the years. ‘I dunno an’ I don’ give a fuck either.’

  ‘I think he’s had enough, don’t you?’ said Charley. ‘Take him home for me?’

  ‘Merde.’ Etienne swore. ‘Est-ce vraiment nécessaire?’ Do I have to?

  ‘Someone’s got to do it,’ Charley said reasonably. ‘And since you’re friends…’

  As Etienne put his hands on me, I pushed him away and nearly fell off my stool. ‘Ooopsh,’ I said. I reached for the rest of my pint but Etienne scooped it out of reach.

  ‘Charley’s right.’ He sounded tired. ‘Time to go home.’

  ‘Don’ wanto. Wanto toasht my bruvva. Who is the biggesht arshole thish shide of Bozz… ham. Here’sh to Rob. My shite of a bruvva.’ My voice was loud, causing people to turn and stare.

  ‘Come on, Nick. Let’s go.’ Etienne took my arm. ‘You’re embarrassing everyone.’

  ‘A-run ish dead,’ I said. ‘He’sh dead ash a fuck-in’ doornail. Nishe guy. A-run. Wanted to ’elp me but couldna do it. Had an agree-men. A shined piesh of paper.’

  I felt Etienne’s hand on my shoulder and I slid off my stool to stand, swaying, in front of the pub crowd who were staring at me. Not just staring, gawking. I suddenly felt a stab of aggression. ‘Wassyou lookin’ at?’

  Their eyes skidded away.

  ‘Bet ya don’ have a bruvva like mine,’ I managed. ‘Who’sh dead then comsh backto life.’

  Etienne took my elbow and guided me to the door, people parting like fish to let us through. Outside, it was still raining. I raised my head to the rain and opened my mouth, trying to drink it.

  ‘Nick, let’s get you home. Try to sober you up.’

  ‘Don’ wanna.’

  ‘Let’s get you to bed. You can sleep it off.’

  I pushed his hands away and overbalanced, only catching myself from falling by grabbing a lamp post and hanging on.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m pished.’

  ‘As if I hadn’t noticed.’ His voice was dry.

  ‘I’cn get myshelf ’ome,’ I told him. ‘I’m fine.’ When he stepped towards me again I waved him off. ‘Bye bye,’ I said. I pushed myself off the lamp post and walked carefully along the street, concentrating with every step as the ground oscillated and rocked beneath me, making me think I was at sea rather than on a tarmac pavement.

  I made it to my front door without mishap. The last thing I remember was the alarm beeping wildly at me in a completely different tone to what I was used to and my drunkenly praying I was punching in the right code.

  Chapter 36

  Susie normally loved the rare occasion when she had the weekend to herself, but this time things were different. She felt as though she was skating across an enormous frozen lake, and if she lost a moment’s concentration, the ice would crack and buckle, plunging her straight into the inky black water below.

  She would get through this. She had to. And what about Nick? He’d looked awful yesterday. Shattered. Not surprising considering he’d seen his first dead body. He wouldn’t forget that in a hurry. She could remember her first corpse quite clearly, but the second, third and fourth held less of an impact, didn’t feel so shocking.

  She hadn’t liked the fact Nick had gone home on his own, but she was also wise enough to know that he’d needed to. He’d called her briefly from the pub last night, wasted, barely able to string a word together, and after she’d hung up she’d called Charley, who promised her he’d make sure Nick got home safely. She wouldn’t ring or text Nick for a while. Let him have some space.

  Meanwhile, she had things to do. She wanted to know why DI Barry Gilder had stepped out of his jurisdiction the previous night. She’d done some research on both Barry and his father first thing, and now it was time to take their measure.

  Barry Gilder lived in Cockfosters, in a neat semi-detached brick house with a single garage and clipped shrubs in the small garden that ran down to the street. The front door was painted blue. Very appropriate for a police officer, blue. She rang the bell. A child’s voice called inside, and then she heard scampering feet, followed by a woman’s yell. ‘In a minute!’

  Susie waited, taking in the bay windows, the freshly swept driveway. The paintwork on the house wasn’t fresh, but it was in good condition, as was the brickwork.

  The door opened to reveal a woman with spectacles shoved onto her forehead and ink on her cheek. Auburn hair and green eyes. Freckles. She was prettier than in the photographs Susie had viewed that morning. The boy at her side had soft brown hair and grey eyes like his father. He looked at her curiously.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m Susie Ashdown. I’ve come to see your dad.’ She looked at Hayley Gilder. ‘I
t’s police business, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Noah, go and get your father,’ Hayley said.

  The boy darted away and down a long corridor of polished floorboards that Susie could see led to a flood of light at the rear of the house.

  Neither woman said anything while they waited. Susie liked Hayley for that. For not mindlessly filling in the silence with chat that neither wanted. And for not closing the door in her face, which Hayley had every right to do, considering she was married to a cop and didn’t know Susie from Adam.

  When Barry Gilder saw her, his mouth narrowed. ‘I’ll take it from here,’ he told his wife. Without looking at Susie, Hayley vanished inside. Barry stood on the doorstep, arms folded.

  ‘Mrs Ashdown.’

  ‘DI Gilder.’

  ‘How did you get my address?’

  She reached into her bag and brought out a wallet. Flipped it open and showed him her ID card. If it had said she was a vampire with a licence to rip his throat out and feed on his heart, he couldn’t have looked more surprised.

  ‘It’s not something I normally shout about,’ she told him. ‘But I wanted you to know.’

  ‘I see.’ His voice was stiff. ‘You’d better come in.’

  He brought her into the front room, the one that overlooked the street. He closed the door behind them. No offer of tea or coffee. He came and stood opposite her.

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘I was thinking if we combine forces we might be able to find Nick’s brother before something catastrophic happens.’

  Gilder raised his eyebrows.

  She put her handbag on the coffee table. Folded her arms, mirroring him. ‘Nick probably didn’t tell you, but the man who attacked him and his sister-in-law last Tuesday was George Abbott.’

  ‘No, he didn’t tell me.’

  He didn’t look surprised, which made her alarm bells ring.

  ‘Good. I told him not to.’ She held his gaze. He was intimidated by her. She could tell by the way he tried to broaden his shoulders, stick his chin out.

  She continued. ‘Nick told me he showed you the CCTV tape.’

  He nodded.

  ‘But not all of it.’ She withdrew her phone from her bag. She’d copied the footage onto her laptop in Bosham before downloading it to her phone. She found the video and handed her phone to him. ‘Press play.’

  She stood so she could see the screen as well as his face as he watched. He maintained a steady expression, not giving anything away until Robert Ashdown came belting across the reception floor in hot pursuit of the middle-aged woman. ‘Shit,’ he said. He glanced at Susie. ‘I didn’t realise.’

  She reached over and took her phone, put it back in her bag.

  ‘I can only imagine what the Saint will do to get his hands on my brother-in-law,’ she said. ‘Which is why I want to find him before the Saint does. If we can discover who sent this to Nick, then we’ll find Rob.’

  ‘You don’t think Rob sent it?’ Gilder said.

  She put her head on one side. ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘He might not have killed Tony Abbott. He might be wanting to stir things up, to prove his innocence.’

  ‘If I were him,’ she said, ‘I wouldn’t want anyone to see that tape whether I was guilty, or not. It has to be the most incriminating evidence I’ve ever laid eyes on.’

  He shrugged. ‘Just thinking aloud. Hypothesising.’

  ‘If we’re doing that,’ she said smoothly, ‘I’d like to know what the responding police officers got up to in that one hour and twenty-three minutes that is unaccounted for.’

  Her gaze held his.

  ‘Any ideas?’ she asked.

  No emotion crossed his face.

  ‘How is your father these days?’ she asked, still holding his gaze.

  In the fall of silence, she heard footsteps outside the room. Little Noah calling to his mum. Her calling back.

  ‘Enjoying his retirement?’ she added.

  She saw the fear. Gilder’s face wasn’t blank anymore. She had to force herself not to smile. She was twisting the knife. She knew Barry’s father worked for the Saint. Knew it was him on the CCTV tape. Knew his father was corrupt.

  ‘What do you want?’ Barry’s voice was hoarse.

  Chapter 37

  ‘To work together.’ Susie widened her eyes to make them appear innocent. ‘Pool resources. Share information.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said, but he didn’t look happy about it. She guessed the last thing he needed was an MI5 officer poking about, exposing every dirty secret.

  ‘For instance, I’d like your father’s take on what happened the night Tony Abbott was killed.’

  ‘So would I.’

  She was startled at the sudden anger in his voice.

  ‘He’s…’ Barry Gilder ground his teeth for a moment. ‘Gone fishing.’

  ‘I hope he’s on the Test,’ she said, ‘and that he hasn’t gone anywhere like Norway.’ And where there’ll be no phone signal.

  His cheeks flushed. It wasn’t embarrassment, she realised, but fury.

  ‘He’s gone to Norway?’ Her voice held disbelief.

  ‘Finland. It’s a place called Kotka.’

  Susie grabbed her phone and looked it up on the web to see it was slap bang between Helsinki and St Petersburg. Barry’s father could be on the moon as far as she was concerned. Was that the intention? To be utterly out of touch, out of reach, while the Saint tried to find Robert Ashdown? Was David Gilder being sensible, removing himself from danger, or had he simply run away? Turned into a coward?

  ‘He’s got his mobile with him.’ Barry’s words were clipped. ‘But I haven’t been able to reach him.’

  ‘How do you feel about that?’ Susi asked. ‘His leaving you in the shit?’

  The rage in his face gave her no doubt he would have happily hit his father if he were standing with them right now. Which cheered her immensely because it appeared that where David Gilder was a crooked shyster in bed with the Saint, his son was cut from a different cloth.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You must be really frustrated with him.’ Her voice was gentle, letting him know she understood his anger and shame over his father. She’d learned over the years that occasionally this kind of empathy worked wonders when you wanted to bond with someone.

  Barry ducked his head, in a gesture of embarrassment perhaps, she wasn’t sure, but at that moment, with the light on one side of his face, she remembered where she’d seen him. It hadn’t been at work, as she’d originally thought, and her pulse quickened as she processed the new information.

  ‘Since we’re sharing,’ she said, putting her head on one side. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?’

  He pulled a sorry-that’s-all-I’ve-got face.

  ‘I thought you might least have shared the fact you were staking out Clara’s house last Tuesday.’ She shook her head in a parody of disappointment. ‘You were staking it out, weren’t you?’

  He licked his lips. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It wasn’t your idea, was it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And nobody else knows about it, am I right?’

  He swallowed, looking sick.

  She considered the photograph of Hayley and Noah on the wall, both smiling, both looking happy. Barry’s eyes followed hers briefly, before returning to hold her gaze.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I don’t want to get up your nose, and I certainly don’t want you to get up mine, but it’s worth my saying that I’m not after you here. I just want to find my brother-in-law before he gets himself killed, and if you can help me do that, then I would be very grateful. Okay?’

  It was a peace offering.

  ‘Okay,’ he said.

  ‘Anything on Arun Choudhuri’s murder?’ she asked.

  He thought for a moment. ‘George Abbott thinks Robert Ashdown killed him.’

  ‘Does he indeed?’ She mulled this over. ‘I may not like the idea, but I suppose
he could be right. Arun Choudhuri was a witness to that evening, after all.’

  ‘He threatened my family,’ Barry finally admitted. He didn’t have to say exactly who. She knew.

  She didn’t look at him as she said, ‘I guessed as much.’

  When she left, although she was reasonably certain he’d keep her secrets safe for the moment – no doubt hoarding them to be used in the future when it would benefit him to maximum effect – she still didn’t trust him an inch.

  Chapter 38

  My consciousness crept awake. My back was stiff, my neck aching. I was sweating but I was cold. My head was a red throbbing balloon of pain and my mouth as dry as sand. I realised I was fully dressed and that I was lying on a floor. At first, I had no clue where I was and felt a moment’s panic. I forced my eyes open to see the hallway ceiling.

  Thank God. I was at home. I rolled to one side and what felt like twin knives stabbed through both eyes and lodged themselves in the back of my brain. I took in the pillow beneath my head and the duvet from our bed upstairs that had been tucked around me. A bucket had been placed strategically beside me and as I looked at it, the urge to vomit rose.

  I galloped upstairs, making it to the bathroom just in time, where I stayed for another half an hour.

  Finally, dosed with paracetamol, showered and shaven and dressed in clean clothes and smelling of toothpaste, I stepped gingerly downstairs. Picked up the duvet and pillow and reinstated them in the bedroom. Put the bucket back beneath the sink.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said to the figure on the sofa, who was watching breakfast TV, the volume turned down low.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Etienne.

  I poured myself a glass of water, then another. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘I’ve already had some.’

  I considered putting on the machine but decided I wouldn’t be able to stand the noise. I fanned out the mail which Etienne had put on the kitchen worktop but had no interest in opening it. I went and sat on the floor next to the sofa. Stared at the TV where a weather woman was showing a group of tight isobars over the west of England.