A Journal of Sin (13 page)

She peered through the back window; someone was slumped in the passenger seat.
Knock knock.
No response. She walked to the passenger side and knocked again. A woman sat with her head slouched forward, her face hidden from view. The door handle didn’t budge. Banging hard on the window and the windscreen did nothing. The driver was nowhere to be seen. Sarah couldn’t tell whether the woman was breathing under her heavy coat, and either way, her chin was on her chest, a position that could squeeze her air valve and cause suffocation. Maybe, she thought, there was something in her car she could smash the window with. She only walked a few metres before she felt a crushing grip on her arm.

‘Hello, Officer.’ It was him. ‘I couldn’t help but hear the racket you were making banging on my car. Surely it can’t be illegally parked?’ There was no mistaking that deep, resonating voice. She turned around to see Tom’s white teeth, or dentures more likely, exposed in a wide smile. He glanced towards his car. ‘Oh, you were trying to rouse Anne. You’d probably have better luck than me, she sleeps like the … or maybe that’s what you thought? No, she’s only sleeping. Just the one murder for you this week.’

‘No, just couldn’t see her moving is all and didn’t know where the driver was.’

He looked at the direction she was walking. ‘So you were going to drive away?’

‘No.’

‘To call for help? Are the masts up and running?’

‘No, no they’re not.’

‘And even if they were, who would you call indeed. Who would a police officer call in time of need? A priest, maybe?’

‘Poor taste, Tom. So where were you?’ She took control of the line of questioning rather than admitting she was going to smash one of his windows and probably scare his wife to death in the process.

‘The driver was in the woods, trying to see the extent of the flooding. People are getting restless. Cabin fever they call it. You know the food supplies are running out? They’re wondering when the deliveries will start coming through; they’re wondering when they can leave, or as much as contact their families. No one else seems to have any answers, so I came out here to see how the water was draining away.’

‘And?’

‘Hard to say. I’m no expert on this kind of thing, so at best I’d be guessing. It’s improving; it’s better than it was when I was out here the first day. Difficult to put a time on it. I just need to speak to Anne very quickly, Officer, and I’ll be back.’ Tom marched towards his car and she followed after. He raised his hand telling her to stay where she was, but she kept walking, taking childish pleasure in doing the exact opposite.

‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll come back to you,’ he said and began rushing his conversation a little. She picked up speed, curious what their discussion was about, but before she could hear a word, he’d finished talking and Anne no longer made a sound. She was moving, which was a comfort at least.

‘I’m going to see how deep the water is,’ said Sarah, walking past them both. ‘Hello Anne.’ Anne stayed silent, looked down and played with her jacket buttons.

‘It’s still too deep for cars. I’m certainly not taking this through it. Maybe you want to try your little runaround?’ Sarah ignored his comments about her perfectly practical Yaris. Mark had some reservations about buying a car aimed at the over sixties, but it was compact, reliable and even had a few modern gadgets. ‘So, what brings you out here, Officer?’

‘The same thing as you. The people need some good news. Have you been to any of the other access roads?’ Tom was right. It only took a few steps to realise that she couldn’t go any further, and she returned to her car.

‘Not yet, but I plan to today. There are some fast roads out here. It’s an exciting drive when it’s dry.’ He tapped his bonnet. ‘You’d struggle to catch me in one of your panda cars. Tell me, how goes the hunt for the resident killer?’

‘I’m working on it.’ This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with him.

‘Well, let me give you some advice. Stay away from that John chap. I knew his dad very well. He was a little …unhinged, and it wouldn’t surprise me if that recluse you’ve latched on to isn’t too far off his father.’ He leant in, as if sharing clandestine information that Anne wasn’t allowed to be privy to. ‘He may well be your man.’

‘You’re accusing him of murder? If you’ve got something substantial to back that up, I’d like to hear it.’

He raised his hands to the surrender position. ‘I’m just saying, be careful who you trust.’

‘I’ll go with whatever the evidence says.’ Whom she trusted was no business of his.

‘And what exactly is the evidence, Officer?’

‘I’ll be discussing that with the person it leads to.’ She kept her nerve, but the more she thought about not wanting to be intimidated by him, the further under her skin he crawled.

‘And how do you intend to do that? Make an arrest out here? Just which designated police station will you take your captive to? Sunbury certainly doesn’t have one and you’re not getting anywhere else anytime soon.’ He stepped closer and looked down at her. ‘What about legal advice? Can you even put the evidence to anyone without a solicitor? Are you intending to fly one in with a phone call you can’t even make? The people here deserve answers, and they are getting restless as you’re not producing them. They’re good people, but they’re scared, wondering what happened to their friend and whether they’re in danger themselves. The food is running low and soon they’ll start to panic. The questions are endless, Officer, and you are the only one not posing any.’

‘Tom. I’ll take care of the investigation; you take care of yourself and anyone else who needs help.’ She wondered if his knowledge of the process was due to a background in the profession or too much time in front of cop dramas. Tom’s smug smile dropped and she could see he was about to launch into another scathing professional condemnation, but something stopped him.

‘Leave him alone, dear,’ said Anne, with a soft, high pitched voice.

‘Leave who alone?’ asked Sarah, seizing a rare opportunity to speak to her and avoid any further conversation with Tom. These were the first words she’d heard Anne speak. She didn’t reply – her unfocused eyes stared straight through the windscreen.

‘Never mind, Anne. Time to go. Officer Sarah is a very busy lady.’ Officer Sarah. That had to be the worst.

‘You mean John?’ Maybe her hearing was better than Tom gave her credit for. It may not help the case at hand, but Anne’s deferential nature indicated far more sinister things were going on behind closed doors. The driver’s door closed and Tom leant over his wife.

‘Right, that’s quite enough, dear.’ He started the engine. ‘She was very fond of John’s dad, you see. I’m sure the officer will find out all she needs to know about that family. See you soon, no doubt.’ He reversed the car. Anne gave Sarah a sullen look through the window as the car turned and drove into the distance.

Anne was a worry. Domestic abuse was far more common than Sarah would ever have thought prior to joining the job. All walks of life suffered: every age group, every culture, gender and sexuality. They used to call it domestic violence, but the term changed to reflect the wide range of behaviours involved. The violence hit the headlines – the dark glasses, the cuts, the bruises, the murders – but before all that came the insidious emotional abuse.

A person could be destroyed by their partner from the inside out, starting with their confidence and ending with their self-worth. An abuser could use control and constant fear to manipulate; daily comments would eventually become scathing remarks; and emotional restrictions could morph into physical restraint. The end result was often that the manipulation ran so deep, the abused wouldn’t leave, even if given the chance

Anne didn’t have any marks – well, none Sarah could see in any case – but she was subdued enough to cause concern. The murder investigation took priority, but Sarah wanted to do something for her. She had made a connection for just a second before Tom intervened and retreated; if she could do that again, she may be able to …who was she kidding? There was enough to deal with as it was, with a body rotting in a shed and a killer on the loose.

The conversation stayed with her as she drove home. What angered her the most wasn’t Tom’s smug, condescending nature or his undeserved sense of entitlement, it was the fact he was right. Everything he’d said had been running through her mind since the moment she saw the body. Finding the suspect was her first priority, but what would she do once she had? Yes, she still had the same legal powers, but enforcing them all by herself was a different matter. This wasn’t telling some kids off in the street; this was a murder. Whomever’s collar she felt wasn’t going to want to stick around, and she had no cuffs or cell to keep them from doing so.

The stream had flooded. Clear, rapid water skimming over and around pebbles and stones had been replaced with a murky, brown sludge. John’s boots squelched through the burst banks on the edge of St Peters, flicking mud over his dark grey jeans. The winds had calmed and the clouds lightened. Blue skies were still weeks away, if they ever came back at all. For now, staying dry was luxury enough.

John wanted to apologise. He hadn’t meant what he said. His wounds were still fresh, and she’d pulled them wide open and punched a fistful of rock salt right through their hearts. It got easier every day, unless you had a day like that. He used to come here to relax. Something about the stream calmed him down when the world became too much. He’d sit down, watch the running water and crack open a six-pack. He’d fall asleep on occasion and wake up with a headache, ignoring texts from Jenny and scrambling to get to work on time. The stream wasn’t calming anymore. It was still and filthy.

A loud engine revved behind him, breaking the stillness. The lack of cars had been peaceful. Sunbury traffic wasn’t like city traffic, but he still noticed the difference when it wasn’t there. There was no reason to drive with nowhere to go. A silver Land Rover screeched off the main road and onto the grass. The big wheels slashed through the earth, churning mud all over the shiny metalwork. The unknown vehicle gained speed as it came towards him, its sheer weight ironing out the uneven ground beneath it. These urban tanks left other cars crumpled on impact; being hit by one meant not just never walking again, but not having any legs left at all. He’d be wrapped round those tires like it’d driven over a sheet of wet, red paper. He couldn’t run into the woods; the stream blocked his path. He ran, ran anywhere. The Land Rover’s horn blared out behind him. He didn’t get far before it caught up with him and screamed to a stop short of a metre in front, nearly knocking him clean out. The brief run left him out of breath. He bent forward with his hands on his knees, head up, keeping an eye on the driver’s door.

‘Hello, Snitch.’ The door swung open, flinging wet mud into John’s face. Sean stepped out and slammed the door. His thick winter jacket made him look wider than usual. ‘Whatcha doing out here?’

‘Fucking. Driving into me. Cunt.’ He caught his breath between words.

‘I can smell the booze on you from here.’

He settled down, his heart rate returned to a normal pace. Snitch. Sarah had let on she knew about the book. Damn cops. Sean’s right hand was in his pocket, his left held an open palm, a peaceful gesture contrary to his angry face.

‘How’d that cop find out I was in the priest’s place?’

‘Come on, Sean.’ He didn’t want to play games. Sean already knew the answer. John was the only witness, the only person who could put him there at the time – put him there taking the book. ‘I had to tell her.’

‘You had to do fucking nothing.’

‘She’s a cop. I can’t lie to a cop. She was looking for anything to help find him; there could have been something in that book. You can understand that, right?’

The big guy stepped towards him. ‘I’ve got something you need to understand, prick. You’re going to get me the rest of those books.’

‘You too? What do you want with them?’ He was tired of denying it. Protecting Sarah hadn’t done him any favours.

‘Me too?’ Sean looked up to the right, a thoughtful face John didn’t expect he pulled often. ‘Suzanne asked you?’

‘What’s going on between you?’

‘What’s going on between us?’ Sean’s stance widened. John stepped back and raised his hands, expecting a smack in the mouth any second. ‘You wanna fucking shut your mouth; we were something before you showed back up here. I saw you sitting with her the other day. She’s mine.’

‘Yours? You’re both married.’

‘She’s with him for the money. She’s going to leave him. Leave him for me.’ John wasn’t sure whom to believe. Telling Sean she’d slept her way around town would be like prodding an angry bear with a stick. Sean’s clenched teeth and red cheeks told him suggesting an open-hearted man to man conversation would be a dumb move. He’d have to seek his own therapy some other time, some other time he wasn’t close enough to be a punchbag.

‘Look, I don’t want to get involved in any of your business. We’re just friends, so if you see us together, that’s all there is to it.’

‘But I won’t be seeing you together from now on though, will I?’

John refused to be told what to do. He risked a beating, but he wasn’t backing down. He was tired of being the geeky kid; tired of being pushed around and told what he could and couldn’t do. ‘I’m not changing a damn thing. I’ve told you what’s going on and that’s it.’

Sean’s fist slammed into his stomach, making him puke. He went to his knees, coughing and wheezing. Sean bent down and spoke to him inches from his face.

‘You listen to me. I want those books. She wants those books. You can get them for us. You getting your thick head around how this is going to work out? We all help each other. You help us by taking the books from that dumb cop’s house and I help you by leaving you alive to see Christmas, so you can visit that kid you abandoned. How’s that sound?’

‘Get. Them. Yourself.’ He stood up; straightening his body hurt.

‘You’re having trouble hearing me.’ Sean pulled a brass knuckle from his right pocket. It fitted comfortably over his fingers like an old, well-worn glove.