Next of Kin (18 page)

It was getting muddier now, slippery under foot, the verges on the side of the path less manicured and a couple of the lights were out.

‘Are you sure that this place is down here?’ Ryan asked, glancing round. ‘Maybe we should just go back and just see if we can find your phone? Come back in the daylight? I’m mean it’s pitch fucking black down here.’

The combination of booze and blow was making his head spin.

‘Stop whining, man,’ said Woody. ‘We’re more or less there now. I just need to get my bearings and work out which one it is.’ He was glancing up at one of the buildings that ran along side where they were walking. It was a little ahead of them in the darkness, behind a fence and patch of grass. Woody was peering up into the gloom.

‘I think it’s that one just there, look,’ he said, pointing. ‘You can see the back of it from here. Third floor, left hand corner – the one with the lights on and the blinds. Although it could be the next one up. It gives you an idea of what the view is like.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Ryan, craning his neck to see what Woody was looking at. ‘It’s a joke. I can’t see bugger all.’

‘Yes, I’m sure that this is it,’ said Woody and with that he looked up and stepped back, and Ryan – on the outside of the path – followed his lead, and as he did so he felt his foot slipping backwards, not a lot, but just enough to throw him off balance. Ryan laughed nervously and swore under his breath. He hadn’t realised quite how close he was to the edge.

At the sound of his voice Woody looked back over his shoulder in Ryan’s direction, and as Ryan tried to regain his balance Woody swung round and reached out towards him.

But he realised Woody wasn’t planning on grabbing hold of him. Instead Woody pushed him in the chest, hard, flat handed, palms level with Ryan’s heart, toppling him over backwards, sending him into the river.

Hitting the surface was an icy cold wakeup call.

‘What the fuck,’ Ryan thought in the split second before he plunged beneath the surface. The water eagerly poured into his open mouth, the words – and new words – and a welter of thoughts lost in the deluge, all tasting of mud and something oily and dark. The water was bone-chillingly cold, and shocked the breath out of his lungs. Sober, Ryan could have probably clambered out. But drunk, stoned and totally disorientated the water grabbed at him with eager hands, and held on tight, soaking his jeans, his boots, the heavy plaid jacket he was wearing, filling him up, holding him down, pulling him under.

It was crazy; all he had to do was find his footing. Ryan knew it wasn’t that deep and he could swim, for fuck’s sake. His head was full of thoughts, razor sharp and all begging for attention and at the same time they felt as if they were a long way away, so very, very far away that he couldn’t quite catch them. If this was Woody’s idea of a joke it was lost on him, but he knew that soon Woody would grab hold of him, help him out, pull him to the shore. He would do it in a moment or two, he would, Ryan was certain of that. They were friends, mates. And then they’d laugh about this, laugh for months, years – fucking Woody, what a joker, trying to frigging drown him, the dipstick.

He tried not to panic, tried not to freeze up, and tried instead to bottom out. If he could just find the bottom he could push himself up to the surface and Woody would grab his jacket and pull him out on the bank. He’d probably hock his lungs up, ditch the booze all over the grass, and they’d laugh about it some more as Woody tried to avoid getting sick all over his fancy running shoes.

Ryan tried to stand up. He seemed to be going down a long way. Shit, he had seen people punt on the Cam day in, day out. It couldn’t be that deep. He tried to strike out for the bank – it wasn’t that far, but the water grabbed hold of his clothes, the water sucking him down and holding him tight. It felt as if it wanted him for itself.

Ryan tried to call out before he realised that he was still under the surface, and as the cold water filled him, he stopped fighting, and all thoughts seemed to slip away, bright like sparklers, and float downstream. He could see them glittering in the lights – all those thoughts, all his ideas, all of his future. He felt tired, sleepy almost, and then it occurred to him that maybe this wasn’t happening at all, maybe he was dreaming or maybe Woody hadn’t just put mary-jane in the joint, maybe it was something stronger, weirder – shit it was some sort of a hit if it was – and as the last thought bubbled up through his mind he started to laugh and as he did his lungs filled with water and this time he couldn’t taste it.

Under the water it was dark as night but Ryan could see the lights above him and reached up one last time, instinct now rather than reason forcing himself to fight the pull, surfacing briefly, too shocked now to call out, too full with the river and the cold and the certainty that he was going to die, to do anything other than let the water take him. In that moment he could see Woody standing there on the bank watching him, making no effort to rescue him, his face no more than a white oval in the gloom. Then he was gone and there was darkness and the sound of Ryan’s heart as it struggled to keep him alive, and then even that was too far off, too distant to disturb the peace he had found.

Woody stood still and quiet there by the water’s edge, waiting until he was absolutely certain that Ryan wasn’t going to resurface. When he was sure, he calmly continued down the towpath till he got to a pathway where he could cut through the buildings and get back to the road. As he did, it started to rain; Woody smiled to himself. He had chosen this route carefully, and carried on walking so that his footprints wouldn’t appear to double back at the point where Ryan had gone in, but hopefully now the rain would wash away any last remaining traces of his having been there at all.

He walked briskly, purposely, but not so fast as to attract attention. A street or two from the river he slipped off the backpack he had been carrying, and paused for a moment to ease off his trainers. Taking out the shoes he had brought with him, he put them on. Gloves still on, Woody glanced left and right before dropping the trainers into a carrier bag, along with two firelighters and a pile of crumpled newspapers. Pulling out a few of the scrunched pages he held them in his hand.

Mid-week, the street he had chosen to walk back along was lined with wheelie bins. Glancing round to make sure no one was watching him he picked a bin at random and lifted the lid. It was half full with plastic bags and fast food cartons and smelt of pizza and the sweet fetid scent of decay. Smiling, Woody dropped the carrier bag in alongside all the others. He added a hefty squirt of lighter fluid, a flick of his lighter to ignite the newspaper, and a stick he had left in the hedge earlier to prop the bin open – before carefully peeling off his gloves and adding them to the pyre in the bin. It took less than a minute for the fire to take hold, though Woody waited until he was certain the bin was well and truly alight before turning and heading for town. Now even if the police found the shoeprints down on the towpath there would be no trainers to match them with.

Woody was back in the pub before closing time, in time to retrieve his phone from where he had hidden it in a planter, close to where he and Ryan had been standing earlier. If the police tracked his phone they would be able to see where he was when Ryan slipped into the Cam, and it wouldn’t be there with him.

After a few minutes watching the comings and goings, Woody got up, slipped off his wedding ring and tucked it into his inside pocket, all the while apparently concentrating on checking his phone, but just in time to collide with a big blonde girl who was navigating her way between the tables carrying a tray of drinks. She looked a little tipsy, her hair a little awry. He didn’t hit her hard, the collision wasn’t overly dramatic nor did it cause much damage but it was just enough to be memorable.

The girl squealed; the tray slipped sideways out of her hands, the contents clattering to the floor in an explosion of glass, orange juice and booze.

‘Oh excuse me, I’m so sorry,’ said Woody, catching hold of her arm so that she didn’t slip.

‘You wanna watch where you’re going,’ the girl snapped right back at him in perfect estuary English, as she made a show of tidying herself, and he stooped down to pick up the tray.

Woody smiled up at her. ‘Will you forgive me?’ He raised his eyebrows, part question, but heavy on the flirtation. She reddened and giggled.

‘Depends on what you’re planning to do next,’ she said.

People around them grumbled and stepped around the mess, a man picked up the one bottle of mixer that hadn’t been smashed, and on a raft of Chinese whispers word spread across to the bar staff to get over to them with a brush and dust pan and a mop and bucket.

Woody meanwhile had taken his wallet out, and was guiding the woman back towards the bar. ‘Let me replace your drinks for a start. What can I get you and your friends?’ he purred, while his hand settled into the small of her back. ‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before? Do you work at the university?’

She smiled and shook her head. ‘No, I work in Boots.’

‘Really? Maybe that’s where it was then. So what do you want?’ he said, as they eased their way to the front of the press of customers.

‘I’ve got a list,’ she said, slyly.

Woody grinned. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘I like a woman who knows what she wants. Best we work our way through it then, aye?’

The girl giggled. ‘Cheeky.’

‘So, what’s your name then?’ he asked.

‘Carol. Carol Mullings.’

Woody held out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Carol. I’m Woody,’ he said.

‘Really?’ she looked at him quizzically and pulled a face. ‘I thought – well you know – that it would be something much more exotic.’

He laughed. ‘It is, but Woody is what my friends call me.’

‘So what is it really?’

‘You don’t want to know,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ll tell you later.’

She nodded. ‘Later? That sounds like a nice idea. So, Woody, did you bump into me on purpose?’

He pulled an innocent face. ‘What, and spill good booze? No, I don’t think so. Would I do a thing like that just to meet a gorgeous woman?’ he continued in a voice that implied that that was exactly what he had done. ‘Me and my friend are just out for a quiet drink.’

The girl glanced round. ‘So where’s your friend now then?’

Woody grinned. ‘Gone. He said he had to go home. Lightweight. Didn’t want to be out too late on a school night.’

The girl peered at him for a minute or two, considering what he had just said and then finally she said. ‘What is he like a teacher or something?’ At which point the barman glanced in their direction.

‘What can I do you for?’ asked the man.

Woody nodded towards the blonde. ‘Tell the man what it is you want, Honey.’

Carol giggled. ‘Where to begin,’ she said, winking at Woody.

The barman laughed. ‘Now, now, Miss, keep it clean,’ he joked.

Carol moved in so close that their bodies touched, as they waited for the barman to sort out their order.

‘Shouldn’t you be getting back to your friends?’ he asked. ‘I can bring the drinks over if you like; make sure they all get there in once piece.’

‘They can wait a bit longer,’ she said. ‘You live round here, do you?’

He smiled. ‘No, how about you?’

She took the drink that he offered her. ‘Not far.’

‘Really? In that case maybe I ought to walk you home, make sure you don’t get into any more trouble.’

Carol held his gaze, eyes bright with mischief. ‘Not backwards in coming forwards, are you, Woody?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Who me?’ he said.

She laughed, closing carmine lips round the straw in her cocktail and sucking gently. ‘Yes you,’ she said, as she pulled away, her tongue working on the end of the straw.

He grinned; the suggestion clear as day.

Sarah

‘Two women out jogging found Ryan the next morning. In the reeds. On a bend in the river. They thought it was a black polythene bag at first. Till they saw his hands. Floating. It was dark when the police came to the house. I don’t know why it took them all day to find out where he lived. I didn’t ask.

‘I couldn’t work out what the noise was to begin with. I’d been reading and fallen asleep on the sofa in the sitting room. The noise woke me up. There were voices and the sounds of banging and hammering. I suppose it was maybe half past eight, maybe nine. I’m not altogether sure now. I’d been sound asleep, and then I realised it was someone knocking at the door. Hard. And then I was hard awake. First of all I thought that it might be the men who had come before. The ones who had beaten Ryan up. And then I heard Woody talking to them, and heard them say they were police. And then I thought that maybe they had found out about me and Woody and they had come to arrest us both. But whatever the reason was that they were there, I knew that it wasn’t to bring us anything good.’

Chapter Fifteen

‘You’d better come in,’ said Woody, as he opened the front door. ‘I’m not sure exactly where my wife is. Come on through. Sorry it’s so dark in here. I was upstairs. I hadn’t realised how late it was. I’ll just get the lights.’

From the sitting room Sarah could hear the low rumble of voices. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or anxious that Woody had answered the door. Standing up she straightened her clothes and ran her fingers back through her hair, trying to tidy herself up. She had fallen asleep on the sofa when she got in from work, and between then and now it had got dark, and cold too. Still feeling slightly disorientated Sarah opened the door into the hallway, making a concerted effort to wake up, blinking in the glare of lights that Woody was busy switching on.

‘Sorry,’ he was saying, talking over his shoulder as he moved around switching the lamps on. ‘I was studying upstairs. Ah, there you are, Sarah. Are you okay?’

Sarah turned. There were two police officers standing in the hallway, both very still, both very young, both composed with sombre expressions.

She said nothing, waiting for one of them to speak. Her body might be still but her mind was working overtime. What did they know? Would they put her in handcuffs? Would they let her get changed out of her work clothes before they took her to the police station? And more to the point, how had the police found out about the sham marriage? She hadn’t said a word to anyone, not a word, and couldn’t imagine Woody would have said anything – which left Ryan; maybe Ryan had said something.

It didn’t take a great leap of the imagination to guess that it had to be him. Drunk maybe. Stoned. Bragging. Sarah closed her eyes, wondering what the hell he had said and to whom. Would they take her straight to prison? On remand. Sarah waited, her pulse banging like a drum.

Woody caught her eye and said, somewhat unnecessarily, ‘It’s the police.’ As if she couldn’t see for herself, and then he said, quickly, as if she had asked. ‘It’s about Ryan.’

‘What about Ryan? What’s happened now?’

‘We need to talk.’ He spoke gently, holding out a hand towards her. ‘Why don’t you come through into the kitchen so we can all sit down?’ He spoke to her as if she was a child or possibly ill, in a voice so tender and so contrived that she almost laughed.

‘She’s not been sleeping well,’ he said, as an aside to the police officers. ‘She probably had a bit of a nap, took a sleeping tablet. Leaves her a bit groggy.’ He smiled at her. ‘She worries me sometimes. Always rushing about, looking after everyone else, anyone but herself.’

Sarah stared at him, wondering why he was lying, and if that was what a husband might say, a real one, someone who genuinely truly loved her. ‘I didn’t take a sleeping tablet,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘Oh well – that’s good,’ he said gently, as if it was a cause for congratulation.

Woody was so clever; and then her attention shifted to the other thing that he had said.

‘What about Ryan? Where is he? What’s happened now?’ she asked, torn between relief at not being immediately arrested, and a great rush of panic. ‘Where is he?’ she said. ‘Is he all right?’

‘Just take it steady,’ Woody said calmly, beckoning her closer.

‘You told me he would be safe,’ she said, as she crossed the hall. ‘You promised me that you take care of it. You said…’

Woody turned towards the officers. ‘Ryan got himself into a bit of trouble a few months ago. He was beaten up pretty badly. It was really nasty. I said that I’d keep an eye on him. Keep him out of trouble. He’s always been a bit of a handful. Great guy but always – well you know. ‘Woody smiled. ‘Bit of a lad.’

One of the officers, the male one, nodded. ‘We’ll need some details, Sir, if you don’t mind.’

Woody nodded too. ‘Yes, of course, although Ryan was a bit sketchy about exactly what happened to him. Your lot seemed to think it was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Didn’t they, Sarah?’ he said, turning to her for confirmation.

The officer made a little noise of acknowledgement. ‘I’m afraid it sometimes happens, Sir.’

‘So what’s happened to him this time?’ Sarah pressed. She didn’t like the way they were talking to each other and not to her. The way they were talking over her head. ‘Where is he now? Is he okay?’ She sounded shriller than she intended.

No one quite met her eye, and then Woody said, ‘Why, don’t we go into the kitchen and I’ll put the kettle on.’

Before anyone had chance to move, Sarah snorted. ‘Don’t do this to me, Woody. He’s my brother. I don’t want to go into the kitchen; I want to know what’s happened to Ryan. Tell me. Where is he? What’s happened to him?’

She saw the look that passed between the three of them and felt icy fingers track down her spine.

The female officer cleared her throat. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Ahmed. There’s no easy way to say this. His body was recovered from the Cam first thing this morning. He was found by two women while they were out running.’ She spoke in a low, even voice. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

Sarah stared at her, ignoring what she heard ‘So is he in hospital?’ she asked. Sarah saw the look again. The one that passed between them and excluded her, as if she was mad or fragile, or a child.

‘I’m afraid that your brother is dead, Mrs Ahmed.’ the woman said.

The officer had been right; there was no easy way to soften the blow, no words that would make it easier or untrue. The breath caught in Sarah’s throat, and when she finally opened her mouth to speak a noise spilled out, a soft, long, low keening sound, that rolled up from deep down in her belly and seemed to fill her whole head.

‘No,’ she whispered, ‘No, no,
no
. That can’t be right. It can’t be.’ Woody caught hold of her arm as her legs folded under her and as he pulled her close she could smell perfume on his clothes – perfume and cigarette smoke.

Her eyes widened.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘So very sorry.’

Sarah rounded on him. ‘How can he be dead? How? You said you’d take care of him. You were with him last night. How could this happen? You went for a drink, you said that he’d be safe,’ she said, accusingly, the words tumbling out of her mouth unchecked. ‘You said. You promised me.’

‘I know, I know,’ Woody soothed. ‘And he was fine when I was in the pub with him, Sarah, absolutely fine.’ She knew from his tone that he was saying it not just for her benefit but also for the two officers. ‘We were at the Raven. He left before I did. He told me that he was coming straight home, said he’d promised you that he’d be home early. He said he’d got to get up for work. I stayed for a bit longer. I got talking to some people.’

‘Some people?’ Sarah stared at him. ‘Who?’ she said, before she could stop herself. ‘Who were you with?’

Woody’s gaze didn’t waiver. ‘Just some people,’ he repeated. He glanced at the police officers. ‘I can give you their names if it’ll help.’

Sarah hesitated. The policewoman was already eyeing her up like Sarah was some kind of crazy. ‘So where was Ryan when you were talking to these people?’ she pressed.

‘I don’t know,’ said Woody. ‘He’d had a bit to drink, but he seemed fine to me. He said he was coming home. And then a bit later he rang me but hung up before I could take the call. I assumed I’d see him today so I didn’t bother ringing back. I thought if it was something important he’d leave a message or text me.’

‘How do you know it was Ryan?’ Sarah asked, swinging round to confront the two officers.

The female officer said, ‘Your brother appears to have had his wallet and all his personal possessions on him. He had money on him, his phone.’

Sarah was too stunned to cry. Woody looked away.

‘So you’re sure?’ Sarah pressed. ‘How can you be sure?’

The woman nodded. ‘I’m sorry. We found a wallet with credit cards and a driving license which was pretty conclusive, and which rather rules out robbery. We will need someone to come down and formally identify the body.’

‘I’d be happy to do that,’ said Woody. ‘My wife is obviously very upset.’

Sarah stared at them. ‘Now?’ she said.

‘No, not now, tomorrow morning will be fine. We can send a car for you if you would prefer?’

Woody waved the words away. ‘No, no, it’ll be fine. I’ll come in first thing tomorrow. Where do I need to go?’

‘No, I don’t want you to go. I want to see him,’ said Sarah.

‘Are you sure?’ Woody asked. ‘I mean, we don’t know what sort of state he’s in.’ He turned towards the policeman for some kind of confirmation. ‘Was he beaten up? Are you looking for someone else, you know, for whoever who did this?’

The officer shook his head. ‘It would appear at the moment that it was an accident, Sir, although we’re obviously not ruling anything out. And I’m afraid there will have to be a post mortem.’

‘Ah,’ said Woody. ‘I see. Well—’

‘He’s my brother,’ Sarah said. ‘
My
brother.’

Woody patted her shoulder. She stared at him. ‘I know, Sweetie. Everyone understands how you must be feeling.’ And then, turning his attention to the officers, Woody continued. ‘I can be in tomorrow first thing. And if there is anything we can do, anything at all, then we will. Obviously.’

Both police officers nodded.

Woody caught her look. ‘And I’ll bring Sarah in. Of course. Obviously. She is Ryan’s sister, next of kin.’

‘What happened to him?’ she asked. ‘I don’t understand? He was only going out for a drink. What was he doing down by the river?’

‘We’re not altogether sure at the moment exactly what happened or why your brother was on the riverbank. We’ve appealed for any witnesses to come forward. First indications are that he appears to have fallen in from the towpath, although I’m afraid we don’t have any other details at the moment, but I promise you we’ll do out best to find out. I’m sorry to bring you such bad news.’ As the officer spoke he took a card out of his pocket and wrote something down on the back of it. ‘This is where you’ll need to go tomorrow, and if you’ve got any questions, anything at all, you can always contact me on the number on the other side. I was wondering if we can perhaps just ask you a few questions while we’re here?’

Sarah stared at him. He was smiling at her. It felt as if she had walked into someone else’s life. Woody was nodding, all loving husband and good citizen. ‘Yes, of course, no trouble, shall we go through?’ he said, opening the kitchen door. They followed him inside. Sarah watched them go. Woody came back for her, solicitous, gentle, taking her arm, leading her inside, sitting her down at the table as if she was an invalid.

‘We can always come back, if you’d prefer,’ said the officer, eyes firmly fixed on Sarah.

Woody waved the words away. ‘No, we’d rather do it now, wouldn’t we, Sarah? I doubt either if us will be able to settle now, will we, Honey? Not until we know what happened.’ He switched on the kettle as he spoke, fumbling with the teapot, looking for the teabags. ‘I’m not sure that there is much more we can tell you.’

‘Here, let me do that, my colleague has just got a few questions,’ said the male officer.

While the policeman made tea, the policewoman sat down at the table with Sarah and took out a notebook. Her voice was low and even, solicitous – kind. Was Sarah up to this? Would she mind talking about Ryan, answering a few questions about him? Did Ryan have any money worries? Was he depressed? Did he have a history of drug or alcohol abuse? Sarah shook her head.

‘He liked a drink, but no more than anyone else. And no, he wasn’t very good with money – but I think things were okay at the moment, not good but he wasn’t in any trouble about money.’ She felt herself glancing up at Woody for confirmation. Woody nodded. Even as she was doing it Sarah wondered if the policewoman noticed because she wrote something down in her notebook. ‘And what about drugs?’ she asked.

Sarah felt tears trickling down her face. ‘How can he be dead?’ she whimpered. ‘How?’

The woman nodded and turned to Woody, who sighed. ‘I’m not sure what I can tell you really. I think he occasionally smoked the odd joint, you know, recreational stuff, but nothing harder as far as I know.’

‘And was this a regular thing?’

Woody shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. I don’t think so.’

His hand dropped down over Sarah’s. She stared at him; her first instinct to pull it away, but how would that look? She hated the weight of it and the heat of it. As if reading her mind Woody’s fingers tightened around hers, something that from anyone else, and anyone watching, might be interpreted as a gesture of comfort but Sarah knew without doubt was a warning.

‘You said you and Ryan had been out for a drink yesterday, Mr Ahmed?’ the policewoman said. ‘Can you tell me how Ryan seemed to you?’

Woody bit his lip and took a breath, apparently considering his reply. ‘He seemed fine to me. We’d both had a bit to drink. Nothing particularly heavy. It was a week night and he told me several times that he couldn’t be late because he had work today. When he left I assumed he’d gone home and gone to bed.’

‘Do you know what time that was?’

Woody pulled a face. ‘Not really, not that late. Half past ten, maybe a bit after? I can check my phone if you like?’