Tom (3 page)

Tom – Tuesday: 21:48 Hrs.

I
arrived at the police station with just over ten minutes to spare. I’d stopped off at home to change out of my jeans. But my smart work shoes no longer gleamed; they were caked with mud from where I had been trampling up and down the dirt track with Charley. The hems of my trousers were flecked with mud.

Guessing I’d already failed to make a positive impression on DI Harker since my arrival at Marsh Bay, I hurried to the locker room. Like all locker rooms, it smelt of sweaty socks and stale deodorant. I yanked open my locker door and reached inside for the tin of boot polish I had stashed there. Unscrewing the lid, I sat down and kicked off my shoes. I looked at them and knew I’d need a hammer and chisel to remove the thick lumps of mud. If Harker and the others saw it they’d start asking questions. What would I say? That
I ran cross country to work?

I banged the flats of the soles together and some of the mud came away in thick chunks and covered the tiled floor. The sound of my pounding the soles of my shoes together sounded like cannon fire in the tiny room.

I stopped, fearing that it might bring someone to the locker room to find out what all the noise was. But I was too late; the door swung open and Jackson strolled in. He was wearing shorts and a white vest that clung to him with sweat. I suspected he had been in the gym again admiring his muscles. He looked at me and then at the mud on the floor.

‘I hope you’re going to clean that shit up,’ he said.

‘It’s mud, not shit.’

‘I’m sorry, I thought it was more of the shit that keeps falling out of your mouth,’ he said, closing the door behind him. He folded his meaty arms over his chest. I put my shoes down and stood up. I would never match Jackson’s colossal size even if I spent the rest of my life lifting weights and eating tins of spinach, but at least now I came somewhere close to matching his height.

‘I don’t talk shit,’ I said. ‘You know what I said about the Underwood girl was right.’

‘All I know is that you’ve come into this station all guns blazing and trying to make a name for yourself,’ he said, stepping away from the closed door and towards me. He puffed out his chest like a gorilla spoiling for a fight. Is that what he wanted? Did he want to fight me? He was a cop and so was I. We didn’t beat each other up. That was for the school yard, right? He came close enough for our noses to almost touch. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and upper lip. He stank of sweat.

‘You need to take a shower and cool off,’ I said.

He grabbed my collar and slammed me back into the locker. I was momentarily stunned. Not because I was hurt or in pain, but because this was something that would happen in school. But why
was I surprised? Jackson was nothing more than a bully.

He had one hand pressed against my chest; I glanced down and couldn’t help noticing the indentation on his finger where there had once been a wedding ring. I pushed him away and stepped aside.

‘Grow up, Jackson,’ I said. ‘You’re behaving like a freaking child.’

He came towards me again, his lips a grim line, his eyebrows knitted together over the bridge of his nose as he glared back at me.

‘The only one who needs to grow up around here is you, Henson,’ he snarled. ‘You think you know it all. You think you can come in here and make me look like a jerk in front of scum like Jason Lane.’

‘He hadn’t done anything wrong,’ I reminded him. ‘He was just a scared kid …’

‘He’s an animal,’ Jackson seethed.

‘Despite what you think of him, he has rights,’ I told him.

‘See, there you go again,’ Jackson grimaced. ‘You think you can tell me how to do my job. I was nicking scum like Lane while you were still having your arse wiped by your mum.’

‘And I was learning about the Human Rights Act at training school while you were beating the shit out of some petty thief,’ I shot back.

‘You think you’re so goddamn smart, don’t you?’ Jackson said, getting even more in my face.

I didn’t budge. I hit back with just two words.

‘Natalie Dean,’ I said.

Jackson’s eyes widened as if I had just punched him in the face.

‘Natalie Dean,’ I said again, sensing his weakness. ‘You dealt with her case, didn’t you?’ I didn’t know this for sure, but I sensed it by the look of shock in his eyes.

‘You don’t know shit, Henson,’ Jackson barked.

‘She died just like Kerry Underwood, didn’t she?’ I said, taking a step closer. ‘She was killed by a train and let me guess … you
wrapped the job up just like you want to wrap up Kerry’s death. You wanted to put it down as a death by misadventure.’

‘You weren’t there, Henson,’ he said, his voice full of bitterness. ‘So you know nothing.’

‘Let me see,’ I said as if pondering the facts. I stalked across the locker room like Sherlock Holmes. ‘Natalie Dean was found lying across a set of railway lines late at night. She had been drinking and the driver said she looked as if she were asleep. Then Jackson-of-the-yard showed up and worked his detective magic …’

‘Natalie Dean had enough booze in her veins to fill a brewery,’ Jackson cut in.

‘And took a short cut home across the tracks, where she fell down and was run over by a passing train,’ I finished for him.

‘So?’ Jackson shrugged his giant shoulders. ‘What’s your point?’

‘My point is that you haven’t been investigating these deaths properly,’ I snapped at him. Now it was my turn to be angry. ‘Two girls die in exactly the same circumstances just a few weeks apart and you don’t see any connection?’

‘Kids are always screwing about on the tracks,’ he shot back. ‘They’re always taking short cuts across ’em. It’s no big deal.’

‘No big deal?’ I gasped. ‘Two young women just lost their lives. Maybe you should go and see Mrs Underwood and tell her that her daughter’s death was no big deal.’

‘Stop trying to put words in my mouth,’ Jackson growled. ‘You know that’s not what I meant.’

‘No, I don’t know what you meant,’ I said. ‘But one thing I do know is that you’re meant to be a police officer, Jackson. That’s meant to stand for something.’

‘Don’t you dare stand there and preach to me,’ Jackson boomed, the veins on his neck throbbing.

‘And don’t you dare try and tell me that there is no connection between the Dean and Underwood cases,’ I roared back. ‘You
should have told me about the Natalie Dean case. We’re meant to be on the same team. But you couldn’t tell me, could you, Jackson? Because the Guv might have gone back and looked more closely at the Dean case. He might have seen what an incompetent job you’d carried out. The Guv might have seen at last what a joker you really are … or is there another reason you didn’t want the Guv or anyone else to look too closely into the deaths of Natalie Dean and Kerry Underwood?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Jackson hissed.

Before I’d had the chance to explain what I meant, and I wasn’t sure that I could, the door to the locker room flew open. Harker stood in the open doorway, his face ashen and his cold eyes boring into mine.

Pointing a finger at me, he said, ‘You, my office, now!’

Charley – Tuesday: 21:13 Hrs.

I
pushed the front door open, stepped out of the wind and rain and into the hall. My father appeared as soon as I closed the door. It was like he had been waiting for me. He looked me up and down, his eyes narrowing into slits. He saw the mud caked over my wellies, the dead leaves stuck to my coat and the twigs trapped in my hair.

‘I thought that copper was taking you for breakfast, not camping. You’ve been out with him all day.’

‘His name is Tom,’ I said, kicking my boots free.

‘So?’ he said, watching me pull twigs and leaves from my hair. ‘Where have you been? Not McDonalds, that’s for sure.’

I pulled off my damp coat and hung it up. As I brushed past him he took me by the arm and swung me round to face him.

‘Where have you been?’ he asked.

I couldn’t lie to my father. I didn’t want to. I had nothing to hide and I’d done nothing wrong. ‘Tom took me back to where that girl … Kerry—’

‘See, I told you.’

‘You told me what?’ I asked, knowing exactly what he was going to say next.

‘The cop is using you, Charley,’ he insisted. ‘Can’t you see that?’

‘He just wants to help catch the man who killed that girl, and so do I,’ I said, shaking free of his grip. ‘Besides, I think whoever killed Kerry Underwood also killed Natalie.’

He drew a deep breath. ‘Just listen to what you’re saying. Natalie died in a tragic accident. She wasn’t killed by anyone. You’re making links to stuff that isn’t really there. You’re seeing all these strange things inside your head and then trying to make connections with what’s happening in the real world.’

‘No I’m not,’ I said.

‘At first you said you saw a girl called Kerry being murdered. Now you’re saying your friend Natalie was killed by the same person? What, is this guy now suddenly a serial killer? It just doesn’t make sense, Charley, and it’s got to stop.’

‘It does make sense. If only you could see what I see in my flashes then you’d believe me, like Tom does.’

He looked at me as I placed one foot on the stairs, and I could see him fighting to stay calm. He took one of my hands in his, and held it gently. ‘Charley, this copper … Tom … he doesn’t really believe you. He fancies you, that’s all. I don’t blame him for that. He’s a young man and you’re a beautiful girl – of course he’s going to like you.’

I remembered how Tom had kissed me. It was more than him just trying to make a pass at me. The kiss had been gentle, like it had meant something.

‘Charley, some guys will say anything to please a pretty girl. If he really believed you, then he wouldn’t be sneaking you up to
where that girl was killed. He would be taking a statement and making it official.’

‘He can’t tell anyone, because no one will believe him …’ I started.

‘And that’s the point I’m trying to make, Charley,’ my father said, gently squeezing my hand. ‘How can he get his mates in the police to believe when he doesn’t truly believe himself?’

I didn’t want my father to put doubts in my head about Tom. He did believe me. Tom had risked a lot to take me up to the scene again. He wanted to find the killer just as much as I did. He’d said we were a team.

‘You’re wrong about Tom,’ I whispered, slowly sliding my hand free. ‘He does believe me, Dad. I just wish you did.’

I turned my back on him and climbed the stairs to my room. I didn’t look back. I heard him grab his coat from the hook then the front door opened. A rush of cold air swept up the stairs after me, and then the front door slammed shut, rattling in its frame.

I showered, washed the mud from my hair, changed into my pyjamas then climbed into bed. As I knew they would, those images of what I had seen up on the dirt road kept going around and around in my head. To try and block them out, I listened to
The One That Got Away
by Katy Perry on my iPod. I loved the song. I stuck it on repeat, but it still did little to block out those pictures.

I sat up and drew my knees up under my chin. Why had my dad said that stuff?

Because I’m his daughter and he’s worried.

Was Tom really using me? Did he really believe in my flashes? I picked up my iPhone to text him. I needed some reassurance:
Thanx 4 believing in me x

I waited for Tom’s reply with the phone still in my hand. A few minutes passed.

Then a few more.

Would he text back?

Perhaps he was too busy at work.

Maybe my father was right.

But Tom had kissed me.

The phone vibrated. I opened the message. My heart felt like it had stopped. I dropped the phone.

With my hands covering my eyes, I peered through my fingers and read the message.

Don’t cut me off

Not like Natalie

Don’t lose the connection

I picked up the phone with my fingertips. The number was the one Tom had given me – the number I had called from my phone. With my heart now racing like a trip hammer in my chest, I knew the text had come from Kerry.

Tom – Tuesday: 22:16 Hrs.

H
arker slammed his office door with such force the framed pictures of himself receiving commendations shook on the walls. He marched around his desk, loosened his tie and sat down. His shock of white hair shone beneath the glare of the fluorescent strip lighting. Harker couldn’t have been any older than forty-five but the wrinkles around his eyes and across his brow made him look older.

‘Sit down,’ he barked, flapping his hand towards a chair.

‘I was just in the middle of my supper when you started to kick off,’ he said, picking up a half-eaten sandwich and taking a bite. Mayonnaise oozed onto his chin. He wiped it away with a piece of crinkled tissue paper. ‘So what
is
your problem?’

‘Jason Lane isn’t responsible for taking Kerry Underwood up to the railway tracks,’ I said.

‘What makes you so sure?’ he asked, chewing the remains of his sandwich.

How did I answer that? I didn’t think the ‘no mud on the trainers’ routine would work either. ‘Just a gut instinct, I guess. My copper’s nose,’ I said eventually. ‘He seemed really upset during the interview last night.’

‘I’d be upset if I thought I was responsible for that poor cow’s death,’ Harker said. ‘If Jackson is right and Lane did take the girl against her will, then he’s in a whole load of shit.’

‘He didn’t do it,’ I told him. Jackson and Harker were wasting their time while the real monster was out there, perhaps even preparing to take his next victim. If that happened – if another girl lost her life and I hadn’t done anything to stop it, how could I live with that?

‘Well, there’s the trick. If all we’ve got to go on is your gut instinct, then that isn’t good enough.’ He screwed up the grease-proof paper his sandwich had been wrapped in and threw it in the wastepaper bin on the other side of his office. ‘I need evidence.’

‘Yeah, I know all that, but this is different,’ I said, my stomach knotting like I was just about to sit for an exam I hadn’t bothered to study for.

‘Oh? How come?’ Harker said, doing that thing with his bushy eyebrows again.

I took a deep breath, then said, ‘Kerry was taken up to the railway lines by a man, but it wasn’t Lane.’

‘Who then?’ he asked.

I knew I had his full attention. I whistled through my teeth, my heart racing, but I had to say something. ‘What I can tell you is the man drives a white car, and there will be scratches down the back somewhere. Kerry struggled with him and scratched the paint-work. There will be white paint under her fingernails—’

‘Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Stop right there,’ Harker cut in. ‘Where did all this come from?’

I shook my head and said, ‘Just let me finish.’

He stared at me blankly for the next ten minutes or so, while I told him everything Charley had seen in her flashes.

Once I’d finished, there was an awful silence, louder than any noise. Just when I thought I couldn’t bear it any longer, Harker spoke.

‘So how do you know all this?’

Now came the hard part. ‘My … a girl I know told me.’

‘Your
girlfriend
?’ Harker asked.

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ I said, not able to meet the intensity of his stare.

‘I couldn’t give a crap if she’s your mother. How in the hell does she know?’ Harker snapped.

‘I took her up to that place …’ I said, but it was barely a whisper.

‘You did what?’ Harker roared, shooting up out of his seat. It was then, seeing his reaction, I fully understood the seriousness of what I had done.

Then I began digging an even deeper hole for myself to be buried in. ‘Charley … that’s her name … sees things.’

‘Are you winding me up?’ Harker asked, sounding as if he were catching his breath.

‘It’s true,’ I said, now looking at him. ‘Charley has flashes.’

‘
Flashes
?’ Harker roared. ‘What are
flashes
?’

‘They’re like pictures inside her head.’ I tried to explain, desperate to find the right words – words that didn’t make me sound as if I were losing my mind.

‘So let me get this right,’ Harker said, coming round his desk to stand over me. ‘I’ve had two of my best officers interviewing witnesses today, collecting CCTV and gathering evidence – doing real police work, when all the time I should’ve called up your girlfriend and got her to solve the case with the help of these
flashes
?’

I looked at him, not knowing what to say.

‘Have you lost your frigging mind?’ he snapped, eyeballs
bulging. ‘I took a chance on you the other night. I listened to what you had to say over Jackson, an experienced officer, and I was pleased to say your hunch was right. There was more to Kerry’s death than her just taking a short cut. But now you have the nerve to question the ability of one of my officers, compromise the investigation into the death of a young woman on the say-so of your girlfriend?’

‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ I said. ‘But what Charley sees is true. You have to believe me. Lane isn’t part of this and you’re just wasting time.’

‘How dare you!’ Harker bellowed, looking as if he wanted to punch me. ‘How dare you sit there and tell me that I’m wasting my time. The only time I’ve wasted recently is giving you the opportunity of coming onto my team.’

‘But what I’m telling you is true,’ I insisted, taking my pocket note book from my coat. ‘No one has found Kerry’s mobile phone, right?’

‘Take some advice, Henson,’ Harker said, ‘don’t make this any worse for yourself.’

‘No, listen to me,’ I said, sounding too needy. ‘Charley told me that in her flashes, she heard Kerry’s ringtone. She said it was an Ellie Goulding song called
Burn
.’

‘So not only does your girlfriend see things, she
hears
things too!’ Harker groaned in disbelief. ‘I tell you what, Henson, I can’t believe I’m
hearing
this shit from a so-called professional copper!’

I found the Underwoods’ home phone number in my note book and dialled it on Harker’s desk phone.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Harker seethed, trying to snatch the phone from my hand.

I pulled away, praying that either Mr or Mrs Underwood answered the phone before Harker wrestled it from me.

‘Hello?’ It was Mr Underwood.

‘Hello, Mr Underwood,’ I said, looking at Harker. ‘It’s
Constable Henson, we met the other night.’

‘Yes, is there some news?’ Mr Underwood asked hopefully.

‘I’m sorry, there’s no news,’ I said into the phone. ‘We are having problems finding Kerry’s mobile. I was wondering if it had something unique about it. For instance, did it have a distinctive ringtone?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Let me ask my wife.’

In the background, I could hear him talking to Mrs Underwood.

Harker continued to stare at me, his face flushed.

‘Constable Henson, are you still there?’ Mr Underwood asked.

‘Yes, I’m here,’ I told him and switched on the speaker so Harker could hear what Mr Underwood said.

‘My wife thinks Kerry downloaded a song by a singer called Ellie Goulding,’ he said, his voice wobbling.

‘Can your wife remember which song?’ I asked.

‘
Burn
,’ Mr Underwood said. ‘It was Kerry’s favourite.’

‘Thank you,’ I whispered, glancing at Harker.

‘Is there a problem?’ Underwood asked.

‘No problem,’ I assured him. ‘Thank you, you’ve been a great help. Someone will be in contact with you shortly.’

‘Okay, thank you,’ he said and the phone went dead.

I replaced the receiver and looked at Harker. ‘How would Charley have known that?’ I asked him.

‘Millions of girls probably have that ringtone,’ he snapped.

‘Don’t you think it’s just a bit of a coincidence?’ I asked.

‘I’ll tell you what I think, shall I?’ Harker said, closing the gap between us. ‘I think you’re so desperate to impress that you’ll do or say anything to score points against Jackson.’

‘That’s not true,’ I insisted.

‘I don’t really care what you believe
is
and
isn’t
true,’ Harker said. ‘I want you to get your stuff together and go home. Take a few days annual leave and have a good long think about what you’ve done.
And while you’re off, make sure you iron your uniform, because you won’t be coming back to CID. You’re off the team.’

‘But …’

‘Just get out of my sight,’ Harker said, and I thought I detected just the slightest hint of disappointment in his voice.

With my head hung low, I walked to the door. I opened it just an inch, and then looked back at him. ‘Jason Lane wasn’t involved in Kerry’s death, it was someone else and he’s done this before. Other girls have died in the same way.’

‘Bollocks,’ Harker said, sitting back behind his desk. ‘We would know about them if there had been others.’

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ I said, looking straight at him. ‘Because there are too many officers out there like Jackson who are all too eager to put the deaths down as suicide or accidents for an easy clear up. Go and check out the case of a girl named Natalie Dean.’

Harker sat back in his seat, his face hard and tired. ‘Have you finished?’ he asked me.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Then piss off. I’m sick of looking at you.’ Harker picked up some of the paperwork that littered his desk and started to thumb through it.