Trespass (P.I. Johnson Carmichael Series - Book 2) (21 page)

‘The name
Darren Watkins
appears on the birth certificate of Beth Roper’s daughter Lauren.’

‘Oh my,’ replied the cleric with an ashen face.

‘Beth claimed that the two of you had…been intimate and…Lauren was the result.’

‘Oh gosh…I can confirm that I did have a one night stand with Beth, back when I was trying to ignore God’s calling. It was a meaningless fumble in the dark…I must confess I was very drunk and in those days was not so prepared to accept responsibility for my actions.’

‘Did you know Beth had had a daughter?’

‘I remember she disappeared from the school for a year with no explanation given. There were rumours, of course, and one of those rumours was that she was pregnant but she never told me. I tried to write to her when I was in Rome to meet up. I wanted to explain the decision I had made. Part of my training required me to re-visit past mistakes, and my one night stand with Beth was the worst sin I had committed…she never replied to me. I wrote to her twice, but when I received no response, I assumed that she was too hurt or ashamed of me to get in touch. I had forgotten the rumours by this stage and assumed that she had moved on with her life. I had always intended to get back in touch with her when I returned but I suppose the memory faded…’

‘So you never knew you had a daughter?’

‘Good gosh, no. If I had known, I would have…well, I don’t know what I would have done.’

‘Does it cause problems for you? I mean with the whole celibacy thing?’

‘No, no. I will have to tell the Bishop, but it was before I took Holy Orders so it is okay. I won’t be excommunicated or anything like that.’

The priest looked a little bit more relaxed but Carmichael was dreading the next part.

‘You said her name is Lauren? Do you think it would be possible…to…meet her? Or do you think that would be inappropriate?’

‘Father Ambrose, I wish I didn’t have to tell you this but…Lauren died this week.’

The priest raised a hand to his mouth in shock, ‘What happened?’

‘It is not clear yet, to be honest. She was killed in her flat on Friday. The police believe she was murdered.’

‘Murdered? Oh no. Goodness, this is a lot to take in.’

‘I am so sorry to be the one to tell you. I wish there was something I could say…’

‘Is Beth okay? She must be distraught?’

‘Beth Roper passed away last year. She had an aggressive form of cancer.’

Carmichael felt awkward watching the man silently weeping, regretting a family he never knew existed.

‘She was a nurse: your daughter, and a good one by all accounts. You should be very proud that she chose a profession that would make a difference, much like your own,’ he offered.

‘Do the police know why?’ he asked after a time.

‘They’re investigating at the moment to be honest. That was why I was looking for you to be honest.’

‘Me? How can I help?’

‘This is going to sound crazy in light of everything we’ve discussed, but I suspected that you might have been the person who…y’know.’

‘Why on earth would you think that?’

‘Beth Roper was sexually assaulted in nineteen eighty-nine but she didn’t tell anyone until she confessed everything to Lauren on her death bed. Lauren came to see me as she wanted to find the man who had attacked her mother all those years ago. The police believe that the two incidents could be linked. I have to say, I agree with their theory. It was only after Lauren started to ask questions about the attack on her mother that she was attacked herself.’

‘And you thought I had attacked Beth?’ Ambrose asked as the penny dropped.

‘Statistically speaking, the most common of sexual assaults are inflicted by people who are close to the victim. Lauren mentioned to me that her mother had always been quite guarded over the identity of her father and so…as I say it seems silly now.’

‘For the record Mr Carmichael, I did not assault Beth Roper.’

‘That’s fine, Father, I appreciate that now. I’m sorry I ever suspected you.’

‘Will there be a…funeral for Lauren?’

‘I don’t know to be honest. I can give you the name of the detective heading up the investigation. She seems pretty sound so I’m sure you could rely on her
discretion
.’

The priest nodded his acknowledgement and showed Carmichael back out to the main door.

‘I wish our meeting could have been under better circumstances,’ Carmichael said as he stepped outside.

‘So do I Mr Carmichael. Please don’t feel bad about this, you did the right thing in finding me. It is not
your
fault that I never met my daughter. Please don’t feel responsible. I probably will contact that detective to see if I can see her body. I’d like the opportunity to say good bye.’

Carmichael thanked the priest for his time and headed back to his car. As he did his mobile phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out to find he had received a text message. It was from an unknown number but he figured it must have been the barman from
The King’s Arms
as all it read was: ‘Carl is here now.’ Carmichael strapped on his seat belt and started the engine.

It was twenty minutes before Carmichael arrived in Eastleigh and it was shortly after midday. He pulled into the pub’s car park, and headed in through the rear entrance. He saw Carl at the opposite end of the bar sipping from a pint glass and reviewing the sports pages of some tabloid or other.

‘Stan Pensa,’ Carmichael shouted. ‘Or should that be Carl?’

Carl froze as he heard the voice and as the two men’s eyes made contact he knew he was in trouble. He slammed his pint glass down and bolted for the nearest exit, which happened to be just behind him.

Shit
, thought Carmichael, not prepared for a chase. He ran through the bar to the same exit and as he tore out of the door he looked left and right and caught a glimpse of Carl to the left, just turning a corner at the far end of the street.

Christ! He’s quicker than I thought
.

Carmichael ran off in the same direction. He knew these back streets pretty well, having worked in the area for a number of years, but he had no idea where Carl was running to. If the escapee managed to maintain this pace, there was every chance he would lose him. He turned the corner and saw Carl was fifty metres or so down the road, running for his life. For someone that spent most of his time drinking beer and scrounging off the state, he looked like someone who was used to being chased. It had been at least a year since Carmichael had done anything he could truly describe as sport. Thankfully, he had been a pretty good athlete in his heyday, even if those muscles were a little rusty, at least they were there.

At the far end of the street Carl made a fatal mistake, turning left again into the industrial estate where Carmichael’s office was. It was a dead end as there was only one way in and out of the estate. He felt he was beginning to gain on his prey and now there was barely forty metres between them.

‘I’m gonna catch you, you prick!’ he shouted.

Carl must have heard him, as he turned to check the distance between them, but this caused him to lose his footing and he crashed to the ground. He didn’t stay down for long, and was quickly back up on his feet, but the stumble had cost him another couple of metres and he had bashed his knee in the process, meaning his running was now more laboured. Carmichael grew closer and closer and when there was only two metres between them, he leapt through the air and landed on Carl’s back, sending the pair of them to the floor. The weight of Carmichael landing on him was enough to incapacitate Carl and he relented.

‘Hello Carl,’ Carmichael whispered breathlessly into his ear. ‘What you running for? Hey? I thought you were a bit of a hard man and that I should watch my back?’

He hoisted Carl up so the two men were face to face.

‘Where were you running to at this time of day, huh?’

‘Oh it’s you, Mr Carmichael,’ he quickly offered. ‘I thought you was someone else, see? If I had known it was you in the bar I wouldn’t ’ave run.’

Always a bull-shitter
.

‘Is that right, Carl? I think we need to have a little chat, don’t you?’

Carl gulped as he feared what kind of ‘little chat’ Carmichael had in mind. There was an intensity to the investigator’s eyes that was sending a shiver through his spine.

‘You are going to tell me exactly what I want to know: you are going to tell me who hired you to threaten me, why and who raped and killed Lauren Roper. Oh, and Carl? If I even sense that you are lying to me, I will kill you. Be warned Carl, I’ve done it before and wouldn’t hesitate to rid the world of a piece of scum like you. Do you understand?’

He didn’t wait for an answer and instead dragged Carl back to the pub car park. When they arrived, he opened the boot of his car and forced Carl into it, before closing the lid. He needed to find somewhere they could go where they wouldn’t be disturbed. He had a place in mind but decided to take an elongated route to get there. He wanted Carl to sweat a bit first.

*

He drove around in circles for over an hour before he eventually pulled the car up in a vacant parking point in the New Forest. It looked pretty overcast overhead and he knew it wouldn’t be long before it started raining. He had stopped at his flat on the way to pick up a couple of tools to help extract the confession he was looking for. He had visited this spot several times down the years, not far from Lyndhurst, it was a popular picnic spot. There were several places along this particular stretch of road for cars to pull up and park but not many were brave enough to venture out at this time of year.

He opened the boot and wasn’t surprised when Carl leapt out and tried to run. Carmichael grabbed his shoulder and forced him back down.

‘Do you know where we are?’ he asked.

Carl looked around but had no idea.

‘We are in the middle of the New Forest. There is nobody around us for miles and miles. It’s very quiet here, so even if you did scream or shout, nobody would hear you. Give it a go, call for help.’

Carl looked at him to try and sense if he was joking.

‘Go on, Carl. Shout for help, see what happens.’

‘Help!’ Carl shouted at the top of his voice.

There was a slight echo but otherwise it remained quiet.

‘See what I mean? I wanted you to understand that nobody will hear us out here, no matter how loud you scream. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.’

Carmichael revealed the tool belt he had picked up from his flat. It contained a small hammer, a set of pliers, some secateurs and a saw.

‘I am very practiced at extracting confessions from my captives. There is a shovel on the back seat, go and collect it for me.’

Carl did as he was instructed and as he picked it up, he wondered if he could use it as a weapon. He reconsidered when he turned and saw Carmichael pointing a small calibre pistol at him.

‘I brought this along too, just in case you thought about trying to run. Sure, its range is nothing to write home about, but pressed up against your temple, it will end you. Start walking.’

He waved the gun in the direction of the trees and the two men headed deeper into the forest. After two minutes walking, they emerged into a clearing.

‘Right, stop here,’ he said, ‘and start digging.’

‘Please, Mr Carmichael?’ Carl begged. ‘I’ll tell you everything you want to know. You don’t need to do this.’

‘Oh I know you will Carl,’ he said leaning in, ‘but I’m not going to dig the fucking hole myself, so get on with it.’

A trickling sound was quickly followed by the smell of urine and he saw that Carl had wet himself.

‘Oh Carl, you’re not so hard now are you? Now dig that fucking hole before I lose my patience.’

Carl thrust the shovel into the soft ground and threw the dirt over to his left. He wept silently as the hole began to grow larger.

‘How tall would you say you are?’ Carmichael asked as rain started to fall.

‘I don’t know,’ Carl replied without looking up. Maybe five-eight.’

‘Okay, well make sure the hole is long enough as well as deep enough. Three feet down should be far enough. This place isn’t visited by many dog walkers, so they probably won’t discover you until March at the earliest. I’ll be long gone by then.’

‘Please, Mr Carmichael? I’ll tell you everything. Please?’

Satisfied that the psychological torture had gone on long enough, he told Carl to lie down in the hole and start talking. He did as he was told.

‘Who hired you, Carl? Who told you to find me in
The King’s Arms
on Friday?’

‘His name is Tony Green. He’s someone I know from back in the day.’

‘So he’s a mate?’

‘Not exactly. I see him at the track sometimes, we have a pint, that’s about it.’

‘Why did he hire you?’

‘He phoned me up on Thursday night, said you were giving him some bother and he wanted you to leave his family alone. He told me he’d give me fifty quid if I acted all heavy with you.’

‘What else did he tell you to do?’

‘Nothing! That was it.’

‘What about Lauren Roper?’

‘Who?’

‘The woman who hired me. You threatened her life when we were in the pub.’

‘I don’t know her. I don’t know that name. Tony told me just to warn you off.’

‘Bullshit! You killed her.’

‘No I never!’

‘Really? Who did then? She was raped and stabbed on Friday afternoon, right after our encounter. Who attacked her if it wasn’t you?’

‘I don’t know. I know nothin’ about that.’

‘Did Green tell you to hurt her? Did he offer you extra cash if you made her suffer?’

‘No! I swear I don’t know who you’re on about. Please, Mr Carmichael? On my life!’

‘What about James Benold? Do you know him too?’

‘I don’t know no James Benold,’ he begged.

The rain was falling now and Carmichael was keen to get back to his car.

‘Close your eyes, Carl,’ Carmichael said.

‘Oh God, please? No?’

Carl kept his eyes closed and waited for the sound of the gun but after thirty seconds he was still breathing. He opened his eyes and saw that he was alone. Carmichael was gone and so was the shovel. Carl remained in the hole for another ten minutes weeping, grateful that his life had been spared.