[Knight and Culverhouse 09] - In Plain Sight

by Adam Croft

  The way in which she said it made Jack’s heart lurch.

  ‘Like what?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m in hospital,’ she said. ‘I was attacked.’

  42

  Jack drove to the hospital as quickly as he legally could. She’d asked him not to, but there was no way he was going to listen to that.

  She hadn’t given him many details — just that she was walking back to her car in the school car park after work and had been set upon by two men. She said she was fine — just a bit bruised — but had accidentally let slip that they’d also managed to break her leg.

  Uniformed officers had already attended and taken a statement, but Jack wasn’t visiting on official police business — not that he told the ward sister that.

  He showed her his police identification and asked which bed Chrissie was in, before following the instructions to take the second room on the left, where he’d find her in bed six. Visiting hours were long over, and this was the only way he’d be able to get to see her before tomorrow.

  Bed six did at least have a window view, not that it mattered much as it was now dark and, in any case, the view was of Mildenheath.

  Chrissie was asleep, so Jack nudged her gently awake.

  ‘Jack? What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to see you, you daft cow. You dropped off to sleep pretty quick, didn’t you? I was only on the phone to you ten minutes ago.’

  ‘It’s these painkillers,’ she said, wincing as she tried to make herself more comfortable.

  ‘Are they good?’

  ‘Define “good”. They don’t do anything for the pain, but they definitely stop me giving a shit.’

  ‘I reckon I could do with a few of those myself. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Like I’ve been decked by two blokes in a car park.’

  Jack let out a deep sigh. ‘Yeah. I can imagine. Did you manage to get a look at them?’

  Chrissie shook her head. ‘A colleague of yours already took a statement. Uniform. Rashid, I think his name was.’

  ‘Think I know the one,’ Jack said, the name ringing a vague bell at the back of his mind from a previous case. ‘What are we looking at? Black clothing and balaclavas, I suppose?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. I didn’t see them. By the time I knew what was happening, I was face-down on the ground and they were running away.’

  ‘Anything nicked?’

  ‘No. That’s the weirdest thing about it. They left my handbag and my car keys, which I had in my hand. They didn’t take a thing.’

  Jack knew this wasn’t a coincidence. They were sending him a message. ‘Probably just drunken yobs,’ he said.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry about the Emily thing. I know we both said it was fine, but I should have mentioned something sooner.’

  ‘No,’ Jack replied, shaking his head. ‘You did the right thing not to get involved. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. It’s… There’s probably a few things me and Emily need to talk about. And we’ll probably need to loop you in on that, too.’

  ‘As her headteacher or as… Well, as whatever else you’d call me.’

  ‘Hop-along?’ he said, gesturing towards her leg.

  Chrissie laughed, then winced again at the pain of doing so. ‘I was thinking more “significant other”, but I’ll take what I can get.’

  Jack’s face turned serious again. ‘You know what? You have a right to know. Whether it’s as her headteacher or as my… hop-along. There’s a reason she’s been late to school and why she’s been distant. She’s pregnant.’

  ‘Oh wow. Okay. It might be these drugs, but I’m going to have to make you repeat that.’

  ‘Yeah. I had much the same response, except for the drugs bit. Wouldn’t have minded being smacked off my tits when that bombshell dropped, I tell you.’

  ‘How did it go down? Did she just come out and tell you?’

  Jack shuffled awkwardly. ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘You spied on her, didn’t you.’

  ‘I found out of my own accord, if that’s what you mean.’

  Chrissie, in her own inimitable way, continued without judgement. ‘How did she react?’

  ‘How do you think?’

  ‘Loudly.’

  ‘That’s pretty much it, yeah. She made me out to be the villain for wanting to support her. I just don’t know what to do, Chrissie. It’s all fucking up around me.’

  ‘Well, first of all you can stop moping. At least you can walk. And see out of both eyes. This is your chance to be a good dad to her. She won’t see it at the moment because it’s all fresh and dramatic, and she’s hormonal. But give her a bit of space and let her know you’re there for her. She needs a support network right now. It’s a huge moment for her.’

  ‘It’s huge for me too.’

  ‘My sister had a baby when she was young,’ Chrissie said, staring off into the middle distance. ‘Sixteen, she was. It totally changed her life and her relationship with our mum and dad. She was sort of elevated to being their equal, in a way. It was like she had to step forward and move into that next stage of life. This could be Emily’s chance to get some sort of grounding in life.’

  ‘I know. I get that.’

  ‘You’ve got to keep your arms open to her, Jack.’

  ‘I’m trying. But whatever I do, I seem to just keep pushing people away. I don’t even do it on purpose. I just… I dunno. Maybe that’s why I never get close to people. Look what happens when I do. You got too close and you’ve ended up in here. I’m bad news, Chrissie. Where I go, stuff falls apart. Trust me, I’ll totally understand if you want to get away from me. I wouldn’t blame you one bit. It’d probably be the best thing for you.’

  ‘Jack, listen to me,’ Chrissie said, her face stern. ‘I’m going nowhere, alright? I’m a big girl now. I can stand up for myself. On two legs, eventually. You need to stop worrying, stop looking backwards and do just one thing.’

  Jack looked up at her, holding back his tears. ‘What’s that?’ he asked.

  Chrissie pointed to her leg. ‘You go out there and catch the bastards who did this.’

  43

  Damian King was having the time of his life. The guy out front had been spot on — this girl was the bomb!

  The basement room was usually reserved for high-paying clients or multi-person events. Damian had never been down there before, but he could see why people paid good money for it.

  There was all sorts of bizarre apparatus hanging from the walls and ceilings. Damian wasn’t interested in using it — it wasn’t really his scene — but the girl, who’d introduced herself as Sylvia, was keen to experiment with him.

  ‘I hear you’ve been a naughty little boy,’ Sylvia said, whispering softly into his ear as she played with his manhood.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Damian replied between groans of pleasure. ‘Very naughty.’

  ‘In that case, I think I need to tie you to my special board.’

  ‘I’m… Mmm, I’m not usually a fan of being tied up,’ Damian said, struggling to get the words out as he glanced down at what she was doing.

  ‘Oh I think you’re going to like this,’ she said. ‘Besides which, it’s what you deserve for being a naughty little boy.’

  She tightened her grip slightly, making Damian moan in ecstasy. ‘Yes, miss. Whatever you say, miss.’

  ‘Good boy,’ she whispered, her breath hot on his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

  She led him over to the far wall and stood him on a small platform, before tying his arms up above his head and binding his ankles beneath him.

  A million and one thoughts went through Damian’s mind. He couldn’t help but admitting he was getting even more turned on by being tied up here, stark naked, completely at the whim of whatever Sylvia wanted to do to him. And he wanted her to do a lot to him.

  ‘Oh god,’ he said. ‘You’re definitely my new favourite. I need to see you more. All the time. God. Fuck.’

  He felt a bit bad about
letting down the woman he wanted to marry, but women were ten a penny. If this one liked him as much as he liked her, she was a keeper. He could do this a thousand times over. A million. The money didn’t matter.

  ‘Now you know what naughty little boys get, don’t you?’ Sylvia said, bending down beside the apparatus and reaching into a bag.

  ’N… No miss.’

  ‘They get punished.’

  ‘Y… Yes miss.’

  Before Damian could realise what was happening, Sylvia raised the gun and dispatched two bullets between his eyes.

  44

  Jack Culverhouse wasn’t in the business of letting people down, and that sense of responsibility was never greater than with those close to him. Few people had got truly close to him over the years, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care for them. And when it came to Emily and Chrissie, he felt ultra-protective.

  Chrissie was safe for now. That could be dealt with in the fresh light of day tomorrow. For now, he had other, more pressing business to take care of.

  Jack had committed Ethan Turner’s address to memory after looking him up again on the Police National Computer earlier that day. He’d moved since Jack had last searched for his address, to a flat on a grotty estate Jack’d had the misfortune of visiting a number of times throughout his career.

  He drove over there straight from the hospital, parking his car on the edge of the estate in an area he reasoned might at least be verging on safe, and walked the rest of the way.

  When he found the right building, he opened the front door and made his way up to the third floor, where flat nine was situated. A flat on the ground floor was either having a party or doing a good job of pissing off the neighbours, the heavy bassline of the music pounding through the building. A couple on the first floor were having a blazing row in an Eastern European language. The third floor seemed relatively calm in comparison, but it was fair to say it was a shithole.

  Jack didn’t know who had responsibility in cleaning the building, but it was pretty clear no-one was stepping up to the mark. It looked as if the floor hadn’t been mopped in months, and the rising damp on the walls showed a distinct lack of care and maintenance. There was no way a baby could be brought up in these conditions. But, at the same time, there seemed to be no way Emily would return to him without something drastic happening.

  He knocked gingerly on the door, determined to see his daughter and clear the air, but also nervous as to what he might find — and how he might react.

  A few seconds later, the door opened, and Ethan Turner was in front of him, recognising Jack immediately and clearly a little surprised, even though he tried not to show it.

  ‘What do you want?’ Turner said, turning on the big boy act.

  ‘I want to speak to Emily,’ Jack replied, keeping as calm as he could.

  ‘She don’t want to speak to you. How’d you find this place?’

  Jack rolled his eyes. ‘I’m a police officer, Ethan. It’s my job to find things.’

  Ethan’s body language stiffened, almost as if he didn’t know that crucial piece of information about him.

  Jack tried to calm the atmosphere. ‘Listen, I’m not here on police business. None of that bothers me right now. I’m not interested in anything else except Emily.’

  ‘What, you trying to say I’m doing illegal stuff and you’re just gonna ignore it? What proof you got?’ Ethan said, taking a step forward, hoping to rile Jack into attacking.

  ‘I’m not saying anything of the sort. I’m saying I’m here to speak to Emily, as her father. I don’t have any beef with you, and I’m not here to pick a fight. I want to clear the air with her.’

  At that moment, he saw Emily step into the corridor behind Ethan. She’d been crying, but didn’t say a word.

  ‘She don’t want to talk to you, bruv,’ Ethan said.

  Jack looked over his shoulder to his daughter. ‘Em?’

  ‘Mate, don’t ignore me,’ Ethan said, taking another step forward until he was nose to nose with Jack. ‘This is my fucking flat, yeah? You talk to me, yeah?’

  ‘Ethan, leave it,’ Emily said, taking his hand and tugging him gently backwards. ‘Please. Let me just talk to him for a couple of minutes, then he’ll be gone.’

  Ethan didn’t break eye contact with Jack, but slowly nodded. ‘Alright. But the cunt ain’t coming in here. He stays out there on the landing with the other rats.’

  Ethan turned and walked back down the corridor and off into a side room, slamming the door behind him. Jack was now face to face with his daughter.

  ‘Em, I’m sorry. I could come up with a million excuses or try to justify it, but that won’t change anything. All that matters is that I’m sorry. Trust me, I just want to help.’

  ‘By spying on me?’

  ‘I said sorry. Look, I just want us to be a family. You have no idea how much it meant to me when you came back into my life. I had every emotion under the sun, but all that mattered were the good ones. It felt like I’d been given a second chance. You have idea how much I’ve spent every single day regretting the way things were before you and your mum left. I have to throw myself into my work, because otherwise I spend every second wondering how I could have done things differently. It’s eating away at me. But when you came back, I had another shot at things. And trust me, I’ve done everything to make sure I don’t fuck it up again. I couldn’t handle it if that happened. I know I fucked up massively as a dad, but I am not going to fuck up as a grandad as well. I know I reacted badly, but believe me, I just wanted to help. You’re fifteen. I was just being protective. It’s kind of my job.’

  ‘Not by following me. Or smothering me.’

  ‘Em, it’s going to take me a bit of time to get the balance right. Don’t forget I spent years doing nothing for you. Not even knowing you. Maybe I’m overcompensating now. I apologise for that. But I really am doing my best. I need you to tell me when I go too far, so we can make this work for both of us.’

  Jack watched as a tear rolled down Emily’s face. As he was about to step forward into the doorway to hug her, he heard the sound of a door opening and Ethan marched back out into the corridor.

  ‘Right, that’s your two minutes,’ he said. ‘Get out of here.’

  ‘Please Em,’ Jack said, ignoring Ethan. ‘I mean it all.’

  ‘She’ll think about it,’ Ethan said, putting his hand high on the doorframe and leaning against it, blocking Jack’s line of sight to Emily.

  Jack fought back the overwhelming urge to sink his fist into the skinny fucker’s face and break every bone in his skull. But he knew he had to swallow his pride. If he overreacted now, he’d just prove Emily’s point and send her running back to Ethan. If he left with his pride on the floor, there was still a chance she might come back to him. He had to let her trust him.

  Jack looked at the floor, took a deep breath then headed back down the stairs towards the street.

  45

  Cyril Copeland drew in deep lungfuls of the crisp morning air as he marched across Mildenheath Common after Bongo.

  The dog was having a whale of time, as well he might after five days without a walk. Cyril was starting to feel a slight twinge in his ankle occasionally, but it was pretty well strapped up and the doctor had told him he could go back to walking Bongo from this morning onwards.

  His ankle wasn’t the only thing that seemed to be improving. The gurgling in his intestines told him the most awkward effect of the painkillers he’d been given was starting to wear off. Fortunately, he’d only been on them for three days.

  He glanced at his watch. 7.03am. If he was lucky, and if Bongo got a good run out, he’d be home by half past, which would make it… He took his notebook out of his inside coat pocket and consulted the most recent page. Ah, yes. Three days, one hour and six minutes since his last bowel movement.

  He wasn’t usually in the habit of tracking them, but the doctor had warned him constipation was a side-effect of cocodamol and he might want to keep an eye
on it. The doctor had been right. The last one had weighed just shy of two-point-five ounces, which was at the lower end of normal. He had a feeling the next one might be in with a chance of nudging an imperial pound.

  7.04 now. They were fourteen minutes into the walk, by which point they’d usually reached the stile at the bottom of the mound. Cyril estimated he was a good two minutes or so away from there. On the plus side, that meant his ankle injury had only slowed him by approximately fourteen percent. It was practically fully healed.

  He watched as Bongo ran up and down the hill like a mad thing, chasing imaginary rabbits and grinning into the wind as his ears flopped behind him.

  ‘Get that blood pumping, Bongo!’ he called. The poor mutt had been going stir crazy at home for the past few days, much like Cyril himself. The divergence from their tight routine hadn’t done either of them any good, but it was good to be back on the proverbial horse now, even if it was trotting fourteen percent slower than usual. He’d aim to halve that deficit tomorrow, ankle permitting. There was always a chance it’d feel worse, he supposed, but it wasn’t giving him too much gip at the moment. In any case, he’d spend the rest of the day with his leg elevated while watching old re-runs of Columbo, which would reduce the chances of it swelling up.

  As he daydreamed about sitting and watching Peter Falk with a big mug of cocoa, Cyril’s attention was tugged by the appearance of something unusual in the undergrowth to his left, flanking the old train line.

  ‘Odd,’ he said, much as he did every time he spotted something slightly off centre. It looked like an item of clothing. A green bomber jacket, perhaps. Not a brand he recognised, though.

  Bongo, as if plugged into Cyril’s mind, came bounding over and began nuzzling at the jacket.

  ‘Bongo, leave!’ Cyril shouted.

  Bongo ignored him, tugging at the green material until finally the weight yielded, exposing what Cyril very definitely recognised as a human arm.

  46