Hit and Run

by Maria Frankland

  I’m in no mood for jokey comments. “Can’t you take fingerprints to find out who was here?”

  “Has any property been taken?”

  I glance around the kitchen, then go through to the dining room. “Not that I can see.”

  “I’ll put a request in for the forensics team, they’ll get in touch with you. Looking at the door handles though, it’s unlikely we’d be able to get prints from them. But we should at least try.”

  “I can’t take any more.” I sink to a chair. “I don’t feel safe and I’ve got my son to think about.”

  “Is there anywhere you could stay tonight?” PC Richmond looks at me, her voice soft and her eyes full of concern. “You shouldn’t be on your own.”

  “My eight-year-old is asleep upstairs. I can’t go anywhere now.”

  “What about someone staying here with you?

  I shake my head, “my parents are away on holiday.”

  “OK. We’ll have a patrol car come past every half hour. We’ll keep an eye on everything.”

  “Thank you.”

  I must look more shaken than I feel as she asks again, “are you sure no one could come and be with you?”

  I shake my head again. How can I tell them I’ve got literally no one to ask? I know it’s my fault. I’m my own worst enemy.

  * * *

  Midsummer.

  A turning point.

  Tonight, I feel as heavy as the sky

  with a sense of foreboding.

  Hopefully, it’s the storm before the calm,

  not the other way around.

  Chapter 41

  Thankfully, Jack is blissfully unaware of our late night intruder, and the police having been here. “When can Sam come again Mum?”

  He would never go to bed again if he had an inkling that someone had been prowling around the house. He’s a child who hears and fears noises as it is.

  “Fiona. Hi.” Lynne is hurrying towards me as I make my way over to the playground gate. She is impeccably groomed as always, more like she’s going out for dinner than dropping her son off at school. Her friends look on. None of them ever talk to me. I wonder why she does. “I had a right job getting Sam out of bed this morning. He says he had a great evening, so thanks again.”

  “Good.” I try to smile and pretend we’re not twenty-four hours away from my husband’s funeral. “He’s welcome anytime.”

  “Do you fancy a coffee?” She glances at her watch. “I’ve got a spare hour.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m due at the doctor’s shortly.” It’s the first time I’ve ever been invited for a coffee by one of the other mums. It feels quite nice, although I know she will most likely be fishing for information again.

  “Oh? Is everything alright?”

  “Fine. Just routine.” God, she’s so nosy. I’m off to get some Antabuse tablets, so if I go anywhere near a drop of alcohol, I’ll be violently sick. That information would shut her up. Personally, I think she’s in league with Bryony somehow, after her mention of her last night. Or has such a boring life herself, she wants to be part of my chaos. I’d swap lives with her right at this moment if she wants drama.

  Even when I tell him what is going on with me, the GP refuses my request for Antabuse at first and suggests Alcoholics Anonymous.

  I tell him what I did last Friday after being sober for twelve months, and having attended AA meetings for two years.

  “OK Fiona, I’m going to let you give it a go. I’ll put you onto a five hundred milligrams a day dose. We can alter that after a couple of weeks if we need to.”

  “Will it definitely stop me drinking?”

  “It can’t stop you, but if you try, you will wish you hadn’t. The medication is so responsive, that you shouldn’t be anywhere near alcohol – that goes for mouthwashes, perfumes, hand gels, or anything like that. Are you having any trouble sleeping?”

  “It varies. My sleep is either terrible or really heavy.”

  “Well, if you take the medication at night, rather than in the morning, it can have a sedative effect.” I watch as he types onto his keyboard. “I’m also referring you for counselling. Can I have your arm for your blood pressure?”

  “Counselling? But I’m already going to AA.”

  “And that’s good,” he says as he wraps the blood pressure sleeve around my arm. The human contact is soothing. “But we need to explore every aspect of your life, not just the alcohol addiction. It sounds as though you’re really struggling.”

  The tears let themselves loose again. They’re never far away. The gentle voice and the concern in the doctor’s eyes are too much for me.

  “Is anyone looking after you, Fiona?”

  There it is, the question guaranteed to make me feel like crap. “No,” I admit, my voice wobbling uncontrollably. “I’ve all sorts going on.” Then it all comes tumbling out. My money worries, the allegations and charges against me. “If it wasn’t for my little boy, I would…”

  Clutching a prescription and the number for the Crisis Counselling Service, I scuttle through the packed waiting room and out of the automatic doors, ignoring the impatient glares, probably peeved at being kept waiting. At least I’ve got the Antabuse. There’s no going back now. Hopefully, I can stop craving a bloody drink.

  I’ve got a couple of hours to kill before I’m due at the funeral home for my viewing appointment. I decide to return home and give Christina a knock whilst I’m at it. I wonder if she’s planning to come tomorrow. I need all the support I can get.

  I start up the Jeep and head towards the chemist first. I might as well get started on these tablets tonight. But they haven’t got the tablets in stock at either of the Otley chemists. I’m told they will be in tomorrow. I can’t wait. “I’m at my husband’s funeral tomorrow,” I say. If I don’t have them, I know I will drink. At that, the pharmacist must take pity on me, and a phone call reveals they have them in stock at the Ilkley branch.

  I glance in my rear-view mirror. Someone is trying to get past me. These country roads are notoriously narrow, especially for overtaking. Perhaps I’ve been dawdling. With so much on my mind, I’m often driving on autopilot. And I’m so tired that I probably shouldn’t be driving anyway. I speed up. So does he, or she. I can’t tell as their windows are darkened. I think it’s a Range Rover. Whatever it is speeds up. I try to focus on what is in front, not behind, but I can literally feel how close the car is. The irony of the stretch of road I’m on isn’t lost on me. “Oh my God,” I scream as the pursuing car nudges the back of mine. I grip the steering wheel, tempted to hit the brakes, but if I do, the car will slam into the back of me. So I accelerate but it bumps me again.

  “Shiiiit,” I yell. I will not die. Not on this stretch of road. Not when I have a son who needs me. My steely resolve returns. At one point I feared it had abandoned me. I grip the steering wheel tighter as they bump twice more into the back of me, harder this time. As the road widens, I see the car speed up in my side mirror, pulling around the right-hand side of me. Ready for this, I brake hard and it flies past me, swerving to the left as it does. No doubt trying to hit me from the side, not having expected me to brake so hard. I still can’t see who is driving, only that the car is black. I scream as it stops and starts reversing back. Whoever it is, is definitely trying to run me off the road.

  Then, as another vehicle comes up behind me, the black 4x4 stops reversing before speeding away. There’s no rear plate for me to take a number. I also know from Rob’s death that there’s no CCTV on this road. I pull my car over to compose myself. Another car behind sounds its horn. Its furious occupant shouts obscenities as they are passing and also speeds off.

  Pulling further into the side, I flick my hazards on. Someone is trying to frighten me. They have targeted me. They will be back; it is probably the same person who was in my house last night.

  Wrapping my arms around the steering wheel, I lay my head on them, exhausted sobs wracking my body. I didn’t want to, but I must move to a new house – a n
ew start. No one can live in fear like this. I’m not even safe at home. My thoughts race for several minutes, until they’re broken into by someone pulling up alongside me. A woman calls out. I open the window.

  “Are you OK? Do you need any help?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks for stopping. I had a near miss, that’s all. I’ll be on my way in a minute.”

  “So long as you’re alright.”

  She drives away. Her small kindness has lifted my spirits though. When I was really poorly with depression in between Grandma dying and meeting Rob, my counsellor suggested keeping a gratitude diary. I had to note three things each day that I was grateful for. This training has stayed with me and I still try to look for the good in each day. Usually. Within a few minutes, I’ve calmed myself enough to progress onto the chemist. I need to get off this road. I don’t feel at all safe anymore.

  I collect my prescription and head for the police station again. DI Green is on her way out as I arrive. “Can I have a quick word?” I call across the car park.

  “You certainly can. I was on my way to see you, so you’ve saved me a trip.” PC Robinson gets out of the car with her and we walk together into the station. “How are you doing?”

  “Did you hear what happened last night?”

  “Yes, I was told about it at handover this morning.” DI Green holds the door for me. “They didn’t find anyone around your house, did they? Are you OK?”

  “Not really. I feel as though someone’s out to get me.”

  “And did you find anything missing?”

  “No.”

  She and PC Robinson appear to exchange glances as she gestures for me to sit in the all-too-familiar spot inside the green interview room. It smells of stale sweat. “Was everything alright after my colleagues left you? They had a look around and we’ve had our patrols doing drive-bys through the night.”

  “Yes. I locked everything up. I got little sleep though. I was hearing noises all night. But, as if things aren’t bad enough, a car has just tried running me off the road. In the same spot where Rob was killed.”

  DI Diana Green’s face visibly changes from complacency to concern. “Get this down John?” She nods towards her colleague who pulls his notebook from his shirt pocket. “What do you mean, someone tried to run you off the road?”

  “A car came up behind me. I thought it was going to overtake, but it bumped me four times instead. I couldn’t see the driver. The windows were blackened. Could I have a drink of water, please?” My usual anxiety and nausea is rising. After the funeral, I’m going to have to sort myself out. Take up yoga or meditation or something. Maybe I could join Bryony’s classes. The thought almost makes me laugh, despite all I’m facing right now.

  PC Robinson presses a button and requests the water. “Did you get any details from the car? Even a partial number plate?”

  I shake my head. “It all happened so quickly. I only got a look at the back of it, and the number plate had been taken off. It looked like a Land Rover, or maybe a Range Rover. It was big, and black. I think it only stopped bumping me because another car came up behind us.”

  “How many times did it hit you?”

  Shaking again at the thought of it. “Four from behind. Then if I hadn’t have slammed on when it overtook me, I’m sure it would have slammed into the side of me.”

  “Is there any damage to your car?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s pretty robust, my Jeep, so it’s still drivable.”

  “It sounds as though they were trying to intimidate you, rather than anything more serious.”

  Oh well, that’s alright then, I feel like saying. So long as they were only trying to intimidate me. “Look, maybe you’re trying to make me feel better, but is that not serious enough?”

  DI Green straightens up. “John will come out and have a look at your car before you leave. See if there’s any paint scrapes. Have you any idea who it could have been?”

  Misery drags at my stomach. “Well, as you know, there are a few possibilities. Rob’s boss. Rob’s ex-wife. Turner, Rob’s financial associate. Or it could be repercussions for what I did last week.” I count my enemies on my fingers as I speak.

  “To Bryony Rose, you mean?” DI Green clasps her hands on the table and looks at me.

  “Maybe. Have you questioned Denise Matherson yet, about her car? It’s different from the one that came after me this morning, but who knows, she could have borrowed one. She certainly hates me enough.”

  “Yes, we’ve spoken to her.”

  “And?”

  “It’s an ongoing Inquiry Fiona. There’s only so much we can share with you.”

  “Do you still think I did it?” There it’s out. The million dollar question. I’ve been read my rights and interviewed, but never charged. Surely they’d have charged me by now if they were going to.

  She gives me a half smile. “Personally, I’d like to think you didn’t, but obviously whilst things are ongoing, I have to keep an open mind.”

  “What about Turner?”

  “We went over to Manchester yesterday, hoping to catch him at home, but he wasn’t there. His wife claims not to have seen him for two days and has said she does not know of his financial transactions with Rob.”

  “What about the phone recording?”

  She shakes her head. “Nothing, I’m afraid. We really need to speak to James Turner. You can be assured we will keep trying.”

  “So, he’s gone missing. Surely that must make you more suspicious of him. I’m telling you. I really think it’s him, who killed Rob. He half admitted to me.”

  “It’s such a shame you didn’t save the recording.” Her face bears a hint of regret. “Without that, it’s your word against his.”

  “I reckon it’s probably him who was driving like a maniac this morning – right on the same stretch of road that Rob died. If he’s gone AWOL from Manchester, that would tie in, if he’s over here, I mean.”

  “We’ll certainly have a look at nearby CCTV, see if anything has been picked up in Ilkley or Otley.”

  “The car also looked like the same one Rob’s boss, Phillip Bracken has.”

  “A black Range Rover or Land Rover?”

  “Yes.”

  “And does his car have blackened windows?”

  “I’ve no idea. Running me off the road doesn’t seem his style though, nor can I imagine him stalking my house late at night, but there again, he could have got someone to do it for him.”

  “OK Fiona.” DI Green stretches her arms out in front of her. “Leave this with us. Get through your husband’s funeral, then we’ll talk again at the weekend. John will come out with you to give your car a look over.”

  It’s alright for you, I want to tell her. The reality is I’ve got to drive around with Jack in the car, worrying if we’re being followed, or if someone is going to break into the house at night and it’s making me feel ill. I’ll have to make the house like Fort Knox. And go on foot to collect Jack from school.

  But first, I’ve got to go and see Rob. It’s my last chance. To make matters worse, PC John Robinson only finds a couple of scuff marks on the bumper of the jeep.

  I can still remember Grandma when I viewed her body the day before her funeral. She looked tiny in her white coffin. I’d sat with her for about half an hour, making her endless promises about how the rest of my life would look. She would be so disappointed if she could see how I’m doing, despite all she did for me.

  I exchange the street bustle for the silence of the funeral home.

  “We’ve dressed him in the clothes you brought in. He’s all ready for you,” Emma says. She smiles at me. I guess this is business as usual for her. “I gather you got all the service arrangements sorted yesterday.”

  “Yes. Thank you. Your colleague, Joseph, was very kind. Oh, and I got your bill. I’ll have to sort it out early next week.”

  “That’s fine.” She rises from her seat. “It’s not as if you haven’t got enough to be thinking about over t
he next few days.”

  “He’s in here,” Emma says, as we approach a door with a number one on it. I’m shocked when she knocks before going in, as though he’s going to call out come in.

  Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of my husband, laid in a coffin, his hands resting on his ribs. He’s still wearing his wedding ring and they have combed his hair. I’m amazed there’s barely a scratch on him after what happened. Apparently, it was the top of his spine that took most of the impact.

  Emma must notice me staring at his ring. “That can’t go with him tomorrow, for cremation, I mean. So we’ll let you have it either when you leave today, or after the service.”

  “I’ll get it tomorrow.” God knows what I’m going to do with his wedding ring. Sell it, I reckon. It cost enough and I need every penny I can get hold of. Bloody hell, I can’t believe I’m even considering this.

  “Would you like me to stay with you, or do you want some time on your own with him?”

  “I’d like some time on my own, if you don’t mind.” I point at the rose stem laid across Rob’s chest. “Where has the flower come from?” I immediately suspect Bryony. Surely not.

  “Oh, we do that for everyone. It’s a symbol of respect from us. Right. I’ll give you some time.” She touches my arm as she steps away. “I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

  The door closes softly behind her. I notice the coffin lid resting against the wall at the side of Rob. Then I stare at my husband’s ashen face.

  “It’s me.” My voice sounds strange in the silence. “I thought I’d better come and see you, whilst I’ve got the chance.” I step closer. “I can’t believe what’s happened.” Talk about an understatement.

  A rush of misery sweeps over me. “I loved you so much Rob. I just didn’t really know you, did I? Not like Bryony did.” Then I decide I won’t talk about her. I won’t sully the final moments I have with him. But they’re not with him. Not really. He’s gone. Lying here, is his shell. Which will soon be incinerated. All that will be left of him is his wedding ring, the memories, and Jack of course.