by Abi Silver
‘Is that what he’s like with you?’
‘What?’
‘Making you run errands for him?’
Toby shrugged and he blinked a few times in quick succession.
‘Someone told me recently that I had a lot to offer,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure James always thinks that.’
He rose to leave and reached for his keys. Martine lay her hand over them.
‘What’s going to happen?’ she said.
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine.’ Toby tried to shake off the image of James lying helpless in the hospital bed.
‘I don’t mean James. I mean the cars. James always said they can’t crash,’ Martine persisted.
‘Well, maybe James doesn’t know everything.’ Toby barked, surprised by his own candour. His index finger twitched towards his keys.
‘When we had dinner, two weeks back,’ Martine said.
‘I thought we agreed. You said in the morning…not to talk about it.’
‘I want to talk about it now.’
‘OK.’
‘I told you about a plan I had. Do you remember?’
‘No.’ Toby shook his head too many times to be convincing. ‘I had a lot to drink. What was the plan?’ he said.
Martine’s eyes narrowed.
‘Have it your way then,’ she said. ‘It’s probably better to forget we ever had that conversation anyway, now this has happened.’
‘OK,’ Toby said again, although he was feeling decidedly not OK. ‘So now you don’t want to talk about it?’
‘You didn’t tell anyone about it, did you?’
‘No. I told you. I drank too much.’
‘I’ll just go back to peeling potatoes then, leave the big ideas to you and James. He thinks a lot of you, you know, even if he doesn’t show it.’
‘Really?’ Now the room was starting to spin. Toby needed some air. ‘It was a great meal you made, though. Lots of chilli,’ he managed.
‘Some bits you remember then?’ Martine withdrew her hand and Toby grabbed his keys and made for the door.
‘Send my best to James,’ he said, over his shoulder. ‘Tell him not to worry about anything.’
After he had gone, Martine downed her gin and tonic. Then she scrolled through the news story again on her phone, staring at the images of James’ mangled car and the tributes to the family he had destroyed. She wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head and wait for someone else to sort everything out, but that wasn’t going to happen. She knew that. She needed to be resilient now.
Sometimes unexpected things occurred and you could either let them overwhelm you or you could emerge stronger out the other side. She poured herself another measure of gin, just a small one this time and checked the clock on the wall. She would wait another five minutes, until she had finished her drink. Then she would tidy her hair, put on a fresh coat of lipstick and go to visit James in hospital.
28
THERESE WAS lying awake, in bed, flowers adorning her bedside table and the various free spaces around her hospital room, a vacant expression on her face. Dawson was surprised so many bouquets had been allowed. These days most hospitals found one or another reason for banning them; ‘germs’, ‘allergies’, ‘unnecessary work for nurses’. But as he inhaled he understood. The heady, intoxicating scent of the burgeoning blooms served primarily to mask the hovering odour of death.
Neil was sleeping, slouched forwards onto the bed, breathing evenly, one arm hanging limply at his side.
‘Mrs Layton. Hello. I’m Chief Inspector Dawson.’
He deliberately spoke softly, reining in his usual blaring overtones. His superintendent had suggested he be accompanied by a female officer to help provide support, but he knew he could ‘do sympathy’ when called upon and if given sufficient notice to prepare himself. In any event, the victim liaison team had already visited. His role was different; he wanted to put away the person responsible for this devastation, preferably for a very long time.
Neil stirred and awoke, forcing himself into an upright position. Therese did not move.
‘Mrs Layton?’
Still no response.
‘Hello, Inspector. My wife is on a lot of drugs. She may not hear you,’ Neil began.
‘I can hear all right,’ Therese replied bitterly. ‘That’s one thing I can do.’
‘I am so sorry to intrude at this awful time,’ Dawson began, standing behind Neil and taking a notebook out of his pocket. ‘My officers and I will try to keep any questions brief, but we are trying to establish, if we can, what happened.’
‘Don’t you have witnesses?’ Neil asked. ‘Or CCTV?’
‘Yes we do. But…’
‘What happened is that he drove straight into us,’ Therese interrupted. ‘He came round the corner like a maniac. We didn’t stand a chance,’ she said.
‘You think he was travelling fast?’
‘I think! I know. He wasn’t even looking. He was on his phone.’
‘You saw him on his phone. Are you sure? Things must have happened quickly.’
‘He came around the corner too fast on his phone and he hit us.’ Therese looked at Dawson for the first time and it occurred to him that every flower head in the room had turned to face him too, providing an army of back-up for Therese’s testimony.
‘Did he see you at all?’ He dithered with his follow-up question, under the scrutiny of so many of Therese’s supporters.
‘Yeah, at the last second he looked up. He could’ve swerved and missed us, but I suppose there were lamp posts, barriers, other cars. We were a bit softer. He’s still alive then?’
‘Yes, he is.’
‘Broken any of his limbs?’
‘No.’
‘He is going to be prosecuted, isn’t he?’ Neil broke in. ‘I mean, it must have been dangerous driving at least.’
‘I can’t comment on that at the moment, I’m afraid. If we do decide to prosecute, I will let you know and you may be asked to give a statement.’
Neil took his wife’s hand, but she shrugged him off.
‘My statement will be very short,’ she said. ‘It will contain one word in capital letters.’
‘Tay. Stop it. You’ll get too upset.’
‘I’ll get too upset!’ She threw her husband a withering look. ‘“MURDERER,” that’s what my statement will say. Why don’t you write it down now, while you’re here? Save you coming back again.’
Dawson nodded slowly. ‘Do you remember anything about the vehicle?’ he asked.
Therese’s eyes widened. ‘What sort of things?’
‘Colour? Size?’
‘You’ve got the driver. So why does that matter?’ Neil’s eyes challenged Dawson as much as his words.
‘I just want to know what your wife remembers. That’s all. Little things may help. Mrs Layton?’
Therese stared at her hands.
‘I think you can see that my wife is not really in a state to answer any more questions.’
‘I understand.’ Dawson tucked his notebook back in his pocket. ‘Like I said. We have some way to go in the investigation. I’ll let you know what we decide.’ He turned to leave.
‘Do you have children, Inspector?’ Mr Layton stopped him with his question.
‘I have two daughters.’
‘Can you imagine what it would be like to lose them both and then be told there was no one to blame?’
‘I understand, sir. But I think, it would be important to me to make sure the right person was blamed, not just the first person in the firing line. So, like I said, we’re still investigating. I’ll leave you in peace now.’
‘Is he here?’ Therese was staring out past the foot of the bed and her question was delivered with a quiet steeliness which was sustaining her, despite her agony.
/> ‘Here?’ Dawson dawdled by the door.
‘In this hospital?’
‘Oh. No. He’s not here. He’s…well I can’t say.’
Therese bit her lip.
‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to send Neil after him with a sawn-off shotgun. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to bump into him on my morning run, that’s all.’
‘Keep us updated, Inspector, please,’ Neil called after him, as he closed the door and made his way back down the corridor.
29
JAMES WAS sitting in the offices of Mainstream Debrett, watching Bruce Debrett, his company’s legal adviser for the past eleven years, shuffling papers around and scrolling through various items on his PC. He had sat through Martine’s protestations, delivered an hour before at the hospital, urging him to rest, and Toby’s muted reassurances that ‘everything was under control’ at work and that he could do whatever James required via telephone instructions from the hospital. He had then promptly discharged himself and headed straight here.
‘Well?’ James asked, tiring of Bruce’s exertions.
Bruce sat back and pressed his fingers to his lips. Then he scratched the side of his nose and flicked through some more pages on his PC. Finally, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and concentrated on James.
‘What precisely did this police officer say to you at the hospital?’ he said.
‘He told me that two children had died and the mother had been injured and may be paralysed.’ James grimaced. Every time he moved a wave of pain shot down his neck and across his shoulder blades. ‘Is that true? About the children?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I’m afraid so.’
James moaned and he lowered his head into his hands.
‘I’m so sorry, James. It must be terrible for you. Did he say anything about you or the car?’
‘What?’
‘The policeman. Did he ask about your car?’
‘He just asked me what I remembered.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘That I didn’t remember anything.’
‘Good. That was quick thinking. Bought you some time.’
‘I wasn’t trying to buy time.’ James shifted in his seat. ‘It was the truth. I don’t remember the accident. I didn’t know about the children or the mother till he told me. The doctors said it may be the concussion or the trauma.’
‘He didn’t say anything about charges?’ Bruce asked.
‘Charges?’
‘Criminal charges. You heard. Two kids are dead, James. And you were at the wheel.’
‘It’s like I told the policeman,’ James said. ‘It just can’t have happened. You know that. You’ve seen all our stats. Don’t they have witnesses?’
‘You can ask, if that’s what you want. You might not like what you hear.’
‘And the cameras. And the EDR. They will show the police what happened.’ James’ eyes were darting around the room. ‘You don’t seriously believe they’ll press charges, do you? As if I’m some kind of criminal.’
‘You can ask the police about that too.’
‘Does it say, in the news, that they’re investigating?’
‘That’s the gist.’ Bruce tapped at his keyboard and then focused on James. ‘I’m advising you, as a friend, off the record, that the police will almost certainly question you and they may bring charges,’ he said. ‘You need to formulate a plan.’
‘There must have been another car involved. It hit them, not me.’
‘No other car,’ Bruce said. ‘Not unless it just disappeared afterwards or, what do they say in Harry Potter? Apparated. That’s it. Sorry, just been reading it to my oldest. I can show you the crash scene if you want. Plenty of people have uploaded it. Amazing what they’ll do for a minute’s fame.’
Without waiting for an answer, Bruce swivelled the screen of his PC around. James could see the aftermath of the accident, his car sitting only a metre or so from the concrete barrier, positioned diagonally across its lane, the windscreen smashed.
‘What about the other carriageway?’ James asked.
Bruce flicked through a few shots.
‘Can’t really see it. They’ve all focused on your car, as it was the only vehicle there. Look. Like I said, you can ask the police if you want. But I would lie low and let them contact you. I wouldn’t go playing detective yourself, if that’s what you’re thinking of.’
‘Are they saying it was a SEDA car?’
‘Yes, not everyone, but it’s obvious it’s not a regular vehicle and you can see the make on the photos if you enlarge them sufficiently. You’ll have to release a statement.’
‘But how can we do that if we don’t know what happened?’ James rubbed his head where it ached. ‘I’ll go into the office and talk to Toby and the technical guys. We have a new programmer who’s a cut above the others. See if he has any idea what might have gone wrong. Can you meet us there, say, in a couple of hours?’
Bruce circled the fingers of his right hand around the fleshy palm of his left. He always chose to do it this way around. The life line on his right hand was broken in three places; he wasn’t a superstitious person but, ever since his sister had read his palm at the age of nine and foretold an early, agonising death, he tried to ignore it. When he looked up, James was staring at him.
‘I wish I could. You know I want to help,’ he said.
‘So what’s the problem?’
Bruce’s shoulders sagged.
‘I can’t. I’m so sorry,’ he said.
‘Why on earth not?’
‘Conduct rules, I’m afraid. Conflict of interest.’
‘What! How can there be a conflict? You’re my lawyer. We’re both on the same side.’
‘I’m not your lawyer. SEDA engaged me as the company’s lawyer and to advise you, as CEO. So, yes, I can help with SEDA’s position and, like I said, at the moment, my advice is to do nothing at all. And if you’re asked for an official comment you must say nothing of substance, just that it’s a tragedy and subject to a police investigation. That’s it.’
‘So why won’t you come to the office, as SEDA’s lawyer?’
‘Because the lines will get blurred. If you are charged with a criminal offence, then your personal interest and that of the company might well be polar opposites. I can’t defend you.’
‘What?’
‘Can’t you see? If you are prosecuted, they’ll be saying it’s your fault, that you did something wrong. And to defend yourself, you’ll need to say the accident happened because of a problem with the car, then SEDA will take the hit. It’s one or the other. Either you go down or SEDA does. I can’t be in both camps.’
James stood up and groaned as sparks of light flashed before his eyes and disorientated him.
‘You should go home and rest, you look awful. I can recommend someone, certainly, to advise you, to represent you if things progress, and I’ll be glad to do so. And I will help as much as I can.’
‘You’re the one with all the knowledge of the business. You even persuaded us to stick with you for the marketing, patents, employment work, the overseas contracts. You said there would be “economies of scale” if we instructed you to provide “the full service package”.’
‘That’s right. And Mainstream Debrett has done a fantastic job for you.’
‘How much did we pay you last year in fees?’
‘Oh come on. You’re not being fair. I’m not even a criminal lawyer, James. I’d be way out of my depth.’
‘You know me, you know how I do things. You know the company. You’ve been to my house for dinner. Your nephew did work experience at the factory.’
‘I’m truly sorry but, even if I wanted to act for you, it’s out of my hands. I’d be disciplined, struck off.’
‘I see. So I’m on my own,
am I?’ James headed for the door.
‘I didn’t say that. I have advised the company what to do for now. I sent something through to Toby just an hour ago; sit tight and, if pressed, give a short non-committal response like the one I’ve drafted. And I said I’d help you find someone, a criminal lawyer, to advise you. I’ll send you over the list of people I recommend. They’re all good.’
‘Thanks for nothing. I’ll see myself out.’
Outside, on the street, James marched one way, then the other, eventually leaning back against the window of a newsagent. He had planned to go to the office, but now he wasn’t sure it was the best thing to do. As he turned around, he caught sight of his reflection in the glass; he glimpsed a haggard and confused face, all his usual self-assurance glaringly absent. Then he shook his head sadly and looked out into the street for a taxi. For once, the office could wait. He really needed to go home and sleep.
30
CONSTANCE ARRIVED at Judith Burton’s flat around 7.30pm. She carried a bottle of red wine, which the shop assistant had advised her was ‘full of character’ and had ‘aged graciously’, and which seemed to her to be eminently suitable for her hostess.
Judith buzzed Constance up with a lively greeting and before long she was standing in the hallway of the spacious two-bed apartment.
‘Greg will be here in a few minutes,’ Judith announced, ‘so take a seat. I’m just finishing the fruit salad. Help yourself to wine,’ she added.
Constance advanced into the living room to find a table, set for three, next to the window, a sofa and armchair facing it and a wall of books directly opposite. She poured a glass of red wine from the open bottle and placed her own offering on the table.
Then she sauntered over to scrutinise Judith’s book collection. Most of them didn’t surprise her; Jane Austen, Thomas Hardy, Shakespeare and Thackeray. There were plenty of law books too – on procedure, practice and jurisprudence – but half the bottom shelf was taken up by cookery books. Constance extracted a Jamie Oliver volume and was surprised to find it dedicated inside the front page, in a neat, looping hand. To Judy. Loved your avocado mousse. Hope you like this in return. Big Love, Jamie.
