A Carriage of Misjustice

by Charlie Cochrane

  Once the orgy of hugs, kisses, and applications of wet noses—those solely from Campbell—had been got out of the way, Adam went to crack open a few beers and get Robin something to eat. They all needed half an hour of quiet domesticity with nothing more taxing than a discussion of what the hotel in Hartwood was like and whether there were any decent restaurants.

  Once dinner and a couple of beers had been consumed and they were sprawled on the sofa with Campbell keeping guard on the floor, Adam asked, “Any trouble with Sam? No hands on your knee or anything?”

  Robin’s brow wrinkled. “No. Should I have been expecting it?”

  “He was asking Martin if you were as fit as people make out.”

  “Was he? I suppose I should be flattered. No, he kept his hands to himself. Maybe I’m not his type. Or he was scared Pru might lump him one.”

  “Definitely the Pru thing. You’re everybody’s type.” Adam snorted. “He was probably just trying to get Martin to open up about what he knows concerning the case. Which is pretty well sod all as far as I can see.”

  “Martin’s not tried that on with you?”

  “He wouldn’t dare, and I don’t give him the opportunity. What did you get out of him?”

  Robin raised his eyebrows. “You’d be rubbish at poker. There’s a hidden agenda in that question.”

  “There is. I won’t raise the point until you answer my question, though.”

  “To tell the truth, we didn’t get as much as I hoped. He insists he was nowhere near Hartwood on the night Osment died and says while he was angry about Jamie Weatherell’s death, he never thought Osment was the driver. He admits he loses his temper at times.” Robin shrugged. “I’ve got to say he seems to be a credible witness. We saw his Twitter feed, and he was moaning about the Arsenal backline all evening, so unless there’s a third person involved, using his phone, then it’s looking less likely that he covered for Joe. Although I can’t pin down what’s going on with him and the brother. Sam didn’t like it when I took a punt and said that he should be able to understand why we were suspicious, given him and his brother being so alike. And I have to say, they’re like two peas in a pod. If I’d met Sam in the street, I’d have thought it was Joe.”

  “He’s edgy about something to do with their resemblance.” Adam repeated the conversation he’d had with Martin. “Sorry not to have anything concrete to offer.”

  “I appreciate any and everything you turn up. No need to feel guilty, though. It’s my job, not yours.” Robin ruffled Adam’s hair. “You start finding too many clues and I’ll have to reciprocate by marking your pupils’ books. Anyway, I’m getting one of the team to go through the traffic camera footage again to search for Sam’s car.”

  “Rather my job than yours. Or one of your constable’s. Too much routine and legwork.” Not the glamorous profession that some of the television cop shows made it out to be, although not the slough of despond that others depicted.

  “You can’t get away from routine as a chief inspector. I need to read through Cooper’s statement properly. See if his story changed at all from what he told me and Pru.” Robin yawned. “I’ll do it later, once I get my brain back.”

  “Would it be wrong for me to get a gander at it? I’ve only seen one statement before and that was mine.” Sitting in the school library at Lindenshaw, being interviewed about the corpse that he and the chair of governors had found in the little kitchen where the children usually learned to cook. Adam remembered every minute as though it were yesterday, especially the young inspector who’d faced him over the table and got him all flustered. Truth to tell he could barely recall what his official statement had looked like, even though he’d read it and signed it. “I could say it’s to broaden my education, but it’s really my curiosity.”

  “It probably is wrong, but if I happened to leave it on the table where I placed it when I came in, while I go now and have a shower . . .” Robin grinned. “Maybe you can work your usual magic. Spot something we’ve missed. Spectator sees the game clearer than the players and all that jazz.”

  He got up, kissed the top of Adam’s head, gave Campbell a rub behind the ear, then headed for the stairs.

  The statement, as Adam soon found, didn’t make riveting reading. Cooper’s long explanation about how he’d ended up arriving at the sports ground late, what Osment had said—or not said—about meeting up: it was all rather underwhelming. Campbell coming over and insisting that he needed to be let out into the garden brought a good reason to put his reading to one side. He watched the dog do what was necessary, cleaned up the mess, washed his hands, and put the kettle on so that when Robin came downstairs—assuming he hadn’t crashed out on the bed—there’d be a cuppa and biscuits waiting for him.

  Both of them proved very welcome—lifesavers, as a freshly washed and dressed Robin said.

  “What did you make of the statement?”

  “Got bored with it, sorry. Himself wanted to be let out and I never got back to reading it through to the end. I’d be a rubbish cop.”

  Robin laughed. “If you were a cop, I doubt we’d have had a relationship, fit as you are.”

  “So give me the dénouement. Who did this Osment bloke think had done the hit-and-run?”

  Robin glanced over the rim of his mug, frowning. “Cooper, of course.”

  “Doh.” Adam mimed smacking his head. “See? Rubbish cop as well as rubbish at having a poker face. I read it as him saying he knew that the driver was somebody else and assumed he’d want Cooper to back him up.”

  Robin put his mug down. “Say that again, because I’m tired and I only have three functioning brain cells, but I think you said something significant.”

  “Did I? I think I said that I took what I read as Osment threatening to dob in a third party for the hit-and-run and how that would be to his advantage. I didn’t take it as a threat to Cooper.”

  “Okay. I’m going to go over it again. Any chance of a top-up?”

  Adam took the mug to refill it while his husband pored over the statement again.

  “You could be right,” Robin said as Adam returned. He grabbed his mug. “Thanks for this. Lifesaver. The drink I mean, not the idea. Or maybe I mean both.”

  “You’re almost incoherent.” Adam laid his hands on Robin’s shoulders, gently massaging them.

  “That’s a lifesaver too. What I mean is that Cooper made an assumption and we’ve followed suit. It makes more sense—I think—if the driver was somebody else. It could explain why Osment didn’t ask for money straight away or commit any details into his emails.”

  Adam, warming to both his roles as masseur and acting constable, observed, “It might also explain why they had to meet at the club. If the person Osment thought responsible was there. Maybe it was going to be a three-way meeting—during or after training. Cooper could have been asked there to act as wingman. Is he built like a minder?”

  “Not one I’d choose. Not if I was tackling any of the blokes at a rugby club. Maybe he fights dirty. Don’t stop.” Robin patted Adam’s hand. “I have no knowledge of anatomy but I’m sure that’s making blood flow to my brain. Other parts, too.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. I still haven’t had my honeymoon.”

  Which was the cue to putting everything to do with work to one side. There was a bed upstairs, big and welcoming.

  Adam took Robin’s hand, to lead him to the bedroom. “Not you this time,” he said to the dog, whose disappointment was evident in the comically sad face he produced. “What’s going to go on up there isn’t suitable for spectators, even of a canine kind.”

  “Promises, promises.” Robin let himself be led up the stairs, interrupting their progress with kisses, much as he’d done in the early days of their courtship. Adam was grateful he’d never been a wham, bam, thank you, man type.

  As they reached the doorway to the bedroom, Robin paused. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. Not simply the sex, although that’s been on my mind at some awkward mo
ments, but . . . you. Talking, lying having a kip on the settee, mending Mrs. Haig’s fence. I’m turning into an old married man.”

  “Turning into?” Adam drew him closer. “We’ve been like this for ages. And it’s great.”

  The time for words was over. Time to strip off the cares of the day and leave them discarded on the floor with their clothes. The bedroom was warm enough to take away the need for covering, other than skin on skin, but cool enough not to overheat as their ardour—as well as parts of their anatomy—rose. They took it slow and easy and when they finally reached the point of bodies merging into one, it was every bit as good as Adam had hoped when he’d been dreaming about having his husband back in his bed.

  Afterwards, lying in each other’s arms, Robin ran his hands through Adam’s hair. “I needed that. I’ve been trying to be strong and professional on the outside, but inside I turn into a mess if I’m away from you too long.”

  “Same here. Been keeping it locked up inside, mostly. Thank God Campbell’s a good listener.” He hugged Robin tighter. “Need to clone him so you can take your own handy Newfoundland back to the hotel.”

  “I’d rather clone you. One Adam for home and one for work.”

  “That sounds positively obscene.” Adam chuckled. “Almost as obscene as the state of us. Go and have a wash.”

  “How romantic.” Robin eased out of the embrace. “I mean that, by the way. Been waiting too long for this particular excuse for a second shower.”

  Adam flicked his husband’s backside. “You say the nicest things.”

  Monday morning, Adam felt a huge reluctance to get out of bed, and it wasn’t solely due to going back to work and facing his class. They wouldn’t be in, the school being shut to pupils for a training day. Exactly the kind of thing that Adam would usually have been chomping at the bit to get to, but the warm, comforting presence of Robin in the bed was a better prospect. Still, he’d have to be getting up soon to get ready to head northwards again and Campbell’s bladder wouldn’t stand for any delay in having its needs met, so Adam would need to shift himself as well.

  By the time the dog had been let out into the garden and had returned indoors quickly—the morning being decidedly nippy—Adam could hear his husband pottering around upstairs. Robin was no doubt repacking his case with clean clothes, having deposited—with apologies—a batch of washing to be done. Adam would get the machine on before he left so Sandra could hang it out when she dropped in later. More joys of domesticity, he thought with a sudden surge of realisation that it was a joy to have Robin’s clothes in the machine. They were a palpable sign that Robin was still part of the setup, even when he was miles away.

  Once all the washing and dressing was done, they could concentrate on the business of feeding and watering. Campbell sat happily munching on a doggie chew, having wolfed down his breakfast as though starving. The humans of the household took a wiser pace.

  “When will you start the journey?” Adam asked, between one spoonful of cereal and the next. “The local radio says the roads are sticky this morning.”

  “Nearer lunchtime than breakfast,” Robin said. “Pru’s getting a lift into Abbotston station, and I’m meeting her there. I want to touch base with Cowdrey before we set off.”

  “Need to keep the boss happy?”

  “Need to keep me happy too. There might be something going on and, if so, I’d prefer to know about it, rather than returning home to a bombshell.” Robin finished the last scrap of toast. “Nothing on the local news about major crimes?”

  “Not a dicky bird. Therefore, unless something’s going down that they’re keeping quiet about, I’d assume it’s all low-level stuff.”

  Robin wagged his knife in admonishment. “One of the witnesses I interviewed told me that when you assume, you make an ass of you and me.”

  Adam groaned. “I’ll remember that. It’s the corny cliché the kids love. How’s work with Betteridge going, by the way?”

  “Slowly. She’s up to her eyeballs with other cases, but she’s coming out the other side. Getting her sense of humour back, anyway. She seems happy with how we’re handling the investigation. Relying on us to get a result, naturally.” Robin made a face like he was sucking an acid drop. “Not sure how soon we’ll deliver on that. Still, she says that she’s heard the team is developing well with Pru and me at the helm.”

  “I’d expect nothing less. You underestimate your talents.” Adam patted his husband’s hand. “Only don’t go getting a reputation for being the fixer. I don’t want you being dragged all over the country to sort out people’s cold cases or dodgy constables.”

  “God forbid. If there’s one thing I’ve learned this last week, it’s how much I value being in my own home with you and himself.” Robin slipped off his stool. “Right, give us a kiss before I hit the road. Oi! Not you.” He patted Campbell’s head, the dog having suddenly appeared at his side as though teleported there.

  “See? There’s another person in this relationship. Thank God I’m not the jealous sort . . . Hey. What have I done to deserve that?” Adam had been clasped firmly on both cheeks and given a smacker of a kiss. Which was lovely if out of the blue.

  “You’ve given me an idea. Another one.” Robin grabbed his car keys. “I’m hitting the road before I lose my train of thought.”

  “Pleased to be of service. Tell me all about my moment of genius when you get the chance. I’m fascinated to know what it was.”

  As Robin headed out of the door, Adam cleared the breakfast things into the sink.

  “Did you know you’ve got two masterminds for fathers?” he asked Campbell, but the dog was only interested in his chew. “Yes, I suppose it is distinctly underwhelming.”

  He settled the Newfoundland down for the day and got ready to leave for work.

  Robin and Pru pulled out of Abbotston police station car park at a few minutes past eleven, which was later than intended because Cowdrey had been in an unusually loquacious mood. He’d confessed in the past that there was no other officer he could talk to like he could Robin, which probably explained the length of the interview. The content—a series of robberies and a fraud case—didn’t.

  They were barely a hundred yards up the road when Pru asked, “Did you get a chance to read Cooper’s statement again?”

  “Yes. It’s in the briefcase on the back seat. You have a shufti and see if anything strikes you.”

  “Okay.” Pru sounded bemused but she leaned round, got the papers, and read them. “Nope,” she said, eventually, “nothing new striking me.”

  “Try this. Are we making a huge assumption here? The same assumption Cooper made. Look carefully at what he says Osment told him, supposedly as close as he can remember. It doesn’t make a direct threat.”

  “No. You’re kidding.” Pru rifled through the statement again. “Oh shit, you’re right. Not once does Osment say you. Simply refers to knowing who did it. He could be referring to somebody else entirely.”

  “Yep. We know Cooper feels guilty—because he knew he’d hit something that night, and he’s been wondering if the deer wasn’t a deer—he heard what he thought was being said to him.”

  “In that case, does it explain why Osment got himself copies made of the keys to the sports ground? He thought he might find evidence there?”

  “It’s as good a reason as any we’ve yet come up with.” Robin paused as he negotiated his way around a wandering cyclist. “He might have been planting that evidence rather than picking it up. A good old-fashioned threatening note in a player’s bag, for example. That would leave less of a trail than a phone message or email.”

  “You’ve got someone in mind, haven’t you?”

  “The obvious one is Dave.”

  “Dave?”

  “Yep. I’ve been thinking about it all morning, since Adam talked about Campbell being the third person in our relationship. That’s how Osment must have regarded Dave—the continued presence in Melanie’s life. If he knew—or suspected—all al
ong that Dave had killed Jamie, but he couldn’t prove it, he might have kept shtum because people would have thought it was simply a matter of him causing trouble for the bloke and deflecting attention from himself, his own car having been stolen that night.”

  “Which in this case would simply have been a horrible fluke? Horrible for Osment, that is,” she clarified. “If that’s the case, I bet he was less worried about people in general thinking he was making up stories about Dave and more about Melanie herself thinking he was lying.”

  “Exactly.” While this was all nothing but speculation, it was making sense. “Do you remember Sally having a theory Osment had gone back to the club to follow Dave? Melanie herself told us he’d done that before.”

  “What if she’s right? Osment followed Dave from the ground that night, but instead of him hitting Jamie, he witnesses Dave swerve because he’s hit something. Maybe Osment thought it was another deer getting itself thumped, and it was only later when he heard about Jamie and roughly what time he’d died that he put two and two together.” Pru nodded. “Then why make a fuss now? If he didn’t have any evidence at the time, what could he have turned up since?”

  “I might have an answer to the first part. If he knew that Melanie and Dave had started seeing each other again, he might have been tipped over the edge. Decided to take action and that was the only weapon he had left to him.” That sounded very thin, but people did do the stupidest things when they were overcome by jealousy. “As for your second question, that’s the gaping hole in my theory. There’s no proof Osment had any fresh evidence: no proof of anything at all.”

  “We have proof that he met somebody and was killed by them. Osment’s dead body. I suppose we’re now speculating that the killer was the same person who he was accusing of the hit-and-run. If that’s Dave, then somebody’s covering up for him.” Pru exhaled loudly. “Andy, maybe. I got the impression he worships the ground Dave walks on.”

  “Maybe it’s the other way round. Andy—or whoever—attacked Osment while sticking up for Dave and he’s part of the cover-up.”