A Carriage of Misjustice

by Charlie Cochrane

  “Bare bones. You can give me the detail when you’re back.” Adam listened to a brief account of the solution—two solutions—that Robin’s team had managed to work out. When Robin at last paused, he said, “I do need to hear the whole of that. Like something out of a book, choosing the wrong victim.”

  “It’s certainly felt weird at times.” Robin dropped his voice. “Anticipating being with you in our house. Then it’ll be like I’m back in the real world.”

  “I can’t wait, mate.” Adam yawned. “Sorry. Been a long day.”

  “Yeah, I get that. I’m bleeding knackered as well. Before I fall into my bed, I want to say how much I’ve really appreciated your patience on this one. It’s not been easy for either of us.”

  “That’s what you get when you marry a rozzer, having to play the support card at times. I’ll be glad when you’re home and can do the same for me.”

  “I’ll be glad to.” Robin hesitated. “You’ve not got Ofsted coming in, have you?”

  “Worse than that. This concert. The nearer it gets the jumpier I get. I had a real panic this evening at the latest practice, simply imagining being on stage. Stupid, isn’t it?” The little knot of fear formed in Adam’s stomach again. “Part of me feels like wimping out. Part of me says that if one of my pupils pulled that stunt, they’d be getting a talking to.”

  “You’ll be getting a talking to.” Despite the joke, Robin’s voice betrayed his concern. “From my mum, for one. She’s been messaging me saying she’s almost as excited for the performance as she was for the wedding. She also wants a copy of the CD. When does your choir’s track for that get recorded, by the way?”

  “Next rehearsal. Some tech guru mate of Martin’s is coming along. Phil something or other. He’s done recordings for weddings, and he reckons he understands the church acoustics.” Adam sniffed. “I’m not worried about that. Apart from Campbell disgracing himself and joining in.”

  “Hey, try not to worry about the concert,” Robin said, soothingly. “You’ll be fine. I know that sounds like the worst sort of cliché, but you will. I’ll be there to have your back, and even if a mass murderer strikes that day, I’ll refuse to let them call me in. They can sack me first.”

  “You big wazzock.” Cliché or not, the comforting words had helped.

  “And how are love’s young dreams? Sam and Martin, I mean.”

  “Well, I knew you didn’t mean me and Campbell.” A happier recollection of the evening’s rehearsal were the glances the two had shared. “The air’s been cleared, it seems. Martin must have had a better sense of humour than I gave him credit for. He came up to me at the end of practice, at which point I was dreading some fresh revelation, but he simply wanted to thank me for talking some sense into Sam. Happy ending on that front, at least for the moment.”

  “Maybe they’ll want you and the rest of the choir to sing at their wedding. Joke,” Robin added, hastily.

  “It had better be.” Adam caught the yawning bug. “I’ve got to go and crash out. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  As the call ended, Adam brought the dog back indoors. “Good news, boy. Your other dad’s coming home soon.”

  Campbell, in a move that was completely out of character, jumped up to lick Adam’s chin.

  “Save that for him, you daft beggar.”

  Adam would be doing the same.

  The Wednesday afternoon briefing had Superintendent Betteridge in attendance. Despite appearing pretty tired from the drugs case, she was bright-eyed enough. She had some leave due, but was reluctant to take it until all the details of the murder case were with the Crown Prosecution Service and Robertson was being eased back into work.

  Betteridge confessed to Robin before the briefing that the prospect of being away from the station didn’t grab her. “When you’re up to your arse in work, you think that a break would be great, but I’d get frustrated at being out of the loop, even if you stayed and I knew everything would be in safe hands. Talking of which, I’d like to have a word afterwards.”

  The team greeted her with genuine enthusiasm: Robin let them take her through the process that had taken them to arresting Weatherell. She gave the right amount of praise for what had been achieved and challenge for the robustness of the evidence accumulated so far and that in the pipeline. There was plenty still to be done in terms of fortifying the case—confessions could be rescinded and a guilty plea changed—but that could be left in the hands of the Hartwood officers who had their list of jobs to work through. For Robin and Pru, home was calling.

  “You don’t feel like delivering me a result on the hit-and-run while you’re at it?” Betteridge asked, at the end of the briefing.

  Robin grinned at his team. “We might surprise you, and not just along the lines of that series of photos. Osment worked for a phone company, so I’ve had Callum doing some digging there, while Laurence handled the other end of things. Want to update us, Laurence?”

  “Dave has previous for using his mobile at the wheel,” Laurence said. “Sergeant Davis got an order to access his phone records for the night Jamie was killed.”

  “You’re thinking he may have been texting and lost control of his vehicle?” Betteridge asked.

  “Something like that. There’s a text went through—responding to one of Melanie’s—at around the right time and from the right area. We also found a link between the supplier Dave uses and the mobile phone company Osment worked for.” Laurence jerked his thumb towards Callum for him to take up the tale.

  “We’d been wondering what proof Osment might have had. I asked myself what if he’d been able to poke around in the phone records himself and compared what he found to the time stamps on the photos of Dave’s car? It seems he had. They got me into his computer, and I had a hunt through his files. I’ve downloaded what we need.” Callum waggled a memory stick. “That’s why nothing turned up on his home devices.”

  “That’s a start,” Betteridge said. “However, we’ll need stronger evidence than this to get a conviction through, including any forensics we can get off that note. And there are still some things that don’t entirely make sense. Like the whole business with the so-called stolen car.”

  “If I were a gambling man, I’d have ten quid on that situation being exactly what it was supposed to be. Nicked. He had a habit of leaving stuff on view and he paid for it. In more ways than one.” Robin took one final look at the victim’s picture still displayed on the incident board. “People always expect a link between events rather than nothing other than a chance of fate.”

  “I’ll accept that as a possibility.” Betteridge tapped her teeth with a biro. “Although he still might have wanted the car nicked if he suspected Dave might have seen it on the night in question and wanted to muddy the waters of who was driving. Park on the road, leave some valuables in full view, see what happens. I guess we’ll never know for sure. Like we’ll never know why Osment would have made such a fuss over the fundraising that went on after the accident.”

  Robin shrugged. “I’d have another tenner on it being a further dig at Dave. He was involved in the campaign following Jamie’s death, and if Osment knew he was doing that while possibly being the person actually responsible, I can imagine he’d have wanted to stir up shite. Perhaps he hoped in some way that it would point the finger at his rival.”

  Betteridge chuckled. “Isn’t that rather abstruse?”

  “Is it? Haven’t you ever been around someone who’s in a mood with you? And when you ask them what’s wrong, they simply say, ‘If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.’” Adam didn’t do that, thank God, but the previous boyfriend had and it had driven Robin to distraction. “They think you’ll work it out from obscure hints.”

  “I’m not sure if I buy that, although I’ll bear it in mind. We’ve got a new direction to take, which is a start. Yes, Sally?”

  “Well, ma’am, I’d like to pursue this with Dawn. If Dave did it, given that he’s so thick with Melanie, I
bet he’s said something about it. Something that rang no alarm bells at the time, but which could make sense now?”

  “You do that. I’m all for cracking cold cases and while you’re fresh off this result, let’s keep the momentum going.” The superintendent turned to Robin. “You don’t fancy staying on and seeing this one through, as well?”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Robin said, “Thank you, but no thank you. As they say, my work here is done.”

  The work hadn’t quite been done at that point, although there wasn’t much to finish off. Pru and Robin debated whether to have another night in Hartwood or drive home late that evening, but the decision was made for them when a major fuel spill shut the motorway at the point the rush hour started. The time it would take to resurface and reopen the road meant gridlock on all the local rat runs, so they opted for setting out at silly o-clock the next day.

  As they sat over a well-earned pizza and a couple of beers, Pru said, “We should have got onto Dave earlier, sir. He had a fountain pen on his desk that first time we interviewed him.”

  “Seems like everyone else had a fountain pen, so don’t beat yourself up. Real life isn’t like a mystery book where some tiny clue solves the whole thing, and anyway we didn’t have the original note to compare it with at the time.” Robin raised his glass to chink against his sergeant’s. “Home.”

  “Isn’t the toast ‘Home and beauty,’ sir?”

  “That as well.”

  And Robin had the two most beautiful creatures in the universe—in his admittedly biased opinion—waiting for him.

  As Adam pulled into his road on Thursday evening, the sight of Robin’s car parked outside the house made him as excited as a child seeing their stocking on Christmas morning. Household back on an even keel.

  He was no sooner through the front door, with a cheery shout of “Hello, wanderer!” than he found himself engulfed in Robin’s arms, swiftly followed by Campbell joining in the family hug.

  When they’d disentangled themselves, Robin said, “I’ve got dinner cooking and there’s beer in the fridge. Whenever you’re ready for it.”

  “My hero.” Adam gave him a kiss. “I had the kids for PE today, so I’m going to change before I stink the house out. After that, feed me till I want no more.” A flick on his backside from the tea towel which had been draped over Robin’s shoulder accompanied Adam up the stairs. Yep, life getting back to normal.

  Dinner—one of Robin’s excellent stir-fries—eaten at the breakfast bar and with a cold lager to accompany it, tasted better than a meal at the Ritz. He’d given Adam a blow-by-blow account of the case-which-had-turned-out-to-be-two-cases, then laid down his cutlery, face suddenly serious.

  “Rukshana wants me to relocate to her area. Lick the Hartwood team into shape.”

  “Oh.” Was that one of the reasons behind this evening’s dinner: buttering him up to get the right answer? “Is that what you want to do?”

  Adam braced himself for the answer. He’d always known this decision might come up, that one of them might have to make a sacrifice for the other in terms of career development. His profession probably gave them flexibility in terms of relocation, as there were always opportunities for good teachers and school leaders, wherever in the country they ended up.

  “Not particularly. Not now, anyway.” The wave of relief Adam felt must have been written on his face, as Robin continued, “That much of a reprieve, is it?”

  “That obvious?” Adam took Robin’s hand. “Hey, if you’re saying no simply on my account, you don’t need to. We can make relocation work.”

  “I know, and I appreciate it. But I’ve had enough of sorting out other people’s messes for the moment.”

  “Okay, but let me say this. If we had to move in order for you to get promotion, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  Robin grinned. “It might not come to that. When I was back on my fleeting visit here, Cowdrey dropped a hint or two that he’s ready for retirement. May be on the early side for me to get his job, but if they draft in a whizz kid who only stays a year or so, things could turn out perfectly.”

  In a year or so Adam could be thinking about his first headship, or at least being head of school in a confederation under some executive headteacher from whom he could learn a ton of skills. By then they’d have completed their long-planned house move too, so they hopefully wouldn’t be tackling too many changes at once.

  “What will you tell Rukshana? She won’t be happy.”

  “No, she won’t, but I’ve got a crafty plan. Stuart Anderson could do with a change of scenery, I hear. Helen wants to move into a bigger house and has been bemoaning the stupid property prices around here. Hartwood’s a lot cheaper.” Robin snickered. “I’ll give Rukshana the lowdown on him, tell her I took him under my wing like she took me under hers and recommend that she gives him a whirl. Cowdrey will put in a positive word too.”

  “Excellent. It’ll do Stuart the power of good.” Robin’s old sergeant had matured a lot over the last few years, due to a combination of following his boss’s example, being given some responsibility of his own and, on the personal front, becoming a father. Adam raised his beer glass. “Here’s to a quiet— No, I won’t say it. We tempted fate before and look what happened. I need you on routine cases at least until this bloody concert is done with.”

  “We’ll drink to the concert, then.” Robin chinked his glass against Adam’s. “To a clear voice, no laryngitis, and no stage fright.”

  Adam took a deep breath. He shouldn’t be feeling like this: he’d stood in front of a hall full of children time and again—and their parents too—without blinking an eyelid, even on the occasions he’d been addressing them all on a controversial topic, prepared for a ton of flak. He wouldn’t be on his own tonight, he’d not even be in the front row of the choir, and the audience was bound to be far more receptive, so why was he in such a state?

  Because this is the first time you’ve been performing with Robin in the audience. Remember what it was like at school when you were five and took the part of the innkeeper in the nativity play? Both your parents and gran were in the audience?

  He’d nearly wee’ed himself with nerves back then. And while there was no risk of him disgracing himself in the toilet department tonight, that sickening attack of butterflies—great big ones wearing hobnail boots—jiving about in his stomach was almost as debilitating. He missed having Campbell hovering around somewhere, providing his calming presence as he’d done at rehearsals. The dog had become a talisman for the choir, although they couldn’t have him either backstage or front of house this time. Instead, they’d got a picture of him on one of the music stands to bring them luck, but it wasn’t the same.

  Bugger. Martin was briefing the choir from on top of a convenient box placed in the wings, and Adam had missed whatever the first bit of the team talk had been.

  “—you’re feeling nervous, that’s natural. Remember, the first song’s been chosen to let us get our voices up to speed, so if your throat’s feeling tight, don’t worry. It’ll soon loosen. And if you’re still worried after that, just imagine the audience sitting there in their old baggy y-fronts. That’ll soon calm you down.”

  Robin in y-fronts, even baggy ones, was hardly the kind of mental image to calm anyone down, although one ray of sunshine was that Martin was unlikely to have him in mind anymore. Things on the Sam front appeared to be still going along swimmingly, if the continued shared smiles and little glances were anything to go by. Ah, the heady days of new fledged attraction, the sighs and pauses when together, the mental testing of whether what one person meant was what the other did, and the agony of being apart even for a day.

  You can stuff that. I’m glad that’s all long past me.

  Martin was making what appeared to be the final announcement, given that the music track that served as an overture was coming to an end. “Everyone wants this to be a success, audience included. They’re not going to be looking for any little mistake. Come o
n. Let’s do this.” He jerked his thumb towards the stage and they began to file on, to enthusiastic applause.

  What seemed like fifteen minutes later but was actually an hour of choral and instrumental items, the first half came to an end, to thunderous clapping. Adam, who’d been scanning the audience whenever he could, hadn’t been able to spot Robin, nor either of their mothers. All three had to be there, no doubt ramping up the volume of the applause. Suddenly, a loud whistle from the audience caught everyone’s attention. There was Mrs. Bright in the middle of a row, fingers in mouth, producing the sort of ear-piercing noise Adam had never been able to manage. There was Robin, seated between her and Adam’s mum, wearing a proud-as-punch expression. Adam’s heart leaped at the sight. He’d not let down the team—choir or family—at all.

  Robin appeared to be egging Mrs. Bright on to do her whistle again, much to the amusement of the young men they were sitting amongst. By the expression on his own mother’s face, she was struggling with whether to be appalled or amused. Maybe when she’d got a glass of interval wine inside her she’d be giving it a try herself.

  Adam could have done with a stiffener himself but made do with water to cool and lubricate the vocal chords.

  The second half commenced with some of the solo acts, then the choir returned for a final set, after which—following prolonged, rapturous applause and a whole series of whistles not only from Mrs. Bright but those sitting around her—they returned for their encore. A wholehearted rendition of “All that Jazz,” with jazz hands and jazzy hats, brought proceedings to an end. The applause was still audible as the choir made its way to the deepest regions backstage.

  “You were brilliant.” Martin, on the verge of tears, could barely get his words out. “We’ve raised a higher total than expected, with the CD sales still to add on. People have been asking about a copy of the music from this concert, so after we’ve had another encore, can we arrange a date to get together? I’d like to make a high-quality recording of our entire set, not solely the tracks for the main CD. We’ve been offered the use of a proper recording studio the other side of Kinechester, if that’s an incentive.”