by Iain Cameron
He pulled out his mobile and called Helen’s number. He could hear it ringing, as if the phone was close by, in the kitchen or lounge, but it rang out and diverted to voicemail. He didn’t leave a message, but instead walked to the end of the terrace where he’d noticed on previous visits a lane at the rear of the houses providing access to the back gardens.
He counted along the doorways until he came to the Barton house. He climbed the small gate guarding the entrance and headed for the back door. After knocking several times, he dialled Helen’s number and this time he could hear it ringing louder than before. He peered through the window and could see it vibrating on the kitchen table. His initial reaction was one of annoyance, how could she could leave her phone behind, but he soon realised it indicated something else. Police Officers and in particular, FLOs, were instructed to be in contact at all times, and this convinced him that Helen was still in the house.
He selected a small side window and using a rock from the garden, smashed the glass. He unlatched the window and with the assistance of a wooden bench, climbed in. The kitchen didn’t look so different since the last time he’d been in here, making tea after telling the poor woman that her husband had been murdered.
He called out, ‘Lily, Helen are you there?’
The muffled thumping he was sure he heard earlier sounded louder now and seemed to be coming from upstairs. He bounded up the stairs and tracked the noise to a closed door. By a process of deduction a bathroom, as all the other doors were bedrooms.
He rapped his knuckles on the door. ‘Is there someone in there?’
‘It’s me, sir. Helen Vincent. I’m stuck inside. Thank God you’re here.’
‘How did you get stuck? Is the lock jammed?’
‘Lily locked me in.’
‘What? Why?’
‘I don’t know.’
The hallway was dull on account of the murky day outside; he reached over and switched on the light. The bathroom door was made from solid wood and locked using a key. There wasn’t a key in the lock and he didn’t find one following a cursory search.
‘How long have you been in there, Helen?’
‘Ten, fifteen minutes.’
‘Where’s Lily?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Stand back. I need to kick the door in.’
‘I’ll jump in the bath,’ she called.
He paused a few seconds. ‘Are you standing out of the way now?’
‘Yes.’
Henderson kicked the door with the heel of his shoe at a point close to the lock. Nothing. He did it again and heard a faint creak. He did it again and again before the door swung open with a loud crack.
Helen, standing in the bath, had the look of pure relief on her face. ‘Thank God, sir. Thank you so much,’ she said as she climbed out.
‘Do you know where Lily is?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Your best guess. She didn’t lock you in the toilet to go shopping.’
‘You don’t think…’ Her hand covered her mouth.
He nodded. ‘Maybe. How did she seem to you this morning?’
‘Better I thought.’
‘Maybe she’d made her mind up.’
He pulled out his phone. ‘Do you know what car she drives?’
‘Yes, a blue VW Tiguan.’
‘Do you know its reg?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was it parked near the house?’
‘Yes. I check every morning.’
Henderson opened the bathroom window. ‘Can you see if it’s there now?’
The window was set high making it a stretch for her to see out. ‘The car was parked close to the house but another car is now in its place.’
Henderson called Lewes Control. ‘This is DI Angus Henderson, I need you to broadcast the following car license plate on ANPR.’ He handed the phone to Helen. She gave the operator the car’s registration number. He took the phone back. ‘The car is a Blue Volkswagen Tiguan. The owner, Lily Barton, is a suicide risk. She must be taken into custody if spotted.’
Helen remained at the house in case Lily returned, and to arrange a tradesman to repair the broken window and the splintered bathroom door. He drove back to Malling House, his mood as dark and foreboding as the church he left behind in St John’s Terrace. He turned into the car park when his mobile rang.
‘DI Henderson?’
‘Yes it is.’
‘Lewes Control here. We have a sighting of the Volkswagen Tiguan that you requested.’ The operator repeated the registration number.
‘Fantastic.’
‘It was spotted by a patrol car in Ardingly village. They were unable to follow as they were in the process of making an arrest but the car turned down College Road.’
‘I know it. Thanks.’
Henderson turned the car around and headed out, back to the main road. On the way, he programmed the satnav and when it finally displayed a route to Ardingly, he floored the accelerator. From his knowledge of the area, College Road ran from the village of Ardingly to the town of Haywards Heath with not much else along the way. However, he didn’t think Lily would go to the trouble of locking Helen in the bathroom to visit some friends in the town or a secret love-child at Ardingly College.
If planning to commit suicide, he would bet her destination would be a place about half a mile down College Road from the village: Ardingly Reservoir. If he guessed wrong and she was heading off to meet a friend’s child at the college or an old boyfriend in Haywards Heath, he would rather walk away with a red face and be accused of wasting time, than to see Lily’s lifeless body in the back of a hearse.
If he decided to end it all, a reservoir on a cold November afternoon would feature near the bottom of his list. Around twenty suicides a year took place at Beachy Head near Eastbourne. To him, it seemed more final jumping from a two-hundred-foot cliff down on to rocks than trusting your nerve will hold when you see and feel the grey, cold water of a large body of water.
Along the A275 and then the A272, he behaved like an arrogant executive late for an important meeting, tailgating cars, overtaking when a gap opened up, and receiving in return flashed headlights and blasts from their horns. He didn’t think his fast driving would damage the engine of his recently purchased three-year-old Audi, but it was killing his fuel consumption and he was thankful he’d filled the tank only two days before.
At last, the village of Ardingly appeared, and with a sigh of relief, he turned into College Road. Minutes later, he sped down the access road towards the reservoir, ignoring the inconvenience of well-worn speed-bumps but taking care not to mow down a large family of ducks with a death wish, meandering close to the road’s edge.
He ignored the car park and drove right up to the shoreline of the reservoir and parked on the slipway. Here, the mist prevalent in Lewes was less in evidence but the air still felt cold and damp. Out in the water, he could see a single rowing boat that looked to be heading towards the middle of the reservoir. He took from the car a pair of binoculars and trained them on the boat. Slowly, he brought them into focus, and there he could see the unmistakable hair, features and face of Lily Barton.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Henderson lobbed the binoculars back into the car and ran towards the Activity Centre at Ardingly Reservoir. The building sat at one end of the long body of cold, dark water, close to the slipway where his car was parked, there to organise and run sailing courses and collect fees from boat owners who stored their craft along shoreline.
Henderson pushed the door open into a warm room, his nostrils immediately assailed by the strong smell of rubber from the wetsuits displayed all around and hot food cooking slowly inside the pie heater in the corner.
‘Two in one day, it must be a miracle,’ the guy behind the desk said.
‘What?’ Henderson asked.
‘Two customers on a shitty day like this. Someone up there must be smiling on us.’
‘I need a boat, a fast boat.’
&
nbsp; ‘Give me a second and I’ll need to take a look,’ he said turning to his computer. ‘Are you booked?’
‘Listen friend,’ Henderson said slapping his hand down on the counter. ‘The woman you hired a rowing boat to a few minutes ago?’
‘Yeah, what about it?’
‘I think she’s here with the intention of committing suicide.’
‘You’re pulling my chain, mate. We haven’t had a suicide here for, I dunno, since before I started working here.’
At that moment, it dawned on Henderson. The man’s nonchalant attitude was due to him not knowing who stood in front of him or why he was there. He pulled out his ID and held it up for him to see.
‘Ah right, the cops. What can I do for you, detective?’
‘The woman out there in the boat is a suicide risk. I want a fast boat. I need to go out there and bring her in. Now!’
‘All right, all right, keep calm or you’ll have a coronary.’ He jumped off the stool, grabbed a grubby yellow sou’wester from a peg and walked to the door. ‘Follow me.’
They strode past the Activity Centre towards a long line of boats. They passed several before he stopped and pointed at a small boat with an outboard. ‘Is this one ok for you?’
‘As long as the engine works.’
‘It does.’
Henderson jumped in, headed to the stern and started the outboard.
‘I see you’ve been in a boat before.’
‘You could say that.’
‘Nevertheless, I’m required to come with you because…’
‘Save the speech, young man. If you need to get in, get in.’
His companion climbed in and took charge of the rudder while the DI undid the mooring rope. Seconds later, they set off.
‘What’s your name?’ Henderson asked as they sped over the wind-whipped waves. It was cold on the water and he wished he’d brought a warmer jacket.
‘Adam. What’s yours?’
‘Angus.’
‘Double A, a good sign.’
‘You’re superstitious?’
‘Aren’t all sailors?’
‘I suppose they are.’
‘So,’ Adam said after a few seconds of silence, interrupted only by the high pitched whine of the small outboard, ‘you think this woman will try to commit suicide?’
‘Yes. She’s just lost her husband and she’s very distraught.’
‘Right, I’m with you now.’
They could see the other boat better now. It wasn’t moving, Lily sitting motionless with her back to them. They were still too far away for her to hear them, not that he wanted to shout as it might alarm her. In any case, the noise of the little Yamaha engine would drown out anything he said.
‘It’s not a very nice way to commit suicide is it, jumping into a lake? I mean it’s freezing cold at this time of year and dark.’
‘From a selfish point of view, I would rather she didn’t as I don’t want to go in there to try and save her. I would prefer to talk her round.’
He watched Lily as her figure grew larger in his vision. He instructed Adam to move closer to Lily’s boat but to keep her back facing them, allowing her less time to see their arrival.
‘You could shout to her now, we’re close enough for her to hear and I can turn the engine down if it helps.’
‘Maybe when the boats are closer and we can talk without shouting.’
They were about ten metres away when she looked round but it didn’t seem to be at them. She leaned to one side and toppled over the side of the boat.
‘Oh shit,’ Henderson said. A November dip in Ardingly Reservoir did not appear anywhere on his bucket list.
In seconds, they were close to the spot where she had gone over and before Adam could say anything in protest or support, Henderson removed his jacket and shoes. He hoisted himself up to the side of the boat and toppled backwards into the water.
Whoa! The word ‘cold’ didn’t do it justice. He felt instantly chilled to the bone and any vestiges of his morning hangover disappeared without trace. He envisioned clear drinking water but it was bracken-cloudy, most likely the result of recent heavy rain. Reservoirs he knew, bottomed-out at three or four metres, so if he managed to swim down in error it wouldn’t be a lung-bursting trip back up to the top, unlike the ocean. He couldn’t see any trace of Lily, and surfaced.
‘Head more in the direction of her boat,’ Adam shouted. ‘I’m sure I saw something in the water on the port side.’
Henderson did as Adam suggested and dived again. Seconds later, he saw something too. Something blue. Lily had been wearing a blue Puffa jacket. He headed towards it.
Moving closer, he reached out with outstretched fingers and grabbed it. To his relief it felt to him like the material of a jacket and not a fish or a lump of wood. He felt further along and found her arm and when he thought his hand was close to her shoulder, locked his arm under hers and stroked up towards the light.
On reaching the surface, he gasped for air, making him realise he’d been underwater longer than he expected. He looked around for their boat. Adam spotted him and headed their way. Henderson turned to look at Lily. Her face was white and impassive with no flicker of life. He leaned his ear close to her mouth. It was difficult to hear anything for the slap of the water, his own shivering and the noise of the Yamaha, but he couldn’t feel the heat of her breath either.
‘She’s stopped breathing,’ he said to Adam when the boat manoeuvred alongside.
‘Pass her up.’
With Henderson pushing and Adam pulling her shoulders, Lily was soon on board. Now came the tricky part getting him back on board. Many an amateur sailor had come a cropper doing this manoeuvre, reaching over to help a mate in the water and capsizing the boat. Fortunately, Adam used the experience of numerous sailing courses and children’s water parties and pulled him up without drama.
Adam left an exhausted Henderson to catch his breath and started administering Cardio Pulmonary Resuscitation, or CPR as it was more commonly known, to Lily. With her head tilted to one side, and her arms crossed in front of her, he began pumping her chest.
‘Take the helm, Angus, and get us back to the Activity Centre, fast. I called an ambulance.’
Henderson turned the boat and headed back as instructed. He couldn’t fault Adam’s first-aid technique, but Lily wasn’t responding. The throttle on the Yamaha was open to its full extent but to his dismay, the Activity Centre didn’t seem to be getting any larger.
‘C’mon, c’mon,’ Adam said, anguish evident in his voice. He kept going with the chest compressions and on reaching a point when Henderson was about to advise him to stop, Lily uttered a small cough. Seconds later, there came a splutter, then about a half-litre of water came spouting out of her mouth. There followed a fit of coughing and before long, her legs and arms began to move.
She tried to sit up but Adam, looking exhausted, told her to lie still and covered her with his own jacket. He looked over at Henderson and the DI gave him a thumbs up and a beaming smile. Henderson was now wearing his own jacket which he’d left on the boat before diving in. It provided some warmth, but this was almost cancelled out by the chilling breeze which blew straight into his chest, a position he needed to adopt to steer the boat.
When they got closer to the Activity Centre he could see several of Adam’s colleagues gathered at the lakeside. Henderson guided the boat into its berth, and many hands reached forward to help them. To Henderson’s surprise, when he got out of the boat his legs felt like jelly and it was fortunate help was there, as he doubted he could walk back to the car under his own steam.
The heat in the Activity Centre hit him like a warm-air curtain and with it came the soporific effect of a hot summer sun on a Mediterranean beach and all he wanted to do now was sink into a chair and close his eyes.
‘C’mon Angus, no time for sitting around,’ Adam said. He led him down a dim corridor and into the men’s changing room. Henderson slumped on a bench while Adam switche
d on a shower.
‘Take these wet clothes off and get into the shower. I’ll bring in a towel and something for you to change into, ok?’
He nodded. ‘Where’s Lily?’
‘Is that her name? Celia’s looking after her. She’ll be fine. We’re all trained in first-aid and resuscitation.’
Adam left the room and Henderson knew if he laid down on the uncomfortable hard ribs of wood, he would be sleeping like a baby in seconds. A vague alarm went off in his head, warning him that if he was suffering from hypothermia, he shouldn’t go to sleep otherwise he might never wake up. Instead, he slowly removed his clothes, not easy as they were sodden and clung to his skin as if glued. He smelled too, an earthy odour of peat and bracken, like he’d been on a two-week camping holiday.
He stood in the shower for what felt like an age, turning up the heat to a point where he couldn’t stand it any hotter until the chill in his bones began to subside. He now felt so much better and proceeded to soap every inch of his body, trying to replace the damp, muddy smell of the reservoir with the whiff of coconuts from the liquid soap dispenser.
Feeling invigorated, he switched off the shower and true to Adam’s word, on the bench he found a towel. Beside it, some clothes: a t-shirt, a boiler suit and a plastic bag. He dressed and after squeezing out as much excess water as he could from his wet clothes in the shower, he stuffed them into the bag.
He walked back into the main office area where he found Adam talking to two paramedics, a tall man and a shorter woman.
‘Ah, Angus,’ Adam said. He turned to the paramedics. ‘This is the man I was telling you about.’
‘How are you feeling, sir?’ the paramedic nearest to him asked.
‘Much better thanks, that hot shower did me a lot of good.’
The paramedic approached and looked him up and down as health professionals were prone to do when examining a patient, as if assessing a second-hand car they were about to purchase.
‘I would still like you to come with me to the hospital, sir, and have you checked out.’
