The Slow Road to Hell

by Grant Atherton

  I slipped it into my pocket. The answers would have to wait. I'd check it out later along with the papers. Right now, I needed to be on my way.

  On the drive to the hospital, I went over in my mind what I wanted to say to Nathan. I was still trying to figure it out at the end of my journey as I searched for a space in the hospital car park, and was no nearer to a solution by the time I reached the ward.

  It was lunchtime and the combined aromas of plated food from the half-dozen or so beds wafted around the large open room vying for olfactory attention with the pungent pervasive odour of disinfectant. How I loved hospitals.

  Karen was propped up in a chair by the side of her bed over by the window on the far of the ward, eating what looked like a very unappetising casserole, her plaster-encased leg raised on a footstool. She was in animated conversation with Lowe who sat on the edge of the bed. They were laughing, too engrossed in each other to see my approach. I sidestepped an elderly woman in a dressing-gown shuffling towards me with a mobile IV drip-stand in tow, negotiated my way around the lunch trolley and crossed towards them between the two rows of beds. A large bunch of red roses, still in their cellophane wrapping stood in a glass jug on Karen's bedside table. No need to guess who they were from.

  As I reached the two of them, I said to Karen, "You seem remarkably cheerful for someone who just took the quick way down a flight of stairs."

  The were both grinning like a pair of idiots and Karen said, "That was yesterday. Today is decidedly better." She discarded her half-empty plate, placing it on the locker by the bed, and ran a hand across her forehead, brushing her hair to one side.

  "Must be something good to make up for yesterday. Have you won the lottery?"

  "Much better than that," she said, pressing a hand to her throat.

  "I'm intrigued," I said. "So what is this momentous event?"

  "Oh, for God's sake, Mikey. Are you blind?" She raised her hand and waved it in front of my face.

  That's when I spotted the ring. A solitaire diamond on her left hand. "You're engaged?"

  I reached over to where some metal-frame chairs stood at the side of the bedside locker, dragged one of them over to the bed, sank into it and sat and stared at her, lost for words.

  Lowe leaned over and clasped a hand on my shoulder, still grinning inanely and Karen said, "Well don't just sit there. Say something."

  "I'm in shock," I said. "This is so unexpected. And to think, a few days ago you didn't even have a boyfriend."

  "Oh shut up," she said, still smiling.

  Lowe raised his eyebrows. "What?" He sounded puzzled.

  "Private joke," I said.

  Karen shot Lowe a sideways glance. "I would have preferred a more romantic setting for a proposal. Under a Parisian moon or watching a sunset over the Mediterranean Sea." She pulled a face. "What will everyone think when I tell them you proposed to me in a hospital?"

  I said, "Tell them you were in bed at the time and let them draw their own conclusions."

  They both laughed and Karen said, "Any more suggestions like that and you're off my party list."

  But of course I wasn't going to be a part of their celebrations. After today, I wouldn't be a part of their lives anymore. Losing Nathan had other consequences. Dreams of a new beginning, starting again with the man I had once shared my life with would have meant coming home, reintegrating into the local community, renewing relationships with old friends. And now none of that was going to happen. The dream was over.

  Karen must have read my expression. Some of the sparkle left her eyes and she said, "But you won't be there anyway, will you?"

  I grimaced. "I'm going to have a lot of catching up to do when I get back home."

  "Yes, of course," she said.

  We both knew it was a lie. And we both knew why I couldn't stay. If I was going to get my life back on track, I had to make a clean break from my past. Maybe one day, when I'd had time to come to terms with losing Nathan, I would come back.

  Lowe, of course, wasn't clued in to what was happening. He said, "London isn't that far. And I'm sure Karen can always find you a bed for the night if you need to stay over."

  Karen put a hand on his arm and squeezed it. "Mikey's going to be snowed under when he gets back. I'm sure he can come visit once he's settled back into his routine at home."

  "You can invite me down for the wedding," I said. "Just don't make it too soon."

  Karen snorted. "Please. One thing at a time."

  Smiling, I rose to my feet, ready to take my leave.

  Karen's expression became serious again. "Look after yourself, Mikey."

  We locked eyes for a moment, no words passing between us. But the silence said so much more.

  "I'm going to be okay," I said, answering the unspoken question.

  I left them sitting side by side, Karen, my oldest dearest friend, leaning against the bed, and her new fiance, still grinning, with Karen's arm across his thigh.

  At the exit, I waved goodbye.

  There are two kinds of goodbyes. Saying goodbye to Karen had been of the first kind, the more usual and sometimes casual leave-taking of those you'll see again and, difficult though such goodbyes can sometimes be, they did not compare with the second kind for the heartache and pain they can cause. Saying goodbye to Nathan was of the second kind, the final farewell, and my heart was already sinking as I headed towards it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Nathan greeted me with a brisk nod and said, "Take a seat, Mikey."

  Clearly ill at ease, he'd adopted that cold formal tone he always did when he was being less than friendly. Stern faced, he stood behind the black leather swivel chair on the other side of his desk, gripping the backrest with both hands like a shield, as if defending himself. Perhaps he expected another outburst.

  My cheeks burned with embarrassment at having put him in this position and I had to force myself to meet his gaze. He deserved better than my unwarranted and totally disproportionate criticism of the way he had handled this investigation. I needed to put it right.

  As I took the offered seat, I cleared my throat and said, "Before we start, I owe you an apology. I had no right to say the things I did last night. I'm truly sorry. It was unforgivable."

  Nathan visibly loosened up. The clenched jaw relaxed and he released his grip on the back of the chair.

  "No need." He drew back the chair and sank into it. "It was understandable. You were upset." In the circumstances, his response was generous.

  "That's no excuse. I should never have questioned your competence. You're doing all you can. I know that and I should have tried to be more helpful."

  His handling of the investigation hadn't been my only criticism, of course. There was still the thorny issue of his failure to tell me about Brandon Barwell. But right now didn't seem the right time to raise the matter. Best to leave personal issues to one side.

  There was a pile of manila files on the desk in front of him. He pushed it to one side and leaned forward, hands clasped. "You were distressed. And maybe I shouldn't have pushed you the way I did." He added, "I know it was a terrible thing to have happened but Karen is going to be all right. She's tough, always has been."

  I acknowledged what he said and voiced my agreement. And now, of course, Karen had more pleasant things to occupy her thoughts. He wouldn't have heard the good news yet but I'd let the happy couple have the pleasure of telling him. I wasn't in the mood for sharing good news about someone else's relationship; it made my own situation seem even more pathetic by comparison.

  Nathan said, "Now you've had time to think about it, perhaps we can go over it again." His tone was more relaxed. Still formal - he was ever the professional when working - but his voice no longer had that brusque edge to it.

  I sank back into my chair, relieved and more at ease. "I don't know what else I can tell you. It happened so quickly. There wasn't time to take it in." I cast my mind back and tried to conjure up an image of Karen's attacker. "I didn't get a good look
at the guy. And I was crouched down at the time. But I'd say he was about my height. About six feet."

  Nathan prompted some more. "This all helps. And I know you couldn't see his face. But what about his build? Anything you can tell me about his general appearance?"

  I thought this over and said, "Nothing out of the ordinary. Well built I think." I tried to get a clearer picture of what happened in my mind." There is one thing," I added. "He was fit. The way he moved. He was agile."

  "So that could give us an indication of his age?"

  I affirmed. "Yes, I suppose so. If I had to make a guess, based on his build and the way he moved, I'd place him somewhere between late twenties to mid forties. And someone used to physical activity."

  "Anything else? Did he speak?"

  "Never said a word. Sorry, I can't tell you any more."

  "You've already told me a lot. And it all helps. I'll have one of my officers go through the details with you and take down a formal statement. If you think of anything else though, do let me know."

  "Sure, I will."

  "There is something else, Mikey." There was another change in his tone. Hesitant. Uncertain. "I understand you're moving back to London."

  "I presume Brandon told you?"

  "He tells me he visited you."

  "He's a nice guy. I enjoyed meeting him." Total lie of course but there was no point saying otherwise. The least I could do was accept defeat with good grace.

  "I meant to tell you he was staying over. I wanted to find the right time."

  The right time? Yeah, sure. Like there was a right time to tell your erstwhile lover he was being passed over for someone else.

  I forced a smile and said, "There really is no need. It's none of my business. And I'll be leaving later today anyway."

  His face creased into a look of concern and I almost believed he was disappointed as if he was sorry to see me go.

  "It would help if you could stay around a while longer,” he said. “I'm sure you'll appreciate that this investigation is far from over and we may need to interview you again."

  So that was it. My leaving might impede his investigation. Nothing personal. He wasn't going to miss me at all.

  I said, "I realise that so I'll leave my contact details at the desk. But I really do have to get back. Lots to do. And it’s not as if I'm so far away I can’t get back at short notice."

  He made a half-hearted protest but I made it clear I wasn't going to change my mind.

  "And besides," I said, "I need ..." I searched for the right words. "The past few days have been difficult. I need to get away." I added, "From Elders Edge."

  Of course he knew what I really meant. I needed to get away from him. And so in the end, he acquiesced; there wasn't much else he could do.

  He rose to his feet, interview over, and said, "I'll walk you over to the desk and find someone to take your formal statement. But before I do, I wanted to wish you well for the future. Lowe is going to take over the day-to-day running of the investigation so he'll be the one getting in touch if we need to see you again."

  He held out a hand.

  So that was it. Just a handshake. A formal goodbye. I wanted more than that. I wanted to reach out and hug him, hold him close and tell him how sorry I was for all the hurt I'd caused him and how much I regretted losing him. But I knew that if I did, I'd get emotional and make a fool of myself. This way was best.

  I took his hand and shook it.

  "And we can still be friends," he said.

  I gave his hand an extra squeeze. "Of course we can."

  But of course we couldn't. I took a good long look at him, knowing I was seeing him for the last time.

  This was the image of him I would take with me. A tall confident man dressed in regulation grey flannel suit and white shirt which did little to hide that proud erect body, a lopsided smile creasing his face.

  How I would miss him. I hoped that he was happy at last, that he had found what he was looking for. And I wished him well. But we couldn't be friends. I'd already lost the best part of him and I couldn't settle for less. I was saying goodbye for the last time.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Even Axwell and Ingrosso's upbeat rendition of "Sun is Shining" failed to raise my spirits. I switched off the car radio and drove the rest of the way to Wainwright's house in silence. Saying goodbye to Nathan had put me out of sorts and the last thing I needed was an endless stream of bright cheery music to depress me even more.

  Wainwright wasn't in a particularly upbeat mood either. He was surprised to see me until he saw I was carrying his toolbox.

  "I'd almost given up on getting that back," he said."

  I ignored the implied criticism. "Well you have it now."

  He held up a pair of grease-stained hands. "I was just tinkering with the car. Could you bring it through to the kitchen?"

  He wasn't very welcoming but I followed him into the house anyway. He led me through the living room towards the back of the house. The air was musty and the faint odoriferous smell of garbage drifted in from the kitchen. A stein of beer stood on a small coffee table by the fireplace, the table's dull surface scarred by coffee cup rings.

  I didn't suppose domestic hygiene was one of Jonas's priorities right then and I guessed he'd let things slide without Erin to take care of the domestic chores. Not that I blamed him for that. He'd had enough to contend with.

  The living room was dominated by a large old-fashioned fabric-covered three-piece suite with a faded floral design in muted shades of yellow. Laura Wainwright sat with her back to me in one of the overstuffed chairs watching a large black-framed flat-screen TV over a faux-marble mantelpiece. It was an incongruous modern touch in this setting.

  The TV was tuned to a recording of a reality TV talent show blaring out an off-key attempt at a Metallica song by a singularly unattractive band of goths who looked like they would be more at home in a funeral parlour. I gave it a zero.

  Laura tore herself away from the screen long enough to see who was passing by. She flushed and quickly turned away when she realised who it was.

  After the episode with the bracelet, I doubted I was one of her favourite people right then. Poor kid. After all she'd been through, not only losing her mother but also having to cope with Erin's tragic death, I had mixed feelings about having exposed her pilfering. I regretted adding to her considerable woes by being yet another source of distress.

  Wainwright took me through to the kitchen and I carried the toolbox over to the table while he washed his hands at the sink.

  He wasn't in a talkative mood and neither was I. So, after a few desultory exchanges, I made my excuses, pleading the need to set off for London as soon as possible, and made my way out.

  He saw me to the door and I was about to take my leave when a battered old Renault Megane drew up to the gate, and out stepped Giles Trivett.

  As he turned towards the house, our eyes met and he stopped in his tracks, hesitant, as if unsure to continue. I'd be one of the last people he'd want to see given the part I'd played in exposing his wife's infidelity. Meeting unexpectedly like this would have embarrassed him. He stared at me, dull-eyed, from behind his thick-lensed spectacles before dropping his gaze and making his way towards us along the garden path. He walked slowly as if weighed down by a heavy load, all his natural exuberance gone.

  Irrational though it was, I experienced a pang of guilt. I felt partly responsible for his current circumstances. And, of course, news of Frances Trivett's affair and possible prosecution for wasting police time wouldn't enhance his reputation. It wasn't the sort of image befitting a clergyman. Learning of his wife's infidelity and duplicity would have been a bitter blow.

  As he approached, he avoided any further eye contact with me. Someone else who'd crossed me off their favourite persons’ list. Two in one day. It was enough to make a lesser man paranoid.

  He addressed himself to Wainwright and said, "I need to speak with you about the outstanding repairs at the vica
rage." Shooting me a sideways glance, he added, "but I can come back later if you're busy."

  That was the only acknowledgement I got.

  I butted in. "We're finished here so I'll leave you to it."

  He answered with a brief nod.

  "There is one thing before I go." I spoke to Trivett. "I found another batch of papers among my father's possessions. If any of them relate to his estate, I'll drop them off later."

  "No need." He spoke sharply and looked decidedly aggrieved. Probably didn't want me bumping into Frances. "Leave them at reception and I'll pick them up from the Fairview later."

  "I'm not at the Fairview. I have a holiday let over on Fleming Road. It's not far from the vicarage so it'll be no bother to drop them off."

  I turned to go, cutting short his stammered objections, and then remembered the memory stick. "One other thing." I took the stick out of my pocket as I turned back to him and held it up. "This was among the papers. Not sure why my father would have it. It's not yours is it?"

  He shook his head. "I've not seen it before."

  "It was a long shot. I thought maybe it was church records of some kind."

  His reply was curt. "No, sorry." He sounded like he didn't care one way or the other.

  I shoved the stick back into my pocket. It would have to wait until later. Right then, I wanted to get away.

  All three of them; Wainwright, Laura and Trivett, had good cause to be in low spirits. But as much as I sympathised with them, I was depressed enough about my own sorry situation without having to endure any more of their mournful company.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Back at Barwell's place, I'd only just made it through the door when Jerry called. Something about a contract for a book deal he needed to discuss. It was a timely reminder I had a living to make and couldn't afford to let things slide. Besides which, throwing myself back into work would take my mind off my current troubles.