Someone To Save you

by Paul Pilkington

  Sam couldn’t really even begin to empathise with Marcus’s experience. He’d never even set foot in a prison, and all he had were the images offered by Hollywood movies and British crime dramas. ‘You got singled out?’

  Marcus nodded. ‘Oh yes. Especially at first – I got lots of attention.’

  ‘Physically?’

  ‘A few times,’ Marcus revealed, ‘two weeks in three guys cornered me in the toilets and gave me a beating. They kicked me until I lost consciousness. Had to be rushed to the medical centre, woke up not knowing where the hell I was, and had the scars for a few weeks. But it taught me a lesson. I got smarter and didn’t leave myself open like that again.’ He took another gulp of beer.

  Sam shook his head, trying to imagine how he might have dealt with such an experience. Would he have had the strength to survive? ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For not believing you. For not visiting you in prison. For not replying to your letters.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, waving away Sam’s apology, ‘honestly. It’s in the past and I just want to move on and forget about it all. Life’s for living, and all that.’

  His response rang hollow when Sam looked at his one-time best friend. It was as if Marcus said these things enough times, he would start to believe them himself. Sam realised that this whole conversation, this historic reunion, was necessarily polite. The emotions were just too raw at the moment, too strong, needing to be restrained, for the time being. Just as Sam hid his unease and stubborn suspicion, Marcus’s bitterness surely had to be there. Bitterness at losing fifteen years of your life through a miscarriage of justice, bitterness at the best friend who had abandoned him to his unjust fate.

  ‘And what about now, what will you do?’ Sam said.

  Marcus shrugged, playing with the rim of his glass. ‘Try and get some money together, work my way out of that shit hole of a flat. I’ve got a job in a warehouse, loading food containers for supermarkets. It’s not great, it’s nightshift work, cold, but it pays pretty well. Although the prices of property in London are astronomical, so I won’t be living in a palace anytime soon.’

  ‘I was surprised you moved down to London.’

  ‘I just ended up here,’ Marcus said. ‘I didn’t plan to, but after I got out, I went home and it just didn’t work out. People were talking, and I was getting looked at in the street. Then kids started shouting things outside the house. It was affecting my family. So I got out. I like the anonymity here.’

  ‘But you’re getting your windows shot out.’

  ‘True,’ Marcus conceded. ‘I’ve tried to run away from the past, but I haven’t quite managed it yet.’

  ‘But if the police announce that you’re innocent and people then get to know…’

  ‘Then it will help,’ Marcus said. ‘But mud sticks. There will always be that element of doubt in some people’s minds.’

  Sam didn’t know whether that was directed at him, but it certainly felt like it. ‘What did the police say to you?’

  ‘Not much. They just told me that someone had claimed that they’d murdered Cathy, and that he had her locket. But they still treated me as if I was the guilty one. They even suggested that I might have given him the locket. Can you believe that?’

  Sam kept quiet and Marcus continued, now revealing at least some of the bitterness and anger that he harboured.

  ‘I think as far as they’re concerned, I’m out of prison, a free man, so what’s the problem. I lost my trust in the law a long time ago. This guy Richard Friedman might be guilty, but, to be blunt, I don’t think the police give a shit.’

  He let out a bitter chuckle.

  ‘Did they tell you anything about him?’

  ‘No.’

  Marcus had a right to know the full story. ‘He was one of Louisa’s patients – she’s a psychologist at the same hospital as me.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘And he’d been ringing me up, taunting me about Cathy.’

  Marcus looked perplexed. ‘So he tracked you down and targeted you both?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  Marcus looked to be in thought. ‘What else do you know about him?’

  ‘Not much really, apart from his wife was killed by a hit and run driver. According to Louisa, he became depressed after that.’

  ‘But you don’t know anything that might link him to Cathy? Whether he used to live in that part of the country, or even work on the camp site?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Aren’t you interested in finding out more?’

  ‘‘Course I am,’ Sam replied.

  ‘So why don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He was a patient at your hospital.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So his details must be on the computer system - where he lives.’

  ‘I’m sure the police can handle the investigation,’ Sam replied. ‘I don’t want to interfere. It’s best to leave this to the professionals.’

  Marcus pulled a face.

  ‘You don’t think so?’ Sam asked.

  ‘It’s up to you,’ Marcus replied. ‘You always were a stickler for doing the right thing. I just wish I shared your confidence in the ability of Her Majesty’s Police.’

  27

  ‘Let me know if you hear anything,’ Marcus said, as they stood outside the snooker club, for what felt like an uncomfortable goodbye - like the culmination of a first date, with both parties unsure whether this was the start of something more, or simply the end.

  ‘I will,’ Sam replied. ‘You too, if anything happens, call me.’

  Marcus nodded, then glanced over his shoulder. ‘Better head off home.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘It’s been good to see you, Sam.’

  Recognising Marcus’s discomfort at how this was ending, Sam decided to make the first positive move. ‘We should do it again. Soon.’

  Marcus nodded, then smiled, visibly relaxing. ‘Definitely. I’d really like that mate.’

  Sam stood at the bus stop, running over the reunion with Marcus. It was too early to take it all in, to fully assess what had happened, and how he felt. The truth was, he didn’t know how he felt. But one thing was certain – despite his best intentions, he hadn’t been able to completely rid himself of the feelings he’d cultivated for Marcus over all those years. Maybe that explained the vague sense of self-loathing he now felt. For the first time since Cathy’s murder, he was facing up to the hatred he’d carried but buried for so long.

  As Sam waited at the stop, he remembered about the comment the ICU nurse had made about Tom Jackson. He pulled out his mobile and dialled Tom’s number. It rang through to voicemail, but he didn’t bother leaving a message. Instead, he called their home number.

  Sarah answered. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Sarah. It’s Sam Becker...’

  ‘Oh my God, has something happened to Sophie?’ she interrupted.

  ‘No, no,’ Sam reassured her, trying to stem her panic, ‘everything’s fine, as far as I know.’

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ she said, ‘I thought for a second that...I thought that...oh God, I really thought...’

  Sarah Jackson broke down on the other end of the line.

  ‘I’m sorry I scared you,’ Sam said. This was why you weren’t supposed to call the family of patients outside your professional capacity. But he had crossed that line with the Jackson family many years ago – it was too late to play the dispassionate medical professional now, even if he wanted to. ‘I just called to see if Tom was alright.’

  The sobbing continued.

  Sam moved a few paces away from the bus stop as two elderly Afro-Caribbean ladies approached and sat down in the shelter. He didn’t really want anyone overhearing this, even if they didn’t know who he was talking to. ‘Sarah, what’s happened?’

  ‘Tom’s left.’

  Sam was shocked. ‘What?’

  ‘Two days ago. I came home from work and he
’d gone.’

  Sam couldn’t believe it. Tom had always been so devoted to Sarah and Sophie. It seemed inconceivable that he would abandon them. ‘He just disappeared?’

  She had recovered some of her poise now. This was of course a young woman who had dealt with trauma very effectively for years. ‘He left a note, saying that we’d be better off without him, and that everything was his fault.’

  ‘And you’ve not heard from him since?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she confirmed, sniffing. ‘He didn’t say where he was going, and he’s not answering his mobile. I’ve been worried sick.’

  ‘I just tried to call him,’ Sam revealed.

  ‘He’s not been to see Sophie,’ she continued. ‘He wouldn’t do that, Sam. You know how much he loves her. He wouldn’t do that unless he wasn’t himself. I’m worried about what he might do.’

  ‘Have you told the police?’

  ‘No. Do you think I should? He’s a grown man, and he decided to leave on his own accord, so I didn’t think they’d care.’

  ‘Tell them everything,’ Sam advised. ‘Tell them about Sophie, that it’s totally out of character for him to leave like this, and that he’s anxious and depressed. Call them right now. If they want to speak with me, give them my number. I’ll do anything to help.’

  Sam returned to home just before ten. He would never get used to the quietness of the place without Anna. He’d just made himself a drink when someone knocked on the door. But when he reached the front, no-one was there. Two minutes later, just as he had switched on the radio, a knock sounded out again, this time more insistent. This time he reached the door quicker, but again there was no-one there. Sam scanned the path and front garden, and looked out towards the street and the parkland beyond. There was no sign of anyone.

  ‘Very amusing,’ Sam spoke out into the darkness, his voice not sounding as confident as he’d intended.

  It was probably kids knocking on doors and then running away. They’d played the game when they were young, nine or ten years old – running around the village, goading one another to linger longer at the door while still evading the homeowner. At the time it felt like harmless fun, but as an adult he now understood the more sinister effects on the victims.

  By the time the knock sounded for a third time, Sam had decided not to give them what they wanted. He ignored the door and settled back on the sofa.

  Then the phone rang.

  Feeling more on edge than he had realised, Sam moved over to the phone. ‘Hello?’

  The line was dead.

  He’d only just replaced the handset when the phone again called out. He snatched at the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  Again dead.

  ‘What the hell is this?’

  Sam thought of Richard Friedman and the unknown girl who had called herself Alison. It was like their ghosts had returned. He moved into the centre of the lounge, his heart rate increasing as he waited for the inevitable next call or knock.

  And then the phone rang for a third time.

  This time he let it ring for a few seconds before picking it up.

  ‘Hello?’

  There was a blast of interference down the line, but battling through it was a familiar voice. ‘Sam?’

  Sam experienced a rush of joy. ‘Anna? Is that you?’

  ‘Sorry, the line’s terrible,’ she shouted.

  Then suddenly the inference disappeared.

  ‘Anna?’

  ‘Phew, that’s better,’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to get through for minutes now, but the phone lines around here aren’t the best. They’re still repairing a lot of the network from the flooding, so you have to take your chance while you can.’

  Her voice was instantly soothing. ‘It’s great to hear from you,’ Sam said, pressing the receiver closer to his cheek. He wanted to reach down the phone and embrace her, feel the comforting warmth of her skin.

  ‘You too,’ Anna replied. ‘Email’s okay, but...’

  Sam smiled. ‘I know what you mean. It’s so good to hear your voice.’

  ‘Ditto.’

  ‘So how’s it all going?’

  ‘Great,’ Anna said, her voice upbeat and now even clearer down the line. ‘We’ve pretty much finished setting up the new water supplies to the local area. We’ve connected up the health centres and schools, and most of the villages have now got access to fresh water for the first time in weeks. The situation was really terrible, Sam, cholera had really got a grip, but the number of cases has dropped back a lot in the past few days.’

  ‘That’s great.’ Sam knew from his time in India just how horrific cholera could be; striking at areas of weakness and picking off the most vulnerable with a ruthlessness that was genuinely frightening – for both the local population and those trying to care for them. ‘So, are you on schedule to come home on time?’

  ‘Ahead of schedule,’ Anna replied. ‘I’m already booked on a flight for tomorrow morning.’

  This was fantastic news, and Sam didn’t hide his joy. ‘Tomorrow? That’s great. I can’t wait to see you, A.’

  ‘Me neither.’ There was a pause, then, ‘I’m worried about you, Sam.’

  The statement took Sam totally by surprise. ‘Worried? I’m okay,’ he said, trying not to sound defensive.

  ‘I know what’s been happening since I’ve been away – with that guy Richard Friedman.’

  There was shock, closely followed by anger that someone had told Anna the news that he’d wanted to protect her from. ‘How? Louisa told you? She had no right...’

  ‘It wasn’t Louisa,’ Anna interrupted. ‘It was your mum. She emailed me – she thought I knew.’

  Sam put a hand to his head. He hadn’t wanted Anna to find out like this. But it was his fault. He should have told her himself. ‘She told you everything?’

  ‘Yes. I can’t believe it, Sam. After all these years, for someone to just appear out of nowhere and say they killed Cathy. Well, it’s, unbelievable. Shocking. You must be going out of your mind. I called as soon as I could get to a phone.’

  ‘I’m okay,’ Sam said. ‘I’m slowly getting my head around it.’

  ‘Do you really think this guy murdered Cathy?’

  ‘Did my mum tell you about the locket?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sam paced up and down, twisting the phone lead tighter. ‘Well I just don’t know how he could have got the thing if he hadn’t really done it. I mean, he could have found it on the dunes, or been given it by someone, but he said he did it.’

  ‘So what about Marcus; are you going to meet with him? If this guy did kill your sister, then Marcus is…’

  ‘Innocent, I know. I just went to see him, tonight.’

  ‘Really? How was it?’

  ‘Strange,’ Sam replied. ‘After so many years of being sure that he killed Cathy, it was just so weird to sit there talking to him. Did my mum mention that she visited him in prison?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She said she thought he was innocent pretty much all along, but she didn’t want to say anything because of how me and Dad felt.’

  ‘And how do you feel now?’

  ‘Confused. Guilty. Angry. I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s totally understandable, Sam. You’ve been through a hell of a lot. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you. Don’t be mad with your mum for telling me, will you?’

  ‘I’m not,’ Sam replied. ‘I just didn’t want you to find out like that, while you’re away.’

  ‘You should have told me, Sam.’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘People care about you. You should let them.’

  ‘I know, I know, it’s just I thought that, what’s the point of you worrying about me when you can’t do anything about it?’

  ‘I can do things like this.’

  Sam knew she was right. ‘I’m sorry, I should have told you. And it is good to talk about it with you. It feels good.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ she said. ‘But
seriously, Sam – are you really okay?’

  Sam untwisted the telephone cord. ‘I’ve been better, but honestly, I’m okay. I’ll be better when you’re back though,’ he added.’

  ‘I can’t wait. Expect a big kiss in under twenty-four hours.’

  ‘I’m counting on it.’

  Thankfully the knocks stopped, and with thoughts of Anna’s imminent return, Sam began to relax. He powered up the laptop and logged into his email account to read the message that Anna had said she’d sent earlier in the day. Anna’s email was there. But there was also another message that caught his eye, sent just ten minutes ago. The title of the email message read:

  The Good Samaritan

  And the sender was catherinebecker@netmail.com

  It was sickening, like an unexpected, winding blow to the stomach.

  He opened the message without a second thought. The only text it contained was a link, just like the previous message that had led to the page about Cathy on the dating website. But this time he recognised the website to which the link would take him – YouTube, the popular video sharing site.

  He clicked on the link and waited nervously as the page loaded.

  The page appeared, revealing a box headed The Good Samaritan. Below the box were video control buttons. Sam clicked on play.

  It wasn’t a video; just a black screen. There was sound, but it was too low to make out. Sam turned up the volume to maximum.

  ‘It’s going to be okay…You’ll be safer staying here.’

  It was his voice.

  ‘Jessica’s in the back.’

  And the girl who had claimed to be Alison.

  Sam leant into the screen, his world turning around him. Audio from the train crash. But how? ‘What the hell?’

  ‘Please, God, no…Look away! Look away, please.’

  ‘Please, help Jessica! She’s in the back! Jessica’s in the back!’

  And then the recording ended.