by Adam Croft
Caroline made her way back to the incident room, ready to update Sara and Aidan on their progress — or lack thereof — in Walsh’s second interview. But before she could do so, the door flew open and Sara bundled out into the corridor.
‘Oh! There you are. I was just coming down to find you.’
‘Yeah yeah, alright,’ Caroline said. ‘I told you we’d be up when we were finished.’
‘No, I wasn’t chasing. I was coming to give you an update. There’s been a development. A massive one.’
‘What is it?’ Caroline asked, narrowing her eyebrows as she felt the dull thud of exhaustion in her temples.
‘It’s Arthur Clifton — Roger’s brother.’
‘What about him, Sara? Spit it out.’
‘He’s been murdered.’
42
Sara’s words hit Caroline like an icy bolt.
‘What? How? Tell me,’ she said, ushering Sara back into the incident room.
‘We’ve got first responders on the scene at the moment, but from what we can gather so far, Arthur was walking up the driveway to Alice Clifton’s house in Empingham when he was attacked. Too early to get too much detail, but it looks like a heavy blow to the back of the head, plus strangulation. Again.’
‘Jesus Christ.’ Caroline sat down in the nearest chair and tried to gather her thoughts. ‘When?’
‘Literally within the last hour. Alice Clifton heard something outside and went to look out the window. She says she saw someone running away, but it was so dark she couldn’t make out anything else.’
‘What the hell was Arthur doing there at that time of night?’
‘No idea. But apparently he stinks of alcohol. Either way, if we’re assuming his and his brother’s murders are linked, it can’t have been Patrick Walsh. We’ve had him in custody since before lunch.’
‘I know, Sara. I know. Jesus. I need a minute. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine, don’t worry. I think we can safely say the killer’s getting desperate, though. Look at what happened with Roger. That must’ve been planned meticulously. With Arthur, it’s a case of jumping him in the dead of night while he’s a few beers down, then scarpering. Whoever it is, they’re panicking.’
‘Or they desperately needed Arthur Clifton dead there and then.’
‘In which case, we need to find out why.’
‘Have you spoken to Chief Superintendent Arnold?’
‘Not yet, no. I thought you should be the first to know.’
‘Alright. Dexter’s still downstairs. Let him know what you know. I’ll call Arnold.’
Caroline waited for Sara to disappear out of sight, then she grabbed her keys and headed down to the car park. On her way, she called Derek Arnold. He picked up his phone just as she got to her car and sat inside.
‘Caroline. How’d it go?’ Arnold said.
‘The interview? Not amazing. He shut down and started no-commenting, then demanded representation. Aidan’s trying to get hold of an on-duty brief. Listen, something’s happened. We’ve just had a call. There’s been another murder.’
Arnold was silent for far longer than Caroline would’ve liked before speaking. ‘Who?’
‘Arthur Clifton,’ Caroline said, almost whispering.
‘The brother?’
‘Yeah. The brother.’
‘What happened?’
‘Same MO.’
‘I see.’
‘That’s all we know right now. I’m heading over to the scene now to see what I can—’
‘No,’ Arnold said, interrupting her.
‘Sorry, sir?’
‘No. No, you’re not. Go home, Caroline. Get some sleep. We’ll speak in the morning.’
Something in his tone of voice didn’t quite sound right to her. ‘Sir, I’m fine. Is something the matter?’
‘I think it’d be better to talk about this in the morning, once we’ve both had some sleep.’
‘I’d rather talk about it now, if that’s okay.’
She heard Arnold sigh heavily at the other end of the phone. ‘Alright. Go home, get some sleep, and don’t come into the office tomorrow morning. I’m putting you on leave. We’re handing the case over to EMSOU.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Why? You’re not actually asking me that, are you? As if our previous chats weren’t enough, you’ve let the case completely run away with you. It’s now a double murder. And who knows how many more people he’s got in his sights? You’ve got a former bloody international rugby player in custody for a murder he didn’t commit and, quite frankly, you’re causing far more trouble than you’re solving right now. Listen, I know it’s not necessarily your fault. I can tell something isn’t right. Christ knows what it is, but either way you need to get home and rest, for both our sakes. I’ll clear up the mess, I’ll get EMSOU on board and with any luck we’ll catch the person responsible sooner rather than later.’
There was a finality in Derek Arnold’s tone that told her there was very little point in objecting. He’d made his decision, and that was that.
Consumed by rage, anger, heartbreak and regret, she let out an ear-piercing scream at the top of her lungs; a scream that reverberated around the interior of her car, ringing in her ears for seconds after she’d finished. But it had been a long time coming.
She opened her car door and stepped out onto the tarmac, feeling the cool night air and the gentle breeze on her face. She was lost and utterly alone.
‘Oh, hey.’ Dexter walked towards her. ‘Sara just gave me the lowdown on what happened to Arthur Clifton. Fuck.’
‘Yeah. Fuck.’
‘You okay?’
‘No. No, Dex, I’m not.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Dexter said, letting her put her head on his shoulder.
‘I’m off the case.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I spoke to Arnold. He wants to hand control over to EMSOU. He wants me to take some time off.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘He is.’
‘Oh, man. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. What are you doing out here, anyway?’
Dexter clenched his jaw. ‘I’m gonna head over to Empingham. See what we can get.’
Caroline nodded and closed her eyes.
‘I mean, I can stay here. I don’t need to go, I suppose. I probably shouldn’t, actually. Wouldn’t be very… Well, y’know.’
‘Loyal?’
‘I guess.’
‘Don’t worry about loyalty, Dex. Your only loyalty is to the victims and their families.’
‘Alright. If you’re sure.’
Caroline forced a smile. She’d felt certain he would stick by her and fight her corner. She didn’t know why it always seemed to happen, but she found herself once again feeling betrayed and alone.
43
When Caroline finally got home, she slept until midday. Her first thought on waking was to call the office and get an update on Patrick Walsh, but she didn’t. She knew what would have happened. His custody clock had run down, the murder of Arthur Clifton would mean he’d be heavily downgraded as a suspect in Roger’s murder, and he’d have been released. But a nagging doubt stuck at the back of Caroline’s mind.
What if this was all part of the plan? What if Patrick Walsh had killed Roger Clifton, and the reason Arthur was attacked and murdered so suddenly and desperately was because it needed to be done then? To her, it made perfect sense. If Arthur Clifton was murdered while Patrick Walsh was in police custody, that’d throw huge doubt on his guilt — as it had done already. Either way, there was nothing she could do. She was off the case.
Her phone vibrated on the bedside table beside her. She recognised the number immediately. It was the hospital. She pressed the volume button on the side of the phone to silence the call, and put it back down. She didn’t care what they had to say. It was only going to be bad news. Good things weren’t coming her way.
It took another half an hour for her to fina
lly get up and go downstairs. She wanted to wait until she’d heard Mark go out to pick up the shopping, as he did every week. That way, she could ease herself into the day a little more easily.
She looked at the kitchen clock. Should she be having breakfast or lunch? It didn’t seem to matter much either way. She took a bowl from the cupboard and put it on the kitchen work surface. As the porcelain touched the veneered wood, her eyes were drawn to a bottle on the side — one which had been there for a week or so and had largely become part of the furniture. She looked at it for a moment, admiring the way the clear liquid sat almost perfectly level with the top of the label. Before even thinking, she grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the cap and brought it to her lips, gulping down the bitter, aromatic gin. Stopping for breath, she put the bottle back down, feeling the rush of the alcohol almost immediately. The liquid settled, and it became clear how much she’d drunk. She looked behind her again, then took the bottle over to the sink and carefully added cold water until the original level had been restored.
She felt sick. Physically and mentally. She didn’t know how she’d got here, nor did she care. She wanted out of it. She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket, and looked at the screen. The hospital again. She looked back at the bowl, still sitting in the place she’d left it, quietly waiting to see what food it would be paired with today. She was sure she’d never admired a piece of ceramic in quite this way before, but the fact of the matter was bowls just got on with it. They didn’t worry about thoughts and feelings. They were never betrayed — other than in favour of another bowl, but she very much doubted that ever worried them.
She jumped at the loud click and rumble of Mark sliding open the patio doors. ‘Morning. Or afternoon, should I say. How’d it all go?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘No luck?’
‘To say the least.’
‘Wasn’t it him?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Has he been released then?’
‘Yes. I think so. Look, do we have to talk about this now?’
Mark looked wounded. ‘No. I guess not. I just wanted to check you’re okay, that’s all.’
‘I’m fine. I just want five minutes’ peace. Is that too much to ask?’
Mark raised his hands in mock surrender and headed out into the garden. In that moment, Caroline felt closer than she ever had to crumbling completely.
44
The rest of the day had passed in a blur. Once mid-afternoon came around, Caroline had innocently suggested they fire up the barbecue and share a bottle of wine. The sharing aspect hadn’t quite worked, and she’d drunk most of it herself. That had, naturally, led on to cider and beer, before spirits in the evening. Mark had mostly abstained, choosing instead to quietly berate her for drinking too much. But she really didn’t care. She’d enjoyed the calm sense of relief the alcohol gave her. The next morning, though, her head was feeling something very different indeed.
She was woken by the sound of jangling keys. It was a sound she recognised, but not one she’d expected to be woken by. She rolled over and opened one eye, watching as Mark took the keys from the bedroom dresser and put them in his jacket pocket.
‘Mark? What’s going on?’
‘It’s alright. Go back to sleep. I left you a note downstairs.’
‘A note? What for? What’s going on?’
Mark sighed. ‘I’m taking the boys to see Mum.’
‘What? Without me?’
‘She hasn’t seen them in ages,’ he said, ignoring her question. ‘It’ll do us all some good.’
‘Mark, what are you saying? Are you planning on staying there?’
Mark sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her. ‘Caz, I can’t stand to see you like this. The kids have picked up on it, too. They’re scared and worried. I’ve asked you so many times what the problem is. I’ve tried to talk to you, I’ve tried guessing what’s wrong, I’ve tried… I’ve tried, Caz. If you won’t let me in and won’t talk to me, what can I do? I can’t help you if you won’t let me help you.’
‘I’m not asking you to help me.’
‘I know. That’s the problem. Look, I’ll call you later on, alright? We’ll only be there a couple of nights. Monday’s a bank holiday anyway, so we can come back late in the evening if everything’s alright. We’ll play it by ear.’
‘Play it by ear? Mark, Jesus Christ, give me a chance to wake up and process this. Are you leaving me?’
‘It’s just a couple of nights. The boys want to see their Grandma.’
Caroline sensed movement at the bedroom door. She sat up and felt the pounding of yesterday’s alcohol in her head as she looked over towards them.
‘Come and say goodbye, boys. We’ll ring Mum when we get there, yeah?’
‘Bye, Mum,’ Josh said, giving her a cursory kiss on the cheek. He was growing old before his time. Archie came over and hugged her, showing a little more affection, but she could still tell he’d spotted something in her. Something that wasn’t quite right.
‘Just a couple of nights,’ Mark said, almost whispering.
She looked at the boys and felt as though she’d lost them. She could see from the looks in their eyes that they barely knew her anymore.
45
By the end of the day, the house had never looked so clean. The only way she’d found to distract herself and her mind was to listen to the radio and clean the house from top to bottom. She’d vacuumed every room twice after discovering a new setting on the hoover that she’d never found before. Then again, she estimated she’d probably only used the thing twice in her life. Today was different. Today was about distraction. Purging the dirt. Keeping bad thoughts at bay.
One room’d had less attention than the others, though. She’d tried to avoid the kitchen where possible, not wanting to see the temptation of the alcohol bottles. She desperately wanted to just curl up in a ball with a large glass and drink herself to sleep, but there was still a part of her — a part she was grasping onto for dear life — that knew that wouldn’t do any good.
She needed to keep things together as much as possible. She couldn’t afford to spiral in on herself. She’d already lost the case, the respect of her colleagues and — only temporarily, she hoped — her family. If she couldn’t keep control of her head, she’d lose everything else, too.
By the time the evening rolled around, her legs felt like lead. Her mental anxiety had provided far more nervous energy than her body had provided physical energy, and by now the latter was severely lagging. She collapsed onto the sofa, hoping she’d either regain some energy or drift off to sleep, before waking up and doing it all again. She only needed to distract herself until Mark and the boys were back. That’d be enough to ground her, focus her on what she needed to do.
She needed to tell Mark about the cancer. She knew that. But how could she tell him now? It’d either look like a cynical stunt to get him to come back, or he’d realise just how long she’d kept it to herself and would be devastated at the thought that she couldn’t tell him about it.
She’d been fortunate, in a way. The cancer was ovarian, which gave very few noticeable symptoms. There was certainly nothing Mark would have spotted. The treatment, too, had been something she’d been able to hide. When she’d got the diagnosis, she was stunned. They were on the verge of leaving London for a better life. They were putting their troubles behind them. The last thing she wanted was to rock the boat, upset her family and put her brand new job in jeopardy. And when she was given the details of the proposed treatment plan — a course of paraplatin chemotherapy which would be unlikely to lead to hair loss or any noticeable side effects other than tiredness and nausea — she’d honestly believed she could get through it on her own. There had always been a decent chance of surgery being required once the chemotherapy had shrunk the tumour, but she’d told herself she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
It had started as a matter of necessity. She’d tell Mark in a few
days, she thought. Then days had become weeks, weeks became months and she’d realised there was no way she could sit him down and tell him what she’d hidden from him for so long. In any case, that would only be the tip of the iceberg.
There was a reason she didn’t open up. It wouldn’t be as simple as that. It was more a case of opening the floodgates.
She was jolted from her reverie by the sound of her phone. It was a different ring from normal. She looked at the screen. It was a FaceTime call from Josh. She accepted the call.
‘Hey, you,’ she said, trying to look as calm and happy as she could. ‘How are you? How’s Grandma?’
‘Yeah, she’s good. We’re good.’
‘Okay. Good. You having fun down there?’
‘Not really. You know what it’s like.’
Caroline let out a small laugh. ‘Yeah, I do. Is this you telling me you’ve become a bona fide country bumpkin now, then?’
‘Something like that, yeah. As long as I get a tractor out of it.’
‘I’ll see what we can do.’
Caroline saw Mark enter the room behind Josh, and in that moment she realised her son had called her on his own impulse, and not because he’d been told to.
‘Hey,’ Mark said, looking at the screen.
‘Hi. You okay?’
‘Yeah, no real change. We went out into town for a bit earlier, but I think the boys’d had enough. Mum’s doing dinner.’
‘At this time?’
‘Was meant to be ready for five. You know what she’s like. I told the boys to expect it around half eight.’
Caroline laughed again. Seeing Mark and Josh’s faces had been a tonic for her. ‘Where’s Archie?’
‘He’s “helping” Mum,’ Mark said, complete with air quotes.
‘Ah. Half eight might’ve been optimistic then.’
Mark flicked his eyebrows up knowingly. ‘We’ve shared a pack of Jaffa Cakes. We’ll last. How are you doing? Getting some rest?’
