by Max Hardy
‘Thank you, we will do that.’ Strange took out another photograph from the folder and placed it in front of Jessica. ‘For the tape, I have just placed a CCTV still of a limousine on the table. Mrs Seymour, could you confirm if that is your company limousine please?’
Jessica looked at the number plate clearly visible on the image and over the body of the vehicle. She nodded her head affirmatively as she continued. ‘Yes, that is the registration of our limousine. It is the vehicle as well. Ewan keeps a Woody Woodpecker toy stuck to the window just above the tax disc. I can see it.’
‘Could you read the date and time from the image please?’ Strange asked.
She scanned the photo quickly, eyes finding the information in the bottom right corner. ’12:35 am 1st January 2012.’ She relayed, a surprised expression crossing her face as she looked up at Strange.
‘That picture was taken by a CCTV camera at the Portobello junction on the A1 out of Edinburgh. Do you have any idea why the vehicle would still be in Edinburgh at that time, when you thought it was back in Newcastle?’
The surprise morphed into astonishment as she shook her head from side to side, staring intently at the CCTV image. ‘I really have no idea. As far as I was aware, Ewan took the limousine straight home.’
There was a knock on the door as she continued staring down at the image. DI Saxon poked her head around it as she opened it. ‘Sir, could I have a word please.’ a high level of gravitas in her tone, ‘It is important.’
‘Yes, no problem,’ he started, shooting her a perplexed glance. ‘Sorry Mrs Seymour, I will only be a minute, is that alright?’ he asked apologetically.
‘Yes, no problem.’ she answered distractedly, still looking at the picture.
‘Thank you. Interview suspended at 12:54 pm.’ Strange said into the tape, pausing it as he did. He picked up the bundle of files from the table and quickly left.
Jessica picked up the CCTV still from the table and ran a finger over the number plate, then up to the Woody Woodpecker toy, all the time shaking her head dejectedly, her countenance pensive, concerned and scared all at once. She put it back down, arranging the other photographs and picture in a line in front of her, gingerly touching the faces of the people in the other three, Madame Evangeline first, then Rebecca and lastly Michael, fingers lingering on his empty eyes.
The door opened again and Strange re-entered the room. ‘Thank you for your patience Mrs Seymour.’ he started, his tone a little curt and his mannerisms slightly more abrupt. He pressed the start button on the tape before continuing. ‘Interview recommenced at 12:57 pm.’ He continued, taking a couple of photographs from the top of his files. ‘Mrs Seymour, could you tell me where you were at 12:35 am on the 1st January 2012 please.’
‘I was at the Old Waverley Hotel, in my room.’
‘And where you alone at the time?’ he asked.
‘No, John was with me. We had been there since around 7:30 pm the previous evening, after returning from an early dinner.’
‘Was there any point during the evening that the two of you were apart?’ Strange queried.
‘No. We were asleep some of the time, but awake for long periods of the night. I can’t recall exactly when we slept.’ she answered with a tinge of embarrassment.
Strange took the top photograph from the two he held in his hands and placed it just above the one of Rebecca that Jessica had lined up.
‘For you and the tape, this is a photograph of the limousine captured at another set of traffic lights, five minutes earlier than the one I showed you earlier. The image is much clearer. Could you tell me who you can see looking out of the lowered rear window?’ he asked.
Jessica leaned forward to take in the image on the table. Her eyes darted from that to the picture of Rebecca below. ‘It looks like Rebecca Angus.’ she answered, the words croaky as her throat dried out. She took a sip of water from the glass, her hand shaking as she did so.
‘Would you like to take a moment Mrs Seymour?’ Strange asked.
‘Sorry. No. I’m alright. This is all just a bit of a shock, to be honest.’ she answered.
Strange nodded. ‘I can appreciate that.’ he said, as he laid a second photograph on the table over the picture of the limousine. ‘This is another picture at the same lights, showing a clearer image of the limousine driver. Could you tell me if that is your regular driver, Mr Ewan Jones please?’ Strange asked, folding his hands on the table over his file.
Jessica took in the slightly blurry features of a man wearing a chauffeur’s cap, dark hair evident just below the brim line. In an instant her expression turned from inquisitive, as she looked over the features, to incredulous, as the blurred elements started to coalesce in front of her eyes into someone she did recognise. She looked at Strange in utter astonishment, her mouth agape as she sought words to answer his question.
‘Mrs Seymour, is that Ewan Jones?’
She shook her head slowly, the sideways motion stuttering as her body shook, her lips trembling and the words timorous as she said. ‘No, it’s not Ewan.’
‘But you do recognise the driver?’ Strange prompted, firmly.
‘I do.’ she barely whispered, disbelief screaming from the near silence. ‘It’s John. It looks like John.’
1:35 pm
‘Now that’s what I call retail therapy.’ Allie said, sinking backwards into her seat in the restaurant, dropping the dozen or so designer label bags she was carrying to the floor around her. They had left the coffee shop earlier a couple of minutes after Sarah had dropped the bombshell about John having an affair. Allie had seen the distress it was causing her friend and ordered Sarah out on the shopping trip to distract her mind.
Sarah sat down opposite, placing her three bags on the empty seat next to her. She smiled at Allie. ‘It was fun finding clothes to best accentuate your new assets, I have to admit.’
Allie faked shock, clutching a hand to her new chest. ‘I’m offended. It wasn’t just about me. We did go into one shop for you too.’
‘For Jacob, I think you will find.’ she corrected, opening her handbag on the table and taking out her phone. The modicum of joviality that had managed to work its way into her mood suddenly left as she took in the notifications on the front of the phone. She looked up at Allie, all of her previous tribulations tattooed in her expression. ‘Ten missed calls from John. Five text messages from John.’ she stated with a heavy sigh.
‘Well, he can just wait. If he couldn’t be bothered to haul his scrawny ass away from work to celebrate your anniversary, he can damn well wait until after lunch before you call him. Be strong Baby Girl.’ Allie ordered, leaning over the table as her eye was caught by something in Sarah’s handbag. She pulled the small piece of cloth out and shot Sarah a surprised look. ‘Tell me this isn’t what I think it is?’ she asked, holding the cloth up in front of her.
Sarah leaned over and grabbed it off her petulantly, another one of her false nails flying off as it caught in one of the tags on the taggie.
‘It’s Jacob’s taggie, that’s all. It’s just nice to have it close when he’s not around. There’s nothing wrong with that.’ she defensively answered, hiding her hands and the cloth under the table.
‘That’s the same taggie you had during the thing we don’t talk about, isn’t it.’ Allie challenged, all joviality gone from her tone.
Sarah’s demeanour was resolute for a few seconds, fronting up to her friend, but under Allie’s stern consternation, she cracked, lifting the taggie onto the table. ‘Yes, it’s the same taggie. It is Jacob’s now.’ she answered contritely, twirling the piece of cloth through her fingers, slipping the tags over a few of them.
‘I didn’t realise you still had it. I certainly didn’t know you had given it to Jacob. Why the fuck have you done that, after everything you went through. It can only bring back bad memories, surely.’ Allie chastised.
Sarah didn’t look up from watching her hands playing with the taggie as she spoke quietly. ‘It’s not t
his tatty bit of cloth that brings back bad memories. It’s watching Jacob every day. It’s the realisation that every decision I made back then almost certainly caused Jacob to be the way he is. This is my comfort. My link to keep some sense of the nonsense that happened. It’s a way of letting Jacob know that for the briefest of times he had a sister. It’s my way of keeping the promise of them alive, in the touch of something they both held.’
Allie sighed heavily, shaking her head. ‘You cannot possibly know that Baby Girl. No one knows why Jacob is the way he is. No one.’ she stated.
‘It’s not a case of knowing, it is how I feel. Every day it’s how I feel.’ Sarah retorted.
‘Have you ever told John about this?’ asked Allie, concerned.
‘About how I feel, or about what happened?’ Sarah queried.
‘Both.’
‘He knows a little bit about the thing we don’t talk about. He doesn’t know about the pregnancy. There’s only you, me and my parents that know about that now. As to the aching guilt I feel every second of the day, knowing that I caused Jacob’s condition, no, he doesn’t know about that.’ Sarah answered, twirling the taggie over and over.
‘Don’t you think it is something you should talk about? If he is hurting and you are hurting and neither of you are talking, is it any surprise you are drifting apart.’ Allie stated.
‘Good afternoon ladies, could I get you anything to drink while you are looking at the menu.’ asked a waiter arriving on their blindside at the table.
Automatically Allie said. ‘Could I have a bottle of your 66 Chateau Lafaurie and two Caesar Salads as well thank you.’ she finished abruptly, flashing him an emotionless smile.
‘I think it is way beyond talking. He is having an affair Allie, have you forgotten that!’ Sarah retorted angrily in a whisper as the waiter left.
Allie paused for a moment, taking in her friend’s troubled countenance. ‘The first time I saw that taggie was when your parents thought you had been abducted. It was just after they had arranged the appointment for your abortion. You went missing, he was away and they put two and two together, coming up with five and thought he had snatched you. I knew he hadn’t and I knew where you would be. I found you at the bottom of old Professor Langley’s orchard, half a mile down the country lane from your parent’s farm. You were sitting under our tree, the daddy of the orchard, right in the middle. The place you always went when you were scared, ever since we met, when you were five and three quarters and I was six. Not that we weren’t kids on that evening. God, it’s scary to think you were only thirteen.’
‘Allie, we don’t talk about it, that’s the whole point of calling it the thing we don’t talk about!’ Sarah chastised, a little fire in her eyes.
‘In this case I think we need to. I found you, taggie in your hand, sitting there with the evening dew settling on your coat, mingling with the tirade of tears you were shedding. Your Bros holdall was leaning on the tree next to you. I seem to recall you had packed only one pair of clean knickers and the rest of the bag was filled with makeup.’ Allie smiled at Sarah as she relayed the memories.
‘I know you didn’t agree with what they did at the time. I know that’s why you ran away. I know you hated them for it for a very long time afterwards. But you do know that they only ever had your best interests at heart. They did what they did because they loved you, not because they hated you, or hated him. We spent a long time talking about that into the early hours of the morning. Perhaps it’s the same with John. Have you considered that what he really wants, when he is talking about euthanasia, is to have a plan in place should things take a turn for the worse with Jacob. Just think about the tough decisions your parents had to make on your behalf. I’m not saying it is right, I’m just asking you to think about it.’ Allie finished, somehow managing to convey concern on an immovable face, in spite of the Botox.
The fire left Sarah’s eyes and she looked back down at the taggie. ‘I remember. I know what you are saying. Some days I think they were right. Most days I think they were wrong. But I don’t blame them anymore. I put myself into that situation. I was a minor and they had to look after me. It was all because of the choices I made, the forbidden fruit that I partook of. I know I need to understand where he is coming from. I never gave him the chance to explain, I just flipped.’
‘Not out of character then!’ teased Allie, before continuing. ‘Do you remember one of the other things we talked about that night, about his wife?’
‘I remember. I remember I blamed her for not understanding her husband and for not giving him the things that a wife should. I blamed her for pushing him away from their marriage, into the arms of someone else; into my arms. None of it was my doing, none of it was his doing; it was all her fault.’ she recollected.
‘You are in her shoes now. Do you think you understand John? Do you think you give him the things a wife should? Do you think you are pushing him away from your marriage? Are you pushing him into the arms of someone else?’ Allie challenged, opening and pouring the wine that arrived at the table, pushing a full glass over towards Sarah as she took a huge gulp out of her own.
‘I was very young and very naïve. I knew nothing about relationships. I know it didn’t stop me thinking I knew everything and putting everyone through hell. It’s different now. John and I made a vow, shortly after we met, that if either of us didn’t want to be with the other, we would say so. If we met someone else we wanted to be with more, we would say so. What we wouldn’t do was lie or deceive each other. That was our scripture, our simple honesty, and he has abused it.’
‘Well, Baby Girl, it’s a very romantic thought, but you are still naïve if you think that was ever going to happen. You have secrets. He has secrets. Neither of you ever had a relationship where you could be totally honest with each other, so how the hell do you think you were going to keep that little promise. Don’t get me wrong, I love you both to bits and I am certainly not condoning what John has done. I am one hundred and ten percent behind you. I’m just asking you to be honest with yourself before you talk to him. Ask yourself the question. Have I given him any cause to stray? For pity’s sake, you made a pass at Rob last night, so bear that in mind too!’
Sarah cringed and lowered her head into the taggie as Allie said the last sentence. ‘Oh god, did you have to remind me of that. It was so embarrassing.’
‘Yes I do. You are having a mare about John having an affair and there you are playing tonsil hockey with someone else. It is all down to the two of you not talking. It is all down to the two of you not being honest and open about how you feel. If you really believed that shite trite promise you made, you would take the pain of realisation and split the fuck up without any blame, any animosity or any repercussions. Just accept bad shit has happened and that together, the two of you are toxic.’ Allie extolled, floridly.
‘Christ Allie, tell me what you really think, why don’t you.’ Sarah answered in surprise.
‘Well, it’s just fucking relationships, it’s not like it’s anything important, like Botox.’ Allie retorted, a wily grin on her face. ‘Consider that a verbal slap.’
‘Ouch.’ Sarah joked, contorting her face in contrived pain.
‘I love you to bits Baby Girl and trust me I do know how hard it is for you, but you don’t help yourself, letting the baggage of yesterday…’ she began, reaching over and shaking the taggie in Sarah’s hands. ‘Cast it’s shadows on the life you have today. Never forget her. Never ever forget her. But that’s not why Jacob is the way he is and that certainly isn’t why you and John have problems.’ she finished, grabbing one of Sarah’s hands and squeezing it hard.
Sarah’s eyed began to well up, with tears of relief, her face relaxing as she looked at her best friend. ‘Thank you, for listening. You always know how to help me get over myself. You always seem to have the answers.’
‘I don’t have any answers, just perhaps the right questions. It really does help that I don’t give a shit.’ she win
ked.
‘Yes you do, behind that plastic chest of yours, there is a heart of gold.’
‘No there’s not, it’s plastic too, and full of collagen. I had that done two weeks ago. You should call John. Get yourself home and talk. After lunch though. He’s still a bastard for hurting my Baby Girl, so let him sweat for a little while longer. Now, where’s that Caesar Salad. Waiter!’
2:20 pm
Saul’s black SLK came careering down the overgrown gravel driveway of Featherstone Hall, throwing up stones in every direction, a policeman patrolling the perimeter having to jump out of the path of the oncoming vehicle. The car skidded sideways to a screeching halt just outside the MIU, a wave of gravel surfing out from the tyres, peppering passers-by and other vehicles. Shouts of admonishment greeted Saul’s ears as he leap out of the car and rushed to the open door of the MIU.
DI Munro was in the doorway watching his approach. ‘Slow down Saul, you can’t…’ he started to say, the sentence ending in a wheezy whisper as Saul’s oncoming fist connected with his stomach, winding him, forcing him to bend double in the doorway. Saul pushed through the opening to one side of him, stepping over his groaning poleaxed torso. Munro stuck out an arm as Saul got inside the MIU and grabbed his foot, causing him to lose balance and stumble headlong onto the floor.
‘What the hell is going on here!’ shouted Strange, quickly coming out of the interview room to the right of the MIU entrance, Jessica’s concerned expression fleetingly glimpsed before he pulled the door closed. He saw Saul spread-eagled, starting to get up and Munro doubled up. In an instant Strange leant down, grabbed Saul’s left arm and thrust it up his back, suppressing his movement as he sat astride him and secured the other arm in a similar fashion.
‘Jesus John, what the fuck do you think you are doing? It is absolutely unacceptable to strike a fellow officer like that.’ Strange shouted, grappling to control Saul who was trying to wriggle free from underneath him.
‘I need to talk to you urgently Sir, there are some things I have found out at the Institute.’ Saul retorted in a frustrated, raised voice, still endeavouring to break free.
