Tainted Lives

by Mandasue Heller

  ‘No way, man.’

  ‘Good. Don’t even tell her it was me on the phone. The less she knows, the less she’ll be involved if it comes on top.’

  ‘I won’t! You can trust me. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Sarah. Things have been a lot better since you had a word with her. I wouldn’t want to muck it up again.’

  ‘Yeah, well, sort yourself an alibi so you’ve got a legit reason for getting out.’

  ‘Will do. See you later.’

  Cutting the call, Pete made one of his own before going back into the flat.

  ‘What are you grinning at?’ Sarah asked, amused by his excited expression.

  ‘Nothing.’ Pulling her into his arms, he hugged her hard. ‘Have I told you lately how much I love you?’

  Peering up at him narrow-eyed, Sarah laughed. ‘Only every day. I don’t know what’s got into you lately, but I’m not knocking it. It’s better than seeing you moping about all over the place. Who was that on the phone, by the way?’

  ‘Oh, just Clive.’ It was semi-truthful. The second call had been to Clive. ‘He wants me to go round his for a bit. Needs help putting some shelves up, or something. I said yeah, but I won’t if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘No, you go and do your good deed,’ she said, pushing him away. ‘I remember how much Tina moaned last time he tried a bit of DIY. What was it he buggered up that time? The bunk beds?’

  ‘Yeah, and they’re still not right.’ Pete laughed. ‘He was telling me the other day that their Michael falls on the floor every time he rolls over. The kid’s got bruises all up his side.’

  ‘Better have a look at them while you’re at it, then.’

  ‘The bruises?’

  ‘No, the bunk beds, you pillock!’

  ‘If you don’t mind?’ Pete said, gazing at her innocently. ‘It might take a while.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’ She smiled. ‘Just don’t—’

  ‘Wake you up if I’m late.’ He finished for her, grinning sheepishly. ‘Yeah, I know.’

  Pete turned onto the industrial estate approach road at ten to twelve that night. Conscious of the three cans of super-strong lager that Clive had given him in return for helping put right all his botch jobs, he drove slowly, keeping one eye out for police and the other for the turning that Vinnie had told him to take.

  It was pitch dark between the tall windowless buildings lining the old dock road, and with no street lights to guide him it was a good ten minutes before he spotted the faint fretwork of train tracks criss-crossing the tarmac up ahead.

  Easing left, Pete felt every dip and hole beneath his tyres as he straddled the tracks and steered the car even deeper into darkness. With his headlights off he could barely even see the silhouettes of the freight-storage building to his left and the overgrown bushes to his right. He felt as if he was entering a tunnel, and it unnerved him.

  His forehead was almost touching the windscreen when he spotted the flash of headlights up ahead. Exhaling shakily, he realized he had been holding his breath and wondered if this was such a good idea after all. It wasn’t exactly his style, sneaking about in the middle of the night, playing with the big boys.

  ‘Thought you weren’t coming,’ Vinnie called out from his window in a harsh whisper. ‘Leave your wheels there and come in here.’

  ‘No way was I backing out,’ Pete said, feeling the apprehension turn to excitement as he clambered into the jeep beside Vinnie. Rubbing his hands together in the warm blast of air coming from the vents, he looked over the plush interior with approval. ‘Man, this is flash. How much did it set you back?’

  ‘Enough,’ Vinnie murmured, reaching through the gap for the bottle he’d put on the back seat. ‘You never know,’ he went on, grinning in the dark as he twisted the cap off and handed it to Pete, ‘if this comes off like expected tonight, you might be able to get yourself some better wheels.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Pete grinned back. ‘Sarah will be well chuffed to see the back of that shit-heap of mine.’ Taking a mouthful of the drink, he spluttered as it burned its way down his throat. ‘Shit, man! What’s this?’

  ‘Ninety per cent Jamaican gut-rot,’ Vinnie told him. ‘Illegal smuggle job. Good, eh?’

  ‘You can say that again!’ Pete took another slug. ‘Christ, I can feel it already. You not having any?’

  ‘Nah.’ Vinnie shook his head. ‘I had some earlier. You get tanked up while you can. We could be in for a long wait.’

  ‘What we waiting for?’ Pete took another long drink.

  ‘The nod,’ Vinnie replied evasively. Pulling a spliff from his pocket, he handed it across. ‘Here, take a toke on that and see what you think. It’s pure Sensi.’

  Taking it, Pete lit up and took several puffs. A creeping stone started in his toes and quickly spread up his legs.

  ‘Head-fuck paradise,’ he said, grinning broadly. ‘This is the business!’

  ‘Plenty more where that came from,’ Vinnie told him, peering out of the window into the darkness. ‘Have another drink, man. You’ll never get it finished at that rate. You’re drinking like a pussy. What’s up with you?’

  Laughing, Pete took the challenge and necked as much as he could take.

  ‘Got’ny tunes?’ His words had begun to slur and his head was rolling drunkenly on his shoulders.

  Slotting a mini-disc into the system, Vinnie pressed a switch, flooding the car with groove-heavy Seal.

  ‘Aw, fuck, this is wicked, man!’ Resting his head back, Pete took another long pull on the smoke and sang along tunelessly: ‘Music takes you round ’n round ’n round ’n rooound . . . Hold on . . .’ Sighing, he said, ‘This is smooth shit, man. Smooooth . . . shiiiit . . .’

  Catching the bottle and the heroin-laced spliff as they fell, Vinnie reached across and turned Pete’s face towards him. Pete’s mouth was slack, and his eyes had rolled to the tops of their sockets. Vinnie slapped his cheek with a leather-gloved hand. ‘Pete?’

  Getting no response, he dimped the spliff, recapped the bottle and slipped them into his pocket. Climbing out, he went around to Pete’s door and wrenched it open. Catching him as he fell, he pulled him out onto the ground and, peering all around in the darkness, dragged him across the tracks to the Orion.

  Manhandling Pete into the driver’s seat, Vinnie gave him another slap to make sure he was really out for the count, then took the bottle from his pocket. Uncapping it, he placed it in one of Pete’s hands and put the cap and the spliff into the other.

  Running back to the jeep, he checked the dash-clock. He had fifteen minutes left to finish the job and get out of there. Cursing Pete under his breath for taking so damn long to conk out, he threw the jeep into gear and raced out of the sidings and onto the road.

  Forcing himself to maintain a respectable speed, Vinnie drove the two hundred yards to the unmanned – un-cameraed – car park used by the shift workers from the cereal-packing factory some way further down. Parking up, he took the long-handled sweeping brush out of the boot and ran back to the sidings.

  Sweeping backwards and forwards over the places where his wheels had touched, he ran back to the jeep with just minutes to spare. Pausing to listen before climbing in, he smiled when he heard the faint rumbles of the approaching freight train making its last reverse trip of the night into the sidings.

  Bang on time.

  More fool Pete for believing that the trains had stopped running. He should have checked. Vinnie would have if the situation had been reversed.

  Easing the jeep out, he set off in the opposite direction.

  He didn’t need to stick around to see what happened next. He’d hear about it soon enough.

  30

  Sarah was woken by banging on the front door. Forcing her eyes open, she gazed blearily at the clock on the bedside table. It was just after two.

  Dragging herself upright, she pushed the quilt aside and reached for her dressing gown. Stumbling from the room, she stubbed her toe on a pair of work shoes that Pete had left beside the
door and cursed him under her breath.

  ‘If you’ve lost your bloody keys again,’ she was saying as she answered the door, ‘I’ll kill y—’ She stopped speaking abruptly when she saw the two uniformed policewomen standing there.

  ‘Mrs Owens?’ one asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Fully awake now, Sarah looked questioningly from one to the other.

  ‘I’m PC Tannis, and this is PC Rushden. Can we come in for a minute?’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

  ‘We’d rather discuss it inside,’ PC Rushden said firmly, already stepping forward.

  Sighing, Sarah stood aside to let them in. Closing the door, she waved them through to the living room and switched the light on.

  ‘Would you like to sit down?’ PC Tannis said a little awkwardly.

  Sarah looked at her guardedly. She was standing too close, and she looked all set to get sympathetic. Something was very wrong.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Sarah demanded, standing her ground, pulling her robe belt tighter around her waist.

  The officers exchanged a glance, then PC Rushden said, ‘We’ve reason to believe your husband was involved in an accident tonight.’

  Slumping down onto the couch now, Sarah stared up at them disbelievingly. ‘Pete? . . . But how? He’s not hurt himself with one of Clive’s tools, has he?’

  ‘There was an RTA,’ PC Tannis told her gently.

  Sarah gazed back at her blankly.

  ‘A road accident,’ PC Rushden explained. ‘Do you own a white Ford Orion?’

  ‘Y-yes, but . . .’

  ‘We’re sorry to have to inform you that a vehicle of that description registered to this address was involved in a major collision with a train a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘No way!’ Sarah gasped. ‘A train? It can’t be Pete. He’s only at a friend’s house round the corner. He’d be nowhere near a train. Someone must have pinched the car. I’ll ring him . . .’

  Another glance between the PCs.

  ‘Mrs Owens,’ PC Tannis said kindly, ‘the driver of the vehicle was found to be carrying documentation relating to your husband. I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to come and do an official ID.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sarah’s voice sounded strange to her own ears – far away, and slurred, as if her tongue had swollen to twice its normal size. ‘He’s not . . . ?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ PC Rushden sat beside Sarah now and touched her arm. ‘Is there somebody we could contact for you? A family member, maybe?’

  ‘There’s no f-family,’ Sarah stammered. ‘Just me and Pete, and K-Kimmy.’

  ‘Kimmy?’

  ‘My daughter. She – she’s in b-bed.’ Sarah pointed at the wall. Bringing the hand to her mouth, she stared helplessly at the PC as the tears spilled over and splashed off her knuckles onto her knees. ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t . . . I just don’t believe it. It can’t be Pete.’

  ‘I’m going to make you a cup of sweet tea,’ PC Tannis said decisively. ‘If you could think of somebody to come over and sit with your daughter for an hour in the meantime . . . ?’

  ‘Hannah,’ Sarah murmured, swiping at the tears. ‘I’ll ring her. Should – should I get dressed?’

  ‘That’s probably a good idea,’ PC Rushden said. ‘Give me your friend’s number. I’ll call her while you’re getting ready, get her to come over.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Sarah mumbled numbly.

  She dressed in a daze, as if she were a bystander watching her body going through the motions. Stumbling out into the hall when she heard Hannah arriving ten minutes later, she fell into her arms with a sob.

  ‘It’s all right, pet.’ Hannah patted her back soothingly. ‘Now don’t you worry. We’ll get through this. I’m here for you – me and Steve.’

  ‘If you could just stay with the child for a while?’ PC Tannis said, gently prising Sarah from Hannah’s arms. ‘We’ll bring Sarah back when she’s done.’

  ‘Course.’ Hannah nodded. ‘Go on, Sarah. You go with them. And don’t worry about Kimmy. She’ll be fine. I’m stopping over tonight. I’ve already sorted it with Steve.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Sarah mumbled, allowing herself to be led away between the policewomen.

  It was the worst night of Sarah’s entire life.

  Having to look at her husband’s smashed body lying cold and helpless on the slab was bad enough. But having to hear details of the horrendous accident – how the train had reversed into his car, shunting it into the buffers, crushing it and Pete beyond repair – that was terrible.

  ‘How could this happen?’ Sarah asked over and over. ‘Didn’t the driver see him? And what was his car doing on the tracks in the first place?’

  All they could tell her was that Pete appeared to have driven there deliberately, and that he had not only consumed a significant quantity of almost pure alcohol but it appeared that he had also taken heroin just prior to the accident.

  Was she aware that he was a heroin user? they asked. How long had he had a habit? Was he depressed? Had he displayed any suicidal tendencies?

  ‘No, no, no,’ Sarah cried, refusing to believe what they were saying, challenging their cynical glances with steadfast denials. ‘I would have known. It isn’t true. Pete never touched smack in his life! He was dead against it.’

  She was still shaking her head when the two PCs drove her home some time later.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said, when they had escorted her back to the flat. ‘But I know Pete didn’t take that stuff. Someone must have spiked him. Ask Clive. That’s where he was all night. Clive must know something.’

  Hannah agreed.

  ‘I know Pete well,’ she said, holding her friend’s hand. ‘He hated that shit. Spliff, yeah – everyone does weed now and then. But smack? No way! He never touched it. And there’s enough doing it round here to know the difference. Pete was not a smack-head.’

  The inquest was held a week later. The verdict was suicide.

  In summing up, the coroner said that he was satisfied that Pete had driven his car onto the tracks with the express intention of placing himself in a position that would lead to an unavoidable collision with a train.

  He went on to say that, given the family’s financial problems, and Sarah’s admission that her husband’s gambling addiction had recently caused a rift between them, he was in no doubt that Pete had suffered a severe – if temporary – depression. This had caused him to make the out-of-character decision to use heroin as a means of anaesthetizing himself in order to carry out his plans without fear of losing his nerve.

  Leaving the court, Sarah sobbed as she climbed into the cab beside Hannah.

  ‘See that judge,’ Hannah complained loudly. ‘He wants stringing up, I swear to God. Did you hear all that shite he came out with? He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it! I’d sue, if I was you.’

  Regaining her composure, Sarah wiped her eyes and told her friend to leave it. ‘He was right,’ she said. ‘And there’s no point denying it.’

  ‘But we all know Pete never touched smack,’ Hannah protested.

  ‘Well, he did that time,’ Sarah told her firmly. ‘It’s a fact. He had heroin in his system, and there were no needles involved so he couldn’t have been spiked. I’ve just got to face it. He did it on purpose, and he didn’t give a shit what happened to me and Kimmy.’

  The tears came again at the thought of her daughter. What was Kimmy going to do without her daddy? How was the little girl supposed to live with the knowledge that he had abandoned her so cruelly and absolutely?

  The anger came then.

  The bastard! The weak, cowardly bastard! How could he do this to them?

  Sarah had been beating herself up since that night, convinced that she should have known what Pete was going through, that she should have been able to save him. But it wasn’t her fault. It was his. He’d taken the easy way out – again. Just like he always had. From letting Vinnie take over his gang at Starlight, to moving int
o her flat and allowing her to make all the mundane decisions. He wasn’t just the nice, easygoing guy he’d made himself out to be, he was a bone-idle passenger – jumping on board and letting everyone else do the pedalling. Abdicating responsibility so he wouldn’t be blamed when the going got rough. Right down to driving his car into the path of a train, forcing the poor train-driver to do his dirty work for him, and filling himself with booze and smack so that he didn’t have to feel the pain.

  ‘Thanks, Pete,’ Sarah muttered, glaring at the roof of the cab. ‘Thanks a fucking bunch!’

  31

  Vinnie waited a couple of days after the newspaper report appeared before going to see Sarah. Staying away had been agony when he had wanted nothing more than to run to her side and comfort her, but, to avoid the light of suspicion falling upon him, he’d had to wait until it was old news.

  ‘I’ve just heard,’ he said when she opened the door. ‘It’s terrible. I don’t know what to say. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Sarah assured him, holding her head high. In fact, she was anything but. Her emotions were see-sawing wildly: anger one day, pain the next. Today, she was missing Pete like crazy, and blaming herself – yet again – for not realizing that he’d been so depressed.

  ‘I was away on a business trip,’ Vinnie told her, feeling it necessary to explain why he hadn’t come sooner. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’

  ‘I didn’t have your number.’ Her chin wobbled as the ever-ready tears flooded her eyes. ‘It was stored in . . . in Pete’s m-mobile.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Stepping inside as the tears streamed down her cheeks, Vinnie took her in his arms and held her to him. ‘So, so sorry.’

  Sarah allowed him to hold her for a while then pulled free. She was embarrassed to be seen like this, at her most pathetic. And also more than a little perturbed by the feelings that Vinnie managed to stir in her. Even now, when intimacy with another man should be the furthest thing from her mind, her body was reacting to the nearness of him, the smell of his aftershave, the sound of his voice.