by Will Carver
Pace turned right onto Stanhope Road, half a mile up from where the Hadleys had been culled the previous afternoon.
‘That woman.’ He cursed her out loud. ‘Always getting in my fucking way.’
Driving, he saw the sign for Ablett and Ablett on the left. He pulled his mobile from his pocket, remembering that he had a meeting booked with Charles Ablett that lunchtime to discuss a rental contract. He was going to cancel the meeting.
The top left of the screen said 7%.
Detective Sergeant Pace dropped the device onto the seat between his legs and swung a hard left turn towards the estate agency.
He swore to himself that the only thing that was going to die in Hinton Hollow on that fourth day was the battery of his phone.
THEY DIDN’T TALK
Maeve Beauman was finishing a bottle of Pinot Grigio, checking her phone every five minutes and going out of her mind with concern. She was thinking of Detective Sergeant Pace and how she’d kill him if he didn’t come back to her soon. Just a text. That was all that was needed.
She was watching the news. One of her favourite things to do in the evening – other than drinking and spiralling. The story of the people jumping from Tower Bridge had almost been forgotten, replacing the big-city cult crime were the small town shootings of Hinton Hollow.
There were several talking heads – people she would never know as RD, Inspector Anderson, Mrs Wallace and Father Salis – as the report attempted to capture the flavour of the community and how it had been rocked by tragedy.
She just wanted to see her detective.
She missed him.
She needed him.
But my hold over Maeve’s detective meant that she had fallen down his list of priorities. Far enough that he didn’t even have the time or compulsion to message her back with a solitary x. It took everything she had not to leave him another voicemail, instead, she opened another bottle of wine from the fridge, finished watching the news and decided that, if he hadn’t contacted her by midnight, it was over.
THREE WAYS THE NEWS HAS AFFECTED DETECTIVE SERGEANT PACE
It thrust Maeve into his life.
It spread the word and told the world about
The People Of Choice.
It brought Little Henry Wallace back to Hinton Hollow.
A FLYING VISIT
Roger Ablett was leaning back in his seat like he owned the place, which he did; still, it wasn’t an endearing image. Charles would sit in the same way, his legs spread a little wider like he was exhibiting some kind of rare artefact that everyone wanted to see.
Ellie Frith just kept her head down, her fingers on the keyboard and her ear to the phone.
The younger brother still hadn’t turned up for work, it was a little brazen even for him. He would usually inform his brother at some point, but Ellie could tell that Charles hadn’t been in contact because Roger was growing more frantic and had already left three messages since he’d arrived. He’d had four cups of coffee so far that morning and Ellie had made them all. Like a good little slave.
Another way in which Evil presents itself: slavery. See also: corporate employment, the Tuskegee Study and insincerity.
He slammed down the phone. It wasn’t in anger, rather in triumph. He’d been on the phone, blurting out his usual string of bullshit. We’ve had further interest in that property. Looks as though they’re willing to go at the full asking price. You’re in a great position because you are not reliant on a chain. That morning he’d been blagging to the young wife of the abrasive Yorkshireman who had shown real passion for the riverfront property in Twaincroft Hill. She was Roger’s leverage and he was pulling all the right strings. He’d celebrated the sale prematurely but he was an Ablett who never gambled unless it was a dead cert.
He leaned further back on his chair and placed both hands behind his head as though ready to receive oral gratification from somebody hidden beneath his brother’s desk. Ellie wondered how much more weight that cheap office seat could take and found herself staring at her putrid boss.
‘That’s right, Ellie, watch and learn from the master.’ He smiled. His teeth forever stained with coffee and red wine and God knows whatever else he shovelled inside that mouth of his.
‘I am but your humble student, Mr Ablett.’ She wasn’t sure where that came from. She wasn’t normally so vocal and she held sarcasm back as much as she could because it confused Roger. She could see it all over his face.
Also, she never called him Mr Ablett.
It was day four. Detective Pace had been in town for over three days, the darkness had followed shortly after. More people were being affected – see also: infected – and more would be changed the longer it remained.
The bell rang and a rush of cold air swept into the office of Ablett and Ablett. Roger sat forward in his chair. Ellie turned around, thinking that Charles had finally decided to show his irritatingly handsome face.
Ready for a showdown, she thought, divisively.
The door closed but the room remained cold.
DON’T BELIEVE EVERYTHING
‘Good morning. The name is Pace. I have an appointment booked today for twelve that I’m not going to be able to make.’ He stayed by the door. This was a flying visit.
Roger Ablett raised his hefty frame from the creaking chair. He didn’t even look at his junior staff member when he said, ‘Ellie, put the kettle on for myself and Mr Pace.’ She stood up on autopilot. ‘Coffee, Mr Pace?’
‘I really can’t stay, thanks. I just came in as I was passing. I would have called but my phone is almost dead. Honestly, don’t worry about the coffee.’
Ellie started to sit back down in her seat.
‘Nonsense, Detective.’
Ablett had done his homework.
Ellie rose again.
‘I’m in the middle of a case right now, as I’m sure you know…’
‘It will take but a moment. A simple case of crossing some Ts and dotting some lower-case js.’ He chortled at his useless attempt at humour, producing a pen from his jacket pocket at the same time.
Pace relented and stepped towards the desk. Ellie was caught in some kind of hot-beverage purgatory.
‘Now, I believe that you have been speaking with my brother, Charles.’ Roger showed Pace an open palm, offering him a seat.
‘You are not Charles?’
‘Ha! I wish.’ He didn’t really know what he meant by that but it didn’t seem to unsettle the detective. ‘No. No. I’m Roger. Roger Ablett. His older brother. I’m afraid that Charles seems to have disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’
Ablett had Pace’s complete attention. He excused Ellie from her desk, reminding her that she was supposed to be making a cup of coffee. He suggested that perhaps she take a coffee break of her own outside. Perhaps even treat herself to a cigarette. Pace’s brain automatically told him that he required nicotine at that very moment.
Both men sat in silence until Ellie had disappeared into the back-room kitchen.
‘Is this the first you are reporting of your missing brother, Mr Ablett?’
‘Please, call me Roger.’ He was smug. Pace thought of five other words he could call Roger.
FIVE WORDS TO DESCRIBE ROGER ABLETT
Fat.
Determined.
Misogynistic.
Powerful.
Dangerous.
‘Look, he does this from time to time. He’s a handsome boy with a liberal concept of work but he’s my brother, and I promised our mother I’d take care of him when she was gone.’
‘So you don’t think he’s just late today?’
‘I can’t get hold of him. He usually texts me or calls but I’ve been trying his phone all morning and it just goes through to his voicemail.’
Pace couldn’t understand what had Roger Ablett so spooked.
‘My phone is about to die. It happens. He could be in an area of bad reception. It’s not great in this town.’ Pace pulled his phone from his
pocket to check the time. He had 5% battery life remaining. And a thinly veiled good-morning text from Maeve.
‘Charles has a bit of a hobby in this town.’ Roger looked away from Pace and down at the desk. ‘He’s not great at keeping himself to himself, if you know what I mean. He likes the ladies.’
‘How is that relevant, Mr Ablett?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t want to speak ill of the dead…’ He was reeling Pace in.
‘Go on.’
‘I don’t believe everything he tells me, a lot is bravado, if he used it a little more in his job … Anyway, he spoke quite fondly about Mrs Hadley.’
‘Rachel Hadley?’
‘Yes. I’m not sure they had been…’ He cleared his throat. ‘Intimate. But I’m sure he would have been upset by her passing.’
‘You think there’s a chance they were sleeping together?’
‘I really wouldn’t like to say. Her husband is still here and must be devastated. It serves no interest to drag something up and make him think less of the woman. I’m just a little worried about my brother, Detective. This is unlike him. Something just doesn’t feel quite right. I can’t put my finger on it.’ He looked over Pace’s shoulder at Ellie Firth creeping back into the main office with a tray of coffees and biscuits. She laid them down on Charles’ desk between the two men, who had stopped talking.
‘Thank you, Ellie. If you want to take yours outside…’ Roger spoke as though he were treating her, doing her a courteous favour. Rain was due within the hour. ‘Detective, you really have to try one of these cookies. Charles brought them in a couple of days ago but they’re still good.’
‘Not for me, thanks.’
Pace took a sip of his coffee and pondered the information that Roger Ablett had so readily given up about his own brother. In a town like Hinton Hollow, everything is related.
‘Have you been to your brother’s home at all?’
‘I haven’t had time to check, yet. I’ve been too busy covering for him here.’
‘As you probably know, it hasn’t been long enough to declare your brother as a missing person but if you write down his address, I’ll take a look myself.’
Ablett wrote down the address and pushed the piece of paper across the desk to Pace.
‘Please get in contact with the station if you hear from your brother before I do. I would like to ask him some questions relating to the late Mrs Hadley. Ask for either myself or Inspector Anderson.’
Roger Ablett nodded an affable agreement.
That morning, Detective Sergeant Pace was gleaning information. As much as he could before the schools kicked out.
He was making links.
And, maybe he finally had his first suspect.
CAN THE SMALL TALK
Pace took the mug of black coffee with him. He had nothing else to talk to Roger Ablett about. This wasn’t the time to discuss suitable properties. He told the estate agent that he’d be taking the coffee to go. Ablett was so surprised that he shrugged. And that was enough for the detective. He walked out the door and disappeared from sight.
He could smell the imminent dampness but, more than that, he detected the aroma of a cigarette.
At the end of the building, tucked around to the left, Ellie Frith was stood with one heel against the brickwork, sucking in a lungful of tar. Her cup of coffee planted on the floor beside her.
She was so sick of the office. The orders and the peacocking brothers. The false charm and empty promises. She knew of Roger Ablett’s reputation, though. She knew of his temper, of his political aspirations and his business ambition. She knew not to cross him. To never say a bad word that might find its way back to his ear.
But that day felt different.
Fear was not as strong as disdain.
She felt unusually bold.
‘Ellie, right?’ Pace rounded the corner.
‘That’s right. How can I help you, Detective? Want to know if Roger is pitching a dud?’ She took another drag of her cigarette and Pace pulled a box of his own from his jacket.
‘No. I’ll come back about somewhere to rent. I’m staying at the Cider Orchard. You know it, I guess?’
‘We should probably can the small talk if you want some information, Detective. He’ll want me back any minute to sharpen his fucking pencils or something.’
It seemed that Pace had misjudged the submissive wallflower.
‘Fine. Let’s cut to the chase. Where is Charles Ablett this morning?’
‘Fucked if I know. He’s got a string of women around this quaint little bible-loving town. Could be in any of their beds. Could be drunk in the woods. He likes that too. There’d probably be a few guys in this town unknowingly raising his baby if he wasn’t killing all his swimmers with the booze.’ She was wise-cracking but it was useful.
‘Has he ever mentioned any names?’
Short questions. Let her do the talking.
‘Too many to remember. He’s not the most discreet lover a woman could ask for.’ Pace wondered whether he’d ever had a go at the young girl spouting off. Maybe he’d rejected her. Called it off. Tried it on.
‘He ever mention Faith Brady?’ It was a leap but somebody had to take it.
‘Sure. I’m not certain he ever got anywhere with her but he went on and on about her legs. Pretty disgusting stuff.’
Pace raised the cigarette to his lips and drew a mental line from the suspect to the Brady family.
‘He’s been obsessed with Rachel Hadley, though. There’s been nothing else that he’s wanted. Hates her husband. Not sure why, he’s lovely, you know? Really nice.’
He drew another line in his head, pinning a piece of string from Ablett to the Hadleys.
‘That’s his thing, you know? He loves the unattainables. Looks at it as a challenge. Like collecting cub-scout badges or scalping Indians. He says it’s a war, a race against time. I hope you don’t mind me saying this but he’s a goddamn animal.’
‘You are entitled to that opinion,’ he smiled at her, but she was stoic. ‘And Roger?’
‘What about him?’
‘I imagine he is fully aware of his brother’s dealings?’
‘Of course he is.’ She leaned in towards Pace and spoke more softly. ‘He doesn’t like what his brother does. It’s probably the only decent thing you can say about him. I’m grateful that he gave me a job but, for all their differences, both Abletts have got that temper. You don’t get used to it. Roger gets mad at his brother sometimes. It’s scary. But, with Roger, it’s always about work, and with Charles, it’s always about women.’ She threw the butt on the floor and stamped it out with the toe of her shoe.
‘I should get back. He’ll be wondering where I am already.’ She picked up her coffee from the floor and walked off without saying another word.
Pace waited a while. He wanted to collect his thoughts. Dots were connecting. The unattainable women seemed key but it was unclear why the children would fall victim.
He still had to swing by RD’s to arrange a pick-up for Mrs Beaufort. As annoying as he found her, he could have done with some of her insight at that point. He could’ve asked her more about Charles and Roger Ablett. There was bound to be more that she knew.
He was wasting time. He still had to visit Oz Tambor and inform him of his mother’s untimely demise, and now he also had to swing by Charles Ablett’s home. This was small-town policing. Running errands between investigation.
It wasn’t him.
It wasn’t Pace.
FORGIVE ME
An underweight, bearded Jewish man was nailed to a cross above the spot where Father Salis knelt, running through a section of Mark, Chapter 7 in his mind.
What comes out of a person is what defiles him. For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.
The priest
’s hands were clasped together and he asked his God for guidance and forgiveness. For those things that had come from within him. For his thoughts. For his pride. For everything else.
A dwindling congregation was not uncommon for a religion that refused to evolve with the times. The types of people that held on so steadfastly to outdated principles were dying of old age and new blood was not being integrated because the next, younger generation, a forward-thinking generation, were not being represented.
Weddings were still popular ceremonies in the church, even with those who were less devout. And principles were often dissolved to encourage secular couples to use the facilities because it fulfilled some old-fashioned dream of being Lady Diana and these things often funded the church’s needs.
But numbers at mass were decreasing despite the offering of free wine. Not even the Papal update was enough to steer lapsed Christians back through the door.
The only other events that saw the pews packed were Christmas and funerals. December was months away but recent events, along with the weekend’s marital ceremony, meant that the Church of the Good Shepherd would be filled for weeks to come.
Father Salis was grateful for that.
Grateful for the blessed union.
Grateful, somehow, for the death of children and their mothers.
Grateful, that he would be a part of it. That, perhaps, these events would bind the community, bring them back together, bring them to the church.
And, as a consequence of this gratitude, of this feeling from within, Father Salis once more begged his Lord for forgiveness.
LAST DAY OF TRADE
Three men had already walked by Hadley’s Hair that day. Each of them had stepped up to the door and peered through the glass. One had even tapped on the window to see if there was anybody inside.
