Last Rites

by Neil White

  I folded the letters and put them in my back pocket before I went to the next room along, and when I swung the door open I was surprised at how normal it seemed. I'm not sure what I expected, some kind of butcher's apron, but the walls looked bright and clean, and in the corner of the room there was a dresser covered in photo frames. There was no carpet, though, and the bed had gone.

  I opened the curtains and looked out over the street. Just an ordinary view. I turned back to the photographs. There was a picture of Sarah's parents, relaxed in a town garden. There were pictures of friends, a black Labrador, and one of a group of young women, maybe an old college photo. I spotted Sarah, and as with the Facebook photograph, it seemed that the newspaper photographs hadn't done her justice, with her bright smile, carefree, her white teeth showing as she laughed, her hair falling over her face.

  I wanted to get a sense of the real Sarah, and so I opened a drawer. T-shirts were stacked in two piles, one or two pulled about as if she'd gone for one at the bottom. Or maybe that was the police, just checking them for information. The next drawer was more disorderly, knickers and socks thrown in as if she had done it in a rush. There was a box of condoms in the corner, and a quick count showed that three of the twelve were missing.

  I quickly checked the other drawers. Oddments of clothes, some sanitary products, but nothing else.

  I sighed to myself. I knew that the police would have removed anything useful. I turned back around to survey the room. I took a couple of photographs and then went to stand where the bed used to be, judging from the knocks and nicks where it had banged against the wall. I saw Katie watching me. I looked around the room again, tried to see it from Luke's viewpoint, his last look at the world. There was the window looking out over the street, but he would have been too low down to see anything outside. I looked towards the doorway. I could see the landing rail, where the stairs came up.

  I tried to imagine the scene, Sarah walking into the bedroom, her hands behind her back. Luke was naked, so maybe they were fresh from making love. What had he seen when she walked back in? There must have been something in her eyes, anger or revenge. Had he done something to her? Perhaps he had started to climb out of bed but she got to him first, he would have been low down, and used all of her downward pressure to fend off any attempt at defence, made sure that the knife plunged in deep. It would have to be deep, as Luke was young and fit; she wouldn't get many chances. Katie had said there were blood splashes on the wall, and the knife was still in his chest, so there must have been more than one thrust with the knife.

  I wondered about the scene of crime report. Were there footprints in the blood, or fingerprints on the knife handle? Was that why the police believed that Sarah had killed him?

  I looked to the doorway and saw Katie there. She had regained some of her poise, and was watching me as I took some more pictures of the room.

  ‘Did you find anything that helps?’ she asked.

  I shook my head and answered no. It was a lie. Anything can be useful in a story, if it's used right.

  ‘None of this makes sense,’ I said instead, running my fingers through my hair. ‘Everywhere I look, I see an ordinary girl seeing an ordinary boy, and then she did an extraordinary thing.’

  ‘I know,’ said Katie softly. The tears welled up once again and she looked at me, her expression all doe-eyed.

  I felt a burst of pity for her, wanted to comfort her, but then I stopped myself, thought about Laura. I had to go.

  ‘Thanks for the wine,’ I said, ‘and for the letters,’ and I patted my back pocket.

  She looked surprised. ‘Are you going?’

  ‘I've got a story to write.’

  ‘But I'm worried,’ she said. ‘The letters were hand-delivered, and so Sarah is still nearby.’

  ‘I can't help you with that,’ I said. ‘You need to call the police.’

  I went towards the door, wanting to get away, to feel the cold wind in my face. Katie didn't move, and so I had to squeeze past her.

  As I got to the bottom of the stairs, Katie behind me, I glanced back towards the kitchen. I saw a knife block, six black handles sticking out. But it was made for seven, and one of the slots was empty.

  I went to the front door, and as I opened it, I turned back just to say goodbye. Katie was leaning against the wall, her head tilted, smiling softly at me. Before I could say anything, she reached out and caressed my cheek. Images of Laura flashed into my head again. I stepped away.

  ‘I can't,’ I said.

  ‘That isn't the same as you don't want to,’ she murmured.

  I shook my head. ‘The reason is the same,’ I said, and I turned to walk away.

  As I walked down the street, I could feel her gaze on me. I took a look back and she was still there, watching me. When I rounded the corner I let out a deep breath. I saw my car ahead, the Stag, but then I heard an engine behind me, and the soft rumble of tyres. It made me nervous, as if it was being driven at my walking pace. I looked round. All I could see were two headlights.

  As I looked, it sped up and then pulled alongside me. I felt my stomach take a plunge when the window was lowered and a voice said, ‘Get in, we're going for a ride.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Sarah barely looked up when the door opened.

  The laughter had gone, replaced only by a deep despair, so that all she could do was trace small circles in the mud with her finger. She was beyond fear now. It was worse than that. Her limbs felt heavy, her movements sluggish.

  She could feel him standing over her, gazing down, but she couldn't bring herself to look up. The speakers were silent, so she could hear his steady breaths through the hood, rasping, hoarse. It was the older one, she could tell that from the more deliberate way he came into the room, the slow shuffles on the soil floor.

  She heard a clink as he put some more food on the floor, and then he grunted as he straightened. He walked slowly out of the room and then slammed the door shut.

  Sarah could smell the food; it was hot and she was hungry. But she didn't want to eat it, scared of what might happen if she did.

  She turned over and put her head under the blanket, tried to make a dark space for herself, just so that it would seem like she was somewhere else, if only for a few minutes.

  Then she heard the buzz of the speakers, and she knew that even that brief sanctuary was lost.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  My mind raced.

  I was in the back of a silver Mondeo, wedged in between two large men, both silent and moody, as we rumbled along narrow terraced streets and under the high stone viaduct that bridged the town centre. Then we began to climb. The houses began to space out, and through the windscreen I saw the streetlights come to an end. We were heading into the countryside.

  They were detectives. When they'd showed me their cards, I'd thought about leaving, but I didn't want to provoke an arrest. However, I could tell it wasn't good news. They had been silent all the way, and I knew that they were saving good-guy bad-guy for later.

  We drove along a country road, winding upwards, until we levelled out. I looked to one side and saw my companion watching me.

  ‘Strong silent type?’ I asked him.

  He grinned back at me, his teeth bright in the darkness.

  I looked to the front as the car swung onto a track. It was rutted, and the car pitched and rolled before we skidded to a stop on a patch of gravel. There was another car waiting for me, a black Audi, barely visible except for the silvery reflection of the moonlight. There was someone standing next to it, tall and bald, his head gleaming despite the darkness.

  As I stepped out of the car, I saw that we were in a clearing, a break in the trees, the track cutting a path through dense woods. I could see the lights of Blackley below me, orange dots in the valley.

  ‘Why have you brought me up here?’ I asked. I tried to sound calm, but my heart was pumping fast and my cheeks felt hot from adrenalin.

  The driver of the car wal
ked up to me. ‘We thought it was time for a talk,’ he said menacingly.

  He was dressed the same as the rest: pressed white shirt and sharp creases in his trousers. They had all been quiet during the journey. If it was meant to intimidate, it worked. I thought of running. I wasn't in cuffs, and a good push would put a few yards between us, but I didn't know the area, and they all looked like they could run if they had to.

  ‘Why didn't you make an appointment?’ I replied.

  He smiled, but even in the darkness I could sense the menace. ‘We thought you might take more notice this way.’

  The bald man stepped forward. ‘Mr Garrett. Good of you to agree to help us like this.’ His voice was hoarse, like he was a long-time smoker, and the politeness was fake.

  ‘I don't remember agreeing to anything.’

  The bald man smiled. ‘You weren't forced into the car.’

  I tried hard to look casual. I was meant to be scared, and I was, but if I showed fear, the battle was over.

  ‘Go on then, talk away,’ I said. ‘Let me guess. DCI Carson?’ When he looked surprised, I added, ‘People don't speak that highly of you, so it wasn't hard to work out that you're the prick they're talking about.’

  I heard someone gasp behind me. I was banking on the fact that I wasn't the normal criminal he dealt with, whose complaints aren't taken seriously. I could go public without having to complain. The power of the press.

  He stepped closer and stared at me with deep blue eyes.

  ‘I want you to tell me what you've been doing,’ he said. ‘There's no rush. We've got time.’ His voice was quiet but firm, his manner businesslike.

  ‘Am I under arrest?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘So you've kidnapped me,’ I said.

  He laughed at that, and everyone else followed his lead.

  ‘You came voluntarily,’ he replied. ‘You can go any time you want.’

  I looked around, saw them all smiling. Two leaned against the car, another one lit a cigarette, the tip just a flash of bright orange.

  ‘Let's go then,’ I said. ‘I don't want this conversation.’

  He gestured along the path. ‘Town's that way.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘You should have brought your brolly. It looks like rain.’

  Then I understood why they had brought me up here. It was answer questions or walk. I'd heard the tales before of long drives in a police car, intelligence-gathering. Now I realised that I was the newest target.

  ‘Don't fancy it?’ he asked mockingly. ‘No. I'll tell you what you will do, and that is talk. You will tell us what you are doing. You will tell us where you have been, where you are going when you leave here, and what you have found out so far.’

  That answered my main question: Why have I been brought here? I knew now that it was to do with Luke, or Sarah. I thought hard about what I should do. My eyes wandered around the group. The smoker had thrown his cigarette onto the floor and was grinding it out with his shoe. The others were starting to look bored.

  Then I thought about Laura. I couldn't afford to make enemies because they might turn on her. Our jobs clashed sometimes, she knew that, but sometimes the trouble could get too big. I decided that truth was probably the safest of the options. Or at least an edited version of it.

  ‘I've been asked by Sarah Goode's parents to try and find out what happened to their daughter,’ I said. I held out my hands plaintively, as if there was nothing more to say.

  ‘Who is Sarah Goode?’ Carson asked.

  ‘C'mon, you know who she is,’ I replied. ‘You're trying to catch her because you think she killed her boyfriend, because you think she's a murderer.’

  ‘I know what she is. I want to know who she is, who she knows, where she goes.’

  I thought about what he was asking. It was clear that she was still the suspect, the target. I reflected on how little I knew. ‘I haven't found out much yet,’ I said.

  ‘But what do you know?’

  I shrugged. ‘Same as you. Pretty young teacher who hasn't been seen for more than a week, not long after her boyfriend was killed.’

  ‘Tell me about Katie,’ Carson said.

  I gave a look of surprise. ‘Is she a suspect?’ I asked.

  He grew impatient. ‘Just tell me!’

  I sighed and continued. ‘She seems like a nice young woman caught up in a bad situation. Sarah was landlady. Katie was tenant. As simple as it sounds.’

  ‘What did Katie think of Luke?’

  ‘She didn't say too much,’ I replied. ‘He was her landlady's boyfriend, just a routine thing, you know: he passes through the house, they talk, she goes away, he dies. Nothing more to it.’

  ‘Where had she gone?’

  ‘When?’ I queried.

  ‘The night of the murder. Where was she?’ Carson sounded insistent.

  ‘I would have thought she'd already told you,’ I said warily. ‘Is she a suspect?’

  Carson laughed. ‘The conversation is one way, Garrett. I know what she told us. I want to know what she told you.’

  I could see the way the questions were going. They were checking out alibis, weren't sure of Katie. But I could judge character, journalists need to, and I had no sense that she had lied to me. So I decided on caution. I wasn't going to raise inconsistencies that would put her under suspicion.

  ‘She hasn't told me,’ I lied.

  ‘Mr Garrett,’ Carson said, his voice rich with mock disappointment, ‘I thought we'd agreed on co-operation. Are you trying to tell me that you've spoken to Katie Gray about Sarah Goode, and about what might or might not have happened, and you didn't ask where she'd been before she found the body?’

  ‘Why? Did Katie find him?’ I said sarcastically, but realised instantly that I'd gone too far.

  I gasped as someone behind me gripped my collar. Before I knew what was happening I was on the floor, my ears filling with the sound of gravel as I was pushed into the ground.

  ‘Now why don't we just stop fucking around!’ came the shout. It wasn't a question. ‘We ask questions, you will fucking answer them. If you don't, you'll find yourself in a cell for the night.’

  ‘But why the fuck would I go into a cell?’ I shouted, the pain of the landing raising my anger a notch.

  ‘Police assault would be a good start,’ the voice hissed.

  ‘But I haven't assaulted anyone.’

  ‘That's not what the report will say, and how do you think that will help your girlfriend's career?’ And with that he grabbed me by my shirt collar and hauled me to my feet. ‘So do as we say.’

  I took some deep breaths, tried to calm myself down. I looked at Carson. He was leaning against his Audi, and I could sense the enjoyment.

  ‘I'm sorry, Mr Garrett,’ said Carson, his voice filled with sarcasm, ‘but he can get a bit impatient. I tell him that it isn't the way, that co-operation is always better, but he sometimes gets ahead of himself. Now, where were we?’

  My eyes flashed between the two detectives, and I thought of Laura.

  ‘We were talking about Katie,’ I said quietly, my chest burning with anger.

  ‘That's right, we were talking about Katie. Tell me, Mr Garrett, where did she tell you she was before she found the body? She did tell you she found the body, didn't she?’

  I nodded a yes.

  ‘Good. So where was she before she found the body?’

  ‘Her parents,’ I said. ‘She'd gone to see them, and when she came back she spent the night watching television, and then she went into Sarah's room.’ I paused. ‘That's when she found Luke.’

  ‘Why did she go into Sarah's room?’

  I was starting to feel weary. ‘Can't you ask her that?’

  I saw the first detective step closer to me again, but a touch on his arm kept him at bay.

  ‘Okay,’ I said in resignation, ‘she said she went in because she felt something just wasn't right. All the signs were that Sarah and Luke were staying there, but she'd heard nothing from them. She
says she walked in and just saw Luke on the bed with the knife in his chest.’

  I watched Carson exchange glances with someone and give a slight nod.

  ‘Who else have you spoken with?’ Carson asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Why should I tell you?’ I asked, and then gasped as someone grabbed me again. I tried to keep my focus. ‘Get the fuck off my neck.’

  Carson was smiling. ‘Tell me about Callum West,’ he ordered.

  I raised my hands as if to say I'd co-operate, and a nod from Carson made the other detective release his grip.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ I said, my anger spitting the words out, ‘I spoke to him. He didn't have much to say, just told me a bit about Luke, just general stuff. You know, that Sarah was just a girl he was seeing, nothing serious, and he thought she had probably killed him.’

  ‘Why did he think that?’

  ‘For the same reason as you, that she's the obvious solution. He didn't provide me with anything that would help me find her. We had a brief chat and then I left.’

  ‘Tell me about the letters. What do you know about them?’

  I stared at him, tried not to blink. ‘Just something I heard,’ I said.

  ‘Have you seen them?’

  I held his gaze, wondered if he was right up to date, but then I remembered that they were in my pocket and they hadn't thought about searching me. I shook my head and said, ‘No.’

  ‘You mentioned them to the head teacher.’

  ‘I was fishing.’

  The detectives all looked at each other, exchanged shrugs and shakes of the head and the odd mumbled word. ‘Who else are you going to check out?’ asked Carson.

  ‘No one, no one at all,’ I answered. ‘You've just named them all.’ I felt my lip. It was bleeding. ‘I could sue for this.’

  Carson smiled. ‘Proof might be a problem. No one knows you're here. You weren't booked in, you're not under arrest, and you're outnumbered four to one. Or we could just tell that little sweetheart of yours how cosy you're getting with Miss Gray.’

  ‘I'm not getting cosy with anyone.’