by Nick Hollin
Down the corridor, and they enter the living room, although the room appears to be no such thing. It’s become more of a shrine to the son Wendy has lost, with photos of him everywhere. Katie recognises some of them from copies in his case file.
They’re offered a cup of tea and all but Sam say yes, with Richard offering to go and help in the kitchen. When they’ve both returned and placed the full tray on a table in the centre of the room, Wendy can’t wait any longer.
‘I saw you on the news,’ she says, jabbing a finger at Nathan. ‘Getting all emotional over the death of your friend the policeman. That never happened with Steven, did it? You ran away to Scotland without a word.’
‘I’m sorry,’ says Nathan, lowering his head. ‘But I couldn’t cope.’
‘You think I could?’
‘You heard my testimony,’ he says. ‘Your son’s death was so horrific I thought it might send me over the edge.’
‘And you think it didn’t take me there?’ says Wendy, standing up and moving to one of the photos of her son. The one she picks up shows him in his school uniform, with a mass of unkempt hair and a broad smile. Katie can’t help but wonder what her and Nathan’s child might have looked like at that age; at any age.
‘So if your brother didn’t kill Steven, then who did?’
‘We don’t know,’ says Sam, cutting in.
‘And who are we?’ asks Wendy. ‘I’ve had visits from half the police force telling me how sorry they are for failing to find the man that killed my son, but while you’re obviously police, I have no idea who you are.’
‘My name is Samantha Stone. I work for a police agency, primarily looking at organised crime.’
‘Then what are you doing here?’ Wendy brushes a hand carefully across the top of the photo she’s still holding as if there might be dust on it. Katie is almost certain that there’s none. ‘My son was not part of any gang.’
‘And you’re absolutely sure about that?’ asks Sam.
‘Are you absolutely sure you want to ask that question?’ says Wendy, carefully placing the photo back on the mantelpiece, as if she might need both of her hands free.
‘I’m not trying to upset you,’ says Sam, maintaining her usual calm. ‘I just think if we’re going to find the man that killed Steven then we need to stop being polite. We also need to stop tiptoeing around people’s feelings.’
‘You’ve clearly already stopped doing that,’ says Wendy, looking across at Katie for support.
‘How heavily was your son involved in drugs?’
Wendy’s face twists in anger and confusion. ‘What the hell has that got to do with anything?’ She turns to Katie. ‘His death had nothing to do with his past. And that wasn’t even his past. It was a one-off. He told me he was helping somebody out.’
‘Who?’ says Sam, still not holding back.
‘A friend,’ says Wendy, now starting to look a little scared of Sam, who rather than taking a seat has squatted in front of her.
‘A girlfriend?’ asks Katie.
‘I don’t think so,’ says Wendy. ‘I’m not even sure he was interested in women in that way.’
‘You never told me that!’ Katie snaps in frustration.
‘Because I didn’t know for definite,’ says Wendy, lowering her head. ‘He never told me. Never trusted me.’ She looks up at the largest of the photos of Steven, framed extravagantly in gold. ‘A month or so back, I heard somebody talking. It’s that sort of area – we’re close, but people like to gossip.’ She looks up briefly. ‘Not to the police. They didn’t know I was around, and I heard him saying Steven had been seen arm in arm with a man. I asked him if he thought Steven was gay and he said he didn’t know, said he’d always thought my boy was putting on some kind of a performance.’ She shakes her head. ‘There was certainly truth in that.’
‘Did they say what the man looked like?’ asks Katie. ‘The guy your son was with?’
‘No. They weren’t talking at all after I asked that.’ It appears that Wendy isn’t either, because she’s shrunk back in her chair, arms wrapped around her.
‘Might we have a look at your son’s bedroom, Mrs Fish?’ says Richard, eventually. For a moment Katie had forgotten the doctor was there, and is relieved by his presence and his calming voice.
‘If you tell me who you are,’ says Wendy. ‘I know you’re far too old to be police.’
‘I’m far too old to be anything anymore,’ says Richard with a disarming smile. ‘But I used to be a doctor. I’m here to check Nathan’s okay with his injuries.’
Then Wendy looks down at the tape around Nathan’s fingers.
‘Why do you think you’re still alive?’ she asks Nathan, making it sound like an accusation.
‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘I think someone is playing a very cruel game.’ He flicks the briefest of glances at Sam, which thankfully she doesn’t seem to notice.
‘Whatever they’re playing, we’re going to win,’ says Katie.
‘There’s no winning with this,’ says Wendy, staring at the scars on Katie’s cheeks. ‘You should know that.’
Steven Fish’s bedroom is immaculate, in a way Katie doubts it was in the time he was alive. There’s an expensive-looking laptop and some smart-looking clothes in the wardrobe, but nothing to suggest he was living a secret life. He had worked in restaurants and bars for most of the years since leaving school at sixteen, and had always aspired to being an actor. There’s a photo of him standing with his arm around two friends. He’d been a good-looking guy, but not in the conventional, leading man way, with a nose that was a little too large and rather small eyes. In the photos his hair was always very carefully styled and Katie remembers standing over his body in the morgue, the pathologist holding the head back in place and trying to straighten a few tufts of hair to neaten him up. He’d looked so different then, so helpless, so young, and she’d had to turn away so as not to share her emotions with Dr Miles Parker, a man she never wanted to share anything with.
Evidence. That’s what Katie has to find, and that’s what she’s looking for as she slowly searches the room. She spots nothing of interest, other than Nathan, who is standing in the centre of a pale green circular rug, absorbing the detail. However complicated the emotions between them, it’s very simple professionally: she needs him. She takes a step across, aware that Wendy Fish has remained in the doorway, making sure that no objects are taken. She’s watching Sam closest of all, who has opened all the drawers and even got down on her knees to look under the bed. She must know that the room has been thoroughly searched before. She must know that it’s been searched by Katie.
Katie is looking for something new. There’s no change that she can identify since the last time, but Wendy’s speculation about her son’s sexuality has changed her focus. His mobile phone had been found with the body, and there were no unusual photos and no record of calls made that were in any way suspicious. What was suspicious was how little that number had been used, which had led Katie to believe that he was living another life, fooling the police, even fooling his mother.
Lost in thought, Katie doesn’t notice that Wendy Fish has moved alongside her until she speaks.
‘Do you have any children?’ she asks.
‘No,’ says Katie.
‘Then you don’t understand what it’s like to lose one,’ says Wendy, lowering her head.
You have no idea what I’ve lost. Katie bites her lip and nods in sympathy.
‘He was such a proud boy,’ says Wendy, stepping forward to a wall on which there are several photos of people Katie recognises from interview. There’s also an acceptance letter to a drama school.
‘He didn’t go?’ Katie asks, already knowing the answer, part of her thoroughness with the investigation.
‘He got distracted,’ says Wendy, lifting the framed letter from the wall. ‘But he hadn’t given up. In fact, after the drugs thing I think he found new focus, because more than once I caught him with this.’ She lifts the frame. ‘Dreaming, I bet, abou
t all those amazing roles he was going to play. And how much money he was going to make. Money to take us out of here.’
Katie starts to think about Steven’s sexuality again, about a role he was already playing for his mum and his friends. Then, as Wendy is about to replace the picture, she catches a glimpse of something on the back.
‘Might I have a look?’ she asks.
Wendy reluctantly hands the frame over.
Katie turns it over and sees that something has been scratched into the back. It’s a large C above a twisted line with ‘x’s along it.
Katie suddenly feels a hand reaching past her and grabbing the frame. She thinks it’s Wendy, but when she turns she can see that it’s Sam. She can also see the shock on her face.
‘What is it?’ asks Katie.
Sam looks at her, eyes wide and unblinking. Then she breathes out slowly and transforms back into the controlled Sam. ‘I must have been mistaken.’
‘C,’ says Katie, pulling out the phone that Sam had given her. ‘You’re not mistaken.’
‘It’s not Christian,’ Sam says, quickly.
‘Are you sure about that?’ says Katie, moving in close and standing face-to-face with Sam. ‘Because there was something on one of the torn-out pages of Nathan’s journal, a description of an oak twisted around barbed wire with a C carved in the bark.’
Sam spins to stare at Nathan, her mask of control slipping again.
‘The words were written by Christian,’ says Katie.
‘Then we need to go,’ says Sam.
‘Why?’ asks Wendy. ‘What’s this about? What have you found?’
‘We will call you as soon as we have anything,’ says Sam, already moving towards the door.
‘I promise,’ says Katie, reaching out and squeezing Wendy’s arm before rushing after Sam with Nathan and Richard, not wanting to fall too far behind.
Twenty
‘I shouldn’t be taking you with me,’ says Sam, as they sit in the outside lane, passing traffic as if they’ve got the blue lights going. There is no light, and no siren, and something is telling Nathan this is not strictly police business. ‘But I need your help.’ Her voice breaks, the first time Nathan has heard it do so. ‘And I’m not sure I can go through with this alone.’
‘Are you going to tell us what’s going on?’ asks Katie.
Sam is gripping the steering wheel tightly, her chest rapidly rising and falling. ‘I know… I think I’ve always known, but then there’s always a chance I’m wrong.’ Nathan’s never seen her like this before, and the fear in her voice is starting to scare him. ‘Let’s just wait till we get there. It will be easier to explain.’
There takes them another thirty minutes, and it’s well out of London. In fact, the location they arrive at feels so remote, Nathan finds it hard to believe they’re within thirty minutes of anywhere. Despite the excitement and the doubt and the fear he can sense in the car, he’s enjoying being out in the countryside again. The return to London has been far too intense, for any number of reasons, and he feels like he’s breathing a little more easily now.
‘This is it,’ says Sam, turning off the engine of the car. She nods towards a field on their right. Nathan stares up at a huge twisted oak tree on top of a hill, then follows a heavily rutted track down to a farmhouse, the broken-down walls of which are overgrown. They are not overlooked in any direction, and there’s no evidence of anyone else having come here recently.
Sam takes a deep breath and turns towards them. ‘I think there’s a body here,’ she says. ‘And I need you to help me find it.’
‘Whose body?’ asks Katie.
‘I’m not sure. There are several possibilities.’
‘You still don’t trust us enough to share?’ asks Katie, not hiding her frustration. ‘Because I’m happy to start sharing the doubts I have about you.’
‘You’re right to have them,’ says Sam, pushing her door open. ‘But I think things will become clear if we find what we’re looking for.’ She climbs out and starts walking up the hill towards the twisted oak. It takes a while for Katie, Nathan and Richard to catch up, the old doctor in particular struggling on the heavily rutted ground. He’s holding onto Katie, no doubt to avoid hurting Nathan’s back. He’s most likely also noticed the way that Nathan has started to slip into something approaching a trance, absorbing as much detail as he can of his surroundings. In some ways, this is unlike any murder scene Nathan’s ever been to – far too picturesque – but he’s certainly been to places like this in his mind and committed some terrible imaginary crimes in among the trees.
Sam has stopped by the twisted oak and is leaning awkwardly over the barbed wire fence that is digging into the tree. Nathan can’t make out what she’s looking at and knows there’s no chance of him doing the same in his current condition, but Katie reaches over from the other side and takes a photo on her mobile for Nathan to look at. A small ‘C’ has been carved into the bark. On the other side of the fence it’s thick woodland and bramble and there’s no chance you’d find this mark unless you’d been shown it, or put it there yourself.
‘Christian?’ asks Nathan.
Sam shakes her head. ‘Carl.’
‘Carl Watkins?’ says Katie, with the aggression that always seems to flood her when she uses that name. ‘Is that the same “C” that was on your phone?’
This time Sam nods. ‘This goes no further,’ she says, looking to her left and right, as if there’s a chance she might be overheard. ‘Carl was helping me, feeding me information. He was a brilliant source. He was one of the reasons I was able to climb so high, so quickly. We tried to avoid using phones, and so we decided on places where it was safe to meet. This was one of them. We were supposed to meet here two years ago, but he didn’t show up. No word. No explanation. I tried to phone him, but there was nothing. Nobody seemed to know anything about his whereabouts. And then they found Steven Fish’s body.’
‘What was the link between him and Steven Fish?’ asks Nathan, pointing at the tree and the hidden mark. ‘There clearly was one.’
Katie nods. ‘And despite what you’ve told us, I think you’ve known there was one all along.’
‘He’d mentioned him,’ says Sam, running a hand through her hair, which for the first time is starting to look a little tangled. ‘Just once, in passing. I couldn’t remember the context, but once Fish’s body was found I remembered the name.’
Nathan can see that Katie has her eyes closed, the way she always used to when she was thinking hard, pulling things together. ‘Was Carl Watkins the friend that Wendy Fish talked about, the man that Steven was keeping the drugs for?’
‘I doubt it,’ says Sam. ‘Carl didn’t deal in quantities like that.’
‘Was he the man who was seen arm in arm with Steven?’ asks Nathan. ‘That would certainly explain why nobody was talking, if they’d recognised him and were scared of retribution.’
‘Carl wasn’t gay,’ says Sam.
‘You knew him that well?’ asks Katie.
‘I had to know if I could trust him,’ says Sam, with a level gaze. ‘That meant I needed to know all aspects of his life.’
‘You’ve told us what Carl did for you,’ says Katie, her eyes now wide open. ‘What was it you did for him?’
Sam takes a tiny step backwards, and at the same time Nathan shuffles forward. He thinks he knows what’s coming, and he wants to be there to stop Katie doing anything stupid. ‘I gave him a little information,’ says Sam. ‘Helped to keep him out of prison.’
‘For fucking murder!’ says Katie as Nathan reaches out to grab her sleeve and pull her back, sending a sudden bolt of pain through his shoulder that makes him cry out. Katie stops in her tracks to check he’s okay.
‘Is this what we’re looking for here?’ asks Nathan, taking the chance to distract Katie further from her hostile intentions. ‘Is it Carl Watkins’ body, or one of his victims, that we’re going to find?’
‘Like I already said to you, I knew his busines
s,’ says Sam, forcefully. ‘He wasn’t a murderer.’ Sam lifts a hand to cut off Katie’s attempt to jump in. ‘But he would have done what was necessary if his life was in danger.’ She stops and considers the landscape around them, breathing in deep through her nose. ‘And maybe that’s what happened here. If somebody had found out about our planned meeting, then Carl might have killed them and then gone to ground.’
‘You make it sound like that’s what you desperately hope happened,’ says Katie. She hasn’t backed up, and is now just a few inches from Sam’s face.
‘Of course I do,’ says Sam. ‘I broke at least three drugs rings with his help.’
‘While helping him grow his own empire.’
‘Judge me all you like,’ says Sam, ‘but you don’t know the reality of that world.’
‘I don’t know the reality?’ says Katie, and again Nathan is moving forward, ready to put up with the pain in his shoulder if he can hold Katie back. ‘The doctor and I here know the fucking reality! Only yesterday we—’ She cuts herself off, and Nathan can see her face flush. She hadn’t mentioned Ben Peters by name, and Nathan knows there’s every chance Sam will be able to trace the address they’d been to through the phone, but Katie’s embarrassed by her mistake. It’s something she would never have done when he’d worked with her before, more evidence perhaps of how she’s losing control of her emotions.
‘My point,’ says Sam, continuing as if she has no interest in what Katie had been saying, ‘is that there are no winners in the war against drugs. If you take somebody down, there’s always somebody else to take their place. All you can do is make them work hard to maintain the status quo, and to make them doubt themselves and each other.’
‘That’s certainly what’s happening here,’ says Katie, with a frown which highlights the scars on her cheeks. ‘I still don’t think you’re telling us everything.’
‘That’s because I don’t know everything,’ says Sam. ‘I don’t know, for example, how this connects to Nathan’s journal and to Christian and to whoever killed DS Peters and Dr Nigel Hartham. Perhaps it is the Thomas Shaw that Richard talked about earlier.’ She gestures over at the doctor, who had been digging the toe of his brogue into a puddle, seemingly wanting to be anywhere but part of this conversation, but is now looking up. ‘Although that’s not a name Carl Watkins ever mentioned, or that came up in my research.’
