The Descent (Detective Louise Blackwell)

by Matt Brolly

  ‘Hot one,’ said the SOCO. ‘How are things with you, Louise? Haven’t seen you since that nasty business last year.’

  ‘Good to see you, Janice. I thought you’d stopped covering this patch.’

  ‘You know me, go where I’m needed. Not sure we have much for you at the moment. The ground is so dry that we’re struggling for footprints,’ said the SOCO, glancing down at a small thicket of grass sprouting from the ground which was mainly sand and dry mud. ‘As you can see there was a small campfire,’ she added, pointing to a burnt pile of sticks. ‘I would guess from last night. We’re going through that area, usual procedure.’

  ‘Any sign of a struggle?’

  The SOCO shrugged as if it hadn’t occurred to her that this was anything but a suicide. ‘Impossible to tell at the moment. No blood at the scene so far.’

  Janice pointed to a man in full SOCO uniform hovering by the edge of the cliff. ‘That’s where we estimated she fell from. Best you don’t come in for the time being,’ she added, glancing down at Louise’s shoes.

  ‘It could have been an accident?’

  ‘I guess so. As you can see, there is a sheer drop just over the side of the wall. I imagine Dempsey will give you more insight into that. I guess, in the dark, maybe she was pissed, could have been an accident.’

  Louise rubbed the back of her head, not knowing what was worse: choosing to jump or falling accidentally.

  Chapter Three

  Amy finished mopping the floor of the café before leaving for the day. Keith, the café owner, scowled as he handed her a small share of the day’s tips in a brown envelope as if he was doing her a favour. He hung on tight to the envelope as she reached for it. ‘Don’t spend it all at once,’ he said, clearly enjoying her struggle.

  Amy lowered her eyes, and Keith’s grip loosened. She wasn’t a violent person but at that moment Amy wished only the worst for her obese boss, whose eyes ran up and down her body as she pulled off the grotty maroon apron she used for cleaning.

  ‘Don’t be late tomorrow,’ he warned, his tongue darting between his bulbous and cracked lips.

  Amy left without answering, her mood improving as she stepped into the sunshine. It was early afternoon and she took the short walk from Keith’s greasy café to Grove Park. Nothing waited for her at home, save for the same damp grey walls of her bedsit. She passed the playhouse at the bottom of the high street, dropping a fifty-pence piece into the chipped bowl of a homeless man and his dog.

  The park was a fantasy. Walking around the rows of perfectly arranged flowers, and up the incline through the woodland area, Amy could almost believe this was her life. She pictured a small detached house at the top of the hill, overlooking the only town she’d ever known. What simple joy it would be to cross the road every morning and step into this green wonderland, if for only a time. It wouldn’t solve everything but it would be better than her current alternative.

  At the top of the hill she took a seat on a park bench, receiving a sigh of exasperation from the pensioner already sitting there. Wishing she’d brought a book with her, Amy stared out at the town. The sea was in, the reflection of the cloudless sky masking its usual brown colour. She followed the coastline as far as she could see but was unable to make out the area where she’d been last night. The memory came with a sting of melancholy. Claire had hugged everyone goodbye before Jay injected her with the full dose of DMT. The group had watched, guarding her, as she’d gone to that other place, and hand in hand with Jay she’d walked to the edge of the cliff, where she’d let go of Jay’s hand and continued walking.

  Although she felt happy for the other woman, Amy had stopped watching at that point. The Ayahuasca tea still rushing her blood, she’d looked away as Claire made that final leap, humming to herself so she didn’t hear the thud of Claire’s body landing below. She’d turned back – sensing the intake of breath from the group as Jay gazed over the cliff edge and confirmed that Claire had moved on – and felt Megan’s hand in hers as everyone started hugging and kissing, celebrating Claire’s life and her journey to the new place where she was now safe and happy.

  Before meeting Jay, she would never have conceived that someone taking their life would be a positive thing. Yes, she’d felt the pull before, but her desire to take her life was a means to end her sadness. Now she believed it was more a beginning than an ending. She’d never fallen for the con trick of religion, and had been dubious when Jay had first suggested she try DMT. However, what he’d shown her surpassed all fantasy. She’d not only seen, but she’d experienced the wider universe. Callous as it might sound, she was pleased Claire had taken her life, that she’d made it to that other plane of existence. She hoped to be there one day soon.

  She regretted not taking Megan’s phone number or address. She wanted to see her now even though it was forbidden. Their interaction was restricted to the online group. Jay knew best and Amy respected that, but still she wished she could see Megan and share the strange empty feeling she had from last night’s events.

  Sighing, she stood and took the walk along the Bristol Road back to her bedsit in Milton, wondering if Claire’s body had been discovered yet.

  The same dusty rank smell reached Amy’s nostrils as she opened the front door of her block of flats. The odour was caught forever in the carpet and the greying wallpaper that peeled from the walls in tiny patches, like skin exposed too much to the sun. Amy’s bedsit was little more than a glorified room, though it did at least have its own bathroom with a small kitchenette. She knew most of the building’s occupants by sight, though there was nothing approaching a community between the tenants. Beyond perfunctory nods and greetings, everyone kept to themselves, all lost in their secret lives.

  From the small fridge that took up half the kitchen counter, Amy took out eggs and a handful of vegetables for her omelette. She heated a pan of water – her makeshift kettle – and threw the eggs, onion and tomatoes into the frying pan. The resulting mess was more scrambled eggs than omelette but her appetite had been sated from lunch at work, the one benefit of working for that ogre.

  She sat with her dinner on her lap, watching random YouTube clips on her laptop. She couldn’t concentrate, her mind elsewhere. She didn’t know if it was pity or jealousy she felt for Claire, and that uncertainty scared her.

  When she’d first met Jay, everything had seemed so clear. Absently, she rubbed her left wrist where he’d touched her on that first night. It hadn’t felt like an intrusion, the feel of his skin and his kind words soothing her in a way she’d never before experienced. She didn’t believe in love at first sight but there had been a connection she hadn’t believed possible. He’d talked to her, his dark eyes never leaving hers, and it was as if he’d known her all her life. She hardly had to explain the traumas of her life, her absent father and drug-addicted mother, her years in and out of care homes where she’d suffered such abuse that living alone was a distant dream, her life’s only ambition. And when she’d told him about Aiden, he’d listened intently and offered only comfort, not judgement.

  Jay knew her more than she knew herself. He’d listened and understood and the few precious days they’d spent together over the ensuing months were the best of Amy’s life.

  She didn’t get to see him alone any more and she’d come to accept that. His mission was too important. She’d seen him work his magic on the others and was proud of the way he’d helped so many people, even if it ate into the time they shared together.

  It could have been her last night – Claire had only joined the group two months ago – and although she still wanted that, she’d had to look away as Claire leapt from the cliff edge. She’d caught Jay’s glance at that moment and feared she might have upset him until he offered her his secret smile. That one simple gesture made the world make sense again. She didn’t doubt him; it was the physicality she’d turned away from: the visceral crunch of bones as Claire landed, the blood and momentary pain before she moved beyond this plane.

  The
eggs, although sprinkled liberally with salt and pepper, tasted of nothing. The rubbery texture left a vacant taste in Amy’s mouth. She forced the food down as there was nothing else in her room to eat. How she wished for more of the tea Jay had given her last night. It wasn’t quite the same as the full hit Claire received – Amy had only received that pleasure the once – but it never failed to centre her. With Jay’s encouragement she’d learnt to decipher the messages the drug sent to her: the interconnection between the realities, the promise of something else, something better. She’d felt part of a bigger universe last night, an existence beyond the meagre solitude of her bedsit, and she wanted that again now.

  Switching off YouTube, she went through the laborious process of connecting to the chat room. Jay had set up the precautions to keep their conversations private, but the route was so cumbersome that sometimes she didn’t bother.

  Ten minutes later, bouncing from one IP address to the other with a Wi-Fi signal that was little better than an old dial-up connection, she reached the private group. A sense of warmth came over her as she saw the green light next to Megan’s avatar and the three flashing dots meaning she was typing out a message.

  Hi honey, I’ve been waiting for you to get online. Everything ok?

  Amy closed her eyes and sunk into her chair. It was surprising how connected she felt at that moment, as if Megan was sitting in the room with her. She replied, others joining in the conversation. They spoke in the code Jay had taught them, never revealing where they’d been last night or what they’d seen. Amy would have liked to talk alone with Megan but was content to share her with the group. Everyone was contending, in their own way, with what had happened last night and being in a group was beneficial to most.

  It was only when she scrolled down the list of names that she noticed Claire’s name had already been deleted from the list.

  Chapter Four

  Louise had been inside enough churches in the past year to last a lifetime, though she’d never visited the ruined cliff-side church of Saint Nicholas before. She peered in through the locked gates of the building and up through the hole where the roof had once been, as a man wearing a dog collar approached her with a set of keys.

  ‘Tristan Reeves,’ said the man. ‘I’m the reverend of Uphill Church, and caretaker of this fine building. I was told I was needed.’

  The vicar looked pale, the hand holding the keys shaking as Louise explained what had happened last night. He was a tall, bespectacled man, with a well-spoken, nondescript accent that suggested he was an outsider.

  ‘How old was she?’ he asked, his voice wavering.

  Louise pictured the pile of bones and flesh they’d found at the bottom of the cliff. ‘In her thirties. We believe her name is Claire Smedley. Would she happen to be one of your parishioners?’

  ‘I don’t believe so. Do you have a picture of her? You realise we no longer perform services here?’ he added.

  Louise had read the notice on the board, though the lack of roof was a bit of a giveaway. ‘I’ll get one to you as soon as we have some positive identification. So you get a lot of tourists here?’

  ‘Yes. Obviously it’s a beautiful setting and the church has some considerable history. We open the gates at selected times so people can see the interior.’

  ‘We believe there was a campfire here last night, to the rear of the church. Would you know anything about that?’

  ‘Sometimes kids get together up here, away from prying eyes. We often have to clean up after them. Lot of discarded alcohol cans and bottles, that sort of thing, but I only get here once a week at most. We have a caretaker who checks out the place at weekends. I can give you his details if you like.’

  Louise took the caretaker’s details and thanked the cleric. The SOCOs had finished their work on the area and Janice allowed her inside the barrier tape. Louise was not one for heights and tentatively climbed over the high stone wall separating the graveyard from the cliff edge. There was a patch of grass, six or seven metres before the drop. She bent to the ground, glad to have Janice behind her as she peered over the edge. The drop was sheer, the landing place now the white SOCO tent.

  Louise returned to the wall and climbed back over, pleased to be on the right side of the barrier. She tried to gauge how someone could be desperate enough to step over the edge – it would take an incredible amount of courage to make those few steps – but knew it was pointless trying to see things from the jumper’s point of view. Unless you were in a place where you were overwhelmed, maybe from events in your life or from depression or related mental illness, then it was impossible to conceive of what went on in the mind of someone ready to take their own life.

  Not that Louise didn’t have experience. As a probationary officer, she had worked in the Clifton area of Bristol. One of Bristol’s enduring landmarks was the Clifton Suspension Bridge that spanned the River Avon. It had seemed like every day she’d been called to Isambard Brunel’s masterpiece, either to try and talk a jumper down or help with someone who had fallen. Often it was a cry for attention, a desperate need for human interaction. Louise considered some of her greatest achievements the times she’d rescued someone from the bridge and arranged for further help. Each jumper always had a different tale: a lost loved one, an addiction that had got out of hand, an incurable illness, a depression that had finally got the best of them.

  The parallels to Paul were obvious and a shiver of concern passed through Louise as she contemplated the same thing happening to her brother. It wasn’t mere fanciful thinking. Paul’s illness was not solely his alcohol addiction. Understandably, Dianne’s death had changed him. Although they’d sought out help for him, her memory consumed him. The alcohol was a by-product of that despair, but it was also a disease within him that Dianne’s death had exacerbated. It staggered Louise to admit it, but it wasn’t a reach to imagine him taking his own life.

  From Uphill, Louise made the trip to the new headquarters via the town centre. Days like this reminded her of the family day trips they’d made as children to Weston. Until much later in life, Louise had always equated Weston with the sunshine. She’d made happy journeys sitting in the back of the car with Paul as they’d taken the short drive from Bristol. They’d had picnics on the beach, walked the pier, and had sometimes been allowed to visit the Tropicana, the town’s now defunct open-air swimming pool. It was sad to think that version of Paul, the pale-skinned carefree young boy, was gone forever. Yet, however much she wished she could take away his pain, she had to think about Emily and what this was doing to her. She wanted to grab her brother and tell him to pull himself together, but as the woman lying under the white tent in Uphill proved: life was rarely that simple.

  She reached the new station fifteen minutes later. The grey, purpose-built building was set on a grim industrial estate in Worle. Although more convenient for her, she lamented the move from Winterstoke Road, which was a few hundred metres from the seafront. The new building was isolating and so devoid of character that Louise felt she could be working anywhere in the country.

  The gentle hum of the air conditioner greeted her as she was buzzed into the CID department on the second floor. Although soulless, the new offices offered better facilities and she wouldn’t miss the smell of the last building – an underlying stink of body odour and heated food that she could summon to her nostrils by thought alone.

  She stopped by Thomas’s desk and asked for an update. She hadn’t noticed earlier, but he looked drawn, his eyes heavy with dark bags. He’d asked not to be quizzed about the on-going divorce, yet Louise felt she was somehow failing him; as if her own complicated feelings were preventing her from being there properly for him. Thankfully, he rescued her by speaking.

  ‘We have a confirmed name and address for the jumper. Claire Smedley. She has a flat in Kewstoke. She was orphaned as a child, lived in and out of the care system. I have an address for an old foster parent but she left their care when she was thirteen.’

  Louise took t
he address from him. ‘Everything okay, Tom? You look a bit peaky.’

  ‘Yeah, just a bit tired. I’m staying at my parents’ while . . . well, you know. I feel like a bloody teenager again.’

  ‘How’s Noah?’

  Noah was Thomas’s four-year-old. ‘He’s good. Doesn’t really understand what’s going on obviously. I still get to see him every other day so that’s good,’ said Thomas, sounding as if it was anything but.

  ‘I’m here for you if you need to talk,’ said Louise, hating the inadequacy of the words as they left her mouth.

  ‘Thanks, Louise, I appreciate it. Do you want some company?’ Louise must have looked blank because he added, ‘The address. Claire Smedley’s place.’

  ‘Yes. That would be good.’

  They sat in companionable silence as Louise took the old toll road to Kewstoke. She liked this hidden part of Weston, the narrow winding roads and remote houses. It was like entering the past, and when she had time she would always drive this way into Weston’s town centre. At the small village, she took the winding road to Sand Bay. As the name suggested, the place was a beachfront sharing the same channel of water as its more illustrious neighbour up the coast. Louise preferred it here. The seafront was less garish and the small bay was much quieter, even though it offered a beach and views that to Louise’s mind surpassed Weston’s.

  Louise tried hard to focus on the case, but her thoughts kept slipping to Emily. She told herself she was being hysterical, but seeing Claire’s body at the foot of the cliff had only deepened her concern for her niece.

  Like Claire, Emily was now an orphan of sorts. Fortunately, Emily still had a loving family surrounding her but it was too easy to picture her in Claire’s place. She still knew little about Claire’s history, but she was almost certain that the loss of her parents at a young age had contributed one way or another to her being in a position where taking her life felt like the only answer. It wasn’t that far a stretch to imagine Emily going down the same road if they weren’t careful.