The Descent (Detective Louise Blackwell)

by Matt Brolly

  ‘Thanks, Simon. What are you up to for the rest of the weekend?’

  ‘Probably stay here and catch up with some work. You?’

  Louise shrugged. ‘Looks like work for me as well,’ she said, just as DCI Finch entered the room.

  She smelled his aftershave before she turned to look at him, the same citric scent he always wore. It repulsed her to think she’d once liked the aroma.

  ‘Louise, what a pleasure. I was told you were back at your old stomping ground,’ said Finch, emphasising old as if Louise had forgotten she no longer worked at the station.

  Louise fought the rush of adrenaline. Coulson had returned to his computer screen and was trying to be invisible.

  ‘I was just leaving,’ said Louise.

  ‘I’ll walk you out,’ said Finch, smiling.

  It shamed her to think she’d once liked that smile, when all she wanted to do now was rip it from his face. To Coulson’s credit, he looked up to check Louise was happy with Finch’s suggestion. ‘Thanks for your help, Simon,’ she said, nodding as Finch held the door open for her.

  Not for the first time, Louise wondered if Finch had some kind of tracking device installed on her phone. He used to send her anonymous texts when she was alone, often when falling to sleep, and now here he was. It was a paranoid line of thought and she hated that Finch made her think that way. She didn’t engage him in conversation, forcing herself to keep her pace steady through the winding corridors, when what she really wanted to do was get out of there as soon as she could.

  ‘Your man is working out very well here,’ said Finch, still smiling.

  ‘Farrell’s a good officer.’

  ‘Your best, I’d say.’

  The walls of the corridors felt narrower than Louise remembered, and despite the relative safety of being in a police station it still unnerved her to be alone with Finch. It wasn’t that he scared her, but more that she was worried about what she would do if she had to endure being in his proximity much longer. By the smug look on his face, she was sure Finch understood this. He wanted her to make a mistake, to say or do something that would make her look unprofessional, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

  ‘What did you want with Coulson?’ he asked, clearly disappointed at her lack of response.

  ‘What do you think? He works in IT, figure it out.’

  ‘Specifically?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him yourself, Timothy, I’m sure you will as soon as I’ve left.’

  Finch grimaced at the full pronunciation of his first name. ‘I didn’t know we were in the habit of keeping things from one another, Louise.’

  ‘There’s a lot of things you don’t know, Tim. Nothing changes, I guess,’ said Louise, buzzing through the glass doors to the car park.

  ‘Be seeing you,’ shouted Finch, as she walked over to the car.

  Louise kept her pace steady, ignoring Finch’s glare as she opened the car door and sat down, letting out a long breath in place of a scream.

  She wanted nothing more than to take the short route back to Bristol and to spend the rest of the day with Emily and her family. Although she’d felt sorry for Coulson and his lonely obsession, the mirror to her own life was all too clear. Whereas the majority of her team were enjoying the weekend off, here she was, as alone as Coulson, working when she could be doing anything. She’d been the same at MIT, but occasionally she wondered why she used up so much energy to the detriment of everything else. She couldn’t deny that she still had the urge to prove herself. It was hard to concede, but the fallout with Finch had dented her confidence. However unfairly she’d been treated, she was now viewed with suspicion both by headquarters and in Weston. It wasn’t hyperbole to suggest that many people would be pleased if she left the force. It would be the easy choice to make. Her skills were transferable and she’d already had offers of better-paid jobs with much more sociable hours. But she wasn’t about to be dictated to by others. She’d worked damn hard to get to her rank, and although her present location was far from ideal she could still make a difference and if that meant lots of lonely hours of unpaid overtime then so be it.

  Coulson had promised to email her all the details he’d uncovered so she headed back to Weston. She’d been right to escalate Victoria’s and Claire’s deaths to suspicious, but being right gave her no comfort. The simplest explanation was that they were in contact with each other on some form of suicide forum. Louise had come across such groups, many quite open on the Internet, during her time in Clifton. At first they’d felt alien to her, strange dark places where people discussed different ways of ending their lives. Yet the longer she dwelt in the discussion boards, the more commonplace it felt. These were just normal people enduring abnormal times. Judgement was frowned upon and the community was nearly always supportive. No one advocated that people take their own lives and there were always links to counselling and support networks. Louise imagined the places saved hundreds of lives every year.

  With the new knowledge regarding the matching laptops and software, Louise was convinced a definitive link between the two women would be discovered in the coming weeks. It was tragic they’d had to take such a final decision but there was a small comfort in knowing they probably had each other to discuss their options with before they died.

  Louise’s immediate concern now was whether or not the two women had been in conversation with other like-minded individuals. The thought of further suicides was a concern and although she fought it, Louise’s mind returned to thoughts of Emily.

  The rational part of her brain told her it was inevitable that she would make comparisons with the childhoods of the dead women and what was currently happening to Emily, but she hated the way her personal and professional life was merging. The look on Emily’s face when she’d asked if Louise still loved Paul haunted her, and was affecting the way she viewed the case. It was as if her mind was wandering beyond her control at the moment, and thoughts of an older version of Emily signing up to a suicide website and sharing her despair with online strangers accompanied her all the way home.

  The heat was draining her of energy, and Louise was pleased not to see Mr Thornton as she pulled into the drive, her small-talk limit exhausted for the day. She poured herself a pint of water and sat in the shelter of the bungalow’s living room looking out into her miniscule paved garden area. There was no sound coming from any of the other bungalows. The area was a retirement village in all but name. Louise pictured a street full of lonely old people, huddled in their living rooms much as she was doing now. She appreciated the peace but feared she was growing old before her time. Before moving to Weston she’d lived in a flat around the corner from Clifton Village in Bristol with its bustling bars and restaurants. Her little bungalow was so far removed from that flat that she might as well have been in a different country, never mind the twenty miles that separated the two places.

  The thought prompted her into work. From her holdall, she took out pictures of Victoria Warrington and Claire Smedley and pinned them on the empty panel on the living-room wall. Underneath she added printouts of both suicide notes. She drew a line between the two and wrote the word ‘software’ beneath. Maybe she was giving the case too much attention but she wanted these two lives to matter. With everything that was going on with her own life at the moment, it felt more important than ever. Aside from the suicide notes and their living conditions, she still knew so little about either victim. So far the only person who’d had any on-going contact with Claire Smedley was her landlord, Applebee. Louise refused to believe he was her sole human contact. There had been a bonfire at the scene of her death, signs that other people had been in the area either during or close to the time that her life had ended. Louise had to find them, credence had to be given to Claire’s life.

  Louise spent the next few hours researching suicide forums on the Internet for signs of activity, of mentions of Victoria and Claire. The vast majority of people were anonymous as was to be expected but the
re was the odd mention of the two women; although not named, the deaths in Weston were referenced.

  It was dark by the time Louise shut the laptop. She made herself a sandwich and watched a mindless sci-fi film on ITV before getting ready for bed. In the darkness of her bedroom, she listened to the distant sound of cars travelling on the motorway, her thoughts alternating between her niece and brother, Victoria and Claire, and what was still unknown.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Amy fought the ache of jealousy. She had no claim on Jay. They hadn’t so much as kissed and she’d seen him so many times surrounded by other women. Why, then, was it so hard seeing him alone with another woman now?

  The woman’s name was Sally and she’d been part of the group since before Amy had joined. She was short and stocky, her hair a black mop that appeared to have a mind of its own. Amy had spoken to her a number of times at the meetings and she’d always been friendly and welcoming. She wasn’t Amy’s enemy, and it was wrong to see her that way. Amy remembered what Megan had said about seeing Claire arriving with Jay on the night she’d jumped, and the rumours that Victoria had been sleeping with Jay before she’d passed over. Did this mean Sally would be next?

  She watched from a distance as Jay bought them both ice cream, the swirling white kind, from the kiosk at the foot of the pier. Even from her spying position, she’d never seen Sally look happier as they walked off together along the pier.

  Could she risk following them? If Jay saw her, he would know she’d been following him, even if she hadn’t initially intended to do so. And what would she achieve from watching them together? Reluctantly she remained where she was, watching from the entrance of the pier – as tourists rushed by her smiling and oblivious to her feelings – until the two figures faded out of sight.

  As she passed by the ice cream vendor who had served Jay, it crossed Amy’s mind that Jay might know she was meeting up with Megan. Was this a way of punishing them? She thought Jay was above such things, but then they’d never tested him in such a way before. She sat on the sea wall and stared at the pier, waiting for the pair to return. Jay could be trusted, that much she knew. She’d never trusted anyone else more in her life. It sounded ludicrous, especially to someone as cynical as she was, but from that first meeting she could tell he understood her. It was so easy to tell him everything. It was as if he knew it all already. Even when she’d come to tell him about Aiden, he’d known. ‘I can see the loss in your eyes,’ he’d said, prompting her to cry for the first time in years.

  So what if he was with Sally now?

  She walked past the row of amusement arcades towards the high street. Sally had issues of her own and it wasn’t fair to limit the help Jay could offer. He would do right by Sally as he’d done right by her. He’d taught her that jealousy was an empty emotion, had shown her that what lay beyond this world was free of such petty concerns. Let Sally be with him for now. Her time would come.

  But as she walked up Grove Park, the smell of cut grass carrying on the air and making her sneeze, Amy kept thinking of Sally and Jay together. Everywhere she looked, happy couples and groups of smiling people enjoyed the sunshine. It was as if she was the only person alone in the whole town. Normally this didn’t bother her, was more of a pleasure than a burden, but knowing it could have been her on the pier with Jay served to highlight her isolation. At one point she’d even considered catching a bus to Brean to surprise Megan at work but she had no idea what shifts she was working.

  In the end, it was a relief to get back to the bedsit. She switched on the radio, losing herself in the inane tunes for a time as she lay on the bed with the curtains shut. At moments like this, she wanted to see the photos hidden under the bed but she usually resisted. The last time she’d viewed them had been the day she’d placed them in the box, a few weeks after reading the newspaper report. She only had three of them and although she could picture each in exact detail, she knew she didn’t have the strength to hold them in her hands.

  After blasting her ready meal in the microwave she pulled the curtains apart, determined not to hide from the world completely. Once again, she told herself Jay had important work to do and it was selfish to be jealous of his actions, yet she panged for that time when they’d first met.

  It had been at least a month into their time together before he’d given her a hit of DMT. It had been the diluted version they shared in the tea. It had given her a pleasant high and hinted at what was to come. At Jay’s prompting she’d been prepared for the suggestion of something else, of a consciousness beyond their corporeal world. It wasn’t the first hallucinogenic she’d taken and she’d been relaxed with Jay so the trip had been a positive one. He’d promised her the real thing would take her so much further and although he hadn’t come out and said it, there was a suggestion of something miraculous waiting for her.

  It was weeks later when he’d injected her. She hated needles and had been anxious the whole morning but he’d insisted it was the most controlled way to administer it. He’d given her the tea first and when it came time for the injection she’d been more relaxed. He’d been so calming that she’d actually watched the needle pierce her flesh, before closing her eyes as her life changed forever.

  She remembered that period as one of the happiest in her life. Jay was hers and they’d meet at least twice a week. He’d helped set her up at the bedsit and together they’d found the job at the café. The group had been smaller then and when they met they only drank the tea together. She thought that was what was really bothering her. Sally had been part of the group from the beginning, so she’d already gone through the time of being Jay’s focus. It seemed unfair that she was back as the centre of his attention.

  The message appeared on the screen of Amy’s laptop at 9 p.m. Megan had yet to sign in and Amy hadn’t paid the group much attention. The laptop always played a little noise when Jay messaged, a three-chord beep that prompted a visceral reaction from Amy, as if he were in the room.

  As she read the message she began to understand. They were to meet again this Thursday even though it wasn’t the end of the month. It was a new location, in the woods close to Worlebury. At that moment, Amy felt she was the only person who knew who would be next.

  She wondered if Sally knew too.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Within minutes of getting into the car on Monday morning, Louise abandoned her resolution to visit the Kalimera every day. She needed to get to the station. Although she’d spent the best part of Sunday continuing her research into the online suicide groups, she was restless to continue working on the suspicious death cases.

  The uniformed officer behind the desk in the main entrance ignored her as she entered the building, and kept his head down as he buzzed her in through the security door.

  Upstairs, the CID department was empty except for Simone. ‘I forget to ask you, is everything okay with your niece?’ said the woman, as Louise approached the incident room.

  Louise stopped dead. She wasn’t even aware that Simone knew about Emily.

  The confusion must have been evident on her face as Simone added, ‘From when the school called the other day.’

  ‘Oh, that was just a misunderstanding,’ said Louise, opening the glass divide to the incident room, keen not to prolong the conversation.

  Louise had checked in with her parents yesterday. Paul had come over for lunch on the Saturday. He’d been hungover but hadn’t drunk anything and had left early evening without any fuss. This week was the last of the school year. Her mother had said Emily had cried when Paul left but was happy to remain at their house for now. Yet, after her last telephone conversation with her brother, she wondered if it had all been a show for her parents; if Paul was playing the perfect dad until they allowed Emily to return to him with no fuss.

  With a deep sigh, Louise ran through her investigation handbook. Nearly everything that could be done had been. Now it was a waiting game. The extended forensic tests she’d requested could come through any
day, and there was no ETA for the specialised IT department at the Met. If a junior officer had been working on the case she would have told them to put it to one side for the time being, so why was she finding it so hard to do just that? She stared at the photos of Victoria and Claire on the wall – a replica of the incident board in her bungalow – before deciding to take her own advice.

  Sometimes it was best to step away, even for a few hours, and return with a fresh focus. Simone offered her a false smile as Louise returned to her desk in the outer office to check through the outstanding cases. Once again, she marvelled at the difference between current cases and her old caseload in the MIT. Maybe that explained her obsession over the suspicious deaths. When it competed with a set of house burglaries and reports of marijuana dealers hanging around outside secondary schools, it was hard not to take an over-keen interest.

  One by one, the rest of the team filed into the office. Thomas stopped by her desk and asked how she was. He looked a bit better than he had the other day, as if he’d got some sleep. ‘How’s Noah?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s good. I got to see him all weekend,’ said Thomas, explaining the change in his humour. He hovered by the desk as if he wanted to say something more before moving off.

  It was a strange type of torture being cooped up on a day like this. The air conditioning kept the temperature constant but the sunshine tormented Louise through the windows. She read every outstanding case in the department, reassigning a couple of Farrell’s files. Such was the monotony of her work, she didn’t balk when Simone put a call through to her from the editor of the local paper, The Mercury.

  Dominic Garrett was a Falstaffian character she’d met on a handful of occasions. Each time had been at a bar or a function and she’d never seen the man without a drink in his hand. A terrible gossip, Garrett was probably the best-connected person in the town. She couldn’t recall him calling her directly before and seconds into the conversation she regretted picking up the phone.