Déjà Vu

by Stephen Edger

  It reminded Megan of discos in junior school: kids suddenly let out without parents, wearing what they considered their most fashionable of outfits, and acting like unrestrained children. Janice’s friends were no different.

  The first to arrive – Sarah “with an h” – looked like she’d spent three hours at a hair salon having her hair surgically straightened; her makeup had been carefully applied to cover any trace of a wrinkle, and the skin was far more tan-coloured than her hands, like her head had been on holiday and forgotten the rest of the body. She seemed to pout on every fifth word, like that somehow made her more attractive. It didn’t.

  The next two – Marie and Sinead, both donning brightly coloured feather boas – had clearly been somewhere before arriving, as neither was able to string two words together with slurring or giggling. Megan gave up remembering names after them, though there was a Sara “without an h” somewhere in the mix too. Eight women in total, all allowed out without partners and children, and all determined to make the most of the freedom, even though it was a school night.

  Megan’s head was spinning by the time she’d been introduced to them all, and she was tempted to bow out early, but to do so would be to risk allowing something sinister to befall Janice. And as annoying as she and some of her friends seemed, Megan wouldn’t be able to live with the guilt.

  So she kept her head low and feigned interest in the banter between the women, but considering their elation at having “escaped from home”, all they spent their time doing was talking about their children and lazy other halves. From what she could tell, Janice was the oldest of the group, as she would frequently remind the others that ‘it doesn’t get any easier when they become teenagers.’

  ‘Let’s order a fish bowl for the table,’ Janice brazenly declared after their plates had been cleared away. This was of course met with rapturous applause and whooping form the group.

  Megan, who had been on tap water since they had arrived, didn’t think that cocktails were a good idea, particularly as she’d banked on Janice giving her a lift home later.

  As if sensing what she was thinking, Janice leaned in and whispered, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get Darren to collect the car after work and we can share a taxi home.’

  It brought little consolation, but Megan bit her lip rather than disrupt the plan.

  ‘Don’t you fancy anything stronger?’ Janice asked, nodding at the glass of tap water.

  ‘I don’t really drink,’ Megan said.

  ‘Wait till you try the cocktail in the fish bowl. It’s probably best if I don’t tell you what’s in it.’

  ‘I don’t really like the taste of alcohol.’

  ‘Oh, this is sweet, and you won’t even realise you’re drinking booze. Trust me, you’re going to love it.’

  The bowl arrived on the table, and the waiter looked nervous as he handed each woman a long plastic straw. Megan accepted hers, and made to rest it on the table, but Janice stared at her until she picked it up and placed one end in the bowl.

  ‘Right, ladies,’ Janice declared from the head of the table. ‘Here’s to us!’

  They all began to sip, and Megan followed suit, surprised by the sweetness of the drink, but stopping herself from drinking too much.

  The bowl was empty within minutes, and a second swiftly ordered.

  Not one for confrontation, Megan remained quiet, and as the second and third fish bowls came and went, she hated to admit it, but she was beginning to feel tipsy, even laughing at some of the stories the women shared about their children’s tantrums and unreasonable demands.

  ‘Tell us about yourself, Megan,’ one of the mums said, fixing her with an interested look.

  Megan couldn’t remember what this one’s name was, and felt her cheeks heating up as all the faces turned to look at her. ‘Not much to tell,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t have any children.’

  ‘But wait until you hear about her gift,’ Janice added, wrapping a consolatory arm around Megan’s shoulders. ‘Megan here can communicate with the spirit world.’

  Megan’ eyes widened in disgust, but she was the only one. The rest of the group stared at her in genuine bewilderment, like a spotlight had been thrust down on the woman in the wheelchair, and she was about to adorn them with words of great wisdom.

  Megan wanted the ground to swallow her up.

  ‘Tell them,’ Janice encouraged. ‘Tell them about your dreams.’

  Megan’s cheeks burned. ‘Oh no, it isn’t -’

  But Janice cut her off. ‘She can see people’s deaths in her dreams. That’s why I brought her along tonight. She has foreseen my passing.’ Janice pressed the back of a hand to her forehead, and feigned despair, before erupting into a fit of giggles. ‘But I’m sticking two fingers up at the Grim Reaper. If he wants to take me tonight, he can have the broken and hung-over version. If this is to be my last night on earth, then I’m going to be bloody shitfaced!’

  The table erupted into hysterical applause and cheering once more.

  ‘What did you see?’ the mum next to Megan asked eagerly. ‘Was it really gruesome?’

  ‘Yeah,’ another joined in. ‘Was it one of us? Was it Sinead in the drawing room with the lead piping?’

  One of them – presumably Sinead – playfully slapped her friend’s arm. ‘Lead piping? I’d yoosh the rope!’

  Janice was dabbing her eyes as her laughter chorused.

  ‘What else have you predicted?’ one of the others asked. ‘Could you predict when I’m going to go, and whether it’ll be my children that do it? I tell you what, I could kill my other half sometimes!’

  But for all the laughter and joking, none of them made her feel like a crazy woman. They all treated her “gift” as genuine, and all were interested to know more, though Megan was reluctant to say too much. But the more she sipped from the fish bowls, the more she talked, telling them about Rita’s nose dive and the shock when she heard the crash on the van’s roof.

  And before she knew it, the waiter was telling them that the pub would be closing and they should finish their drinks. Megan stuck by Janice’s side as each of the women kissed them both on the cheeks and slowly dispersed from the cool car park.

  ‘I’ll have to take you out to pay you back,’ Megan said, when they were in the back of the taxi.

  ‘Don’t be silly. I told you, Darren just earned a huge bonus. And besides, I only work so he doesn’t need to give me spending money. I’m glad you came along. And I hope you enjoyed yourself?’

  Megan hated to admit it, but being out with a group who didn’t seem to care about her wheelchair and treated her as just one of the group had been refreshing. She nodded and smiled at Janice by way of thanking her.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want him to drop you home first? I don’t mind,’ Janice offered.

  ‘No, your place is closer, and besides I want to make sure you’re home before I go on.’

  And so when they pulled up at the large detached property in Chandlers Ford, Janice handed money to the taxi driver, enough to cover the rest of Megan’s trip home.

  The house was part of a new build, and must have cost at least half a million, by Megan’s estimate. Janice’s white soft top sports car was parked in the driveway, and a large Land Rover was parked next to it, both with personalised plates. The small garden at the front was neatly tended, and Megan couldn’t imagine that Janice looked after it herself, so probably there was a gardener on standby for whenever it needed sprucing.

  And as they waited in the taxi, Megan allowed herself a small sigh of relief, as Janice unlocked her front door, and practically fell inside. But she was home, and one way or another, Megan had played her part in protecting her.

  Megan yawned as the taxi pulled away, not noticing the dark car parked across the road with its lights off; nor the figure behind the wheel, watching everything.

  FORTY-THREE

  Pressing the thumb and forefinger against his eyelids, Jake tried to waken his near-sleep consciousness.
After speaking with Dr Patel, he’d returned to the station, collected Charles Xavier’s hard drive, located a vacant room and plugged in. He’d hoped watching Carlos’s life play out in full high definition Technicolor would somehow give him the insight he was missing. He wanted to know why Carlos had chosen to drive the Jaguar twenty minutes down the road to a closed park, crash through the security gate, tear through the undergrowth, off a pontoon and into a murky lake. Scientific Services estimated he’d been doing at least sixty miles an hour when the Jag’s bonnet had broken the water. And thoughts that the crash had been an accident were swiftly disappearing.

  But if his intention had been to kill himself, why drowning? There were far easier ways one could do it: overdose on painkillers, a blade across the wrists, hanging, dropping a toaster in the bath; the list went on. So why the drive? Why that particular park? Why the Jaguar? He’d had a host of classic cars: had the Jaguar been closest, or was there something more about that choice? There were too many unanswered questions, and that is why at nearly midnight, Jake was still staring at the computer monitor trying to better understand Carlos Xavier.

  But the weeks’ worth of footage had so far proved relatively fruitless. Moments before he left his home, Jake had seen Carlos receive a phone call on a mobile phone, and it was possible that whatever was said on that call was what had triggered the sudden rush from the house, but for the crystal clear images, there was no sound. Jake had made a note to check with the SOCOs whether a mobile phone had been recovered from the body or lake. Jake didn’t remember seeing one, but in the security footage, Carlos had pocketed the phone before rushing out of the front door.

  Potentially finding that phone and the name of the person who had made that final call might help him understand why Carlos had chosen that particular moment to end it all, but it felt like he was clutching at straws. The Jaguar hadn’t been fitted with any kind of GPS, so Scientific Services hadn’t been able to confirm exactly what route had been taken. But based on the time stamp of the gate camera and the time they believed he crashed through the barrier, it didn’t look like he’d taken any kind of detour or stopped to see anyone on the way. The bungalow in Lyndhurst was exactly 12.3 miles from the Lake, and an internet search suggested a 22-minute journey time in light traffic, which it would have been at that time of night.

  And as Carlos had pocketed the phone, he hadn’t looked upset in any way. He hadn’t stopped to take one final look around the home he wouldn’t see again, pausing to reflect on the memories and to reassure himself that he was making the right decision. Instead, it was as if someone had phoned to say a relative had been rushed to hospital. The reaction had been a panicked race out of the door, and then speeding away from the gates. It was similar to when Isabella had phoned Jake to tell him about her accident earlier that day. But what could have been so important that he get to the lake?

  Was the phone call a threat of some kind? Did someone have dirt on him, and with nowhere else to turn he’d decided to end it all? It was thin, and would be almost impossible to prove evidentially. And it still didn’t explain why he’d chosen that lake.

  Jake’s head was spinning as the theories went round and round in circles. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, save for a chocolate bar from the ground floor vending machine when he’d arrived three hours ago, and now his stomach was grumbling in dissatisfaction. Isabella had phoned twice, but he’d neglected to answer. But now he felt like ignoring her was cruel. She’d probably only wanted to know whether he would be home for dinner, or whether he would be there to say goodnight to Gabby. And that thought made him feel even more monstrous. It wasn’t fair to allow the awkwardness between him and Isabella impact on Gabby’s love for them both. He’d vowed he wouldn’t make his daughter pick sides, but despite his best intentions that was what he was ultimately doing.

  He would have to make an effort to pack up and go home soon. He’d been waiting for Harry to call and update him on what he’d managed to dig up on Carlos’s life, but there was no word yet. And there was no point in watching any more of the security camera footage tonight. Having watched the minutes prior to Carlos leaving for the last time, he’d skipped back a week to see if anyone had come to the house and acted in an aggressive manner, or whether Carlos had made any visible attempt to end it previously, but he hadn’t seen anything worth noting. It was as if Carlos had lived in a bubble: a routine that could be followed to the minute, yet of no interest to anyone.

  Every morning he woke at seven, did push-ups and sit-ups, left in running gear, returning half an hour later, before showering, drinking a mug of coffee and eating two slices of toast with butter and marmalade. He’d wash that down with another coffee, before sitting and reading, or watching television, occasionally looking at his phone. At lunchtime he would venture out, presumably to some kind of local shop, as he would always return with a neatly-wrapped baguette, which he would eat with another mug of coffee, before continuing to veg out on the sofa. A second run and shower would follow before dinner, and then he was in bed by ten every night. In the seven days before his death, he only ventured out to run and buy lunch. Nobody visited, nobody appeared to phone, and he didn’t reach out to anyone. He was a virtual hermit.

  So why was Sunday different? His behaviour on that day was the same as any other, save for the fact he had yet to go to bed when he received that call. It made Jake more determined to find out who had phoned and what had been said. But he would have to wait until morning to speak to SOCO.

  Powering down the workstation, Jake stretched his arms high over his head and let out a guttural yawn, surprised by how tired he suddenly felt. Sealing the hard drive in the bag, he would have to drop it back at the evidence locker before heading home. But as he exited the room, he hadn’t expected to see anyone else left on the floor, let alone DS Ian Waverley, who looked equally surprised to see Jake staring back at him.

  ‘What are you doing here, Knight?’ It was an accusation, more than a question.

  Jake wasn’t ready to get into another slanging match with him, and simply answered, ‘Just working my case. Good night.’ He turned to head away, but heard Waverley marching fast to catch up with him.

  ‘What’s that you’ve got?’ Waverley demanded, jumping in front of him, and glaring at the evidence bag under Jake’s arm.

  Jake stopped abruptly, rather than crashing into him. ‘Victim’s hard drive. I was looking at the security camera footage from his home.’

  Waverley’s top lip curled into a sneer. ‘Just so long as it has nothing to do with the McGregor case. We don’t need you screwing up things anymore.’

  Jake bit his tongue, and made to move past him.

  But Waverley moved in closer. ‘You may have the DCI wrapped around your grubby little finger, but you don’t fool me. You’re one step away from getting booted off this force, and I for one can’t wait for the day it happens. I’ll be there, applauding as they escort you from the building.’

  Waverley was trying to get under his skin, and it took all Jake’s willpower, not to lash out and swipe that sneer from his face.

  ‘I don’t know what Tosh said to those paramedics to get them to change their minds, but I hope it was worth it. Word on the street is McGregor is livid with what you did and is planning his revenge. I’d watch my back if I was you.’

  Jake stepped forward thrusting his chest out so it would bump against Waverley, and the older man took two steps back, a look of panic swiftly replacing the sneer.

  ‘You haven’t asked about DC Lockwood,’ Waverley quickly said. ‘She’s no longer in a coma. But of course you wouldn’t know about that, because you only care about yourself.’

  Jake stopped himself, suddenly overcome by the news that she was awake. ‘How is she? Is she talking? When will she be back?’

  Waverley relished having the upper hand once more. ‘She’s over the worst of it. Tosh reckons with a few weeks’ rest she’ll be back on her feet and raring to go. I’ve offered to take her under my w
ing as her previous mentor is an irresponsible shit.’

  Jake took a giant step forward so his chin was barely an inch from Waverley’s face. And as Waverley’s posture seemed to physically shrink, Jake sniffed the air twice. ‘A word of advice: choose a stronger deodorant. You stink, man.’

  And with that, Jake stepped to the side and moved off along the corridor, grinning to himself as he pictured Waverley sniffing his pits for BO.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

  The sound was driving Megan to distraction. She’d never suffered a hangover before but she was sure the intense pain behind her temple and the sense that her head was the size of a wrecking ball were good indicators that today was going to have to be taken delicately. Her mouth was so dry that every flick of her tongue caused it to stick to the roof of her mouth. And as she lay, head squashed into the softness of her pillow, her other senses slowly started to return, each bringing its own unique dimension on her condition.

  Hearing had been the first and the echo of the dripping tap somewhere in the studio flat was driving her to distraction. It was as regular as a heartbeat, but seemed to be growing louder, if that was even possible. She so desperately wanted to get up and stop it, but the very idea of climbing out of bed was too far away to grasp. What she needed was someone to bring her a large cup of tea and a plate of toast. That would probably be enough to get her mind just about functioning again.

  What would Rob say if he could see her now? He’d probably find it hilarious that a staunch non-drinker’s first night out on the tiles in more than a decade was nursing the mother of all hangovers. He’d have pointed and laughed, but then his empathy would have come to the fore and he’d have fetched her a sick bowl, a dose of painkillers and sustenance. What she would give to have him here now.

  And then, like a machete slicing her brain in half, the realisation hit her: for the first time in as long as her fragile mind would remember, she couldn’t recall any kind of dream. In fact, as she lay there with her eyes still closed, she couldn’t even remember getting home last night.