Bitter Fruits: DI Erica Martin Book 1 (Erica Martin Thriller)

by Clark-Platts, Alice

  ‘Simon liked Emily, didn’t he?’ Martin asked gently. ‘Romantically, I mean?’

  ‘I think so,’ Simon agreed. ‘I mean.’ He opened his hands, ‘I don’t agree with everything he did. Pushing her to Nick,’ he scoffed, ‘was a pretty fucking stupid idea. And then getting Nick to show everyone the last set of photos. It just meant Emily ended up hating him.’ He halted and stared at the wall again, seeming confused. ‘She hated him …’ he repeated softly.

  Martin kept her eyes on Simon. Something was nagging at her. She couldn’t put her finger on it. What was it? She thought again. The photos. The emails to Stephanie said that Daniel had got Nick to show off the photos. It didn’t add up.

  ‘But then again,’ Simon continued. ‘What sort of girl takes those kinds of photos unless she wants them to be seen? I couldn’t understand it. It made me angry. She was allowed to go beyond the pale and get away with it. Something about that made me very angry. You see? I understand everything. It’s not like I don’t.’

  There it was again, Martin thought. Something wasn’t right. Push on, she thought. Keep it going.

  ‘So, Daniel,’ she said, causing him to focus back on her, ‘can you tell me what happened on the bridge on Sunday? Can you talk me through it?’

  Simon put his head in his hands. ‘It’s hard, you know?’

  ‘I know it is,’ Martin said.

  ‘After Easter, it was awful. I almost didn’t come back to Durham.’

  ‘What had happened, Daniel?’ Martin asked. ‘Why didn’t you want to come back?’

  He looked at her, confused. ‘Because Emily hated me. After the Epiphany Formal when everyone had seen the photos.’

  Martin said nothing, her mind whirring. She let Simon continue to speak, to carry on talking as if he were the boy called Daniel Shepherd.

  ‘But I couldn’t just run away. I had to face it. Who was I, if I couldn’t do that? I went back up and tried to forget about everything. I studied for the exams. I ran a lot. I kept myself to myself. But then I saw Emily, one day, in the middle of town. She was just walking along the road by herself. Holding a carrier bag of shopping. She looked so – at ease. Everything melted away, all the anger and rage. I just wanted to be with her again. Just see her and talk to her and try and explain.

  ‘So I left a note on her door. I asked her to meet me on Prebends Bridge on the day of the Regatta.’

  Martin remembered the jagged edge of a note stuck outside Emily’s room. Simon must have come back later to rip off his message, to hide the evidence that he had arranged to meet her.

  ‘And then I waited. I stood on the bridge, by myself, for an hour, getting colder and colder, knowing that she wasn’t going to come. Then I was Kai in The Snow Queen, and ice spread over my heart. I went to the boathouse, saw her lying on the grass with some people I didn’t know. It was that I think. What I had known all along. I was irrelevant. I wanted to drill myself into the ground, be invisible; be buried in my grief.’

  Something was triggered in Martin again. ‘Your grief?’ she asked quietly. ‘Or Simon’s?’

  Simon looked at her steadily. ‘Simon’s.’ He paused. ‘He texted me and we met on the Palace Green. He was terribly upset.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Emily had taken a photo of him with Mason. She’d told him about it down at the boathouse. He was terrified his father would see it.’ Simon swung his hand lazily towards Mervyn. ‘You can see why, right?

  ‘I gave him a hug and told him to go home,’ Simon carried on speaking as Daniel, his voice flat but recognizably different from how he had spoken before. ‘Told him that everything would be okay. But he was distraught. He ran off, down towards the weir. That’s when I followed him. I went to the boathouse, saw Emily come on to the bridge and meet Nick. They stood and talked. And then I saw her slap him.

  ‘Just once. But it was hard. The sound carried into the trees. I felt a rush of excitement at that, I’m being honest with you. Finally, Emily had realized what a cock Nick was. She was going to show him he couldn’t treat her like that. I was half-laughing to myself at the beauty of it, the fucking comeuppance he was getting. Seriously, the arrogance of him is quite astounding. Here he was, begging her to come back to him, and she was telling him to fuck off. I wanted to cheer and whoop. The underdog was going to win! It was like those films, Rocky or whatever, The Champ. I had watched them as a kid. The little guy, always beaten down, coming good and showing everyone what a supreme guy he actually was. That was me. I was going to show them. Emily had realized it, once and for all.’

  Martin’s thoughts were racing through her brain, a jumble of competing ideas blaring at her through the drone of this voice that suggested another being, another person: Daniel Shepherd. Sentences jumped out at her as if white subliminal messages on a black screen: Emily hated me, watched them as a kid and I was going to show them.

  ‘ “You can’t just snap your fingers and expect me to jump,” I think I heard Emily say.’ Simon continued speaking as Daniel. ‘But I was so afraid of what might happen. That she would go back to him. Again and again I had watched her do it. Why wouldn’t she fucking learn? She was wearing a purple Durham T-shirt. And she had on a kind of white tracksuit top. She looked so small next to Nick. That ponytail of hers, always swinging off her back. She was so cheery and good and wholesome. I couldn’t bear what he’d done to her. What this place had done to her. Besmirched her. Made her into one of them. Now she was just a waxwork copy, entirely unoriginal. Where had my Emily gone?

  ‘Nick ran away. I watched him go,’ he said in disbelief. ‘I mean, he had her, she would have done anything for him, even after the slap. I’m sure of it. But he tossed her away like a piece of dirt. Something rushed in me, the noise of the weir waters, spilling over stones, its current dragging against the bank. That devil in me, the one I thought I’d silenced, he came again. There he was, standing on the other side of the river, beating his wings, waiting to enfold me. I shook my head to try and rid myself of his image, but he leered into my face. In a flash, I was standing next to Emily. She turned to face me, a look of triumph on her face, which turned sour as soon as she saw it was me and not her lover boy back again.

  ‘ “Simon, what are you doing here?” Emily said, sounding frightened. I didn’t want to scare her so I went to touch her arm, to comfort her. But she drew back quickly as if I’d burned her with my fingers. “Stay away from me,” she cried.

  ‘ “Emily, I …” I stepped towards her, but she reared back.’

  As he spoke, Simon gestured and moved in his seat as if he were acting out the scene, taking on the different parts. Martin shuddered internally at the sight of it.

  ‘I looked down at my feet. These feet which were mine. They took me over rocky grounds, up hills, to mountaintops, along beaches. The things I’d seen. Who was this girl to judge me? To judge whether I was good enough or not? I summoned it up in myself; that rage. I tried to make for Emily again. As I moved towards her, she stood taller, as if she too was calling up her strength. She lifted her chin and, oh God, it reminded me of her sitting on the train, that first day. How the light from that northern morning had hit her face, just for a second. How I had smiled at her as I took her suitcase and she had walked off the train in front of me. All that possibility then. Gone and smashed on the rocks of fucking mistakes and circumstance.

  ‘She came at me then, as these thoughts doused me, she had one last fight in her. And as I grabbed her, all I could see were her eyes, like wet and glistening stones of mourning. I reached for her and then I had her with me. With me. I was holding her, cradling her head, cracking it, twisting it, bending her into me. I was holding her and she was mine.’

  Simon bent his head, breathing deeply.

  ‘Afterwards, I carried her off the bridge and laid her on the bank. I took off her jacket, I don’t know why. Then I saw the scars on her arms. I imagined her, alone and sitting in her bathroom, a razor blade in her hand. It broke my heart when I thought about it. That beautiful skin. Rivere
d with her blood. How could she do it – puncture herself? The strength, the strength she needed to do it. I was almost admiring. If I hadn’t been so sad.

  ‘I know it sounds crazy. But I didn’t mourn for her then. I didn’t believe it, really. I couldn’t see it as real. There she was, lying beautifully in the moonlight. I could have sat there all night, stroking her hair. But then I heard a noise, footsteps; people coming back from the Regatta party. It burst the bubble of the last hour. The two of us: Emily and me. I stood up. I had won. I had conquered her.

  ‘I looked westwards, into the mouth of the river, and, using the tip of my trainer, I prised Emily’s shoulder up high enough, until the weight of gravity and the slope of the bank rolled her down into the weir.’

  51

  Thursday 25 May, 3.00 p.m.

  Martin sat in the small canteen of the Durham police station, a cooling cup of coffee in front of her, a half-eaten KitKat in her hand. Mervyn Rush had asked for a break, and Martin had agreed, suspending the interview. She wanted to clear her head for a while in any event – whirring thoughts motoring inside her head, flapping ideas into sandstorms. She needed some calm to work it all out. She stared out of the window, looking on to the city.

  The body of the cathedral rose up from its island in the distance. It was a visual illusion, as if the cathedral was actually poking up from the middle of the cluster of newer buildings around it. Martin wondered idly whether the modern town planners had intended this. The sunlit glassy surface of the River Wear circled round as ever. Not for the first time, Martin felt there to be something ominous in that. The river had a stranglehold on the island, it snaked it, tightening its grip with every whorl.

  The canteen was quiet, most of the force were out in the city patrolling the streets, or downstairs in the bustle of the offices. The silence was oppressive. Martin jumped sharply at the noise of a plate being dropped into the sink in the kitchen. She looked at the rest of the KitKat but couldn’t face it, pushed it away from her on the table.

  ‘Boss?’ Jones walked into the canteen and sat down opposite Martin.

  ‘All along, throughout the past few days, I’ve been wondering to myself, who is Emily?’ Martin said quietly. ‘It’s the most interesting part about a case like this. Who is the victim? Why are they a victim?’ She paused. ‘Are they in fact a victim? It’s always puzzled me, that. Normal bright middle-class girl. Comes to university, just like she should. Gets here and has a crush on the captain of the hockey team. So far, so boring. But then,’ Martin wagged her finger at Jones, ‘then, she poses for some naked photographs to be put up online. Amazing.’ Martin turned sideways in her chair so she could cross her legs and lean on her knee. ‘I mean, it’s just not what you’d expect from a girl like that, is it?’

  Jones shook her head imperceptibly, unsure where Martin was going.

  ‘But I was wrong, Jones. I was very, very wrong. The truth about this case wasn’t Emily.’ She looked out of the window again. ‘No. It was Simon Rush.’

  ‘Or Daniel as he likes to be called,’ Jones said.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Martin answered. She moved the rest of the KitKat towards Jones, who shook her head at it. ‘I’ve been thinking about those emails – the ones to Stephanie Suleiman.’

  Jones looked at her.

  ‘There’s something funny about the whole business.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Martin rubbed her hands over her face and gave a small groan. ‘Ah, it’s so fucked up. I can’t get it straight.’ She lifted her head and met Jones’ gaze. ‘Think about it: what’s in those emails. Daniel’s the loner, right? The outsider. He doesn’t have any mates. He hangs around Emily like a bad smell. Fancies her, pushes her to Nick in the hope she’ll see the error of her ways and come back to him. Good old ever-faithful Daniel.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jones said. ‘Simon was hoping she would come back to him but then he messed up by getting Nick to put the photos online, and Emily got mad at him. They had a big fight at Easter, and when he came back, he tried to shame her by selling the video to Egan and then snapped down at the weir when she showed him the photo she’d taken of him and Mason.’

  ‘Did Simon do all that? Or was it Daniel?’

  Jones looked confused. ‘They’re the same person, boss. We just saw it in the interview room. Before the break. He’s got some multiple personality disorder. Whatever the psychs say. You saw it. He wasn’t the same person.’

  Martin sat back in her seat and folded her arms. She said nothing but turned her head again to stare outside. A coxless scull was making its way lazily up the river, rounding the bend. Martin traced its course with her eyes as dark clouds scuttled across the sky.

  ‘It’s going to rain,’ she said.

  ‘I just have a few more questions before we can end this,’ Martin said as she re-entered the interview room. Simon sat listlessly in his seat. Martin could see that Mervyn had pulled himself together; he was back in the legal zone, piecing together a way out of this for his son. The words diminished responsibility seemed to flash above them all in the room like a neon sign.

  ‘I just want to check. I’m speaking to Daniel now, am I?’ Martin asked.

  Simon nodded.

  ‘Daniel Shepherd is a construct of your imagination, brought on by the stress of witnessing your mother’s suicide? Is that what you’re saying?’

  Simon looked confused. ‘What are you talking about? I am Daniel Shepherd.’

  ‘Yes, of course, sorry.’ Martin paused. ‘You’d do anything to protect Simon, wouldn’t you, Daniel? I mean, that’s the point of your whole existence, isn’t it? To protect and help him. You arrive whenever he’s in trouble. When he’s overwrought, taken too much coke, or weed, when he can’t sleep. I know about these things.’ She gave him a quick smile. ‘I studied it when I was at university actually. I know the premise.’

  Simon said nothing, merely looked at her calmly.

  ‘Fugues, they call them. When life gets too painful, the brain splits. Another personality takes over, a personality more adapted to cope with a situation that the first person can’t abide. Like today, for example. With Simon’s father here. Simon couldn’t cope with him hearing about his relationship with Principal Mason. So Daniel arrives to help out. To calm everything down, reason with us all. Daniel’s good at that, isn’t he? He’s articulate and intelligent. He can speak for Simon when Simon can’t.’ She nodded encouragingly. ‘That’s right isn’t it?’

  Simon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I only know who I am.’

  ‘And the other interesting thing about a condition of this type,’ Martin continued. ‘Is that it’s incredibly hard to diagnose. It can take years. It’s not something that any old doctor or counsellor would pick up on. Usually the initial diagnosis is one of anxiety. Or depression.’

  Simon said nothing. Mervyn Rush moved in his seat. ‘I think,’ he spoke carefully, ‘that we’ve said all we can say. We have a confession from Simon but clearly, in the circumstances …’ His voice faded away. The air turned brittle as Martin’s focus on Rush became hard as flint upon iron. Slamming into the ensuing silence, Martin began to clap her hands together loudly. Mervyn and Jones turned to her, amazement etched on to their faces. Simon narrowed his eyes.

  ‘W-what are you doing, Inspector?’ Mervyn stammered, rising from his seat. ‘Please …’

  Martin carried on clapping. Jones struggled to keep a poker face. What was Martin doing?

  ‘Round of applause, Simon. Really, you should get a standing ovation.’ Martin laughed, gesturing round the room, as Simon looked at her bemused. ‘You almost had me, I must say. A very clever idea indeed.’

  Mervyn got to his feet, but Martin waved him down. ‘Just give me a second, Mr Rush. Let me have my moment.’ She smiled at him. ‘So, Simon – sorry, Daniel – my mistake – here’s the thing. The stuff you’ve said in interview, it just isn’t adding up to me.’ Martin stood up herself and went to lean against the wall at the side of the room. She took a slo
w breath, focusing her thoughts, her eyes never leaving Simon’s.

  ‘Let’s strip all this back. There’ve been a lot of smoke and mirrors in this room today. Any day you’re in the room actually.’ She smiled again. ‘But let’s get back to the very beginning. Make things nice and simple.

  ‘Here’s what I think happened. I think you – Simon – met Emily on the train coming up to Durham just as Daniel says in the emails. She was a Fresher, impressed by you as a third year – college president no less. She was a normal girl, Emily – as I’ve always thought. Nothing very special about her in all honesty. But I think she played you a bit. She liked being liked by boys, by you and others. She was pretty and bright, and it flattered her. You fancied her. You let yourself think about her, dream about her. You exposed yourself to her, didn’t you? Let her see your vulnerable side.

  ‘There’s a lot going on inside your head, Simon. Your parents let you down, abandoned you, it seems. Life’s pretty unfair isn’t it? You, the massive overachiever. Expected to get a double first. President of the college. Good-looking. Christ, even the principal fancies you. But Emily doesn’t, does she? No. She fancies Nick.’

  A dank mist began to form over Simon’s eyes, a fog which clouded their colour, made them cold.

  ‘That rejection made you angry. There you were, having to be this person that you hated – with Mason, with everyone. And you couldn’t even get the girl you wanted. That pretty girl who seemed to have it all, everything you thought you deserved. It burned you up, I think, watching her move around the university. And you did watch her, didn’t you? You watched her like a hawk. You even went down to London,’ Martin smiled again, ‘although you hadn’t been invited. You turned up at the place where her brother was doing a gig, tried to ingratiate yourself with her family – who completely ignored you; they didn’t even remember your name.