Martin pulled him by his elbow as he exited the door. ‘What the hell, Ross?’
Ross blinked.
‘No Tyvek suit?’ he clarified.
‘Shit. Sorry Martin. I didn’t touch anything. It’s just as Lynde said. Looks straightforward. Wait for the CSIs, interview the guy at the Bridewell and go from there.’
Martin didn’t answer. He waited a beat. The air cool and darkness starting to fall. Lights being switched on down the street as people settled in for a night in front of the TV. Life.
‘I know.’ Ross ran his hand through his already tousled hair. ‘Mate. I know. I wasn’t thinking. I’m distracted. You know that.’
‘Talk to me is all. We’re all feeling it. But we still have to do the job. Bottling it up won’t help her, you or anyone else we deal with. I’m here.’ Another look. ‘Okay?’
‘Yeah. Okay. The scene is intact. CSIs will show that. I’ll do better. I’d appreciate if the boss isn’t made aware.’
7
Bill’s restaurant on Queen’s Street used to be a bank; it had high ceilings and was just beautiful. One of my favourite places to eat and I needed something substantial inside me after the day I’d had.
We sat on the mezzanine, the table between us, our silence speaking volumes. Telling more than our words would ever say. I sipped on the wine I’d ordered and observed him over the top of my glass. Ethan hadn’t changed. He was looking after himself. He was obviously still using the gym, his clothes fitted well and he took care of himself in a relaxed, I’m-not-really-trying kind of way. He smiled.
‘What?’
‘You think I can’t see you because you’re drinking?’
‘Okay.’ I put my drink down.
‘How are you? I was surprised to hear from you.’
‘You did text me.’
‘I texted you many times. And called you. It never stopped you from ignoring them. Why now, Hannah?’
I looked around the restaurant. A couple of women opposite us were leaning over the table peering into a mobile phone and laughing at whatever it was they were seeing. An easy evening out for them.
I sighed. ‘It was a tough day. You texted me. I thought you might want to eat.’ And at that point the waitress arrived with our meals. I leaned away from the table and let her place our food down before speaking again. ‘Was I wrong to call you?’
‘I text you because I care. I cared back then, Han.’ He rubbed his hands over his face and silence enveloped us again. I looked down at my plate. The food looked good. Grilled seabass fillets, avocado and caper salsa with pan-fried potato rösti. I picked up my fork and started picking at it.
I let the silence lay while I ate, until he asked again, ‘So?’
‘What?’
‘How are you?’
‘I’m tired, Ethan. I’m tired of everyone looking for someone to blame when I know where it lies.’
‘Where’s that?’ His fork went up to his mouth.
‘Squarely with me.’
‘And that’s why we imploded.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at yourself, Han; you can’t take the blame for everything. The world doesn’t revolve around you. Other people were involved back then, they took actions and their actions have consequences.’
‘Yes, my inactions had consequences as well.’
‘For fuck’s sake.’ His voice raised and a couple of heads turned our way. He put his fork down and lowered his voice. ‘You need to look in the mirror and take some responsibility for yourself, Hannah, regardless of what others are doing. You will be so much happier if you can live your own life before you try and mend everyone else’s.’
‘But—’
‘No buts, mend yourself. Before you destroy yourself.’ He looked me in the eyes and smiled, a smile I knew so well. He was making me angry but at the same time I wanted to talk some more, to figure this out with him.
‘So what now?’ I asked.
‘That’s up to you.’
‘My place? We can talk about it. I can tell you how far wide of the mark you are.’
A strange look crossed his face. My stomach twisted.
‘Hannah, it’s been six months. I want to see you happy. To heal and move forward … but what did you think I’d been doing in that time?’
8
Lianne steadied herself against the kitchen worktop, the feeling of unsteadiness taking her off guard. She didn’t need this today. She had to take Megan to dance practice and that useless ex-husband of hers wouldn’t lift a finger to help. Since the divorce he had become even more of a bastard than before. His parental duties came below work, drinking, and the golf course. Megan handled it well for a six-year-old. She was a calm and patient child.
Nausea swept over her again and the motion of the solid kitchen floor buoyed again. Her fingers whitened as she held her grip. Where was Megan? She tried to recall. She didn’t want her daughter to see her this way. Recent moments filtered through her mind. Snapshots. Bags of shopping. That was this morning. She looked at the clock. But it was nearly 12.30 in the afternoon. What had happened? Where was Megan?
‘Meg?’ Her voice didn’t sound right. It was weak and slurred. What had happened? She looked down at herself, palms pushing on the edge of the worktop, arms outstretched, elbows locked.
Faded blue jeans and grey T-shirt, just as she remembered dressing in this morning. Flat-heeled ballerina style pumps scuffed around the toes. Her right elbow unlocked, her arm sagged and she slipped sideways. Her body slammed down hard onto the counter top, fingers scratching at the shiny laminate in an attempt to regain her balance. She felt the rolled edge of the worktop dig hard into her ribs and she yelped, trying to keep the sound low as it escaped. She didn’t yet know where Megan was and she didn’t want to scare her. As she rested on the worktop, a wave of nausea hit, she had no choice but to fall to her knees, lean forward and retch hard. With her palms open either side of her on the cool floor, back arched, a low moan escaped as the yellow contents of her stomach, watery and sour, flooded on to the white gloss tiles. Her hair hanging down the sides of her face caught up some of the splatter and the stench clung to the insides of her nose. She heaved again, her face contorting in pain, each spasm of her body bringing her face unbearably close to the floor. Lianne didn’t understand what was happening.
She knew she had been unconscious where she fell. She could feel sticky wet fluid under her cheek, chest and hands. She moved a couple of fingers and disturbing the rank yellow stomach contents, felt a heady rush as the acidity hit her brain. She pushed at her eyelids, but they didn’t seem to be working. She had no idea how long she had been on the floor. It was still light, but the days were long now so daylight gave little indication. She felt weak. There was no fight in her.
Suddenly she stopped worrying about the situation as her body went into convulsions. Her arms and legs thrashed out independently and her right ankle slammed hard into the leg of the breakfast bar chair, bringing it down on top of her as her body heaved back and forth. The chrome back of the chair landed on Lianne’s head, causing her face to smash into the tiles, bright red blood from her nose and mouth and cuts on her face mingling in with the yellow of the vomit. The chair bounced wildly, her leg hooked through the spindle that crossed between two of its legs. With each convulsion the chair came down on the backs of her legs, lower back and head. Bruising and swelling appeared rapidly. Lianne stayed in this freakishly odd dance on the floor for several minutes before it ebbed away; the energy of her body slipping from her and leaving her helpless and broken. Only ten minutes later, she slipped into a coma.
9
2000
‘Stay in bed, Daddy,’ she’d said in her soft lilting four-year-old voice as she jumped up and down on her toes at the side of him, tugging at Connie’s hand as she did so. Connie was smiling, her eyes shining brightly at her daughter.
‘It looks like I have to get up,’ she said, ‘and you have to stay where you are,’ she winke
d at him.
‘Come on, Mummy!’ Emma tugged harder on Connie’s hand.
‘Okay. Okay.’ Connie pushed the bedclothes to the side, got out of bed and walked out of the bedroom with Emma leading the way, leaving Isaac in bed with a feeling of warmth, love and total contentment. He lay back on the pillows and let out a deep sigh relaxing in the early June morning sunlight that was filtering through the curtains. He wasn’t sure how long he’d lain there before he heard Emma’s voice again, this time behind the door, whispering.
‘I can carry it, Mummy. I’m a big girl now.’ Connie murmured something and then Emma again, ‘I can!’
The door was pushed open a little bit further and Emma very slowly and very carefully made her way into the bedroom with a tray in her hands, balanced on which was a plate of toast, a glass of orange, a card and a box in wrapping paper. Isaac pushed himself up in the bed until he was sat upright and could see her properly. Her steps were slow and tentative but her smile was as bright as a lighthouse shining to ships in the night. Eventually she made it to the bed and Isaac took the tray from her.
‘Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.’ She couldn’t stop beaming and it was contagious, Connie stood behind her glowing and he could feel his heart bursting with pride as his face mirrored hers. He put the tray on his bedside table, then scooped her up onto the bed where she wrapped her short arms around his neck.
‘Thank you, sweetie. This looks delicious.’
She pulled away from him and put on her most serious face. ‘Daddy you haven’t opened your card or present yet.’
He looked at her seriousness and tried to straighten his own face a little to match. ‘No, you’re right I haven’t. I’ll do that right now.’ He picked up the gift-wrapped box and looked at Connie who was now on the edge of the bed watching them both, a gentle smile on her face. How he adored this woman.
Emma was bouncing up and down on her knees with excitement. He took the wrapping paper off, opened the box and pulled out the mug – World’s Best Dad. ‘Oh honey, this is just brilliant. My own mug to drink my coffee from. Thank you.’ He gave another hug as she bounced with excitement.
‘Now your card, Daddy.’
He put the mug on the bedside table and opened the card. Now he could see why she was so excited. He looked at Connie who was smiling widely then at Em, who could barely contain herself. Inside the card, for the very first time in her own handwriting, Em had written – love from Emma X.
10
DC Martin Thacker sat in front of me. I’d asked him to go out to a job that had been called in and now I needed an update. From what he was saying it seemed to be straightforward and Martin was reliable enough to have everything in hand.
‘The school couldn’t get in touch with Mum. Dad wasn’t answering his phone and they had no other contact details. The teachers couldn’t wait any longer so they phoned the police.’ I rummaged through the paperwork on my desk for my notepad and pen, and made notes under the date as he talked.
‘Then what?’
‘Bramcote uniform don’t get a reply when they knock but see Mum on the floor when they look through the kitchen window. They force entry and in their words, she’s obviously dead; a bit of a mess, vomit and some bruising, so they call it in as suspicious, just to be careful.’
Aaron grabbed a chair at the side of Martin.
Martin continued. ‘I attended. It was a weird one to be honest, boss. Other than some minor bruising, I couldn’t see anything suspicious. She was lying in a pool of her own vomit, which was an odd colour if you ask me, but all the same, she’d thrown up. One of those tall legged stools that are needed with those breakfast bar things was on top of her, as if she had fallen off it or pulled it down, which could account for the bruising. There was no other sign of a struggle. No sign of forced entry. Nothing obvious stolen. I found her bag and purse with bank cards and some cash and all major electrical items accounted for; TV, laptop, Sky, DVD player, etc. Even her car was still on the drive and the keys were on breakfast bar.’
‘So, what did you do?’
‘CSIs and body off for PM. The neighbours weren’t much help in identifying anyone who may have been next of kin for her other than the ex-husband, so I don’t as yet have an official ID sorted.’
‘And the child?’ Aaron asked.
‘Dad’s current wife is picking her up. Social care has her at the moment, but is happy that Dad and wife take her and can’t wait for them to take her off their hands. You know how they are. One less child to find a bed for the night.’
I nodded. It all sounded in order. ‘I take it Dad is coming in here so we can talk to him, get some details?’
‘Yes. I told him we needed to get that done then it was out the way and he could concentrate on his daughter for the rest of the night, that’s why his wife is collecting her.’
‘And is Ross helping you out with it?’
Martin shifted in his seat. ‘He’s busy prepping and stressing about the case he’s got in crown in a couple of weeks. I told him I’d talk to Dad alone.’
‘He’s got nothing to stress about. It’s an open and shut case.’ Aaron spoke. I watched them both for a minute. It had been a hard six months and we were running a team member down.
I looked pointedly at him. ‘Thanks, Martin.’ He took the hint and left the office.
I then directed my gaze to Aaron. ‘Ross seems a bit stressed lately, Aaron. He’s persistently late, where he used to be here at least half an hour before the start of the shift. He’s letting himself go and he seems to be running on a short fuse. He used to be the most laid back person I knew.’ I took a breath, ‘I know we are all still feeling the strain, but I think we need to keep an eye on him. He was close to Sally. He looked up to her on the department and there’s probably some unresolved guilt as he was with her just before her death. He’s still going to the mandatory counselling, right?’
‘We’re all on it, Hannah.’
‘I know, but you’ve not been informed that he isn’t attending?’
‘No.’
‘Okay. And that case he’s got in a couple of weeks, it’s open and shut?’
‘Yes. Shut tight.’
11
Sean Beers was a slim man with a shock of brown hair, which seemed to have a mind of its own. He wore jeans, T-shirt and trainers as though he had dressed in a hurry and thrown on the first thing to hand, but he wore them with a silent confidence. His face was solemn as he seated himself in the witness interview room. I’d been watching him since we introduced ourselves at the front counter. His display of grief was contained for his ex-wife; there were no tears, not one shed for the mother of his daughter. And his worry was verbal for Megan. He wanted to know where she was, who had her and if she had been with her mother when she had died. We reassured him that Megan was safe but left further details for our intended discussion. He had not once called Lianne by her name, but insisted on referring to her as Megan’s mother. Martin left to make him a drink as I continued to watch, all the while monitoring his face and non-verbal communications. He was closed off, legs crossed and facing away from me. Arms tight across his body. His arms toned. A man who took care of himself. Maybe he was self-restrained. Maybe there was something to hide.
Since asking uniform cops to pick him up, we had found out that the school had been informed by Lianne that in case of emergency, she was the only available parent, as he was out of the country, when in fact he was at home with his new wife and baby. Why the dishonesty? He still saw Megan on a semi-regular basis. Beers had some questions to answer but we had to tread lightly at this point. His daughter had lost her mother. We had no cause of death. For all we knew Lianne Beers had died of natural causes, though for someone so young to die so suddenly did give rise to some suspicion so it was better to keep an eye on what was happening than find out too late that there was nothing natural about her death at all. But, who was I to judge marriage and the breakdown of one? I hadn’t been there. I hadn’t felt the poison se
ep in as the cement holding it all together crumbled around their feet. I could only judge a man with an uncomfortable attitude in a police station and that’s what we had here.
With drinks in place, I sat down. Close to Beers. No table between us. No distractions. I was the concerned DI wanting to reassure him of our best intentions. ‘We have Lianne,’ there was a look from Beers I couldn’t fathom, ‘Megan’s mum, at the mortuary where a post-mortem will be carried out tomorrow. It’s usual in cases like this where the death is sudden and she hasn’t seen her doctor recently.’ He cradled his cup, looking into its hot contents. ‘Megan hasn’t been told.’ His head jerked up like a string had been pulled from his head skywards. ‘We thought it best for her to be taken home by you, be somewhere she is comfortable and with someone she loves.’ The string slackened and his head bounced a couple of times. ‘Can I ask why the school thought you were out of the country?’ Beers straightened his back, shifted slightly in his seat and crossed his legs the opposite way before answering.
‘My wife. My current wife. Janine. She doesn’t like the demands and interruptions Lianne makes on our life.’ He put his drink on the floor and crossed his arms. ‘I mean, made, made on our lives,’ he corrected himself.
‘So, sometimes. Sometimes, we say I’m out of the country on business. It’s feasible and it means Lianne won’t call about anything as she won’t talk to Janine about it, only me. It’s easier on our family that way.’ His arms tightened across his chest.
‘So you weren’t out the country this past two days?’
‘No. No I wasn’t. I’ve been at work. Here. And at home with Janine and Sofia. Our little girl.’ He relaxed, uncrossed his arms, opening them as he explained, ‘She’s eighteen months, a real daddy’s little girl.’
‘Did Lianne have any medical conditions or allergies?’
Made To Be Broken Page 2
