by DS Butler
“What? Is it helpful?”
Collins stood up. “Can you print me a copy? And then email me the image. Right away.”
Troy tapped a few keys, and the printer next to him churned out a copy. “I haven’t got your email…”
Collins dropped a card with his contact details onto Troy’s desk next to the keyboard. Collins picked up the printed copy and walked out of the room, his eyes fixed on the image.
“Oh, no trouble, at all,” Troy Wilson grumbled under his breath. “At your service. No need to thank me.”
Collins’ mind was reeling as he took the stairs two at a time. He needed to get back to the briefing room quickly and confirm he wasn’t seeing things.
It wasn’t a good picture really, only a side-on view, but Collins was sure he recognised one of the people in the shop.
The fat one.
It was Craig Foster, he was sure of it.
The implications were huge. Craig Foster had survived the gas in the shop, but the second time he hadn’t been so lucky. Had this been a suicide that messed up the first time? But then why not do it in his own flat in the first place? Why do it in a newsagent’s of all places? Why with Syed Hammad?
Collins slowed his pace, his breath coming a little bit faster.
If it really was a suicide pact, then Craig Foster had decided to make a second attempt separately… Collins entered the briefing room.
What did this really prove? Only that DI Tyler was probably right. It probably was a joint suicide pact gone wrong, and Craig Foster had made a second and successful attempt.
Collins walked across to Mackinnon’s desk and stuck the print out under his nose. “It’s a still from the CCTV at the newsagent’s. It’s –”
“Craig Foster,” Mackinnon said. “Jesus.” He took the image from Collins and studied it.
Collins leaned back against Mackinnon’s desk. “Well, I guess it was a suicide pact, and Craig Foster was successful the second time. God knows how they got together in the first place. I mean Syed Hammad and Craig Foster are hardly the obvious candidates…”
Collins trailed off as he noticed Mackinnon staring at him. “What?”
Mackinnon tilted his flatscreen computer monitor so Collins could see it. On the screen was a head and shoulders shot of a dark haired girl, smiling for the camera.
Collins took a deep breath. The girl was the spitting image of the girl from the CCTV still.
“Collins,” Mackinnon said. “That’s Joanne James.”
29
IT WASN’T THE CLEAREST picture, but even DI Tyler couldn’t deny the resemblance between the CCTV still and the photograph of Joanne James provided by her devastated parents.
“So it’s either a suicide pact, or we’ve got some weirdo knocking them off one by one.” Tyler scratched the side of his nose with a pen.
“We need to talk to the other kids,” Mackinnon said. “It’s too late for Joanne James or Craig Foster, so we’ve got to talk to Robbie Baxter or Vinnie Pearson and…” Mackinnon leaned forward to point out the figure curled up next to the counter. “And whoever this is.”
The as yet unidentified young man, slumped on the floor beside Robbie Baxter’s feet, could hold very valuable information.
Tyler nodded. “If we can’t talk to Robbie Baxter or Vinnie Pearson directly yet, we need to talk to their friends and family. It’s ridiculous. Surely one of them should be up to a quick chat by now. I’m not talking a full scale interrogation, just a few questions.”
Then Tyler turned back to Mackinnon and Collins. “We don’t have much time. We need to find out who this other person is.”
Tyler didn’t say anything more, but both Collins and Mackinnon understood the implication. Two of the people who had survived inhaling the gas at the newsagent’s were now dead. Whether by their own hand or someone else’s.
It could be only a matter of time before the other kids in the photograph suffered the same fate.
30
1982
JUNIOR STOOD IN the kitchen wiping up the plates after dinner. With his skinny legs, scraped knees and freckles, no one could have guessed he’d grow up to be an Arbiter of Justice.
He and his mother were working as a team. After Junior wiped up a plate, he would set it on the kitchen counter, and his mother would pick it up and put it in a cupboard. They didn’t speak but worked in a happy kind of silence.
The front door banged shut, and Junior froze.
His mother glanced in the direction of the door, and for a moment an unguarded expression of fear gripped her face. She recovered quickly, smiling as she took the tea towel from Junior’s hand.
“I’ll finish off here, Junior. You get to bed before –”
“Before what?” The man filled the doorway. He was easily one of the largest men Junior had ever seen. He swayed from side-to-side, and his eyes were bleary from drink.
He looked at Junior’s mother, and then blinked down at Junior, his eyes struggling to focus.
He slapped a hand against his leg. “Call this a welcome?” His voice boomed out, echoing around the kitchen.
He spread his thick, muscled arms wide. He expected Junior to hug him.
Junior glanced at his mother, who nodded encouragingly. He moved forward hesitantly, then looked back again at his mother.
She smiled, offering reassurance. “Go on, Junior.”
“What are you waiting for, boy?” The man’s huge, red face loomed in front of Junior.
“Hello, sir,” Junior said as he moved his arms around the man’s waist.
Junior called him sir because he felt that was right and respectful. It was what he called his school teacher, but he felt the man’s body tense, and Junior knew he’d said the wrong thing.
The man reared back, roughly slapping Junior’s arms away. “Why don’t you ever call me father? I took you on, didn’t I? There aren’t many men who would be prepared to do that.”
Junior didn’t really know what the man meant. He didn’t need anyone to take him on. His mother had always looked after him perfectly well. She’d done a good enough job without this man.
“You’d better get off to bed, Junior.” He felt his mother’s hands clasp his shoulders. “School tomorrow.” She began to manoeuvre him around the man’s bulk, into the safety of the hallway.
“He should call me father,” the man growled.
But Junior got lucky. The man was already distracted, moving towards the other end of the kitchen and sniffing the air. “What’s for dinner?”
Junior fled upstairs. He learned it was better to stay upstairs when the man was around. Junior shut his bedroom door and kneeled beside his bed. He lifted the edge of the mattress and pulled out his black notebook.
He didn’t use it like a diary. He liked to write down phrases and quotes he thought sounded important. When he felt anxious, he would flick through the pages of the notebook, and it made him feel better.
He lay back on the worn, blue bedspread covering his single bed and clutched the notebook to his chest.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what might be going on downstairs. It was impossible to concentrate on the writing inside the notebook, but the feeling of the smooth leather binding under his fingers was still reassuring.
He could hear his mother’s pleading voice, trying to calm the man. But it wouldn’t work. After he’d had a drink, nothing calmed him down.
Junior tried to block out the noise, screwing shut his eyes and muttering over and over, “I hate him.”
Distracted by his chanting, he didn’t notice the door open inch-by-inch until it creaked loudly. Junior’s eyes flew open, but it was just the little girl.
She’d turned up a few weeks ago, the same time as the man. She was very small, and she didn’t even go to school yet.
Mother said she was a strange one because she didn’t talk. She might not be old enough for school, but she should have been talking by now.
The little girl stood in the doorway. She didn�
�t enter the room, but as the sound of crashing furniture came from downstairs, her eyes widened in terror.
Junior held out his arms.
The little girl hesitated for a few seconds, and then ran to Junior’s side, flinging herself onto the bed.
With the tiny girl huddled up beside him, Junior tightened his grip on the notebook and stared at the ceiling as his mother’s screams began.
31
PRESENT DAY
“ARE YOU sure I agreed to help you with this?” Derek asked, his face flushed and sweaty. He lifted a paving slab from the pile and awkwardly carried it across to the makeshift patio.
“Yes, you agreed last weekend,” Mackinnon said, taking the paving slab from Derek.
As Mackinnon laid the paving slab on the ground, Derek grumbled under his breath, “You must have asked me when I was drunk. I would never have agreed to this if I’d been sober.”
Mackinnon straightened and massaged the small of his back. He hadn’t thought laying a new patio in Chloe’s garden would be such hard work.
“This was a stupid idea,” Derek said. “It’s too hot for this kind of work.”
It was hot. Hot for England even in July. Derek’s dog, Molly, sat under the shade of an apple tree. Molly’s tongue lolled out of her mouth as she sat there panting and looking at both men as if they were crazy. As it was the hottest day of the year so far, she was probably right.
Derek yanked up another paving slab. It slipped through his hands, and the slab landed on his toes. He let out a strangled curse.
“This is not fun,” Derek said. “You told me this would be fun.” He lowered himself into a garden chair and pulled off his trainers.
He held up his left foot. “Look at that. I bet it’s broken.”
Mackinnon took a look. It was a bit red. “Stop being such a baby. Unless it swells to at least half the size, you’re not getting out of this.”
Derek groaned and got to his feet. “And I’m sure you mentioned something about food. I thought we were having a barbecue.”
Derek slipped his trainers back on. “You got me here under false pretences. You said we would cook some burgers, drink some beers and that this little patio would take half an hour.”
Derek looked up at the clear blue sky and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
“I’m getting too old for this,” Derek said as he picked up the paving slab and carried it across to Mackinnon.
“What are you talking about? You’re only thirty-seven.”
“Yeah, well I feel older. And this isn’t fun.”
“You’ve already said that.”
“And I’m hungry.”
“You said that, too.”
Mackinnon looked down at the half-completed patio. He wiped the sweat from his face on the sleeve of his shirt. “Chloe will be back soon. She is getting the stuff for the barbecue.”
“You said that an hour ago.”
“She must have got waylaid. She’ll be here.”
“When? I’m beginning to think you made up the barbecue idea just to get me here.”
Mackinnon set down the next two paving slabs then paused, trying to catch his breath. How could it be so hard for two men to lay a patio? He was glad Chloe wasn’t back yet to see just how pathetic their attempt was.
Mackinnon laid the next stone slab and glared down at it. What the hell? There was a three-inch gap. “Derek, are you sure you measured this?”
“Yeah, why?”
Mackinnon pointed to the gap.
“Oh,” Derek said. “I don’t know how that happened. You must have distracted me.”
Mackinnon shook his head. “Fantastic.”
“It’s not my fault. I don’t work well on an empty stomach. You should have done it yourself.”
Mackinnon shrugged. “Never mind. I’ve got a few extra paving slabs. We can just extend it.”
“Brilliant.”
“Come on. We’re almost there. We’ve done well today.”
Mackinnon looked down at the paving. It wasn’t too bad. He reached for the spirit level and grinned in satisfaction. At least it was level.
“I can’t believe you roped me into this,” Derek said. “It’s a Saturday. The day of rest.”
“That’s Sunday.”
“Saturday, Sunday. Whatever. Both days should be relaxing.”
“Yeah, well, the only reason you agreed to help me was because you wanted to get out of visiting Liz’s parents.”
Derek scowled because he knew Mackinnon was right.
“I’ve only been dating Liz for three weeks. That’s far too soon to meet her parents.”
“Why didn’t you just tell her that? Tell her the truth?”
Derek looked at Mackinnon as if he were crazy. “Don’t you know anything about women?”
At that moment, Chloe came out into the garden carrying a bottle of beer in each hand.
“Oh, my God.” Derek scrambled to his feet and took one of the beers from Chloe. “I could kiss you for that. Jack has had me sweating over this patio for hours without a break.”
Chloe grinned and passed the other bottle of beer to Mackinnon. “That’s how I like my men – doing hard physical labour while I shop.”
Derek flopped back into a garden chair as Chloe inspected her new patio. “It’s looking good.” Then she frowned. “But there seems to be a gap here.”
“It’s all under control,” Mackinnon said. “We decided it needed to be a little wider. All part of the plan.”
“Oh, okay.”
Mackinnon gulped down half the bottle of ice cold beer in one go. Jesus, that tasted good.
Katy wandered into the garden, a paperback book in her hand, fanning herself. “Have you finished yet?”
“Nearly,” Mackinnon said.
“Are we having the barbecue soon, Mum?” Katy said. “I’m starving.”
Derek jumped to his feet, suddenly finding some energy from somewhere. “I’ll do it,” he volunteered. “We’ve nearly finished the patio. I’m sure Jack can take it from here.” He smirked at Mackinnon.
When Mackinnon finally laid the last stone and the patio was complete, he wandered towards the sound of sizzling sausages and the smell of charred burgers.
Derek was waving the spatula around while he chatted to Sarah. Mackinnon’s stomach rumbled. He was so hungry the sight and smell of the food was far more interesting than what Derek was saying, but his ears pricked up at the mention of an iPod.
“What are you talking about?” Mackinnon asked, leaning down to pluck another beer from the ice box by Derek’s feet.
“Sarah says her iPod’s broken. I told her I can get one for –”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Mackinnon said and turned to Sarah. “You can get a new one from a shop just like everyone else.”
“I know what you’re thinking, Jack.” Derek said. “But it’s not dodgy. I know a guy who is –”
“She doesn’t want it.”
Sarah pouted. “Oh, but Derek can get one so much cheaper than they sell them in the shops.”
Mackinnon shook his head. There was a reason for that. Derek was a good friend, but he wasn’t without his faults. The main one being an ability to lay his hands on things cheaply. Mackinnon wasn’t an idiot. He knew Derek’s so-called friends, and there was no way he would let Derek sell a dodgy iPod to Sarah.
“No,” Mackinnon said. “Now pass me one of those burgers.”
Derek rolled his eyes, shoved a blackened burger in a roll and handed it to Mackinnon.
Derek put another burger in a bun and took it over to Chloe, who was stretched out on a sun lounger.
“Thanks, Derek. I could get used to this.” She raised her sunglasses and grinned up at him.
Mackinnon sat down on the seat beside Chloe. Molly, Derek’s border collie, walked over to them wagging her tail.
Mackinnon broke off a piece of sausage and leaned down to give it to Molly.
Derek yelped. “Don’t give her
that. I told you she has a sensitive digestion.”
“She’s a dog. She eats meat.”
“Only specially prepared meat,” Derek said.
The sun was setting; golden rays filtered through the trees and above them a red kite swooped gracefully home to roost.
“I can’t believe you two managed to finish the patio in one afternoon,” Chloe said as she polished off her burger. “I bet those stone slabs were heavy.”
Derek nodded, holding his beer on his stomach as he leaned back in the garden chair. “It wasn’t too bad,” he said. “I mean, I had to motivate Jack. He’s not really one for manual labour. I had to crack the whip a bit.”
Chloe took one look at Mackinnon’s face and giggled.
Mackinnon just shook his head. Derek, who had reclined the garden chair so he was practically lying flat, fanned himself with one hand and balanced the beer on his protruding belly with the other.
“How heavy are they?” Katy asked.
“They weigh a ton,” Derek said. “It’s a good job I’m in shape.”
Katy frowned. “You look shattered.”
“I’m just resting my eyes.”
A few minutes later, the sun was down, and the food was finished. Molly had curled up by Derek’s feet. Mackinnon felt a wave of contentment wash over him. Derek liked to wind him up, but there was nothing like watching the sunset after a hot summer’s day. They didn’t get enough of them in England.
Mackinnon looked over at Chloe as she laughed at something Derek had said. Katy sat on the floor, stroking Molly’s soft fur. Yes, Mackinnon thought, this was pretty much a perfect evening. It didn’t get much better than this.
32
1982
JUNIOR BLINKED INTO the darkness.
He’d been dreaming about a trip to the seaside with his mother. He’d had an ice-cream cone with a flake, and they’d paddled in the sea. It had been a good dream, and Junior didn’t want to wake up yet. He snuggled back underneath the duvet, burying his head in the pillow, trying to get back to sleep.
