by Gwyn GB
They say school is the best years of your life, but Claire couldn’t quite see that. Of course she hadn’t grown up yet, not learnt responsibility, experienced the drudgery of the need to work and earn money, or even the life-changing trauma of loss. Unfortunately for Claire, she didn't realise you don't have to be an adult to experience the latter.
6
Claire, Saturday 4th/Sunday 5th November 2017, London
Claire and the team put in as much legwork as they could before the caffeine lost its ability to keep eyelids open and Bob sent everyone home for an early start in the morning.
Claire had five WhatsApp messages from her mother, but she hadn't replied. She'd learnt that to send a quick message back, wouldn't be quick at all. As soon as she responded her mother would ring and she just didn't have the time to talk to her right now, or want to upset her by not answering. When they did speak, the loneliness seeped down the phone line to her. An aching longing for a marriage that should have provided companionship but instead brought isolation.
She worried about her mum, the last few weeks their phone conversations had been either rambling or hesitant, no natural conversation flow. Claire's mother would recount her day like she was reading diary entries. Every minute detail, the shopping she'd bought from the Co-op, everywhere she had been, who she had seen and each and every ache and pain. Then she would seem to forget what she'd said and start all over again. Claire wanted to talk to her dad, ask him if he'd noticed a change, but if she was honest she doubted he would have noticed anything. Even if her mother turned into a zombie she doubted her father would notice.
There were times Claire felt really guilty. She wondered if she was repeating history, pushing her mother to one side in favour of the job - just like her father had done for decades. Her mother never complained, never pressurised, she just played second fiddle to the force. Her lifelong role.
When Claire finally dropped into bed, it was to a fitful and shallow sleep. You could be a police detective all your life but, for as long as you retained your humanity, the things you saw on the day job would inevitably infect your sleep. David Lyle's red bloated face swam through an empty house where round every corner someone waited in the darkness.
She still missed Jack on nights like this when his warm, muscular body had been her antidote. She wondered what Alice Lyle's antidote would be. Was she about to find out that she didn't really know the man she'd shared her bed and life with? Or perhaps Alice Lyle wasn't the woman she appeared to be. Perhaps she knew more than she'd let on.
The other thing keeping Claire’s mind from sleep, was her conversation with Bob. She knew he protected her, knew there'd been frowns from high up in relation to her investigation of the SoulMates agency, but perhaps she hadn't realised just how bad it was. Eighteen months ago she'd been a highflier tipped for quick promotion. Now she'd struggled to find a team who wanted her. Thankfully, Bob still believed in her. She wasn't going to let him down. She'd make damned sure she found David Lyle's killer.
When she got in for the 7.30am start, Lew had her latte on the desk ready. She returned his smile and mouthed thank you. Perhaps she needed to have that awkward conversation sometime soon.
'Falle,' Bob shouted across the hubbub of the room. 'Mark Rodgers says he's found something of interest. Get on the phone to him will you and find out what it is?'
Claire was on the phone straight away, she didn't even need to look up the number. As she dialled, she wondered if he'd intended to start this early on a Sunday, or if his day job had infected his sleep too.
Two rings and the familiar voice of Forensic Pathologist, Mark Rodgers, filled her ear.
'Mark, it's me, Claire.'
'How's my favourite DI?' he replied, 'Got something you might well be interested in.'
'What is it?'
'I'll email you over some images now,' he replied and she heard his fingers clicking on his laptop keyboard in the background. 'It was in his mouth, a note, lodged right at the back. I would guess he swallowed it shortly before death because it's not too moist. Perhaps he didn't want the assailant to see it. Only other option could be the assailant put it there.'
'No he doesn't go into the car once he's thrown the snakes in.'
'Not surprised. In that case, this looks like something our victim didn't want his killer seeing. Have you got it yet?'
Claire refreshed her inbox. She'd far rather be having this conversation face to face with Mark, she could do with feeling his touch right now and kissing those intelligent lips of his, although perhaps not in David Lyle's company.
An email from mark.rodgers popped up, she clicked on the attachments. It was a handwritten note, scribbled on a piece of paper torn from a pad. It was the kind of pad you keep next to the telephone, one for writing down messages and she could just make out the faint illustration of an old fashioned phone in the background. On it was scrawled, "The toad, Charing Cross, Nov 7th 1pm". Claire forwarded the email to Bob. David Lyle was talking to them from beyond.
Claire was chosen to conduct the interview with Alice Lyle, mainly because she had already met her and won her confidence. Alice was staying at her sister's in Clapham and was under mild sedation from her doctor. There was no way they would expect her to come into the station. While the team pour over the note David Lyle's body had given up, Claire went to see if their victim's wife could shed any light on why someone would so desperately want him dead.
She found Alice sunk into her sister's sofa. She seemed to have shrunk overnight, life sapped from her body and face. There could be no doubting the grief that ravaged her right now, but could there be any element of guilt mixed in? Did she know why her husband had been taken from her like that?
Her sister, a slightly older, plumper and more domestic version of Alice, fussed around her. When she wasn't making tea or fetching glasses of water, she held her hand, squeezing it each time Alice sniffed.
'Mrs Lyle I'm really sorry to have to ask you further questions when you're grieving, but you'll appreciate that it's really important we get as much information as possible so that we can catch David's killer.'
Alice nodded her head and looked at Claire with watery eyes.
'We are particularly interested to know how the assailant knew that Mr Lyle would be going to his car at that time. Was it usual for him to go out like that?'
'No. We were having a night in, watching TV together, then he got a couple of phone calls on his mobile. I was going to pause it, Strictly was just starting, but he motioned for me to carry on watching and he took the calls in his study. I have no idea who it was. He came back in and said he'd got to go and pick up something from work, he wouldn't be long.'
'Had he done that before?'
'No, but it's a new job. We've only recently come back to the UK and he's still on probation so he's trying to impress.'
'Only just returned to the UK, where were you before?' Claire asked.
'Jersey. We were there about five years, but David wanted to come back here. I didn't mind, it's quite expensive to live there and I missed my family.'
'I'm from Jersey,' Claire replied, smiling gently. She didn't expect any cheerful reminiscing, but she thought it might put Alice at ease if she gave a little back to the conversation.
Alice nodded.
'It's a lovely place.'
'Mrs Lyle do you know of anyone who might have a grudge against David? Did he ever mention anything to you, maybe someone who was a client, someone he fell out with?'
Alice shook her head. 'Nobody, there's no one at all. Not that he told me.'
'Did he seem worried or out of character, especially before he went out on Saturday?'
She shook her head again, and Claire could see her mind working as it searched her memory.
'No, if anything he seemed upbeat.'
'Did your husband keep back-ups of his computer files anywhere? As you know both his mobile phone and laptop are missing. We believe they were stolen by the same man who attacked David.'<
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'No I don't think so, but David didn't share anything about his work with me. He had some clients who are very sensitive about their privacy. It's not that he thought I would be indiscreet, it's just he felt it fairer that he didn't put me in that position.'
'Could you let me know who it was David worked for in Jersey? And anything at all that would help us piece together who could have a grudge against him? Did David have good friends who he might have confided in?'
Alice Lyle gave as much information as she was able, but in all honesty, she added little to what the team had already gleaned from David's LinkedIn profile.
Just before she left Claire asked one more question, 'Do you have a telephone pad? You know one of those you write messages on. It has pictures of old fashioned phones on it.'
Alice looked a little taken aback, but she nodded.
'My mother gave it to David, a stocking filler last Christmas. He kept it in his study.'
Claire left feeling confident that Alice Lyle wasn't intentionally hiding anything. The woman was clearly still in shock and devastated by her husband's death - so just what was it that David had done which led to his terrible end?
There was one thing Claire had noticed. Alice Lyle didn't ask to see her husband. She’d no doubt that the glimpse she'd got of his grotesque face last night was enough to haunt her forever.
7
Claire, Sunday 5th November 2017, London
Claire didn't go straight back to the station, she had a hunch and she needed to go to the Lyle household to check it out. Forensics had just about finished their final checks and uniformed officers were going through the house looking for anything which could be linked to David's attack.
Claire flashed her ID at the officer on the door and went in. As she stepped into the sitting room, she was surprised to find herself face to face with Sergeant Jack Dawson, her ex-boyfriend and live in lover of three years. Their relationship may have ended because of her, but each time she saw him it still sent a little jolt of electricity through her body.
'DI Falle, didn't realise you were working this case,' he beamed his Hollywood smile at her. She still found him good looking. With his bright blue eyes and perfect smile, not to mention his fit body, she’d always thought Jack could have been a model. When their station did a charity calendar a couple of years ago, Jack was Mr July, and he'd even got fan mail. It was all surface attraction though for her. Once they'd moved in together, that hadn't been enough.
'Didn't realise you were either, Sergeant Dawson. Have you found anything?' She returned with a warm smile.
His smile faded. 'Nothing so far. I guess you're hoping for a USB with all the incriminating files or a back-up to that stolen computer, but I'm afraid we haven't found either yet.'
'There's something I wanted to check in his office,' Claire walked into the upturned study where two other officers were knelt on the floor, boxing up piles of paperwork and debris. 'Has anyone found a notepad, the kind you get by a telephone? It's got faint images of an old fashioned telephone on it?'
All the men shook their heads.
'We've been through everything in here now, done a full first sweep. I've not seen one elsewhere in the house either, but if it turns up I can let you know.' Jack added.
'Yes please.'
As Claire went to leave, Jack touched her arm.
'Have you got a moment?'
She faltered.
'I know it's probably not the best time, but just a quick word?'
They went into the hallway, Claire's mind had jumped into protection mode as it thumbed through the files of their relationship for any un-closed issues.
'Lara and I got engaged yesterday, she's pregnant. I just wanted you to know from me before you heard it from someone else.'
Claire's stomach lurched a little, but not as much as she might have worried it would.
'Congratulations to both of you, that's great news.' She replied.
Jack seemed to be studying her face, but instantly smiled at her reaction.
'Thanks. I know kids weren't really on your agenda, but I'm made up about it.'
'That's good. Really good.' And she meant it. She and Jack were old history and he was right, kids weren't on her agenda, not after her experience of family life.
8
Young Claire, Aged 10, 1995, Jersey
The day started just like any other. Life's like that. Fate doesn't give you a warning, the opportunity to avoid its intervention. The chance to say goodbye. Claire and Christopher packed their bags, caught the bus to school and spent the same boring day they always did; watching teachers write on blackboards, and trading banter in the playground. There was no sign of fate when they boarded the school bus home either. It gave no clues, no warning, it just hit.
When they got off the bus Christopher said he wanted to walk home via the sweet shop, he'd sold some polo mints to his classmates at a vastly inflated price and needed to re-stock.
'Dad wants to take you sailing after school, you know he'll be waiting at home for you.' Claire said.
'I'll only be a few minutes, he won't even notice,' Christopher replied striding ahead. 'Come on walk faster.'
'Why don't I start walking home slowly and you can catch up,' Claire tried, realising she was beginning to sound a bit whiney, but her feet were aching.
Christopher turned to look at her, 'No come on, stop being a lazy whinge bag,'
Those were the last words her brother ever said to her - to anyone. He stepped off the curb and straight into the path of a red Peugeot. She remembered it was red because afterwards, in her nightmares, Christopher's blood merged with the body of the car.
It wasn't speeding, wasn't even travelling fast at all, but the driver had no chance to break when the young boy, distracted, stepped out in front.
Claire didn't really remember how she got home. She knew she ran all the way, her school rucksack banging against her back in unison with her pounding heart. The next thing she remembered was watching her dad run out of the house, still wearing his slippers. He never went outside in his slippers and now there he was running down the road in them, his house cardigan flapping behind him. For a moment, the incongruous sight of her father captivated her, protected her mind from what she had just witnessed. She watched him until he rounded the corner, still running.
Her mother was in the back garden getting in the washing, and that's where Claire found her. By then, the shock was beginning to seep around her body which had started to shake, making her voice tremble.
Claire's mother held on to her, clutching her to her chest as though they were on a high tightrope and one movement would send them both plunging to their deaths. She didn't attempt to follow her husband. The longer they stayed like that in the afternoon sunshine of their back garden, the longer she could avoid the reality which was about to tear her heart in two.
Together they heard the sirens, a long way away at first and then coming closer. There was quiet for a while, just birdsong, and then the sirens again. This time they slowly disappeared. Claire's hair was damp with her mother's tears, but she didn't notice.
Her dad went with Christopher in the ambulance and called them from the hospital. Claire's mother didn't drive and so they ordered a taxi. They sat silently in the sitting room, staring out the window, holding hands and waiting for it to pull up outside.
They drove past the accident. The red Peugeot was still there, the area cordoned off by police officers in fluorescent jackets. They said nothing all the way to the hospital. The taxi driver prattled on about this and that, politics and the economy; but Claire's mum just sat pale faced and silent staring forward, steeling herself for what they would find at the hospital.
'Where do you want to be dropped love?' the driver asked her.
'Accident and emergency,' she replied quietly as though her voice was coming from a long way away.
'Nothing too serious I hope,' he semi-joked back, then started to realise that Claire's mother's quietness mi
ght mean it was serious.
'My son has just been knocked over,' she replied, almost matter of factly and without emotion.
He finally put two and two together and mumbled something about being really sorry, he had kids. When they pulled up outside A and E he refused to take any payment.
'I hope he's alright,' he said to Claire's mum. So did they.
Claire's dad was one of those men who never showed a shred of emotion. Claire was too young to consider how that affected her parents' relationship, but at ten years old it meant he was strong, resilient and she believed he'd always be there to protect them. When they found him, head in hands in the corridor of A and E, it was as though he'd had the life sucked out of him. He looked up as they approached, there were no tears, but his face was ravaged by the emotions inside of him. He looked like the photos of his father, as though they'd somehow time jumped years not minutes.
'They're working on him now,' he said to Claire's mother, his voice wavering.
'How bad is it? He will be OK won't he?'
Claire could hear her mum's voice start to crack. She didn't need to look at her to know the tears were flowing.
Her dad said nothing, just gave a minute shake of his head and looked down.
Claire heard her mum sob then and put her arm around her. Her Dad made no effort to comfort either of them, he just put his head back into his hands and waited.
Claire sat replaying the last conversation she'd had with her brother over and over in her head. If she hadn't whined... If she'd just followed him without complaining, maybe he would have taken more notice of what he was doing, maybe he wouldn't have stepped out into the road without looking.
There wasn't much more Claire remembered of that time in the hospital, apart from the slow solemn steps of the doctor as he came out of the emergency room and walked towards them. None of them needed to be told - not even Claire at just ten years old - it was written all over his face.
