by Gwyn GB
9
Claire, Sunday 5th November 2017, London
Claire left the Lyle house, thoughts teeming around her head. What Jack had just told her, the case and her hunches. Outside she stopped a few moments, looking up and down the street. One of the neighbours had seen the pizza delivery rider turn up, but no one saw him leave. She guessed that even if they had, all they would have seen was him carrying the pizza bag, the one he'd had the snakes in. No one would have been able to see what he’d removed from the Lyle household.
Coming up the street she saw four elderly people. They walked slowly, chatting. Four ageing faces, the kind which tell a story and make you want to read the lines and expressions like words on a page. Their skins were brown and their language sounded a little like Chinese and a little like Indian to Claire, while their clothes told a story of another land.
'It's Joanna Lumley's fault they're 'ere.' A voice next to her made her jump. A woman is leant over the next door `fence, smoking. She nodded at the four people. 'Nepalese. She campaigned to 'ave 'em brought over. No wonder people get fed up when they can't afford a house round 'ere no more.'
'Do you know the Lyles?' Claire asked her, ignoring the tone of her remarks and reaching into her pocket for her ID. She could empathise with her concerns about the house prices, just not when it was aimed at one particular community.
'You copper or press?' the woman answered defensively. Her jowls wobbled as she spoke, too many TV dinners and not enough of her five a day.
'Police,' Claire replied, showing her ID and not knowing whether that was going to encourage her or make her clam up.
The woman humphed, 'I knew 'em a bit like, but they 'aint been 'ere long. We was out Saturday night with the kids, bonfire and that. Seemed nice, both of 'em. Not from round 'ere though.'
Claire nodded, the woman's house was one of those that needed a bit of TLC. Next to the Lyle's, the roof of her house looked ragged and the woodwork in need of a good lick of paint. Still, Claire guessed if she'd said press, she'd have been sent packing. People like her were defensive of the neighbourhood. Newcomers the Lyles might be, but they'd become part of the street.
'Never seen anyone suspicious hanging around or heard any rows?' she asked the woman.
'Nuffin strange like. The uniformed copper asked all that. They was quiet people, went to work and came 'ome. Just used to say hi occasionally that's all.'
Claire nodded her thanks, pleased to hear that the rest of the team had been asking the right questions. She'd better get back to the station and catch up on what's come in.
When Claire arrived back at work, the main investigation room was unusually quiet. It didn't take her long to spot Lew and several others all gathered round Bob's desk in his office. She wandered over.
Bob’s office was sparce, no reminders of his home life to get the day into perspective, no photo of his wife to distract him from the job. Claire always guessed that was because for Bob, work was his distraction from life.
'Absolutely nothing, complete blank,' Lew was saying and the others all murmured in agreement. Their heads were bent over something on the desk.
'So if The Toad isn't a pub or a place, what can it be? Could it be a historic landmark?'
Claire squeezed into the office, Bob looked up at her.
'Anything useful from the wife?'
She shook her head. 'Nothing that we don't already know. You're aware he's only recently been back in London right?'
Bob nodded, 'Yeah, we're on it.' He looked back down at the map of London they were all pouring over.
'There is one thing,' Claire added, making Bob look back up, 'it's the pad that note was written on. I think it's quite likely that the killer took it. They've not found it in the house yet, it's possible they might still do, but Alice says he kept it in his study and that's already been logged and checked.'
'Why would he nick the pad?' DS Tom Knight asked her.
'To see what was last written on it. The indentation when you write something gets left behind - that's basic sleuthing Knight,' Bob jumped in. 'Shit, so that could mean our perp is on his way to intercept whoever it was that David Lyle was meeting - something he clearly didn't want happening otherwise why else would he have swallowed that note?'
Claire nodded back at him. 'Exactly my thought.'
'Which makes finding the Toad in Charing Cross even more bloody important. But we're drawing a blank. Can we get the beat officers and specials from the Charing Cross area in to see if they know?' continued Bob.
He started to fold up the map. 'Damned if I know it, must be one of those new trendy places.'
'Hang on sir,' Claire interrupted, her brain working overtime. 'All the note says is The Toad, Charing Cross, it doesn't say where Charing Cross is right?'
'No, but everyone knows where it is.' He replied.
'What if, it's not the Charing Cross in London?'
'Go on...'
'David Lyle has recently come back from Jersey. In St Helier there is an area called Charing Cross and there's a statue of a toad.'
Bob looked at her quizzically.
'Long story, but maybe David Lyle was heading back to Jersey for that meeting, or knew someone was meeting there at that time.'
Everyone was staring at Claire.
‘Makes sense,’ Lew said.
Bob scrubbed at his face.
'You sure about the toad?'
'Yup positive, Jersey people are called Crapauds, which is the local dialect for toad. At the start of the main high street in St Helier is a statue of a large toad. It's a well-known landmark.'
'Check the airlines that fly to Jersey, see if David Lyle had booked a seat. It does make sense, if he's only been back here a few months he's more likely to have got himself into trouble over there. Maybe that's why he came back, maybe he was running away from something. Lew get onto Jersey and see if he's known to them. Falle, you're from there, you know the island, book yourself a ticket and get over there. We need to be at that meeting in place of David Lyle and see just who turns up.'
10
Claire, Sunday 5th November 2017, London
The dark quiet of her flat was a welcome respite from the busy day. Some people dreaded coming home to emptiness, Claire relished it. Jack's preference for constant companionship and noisy gatherings, was one of the main reasons their relationship had been doomed. She far preferred the considered intelligence of Mark, their relaxed conversations, his gentle love making.
As she turned on the lights, Rachel Hill's face looked straight back at her. Her blonde hair gave her a celestial glow which was backlit by the saffron yellow of the Indian Takeaway sign leaching into her window. Claire had left the board out, propped up against the side of the kitchen work surface. If Bob saw it he'd go nuts. In the days, weeks and months since Rachel disappeared, Claire had written down everything she knew about Rachel in a giant mind map with her photograph at its centre. She was convinced that something would just spring out at her one day. She'd piece it all together and work out where she might have gone, who she might be with. So far it alluded her but she kept the board, hiding it from visitors in the cupboard at the back of her bedroom. She needed to be careful leaving it out like that. One day she'd forget and get caught out. Claire carried the board into her bedroom and hid it in the cupboard. She would find her again one day and be able to ask all the questions which dominate her mind.
Right now, the hunt for Rachel Hill had to take second place. She needed to concentrate on tracking down David Lyle's killer and she was in a good position to redeem herself. She'd booked her flight to Jersey and if she played her cards right, in two days’ time she could be in the same place as their murderer and potentially, his next victim.
Going back to Jersey had another plus point to it, Claire could see for herself how her mum was. She knew she'd be excited that she was coming over. It had been a while.
Her mother answered the phone, she sounded brighter than she had the last couple of times they'
d spoken.
'Hello love,' her mum said, 'It's Claire, Philip,' she heard her say to her dad. There was a grunt in the background as her dad acknowledged her. 'How are you? Are you busy?'
'I've started a new case mum, a murder, and it has Jersey connections.'
'Oh yes,' her mum replied, it was her voice when she was interested because Claire was telling her, but not really interested in what she was saying.
'I'm coming over tomorrow mum, flying over in the afternoon for work.'
Suddenly her mum picked up.
'Coming over? Here to Jersey?'
'Yes.'
'Oh that's lovely. Philip, Claire is coming over tomorrow.'
'Oh yes, is she?' She heard her dad say in the background.
'I suppose you'll be working in that nice new police station they've built. You'll have to show your dad around it, he'd like to have a look, wouldn't you Philip?'
There was another grunt in the background.
'Do you need us to pick you up from the airport? I'll make sure your bedroom is all ready, I expect you'll be tired. What would you like for dinner?'
'Mum, I'm not sure I'll be able to make dinner, can I let you know tomorrow? I think they were planning on putting me in a hotel.'
'Oh you can't do that, you have to come and stay with us. Besides they'll be happy to save some budget.' Her mum's tone was plaintive, her expectation in her voice. How could Claire argue.
'OK, but you don't need to pick me up and I might be a bit late back, depending on what's going on with the case.'
'That's fine, I think we're used to that in this household. Besides, it's not like I need to go to bed early for work.' Her mum's voice smiled back at her down the phone. She knew she'd just made her day, probably her month.
'You might be able to meet the lovely woman I bumped into today. You'd like her, Theresa is her name. She's Janice's friend's daughter.'
'Janice? I thought she'd died, mum.' A small panic rose in Claire, had her mother completely lost her marbles?
'She has love, oesophageal cancer,' her mother replied gently, 'We had her funeral today. It was lovely it was. Dick died a couple of years back so she went in with him. Her son came over from America. Shame he hadn't come over before she died...'
Claire listened and felt her guilt rise. You could hardly say she was the doting daughter. Bizarrely, the funeral was also probably the reason why her mum sounded so cheerful. Her dad didn't like her socialising without him, but she could go to a funeral and not incur his moaning.
'Anyways, there was this young woman there, whose mother had also died and she is following in her footsteps. You know, visiting places she'd been to. Apparently she spent a few years in Jersey during the seventies and knew Janice. Although I could have sworn Janice only came over in the eighties. I thought she'd had some 25 year party a few years back... or maybe that was how long she'd lived at Highclere House. It was while you were at University. The last time I wore my blue dress, you know the one with the gold braiding...'
Claire had started to switch off. The stream of consciousness from her mother was typical of their phone calls. She seemed to just speak whatever came into her head with no filtering system in place.
'Anyway, so Theresa is in Jersey for a few days visiting some of the places her mum went to. She wondered if maybe I'd known her mum, but I don't think so, although her name did ring a bell. She's going to come over in a couple of days and look through some of my photo albums - see if she can see her in some of the group gatherings. We had lots of socials in those days. All the wives of the police officers, we all knew each other you know, there was a real bond between us all.'
Claire switched back on to the conversation.
'Mum you know you need to be careful who you're letting in, that's how these con artists get access to the house and steal things.'
'Oh don't be silly, this is Jersey and besides I'm not completely daft you know, I have lived with a policeman for thirty odd years.'
Claire conceded that she had a point.
'Did dad go to the funeral with you?' Claire fished.
'No, he had to go to a meeting with the Round table, he never really thought that highly of Janice. I liked her though. She was a good friend to me over the years. Do you remember her Lawrence? He's thirty now.'
'Vaguely, he married?'
'Well, I think he might catch a different bus.'
'Different bus?'
'Yes, you know, I think he likes men. Kept talking about his partner back in New York. Lovely looking though, such a waste.'
'Will you give it over,' Claire heard her dad mutter at her mother in the background.
Claire immediately reverted to type, keen to deflect any anger away from her mother.
'Mum, why don't you tell dad I'm working on a murder case with Jersey links?'
'Oh yes, did you hear that love? Claire is working on a murder in Jersey,'
'Well, not in Jersey...' but it was too late, her mum was handing the phone over to her dad.
'Hello Claire, so you're coming over here to investigate a murder are you? I'd not heard about one? Historic case is it?'
'No, it's a murder in London dad, but we think it's got Jersey links. The bloke who was killed had just moved back from the island.'
'And they're sending you over are they? That's good. Is it because you're from here?'
Claire knew her dad wouldn't possibly think it could have anything to do with the fact she was a capable detective.
'I made the connection dad. It's a pretty big case, you've probably seen it on the news.'
'London you say? Not that bloke who got bitten by snakes is it?'
'Yes.'
'So it's murder is it? Well that's a bizarre murder method if ever I've heard one. Seen some odd cases in my time, but never snakes.'
'Please don't mention it to any of your police buddies dad,' she didn't finish her sentence.
'Of course I won't. I know the drill. I've served longer in the force than you have my girl.'
'I know,' she replied, a 10 year old again.
'You seen Panorama about the data leak, they're calling it the Paradise papers? Bound to be more headlines about Jersey coming out. Leak involves Appleby, they're in the Island. Peter Richards used to work for them.'
'No I haven't seen the news today.'
'They're having a go at the Queen. Invasion of privacy if you ask me. More theft than leak. So, we'll be seeing you sometime tomorrow then?'
Claire ended the conversation with her dad and put the phone down beside her on the sofa. Why did she so often feel emotionally drained after a conversation with them? Her mum chatted, inane chatter a lot of the time, and Claire worried about her, but her dad - he always seemed to be challenging her. She knew he wished it had been her not Christopher. She never told them about why he wasn't looking at the road, but somehow she always felt her dad knew. Knew and blamed her.
11
Young Claire, Age 10, 1995, Jersey
There's an order to things. You grow up, you have kids, your parents die, your kids have kids and then you die. That's the way it should be. That's the natural order of life. Only it doesn't always happen that way and then you're left with no instructions, no guidance on how to deal with this sudden change in the cycle of life. Claire's parents, like so many in their situation, dealt with it in completely different ways.
At age 10, Claire hadn't yet come across Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's five stages of grief. The Kubler-Ross model, which she'd later read while at police college, would have told her that first there is denial, then anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Her dad seemed to miss out the first stage and jumped straight to anger. He raged. Raged at the driver of the Peugeot, nearly getting himself arrested for harassment, until his colleagues pinned him down and told him the poor man who'd been driving hadn't stood a chance. It wasn't his fault and he was near suicidal with guilt. He raged at the parish for there not being a pedestrian crossing in the area, and he raged at
Claire because she was alive and Christopher wasn't. Perhaps it was because he'd been with Christopher, seen the damage done to his beautiful little boy, that he jumped the denial stage.
By the time Claire's mum was allowed to see Christopher, they'd cleaned him up, hidden the place in his head where his skull had been caved in. Claire's mum followed the expected route. She washed Christopher's clothes and tidied his bedroom ready for him to come home. She spent hours staring out the window as though she just didn't comprehend the world outside; that someday it would just click back to normal and there Christopher would be, walking down the road. Coming back to them. She also spent hours hugging Claire, stroking her hair and wiping away her tears. Together they started to grieve, and together they watched as her father grew more distant, as though they were the cause of his suffering. There were times it seemed as though their very presence caused him pain.
Claire couldn't believe Christopher was gone. How could someone like her brother: strong, athletic, popular, how could he suddenly just not be? Why would that be allowed to happen?
At 10, death was a complete shock to her. Its finality, its complete disregard for what anyone wanted and expected. Its flagrant ignoring of her parents' authority. Their omniscient knowledge and control had been crushed in the face of this power called death. Nothing they could say or do changed the situation. Her father became the man he was and her mother's fragility was exposed.
Amidst all this life-changing new reality, was Claire's guilt. She tried to tell herself that Christopher was her big brother, that he was the responsible one. He knew to never step out into a road without first stopping and looking. Yet she saw his face turned to her, telling her not to be a lazy whiner, and she knew that it was her who had distracted him.
