25
Mathew Tobias Alexander sat in The Lamorna Wink pub staring at the last dregs of his second beer. He had gone to the old smugglers inn to seek solace and distraction from his nightmares of recent days but so far had found neither. When he had initially entered he had been surprised to see so many customers in the place, and he’d had to drink his first pint at the bar. It had been twenty minutes before a table became available and, as he watched the family departing from it, he quickly ordered another beer while grabbing the vacant slot. Then, pushing aside the dirty plates to make room for his pint, he hunkered over his glass and people-watched, trying his best to listen in on some of their conversation. But that hadn’t lasted long. His concentration fragmented as thoughts of Carrie invaded his focus, and then somehow that had been replaced with images of his interrogation by those two detectives. At least it had felt like interrogation, though he knew it hadn’t been. Suddenly, a fit of shaking overwhelmed him, dragging him back to the moment, re-fixing his thoughts and returning to his beer he finished off his pint in one swallow. As he set down his empty glass he knew he needed another, if only to chase away his haunting thoughts, and so he returned to the bar. As he eyed the pumps advertising the different hand-pulled ales his eyes drifted to the back of the bar where the optics were hung and he decided he could actually do with a whisky. A double. He ordered it with ice and a dash of lemonade and returned to his seat where he swirled the ice around the honey coloured contents and savoured the essence of the spirit as he returned to people-watching and listening. Ten minutes later it was gone, giving him an all-overwarm feeling and he ordered another, telling himself this would be his last. Although he wasn’t far from home, at this time of the year the police didn’t usually patrol his route, and the one thing he didn’t want to happen, with everything that was going on right now, was to be pulled up and breathalysed, and so he took a little longer with this drink, eating a bag of crisps and a packet of peanuts in between. Seeing that it was coming up to nine p.m he set his empty tumbler down on the bar, slipped on his coat and made to leave the pub. But, before he stepped outside he had a change of mind and took a detour to the gents, which he checked was empty and he locked himself in a cubicle. Although the beer and whisky had taken the edge of his morose mood he still needed a hit so, reaching inside his coat he took out a small paper sachet, set it on top of the cistern, delicately unfolded it revealing the compacted white powder and arranged it into a thin strip. Taking a glass tube from the same pocket and inserting it up one nostril he pressed shut the other with his finger and took a sharp sniff of the cocaine. Lifting back his head he took another sniff, wiped the bottom of his nose, flushed the small envelope down the toilet and left the cubicle making his way to the exit. Outside, a fine drizzle was falling creating a thin mist and everything was in eerie relief. The glow from the few street lights that there were on the narrow hamlet road, was partially blocked by the fresh spring canopy of the trees lining either side, adding to the ghostly atmosphere. Shuddering, he unlocked his car, gathered his coat around him and climbed into the driver’s seat, starting the engine before he’d made himself comfortable. The windscreen was misted over, so he revved the accelerator, cranked up the demister and let off a deep sigh as he settled. The rush from the cocaine was beginning. He could feel his heart picking up a pace and hear the blood hissing behind his ears. He adjusted the interior mirror to take a glimpse of himself. The reflection staring back was not a pretty one. He had several day’s growth and dark rings around his eyes; his disturbed sleep pattern of the last few days was beginning to show. Sharply re-setting the mirror and seeing that the windscreen had cleared he belted up and set off with a wheel-spin, churning up the loose gravel at the front of the pub.
Within minutes he was out of Lamorna, heading up the dark winding lane which skirted the old Boskenna estate, keeping a keen eye open for oncoming headlights, although the roads were generally traffic free at this time he didn’t want to take any chances and he hugged the nearside of the road. At the top of the incline he slowed for the junction, saw that there were no oncoming lights and, without stopping, made a hard left in the direction of his cottage.
On the top road he picked up speed and very quickly the landscape either side became a dark blur. The only things he could pick out were those directly in front, where the beam played on the narrow road, and so he eased off slightly and glanced in his rear view mirror. For a brief moment he thought he caught movement and he eased off even more, giving the road behind another glimpse but, seeing nothing, he geared down and squeezed on the accelerator again. However, the episode had spooked him and so he took to looking more in his mirrors – swapping nervously between interior and exterior. Another half a mile along and he caught the movement again. A pair of sidelights a few hundred yards behind. His heart began to palpitate and the hairs on his neck began to bristle. The cops! I’ve had far too much to drink. And the coke. Gripping the steering wheel tighter, he began edging up his speed. He was only five minutes from home and he knew these roads like the back of his hand. If it was the police he needed to put some distance between them, and with two litres of turbo engine under his bonnet that shouldn’t be a problem he told himself. Wrapping his fingers tighter round the wheel he began throwing his ever speeding car into the tight bends. Despite the terror welling up inside he felt pumped up and he could feel the racing of his engine matching the cadence of his heart. Ahead he knew there was a series of bends, within them was his own turning to freedom and he willed the car faster. As he threw the car into the next bend, without warning, a bright beam of light hit his interior mirror, dazzling him and making him jump. For a split-second he could see nothing but fire-flies dancing behind his eyes and he went into a panic. He stamped on the brake, and in that instant the car started to slide. He blinked, returning his sight, and he immediately saw that he was on collision course with the wall on the opposite side of the road. He yanked down on the steering wheel to bring the car back under control. It didn’t work. The car started to crab, the offside wheels hitting the verge, jarring the chassis and bouncing it sideways. Terrifyingly, he could see the roadside wall looming. Letting out a desperate cry he made one final pull on the steering to avoid the crash, but there was no traction and he smashed into the flint and granite blocks with a massive explosion of force. Glass detonated everywhere and bursting airbags stung his hearing, creating meteoric flares inside his head. Feeling himself lapsing into unconsciousness he tried forcing open his eyes. He thought he saw a car’s headlight’s pulling up beside him and a dark shape emerging. For the briefest of moments, he thought that the silhouette standing outside looked like the person he’d seen at the bottom of his garden and then everything went black.
26
The ringing of the bedside phone jerked Jack Buchan awake. Zipping open his eyes, he was surprised how dark it was and for a split-second anxiousness overcame him. Then quickly scrambling together his thoughts and trying to adjust his sight he snatched up the handset and answered with a gruff, ‘Hello.’
‘Good morning Jack.’ It was DI Harrison. There was a note of sarcasm in his voice.
‘Morning. Is it morning? It’s still dark.’
It’s half past six – it’s morning.’
Jack let out a tired groan ‘I’m guessing something’s happened?’
‘You bet. We’ve found Carrie’s mini. It’s been burnt out.’
Still trying to regulate his vision in the dark Jack propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Where?’
‘In the Boskenna Estate. In the woods. I rang the night-shift Inspector last night and asked his team to keep an eye out for it during their patrols. A couple on his team found it this morning. It’s been found a fair way into the woods and it’s been fired. The scenes been secured and I’m on my way down there now. I want you to join me.’ There was a slight pause and then he said, ‘And guess what? Mathew Alexander’s in hospital. He crashed his car last night. Traffic are dealing. Haven’t got the full sp
yet but it looks like he was drunk.’ After another pause he added, ‘And give Fabi a ring will you. She might as well join us. This is her job as well.’
The DI ended the call and for a few seconds Jack listened to the soft burr, re-running in his head what the DI had just imparted. Then, switching on the bedside light he returned the phone to its holder and, spurring into action, threw aside the duvet and swung his legs out of bed.
***
Inside twenty minutes Jack was locking the front door and getting into his car. He had called Fabi while watching Mollie doing her toilet circuit of the rear garden, passing on to her the information the DI had given him and telling her to meet him at the crime scene.
Leaving Paul and entering the countryside Jack’s attention was momentarily diverted by the sight of the awakening sun appearing above the hedgerows. It had been a long time since he had set off to work at this time and because of his recent illness he’d forgotten how beautiful and refreshing the dawn looked. In that moment he felt his mood lifting and he switched his thoughts to the job he was travelling to.
At the lay-by, close to The Merry Maidens ancient stone circle, he pulled in and made a call on his BlackBerry. Although he was familiar with the huge Boskenna Estate, much of it was enveloped by woodland with many entrances, and he needed to know exactly where everyone was.
DI Harrison answered within a couple of rings and gave him directions to a farm track that led to the 17th Century Mansion house in the middle of the estate. ‘We’re about a hundred yards down that track and off to your right. The entrance has been sealed off and one of the uniform’s there is doing the log. See you shortly.’ With that he hung up.
Dropping the phone onto the passenger seat, Jack set off in search of his destination. He soon found it, a line of parked police vehicles marked the location. The CSI van was the first vehicle he spotted, rear-guarding half a dozen others and, slowing down, he pulled in behind and parked up. Climbing out, he looked among the cars and saw that Fabi hadn’t yet arrived, he checked his watch and, noting the time, he made the decision not to wait for her. Opening his boot, he slipped off his overcoat, climbed into his white protective suit, swapped his shoes for hiking boots and feet coveralls, then he locked the car and set off to where blue and white police tape signified the entrance to the crime scene.
The tape was fastened between two trees on opposite sides of a dirt road, forming a loose barrier and protecting the setting. A male constable in high-visibility clothing was lolling against one of the trees looking bored. On seeing Jack, he jolted forward and altered his expression to one which was more attentive. Jack smiled to himself. Although it had been many years since his spell in uniform he still remembered when he’d done this and knew exactly what the officer was experiencing. This role, and that of prisoner sitting at hospital – which is what some poor sod would be doing at Mathew Alexander’s bedside right now – were two of the most boring tasks in the job. Flashing his identity card, Jack rattled off his name and as the officer scribed his arrival onto the visitors log he offered a sympathetic smile. ‘Don’t worry another couple of hours and you’ll be done,’ Jack said walking away.
More tape woven between trees diverted him off the main track and piloted him into the woods. Immediately, he saw evidence of a vehicle having ploughed its way through here – tyre tracks had gouged undulating ruts into the soft earth, and flattened and ripped up undergrowth. Keeping to one side he carefully plodded on, watching where he placed his feet, and within a few minutes of tramping across uneven woodland vegetation he could hear voices. Seconds later, half a dozen white suited people came into view. They encircled the charred shell of a car – its distinct shape announcing the make as a mini. Jack picked out DI Harrison among the group and headed toward him.
As he neared several heads twisted around.
DI Harrison greeted him, ‘Morning again Jack.’ Then, chinning toward the burned out mini he said, ‘It’s definitely Carrie’s. There’s no number plates, but we’ve confirmed it from its chassis and engine number.’
‘And Carrie?’ Jack asked sidling next to his DI.
‘The car’s empty and so far no sign of her. Though we’ve got some marks going away from the car where it looks like someone’s been dragged from it, and we’ve found a woman’s shoe and Carrie’s credit card just over there.’ Dick Harrison flicked his head towards a line of bushes. ‘We’ve placed yellow markers next to them and taken photo’s in situ and I’ve just requested task force to turn out so that we can do a thorough search.’ He locked eyes with Jack. ‘It’s not looking good for Carrie I’m afraid.’
27
‘And you say Mathew’s in hospital – he’s been involved in a crash?’ Jack stamped his feet on the ground. He could feel a chill getting through. He wished he had kept his overcoat on – it was colder than he anticipated.
DI Dick Harrison nodded, ‘Last night. I’ve managed to speak with someone from Road Traffic this morning. They say it happened around nine. He was driving home from the Lamorna Wink and he lost his car on a bend not far from the pub. Crashed into a wall. Wrote the car off. He’s apparently told the officers that someone ran him off the road, but there’s only one set off skid marks at the scene, and they’ve spoken with the landlord who’s given them a statement that Mathew had drunk a couple of pints and two double whiskies before he drove home. They’ve got a blood sample at the hospital so it’ll probably show he was over the limit.’
‘Badly injured?’
‘A couple of cracked ribs and some cuts and bruises. He’s very lucky. Especially given the state of his car.’
‘Are they keeping him in?’
‘At least twenty-four hours for observations.’ The DI rubbed his hands. ‘And that serves our purpose wonderfully. I want you to swear out a magistrates warrant and do a search of his house. I’ll stay here and oversee this and I’ll call out a forensic team and a couple from the office to join you at Matthew’s place. I want you to go over that house with a fine tooth-comb. If you find anything let me know immediately and we meet back at the office for a six o’clock briefing this evening.’
The crack of branches behind them made Jack and the DI turn. Coming toward them was Fabi. The white forensic suit she was wearing was far too big and it hung in folds around her.
Jack couldn’t help but smirk. He said, ‘Afternoon DC Nosenzo, good of you to come.’
She blushed and for a moment her mouth fell open but she didn’t speak. Then, recovering her composure replied, ‘It’s only half-nine. Sorry I’m late. I hadn’t got a protective suit in my car. I had to call into the station on my way here.’
The DI said, ‘Take no notice Fabi.’ Shaking his head, he smiled. ‘You’ll have to get used to him you know. He’s always like this. You’re here now and that’s the main thing.’
‘Have I missed anything?’ she asked.
Jack quickly filled her in and then added, ‘And you and I young lady have got important work to do. We’ve got to swear out a warrant and then go to Mathew’s place to carry out a proper search. Important evidence to find.’
‘And before you go,’ interposed the DI, ‘Keep your head down at the cottage. I’m doing a press conference at two o’clock. The media have got wind about this so I’m going to have to put something out about our investigation into Carrie’s disappearance. It should be on this evening’s news and with a bit of luck it might help us find out a bit more about her.’
***
By lunchtime Renaissance Cottage and grounds had become a no-go zone. Although Mathew’s place was a good quarter of a mile from his nearest neighbour a uniform constable was on sentry duty, guarding the entrance, particularly on the look-out for the press, while a forensic team had sealed off the entire cottage in preparation for a thorough examination.
Jack had telephoned DI Harrison, updating him, and got feedback that a search of the section of woodland where they had found Carrie’s burned out car hadn’t turned up her body, though they had found ev
idence of a shallow grave nearby and an excavation had just started. ‘At least we’ve got something to wet the press’s appetite,’ the DI ended on an excited note.
Acting as Crime Scene Manager, with Fabi at his shoulder, Jack returned to his task, travelling from room to room, briefly watching the conduct of each of the forensic officers, checking on their progress. Each room had become a separate crime scene, being subjected to the same thorough examination. He knew it was going to be a laborious and time consuming job and an hour-in Jack took a break, leaving Fabi to oversee the work while he made his way outside to the rear garden. With his hands in his pockets he stared out beyond the adjoining fields to where the Atlantic met the sky. In the distance he watched dark brooding storm clouds patrolling the skies. It looked as though they were about to unleash their torrent any time soon. His thoughts started to darken like the sky. Without warning Claire’s dead face burst into his skull. Closing his eyes, he tried to will away the vision. He’d thought that with the counselling, he had put the traumatic event of that evening behind him, but since the unearthing of Angel May’s suicide Claire’s death had become a recurring vision, replaying inside his head, but like a musical rallentando – haunting him.
Chasing Ghosts: A Detective Jack Buchan Novel Page 10
