Dying Wish

by James Raven

  ‘I suggest you calm down, Mr Fowler,’ Temple said. ‘You were one of several people we interviewed today and we’re not accusing you of anything.’

  Fowler slammed his glass down on the bar and raised his voice another notch.

  ‘That’s bollocks. You think I’ve lied to you. Well, I bloody well haven’t. Everything I told you is true.’ Fowler turned back to Russell. ‘Is this a pub or a fucking police station? Are you just gonna stand there like a gawping idiot while this bastard harasses a paying customer?’

  ‘He’s not harassing you, mate,’ Russell said. ‘He’s just asking you a question. So keep cool.’

  Fowler’s eyes filled with a dark fury. ‘Don’t call me mate. And don’t be stupid. He’s trying to get me to put my foot in it because he knows I’m drunk. That’s how these bastards operate.’

  ‘Why don’t you go and sit down, Mr Fowler?’ Temple said in an attempt to diffuse the situation. ‘Or better still, I could drive you home and help you get into your house.’

  Fowler turned slowly towards Temple, his lips pulling back in a wide, sardonic grin.

  ‘I don’t need your advice, copper. So why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone before I decide to make an official complaint.’

  His voice was now so loud that he had the attention of everyone in the bar. Temple felt his muscles tense because he knew from experience that the actions of an angry drunk were entirely unpredictable.

  Fowler turned back to face the bar, picked up the empty glass again and told Russell to fill it up.

  ‘Leave it out, Tom,’ Russell said. ‘I’ve already told you that I’m not letting you have any more.’

  That was when Fowler snapped. He blurted out a word that was unintelligible and hurled the glass at the shelves behind the bar. There was an almighty explosion of shattering glass, and Russell had to jump back to avoid being struck by flying fragments.

  Fowler tried to execute a repeat performance by grabbing someone else’s glass from on top of the bar, but Temple managed to seize his wrist before he could throw it.

  ‘Get off of me, copper,’ Fowler yelled.

  But Temple twisted his arm up behind his back and forced him face down on the floor. He always carried a pair of plastic cuffs, so he pulled them from the inside pocket of his jacket and slipped them over Fowler’s wrists.

  Fowler’s rage quickly subsided and he stopped struggling after about twenty seconds.

  ‘That was really stupid of you,’ Temple said. ‘I’m now going to have to arrest you and you’ll be spending the night in a cell.’

  ‘And he’s barred from this place for life,’ Russell shouted. ‘I can’t believe he did that.’

  Temple got one of the SOCOs who rushed over to call for a patrol car. Then he dragged Fowler to his feet and marched him outside, where the cold air hit him like a slap to the face. He dropped to his knees and was violently sick on the gravel. Then he rolled onto his side and passed out.

  Temple made sure he was breathing OK and wasn’t about to choke on his own vomit. Then he called 999 himself and asked for an ambulance to be sent to the pub to be on the safe side.

  Mick Russell came out to see what was going on. ‘I’ll be making sure he pays for the damage,’ he said. ‘He smashed two bottles of vodka and a bottle of my finest brandy. Not to mention three glass shelves.’

  ‘Does he always get this drunk?’ Temple asked.

  ‘He gets drunk a lot and when he does, he’s loud and aggressive. But I’ve never seen him this bad. I reckon you must have really upset him today, Inspector.’

  Temple saw an upside to what had happened. It meant he could get Fowler into custody overnight and then question him first thing in the morning when he’d sobered up.

  This time he’d be interviewed under caution – and not just about causing damage to property in a pub.

  34

  A paramedic turned up before the patrol car. She brought Fowler round and checked him over to make sure that he was all right.

  ‘He’s just drunk,’ she concluded. ‘Nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t sort out.’

  After Fowler was carted off to the nick to be charged and held overnight, Temple went back into the bar to finish his drink.

  Russell and his staff were still clearing up the mess, but all the customers were back to drinking and chatting as though nothing had happened.

  ‘Is Tom being paranoid or do you really think he was involved in those killings with Mason?’ Russell said.

  Temple drained his glass and gave a wry smile, which Russell reciprocated.

  ‘You know him better than I do, Mr Russell. Do you think it’s something he’d be capable of doing?’

  Russell sucked in air through a gap in his front teeth. ‘I’m not really in a position to answer that, Inspector. I knew Grant Mason pretty well and I never thought he would ever harm a fly.’

  As Temple left the pub he noted the time. Nine fifteen. He decided it wasn’t too late to drop in on Noah Cross and his sister, Amanda. He wanted to find out why she’d told them that her brother got a train to London on Thursday afternoon when he’d been drinking with Tom Fowler until around seven in the evening. There was probably a straightforward explanation, but given that Cross was another of Mason’s friends, it needed to be checked out.

  The downstairs lights were on in the house so he assumed they were up, and Amanda Cross’s Vauxhall Corsa was still parked on the driveway.

  Her brother was the one who answered the door, and Temple was taken aback to see that he bore a striking resemblance to his sister. Then he remembered they were twins.

  Their features were almost identical, but his hair was much darker and cut in a smart, fashionable style.

  ‘You must be Noah Cross,’ Temple said, holding out his ID. ‘I’m DCI Temple of Hampshire police. I came here yesterday and spoke to your sister.’

  Cross nodded. ‘She gave me your card. I was going to get in touch tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, I thought I’d save you the trouble. May I come in?’

  ‘My sister’s been in bed for about half an hour. She’ll be asleep by now.’

  ‘There’s no need to wake her. It’s you I’d like to have a chat with.’

  In the living room, Temple was invited to sit on the armchair and Cross sat on the sofa, from where he turned down the volume on the television with a remote.

  He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and it didn’t seem like he was fazed by having an unexpected visit from the police.

  ‘I gather you want to ask me about that vile scumbag who’s been turning our forest into a cemetery,’ Cross said.

  Temple nodded. ‘Did you ever suspect that he wasn’t quite what he seemed to be?’

  ‘I wish I had. He conned us all, Inspector. I considered him a mate. We drank in the same pub and I used to go on hikes with him. As far as I was concerned, he was a normal bloke who spent his life walking around the forest and writing about it.’

  ‘You sound angry.’

  ‘Too bloody right I am. Wouldn’t you be? The creep has been in this house. I’ve bought his books. And he’s been alone with my sister. I feel like a fool because I didn’t spot that he was a murdering perv.’

  ‘It seems that no one did, including me. I met him a few times.’

  ‘Is that right? Then you’ll know what I mean.’

  Temple could tell that the guy was steaming. He was clenching his fists, the knuckles whitening with the pressure.

  ‘I understand you were in the Court Jester this evening with Tom Fowler,’ Temple said.

  His eyes went up in a quick question mark. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I just came from there and the landlord mentioned it. In fact, you missed all the drama by leaving early.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Temple told him how Fowler had kicked off after discovering he’d lost his keys.

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me,’ he said. ‘Tom can’t handle the booze. And he’s lost his keys more times than I’
ve had hot dinners. He probably dropped them outside.’

  ‘Your sister told me that you’re not very fond of him.’

  ‘Well, it’s not that I don’t like him. It’s that he can be so obnoxious. And when he’s been drinking, he talks about his sexual fetish. It makes me cringe. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying I disapprove. I mean, whatever floats your boat and all that. I know it’s the drink talking, but it makes me uncomfortable when he goes on about it.’

  ‘What does he say?’

  Cross stared off into the middle distance as he struggled to find the right words. ‘He tells me about those weird parties he goes to. But I don’t get it and I wish he’d keep it to himself.’

  Temple then asked him where he was on Thursday evening and he said he was at a stag party in London.

  ‘I thought Amanda told you. I got back late this afternoon.’

  ‘She did. But she also said you travelled to London by train on Thursday afternoon. And I’ve since discovered that you were in the pub that evening.’

  He shrugged. ‘There’s no mystery. I was halfway to South-ampton when I heard on the radio that Mason had died. So I turned around and came back. I went straight to the pub and then caught a later train in the evening.’

  ‘And you didn’t tell your sister?’

  ‘There was no need. Look, what’s Thursday got to do with anything anyway? Did something happen?’

  ‘Grant Mason’s house was broken into on Thursday evening by a man wearing a balaclava,’ Temple said. ‘We’re anxious to rule out all Mason’s friends and acquaintances.’

  ‘Jesus. Well I was in London by ten and you can check if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘Your sister said you were staying with a friend.’

  ‘That’s right. Jack Wise. He picked me up from Waterloo station.’

  ‘Would you mind giving me his contact details? It’s just routine.’

  Cross went through his phone and read out his friend’s mobile number and address in London.

  ‘I don’t suppose you have a key to Mason’s house, Mr Cross?’

  ‘Of course not. We weren’t that close. Besides, I’ve only been to his home twice. He rarely invited anyone back there.’

  ‘Do you know who might have a key?’

  ‘You could ask Hilary Dyer, his PA. Or maybe Tom.’

  Temple made a few notes. ‘Have you been following developments on the news?’

  ‘Of course. It’s awful. The New Forest is supposed to be a rural haven. Not a place where people are kidnapped, murdered and then buried.’

  ‘Then you’ll have heard that Mason had an accomplice. A man who carried out the crimes with him.’

  Cross’s expression froze, as though all the muscles in his face had ceased to work.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ he said in a shaky voice. ‘Are you saying you suspect me of being that person?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Temple assured him. ‘I’m just wondering if you might know who it could be. We think the guy’s local and he must have known Mason for over two years.’

  Cross went silent for several seconds as he gave it some thought, but then he said he didn’t believe it could be anyone he knew.

  Temple took from his pocket a photo of Ethan Kane that he’d printed before leaving the office. He showed it to Cross.

  ‘Have you seen this man around here or in Mason’s company? Bear in mind he might well have shaved off his beard since that picture was taken.’

  Cross studied the photo and shook his head. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘He was a friend of Mason’s in prison.’

  ‘I didn’t even know Mason had been to prison until I heard it on the news. Is that guy a suspect?’

  ‘One of several,’ Temple said.

  ‘Well, if I see him I’ll call you straightaway. He looks like a boxer so it won’t be hard to spot him around here.’

  35

  Angel was asleep on the sofa when he got home, the light from the muted television flickering on her face. She was wearing her white towelling robe and fluffy indoor slippers. On the floor next to the sofa was a book entitled Expecting Your First Baby.

  Temple stood there for a while, watching her sleep. Her breathing was heavy and audible, and he smiled at the way her bottom lip trembled with every breath.

  Suddenly, all the horrors of the past couple of days were pushed to the back of his mind. The graves, the bodies, the gruesome video clips.

  Instead, he focused with an almost physical intensity on the woman who had brought meaning back into his life. After Erin died, he had fallen into a pit of despair from which he thought he’d never emerge. But then Angel moved to Southampton from London after breaking up with her boyfriend. At first, it was just a mutual attraction. But to his surprise, it led to something deeper and he broke one of his own rules and started an affair with a member of his team.

  It turned out to be one of the best moves he had ever made. She was pretty, warm, intelligent and self-deprecating. And she’d told him that she didn’t want children, which had been music to his ears.

  They’d talked about it a few times in the early days, of course, and she’d been adamant that she was among the growing number of young women who had chosen a path other than motherhood.

  He was pretty sure that she would have stayed on that path if she hadn’t fallen pregnant accidentally. And he didn’t doubt that it was an accident. If Angel had decided that she wanted to try for a baby then she would have told him. She wouldn’t have deceived him and then lied about it afterwards.

  But whatever she had said in the past, the fact remained that there was a baby in her belly. His baby. And yet he still couldn’t bring himself to be pleased about it. In fact, his brain felt somehow disengaged from what was happening. Even now, as he thought about it, the anxiety flooded in.

  He knelt down next to the sofa and kissed her gently on the forehead. He noticed then that she’d been crying. The tears had dried to salty tracks on her cheeks.

  The cold weight of guilt settled in his stomach, and he told himself he had to accept the situation instead of being resistant to it. There was, after all, only one other option and that was for Angel to have an abortion. But if she did that he knew they would never be able to forgive themselves.

  She’d regret throwing away what was possibly her only chance to have a child. And he would never get over the fact that he had allowed a life to be extinguished simply because he feared the chaos and emotion of parenthood.

  The voice in his head told him it was time to man up and put Angel’s needs before his own. He could begin by showing support and being more positive. And if that meant putting on an act and suppressing his true feelings then so be it. He had to be there for her. He had to find it within himself to embrace an uncertain future, no matter how daunting the prospect.

  ‘You’re home,’ Angel said as her eyes fluttered open. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just after ten.’

  ‘I must have fallen asleep. I feel so tired.’

  ‘Then let’s go to bed.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. And I’m sorry I got back late. I know you wanted to talk.’

  ‘What happened today?’

  ‘I’ll tell you in the morning. Come on. Let’s get you up.’

  He helped her to her feet and when she was standing, he gave her a hug.

  ‘I love you, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘And I want you to know that I am pleased about the baby.’

  She stepped back and looked at him, a sleepy grin on her face.

  ‘Tell me you mean it, Jeff.’

  ‘I mean it.’

  She started to laugh. ‘I knew you’d be OK once the shock had worn off. And I’m so glad because I now want this child more than I’ve wanted anything in my entire life. We’ll be a family, Jeff. And we’ll have more to live for than just our work.’

  She sounded so happy that he knew there was no going back. He was going to be a father again, whet
her he liked it or not.

  36

  He’d had the dream before and as always, it was frighteningly vivid. He was in his bedroom and a storm was raging outside. Windblown sheets of rain were rattling against the window.

  He was ten at the time but in the dream he looked much younger.

  His father was drunk as usual and so were the men he had invited over. There were two of them that night. The one named Dan had been to the house at least three times before. The other man was called Raymond and it was his first time.

  They’d arrived earlier in their cars and his parents had begun the evening by entertaining them downstairs. He had lain on his bed, listening to their voices and their laughter, dreading what was to come.

  He knew how much they paid his parents because he’d heard his father on the phone.

  ‘A hundred quid buys you half an hour with the boy,’ his father had said once. ‘If you want longer it’s negotiable.’

  He saw himself waiting for the door to open. They’d made him put on a girl’s dress again. It was the pink one with the frilly neckline. Underneath he had to wear the yellow pants from Primark.

  He’d been subjected to pain and humiliation from the age of eight and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. His parents had warned him that if he told anyone he’d be taken away and put into a children’s prison. And he’d believed them because he was too young to know the truth.

  And he was too young to understand that all the suffering and abuse would cause him to grow up to be just like them. If only he’d had someone to talk to other than his parents. Like a brother or sister. Or even a friend.

  In the dream the door opened suddenly. He closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer. Not that it ever did any good. God never once came to his rescue.

  The men entered the room together. He heard them whis-pering to each other so he opened his eyes and turned to face them.

  They were both smiling as they started to undress themselves. That’s when he realized that for the first time two of his father’s friends – or clients as they were sometimes called – were going to share him.

  From this point on, the dream started to turn into an unbearable nightmare and he woke up screaming. His face was covered in sweat and fierce tremors were running through his body.