Luckily, that girl doesn’t know what she’s doing. I, like most of the people present, I imagine, sat in that church hall wondering just how she managed to become a police officer. It doesn’t say a lot for the force. Maybe she’s one of those community bobbies with illusions of grandeur. Stuck out here, how would anyone know? Boy, did her face drop when the questions started. What did she expect? People to sit there and take it? To let her leave out the details without so much as making a sound? I didn’t consider the possibility of a police officer being here during the storm – what are the chances of that? I should be worried; an investigation launched and I’ve no way of leaving town. Having watched her these past couple of days, I’m certain I have little to worry about. Should she get a little too close, I’ll deal with her too. Having murdered a priest, what line is left to cross?
The flood will lift soon and I’ll be out of here until this all dies down. Leaving town for a while isn’t an unreasonable reaction to being stuck indoors for weeks on end, so shouldn’t look too suspicious. I’ve got no record and no record means no prints, no DNA and nothing on any database that would raise an eyebrow. These modern cops can’t do anything without forensics. Heaven forbid they actually have to do some detective work. It’s only a matter of days.
SEVEN
‘We’re live here in Dumsdale, where the residents have been struggling to recover some sense of normality in the wake of Eliza,’ said William Bartlett, CBN correspondent. That morning, a phone call telling him he had to come in a day early had interrupted eggs Benedict with his wife. News teams had underestimated Eliza and had called in extra staff to report from the vast amount of towns and villages that had been struck by severe rain. Most of Dumsdale was covered in water and Will stood up to his knees in it, interviewing one of the local residents whilst people on wooden rafts floated past in the background.
‘We’ve been treated abhorrently,’ said the local man, his white comb-over blowing about his face. ‘There’s elderly people here, forced to live on the second floor of their houses because the ground floor is flooded. People with young children, with no power or heating and limited food.’
‘You mention being treated abhorrently – surely this is just an act of nature and there’s little anyone can do?’ He fashioned the question to invoke an emotional response and wasn’t disappointed.
‘Little anyone can do? The councils knew it was coming as did the government, but nothing was done to help and nothing is being done now either. Injured people are trapped in their homes with no medical help and all this standing water is bringing more germs and disease with it.’ He’d have gone on for longer if Will’s producer hadn’t bleated in his ear to move to the next location as soon as possible.
‘Sorry, I have to rush you. Mr Langswitch, you work for the local council, what do you say to claims that you had ample time to prepare and you simply haven’t done enough?’ He turned to a sharply dressed silver fox, who looked like he’d just stepped out of a Bentley ready for a slap-up meal, not into the scene of a natural disaster.
‘Well, this is an unprecedented event. There’s not been a storm of this magnitude in this country since recorded weather began. The emergency services are working night and day to assist the affected areas, we have paramedics airlifting the sick and injured to nearby hospitals and engineers are working tirelessly to re-establish the communication networks. All in all, we’re doing everything we can in a very difficult situation.’
‘But you’re not – you’re not doing anything. People are stuck in their attics ’cos their houses are flooded and you’re standing here in a smart suit about to go home to a warm house!’ shouted someone to Will’s left. The cameraman turned to cover a small gathering of people standing a few metres from Mr Langswitch. Again, Will’s producer shouted in his ear to wrap it up, but he wanted to keep this show on the air. He motioned to Alan, the cameraman, to keep it rolling.
‘We prepared all we could; no one could have anticipated the severity of the situation.’
‘The only thing you’ve prepared are your bloody lines for the camera,’ shouted a local woman.
Langswitch, thinking he was off camera, looked at Will and said, ‘Aren’t you going to do anything about this lot? We’re trying to have an interview.’ Will shrugged his shoulders so he wouldn’t be heard condoning or condemning anything that was going on. Alan looked at him and tapped his watch, but Will ignored him. A handful of mud slopped onto Langswitch’s jacket, then another and then another.
‘Bloody ridiculous.’ He marched off back towards his Land Rover, whilst the crowd pelted him with dirt and shouted obscenities.
Will smiled and gave the signal to cut the camera. ‘I love nothing more than embarrassing public figures. Nobody squirms on camera like a public-sector drone.’
‘They won’t like it if you keep on doing that,’ said Alan. ‘Remember what the gaffer said last time.’
‘He says a lot of things. Most of it’s meaningless drivel. He wants good television, and politicians being abused and assaulted is good television. Am I right?’ He zipped up his red North Face jacket and turned away from the wind.
‘You’re right, but –’
‘I’m right.’ Will had his own idea of how the news industry worked. He’d only been with CBN a few months, but was already ignoring most of the standard practices and advice he’d been given.
‘Well, either way we’ve got to get moving. It’ll be a slow walk back to the truck in this water.’ They trudged towards the truck, with Will doing the most complaining and, despite being in the best shape, the least lifting. The rest of the crew shared the load of the cameras, boom mikes and other heavy equipment, whilst Will tried his hardest to get some signal on his mobile.
‘I wish they’d hurry up and sort the phone masts out,’ said Will.
‘Just use the satellite phones in the truck,’ said Matt, balancing the boom mike with an awkwardly packed rucksack.
‘You can’t play “Snake” on a satellite phone,’ said Alan.
‘You can’t play “Snake” on any phone these days, Alan. Except maybe your brick,’ remarked Will.
‘It’ll do you some good to be disconnected. You spend far too much time on that thing.’
‘A lack of phone signal only doesn’t bother you, as no one is likely to contact you anyway. I, on the other hand, am in constant demand.’ Will continually swiped his smart phone, despite knowing there was no hope of a connection.
‘You know that the phone in the truck’s probably ringing right now with the gaffer wanting to shout down your earhole,’ said Matt, ‘You know he hates it when you ignore him over the earpiece.’
‘Oh, shut up, the pair of you. He’ll blow his top, then calm straight back down again when he realises how much people loved the footage.’ Matt and Alan looked at each other, expecting the call to have an entirely different outcome.
‘Their press office have been on the phone to me – to me, not you – I get the stick for all of this, asking for your head. Do you understand the position that puts me in? I need to decide whether you keep your job or not. This isn’t Joe Public you’re pissing around with now, this is a bloody politician. A politician with a lot of friends. A lot more friends than you’re making pulling bullshit stunts like this.’ It didn’t need to be on loudspeaker for everyone to hear the conversation. Will waited until his producer finished before daring to speak as Alan and Matt laughed in the background.
‘I’m just documenting events out here. It’s what people want to see, we shouldn’t be censoring it.’ The crew cringed just listening to him and Will smiled, still pushing his luck knowing his job was on the line. He also knew that in modern journalism, ratings were king.
‘Just do as you’re told. You’re not at your old shitty station now, Sunshine. You’ve only got two more locations on the route. Within a week, the public will be bored of the disaster and we’ll find something else to knock the government about, so for Christ’s sake just get the job done
properly. Your attitude is a hassle I just don’t need.’
‘This assignment’s dull. Most other stations have stopped reporting on it already. One town to the next, same story: lots of water and pissed off locals. I’ve added a little colour to the whole thing. You’ll thank me when the ratings come in.’ Alan stopped laughing and the crew got the feeling Will had crossed the line. The voice on the phone fell silent for a moment.
‘Just get it done.’ He hung up before Will could shoot his mouth off again.
‘Jesus Will, are you trying to get fired?’ said Alan.
‘Don’t get me wrong, that was pure entertainment mate, but you’re treading on thin ice.’ Matt saw a funny side that Alan could not. Both Will and Matt were young men. If they lost their jobs, they’d bounce back far quicker than he would, if he managed it at all.
‘I’m not. You’ll see. I just want something more interesting. This is bullshit. We’re all better than this. A child could report this story. I want something we can really work on. Something that’ll get the public talking –’
‘Something that will get you more Twitter followers,’ said Matt, smirking. ‘Can’t get your apps either on that satellite phone?’
‘Alan you must feel it more than me. You’ve been in this game longer than I have, you must get sick of the same old thing?’ He tried to drive some passion into their tired faces, but nothing lifted their enthusiasm for his ideas.
‘Not really. I like getting paid every month and keeping a roof over my head,’ replied Alan.
‘Guys.’ He sighed and gave up trying to change their minds. ‘Okay, so where to tomorrow?’
Matt opened the file. ‘Sunbury.’
‘Sunbury? Another dead-end village, I suspect?’
‘Yep, and you’re gonna love this. We can only get there by helicopter. Bagsy not sitting next to Will after that trip to Edinburgh.’
‘Great.’ He already felt his stomach starting to swirl.
EIGHT
Sarah drove along the winding country road that led out of town. Yesterday’s meeting could have gone better, but so far there’d been no sign of any real panic. She’d only slept for a few hours and awoke feeling as drained as when her head had hit the pillow.
Fallen trees led to a few detours, but she eventually turned onto London Road, the nearest route out. Boggy woodland flanked both sides and a silver Aston Martin was parked just where the water flooded the road. She pulled up a few metres behind it and stepped out. The wind blew her hair across her face, and she wrapped her thin, beige trench coat tightly around her and tied the belt, holding on to the knot, knowing it was more for fashion than practicality. Birds sang in the woods and the air still had that earthy, post-storm freshness.
She peered through the back window; someone was slumped in the passenger seat. Knock knock. No response. She walked to the passenger side and knocked again. A woman sat with her head slouched forward, her face hidden from view. The door handle didn’t budge. Banging hard on the window and the windscreen did nothing. The driver was nowhere to be seen. Sarah couldn’t tell whether the woman was breathing under her heavy coat, and either way, her chin was on her chest, a position that could squeeze her air valve and cause suffocation. Maybe, she thought, there was something in her car she could smash the window with. She only walked a few metres before she felt a crushing grip on her arm.
‘Hello, Officer.’ It was him. ‘I couldn’t help but hear the racket you were making banging on my car. Surely it can’t be illegally parked?’ There was no mistaking that deep, resonating voice. She turned around to see Tom’s white teeth, or dentures more likely, exposed in a wide smile. He glanced towards his car. ‘Oh, you were trying to rouse Anne. You’d probably have better luck than me, she sleeps like the … or maybe that’s what you thought? No, she’s only sleeping. Just the one murder for you this week.’
‘No, just couldn’t see her moving is all and didn’t know where the driver was.’
He looked at the direction she was walking. ‘So you were going to drive away?’
‘No.’
‘To call for help? Are the masts up and running?’
‘No, no they’re not.’
‘And even if they were, who would you call indeed. Who would a police officer call in time of need? A priest, maybe?’
‘Poor taste, Tom. So where were you?’ She took control of the line of questioning rather than admitting she was going to smash one of his windows and probably scare his wife to death in the process.
‘The driver was in the woods, trying to see the extent of the flooding. People are getting restless. Cabin fever they call it. You know the food supplies are running out? They’re wondering when the deliveries will start coming through; they’re wondering when they can leave, or as much as contact their families. No one else seems to have any answers, so I came out here to see how the water was draining away.’
‘And?’
‘Hard to say. I’m no expert on this kind of thing, so at best I’d be guessing. It’s improving; it’s better than it was when I was out here the first day. Difficult to put a time on it. I just need to speak to Anne very quickly, Officer, and I’ll be back.’ Tom marched towards his car and she followed after. He raised his hand telling her to stay where she was, but she kept walking, taking childish pleasure in doing the exact opposite.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll come back to you,’ he said and began rushing his conversation a little. She picked up speed, curious what their discussion was about, but before she could hear a word, he’d finished talking and Anne no longer made a sound. She was moving, which was a comfort at least.
‘I’m going to see how deep the water is,’ said Sarah, walking past them both. ‘Hello Anne.’ Anne stayed silent, looked down and played with her jacket buttons.
‘It’s still too deep for cars. I’m certainly not taking this through it. Maybe you want to try your little runaround?’ Sarah ignored his comments about her perfectly practical Yaris. Mark had some reservations about buying a car aimed at the over sixties, but it was compact, reliable and even had a few modern gadgets. ‘So, what brings you out here, Officer?’
‘The same thing as you. The people need some good news. Have you been to any of the other access roads?’ Tom was right. It only took a few steps to realise that she couldn’t go any further, and she returned to her car.
‘Not yet, but I plan to today. There are some fast roads out here. It’s an exciting drive when it’s dry.’ He tapped his bonnet. ‘You’d struggle to catch me in one of your panda cars. Tell me, how goes the hunt for the resident killer?’
‘I’m working on it.’ This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with him.
‘Well, let me give you some advice. Stay away from that John chap. I knew his dad very well. He was a little …unhinged, and it wouldn’t surprise me if that recluse you’ve latched on to isn’t too far off his father.’ He leant in, as if sharing clandestine information that Anne wasn’t allowed to be privy to. ‘He may well be your man.’
‘You’re accusing him of murder? If you’ve got something substantial to back that up, I’d like to hear it.’
He raised his hands to the surrender position. ‘I’m just saying, be careful who you trust.’
‘I’ll go with whatever the evidence says.’ Whom she trusted was no business of his.
‘And what exactly is the evidence, Officer?’
‘I’ll be discussing that with the person it leads to.’ She kept her nerve, but the more she thought about not wanting to be intimidated by him, the further under her skin he crawled.
‘And how do you intend to do that? Make an arrest out here? Just which designated police station will you take your captive to? Sunbury certainly doesn’t have one and you’re not getting anywhere else anytime soon.’ He stepped closer and looked down at her. ‘What about legal advice? Can you even put the evidence to anyone without a solicitor? Are you intending to fly one in with a phone call you can’t even make? The people here deserv
e answers, and they are getting restless as you’re not producing them. They’re good people, but they’re scared, wondering what happened to their friend and whether they’re in danger themselves. The food is running low and soon they’ll start to panic. The questions are endless, Officer, and you are the only one not posing any.’
‘Tom. I’ll take care of the investigation; you take care of yourself and anyone else who needs help.’ She wondered if his knowledge of the process was due to a background in the profession or too much time in front of cop dramas. Tom’s smug smile dropped and she could see he was about to launch into another scathing professional condemnation, but something stopped him.
‘Leave him alone, dear,’ said Anne, with a soft, high pitched voice.
‘Leave who alone?’ asked Sarah, seizing a rare opportunity to speak to her and avoid any further conversation with Tom. These were the first words she’d heard Anne speak. She didn’t reply – her unfocused eyes stared straight through the windscreen.
‘Never mind, Anne. Time to go. Officer Sarah is a very busy lady.’ Officer Sarah. That had to be the worst.
‘You mean John?’ Maybe her hearing was better than Tom gave her credit for. It may not help the case at hand, but Anne’s deferential nature indicated far more sinister things were going on behind closed doors. The driver’s door closed and Tom leant over his wife.
‘Right, that’s quite enough, dear.’ He started the engine. ‘She was very fond of John’s dad, you see. I’m sure the officer will find out all she needs to know about that family. See you soon, no doubt.’ He reversed the car. Anne gave Sarah a sullen look through the window as the car turned and drove into the distance.
Anne was a worry. Domestic abuse was far more common than Sarah would ever have thought prior to joining the job. All walks of life suffered: every age group, every culture, gender and sexuality. They used to call it domestic violence, but the term changed to reflect the wide range of behaviours involved. The violence hit the headlines – the dark glasses, the cuts, the bruises, the murders – but before all that came the insidious emotional abuse.
A Journal of Sin Page 10
