by Tony McHale
Caroline’s funeral service was basic and uncomplicated, nothing clever, nothing fancy. Jed wanted it that way. There wasn’t even a mention of the way she’d died; again this was at Jed’s request.
Once the service was over Jed and Charlie shook hands with a host of people who muttered words of sympathy. Everyone was invited back to a nearby hotel for a funeral tea. One of these people happened to be Wood. He didn’t usually go to the victim’s funeral, but he thought it was a good excuse to speak with Jed and Charlie, without it becoming ‘all official.’
After an hour so, when people had just started to leave and Jed and Charlie were on their own, Wood took the opportunity to speak to them.
“I just wanted to say,” began Wood, “as far as I’m concerned … the investigation into your wife’s death is still very much on going.” He knew this would engage them, because he was clearly intimating that for others the investigation was not on going and was slowly fading into oblivion.
“As far as you’re concerned?” queried Charlie.
“They’ve reduced the number of officers working on the case,” clarified Wood.
“Because they’re not getting any results.”
“That’s about the strength of it,” he confirmed. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but the Force does have limited resources and there is only so much we can do.”
“So that’s it!” Jed’s embittered voice became slightly raised as he stared at an unflinching Wood.
“Not necessarily.” Wood was calm. He was here on a mission, even though he wasn’t sure how that mission would manifest itself.
“Go on …” said Charlie.
“There are certain …” Wood searched for the word … “things … that don’t …” he searched again … “fit.”
“Such as?” persisted Charlie.
“Did you know that on the night of your partner’s fatal RTA …”
“RTA?” questioned Jed.
“Devika’s accident … Road Traffic Accident …” Charlie was familiar with a lot of cop shorthand.
“On that night,” continued Wood, “ your mother’s solicitors were broken into … ”
Wood left it hanging in the air as he looked at Charlie. It was as if he knew all about the letter, but wasn’t saying. Charlie held his nerve, convinced he was trying to bluff him into some sort of confession, but in reality Wood didn’t know anything.
“I had a call from a journalist … Gary Turner … you might know him,” stated Wood.
“I know him,” said Charlie realising there was little point in lying.
“He claimed he had information that there’d been a letter in the solicitors’ safe which had gone missing.”
“Shaw and Sherman’s,” clarified Jed.
“Yes. He thought … but he didn’t have any proof that the letter had been to do with your wife’s death,” Wood’s head turned so he directed the last few words directly at Jed, “and it had been deposited there by her.”
“Who’d told him this?” asked Jed.
“He wouldn’t say,” then turned to look directly at Charlie. “I’m presuming this was the letter that we talked about when you were in the hospital.”
“Sounds like it,” confirmed Charlie.
“It now seems that this letter was indeed stolen from Shaw and Shermans when they had a break in. I spoke to a solicitor there just a few hours ago, one Elaine O’Hara ….”
“She was Caroline’s solicitor,” interjected Jed. “She told us about the Will.”
“Well … eventually she admitted the existence of the letter and she also admitting passing on information to Chief Superintendent Naylor concerning enquiries about the letter. ”
“What’s this got to do with the price of eggs?” demanded Jed. What eggs had to do with it, Wood had no idea, but he did deduce that Jed was growing increasingly annoyed.
“Turner claimed the letter contained vital evidence about your wife’s death and the reason for her murder.”
“Such as … the murderer’s address, date of birth and what he liked for breakfast,” said Jed facetiously.
“I also found the whole thing a bit far fetched, but when I put all the facts together, the theft of the letter, the attempt to keep it secret, the envelope appearing on Chief Superintendent Naylor’s desk, the fact there is still no trace of the actual letter, I started to believe it was something that warranted investigation.”
Charlie was pleased with himself, the gamble he’d played by telling Turner had paid off.
“There was something else Turner mentioned - he believed the letter was in your partner’s possession, when she died.”
Charlie studied Wood. It was going to be interesting what Wood made of this piece of information.
“Are you saying Devika broke into the solicitors to steal the letter?” Charlie asked calmly.
“Stranger things have happened,” was Wood’s reply.
“But there was no letter on her.”
“Then someone must have stolen it from her.”
“Who?” pushed Charlie, knowing there could only be one answer.
Wood looked at him and shrugged.
“Come on,” Charlie blurted out. “ The envelope ended up on Naylor’s desk.”
“That’s not proof.”
“And Naylor’s now dead … convenient or what.”
“I would imagine he finds it rather inconvenient … being dead.”
Charlie was a little surprised at what he took to be Wood’s attempt at humour.
Jed was having trouble keeping up with all this, but he was beginning to realise what Charlie was saying. All these deaths were linked. These were not four separate incidents; they were all sums of the whole.
“What I do know is that it doesn’t …fit. There is something missing.”
“Why? That’s what’s missing. Why was my mother killed? If you could discover that … then I’m sure it would all fit.”
“I think that’s what Kyle Pearson knew, which caused him to lose his life. What about you two? Have either of you figured out a possible why … ?”
Their silence told him they hadn’t. Then Jed spoke.
“Did you ever look in the parish records … about Naylor’s mum and dad …?” asked Jed.
“Yeah – I did,” replied Wood.
“What did it say?” Charlie asked.
“Don’t you know?”
“I know it was a hit and run.”
Jed took over the story. “They used to live just outside the village ... in one of those cottages near to Farrah’s. They were walking home one night, from the pub ... and they got run down. Val … Naylor’s mother was killed outright, but his father survived. He lasted about a week then he had a major set back and died.”
“I would have thought that would have put Naylor off Beck le Street.”
“But for some reason it didn’t,” declared Wood.
Charlie looked at Jed, waiting for the follow up to Wood’s affirmation. None was coming. And Charlie knew his father’s silence was a facade. Behind this mute exterior there was an explanation for Naylor’s affinity with this North Yorkshire village, but for some reason Jed wasn’t going to offer anything else, so Charlie moved the conversation on.
“Are you going to arrest Elaine O’Hara?”
“That’s a possibility. Her company withheld evidence connected to your mother. She … according to her without the firm’s knowledge, supplied confidential information to Naylor. She’s also connected to your partner, who went to see Shaw and Shermans … all of who are connected to Beck le Street.
“All roads lead to Beck le Street.” Charlie confirmed.
“Absolutely,” said Wood with an air of finality. “My condolences once again.” Wood started to
move off, but was stopped by Charlie’s concluding question.
“Who do you think has the letter now?”
Wood turned and faced them.
“Again this is only my opinion, but I believe your mother’s murderer killed Sam Naylor and his wife in order to steal that letter, which would have incriminated them. Then I would imagine, once they had the letter in their possession, they destroyed it. I see no reason why they would keep it.”
And this time Wood left.
“What the hell was that all about?” demanded Jed.
Charlie pondered on whether to explain to his father what Wood was telling them, which was however hard anyone tried to solve the murder of Caroline, it would never happen as long as people in Beck le Street closed ranks. Someone in Beck le Street knew something and they would have to break the code of silence. But Amos and Lucas’s betrayal signalled a chink in the armour. It was now just a matter of exploiting that chink, but that would need planning. And Charlie knew that he would only have one crack … if he tried and he failed, then it would all be over. He also knew that when he started to prise open that chink, he would have to be in a strong position, if not, then the likes of Amos, Lucas and Tyler would annihilate him. He would be the next casualty of these weird events.
So all Charlie simply said to his dad was: “Not a clue dad … not a clue.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The morning following his mother’s funeral, Charlie packed his bags and said good-bye to Farrah and his father. Even his father seemed sad he was going. Charlie said he’d be back, but he could see from his father’s reaction he didn’t believe him.
Charlie climbed into his Range Rover and immediately felt the pain run up his back. It was the first time he’d driven since the beating he took from Tyler and just sitting behind the wheel for any length of time he knew wasn’t going to be easy. Still he’d over stayed his welcome in Beck le Street. The one thing he did remember from the night he took the beating was Tyler telling him he had a week to get out of Beck le Street and that was over a month ago. He’d figured Tyler wouldn’t do anything until after the funeral and he’d figured right. But he wasn’t prepared to push it any further.
As he drove out of the pub car park and down the High Street there was Tyler’s pick-up. Somehow word had got out that he was leaving. Leaning against the truck were Amos and Lucas, Tyler was standing in the back, baseball bat in hand. This was a clear and visible warning to Charlie not to come back and as Charlie drove slowly down the street, other people emerged and stood staring at the ‘outcast.’ He wondered if his father knew about this farewell party.
He didn’t head for the motorway straight off; there was someone he needed to see before taking the long trek southwards.
He pulled up in the Holiday Inn car park. Just getting out of the Range Rover was hard. He took some pain killers, washing them down with some diet coke and headed into the hotel reception.
There was Cassie.
She saw him immediately as he limped into the foyer. They hadn’t spoken since Tyler had taken a baseball bat to him. She looked at him, not sure what to say. Charlie kicked it off.
“You got a minute?” he asked.
She looked round nervously.
“Look … if it’s a problem … I’ll go,” said Charlie hoping she’d find the time for him.
“No … don’t. Can you give me ten minutes? I’ll get someone to cover.”
“Sure.”
Charlie left the reception and waited outside. He didn’t get in his car. Instead he walked up and down the car park. He knew exercise was the thing. He had a whole batch of the ‘right’ things to do from the hospital’s physiotherapist and walking was one of them. So as he waited he used the time.
It was nearer twenty minutes later when Cassie appeared. She’d had time to think and she didn’t give Charlie a chance to say anything.
“I tried to stop him … Georgie tried to stop him. Neither of us wanted it to happen. I’m so sorry Charlie … He knew we’d kissed.”
“Kissed?”
“Here. We kissed here when you came to tell me you’d found out about Georgie … You do remember, don’t you?”
“Yeah – I remember. But how did Tyler know …? How did he know I’d even been here?”
“I don’t know,” she lied. “Someone must have seen us.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know …” Cassie lied again. “Does it matter?” Her instinct was always to protect her son. That’s what she did. He was the vulnerable one and she was his protector. The defender of the defenceless. That’s how it had always been. So she was never going to tell Charlie that his son had been the one who rang Tyler and told him about their kiss.
“I’m leaving.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do,” said Charlie with a wry smile. “The Beck le Street communications system. I mention it to Farrah … she mentions it to someone who mentions it to someone else … and so on and so on …”
“Yeah … you know how it works. You’ve always known how it works.”
“I suppose so. It’s Devika’s funeral next week.” It was an explanation to why he was leaving.
“I’m sorry.”
“That I’m leaving … or that Devika’s dead?”
“Both,” Cassie replied simply.
Her response took Charlie by surprise. He assumed she would be glad to see the back of him and here she was admitting she was sorry he was leaving. He wasn’t sure what to say.
“I suppose then I’ll get back to work.”
“So this is the last time I’ll see you.” There was a sadness deep in Cassie’s intonation.
“No … You’ll see me again.”
Cassie looked at him, wondering what he meant.
“We share a son,” continued Charlie.
“But you know what Tyler’s like. You know what he’s capable of. And Georgie’s not your son … not really.”
“Yes … really he is. He is my son and I haven’t seen him for sixteen years.”
“Why are you doing this?” pleaded Cassie.
This conversation hadn’t gone the way Charlie thought it would. He wanted her to know that he’d be there for his son - if she wanted him to be. But Cassie seemed to think he was planning some sort of child coup d’etat, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. Charlie quickly tried to rectify it.
“Look … I don’t want to make life awkward for you … or Georgie.”
“Then just leave Charlie … just leave. Leave me alone … and leave Georgie alone.”
“Has he mentioned seeing me?”
“Georgie …?”
“Yes.”
“No … no he hasn’t.”
“But he knows I’m his father?”
“He’s known for some time. He’d worked it out. But we’re a family Charlie. Me, Tyler and Georgie … we’re a family. You have to leave us alone.”
“Don’t worry … I’ve no intention of destroying what you have. I just would like you to promise that if he ever needed anything you come to me …” then Charlie had another thought, “… or if he ever expressed a desire to see me, then you wouldn’t stand in his way.”
Cassie wondered if Charlie was asking this out of a sense of duty, rather than a desire to support a child he never knew he had. Then she realised that a sense of duty was a quality that Charlie had never possessed. He did things because he wanted to, because he needed to – for him, because it was something he was passionate about, but never out of a sense of duty.
“I promise if that ever happens, if Georgie says he wants to speak to you or see you … then I won’t stand in his way and I won’t let Tyler stand in his way either.” Cassie’s statement was said quietly. Charlie just nodded a ‘thanks’ in reply. He
then started to turn away.
“Charlie …” She spoke his name as quietly as her statement of intent about Georgie.
Charlie stopped and turned back to look at her. She moved to him and placed her arms around his neck and pulled him to her, kissing him fully on the lips. She held him close to her, their bodies pushing against each other. Charlie didn’t resist.
* * * * *
Wood had just been talking with his new superior, Naylor’s replacement, filling him on the investigation into his predecessor’s murder, when he was told Charlie Ashton had requested to see him.
Charlie was shown into an interview room where Wood joined him. The painkillers had kicked in, but he wasn’t thinking about his injuries, he was thinking about his encounter with Cassie. He’d wanted to tell her that it had all been a mistake, walking away at sixteen, not getting in touch with her, not asking her to join him, but somehow they’d got lost in Georgie and then there was a kiss and the things he wanted to say never got said. He also knew the kiss had been wrong - wrong on so many levels. Wrong for Cassie, wrong for Georgie and wrong for him. Devika’s funeral was days away and although his feelings for Cassie were undeniable, he wouldn’t disrespect the memory of Devika. He still loved her. He still missed her. He wanted her back. But the kiss with Cassie was in his mind and deep in his stomach. He could still feel her body pressing against him. There was a confusion raging inside him, a confusion that he’d never felt before.
Wood came into the office. He was always quite business like and today was no different.
“Mr Ashton … what can I do for you?”
“I thought I better inform you I’m returning to London.”
“For good?” asked Wood.
Charlie hesitated then said: “Yes – for good. You have my London address and I’m always contactable on my mobile. I’d like to be kept up to date with your enquiry.”
“Of course,” said Wood, whilst thinking that feeding ongoing information to Charlie could last for a week or two if lucky then, like the enquiry, it would just fade away.
“I just wondered if there was anything new?”
“No … nothing new. I’m continuing with the investigation of the Chief Superintendent’s murder, whilst also looking at his handling of your mother’s murder enquiry.”
