by Tony McHale
“And have you come to any conclusions?” asked Charlie.
“Not as yet,” replied Wood.
“And on it goes. Same old – same old. We can assume that whoever did this is going to get away with it scot free,” said Charlie knowingly calling the police incompetent.
Wood considered his answer before opening his mouth. “If you repeat what I’m going to say to you now, I’ll call you a liar. Okay?”
“Okay,” agreed Charlie wondering what Wood had that was so contentious.
“In my opinion and that’s just what it is - an opinion, Chief Superintendent Naylor engineered a situation which allowed the inhabitants of Beck le Street to be a law unto themselves. Would you agree?”
“That’s what it looked like to me,” responded a slightly surprised Charlie, whilst wondering where this might be going.
“I couldn’t figure out why this was the case,” continued Wood. “His parents had died there. Why did he have an affinity with the place … like your good self?” he said with more than a touch of sarcasm.
“There was a relationship with a person maybe?” proffered Charlie.
“Most certainly. But that relationship I believe was with more than just one person … it could have been with the entire village for all I know.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I looked into the hit and run that killed his parents … like your dad suggested. It was Sam Naylor who gave a witness statement to the police. He described the incident.”
“He was there?”
“Yeah. It was a summer’s evening, his parents had been for a drink at The Black Dog, they’d only had a couple, their alcohol levels were low. It was just after nine and still light. What they’d usually do is meet up with Sam on their way home. Most nights in the summer he’d hang out with the other teenagers in the village until his parents left The Black Dog. About a quarter of a mile from their cottage, a car came screaming round a bend and ran straight into his parents. Naylor was dawdling behind and the car missed him completely.”
“But he saw the whole thing?”
“Yeah. It was still light and he said he got a good look at the car. It was a Merc sports.”
“Did he get the number plate?”
“No … he said it all happened too fast, but he said it was a woman driving … a blonde woman and an older man in the passenger seat.”
“Not joy riders?”
“No. Not joy riders. Later that day Trevor Bartle reported his Merc had been stolen. Detectives went to question him. Bartle had been drinking a lot and he used that as an excuse to why he hadn’t reported his car had gone missing until then. Apparently he’d noticed it had gone five hours previously, but he just thought he’d parked it some place else.”
“They didn’t just accept it, did they?”
“There was a woman with him, a blonde woman who went by the name of Sherrie Brooke. She’d also been drinking, but she backed up his story. Said they’d been there all evening. The following day the car was found burnt out on piece of waste ground. Try as they may, they couldn’t get any evidence to stick.”
“Naylor said it was a blonde driving.”
“Not enough for the CPS. They needed forensics … and there weren’t any.”
“So they walked.” Charlie said it as a statement, because he knew that must have been the outcome.
“Yeah they walked.”
“I still don’t see why any of this would make Naylor allow Beck le Street to carry on in some vigilante mode.”
“Move on to a couple of months later. Sherrie Brooke and Trevor Bartle, who was about twenty years older than her, had gone their separate ways. Sherrie Brook had shacked up with another older bloke who was a councillor. She used to spend the days drinking and the nights letting him have sex. I think she needed to be drunk to let him touch her.”
“Whatever gets you through I suppose.”
“One night the councillor turns up and she’s not there. Councillor calls the police and they tell him to go to the morgue, they need him to identify a body. Sure enough it was Sherrie Brook. She’d been drinking in various pubs in Whitby. People reported seeing her with a couple of blokes, but that wasn’t unusual, she was often seen in male company. What happened after that, nobody’s certain, but she’d somehow fallen and landed on a spiked railing, with one of the railing going through her left eye and into her brain. Death was instantaneous. Coroner’s verdict was she was drunk and slipped and it was some unfortunate accident.”
“Are you saying you don’t think it was?” Charlie looked at him trying to read what he was telling him.
“I’m saying by itself … you might put it down to an accident. She drank a lot … no doubt about that, so it could have been an accident. But then there’s Trevor Bartle.”
“Something happen to him as well?” asked Charlie.
Wood continued. “He disappeared. He was a shark of a business man and he’d run up a load of debt.”
“Any idea how much?” questioned Charlie.
“They said about half a million. He never said good-bye to his friends. His neighbours never saw him leave; he just simply disappeared. His flat was left intact. Furniture, personal belongings, even his passport, credit cards, bank accounts - all untouched. But there was no sign of foul play. There were no eyewitnesses, no forensics …nothing. The man simply vanished. It was concluded that he’d made himself disappear to avoid his creditors, some of who were decidedly unsavoury.”
“But you think different.”
“I think it’s a strange coincidence.”
“And that’s all.”
Wood looked at him for a moment, then got up and opened his filing cabinet. He took out a buff file, from which he extracted a sheet of paper. He handed it to Charlie. Charlie looked at the paper. It was an internal memo querying Naylor’s action with regards to Beck le Street. Charlie skimmed down the page with one phrase really catching his eye:
‘… Detective Sergeant Naylor failed to conduct a proper investigation and was negligent when questioning certain members of the public …”
“What’s this?” asked Charlie.
“To me that proves that Naylor had for a long time treated Beck le Street different to anywhere else. He was a sergeant when that was written.”
“But it doesn’t mention Beck le Street … these members of the public could have been from anywhere.”
“I cross-referenced this memo with the case Naylor was working on at the time. The case was in Beck le Street. A man had been beaten up - apparently there’d been some altercation in The Black Dog. When questioned, nobody had seen anything.”
“And all they did was send out a memo?” Charlie asked incredulously.
“Yeah. It was easier to turn a blind eye; after all it meant in one area their crime rate was not just low, but virtually non-existent. There were a few internal mutterings, but it seems those died out and Naylor was allowed to conduct his own form of policing in Beck le Street.”
“So there was no real investigation into my mother’s murder?”
“There was a surface investigation which I was part of, but I think Naylor assumed the people of Beck le Street knew the killer and they would handle it.”
“But nothing’s been done. Nobody has disappeared or fallen onto railings.”
“That’s not strictly true. There are have been four other deaths. Naylor and his wife … your partner and …”
“Kyle Pearson.” Charlie finished the statement for him.
“This investigation could have been over before it almost began.”
Charlie wasn’t going to share his thoughts about Kyle with Wood. He was more interested in finding out where Wood was headed with his theory.
“Why are you telling me this?” asks Charlie.
/> “Because I don’t want you to be the next victim. You’re lucky there wasn’t any permanent damage. I would say that was a warning for you to stay clear. Next time it could be fatal.”
“So I just give up?”
“Yes.”
“But I want to know why she was killed. I can’t just let them win.”
“You’ve already done that,” said Wood with a coldness in his voice.
“How … how have I done that?” demanded Charlie.
“You know who attacked you that night. I know you know. But like the other inhabitants, you’ve chosen not to say a word. You are now one of them. You are part of them. You’ve joined them.”
Charlie lowered his head. He couldn’t argue with Wood.
“Stay away,” he heard Wood saying, “I don’t want to be investigating your disappearance Charlie.”
But Charlie knew in his heart that Kyle could never have killed his mother, whatever the circumstances and he also knew that if he was ever to discover Devika and Caroline’s killer, then he had to let Beck le Street think it had beaten him. They had won and he had lost.
But that wasn’t the case.
Charlie had a plan which was to let them think they’d won, regain his strength and his fitness, do some more investigatory work, then return to Beck le Street. What nobody had realised, not Wood, not Tyler … not even his father, was that he was still angry, very angry. Ragingly angry. It was the type of anger that ran so deep you either unleashed it or you went insane. Charlie had no intention of going insane.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Charlie’s return to his apartment was difficult. He’d not really thought about it until he was in the elevator going upwards. Devika had left there expecting to return. But of course she never did and never would. All her clothes, her possessions and personal belongings would be still there and they all had to be dealt with. Charlie didn’t know what the hell he was going to do. There was no way he was going to start sifting through them, also there was no way he could just live with them. Every room, every corner, every nook and cranny would remind him of Devika.
He put his bags down in the living room and went to look out of the window at the Thames. It was still there. For some reason he’d expected everything to change. His life had been turned upside down and pulled inside out; it was hard for him to understand that everything else had remained just the same.
He got a glass from the kitchen cabinet, one of a set of six, that he knew Devika hated. She thought the design too fussy and he had to agree. But now everything and anything reminded him of her. He thought drinking from this glass might make it easier – he was wrong.
He took some painkillers then called Devika’s parents. Madhur answered. Charlie tactfully asked if they’d like any of Devika’s possessions and arrangements were made for them to visit after the funeral and look through her things.
Charlie opened a bottle of wine and started to drink. Whether it was the painkillers or the wine, the physical pain left him, but unfortunately the mental pain increased.
By the time he’d opened his third bottle his head was screaming at him. Why had this happened? What had he done? He flopped back on the sofa, wine slopping out his glass and staining the carpet. But he didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore.
Then the intercom buzzed.
I’ve got a visitor? I don’t have visitors.
Charlie staggered to the intercom and looked at the little screen. There was Genesis Brown.
What the fuck is she doing here? How did she know he was home?
He pressed the button to wipe her from the screen, but in his drunken state pressed the wrong one and opened the channel. Genesis heard the change in the intercom and immediately started talking.
“Hello … Charlie … are you there?” Charlie didn’t answer. “Charlie … if you’re there, just let me in for five minutes. Please. I have something very important I need to tell you. Let me in please.”
Despite something inside telling him not to allow her access, he pressed the button the main door sprung open. Genesis, feeling she’s made inroads, stepped into the apartment block.
Charlie, really feeling the effects of the wine, went to the door and let her in.
“Come in … come in …” he slurred.
Genesis apprehensively stepped into the apartment.
“So what can I do for you?
“I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine,” slurred Charlie again and once again took up residence on the sofa. “Do you want a drink …?”
“No thanks,” she replied politely.
“Go on … Have a drink …”
“I’m okay … really.”
“I want you to have a drink…”
“But …”
“Please … have a drink with me.” Suddenly he was pleading and Genesis knew she’d have to stay.
She poured herself a drink and then without any thought, started to clean the red wine from the carpet with some paper she got from the kitchen.
“How did you know I was here?” asked Charlie.
“I didn’t. I knew your mother’s funeral was yesterday; it was in the papers, so I took a chance.”
“It was in the papers.”
“Yeah … The Sun, The Mirror and The Mail.”
“Any photos?”
“Yeah …”
“Long lens …?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know the difference between them.”
“Long lens … they’d have been long lens. I didn’t see anyone.”
Charlie stared at her trying to remember why she said she was there. While he thought he topped up the glass.
“Do you want any help with anything?” Genesis was beginning to think this might have been a mistake.
“No … I’m good … really good … thank-you,” Charlie replied with less conviction than your average manic-depressive. Then in some attempt to create normal conversation he asked: “How’s the show? The new show? Is it going okay … I haven’t been following it myself … Other things.”
“It’s going good. Yeah … ratings are good. People seem to like it. Yeah it’s okay … thanks.”
There was a lull as Charlie’s head wilted forward in the way that drunks’ heads do. Then suddenly Charlie raised his head back up in a jerking movement. He’d thought of something.
“Do you believe in God?” The question came out of the blue and Genesis wasn’t sure what had made him suddenly come up with it.
“I’m called Genesis … if I don’t believe in God, who does,” she replied.
Charlie took it in, then gave a little laugh, a chuckle in his chest. “I hadn’t thought of that. Genesis … Yeah … You’d have to wouldn’t you. You’d have to. Do you think what I did … was good?”
“Sorry?” Genesis wasn’t sure what he was referring to.
“Not selling those photos I have of you … do you think that was good?”
“I think it was very good of you … Yeah – I do.”
“So why the fuck is God punishing me? I thought the idea was if you do good, then he’s on your side. He welcomes you to the kingdom of Heaven. Why the fuck am I in hell? Can you answer that for me? Eh? Can you?”
Genesis wasn’t sure what to say. She could see the pain he was in and was feeling helpless. “No I can’t,” was all she eventually came up with.
Charlie rambled on for another bottle or so. Eventually he became totally incoherent and was clearly having difficulty keeping his eyes open. Genesis managed to get him into the bedroom and onto the bed. She pulled off his shoes, but that was all. She was about to leave the bedroom when she was stopped by his voice - Charlie unexpectedly sounded very lucid. “Stay with me. Please. I just need somebody here.”
Genesis looked at him. He had tears running down his cheeks. Charlie Ashton was a mess and for the first time in his life needed support. Genesis nodded. “I need to make a call and I’ll be back.”
She rang Justin who was now living with her in a stylish flat in Primrose Hill and explained the situation. If it had been some other boyfriend, she would have probably lied and said she was staying with a girlfriend, but Justin knew her and he knew if she said there was nothing between her and Charlie Ashton, then there was nothing. She said she’d ring in the morning, hung up the call, turned off the lights and went into the bedroom. Charlie was fast asleep. She took off her clothes and climbed into bed in her underwear. After a few moments Charlie’s arm came over and rested on her shoulder. He just needed to feel someone there, that was all and she knew that.
The following morning Genesis awoke to find herself alone in the bed. She dressed and went into the kitchen. It was similar in style to her kitchen, but bigger. She wondered if they used the same designer. Charlie was there dressed in loose jeans and tee-shirt with nothing on his feet. He was pouring freshly made coffee into two oversized cups.
“Do you want some coffee?” he asked without any sign of a hangover.
“Please.”
“We’re going to have to go out for breakfast. I’ve got nothing in.”
“I don’t really need breakfast.”
“I do. And I don’t want to come on all parent-like with you, but after all that booze, it’ll do you good.”
“Okay … Breakfast it is.”
Charlie handed her the coffee and as he did he took her hand.
“Thanks for last night. I was feeling pretty low.”
“Hey … it’s the least I can do.” Charlie let go of her hand and Genesis, her accent for some reason being more pronounced than normal, couldn’t resist commenting, “You seem better than you did last night.”
“Yeah … I needed to let go and you helped me do that. I know it’ll never go away, but I have to handle it. I hate crosses, don’t you?”
