by Adam Croft
‘Heh. Sleep? I’m having a pint. You lot coming?’
The DCI’s tone of voice led them to believe it wasn’t so much an invitation as an order. And, in any case, each of them knew they could probably do with a drink.
20
Benjamin Newell stood, hands in his trouser pockets, a few feet behind the bench his new wife was sat on, watching as she gazed off at the treeline, the bottom of her flowing white dress resting on the grass.
The other guests had gone back inside, leaving the two of them to say whatever needed to be said. Lisa, however, didn’t seem to be in the mood to say anything. He could tell everything from her face the moment he turned and saw her, the moment he realised she’d seen everything. In that split second, he’d realised he’d thrown it all away.
It had taken him years to prove to Lisa that he’d changed. Although she’d always said she trusted him and had faith in him, he knew the proof was in the pudding and she’d never be one hundred percent sure until he’d proven himself. And, in a few seconds of drunken madness, he’d undone all that hard work and lost everything he’d toiled for.
It certainly wasn’t the way he’d envisaged his wedding day panning out. By now they were meant to be on the dance floor, sharing their first dance together as man and wife. Instead, they were out on the impressive lawn that led up to the venue, trying to work out what was going to happen to their fledgling marriage.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ Benjamin said, as he took a few steps towards the bench.
‘Don’t say anything. And don’t you dare come any closer,’ Lisa said, her teeth gritted, not even bothering to turn and look at him.
He’d seen Lisa get angry and upset before — of course he had; he was no angel — but this was something completely different. There was an atmosphere that told him he’d ruined everything. There was a sense that he’d broken her trust, the faith she’d put in him in believing that he’d really changed, that he was no longer a bad person. To realise after all that the old Benjamin was still lurking beneath the surface somewhere must have hurt her enormously, he realised. He knew it had. It had hurt him, too.
‘Lisa, I really don’t know what happened. I’ve never been like that before, I promise. It’s just... A few drinks, the emotion of the day, and then when he started... Look, I’m not making excuses. I’m just trying to make sense of it myself.’
Lisa shook her head and wiped her eyes. ‘Sometimes you don’t need to try making sense of things. They just are.’
‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘It doesn’t need to mean anything. Leave me alone.’
Benjamin’s shoulders sank. He knew he couldn’t go back into the venue — not on his wedding day, with all his family and friends in there, most of whom would have now been told what had happened. Even if he managed to patch things up with Lisa he’d forever be the guy who started a fight on his own wedding day, the former criminal who never changed his ways and managed to suck a poor, innocent primary school teacher into the mix.
‘Lisa, can I at least explain what was going through my head? I can completely see your point of view. I just want you to see mine.’
Benjamin heard what he thought sounded a bit like a laugh.
‘I really don’t think I want to know what’s going through your mind. You led me to believe you’d changed. Four and a half years. What, were you just bottling it all up, waiting to get the ring on my finger so I couldn’t change my mind? What happened? He was the first person you saw who you didn’t like the look of, was he?’
Benjamin tried to stay composed and keep his voice calm. ‘It wasn’t like that at all. He was making... comments. Really lewd stuff, saying how he’d slept with you, talking about the stuff you’d done.’
Lisa kept looking off into the distance, but nodded slowly. ‘And did he say when?’
‘Before we met. When you started working at Sanderson Lees.’
‘So, in other words, nothing to do with you.’
‘That’s not really how it works, Lisa. He—’
Lisa spun around on the bench to face him. ‘No, that’s exactly how it works. You had a life before me and I chose to ignore it and forgive it. How many people have I physically attacked because they mentioned something you’d done in your past? I’ll tell you. None. Because I knew — I thought — you’d changed.’
‘I have changed,’ Benjamin said quietly.
‘Yeah. Looks like it.’
Benjamin took a couple of steps closer to his wife. ‘Lisa, that’s not fair. I made one mistake. One mistake in four and a half years. You know how much I’ve changed, how different I am from the man I was before. I did one stupid thing. One. You can’t hold that against me.’
Lisa stood up and walked over to Benjamin, her face neutral, until she was almost toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose with him.
He looked at her, her eyes darting back and forth between his as he tried to work out what she might be thinking.
After a few seconds of silence, she finally spoke. ‘It was our wedding day. Our. Wedding day.’
And with that, she hitched up her dress and strode off back towards the venue.
Benjamin stood for a moment, staring into the space where Lisa had stood, trying his level best to get his head around what was happening. Was this it? Was she telling him it was all over, that he’d ruined it in front of all her family and friends? Was this going to go down as the shortest marriage in history?
Before he could torment himself too much about what had happened, his phone vibrated in his pocket; the familiar sound of a Formula 1 car zooming past as his chosen text tone. He pulled the phone out and glanced at the screen, seeing a text message from a number he didn’t recognise — one that wasn’t saved in his Contacts list. Regardless, he knew exactly who it was from based purely on the contents of the message.
He’s out. We need to meet.
21
There was just enough time left before closing time at the Prince Albert for the team to grab a quick drink before heading off home for the night. Sometimes, a pint or a glass of wine was vital at the end of a long day.
Culverhouse had ordered a round of drinks and was busy trying to carry four glasses at once, whilst offering two banknotes to the barmaid with his teeth.
‘Muchas gracias,’ he said, as he clutched the glasses tightly, careful not to spill any liquid on the floor.
‘What’s your gut feeling on the Freddie Galloway case, then, guv?’ Steve called out as Culverhouse made his way slowly towards the table.
‘My feeling is you should keep your fucking voice down in the middle of the pub, Steve,’ Culverhouse grunted. ‘Do the words “active investigation” not mean anything to you?’
‘Well there are only a couple of possibilities, aren’t there?’ Steve said, now talking much more quietly, as Culverhouse dished out the drinks. ‘I mean, there’s the obvious theory that Lucas finally managed to get out and get his revenge. But he must’ve known he’d be the main suspect. Surely he wouldn’t be that stupid.’
‘Yeah well they don’t call it “thick as thieves” for nothing,’ Culverhouse remarked.
‘What if he was being set up, though?’
‘By who? He’s just spent eleven years in the slammer.’
‘We should try to remember that there’s nothing actually tying Lucas to Galloway’s death in any way, too. Not until forensics have reported back, and that won’t be until the morning,’ Wendy said.
‘Yeah, well I’ve got a pile of cat shit in my back garden and I’m not blaming it on the sparrows,’ Culverhouse said, taking a gulp of his pint. ‘Speaking of which. Back in five,’ he added, before standing and making his way to the toilet.
Ryan leaned forward and spoke quietly. ‘What’s up with him? He’s even grumpier than usual.’
‘Someone probably put milk in his coffee two weeks back,’ Steve joked.
‘Reckon it’s anything to do with one of the others? I mean, Debbie went into his office to speak t
o him earlier and he’s been pissed off ever since. Frank’s gone straight home, too.’
‘Frank’s pretending he’s semi-retired,’ Wendy said. ‘When in practice all that means is he works the same hours but just doesn’t go to the pub afterwards.’
‘It’s not like Debbie not to join in, though,’ Ryan said.
Wendy leaned in and spoke quietly. ‘She’s having a bit of trouble with her mum. She’s ill, and lives down on the south coast somewhere. I’m not meant to say anything, so don’t tell her I told you this. She reckons she might not have long left, so she’s spending a lot of time down there when she’s not working. I don’t think that’s enough, though.’
‘Here, why’d she tell you that and not me?’ Steve asked, seeming offended.
Wendy raised her eyebrows. ‘I wonder.’
‘Is that why he’s pissed off?’ Ryan asked.
Wendy took a sip of her drink. ‘Possibly. I asked him about taking my inspectors’ exams. I’d need to move some shifts around to do the exams and to prepare, and he turned it down. Even though it was his idea in the first place.’
‘Can he even do that?’
‘Course he can. Especially if it would be to the detriment of a case. You know what it’s like here by now. With our staffing levels, even pausing to sneeze is to the detriment of a case.’
Ryan raised her eyebrows momentarily. ‘I reckon he just needs to get laid.’
Wendy, almost choking on her drink, tried her best to convince Ryan that Jack Culverhouse and women didn’t tend to mix well. ‘His wife left him years back. Went abroad and took the daughter with her, apparently. Then she came back a year or two ago rattling with anti-depressants. Turns out the daughter never went anywhere and had been with his in-laws the whole time while she was off on her jollies. I hear the daughter is back living with him now, but this is all just hearsay. He never talks about any of it. I wish he would. It’s clearly not doing him any good keeping it all bottled up.’
‘Like I say, he just needs a good shag.’
‘You offering?’ Steve said, chipping in.
Wendy gave Steve a glance that told him that wasn’t really the right thing to say.
‘Not really my type,’ Ryan replied. ‘He’s got one too many cocks for my liking.’
‘Maybe you’ve just not met the right man yet. I reckon you could be turned.’
Wendy glanced at Steve again, hoping for his sake that Ryan wasn’t the sort of woman who made complaints against colleagues.
‘Even if that were true, I don’t think Culverhouse would be the man to do it, do you?’ Ryan replied, smiling at Wendy to let her know that she was taking this all in good jest. ‘But seriously. Don’t tell me we wouldn’t all be better off if he had something else to occupy his spare time other than a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and old re-runs of Minder. Plus it’d be fun watching it all happen.’
‘Watching it? Jesus Christ, you’re perverse,’ Steve muttered, curling his upper lip.
‘Not watching that, Steve. I mean setting him up with someone and watching it all unfurl. See what happens. Might make a nice psychological study at the very least. You know, we should set him up on one of those dating apps. There’s loads of them. Gay ones, ones for people in uniform, ones for widowed pensioners. I’m sure there’ll be one for overweight middle-aged bigots.’
‘How the hell are you going to manage that?’ Wendy asked, speaking quietly as she noticed Culverhouse walking back from the toilet.
Ryan smiled. ‘Just watch and learn.’
22
Straight after he received the text message, Benjamin sent one of his own to both Lisa and Cameron.
Gone for a walk. Need to clear my head.
Once he was out of view of the wedding venue, he called the number that had sent him the text message. This was a conversation he didn’t want to be having, but one he had always known was inevitable.
‘Long time no speak,’ came the familiar voice at the other end of the phone once the call had connected.
‘How did you get this number?’ Benjamin half-whispered half-barked.
‘Alright, chill bruv. We got mutual friends, ain’t we? Connections.’
Benjamin bit his lip hard, trying to hold his temper. ‘We all agreed we were going our separate ways. Putting it behind us. And anyway, I’ve changed. I’m a new man now. I don’t want anything to do with it.’
‘You might not have much choice,’ the voice at the other end said. ‘You ain’t heard, have you?’
Benjamin swallowed, fearing this was going to be something he didn’t particularly want to hear. ‘Heard what?’
‘I can’t tell you on the phone. Listen, meet me in the car park at the bottom of Mildenheath Common. How soon can you be there?’
‘Uh, well I can call a cab. Depends when it turns up, but I’m probably ten, fifteen minutes away.’
‘Right. Let’s say half an hour. See you there.’
‘Wait. What’s this all ab—’ Benjamin heard the call disconnect before he had a chance to ask his question. Tired, frustrated and stressed, he realised he wasn’t going to be able to get out of this. He dialled the number of a local taxi company, the operator telling him someone would be with him in a few minutes.
Meanwhile, he perched on a low stone wall and considered how the hell his entire life had turned upside down in the space of half an hour. Earlier that night he’d been celebrating his wedding day with his nearest and dearest, over the moon that the woman he loved had vowed to stick with him in sickness and in health despite his chequered past, and now he was lamenting his broken marriage, sitting on a damp wall and waiting for a taxi to take him to a meeting he knew was going to be anything but fun.
* * *
Tyrone Golds got in his red Renault and drove the two miles to the car park at the foot of Mildenheath Common. It wasn’t somewhere he usually went all that often, but he knew it was secluded and free of CCTV cameras. It wouldn’t do for them to be seen meeting. Not now.
He’d called Benjamin Newell, who he remembered as Peter, from a burner phone — an unregistered pay-as-you-go mobile he’d got from one of the lads at the boxing club. The police wouldn’t connect him with this number and there was no way they’d be tracing Peter’s calls, either. Tyrone knew the guy had been clean for years.
Knowledge of their meeting getting out wouldn’t necessarily cause either of them any issues, but it still wasn’t a risk he wanted to take.
Because, after all, it wasn’t the police he was afraid of.
* * *
‘Just drop me off at the end of the road here, mate,’ Benjamin said, as he pulled his wallet out of his inside jacket pocket.
The taxi driver had been far too chatty for his liking, asking all sorts of questions. Whose wedding was it? A friend’s, he told him. He’d been an usher. Why was he going home already? His kid was ill, he said. Had to get home to see him. How old’s the kid? What’s his name? In the end, Benjamin had made an excuse about feeling unwell and said he’d walk the rest of the way, told the driver he needed the fresh air.
He wasn’t technically lying.
Having paid his ten quid and half-walked half-jogged towards the car park, he could feel the butterflies in his stomach as his legs started to feel like jelly beneath him. He knew from Tyrone’s voice that this wasn’t going to be good news. He knew it would be something that would turn his whole life upside down and drag him right back to where he was all those years ago, long before he met Lisa.
When he got to the car park, he could see there was only one car in there. There was a man sat in the driver’s seat. He couldn’t see who it was at first, but as he got closer he recognised Tyrone Golds, the man who he’d known as Bruno. He’d barely changed in all that time. He’d kept in shape, presumably by keeping up the boxing, and looked a good ten years younger than he was.
Benjamin got in the passenger seat and closed the door behind him.
‘Years have been mean to you, bruv,’ Tyrone said, looking a
t him.
Well fuck you too, Benjamin thought, regretting noticing how young Tyrone looked. ‘Sign of a life well lived,’ he said. ‘No-one’s gonna admire anyone’s perfect skin from six feet under.’
‘Yeah, well you ain’t so far from the truth,’ Tyrone said, shuffling in his seat. ‘With the six feet under bit, I mean. Freddie Galloway’s dead. Someone set fire to his fucking house.’
Benjamin’s heart started thudding in his chest. This was bringing back memories he’d tried hard to suppress. He’d spent the last eleven years trying to forget about Footloose Freddie and the bungled job, and now meeting Tyrone and just hearing the mention of Freddie Galloway’s name had ruined it all in a heartbeat. ‘What? Who?’ he asked.
‘No-one knows. But they’re sure as hell sniffing around.’
‘Wait. Your text. It said “He’s out”. What did you mean?’
Tyrone shook his head. ‘What do you think I meant? I meant Headache, bruv. He’s out. Been released. And get this: he was let out yesterday morning. Few hours later, Footloose is lying on his back patio like a fucking burnt kebab. You telling me that ain’t linked? That ain’t no coincidence, I’m telling you.’
Benjamin tried to calm his thoughts and process this information. ‘So what are you saying? That he’s going to come after us?’
Tyrone shrugged and cocked his head slightly. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is if that guy’s on the fucking warpath we ain’t gonna be far from his sights.’
‘But why? We didn’t do anything wrong. I was there with him, I tried to stop him pulling that trigger. I went with him while you and Footloose ran over the fucking hills for freedom.’
‘You fucked off the second he fired that gun, bruv. Left him to it just the same as we did. He’s been behind bars for nearly eleven years. You know what that does to a man? Sends them insane, that’s what. Every second of every day, thinking about it. Just thinking about it. Ain’t no amount of exercise time or creative writing classes gonna stop your mind from messing with you in that place.’
