Under a Dark Cloud

by Louisa Scarr

  Josh nods, his face serious.

  ‘Now, I wasn’t kidding about the storm. It’s shaken loose some weird and wonderfuls, but this probably takes the biscuit.’ Baker hands a thin file to Josh and they all crowd round. ‘Body found in a chest freezer in the car park at Riverside Country Park, near the airport.’

  ‘A freezer?’ Freya repeats, looking up.

  ‘Yes, a freezer. Staff report it had been there since the weekend, but they assumed it had been dumped by someone fly-tipping who wanted rid of it. An employee knocked it over when trying to move it this morning. Found a nasty present inside. SOCO are on the scene, pathologist on her way. Go down and see what you think.’ Baker looks at the three of them. ‘Probably too much resource for one dead body, I know, but West, we’ll have you back with Butler as soon as he returns. And Desai, I figured you’d appreciate the company on your first day back. Ease you in gently.’ He pauses, waiting for a response. ‘Okay?’ he prompts.

  ‘Yes, guv,’ they chorus.

  Baker heads to the next group of detectives and Josh watches him leave. Then he reaches over and taps Freya on the head with the file.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he says, then turns, picking up his jacket and walking away.

  ‘What was that?’ Freya whispers to Mina, touching the top of her head and tucking a stray strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear.

  ‘He obviously likes you,’ she laughs. ‘That’s his way of showing it.’

  ‘What? Like some little schoolboy?’ Freya grumbles.

  ‘Who cares when he has a bum as nice as that. I like the Geordie accent.’

  ‘I can barely understand him. And you’re married,’ Freya retorts.

  ‘I can still appreciate talent when I see it. Plus, my hormones are all over the place. Giddy not to have a baby attached to my tits.’

  ‘Yeah, well, keep it in check, will you, Mina?’

  But her friend’s already out the door, her black curls bouncing as she practically skips after their new boss.

  Freya stomps after them. As she goes, she pulls her phone out again. Her mood is soured by the lack of contact from Butler. It’s unlike him.

  They’ve been partnered together for nine months now and have developed an easy shorthand. Two coffees bought every day, taking turns through the week. Him saving a seat for her in briefings – not that anyone else chose to sit near him anyway. She knows how he works. No niceties, no fake smiles. But she understands him, and he her. Both have experienced unimaginable loss; they went through a lot in that first month working together.

  It wasn’t an auspicious start. Their first case was an accidental death: a man found dead in a hotel room, hanging from the back of the door in an apparent sex act gone wrong. But the man was Freya’s boyfriend Jonathan, a fact she kept quiet so she could stay on the investigation and make sure she got him the justice he deserved. And then Robin had found out. It hadn’t ended well.

  Freya thought Robin had got over that initial deception. She thought he trusted her. There were far greater secrets between them now, after all.

  Freya shakes her head. She isn’t going to think about that now. Focus on the new case.

  But she expects more from Robin. A text at least, telling her what’s going on. Why isn’t he here today? Why has he left her to work with this guy? This new bloke, with his ridiculously symmetrical face and bright blue eyes?

  Freya lets out an audible sigh. ‘He’s going to be such an insufferable twat,’ she moans to herself, and follows Josh and Mina out to the car park.

  3

  After twenty years in the police force, Robin hates being on the back foot. He’s used to arriving at a crime scene with sparse details, quickly working out the accused, the victim, what happened. But today: late, stressed, under another constabulary’s orders? It puts him on edge. Especially when it’s all to do with his best friend.

  He’s been driving for over an hour, radio tuned in to the news, negotiating the many roundabouts of the A33 and the infamous IDR road network of Reading. He turns off and slows as he approaches the multistorey car park. The entrance is blocked off, a uniformed officer posted at the gates. Robin spots a crowd of people, some with cameras, and he wonders why the press are so interested this early in the morning.

  The PC crouches down to Robin’s window, as he pulls his car up next to him.

  ‘DS Robin Butler,’ he says, showing his warrant card. The PC nods.

  ‘Park on level six. Then use the stairs to get to the top.’

  He does as he’s told, parking his battered Volvo next to the two patrol vehicles and one unmarked white Skoda. He notices a first-responder ambulance car as he climbs the stairs to the top, dodging the puddles pooling on the concrete.

  It’s still only half eight in the morning and the temperature is cool for May. The storm last night has taken the muggy, oppressive heat with it, leaving a fresher wind that tugs at his jacket as he opens the heavy metal door and walks out onto the top level.

  It’s indistinguishable from any other car park in the UK. White painted lines, a raised metal barrier round the edge. Robin can hear traffic on the road below, normal commuters, going to work on a Wednesday morning.

  There are people everywhere. More blue-and-yellow patrol cars are parked, creating a cordon, and crime scene tape has been stretched between them. In the centre is a large silver van, sideways on, with the BBC logo emblazoned across it. It looks like a long-base Transit: driver’s cab at the front, one square clear window on the side, large double doors at the back. Odd-looking technical equipment, including a large, white satellite dish, is secured to the roof. It seems big, too big for its surroundings, and Robin wonders briefly how they got it up there. Everything is quiet.

  Robin makes his way towards the crowd of uniformed officers and detectives in plain clothes. As he approaches, the whole group hushes, and a short, boyish-looking detective taps the arm of a woman standing next to a fold-out table in the centre. She looks over from their makeshift operations centre; Robin attempts a smile but it comes out as a grimace.

  ‘You must be DS Butler,’ the woman says. She’s tall, with long, poker-straight hair tied back in a severe ponytail at the nape of her neck.

  Robin nods. ‘DI Craig?’

  ‘Hoping you can shed some light on this mess,’ she replies bluntly.

  Robin hadn’t expected pleasantries. It isn’t common for a detective to be welcomed onto another constabulary’s crime scene, and he can only assume they’ve tried a number of possibilities before calling him.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asks.

  Craig looks towards the van.

  ‘We believe there are two people in there – your friend Finn and his colleague Dr Simon Sharp. From what we’ve been told,’ she says, gesturing towards a group of nerdy-looking men on the far side of the car park, ‘they were parked here last night to record the storm.’

  ‘Just the two of them?’

  Craig shakes her head. ‘No, there was a cameraman, but he left the van early to pick up extra equipment. The storm swept in quicker than expected, leaving Mason and Sharp in the vehicle. Since then, nobody’s been able to gain access.’

  ‘And why were the police called?’ Robin asks.

  ‘Cameraman came back around about half three, once the storm abated. Couldn’t get in. All doors are locked tight from the inside and his key didn’t work. He was debating calling a locksmith but then he heard screaming.’ Craig looks away from Robin, towards the van. ‘Someone was hysterical. At that point he tried to bash the back door in, but no luck, so he looked in through the windows. He couldn’t see much, but he noticed what he thought was blood, so he called us. That was around four this morning. The rest of his team showed up shortly after.’

  Robin nods slowly, trying to remain calm. He can see small dents on the metal door, but nothing that has made any impact. He looks around for a moment, then sees what he’s looking for: a large metal cylindrical object on the floor next to one of the police ca
rs. He points towards it.

  ‘Have you tried the battering ram?’ he asks.

  Craig screws her face up. ‘Not yet. Not until we know what we’re dealing with. We made an initial approach, got as much intelligence as we could…’ She pauses. ‘But then he started shouting about killing himself.’

  Robin recoils. Finn – threatening suicide? What is going on? Craig bends down towards the laptop on the table and pulls up some photographs. ‘This is all we could see.’

  Robin squints at the photos. They are blurry, obviously taken at speed through the plastic window. But there is no doubt what they’re showing.

  The first is the floor of the van. And it’s a mass of red. Running through the grooves in the flooring, pooling at the edges. It seems to be blood. And there is a lot of it.

  The next photo is a leg, lying at an unnatural angle, under a table. Jeans stained with red. A socked foot. A shoe missing.

  And the last. Robin takes a quick intake of breath. It’s Finn. His face is up against the window, contorted in anger or fear or… or what? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

  ‘And that’s definitely your friend, Finlay Mason?’

  ‘Finn, yes,’ Robin confirms.

  ‘Has he been in trouble before?’ Craig asks.

  Robin straightens up and stares at her. ‘No.’

  ‘Ever tried to kill himself?’

  Robin shakes his head. ‘I don’t know. Up until today I would have said no, but given the circumstances…’ He trails off, feeling deflated.

  He thought he knew Finn, but the reality is that over the years their relationship has become more distant. They haven’t seen each other much lately. They aren’t kids any more; this isn’t rural Devon.

  Work gets in the way. They have busy, all-consuming jobs. Finn’s work is his passion, and Robin? Well, Robin’s life had dissolved following the events six years ago, and it hadn’t left him as great company. Even if he had dragged himself out for a quiet drink at the pub, what would he have talked about? The death of his sister and her twin boys, killed in a hit-and-run by a drunk driver? The subsequent downward spiral in his mental health? It was hardly light conversation over a game of pool.

  But since everything that happened all those months ago with Freya, he’d tried to pull his life back, starting with making an effort to see his best friend. Still, he’d only seen him once recently – months ago, in February, for Finn’s birthday.

  ‘I can’t believe that Finn would be violent. To himself or anyone else,’ Robin finishes.

  Craig frowns. ‘Well, let’s get him out and we can deal with it from there. We’ve requested a warrant for his medical records and called his next of kin. She’s on her way.’

  ‘His mother?’

  Craig looks for confirmation to the skinny younger guy in a navy suit to her side. He nods. ‘Yes,’ she says. She points to the man again. ‘DC Grey. I believe you’ve spoken already?’

  Robin doesn’t offer a greeting. ‘Was she okay?’ he directs to Grey, knowing how confusing his own phone call was from this guy.

  ‘We only spoke briefly,’ Grey replies.

  Robin nods. He stares at the van.

  ‘We’d like to exhaust all other options before we bash our way in there,’ Craig repeats. She looks at Robin. ‘And right now, that means you.’

  * * *

  Robin walks slowly up to the van. Craig’s words ring in his head: get him talking, try to find out what’s going on, empathise, listen, make sure he feels like he’s in control. Yeah, yeah, I know, he thinks. This isn’t his first negotiation. But, fuck. It’s a lot to take in.

  He pauses by the back doors of the van and glances back to Craig. The team are silent; he feels the weight of their expectation on him. He knocks on the metal panel. The noise is tinny and echoes in the looming concrete of the car park.

  ‘Finn? It’s Robin,’ he shouts. ‘Can you hear me?’

  He listens but there’s no response from inside. He tries again.

  ‘Finn? Are you okay?’ This time he hears a barely audible whimper. ‘Finn?’ he shouts. ‘Talk to me – we can help you.’

  ‘Go away.’

  It’s quiet, but it’s something. A fragment of communication.

  ‘Finn, please. You called me here for a reason. I’m not going to leave you. Tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘He’s dead. I know he’s dead.’

  ‘Who’s dead, Finn?’

  ‘Go away!’ This time the voice is louder, shouting. ‘There’s something wrong with me. I can’t… I don’t… I don’t want you here. I’m going to kill myself now, unless you get away from me.’

  Robin backs off. ‘Okay, okay, I’m going to move. But I’m still outside, Finn. I’m still here. Just don’t do anything to yourself, please.’

  Robin retreats from the van, then turns and goes back to Craig.

  ‘Fuck,’ he says under his breath. Craig’s face is stern. ‘Sorry.’

  She shakes her head. ‘We were hoping because he asked for you…’ She takes a swig from the coffee cup next to her, thinking. ‘We need to get more information, a bit more intelligence before we make definite plans. I want to know how likely a suicide attempt is. I want this guy’s medical history.’ She directs the instruction to Grey, standing next to her. ‘Go and find out where this warrant is.’

  She turns to Robin. ‘Do you have access to his flat? A key or something?’

  Robin shakes his head. ‘No, but I think his mum does. I can go as soon as she arrives. I know the place,’ he says. A bit of a mistruth, but Robin’s desperate to get to the bottom of what’s going on. ‘It wouldn’t take me long to notice anything amiss,’ he adds.

  Craig hesitates for a second, then nods.

  ‘I’ll call her myself now,’ Robin says, and Craig continues barking orders at her team.

  Robin pulls his phone out of his pocket and moves away from Craig. He wants privacy to call Finn’s mum, but he also needs space. Up until today, as far as Robin knew, the worst thing Finn had done was accrue interest on his credit card.

  Robin feels guilty at the sight of Freya’s text. He replies quickly, then looks for the number for Finn’s mum. After a pause, his call is answered.

  ‘Josie? It’s Robin. Robin Butler.’

  ‘Robin?’ He can hear car noise in the background. ‘Are you with Finn? Is he okay? What’s going on?’

  ‘Finn’s fine. Well…’ Robin’s unclear how to explain. ‘I’m sorry, Josie, I don’t know much. Finn was working last night—’

  ‘In the storm?’

  ‘Yes, and something happened. He’s locked himself in a van. Are you on your way?’

  ‘Sandra’s driving. We’ll be about half an hour.’

  Robin is relieved. He knows that Sandra and Josie have been inseparable for years. It used to be the three women together – Sandra, Josie and Mary, Robin’s mother. The last thing he wants is an emotional Josie driving three hours from Devon by herself. Enough people he loves have died in car accidents already.

  ‘Is he okay?’ Josie pleads.

  Robin pauses. Growing up, her house was an extension of his own. Every day after school, he and Finn would come home to find Josie drinking tea in her kitchen, with either Mary or Sandra, or both, keeping her company. And as much as Robin is used to delivering bad news, it’s different when it’s someone you know.

  ‘We’re not sure, Josie, I’m sorry. We can’t get to him at the moment.’

  ‘What do you mean, you can’t get to him?’

  He can understand her confusion. It’s such an incomprehensible situation to explain. Robin tries again, as simply and calmly as he can. A locked door. Finn upset and refusing to come out. A dead body. He doesn’t mention the suicide threat or the sheer amount of blood. ‘We just need you here as soon as possible. Listen, Josie. Is there anything we should know about Finn? Has anything odd like this happened before?’

  There is a long pause, and Robin takes the phone away from his ear and looks at it, wond
ering if reception has cut out.

  ‘Josie?’ he repeats. ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Yes, yes, Robin. Um, no, of course not.’ Robin hears a sniff down the phone. ‘Listen, Robin, you look after him until we get there. Love? You keep him safe?’

  ‘I’ll do all I can,’ Robin says softly.

  He hangs up and looks back over to the van. He isn’t lying. He will do all he can. But right now, he wonders whether that’ll be enough.

  * * *

  Robin walks back to DI Craig.

  ‘She’s on her way, won’t be long.’

  Craig nods, then makes another call on her phone. He knows what’ll be going through her head: how to get Finn out without making matters worse. Whether to bash down the door, hit and hope that they can get to Finn before he does anything. Send in a dog, or PCs armed with Tasers. But zapping a potentially mentally ill man with 50,000 volts doesn’t make for a great sound bite on the evening news.

  A shout diverts their attention. A woman’s voice, on the edge of the cordon, screaming at the top of her lungs. A policeman is holding her by the arm to stop her pushing past, and she is shouting something about police brutality.

  Robin turns away, recoiling from the woman. He hadn’t forgotten about her, only hoped she wasn’t on the scene any more. The shouting continues and Robin groans. Craig looks at him.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  Robin wrinkles his nose in disgust. ‘Sophie. Finn’s girlfriend.’

  Craig gestures to the policeman to let her through, and Robin grits his teeth.

  Fucking Sophie. That’s all they need.

  4

  ‘So, what’s going on with Butler?’ Mina asks, leaning forward from the back seat of the unmarked pool car, as Freya drives the three of them to their new crime scene. ‘I was looking forward to seeing him today.’

  ‘I forgot you know him from training,’ Freya replies.

  Josh pulls a face. ‘You actually want to have a conversation with him?’ he comments.