Under a Dark Cloud

by Louisa Scarr

  ‘To grow it for medical tests, you stupid cow. Not to smoke it yourself!’

  ‘Is that all you’re concerned about?’ Sophie screams back. ‘You cops, you’re all the same. The man I love is in danger and all you care about is some pot.’

  DI Craig puts her arm in between them, and Robin turns quickly, walking a few metres away from Sophie, his back to her.

  ‘You can stay,’ Craig says softly, looking at Sophie. ‘But don’t get in our way. And don’t smoke anything else while you’re here.’

  She walks up to Robin and whispers something in his ear. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, looks at it, then nods.

  Robin turns and goes back over to Sophie. ‘Finn’s mum is here and I’m going to go with her to his flat. We need to look for anything that can help us work out what’s going on.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ Sophie exclaims. ‘That’s an invasion of privacy. Police can’t break into anywhere they want!’

  Robin looks at her, a withering expression on his face. ‘I’m not going as police, I’m going as his friend. And Josie has a key, so we’re not breaking in.’ He pauses. ‘Would you prefer that Finn stays here, Sophie? Locked in a van with a dead body, threatening to kill himself?’

  Sophie reels at the stark reality. But she shakes her head quickly, stunned. ‘I’m coming with you,’ she stutters.

  ‘You can come if you want, but if you get in my way, I will arrest you, like I should have done three months ago.’ Robin’s voice is dispassionate, his emotions back under check. Sophie doesn’t know how he does it, but she feels sad for Robin. She’d rather be herself, emotional and reactive and feeling, experiencing the world as it happens, than be that cold.

  ‘Do you understand me?’ Robin adds.

  Sophie bites her lip, nodding slowly.

  ‘Fine, then let’s go.’

  6

  Robin feels warm arms round him, pulling him tight. He enjoys the closeness for a second, remembering the familiar scent of lavender talcum powder, then pulls away, kissing his best friend’s mum on the cheek.

  Josie looks tired, but her presence is the tonic Robin needs. She puts two hands either side of Robin’s face and looks at him closely, a kind smile radiating towards him.

  ‘Let me look at you, Robin,’ Josie says. ‘It’s been too long.’ She pulls him first in one direction, then the other. Robin is used to being examined in this way by Josie and lets her prod him in the tummy. ‘You’re looking good.’

  ‘That’s your way of saying I’ve lost weight,’ he replies, good-naturedly.

  ‘Well. You had spare,’ Josie says, and Robin snorts. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t seen you since… since Georgia died,’ she continues. ‘I tried to call—’

  ‘Let’s talk later,’ Robin interrupts, awkwardly.

  He pulls away from Josie and receives a second embrace from Sandra, standing next to them. He towers over her, his six foot compared to her barely five.

  It’s been nearly six years since he saw them last, at Georgia’s funeral. Josie’s still tall and slender, her build the same as her son’s, her grey hair now short and cropped. In contrast, Sandra’s got rounder, her rosy cheeks surrounded by a halo of ash-blonde curls. It’s his fault he hasn’t seen them. He’d ignored Josie’s calls, not wanting to talk about what happened, how Georgia died; entombed in his cocoon of misery.

  ‘You’ll sort this, won’t you, Robin?’ Sandra says quietly, and he nods, despite his reservations.

  Robin points to Sophie, who is receiving a hug from Josie.

  ‘Sandra, this is Sophie, Finn’s girlfriend,’ Robin says, doing a quick introduction.

  The women all smile at each other, but then expressions turn serious, as Craig comes over. Robin waits impatiently as she spends precious moments outlining the situation to the older women. Sharp’s death, Finn locked in the van, the confusion and lack of clarity over what’s going on.

  ‘…so any clues to his mental state would be invaluable right now,’ Craig concludes, explaining their need to visit Finn’s flat.

  ‘And I’m sorry to be pushy, but we need to go,’ Robin adds. He’s desperate to get there and see what they can find that might help them piece together this mess.

  They all nod grimly and make their way down the stairs to Robin’s car on the lower floor. They climb in: Robin driving, Josie in the front, and Sandra and Sophie in the back.

  * * *

  They drive in uncharacteristic silence. Normally, with Josie and Sandra, the air would be filled with chatter. Personal questions about his life, his job, prospective girlfriends. Enquiring whether he is eating okay, getting enough sleep. Then when those topics of conversation ran out, they would move on to TV, to books, to whatever Josie had seen lately, out for her daily walk round the village.

  Josie and Sandra always have an endless supply of conversation, even though they see each other every day, still living next door on the same street, in the tiny Devon village where Robin and Finn grew up. Finn’s dad left when he was a baby, and the three households almost existed as one: the Butlers, Sandra and the Masons. He remembers the giggles from the three of them when Robin’s mum was still alive and how they would shush as he and Finn came into the kitchen – talk not right for the ears of small people. He always wondered what they might have been gossiping about, curious to be allowed into the exclusive inner sanctum of girl talk.

  But it seems today circumstances are too serious for such frivolities.

  As he drives, Robin glances in the rear-view mirror at Sophie. She is staring out of the window, lost in her own thoughts, chewing on a fingernail with chipped pink nail polish. She is wearing a patchwork flowing dress, knee-high brown boots and what seems to be a green army coat over the top.

  Robin takes a deep breath, suppressing his irritation. If he was being honest, he had considered phoning Sophie when he heard the news about Finn, but he couldn’t bear the thought of having to spend time with the woman.

  He first met her three months ago, out with Finn to celebrate his birthday. Just the three of them.

  It hadn’t started well. She’d wafted in, scented delicately with a soft perfume, but also something else: the sweet, earthy smell of pot he easily recognised. But surely not. Surely nobody would be so stupid as to turn up for dinner with a police detective – albeit one off duty – stinking of marijuana?

  The conversation was fine at first. Finn telling them about his latest project, the details of which neither of them understood. Sophie talked about her doctorate at the university – research into the effectiveness of cannabinoids in the treatment of cancer. Worthy work indeed, Robin thought, although there was then no doubt in his mind that she was sampling her own product.

  But then— Robin grits his teeth just remembering the conversation.

  ‘…it’s not that I’ve got anything against investing in defence, but it seems to me the money could be better spent,’ Sophie had said. ‘When people are depending on food banks to survive and NHS waiting lists are at crisis point, I think there are bigger priorities.’

  ‘We can always do with more coppers on the front line,’ Robin replied.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s where the money is best spent—’

  Robin frowned. ‘You mean, making sure our streets are safe?’

  ‘If that’s what you call it,’ Sophie said, taking a large gulp of wine. ‘All I see are police trying to get in the way. For example,’ she continued, waving a hand as if plucking a thought out of the air, ‘peaceful protests. Why shouldn’t we protest about climate change? Why shouldn’t we march for what we believe in?’

  ‘No one’s stopping you marching, but police need to be there to ensure everyone is safe. And if you weren’t protesting, maybe police resources could be better used elsewhere,’ Robin argued. He’d kept a smile on his face, but his tolerance was straining at the seams.

  ‘Nobody requested you to turn up. Nobody asked the police to stop the climate rebellion protest.’

  ‘P
olice go where we’re needed the most,’ Robin replied. ‘And if someone’s spraying red paint at a public building, then that’s the priority. We don’t go where you ask us to go.’

  ‘Well, why not?’ Sophie had added, ignoring the warning hand from Finn on her arm. ‘Our taxes pay your wages, after all.’

  ‘What?’ Robin said incredulously. ‘You pay tax? On your PhD salary?’

  ‘Time for a break,’ Finn interrupted, quickly. ‘Now.’

  And he’d taken Sophie’s arm and pulled her away from the table.

  Robin sat, alone, his mouth still open in surprise. Then he’d finished the last of the wine from his glass and signalled to the waiter to request the bill. Enough was enough.

  He’d paid and left the restaurant, looking around for Finn so he could say goodbye. He’d glanced round the corner, and there Sophie and Finn were, passing a cigarette between them. Except it wasn’t a cigarette.

  Even from that distance, Robin could detect the strong smell of weed. He continued watching them, unsure of what to do.

  Then Finn turned and caught his eye. And Robin knew the expression on his face; he’d seen it a million times as a child. Finn could not hide when he was lying or when he’d done something wrong. It was the same expression he had when Josie had caught them stealing biscuits before dinner or sneaking in late after curfew.

  ‘Robin…’ Finn had started, and Robin walked up to them, taking the spliff out of his hand and stubbing it out underfoot on the pavement.

  ‘Hey…’ Sophie said, objecting.

  ‘I should arrest you,’ Robin growled. He faced Finn, turning his back deliberately on Sophie. ‘I don’t care what you do in your own time, Finn, but smoking pot in front of me is plain stupid. And it puts me in a really awkward position.’ He’d shaken his head. ‘I’m leaving. I’ll call you later.’

  Robin had walked away, ignoring their indiscretion. But he hadn’t called. And Finn hadn’t called him. A pause in their contact that was unusual. They’d argued in the past but made up without even so much as a mumbled apology. This time there’d been nothing. And Robin had no doubt in his mind as to why.

  So he had no wish to see her again. Yet, here she is, sulking in the back of his car.

  They turn into the car park for Finn’s block of flats and pull into the numbered space. Robin knows that Finn’s Ford Focus is currently parked at the multistorey, a few floors down from the van – left for the morning, when he would have planned to go home after the storm and get some sleep. Things haven’t turned out that way, though, and the empty parking space just reminds Robin of it.

  The four of them get out of the car, and Robin opens his boot. He takes out plastic gloves and shoe covers, and turns to face them.

  ‘We’re not here in a police capacity, but we should treat this visit as if it were—’ he begins.

  Josie interrupts him. ‘What do you mean, Robin?’

  ‘We need to disturb as little as possible. We need to wear these,’ he says, holding out the gloves. They all stare at them, blinking. ‘We’re looking for anything that will give us an idea of Finn’s state of mind, that will help us persuade him out of there. Outside of that, we should try to avoid contaminating potential evidence.’

  The moment the words are out of Robin’s mouth, he sees Josie’s face fall and regrets his official terminology. He’d said it automatically, so used to telling officers under his command what to do. He’d forgotten this is family.

  Next to him, Sophie scoffs. ‘I know Finn’s state of mind,’ she says, sulkily. ‘I don’t need to go snooping around his flat.’

  ‘Fine, then stay here.’

  Josie slowly reaches out and takes the gloves from Robin, her face grey. She hands a pair to Sandra. After a moment, Sophie sighs and does the same.

  They walk up the concrete steps to Finn’s flat. Robin puts the key in the lock and turns.

  The smell is the first thing he notices. It’s musty, with an undercurrent of burnt toast and stale sweat. The hallway is dark, so Robin gropes around for a light and switches it on.

  And gasps.

  It looks like the flat has been ransacked. A narrow hallway leads to a small living room that includes the kitchen, with a bedroom and bathroom off to one side. Clothes and belongings are strewn on the floor; the kitchen overflows with dirty dishes and a full bin, over which hopeful flies hover. A line of black dirt on the carpet shows the usual walkways.

  Josie and Sandra stand in the doorway, their hands over their mouths. Robin turns to Sophie.

  ‘When were you here last?’ he asks.

  ‘I… I…’ Sophie stutters. Her eyes are wide; she’s clearly as shocked as they are by the state of Finn’s flat.

  ‘When, Sophie?’ Robin asks again.

  ‘Not for a while, a few months maybe. Finn always comes to mine, he says his place is poky, and…’ She shakes her head. ‘I didn’t know.’

  Robin slowly continues his way inside, looking downwards, trying to avoid treading on the mess strewn on the ground. He goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge. There’s little food inside, just two cans of beer and some nearly empty bottles of condiments – tomato ketchup, mustard, mayo – and a few plastic bottles of water. Robin frowns.

  ‘Did he eat at yours, too?’ he directs over his shoulder to Sophie.

  ‘Sometimes. I’d cook for him, but for the last few weeks he’s been spending more and more time at the university, getting everything ready for Simon’s visit.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Robin can’t make it add up. His intelligent, sensitive, previously house-proud friend is living in this… this pit? What’s he missing? What’s going on?

  He turns round and gently escorts Sophie over to the sofa. She lets him guide her, still shocked. Robin pushes the clothes and newspapers aside and sits her down.

  ‘Sophie?’ he says gently. He waits until she has stopped gawping at the flat and looks at him. ‘How has Finn been?’ he asks. ‘In the last month or so. The truth, please.’

  Sophie opens and closes her mouth a few times, then rubs her eyes. Robin can see she is on the edge of tears.

  ‘He…’ she starts. ‘He hasn’t been himself. Finn’s always been quiet, but lately he’s completely retreated. Would barely talk to me. When I asked him about it, he said he was worried about work – about Simon’s visit and the BBC filming. He said there was a lot riding on this going well. He’s been struggling to get funding for the next bit of research, and this would have solved all their problems.’

  She sniffs. ‘But I didn’t think things had got this bad. Or maybe… I just…’ She tails off again. ‘He’s lost a bit of weight. I knew he wasn’t eating properly. I’d bring him food to his lab, but most of it went untouched.’

  Robin sighs. They need to finish their search, then get out of there. It’s bad enough when you’re a police officer, used to seeing this sort of shit, even if he’s struggling to attribute it to his best friend. But it must be impossible for Finn’s mother.

  ‘You guys can wait in the car, if you like,’ he says gently. ‘I’ll finish up.’

  But Josie shakes her head. ‘No. I’m here now. I need to know what I’m facing. When Finn gets out of that van.’

  Robin nods. ‘Shout if you find anything,’ he says, although he doesn’t know what they’re looking for.

  He goes into the bedroom and it’s much the same in there, if not worse. The bed sheets are yellowing and stained, and there are clothes discarded across the carpet. Empty mugs and crockery lie on their side on the floor. There are a few books on the bedside table: science fiction authors that Robin remembers Finn loving in their youth. It makes him feel sad. How did Finn get from that to this?

  Something must have gone seriously wrong in his head to let his home get to this state. And Robin hadn’t noticed. Hell, he’d not been around enough lately to notice.

  But Sophie had. She is his girlfriend, for crying out loud. He turns on his heel, a flare of anger, about to confront her again, but when he steps in
to the living room, Josie and Sandra are standing next to the window, their backs bent, something in Josie’s hand.

  Robin goes over to join them, looking over their shoulders. ‘What have you found?’ he asks, and Josie turns, a puzzled look on her face.

  She holds a small plastic bag between two fingers.

  Robin looks at it, his stomach sinking. It contains a few tiny blue squares of what looks to be paper, plus some even smaller pieces, tiny triangles, cut from the original.

  ‘What is it, Robin?’ Josie asks.

  He glares at Sophie. She’s taken a step back from them, her face pale.

  ‘It’s LSD, Josie,’ Robin says. ‘Finn was taking acid.’

  7

  ‘Did you know?’ Robin fires at Sophie. ‘Were you aware what Finn was doing?’

  He is trying hard to stay calm, for Josie’s sake as much as anything, but is struggling to keep his voice level. And when Sophie nods slowly, his hands clench into fists by his sides.

  ‘He wasn’t doing it to get high,’ Sophie gabbles, crying now. ‘He was microdosing.’

  ‘It’s an illegal class A drug, Sophie.’

  ‘He’s been stressed. The infighting, the squabbles he has to deal with in his team. It’s too much for Finn. And this helped – with his anxiety, his depression.’

  ‘What’s she talking about?’ Josie asks Robin. ‘I don’t understand any of this. I know people took LSD in the Sixties, but that was then. They were hippies. What’s Finlay doing with it?’

  Robin takes a deep breath. ‘From what Sophie’s saying, Finn was taking tiny amounts of it, Josie. It’s been known to help with some kinds of mental illness.’ He turns back to Sophie. ‘But there’s no scientific evidence to back it up. It’s unpredictable. There could have been anything in this.’

  ‘He said it was helping. He said it calmed him down.’

  Robin holds the small plastic bag up to Sophie’s face. ‘And where did you get it from?’ Sophie pushes her lips together and shakes her head. ‘This is no time for protecting your dealer, Sophie!’ Robin shouts. ‘We need to know what was in here. We need to know what he took.’