Under a Dark Cloud

by Louisa Scarr

  Freya nods. They spot a Costa Coffee on the far side of the street and head towards it.

  ‘We get all sorts of shit, day in, day out,’ Mina continues. ‘No normal person should see the number of dead bodies we have. We’ve all been called out on deployments we can’t forget when we get home. There’s a thin line between looking after our mental health so we can continue to do our jobs every day, and ending up like one of those guys.’

  They stand in the queue at the coffee shop in silence. Freya thinks about the nights alone when she can’t sleep. The images of Amy Miller in her dreams. The guilt of what she did, gnawing at her insides.

  ‘What would you do, Mina, if you felt like that?’

  Mina puts in their order, adding a coffee for Josh. She turns back to Freya as she pays. ‘Speak to someone. Straight away. The more it festers, the worse it gets.’ She takes their drinks, handing one to Freya, and they walk towards the exit. ‘I saw a counsellor after that shooting, do you remember?’ Freya shakes her head. ‘The guy with the shotgun. Blew his head off in front of me when I was a PC.’

  They both get into the car.

  ‘Did it help?’ Freya asks, fastening her seat belt.

  ‘A bit,’ Mina says. She pushes her coffee cup into the mug holder. ‘Enough, anyway.’

  Mina starts driving, and Freya sips her coffee thoughtfully. That’s all well and good, she thinks. But she knows that counsellors are duty-bound to report anything illegal. Talk about what she did to Amy Miller, and that’s it. Career over. She might even end up in prison.

  But she can’t go on like this. Working all the time. She’s definitely not getting enough sleep. She remembers Robin when they first met – one look at him and his house and she knew he wasn’t functioning well. Overcome by grief and, as she now knows, the knowledge that he had been carrying an enormous load of guilt. What had changed for him since, that he’d managed to pull himself together? Had it been the simple act of confessing to her? The fact that she knew and understood?

  She rubs her eyes. Her skin feels dry, paper-thin. She feels pathetic for being like this, not able to cope. And being around Mina makes it harder. She’s felt Mina’s eyes on her, scrutinising her reactions; she’s not the same carefree, chatty woman that Mina left a year ago.

  To her dismay, she feels her throat constrict and her eyes grow hot. She swallows, trying to hold in the feelings, but they’re bubbling over, and there’s nothing she can do. She starts crying. Quietly at first, but then a huge sob bursts out of her.

  Mina glances across from the driver’s seat, her face dropping in dismay.

  ‘Shit! Freya, what’s wrong?’

  Mina indicates, pulling the car quickly to the side of the road. She turns in her seat, placing a reassuring hand on Freya’s arm as she cries, then digs in her handbag and pulls out a pack of tissues. Freya takes one, laughter mixing with the sobs.

  ‘You’re always prepared, aren’t you, Mina?’ she burbles.

  ‘Two kids under two,’ Mina says softly. ‘Got a full disaster recovery kit in this bag.’ She waits for Freya’s tears to subside.

  Freya feels the anguish fade and wipes her eyes with the tissue. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says.

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ Mina’s dark eyes are kind and sympathetic. ‘What’s going on?’

  Freya sniffs and shakes her head. But it’s hopeless to pretend with Mina.

  ‘Is it Josh? Did he do something the other night?’

  ‘No! No, Josh’s fine.’

  ‘Is it… is it Butler?’ Mina asks quietly.

  Freya shakes her head again. She knows it is about Robin, of course, but not in the way that Mina’s implying.

  ‘No. It’s… I’m fine, Mina. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Look at you! You’re not fine. What’s going on? You can talk to me, you know that.’

  Freya trusts Mina. For a moment, she considers it. Unburdening herself of the events eight months ago in that grubby unmarked police car. Telling her all about Jonathan, and Amy Miller, and what she did. She knows she would instantly feel better, but she also knows that she couldn’t put that burden on Mina. As a police detective, Mina would be in an impossible position, between the law and her friend, and that can’t happen.

  Freya shakes her head. ‘It’s just… it all got a bit much for a moment, that’s all.’

  Mina looks at her sternly. ‘I didn’t want to say anything before, but you haven’t been your normal self since I’ve been back. I know we didn’t see each other much when I was on mat leave, and that’s my fault—’

  ‘No! Mina. Absolutely not—’

  ‘It is. I should have made more of an effort to see you. But I’m here now. You know I’d do anything for you, right, Frey?’

  Freya nods gratefully. ‘I know. Thank you.’

  The phone rings next to them. They look at the screen. Josh.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Mina grumbles. ‘And now his coffee’s gone cold, so we won’t even be able to placate him with that.’

  Freya forces a laugh. ‘Let’s go.’

  Mina starts the engine. She turns to look at her one last time. ‘But talk to someone, Freya, please?’ she says.

  Freya drinks her coffee in silence as they drive the rest of the way to the station. Mina’s right. She needs to talk to someone. And there’s only one person who will understand.

  24

  ‘I know you don’t want to hear it, but the evidence is clear.’

  DI Jo Craig has acquiesced to Robin’s demand to drive, but he’s now regretting it – it’s only given her more opportunity to talk about the case. She has a file open in her lap in the passenger seat and is flicking through the pages.

  ‘You’re right, I don’t want to hear it,’ Robin mutters.

  ‘The warrant for his medical records finally came through yesterday, and nothing here contradicts what we’ve found. Blood alcohol was zero when his blood was taken at the hospital, which means nothing, because he’d been in that van for over twelve hours by that point.’

  ‘Any trace of the LSD?’

  Craig flicks again. ‘No, none. And no sign of two-oxo-three-hydroxy-LSD, which means he hadn’t taken any for up to five days.’

  Robin’s familiar with the long chemical name. He knows that LSD stays in the blood for up to eight hours, so might have worn off while Finn was locked in the van, but the major metabolite of the drug, the two-oxo-whatsit, sticks around for longer in the urine.

  So the LSD couldn’t explain his confusion or current state. And couldn’t be used as a defence for the murder.

  ‘What about wounds on Finn’s body?’ he asks Craig.

  ‘Nothing. No nicks or scratches. Only a few bruises. But nothing substantial that could be used as an argument for self-defence,’ she adds, reading his mind. ‘And apart from that, his medical history is unremarkable.’ Robin pulls into the hospital car park and switches off the engine. ‘See for yourself,’ she says, passing him the file.

  She climbs out of the car, giving him a look as she goes. ‘Hang onto it, I have a copy.’

  He watches her walk off across the car park, striding confidently. The beauty of not being attached emotionally to the case, he thinks. Then Freya comes to mind. He wonders how she’s getting on with her body in the freezer, working for Josh Smith. Faint jealousy flickers, and he picks up the phone, sending her a quick text. He misses working with her, the to and fro of discussing a case, but he frowns. Baker’s warning echoes in his head. He’s aware she hasn’t been herself this past month or so.

  After Jonathan died – and after Amy died – she’d seemed to have picked herself up for a while. Still sad, still grieving, but with a level of relief that he himself had experienced. The case was over. Everything they had done that had broken the law in a myriad of different career-destroying ways was over. Put to bed. And so they’d pootled on. New cases, developing a working relationship with a solid foundation of trust and the secrets between them.

  But after Christmas, she was qu
ieter. Less eager to talk to him, to share. They’d spent more time in each other’s company, default dinners and nights in front of the TV rather than active arrangements, but she’d retreated into herself. And this last month her work hasn’t been up to its usual precision. Things were getting missed, paperwork late to be submitted.

  He’ll phone her tonight, he resolves, picking up the file in his lap again.

  He flicks through the pages of Finn’s medical report, and Craig’s right, there’s nothing interesting. He’s rarely been to the GP. An ear infection a year ago. A vaccination when he went abroad. No mental health issues. Nothing that would indicate a predisposition for what Finn was going through now. And no mention of his alcoholism, surprise, surprise.

  He gets out of the car and walks towards the hospital. But his pace is slow. He feels the weight of expectation, knowing that Josie will be looking to him to find a way out of this mess. It feels hopeless. He isn’t in charge, and although Craig has been giving him access, Robin’s sure it’s only to the things she wants him to see. The evidence that will convince him that Finn’s the killer.

  When he gets to the hospital room, everything is quiet. Finn’s eyes are closed, Josie is sitting next to his bed, a book in her hand. But she’s staring into space, obviously lost in thought.

  He knocks quietly on the door to announce his arrival. She jumps slightly, then smiles.

  ‘No change?’ he whispers. She shakes her head sadly.

  He comes into the room and takes a seat next to her. ‘Sandra around? Or Sophie?’

  ‘Sophie had to go to the university. And Sandra’s headed home to Devon. She has work. She can’t stay here, holding my hand all week.’

  Robin nods. He knows the same situation applies to him: he needs to phone Baker, give a time frame for when he’ll be back. But he has no idea. How long can this go on for? he thinks. How long should he keep searching?

  ‘What do the doctors say?’

  ‘Nothing new. Still waiting on tests, although god knows what good they’re doing. He’s worse, if anything. Anterograde amnesia,’ she says, checking the notepad next to her. ‘And he can’t remember what happened. Retro…’ She struggles to read her handwriting.

  ‘Retrograde amnesia,’ Robin finishes for her.

  ‘Yes. The doctor says he can remember how to do basic tasks, like writing and tying his shoelaces, but he can’t form new memories.’

  ‘And they don’t know why?’

  She shakes her head, tears obvious in her eyes. ‘And the doctor says that with the alcohol withdrawal symptoms on top, it’s hard to work out what’s going on.’

  Robin sits down next to her and takes her hand. Finn’s alcoholism could be nothing to do with the situation they’re in now. In the bed next to them, Finn is starting to stir, his eyes flickering open. He looks over to Robin and blinks myopically; Robin hands him his glasses and he puts them on.

  ‘Rob? Mum?’

  ‘You’re in the hospital, Finn. You’ve been in an accident. Everything’s going to be okay,’ Josie says softly. She looks at Robin. ‘Every time he wakes up, we’re back to square one. He can’t remember where he is, or what happened.’

  ‘An accident?’ Finn asks.

  But before either of them can answer, Finn’s hands fly to his face and he starts to cry.

  Robin sits forward in his chair. ‘Finn,’ he starts, ‘what’s the matter?’

  He continues to sob. Robin glances through the open door, to the police officer standing guard. He quickly gets up and closes it, then sits close to Finn.

  ‘Do you remember something?’ Robin asks. ‘About what happened?’

  ‘Finn?’ Robin says again.

  This time Finn looks at him.

  ‘Finn, what do you remember?’

  He stares at him, his pupils unfocused, then down at his shaking hands. Robin notices there are still traces of blood on them, ingrained into the lines of his palms.

  ‘Finn?’ he tries again.

  ‘Mum?’ Finn says, looking at Josie.

  ‘Yes, sweetie, I’m here.’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  Josie glances to Robin, unsure. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, love.’

  ‘But he… It’s my fault…’

  Robin’s breath stops in his chest. He knows he shouldn’t, but he has to ask.

  ‘What happened, Finn? Why is it your fault?’

  Finn starts crying again, and Robin can only just make out what he’s saying through the sobs.

  ‘Jacob. Poor Jacob…’ Finn whispers.

  Robin’s confused. Who is Jacob? Robin looks at Josie. She’s staring at Finn, her mouth open.

  And her face has gone completely white.

  25

  ‘What’s going on, Josie?’ Robin whispers in the hospital corridor. ‘Who the hell is Jacob?’

  ‘Keep your voice down, Robin,’ Josie replies, with a glance at the police guard. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s confused.’

  ‘Finn seemed clear in there,’ Robin says. ‘What’s going on? What’s he talking about?’

  Josie’s face is stern. She looks to Finn, then back to Robin.

  ‘Let’s get a cup of coffee.’

  * * *

  They walk quickly away from the hospital room, leaving Finn quiet in his bed. After he had said those words, Robin had paused, then tried to get more out of him. But he just shook his head.

  ‘Not another word, Finn. Do you understand me?’ Robin said before leaving him, glancing nervously towards the door. ‘Not a word, to anyone.’

  Finn nodded.

  Getting the coffees takes an intolerable amount of time, but at last they are seated in a corner of the bustling canteen.

  ‘Josie?’ Robin prompts again. ‘What did he mean? Who’s Jacob?’

  ‘It’s nothing. He’s getting mixed up.’ Josie sighs, then shakes her head. ‘You remember you went to Scout camp every August? You boys must have been about twelve when you started.’

  Robin remembers clearly. The smell of damp grass. Cold A-frame canvas tents. Cake at eleven o’clock.

  ‘Yes. And?’

  ‘Jacob was one of the boys there. He was a small kid, blonde?’

  Robin frowns. ‘He doesn’t ring a bell. Finn and I were in separate patrols, so we hung out with different people at camp. But what’s that got to do with anything now?’

  ‘Well, he died. I can’t believe you don’t remember this. Or maybe it was the year you didn’t go.’

  ‘Oh, Christ, yes.’ A flicker of recognition catches at the edge of Robin’s mind. He’d broken his leg the August of 1992. A bad tackle in rugby, and he was in a cast from his toes to his thigh, resulting in a miserable, hot summer. That was the last year of Scout camp, and Finn went alone.

  ‘Don’t you remember everyone talking about it?’ Josie asks, and Robin shakes his head. The selfishness of a grumpy fourteen-year-old, focusing only on his own plight. ‘It was all very tragic.’ Josie pauses, drinking her coffee. ‘It must have stuck somehow.’

  ‘And that’s all there is to it?’

  Josie finishes her coffee. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘That’s all it was.’ But there’s a pause that makes Robin lean forward, trying to catch Josie’s eye.

  ‘Josie?’

  ‘It’s not important.’

  ‘It is important. Finn’s in big trouble, and now he’s rambling about some dead kid. If there’s something else, we need to know. We need to tell DI Craig.’

  Josie pauses again, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Then she frowns.

  ‘Josie?’ Robin pushes again.

  ‘Oh, Robin, let it go,’ she exclaims. ‘You remember those camps, there were loads of you boys. Finn didn’t even know him. Jacob died. They all had to come home early. That’s it.’

  ‘That’s it?’ Robin repeats.

  Josie pushes her coffee cup away. ‘Yes.’ She looks at Robin sternly. ‘Now, are you happy? I need to get back to Finn.’

  Josie stands up and walks out of the
canteen. Robin stays behind.

  He takes a sip of his coffee. It’s stone cold.

  Is he happy?

  No, of course he’s not sodding happy. His best friend is in hospital, arrested for murder. He’s an alcoholic. And now he’s rambling about some dead kid from twenty-nine years ago.

  He turns the coffee mug around in his hands, thinking back. What else happened that summer? He remembers the interminable sunshine, the smell of sun cream, the squeals from neighbours in their paddling pools, almost mocking as he sat, sulking, in his cast. Shutting the curtains to stop the sun reflecting off the television as he watched the cricket. He doesn’t remember some kid dying, or maybe… does he? Glimmers of memory cut through. A blonde kid, playing football. Flowers and candles and tributes around the pavilion. Mothers talking in low murmurs on street corners. And Finn?

  He reaches down and pulls the medical notes that Craig left with him out of his bag. He flicks through, looking for something earlier than adulthood, but there’s nothing. Finn’s medical records begin the moment he turned eighteen. But there was something. Finn didn’t start back at school with him that September. Robin’s dad had told him that Finn was ill. But with what? His mind’s a blank.

  Josie’s words had been final: there was nothing to Finn’s strange proclamation. Nothing to link the death of a kid all those years ago to Simon Sharp. But she had seemed off, her tone dismissive. A denial that was almost overcompensating, hiding a truth she didn’t want to share.

  They are the closest people Robin has to family, but his intuition still applies. After twenty years spent interviewing people, he’s certain he can trust his gut, and he knows one thing for sure.

  Josie is lying.

  26

  Sophie sits stunned at her desk. The colleague she shares an office with – a studious, mousy woman with a fondness for crocheted animals – is fortunately at lectures, thus saving Sophie from having to maintain any semblance of normality.

  Her fingers rest in her lap; a cup of herbal tea sits cold in front of her. She runs through their old life in her head, looking for clues of Finn’s drinking. These last few months had been different – with Dr Sharp there, he had been busier than ever, more distracted. But Sophie was used to playing second fiddle to his work, and that had always been fine.