by Louisa Scarr
The massive Tesco across the road is open, and he wastes half an hour buying random food for breakfast, plus two coffees from the shop next door. Then, back at the Premier Inn, he knocks on her door.
She answers, up and dressed, and takes the coffee eagerly.
‘I’m sorry for falling asleep in your room,’ Robin gabbles immediately. He offers the plastic tray of pink-sprinkled doughnuts as an apology.
‘You’re forgiven,’ she smiles, selecting one. ‘Although I’m starting to take it personally. Is my company really that dull?’
She perches on the edge of the bed, eating the doughnut delicately, holding it between two fingers. He sits on the chair, doing the same, but with less success.
‘I promise, it’s nothing to do with you,’ he replies.
But actually, it is.
When he’s with Freya, he relaxes. There is none of his usual worry: the social awkwardness he has around others. She’s seen him at his worst, all pretence gone – so his unconscious lets him sleep. He realises with a start that she’s probably the only person, apart from Liam, with whom he feels this way.
She finishes the doughnut, then sips her coffee. He notices that her case is already packed; next door, his is the same. He offers her another doughnut.
She shakes her head. ‘Let’s keep them for the journey,’ she replies.
* * *
This time, the 120-mile drive from Devon to Hampshire is quiet. Robin is more solemn; the holiday feeling has gone. Going home hasn’t been nearly as bad as he imagined – confrontation with Josie aside – and he resolves anew to return and sort that dratted storage unit out. The box of photo albums lurks in the boot.
They pass Exeter Services and hit the A35 without event. Freya looks out of the window, softly singing to a song on Radio 2 that Robin’s never heard before.
‘Freya?’ Robin says, and she turns. ‘This wasn’t exactly the break you were after, was it?’ She looks at him blankly. ‘I mean,’ he continues, ‘you needed some time off, and all I did was drag you into more bloody police work.’
She smiles. ‘It’s fine. It didn’t feel like work. I feel better.’ He looks at her doubtfully. ‘I do, I promise! Not, you know, one hundred per cent, but it was a break. Time away from the station, from everything that reminds me of Jon. I will go and see the doctor,’ she adds, quieter now. ‘But being away with you, having dinner with Sandra and…’ She pauses for a moment. ‘It felt good. That’s all. I’m just sorry it didn’t end as you wanted it to.’
‘I’m not sure how I wanted it to end,’ Robin says. ‘I wanted to help Finn. And look how that turned out.’
His phone interrupts them, ringing loudly over the speaker. Robin answers it and DCI Neal Baker’s voice booms around the car.
‘Butler, where are you? Are you headed back?’
Using his surname can only mean it’s police business. Robin answers accordingly. ‘Yes, guv. We’re on our way now.’
‘We? You and West? Good. Come straight to the station. West can continue the freezer investigation with Smith. You come to my office.’
‘What’s it concerning, boss?’ Robin asks, feeling the drag of bad news.
‘Just come here straight away, you hear me?’
‘Message received, guv. ETA about an hour and a half.’
Baker hangs up and Robin glances to Freya. ‘That can’t be good,’ he says.
And for the first time, he wishes for roadworks on the A31. Anything to hold off the feeling of impending doom.
43
Despite the fact that Robin’s been in the car for three hours straight, he does exactly as he’s told and heads directly to Baker’s office.
DCI Neal Baker is sat at his desk, a grim expression on his face. He points to the chair in front of him and Robin sits down.
‘So,’ he begins. ‘DI Craig’s been in touch.’
‘And?’ Robin almost holds his breath. But what news is he hoping for? Finn’s either been assessed fit to interview and has been charged with Sharp’s murder or he’s still desperately sick in hospital. Turns out it’s neither.
‘She wants you to leave her alone.’
Robin sits back in the chair with a frustrated sigh. ‘I’ve been away all weekend. What more does she want?’
‘She wants to get on with her job, Robin. And she’s fed up with you questioning her every move.’
‘I haven’t been—’
‘You have. And you know it.’ Baker’s tone is softer this time. ‘Listen, to appease me she sent across the file and I had a good read last night. Everything tallies. The PM results, the blood spatter from the scene, the testimony from the camera crew and the lab. If it were me investigating, I’d have come to the same conclusion.’
‘Is the camera footage still missing?’ Robin asks.
‘Yes – and that’s a problem. And the fingerprint analysis from the knife is contradictory.’ Robin goes to say something but Baker stops him. ‘Even without that, Rob, there’s a whole load of evidence that says he did it. Look, here.’ He pulls the file out from underneath another on his desk. ‘Read it. And you’ll see it doesn’t look good.’
He holds it out; Robin takes it.
‘I’ll give you one more day, Robin. Then you’ll either be off on compassionate leave, supporting the family, or I expect you back at work. You can take over this freezer death from Smith, because he’s getting bloody nowhere.’
‘Thanks, guv,’ Robin says, and leaves.
The door closes. Around Robin, the police station is busy with its usual bustle. He envies the coppers, with their enthusiasm and purpose. He looks at the file in his hand. It’s bulky, which is always a bad sign.
He sighs. Baker’s right, Craig’s right – even Josie’s right. He needs to leave it alone. But first, he thinks, I’ll make sure. And he heads home to have a read.
44
Josh does a double-take when she walks into the incident room, then blushes in a way that Freya finds pleasing.
Mina throws her hands in the air and exclaims, ‘Thank god you’re back. I can’t deal with Captain America by myself any longer.’
Freya laughs and sinks down into the chair next to them. ‘Been having fun then?’
‘She’s exaggerating,’ Josh protests. ‘I’m not that bad.’
Mina gives him the side-eye. ‘It’s a good job he’s pretty.’ Josh blushes again. ‘So how was your trip?’ she asks.
‘Fine.’ Freya changes the subject. ‘Do you want coffee?’
Mina holds her mug out eagerly and Freya makes her way to the kitchen. She notices Josh trailing behind, then glances back as they both go inside.
‘Listen, Freya,’ he begins, hesitantly. ‘I’m sorry about that text. I shouldn’t have asked you out. It was a spontaneous thing, and I sent it and then you didn’t reply and then I realised how bloody inappropriate it was.’ Freya lets him talk, and he gabbles on, staring at his empty mug. ‘I’m your sergeant—’
‘Temporarily,’ Freya interrupts.
‘Yeah, but still. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I realise now you wanted to say no and you didn’t know how, and…’ He trails off, then manages to meet her eyes for a second.
Freya smiles. ‘It was fine. It wasn’t that at all.’
‘It wasn’t?’
‘No.’ Freya takes his mug out of his hand and washes it with the other two in the sink. She’s playing for time, debating whether to tell him. She can feel Josh’s eyes on the back of her neck.
‘I’d like to go out with you—’ she starts.
‘You would?’
She turns for a second, smiling at the big grin on his face. And she realises that now she’s said it that she would. Very much. ‘Yes. But it’s complicated.’ She spoons instant coffee into their mugs. ‘I was involved with this guy, a while back. It ended badly.’
‘I know all about bad break-ups…’ Josh starts, but she cuts him off.
‘He died.’
‘Oh.’ Josh’s face f
alls. ‘I’m sorry.’
Freya dismisses his comment with a shrug, then pours the boiling water into the mugs. She points to the fridge that Josh’s standing awkwardly in front of. ‘Milk?’
‘Right, yes.’ He hands it to her and she pours it in.
‘I just need a bit more time.’ She stirs the coffees, then throws the spoon into the sink. She passes him his mug. ‘If that’s okay?’
‘Yes. Of course.’
They walk back to Mina, who’s watching them with curiosity. Freya avoids her unsaid question quickly: ‘Made any progress on our freezer man?’ she asks. ‘Duncan Thorpe?’
‘Christ, if only,’ Mina says. ‘Every lead comes to a dead end. The guys who dumped the freezer have an alibi around time of death—’
‘And bugger-all motive,’ adds Josh.
‘Bottles and fag butts in the bus shelter have four different DNA profiles and a variety of fingerprints, but no hits on the system. Although some do match the prints found on the freezer. Plus, the lab found fibres on the vic that don’t match his clothes.’
Freya raises an eyebrow. ‘Our trio of troublemakers?’
‘Maybe,’ Josh agrees. ‘But not enough grounds for a warrant to confirm. CCTV is a complete loss – nobody was out in the storm.’
‘And there is no dashcam footage, no cashpoint cameras, no witnesses, no trace round the freezer or footwear marks.’ Mina leans back in her chair. ‘If you want to kill someone, it seems the middle of a storm is the best time.’
‘Are we even sure he was killed?’ Freya asks.
They shrug in unison. ‘Official COD is suffocation,’ Josh says.
Mina looks pointedly towards Josh. ‘Tell her,’ she pushes. Then she looks at Freya. ‘Josh has a theory.’
‘It’s stupid.’
‘So share,’ Freya says.
‘And we have no way to prove it.’
‘Why not?’
‘The only way we can is to get hold of the freezer and replicate the conditions. And the lab said no.’
Freya looks from Mina to Josh and back again. ‘Would the same type of freezer work?’
Josh looks at her, interested.
‘Because,’ Freya continues, ‘I have that exact one in my house.’
45
It’s not good, and Robin knows it; DI Jo Craig’s investigation into the murder of Dr Simon Sharp is solid. He’s been sitting at his kitchen table for two hours now, reviewing her file, paper and documents laid out in front of him.
Interview transcripts, crime scene photos, the full report from the post-mortem – it’s all here. The PM concludes cause of death was exsanguination from the knife wound on his neck. The blood spatter in the van tallies. The interview with the cameraman talks about the argument – even Finn’s own PhD student Ian Calloway agrees that the relationship between the two of them was strained. Finn’s hard drive contains a paper written by Sharp, taking full credit for the radar they were testing that night. And Finn himself was a mess. Not looking after himself, drinking more than should be humanly possible. Even experimenting with LSD, although there was none in his blood that day.
But despite all this, Robin still can’t believe that Finn would resort to murder. Even if they had argued, even if he was drunk – to take a knife and slit someone’s throat? It’s ridiculous.
He looks at the photos of the crime scene again. He remembers it from that day, and from the subsequent visit with Craig. Blood everywhere. Mess and papers strewn around. A few plates lying discarded on the side. A window, shut, with a line of blood across it.
He flicks through the reports in front of him and picks up the lab results on the knife. Blood from Simon Sharp, as would have been expected. But the next finding wasn’t so clear. The only fingerprints found on the knife came from Sharp.
He squints at the photos, showing the location of the prints. One on the handle, and a thumbprint on the blade. But nothing from Finn. That doesn’t make sense, surely? As Baker said, it’s contradictory to the arrest. How could Finn have killed him without putting a single print on the knife?
Robin pushes the photos to one side and picks up a memory stick, sent along with the file. He puts it into the side of his laptop and it whirs for a moment, loading.
The memory stick contains three videos, and Robin clicks on the first. It’s footage, professionally filmed, from outside the van. Finn is standing next to Simon Sharp, looking nervous next to the confident Sharp, watching him intently as he talks. Simon’s doing an introduction to the programme, talking about what they’re there to do and the storm they’re expecting that night. He’s clear and charismatic, everything Robin has come to expect from watching the previous episodes of his show. Robin feels a pang of sadness for the man. For the potential he had, before it was wiped out.
Sharp introduces Finn, who then talks for a moment about the equipment they’re testing. Once he’s on a subject he knows, Finn’s manner changes. He looks directly into the camera, his face alive, his voice full of enthusiasm. They cut, and the video ends. The time: 21:46.
He moves on to the next, and it’s dull. Robin can see it’s footage from the outside of the van during the storm. He glances down at the report that DC Grey put together describing the video, listing the events seen on screen. Everything ties up with the reports from that night. The rain begins. At 00:32 Justin White leaves, then the wind intensifies and the storm escalates. It’s chaos out there; Robin can see the weather conditions that Justin had described in his interview: the wind, flashes of lightning, furious rain, all beating down on the car park. It’s bedlam. The weather subsides, gently, steadily. Then nothing happens until 03:38 when Justin White returns and calls the police.
So far, so expected.
But the last video makes a lump catch in Robin’s throat.
It’s a more informal film, recorded on a handheld camera. It’s just Finn and Sharp in the van, sat by the table, the night dark, the storm beginning. Sharp is smiling, holding a large bottle of champagne. The camera is placed down next to them and Finn comes into shot, holding out a mug to be filled by Sharp. The two put their arms round each other and smile into the camera, chinking their mugs together in celebration. This is the Finn that Robin knew. Enjoying the moment, the pinnacle of his professional career. And these two are happy. There is no animosity between them, no reluctance. On this video, they look like good friends.
Robin looks at the timestamp: 01:05. Just before the eye of the storm hit. He shakes his head. So in the two hours after this video was taken, Sharp was killed.
He glances at the time – it’s way past visiting hours at the hospital now, and Robin feels the guilt. He knows he should have gone there to check on Finn, but he was avoiding Josie. He needs to apologise, but he hasn’t yet mustered the energy. And he can’t take another showdown. Or at the very least, her disappointed silence.
He shuts the laptop lid angrily, and as he does so, he hears a knock on the door. He gets up and answers it, smiling when he sees his brother-in-law.
Liam sighs when he sees him. ‘Why don’t you answer your bloody phone, Robin?’
‘Sorry, I’ve been busy. But if I’d known you’d come round looking like this…’
Robin moves out of the way, as Liam pushes past him into the hallway, dragging a large racing bike behind him. He’s head-to-toe in bright orange Lycra, a bike helmet on his head. Liam’s walking oddly, and once the bike is leaning against the wall, he sits down at the bottom of the stairs to take off his cleats.
‘You’re not allowed to take the piss,’ Liam replies, taking a swig of water from the bottle attached to his bike. ‘I wouldn’t have to come out here if you just spoke to me once in a while.’
‘Don’t you have a car?’ Robin tilts his head to one side and appraises his brother-in-law with a wince. ‘Christ, Liam, I can see what you had for breakfast.’
‘Piss off. Now fetch me a towel, before I freeze to death.’
Robin does as he’s told and goes upstairs to his bat
hroom. When he comes back downstairs again, Liam’s sitting at his kitchen table, looking at a crime scene photo with interest. Robin throws the towel to him and Liam wipes the sweat off his face.
‘Is this what you’ve been working on?’ he asks.
‘Yeah. Although not work, as such.’ Robin explains the case as best he can, talking about Finn and all the evidence against him.
‘I’m sorry, mate,’ Liam replies. ‘But it looks like you’ve done everything you can for your friend.’
‘I know,’ Robin replies, grimly.
‘And how was Devon?’
‘Unchanged.’
‘You should have said, I would have come, too. It must have been hard to go there alone.’
‘Freya came with me.’
‘Oh, okay.’ There’s a long pause, and Robin feels Liam looking at him.
‘Nothing like that,’ he replies.
‘No? Oh, okay. I guess, I just hoped…’
Robin smiles. ‘You did, did you?’
‘Christ, I’m turning into Georgia.’ Liam takes a long breath in, then leans back on Robin’s chair. ‘All she ever did was worry about you. “Do you think Robin’s okay? Do you think that new girlfriend is right for him? Do you think we should invite him round for dinner?” It used to drive me mad, Rob.’ He laughs. ‘And now I’m doing it.’
Robin returns Liam’s smile. ‘I’m fine. Honestly. And I promise there’s nothing going on between Freya and I.’
‘You can hardly blame me for thinking there is. She’s the only person you talk about.’
‘That’s not true,’ Robin responds automatically, but then he realises Liam’s probably right. Who else does he see every day?
But Liam’s gone quiet. He’s staring at the tabletop, his face downcast, his eyebrows knitted together.
‘Are you okay, Liam?’ Robin asks.
‘Yeah… Look, I need to talk to you.’
Robin senses the mood change. The familiar sinking sensation in his stomach grows. Whatever Liam has to say, Robin knows it’s not good.
