DS Clarke felt the dry burn of guilt as he sat down on the table in the corner of the pub. It wasn’t his local — The Fat Cat always did the best ales — but Rebecca’s birthday was this weekend, and she’d convinced him to buy her a drink. He fiddled with the beer mat, trying to block out the noise of people chatting around him.
“How have you never been to The Plough before?” said Rebecca as she arrived back at their table with a Guinness for him and a green-coloured cocktail with various leaves floating in it. “They do the best mojitos in here. Want to try?” She held the glass out towards him.
He grimaced at the floating plants. “No, thanks. I’ll stick to this.” He nodded his head towards his Guinness as he picked it up and took a sip. “I just don’t tend to come into the city these days. Too crowded.”
Rebecca tutted in response to his grumpy remark. But it was true — it was only a Thursday and they’d just managed to grab the last table in The Plough, which was otherwise full of a combination of students and city workers.
“So, is your birthday Saturday, then?”
She sighed as she gave in. “Nah, Sunday. But I figure we’ll be working, anyhow, and today’s been a hard day, so it’s a perfect excuse to get you out for a drink.”
“I can’t stay long,” Clarke reminded her. “Mother-in-law is looking after Kacey again.”
“I know, I know. We’ll just have one. Call it a debrief session.”
Clarke rolled his eyes as he took another glug of Guinness. It had been so long since he’d gone out for a pint. “Yeah, didn’t go as planned today, did it?”
“Not exactly. He’s a clever man, that Monty. But I think we can still nail him.” Rebecca looked energised, a woman on a mission. So, this was the real reason she’d insisted on going out for a “birthday” drink. “We just need to force him into a situation where he shows his true colours.”
“Go on,” he said, knowing she would tell him regardless.
“Well, I was talking to Teddy–”
“PCSO Teddy?”
“That’s the one. So, he used to work with this girl, Jules, a PSCO in Thetford, before he got moved up to Wymondham. She’s still a PCSO down there, but he knows she wants to move up if possible. Teddy says she’s proper dedicated and will do anything to prove herself. And, well, she’s a tiny little thing and got a right baby face. If you saw her out of uniform, you wouldn’t think she’s much older than fifteen. Though, she’s actually twenty-three.
“I don’t like where you’re going with this.”
Rebecca cut back in, speaking even quicker than normal. “We’ve already spoken to her — hypothetically, of course — and she said she’d certainly be willing to go undercover to help catch someone like that. Seriously, she’s a diddy little thing. If she doesn’t wear any make-up and dresses young, I bet you anything she can pass for fifteen.”
“Reynolds, no.”
She banged her fists on the table, and an image of Kacey doing the same shot into Clarke’s head. “But, we need to catch him actually doing something, Sarge! Or at least catch him on tape being creepy towards a young girl — or someone he believes to be young — and then we might have a bit more of a case towards him. Hell, he might even confess just to shut us up and leave him alone.” She looked pleased with herself that she’d come up with this plan. He had to admit it was a decent idea, in theory, but no way was he going to be the person to put some budding young PCSO in danger.
Clarke took another gulp of his Guinness and let the thick liquid rush down his throat as he tried to play it out in his mind. It was possible that it would work, but then again there were also a lot of ways in which it could go wrong. It might go too far before Jules could get anything on him, and then she might be trapped. Then it wouldn’t only be Teigan’s safety they were worried about.
His thoughts ran away with him, going to those dark memories he was always trying to suppress. How he’d walked out through the car park and seen that familiar coral shoe, covered in blood, poking out under of the parked cars … It was the pair they’d argued over, the ones he had made her feel guilty about buying, saying they couldn’t afford them.
“No,” he spoke firmly, focussing back on the noise in the pub. “I’m not putting an innocent woman in danger.”
“She’s a grown-up and can decide for herself, Sarge. I’d absolutely do it if I could, but obviously he knows me now. Plus, the tiny issue that I can barely pass for twenty-five, let alone fifteen.” Rebecca rolled eyes wistfully and drank some more of her mojito.
“I don’t care. I’m leading this investigation and I won’t have my team putting each other in unnecessary danger.”
“Police put themselves in dangerous situations all the time, Sarge. That’s half the reason we all go into it — because we like the adrenaline rush. Jules really wants an opportunity to show she can do more than just be a PCSO. We’ll make sure she doesn’t get hurt.” Despite himself, Clarke’s eyes started to well with tears. He cleared his throat and wiped furiously at his eyes. He wouldn’t normally get emotional in public, but it was almost eighteen months to the day that it happened. With his emotions already revealed, he began to tell Rebecca what had happened.
It had been their anniversary, not their wedding anniversary, but the anniversary of their first date, way back when they’d met at University of East Anglia. They’d agreed they wouldn’t do anything too fancy, as it was only a Wednesday, but he’d promised to get home at a reasonable time so they could have dinner and cosy up with a film. Emily’s mother had agreed to watch Kacey for the night, so he had secretly hoped that the film watching would be short-lived and they’d make the most of the empty house, instead. He’d had a busy afternoon, mainly spent interviewing two guys for burglary. It hadn’t been a massive burglary, but it was clear to Clarke that these criminals were capable of much more violent crime. It was in their eyes, a deep resentment and hate for the society that had let them down time after time. He’d eventually let them go and had spent the final half hour doing the obligatory paperwork before realising it was half past six already. He’d panicked, as he’d promised to be home by six at the latest.
He’d grabbed his bag and made for the car park, muttering under his breath as he pictured Emily at home, pissed off that he was late on their anniversary, of all days. As he had headed towards the car, something pricked away at him, like a warning. He’d slowed down, wondering what was making him feel edgy. Then, he’d spotted it. That familiar coral shoe, on the ground by his car. But it wasn’t just coral anymore — it was a mixture of coral and blood red. As he had stepped forward, his limbs shaking, he had seen Emily’s bare leg poking out from under the car, splattered in blood.
He had dragged her body away from the car, his hands immediately soaked in his wife’s blood. He hadn’t even bothered to check for a pulse before starting CPR, as he had known in his own heart that his wife’s heart wasn’t beating. He had desperately blown oxygen into her mouth and had begun compressions, his chest feeling like it might explode at any moment. He’d noticed figures running towards him — his colleagues leaving the office had spotted the disaster unfolding in front of them.
“Get the paramedics!” he’d screamed. “Now! Get them here!”
He’d continued the compressions way past the point of no return, until the paramedics had eventually peeled her lifeless body away from him, taking his last shred of hope with them. He stayed there on his knees, his trousers soaked through with a mixture of rain and Emily’s blood, before Fitzpatrick and Donaghue had eventually heaved him off the ground.
Rebecca’s horrified face was staring at him, one hand covering her gaping mouth. “Oh God, Sarge, I’m so sorry. What — who?”
He swallowed down the hard lump in his throat. “The lads I’d had in for the burglary. They’d been hanging about the station, probably meant to beat me up when I left. But they must have heard Emily on the phone or something when she arrived, realised who she was, and decided attacking her would hurt me more.” He choked on his words. “She wasn’t supposed to be there. I found out later that she had come to surprise me with a Norwich season ticket and dinner reservations at Loch Fyne.”
“Jesus, Sarge.”
“This ring,” he pointed to the blue band on his finger. “It’s one of those special ones where you have the ashes mixed in. That’s why it’s on my wedding finger, so she’s always with me.”
Rebecca nodded, her own eyes filled with tears. “I’m so sorry,” she croaked, her voice thick with tears of sympathy. She clasped both his hands within her own, leaning across the middle of the table. The other people in the pub must have thought they were a couple in the process of breaking up.
“The younger one, Callaghan, got a ridiculously reduced sentence. Claimed he was forced into it by the older guy. Diminished responsibility, blah blah. Both the bastards should have gotten life. Callaghan only got five bloody years.” Clarke shuddered as the thought that always haunted him echoed round his mind. Callaghan would be back out in the world by the time Kacey turned seven years old.
“Sarge,” Rebecca spoke softly. “What if someone like that has got Teigan right now? What if Monty hurt her, then passed her on to some of his paedophile friends? Shouldn’t we use every method possible to stop it and get her back safely?”
Clarke wiped his eyes dry with a quick sweep of his forearm. It was true that the case was looking darker and darker by the second. What had initially looked like a teenage runaway following an argument with her mum had turned into a case with slashed-open dolls with warnings against paedophiles, and he was taking that warning very seriously.
He let out a sigh, accepting defeat. Rebecca was right — they didn’t have any other choice.