‘ARE YOU ALL right?’
‘I’m fine, sir.’
‘You don’t look fine.’
‘I am, honestly.’
‘Why don’t you go home?’
‘I don’t want to, sir.’
Paul Wells tutted loudly; it was easier to get his hyperactive grandchildren into an early bed than it was to coax the stubborn Mia Harvey into believing that her way wasn’t necessarily the best. While she settled at her desk he poured her a coffee, scrutinized her face carefully as he handed her the mug.
‘You look bloody awful,’ he said.
And he was right. Mia had had a lousy night. She’d slept fitfully, her fractured dreams bringing images of both parents in happier times. And although those images had offered a welcome – if fleeting – relief, they’d also compounded her grief a hundredfold as she struggled towards wakefulness, clutching at the duvet, her cheeks awash with tears.
Crying into her pillow would solve nothing, however. She needed to get a grip. And she would. Work would be her refuge from now on: their team her only family.
‘Has Nick gone to see Jack?’ Mia asked. It was 9.30 a.m. He should have been in by now.
Wells nodded. ‘We phoned first. He’s awake … and moaning nonstop, apparently.’
Mia found a smile. ‘You know Jack, sir. He can’t be without his hair gel.’
‘And those hospital gowns are hardly designer standard,’ said Wells, with the beginnings of a grin.
‘Did they mention his injuries?’
The DCI’s grin morphed into a growl as he reached for his notebook. ‘Concussion. A few loose teeth. Badly blurred vision. Cuts and bruises on his upper body….’
‘God…. Why did it happen, sir?’
‘The nasty bleeder was pissed. High as a bloody kite, an’ all. Him and his mate had been celebrating the birth of his son and heir – first in a new line of law-breaking scum,’ said Wells, scowling. ‘Anyway, daddy wanted to buy the kid a present, only he’d spent all his dole on the booze and drugs. What could they do? Oh yes … pinch a few DVDs and sell them on. Top marks for initiative, Mr …’ Wells consulted his notes. ‘… Jason Perry.’ He shrugged. ‘So, of course, when Jack dared to stop him, our Mr Perry took offence.’
‘Where are they?’
‘Still in the cells till we get Jack’s statement.’
‘They’ll not get bail, surely?’
‘He won’t,’ Wells said heavily. ‘Not if I can help it.’
The threat of physical violence was a constant in their job. That was one of the reasons why they went around in pairs, but life was fluid, circumstances variable; you only had to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and … Mia sighed inwardly. She’d try to call in on Jack later. Take him something nice.
Picking up her pen and reaching for a wad of papers from her Intray Mia attempted to rouse a little enthusiasm.
‘I thought you’d be at the cemetery, sir.’
‘I’m going when Nick gets back. You can come, if you like.’
Thank God for that, Mia silently breathed. She’d been certain the DCI would keep her chained to a desk for the rest of that week at least – and brain-numbing paperwork was the last thing she needed. She smiled her thanks at him.
‘Fancy another coffee?’ he asked, about to get to his feet.
‘Let me,’ she said, quickly leaving her desk. Mia was forever complaining to the others about her thankless role as the DCI’s unelected tea-lady. But she’d rather pander to him; it wasn’t in her nature to accept being mollycoddled.
She was handing across his mug when Nick burst in, red in the face and breathing heavily. ‘The lift’s broke again,’ he muttered.
While Mia filled a mug and took it to his desk, Nick opened his briefcase and gave Wells a copy of Jack’s statement. ‘He couldn’t remember everything, sir, but it should be OK.’
The statement covered two pages. Wells scanned Jack’s neat handwriting in silence. Then he went over it a second time, occasionally making notes on a scruffy piece of foolscap.
He looked up at Nick. ‘Have you given your account?’
‘Yes, uniformed have a copy.’ He pulled a Xeroxed sheet from his briefcase. ‘Here’s one for you, sir.’
‘How is Jack?’ asked Mia.
‘Knackered,’ said Nick, between swigs of his coffee. ‘When I got there he was writing a formal statement for the prosecution in the rape case.’
Mia tutted. ‘Couldn’t they let him wake up properly first?’
‘They’re summing up this afternoon so …’ Nick shrugged.
‘Poor old Jack,’ she said, laughing. ‘He’s already done a day’s work and it’s not even eleven o’clock yet. No wonder he’s moaning.’
‘What’re downstairs doing Perry for?’ Wells asked Nick.
‘Apart from the shoplifting? – assault occasioning actual bodily harm.’
‘Good. He’ll likely get a custodial with his list of previous.’
‘Jack might be going home tomorrow,’ Nick went on.
The DCI frowned. ‘Bit soon, isn’t it?’
‘Michelle’s mum’s a retired nurse. She’s offered to move in with them till he’s better.’
Mia snorted. ‘He’ll be back here by the end of the week, checking his pretty-boy face in the mirror every few minutes and stinking the place out with TCP.’
‘Doubt that,’ said Nick, perching on the edge of her desk. ‘His vision’s still not right. They’re fast-tracking an appointment with an eye specialist.’
There followed a fearful silence; when Mia’s horrified gaze settled on Wells, his spirits sank. He’d seen that look a thousand times on his daughters’ faces – when they were small and life had cruelly disturbed their safe and seemingly uncomplicated world. Do something, it said; make it better. But there was nothing he could do. He was powerless.
‘Won’t be a minute,’ said Mia, on the verge of tears as she grabbed her shoulder bag. ‘I need the loo.’
She was making for the door when it opened on to Jim Levers, their usually mellow duty sergeant.
‘You won’t bloody well believe this,’ he said, coming to a stop before the DCI’s desk.
Wells smiled, thankful for the timely interruption. ‘Tell us anyway.’
‘That bastard, Jason Perry … he’s only made a complaint against Jack for assault.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Mia, her laugh hollow.
Wells frowned. ‘He’s already lodged the complaint? Who interviewed him?’
‘Greg Taylor.’
‘What’s the dozy bleeder playing at? He knows the state Jack’s in.’
‘He’d no choice,’ said Levers. ‘A witness came forward, said it was Jack who started the fight. She’s willing to testify in court. Said we’re all a load of animals and we’ve got to be stopped.’
Wells’s hangdog features lengthened considerably, but after a moment’s contemplation he let out a short staccato laugh.
‘Why are we worrying?’ he said. ‘It’ll never get to court.’
He sounded certain enough. He just hoped to Christ he was right.
So they were fast-tracking an appointment with an eye specialist. Mia gave a tiny shudder in the passenger seat of Nick’s car. They didn’t do that for nothing. When her mother’s glaucoma had become especially problematic a couple of years ago, they’d waited almost six months before Mia finally ran out of patience and paid for a private appointment.
Poor Jack. Poor stupid Jack. Why hadn’t he hung on for Nick before charging in, all guns blazing? He could have even let the bastard go, rather than risk an injury that might … She stifled a gasp. What if his sight never returns to normal? What if he goes blind?
It wasn’t fair. Jack had never hurt anyone. And his life had been going so well. His marriage to Michelle – although rocky to begin with – was strong and an absolute joy to witness. Their little boy was gorgeous and well above average intelligence; the nursery teachers said so. Jack was studying hard for promotion, with Wells backing him all the way.
And now this.
What if Jack couldn’t watch his son grow into a man?
As the sunlit countryside zipped past her passenger window Mia mentally chastized herself, trying to banish all such morbid thoughts from her mind; she couldn’t carry on like this. She’d have to snap out of it. In their job they faced death and near fatal injuries regularly; they were trained to distance themselves, almost to stand outside their bodies whilst witnessing the atrocities human beings inflict upon each other with such shattering regularity.
Why then was she allowing such ghoulish thoughts to take a hold? Was her subconscious mind forcing her to wallow in the macabre as a punishment for abandoning her mother at the very time the poor woman had needed her most? Was death merely a distant concept … until it crept stealthily into your personal zone, showing you that life wasn’t everlasting, that one day it would be your turn?
Mia’s breath caught in her throat.
What’s Mum got to do with Jack? What’s death got to do with anything? Jack wasn’t dying – at least they could all be thankful for that.
A tight band of anxiety wound itself around Mia’s chest, taking her completely by surprise. She couldn’t breathe; couldn’t even let Nick know she was in difficulty. She was battling with the seat belt, trying to wrench it from its latch, when a wad of tissues appeared on her lap and dragged her back to the present.
She gave Nick a puzzled frown. ‘What’re these for?’
He was guiding the car into a lay-by, his handsome face hugely troubled. ‘Take a look,’ he said, pulling down the sun visor in front of her.
Mia glanced up into the small mirror attached to the visor. And a stranger looked back at her. A stranger with rivulets of black mascara running down her sallow cheeks.
‘You look like Coco the fucking Clown,’ said Nick, in that terribly alluring way of his.
She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t even been aware that she was crying.
Thankful for the tissues, Mia set about repairing the damage. She risked a glance at Nick. ‘You won’t say anything to Wells,’ she said, cringing at her pleading tone. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me.’
‘I do,’ said Nick, pulling on the handbrake. ‘I thought you’d be better off coming into work today, Mia, but now I’m not so sure.’
‘Oh don’t you start,’ she said, sighing. ‘I have enough of that from the boss.’
Nick released his seatbelt and sat back, arms folded. ‘You’ve just lost your mum. It is OK to grieve, you know.’
‘Yes, I do know,’ she said, turning towards the side window.
‘So give yourself a break. Take that compassionate leave they’ve offered.’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Let Wells see me crumble when things get tough. That’d suit your purposes just fine, wouldn’t it, Nick?’
He gave a couldn’t-care-less shrug, reached for his cigarettes on the dashboard and opened the driver’s door wide before lighting up.
Mia left the car and flounced towards a sickly hedge bordering the lay-by, seemingly intent on studying its sparse dust-covered leaves. Nick watched her closely. He knew what she was going through because a number of years ago he’d lost his pregnant wife in a car crash.
His whole future taken away by a patch of black ice.
And instead of facing the trauma head-on, he’d done exactly what Mia was trying to do now. He’d carried on as though everything was fine. But it hadn’t been fine. Unable to cope with the endless sympathetic glances from his colleagues, with the way in which they were forced to pussyfoot around the subject of his loss, Nick had put in for a transfer to Larchborough, and once there he’d kept his past a secret, had hidden his grief behind a tough-guy image which served only to alienate him from almost the entire workforce.
He’d been vile to Mia on many occasions; indeed, he’d almost come to enjoy their open rivalry in front of DCI Wells. They were like two toddlers, vying for Daddy’s attention. Nick laughed inwardly as he pulled on the cigarette, his gaze still on Mia’s back. Life was such a fucking joke when all was said and done.
He’d been racked with guilt after his wife’s accident. He was supposed to have seen to the car’s loose brakes and he hadn’t. Now Mia was experiencing that same guilt over her mother, and it would destroy her if she wasn’t careful.
Nick didn’t want that to happen. He wanted to save her from herself. Why? Because even when he was at his most vicious, compromising her professional integrity and stabbing her in the back, Mia always rose above it, always found strength within herself to put the job first. She wasn’t one to bear a grudge. And the times she’d covered for him….
Nick took a final drag on his cigarette, tossed the butt on to the road, and meandered towards her, hands in his trouser pockets. Mia heard him approach and, her back still towards him, started rifling the depths of her shoulder bag with all the eagerness of Robert Langdon in search of the Holy Grail.
He stopped beside her, moved to rest a hand on her shoulder, but thought better of it. ‘Can I say something?’
‘Depends on what it is,’ she said, her attention still on the bag.
‘If you ever need to talk – about your mother … Jack … anything – then I’m always here to listen.’
She turned to him and snorted, her eyes searching for that tell-tale piss-taking light in his. ‘You what?’
‘I’m just saying….’
Mia was still searching his eyes, still looking for the hate she normally found there. But all she could see in those fathomless brown depths was compassion.
Highly flustered, she fastened the bag and hitched it on her shoulder. ‘We’d better get off,’ she said, heading back to the car. ‘The boss’ll be wanting an update.’ Wells was at the hospital, informing Jack of Jason Perry’s audacious claim.
They’d travelled probably half a mile when Nick said, ‘The crime scene … is it anywhere near your mother’s…?’
‘Grave? Is that the word you’re searching for?’ Mia sighed heavily. ‘No, it’s not. And look, Nick, I’m fine.’
‘Oh yeah? I wasn’t the one nearly flooding the car back there.’
‘If you ever mention that again … I’m fine. It was—’
‘It was a panic attack, Mia. You’re not fine.’
‘I know what you’re up to,’ she said, letting out a savage laugh. ‘You’re trying to undermine me. This is the first mummified corpse we’ve found and you want it for yourself. Well, tough, Nick. I’ve beaten you before, and I’ll do it on this one. You see if I don’t.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on it. And as your superior officer, I’ll be taking the lead with the Reverend.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Mia said to the side window. ‘He’s back to his normal juvenile self.’ She gave him a sideways glance. ‘Don’t try to be nice, Nick. It doesn’t suit you.’