34

My dreams for the next few nights were fractured, but two moments lingered like a mental aftertaste, which soured my thoughts for most of the next few days. I had been in a massive vehicle gaining speed, thundering down a hill. A faceless passenger was screaming at me to hit the brakes, but as much as I stretched and reached down with my foot, I couldn’t get near them. My speed grew and grew.

I reached, desperately stretching every muscle of my legs and feet but I could hit nothing.

The person beside me, their face twisted into a horrified mask yelled, ‘Brake!’

That panic shifted and became something else. A discomfort every bit as sharp in my mind as my fright had been seconds before. A door opened. A man stood there. A slightly chubbier and older version of me. When he saw me his expression was tight and grim, and full of loathing.

‘You’re not my brother,’ he said, and slammed the door in my face.

Over and over the same dream presented itself to me, and as it repeated my sleeping mind must have recognised the pattern because my unease grew with each viewing. A disquiet that pressed against the muscles of my back, making me want to turn and run. But I was powerless. I had absolutely no control over events. This loop would run for ever.

The door would open.

The man would stand there, motionless.

‘You’re not my brother.’

At lunch break, almost a week after we’d last visited Elsa, I made for the staff toilets and in there I splashed cold water over my face and studied myself in the mirror. My eyes looked haunted and I could barely meet myself in them.

A colleague paused beside me, going to drying his hands.

‘You alright, John?’

‘Didn’t sleep too well last night, Dan,’ I replied. ‘Got so much on just now.’ It was a common complaint among teachers, the workload, and that was enough for him to make a grunt of recognition and return to his own thoughts.

In the staff room, I pulled my lunch and my mobile phone from my locker. A quick check: I had no texts and no missed calls. Then I eyed my limp tuna sandwich, felt a twist of nausea and reached for the kettle. Just as I finished preparing myself a cuppa my mobile rang out. It was unusual for me to get a call during work hours so I answered it immediately. It was Chris.

‘Yeah?’ What on earth was he doing calling at this time of the day?

‘It’s Elsa Brown. She’s dead.’

‘What?’ My mind presented me with a picture of her in her chair, head back, mouth open, eyes glazed.

‘Apparently we were among the last people to see her alive, so the police want to speak to you.’

‘Sorry, what’s going on?’

‘John,’ Chris said loudly. ‘You need to get your head in the game, mate. The police are on their way…’

‘But I’m at work.’

‘Best to get it over with, and appear willing.’

‘Right,’ I said uncertainly, already worrying about what the head would have to say about this.

‘Nothing to worry about, they think it was an accident. Just be completely honest and tell them what we were doing there and why.’

‘She’s really dead?’ I asked, unnecessarily. Someone I was speaking to just a few days ago was deceased. A thought entered my head like a sniper’s bullet. Did my appearance in her life have something to do with it? ‘They think it was an accident?’

‘Take a breath, John,’ Chris said, and I realised I was in shock. My pulse felt rapid in my neck and I felt dizzy. I allowed myself to slump onto a chair.

How could she have had an accident in her own home that would kill her? She had been worried that someone would see Chris and me entering her home. Did her death have something to do with that?

‘Oh my God.’

‘You’ll be okay in a second,’ Chris said, and absently I wondered when he had become this calm and collected person.

Several thoughts hit me at the same time. Guilt – would she still be alive if I hadn’t pursued my search for Thomas? And disappointment – she was one of the last people to touch Thomas’s life that I knew. What else was in her head that would have helped me find him?

A school secretary entered the room, slightly out of breath. Mary Quinn.

‘Ah, Mr Docherty. There you are.’ Her expression was questioning. ‘There are a couple of police gentlemen who are asking to speak to you. Her voice was loud enough for Chris to hear it at the other end of my phone.

‘I’ve already given my statement, so just tell them what happened and you’ll be fine.’

‘I’ve put them in Mr White’s office for now,’ Mary said. ‘He’s out at a meeting this morning.’

I nodded to Mary, but then a thought occurred to me. ‘How did they know to get in touch with you?’ I asked Chris.

‘One of the neighbours must have reported my hire car being there. Make and model and there is a sticker on the inside back window for the car-hire company. Would have been dead easy to find us.’

‘Mr Docherty?’ Mary persisted.

‘Better go,’ I said to Chris and hung up.

One of the police officers standing waiting for me barely looked old enough to shave, while his partner looked like he had one hand reaching out for his pension pot.

‘John Docherty?’ The younger one said.

‘The very same,’ I said, and stood at the side of White’s immaculate desk.

Without any preamble the older one began to speak. He gave me both their names, then got straight to the point. ‘We believe you visited Mrs Elsa Brown at her home last week?’

I nodded. ‘I did, yes.’

‘Her dog,’ he replied, ‘wouldn’t stop barking. Was doing it all night apparently, so her next-door neighbour, who had a spare key, let herself in and found Mrs Brown prostrate on her living-room floor. She phoned an ambulance, but she died on the way to the hospital.’

‘Jesus,’ I whispered.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ the younger cop said.

I shook my head. ‘I barely knew … I’d only met her once or twice.’

The young cop pursed his lips and gave a short, sharp nod as if I’d just confirmed something.

‘What time did you leave her house?’ asked the older man.

‘Can’t have been late,’ I thought and scratched at my face. ‘When I got back home it couldn’t have been much later than eight.’

‘You were visiting her with your brother, Chris. May we ask why?’

I explained about trying to find my brother.

‘Was Mrs Brown able to help you with that?’

‘Not sure,’ I said, reluctant to give too much detail to these men. They were cops after all, and I had promised Elsa we’d keep her confidence. ‘These are events from about thirty years ago. Feels like I was wasting my time, to be honest.’

On a silent signal both men shifted their position, shoulders angled towards the door ‘We won’t waste any more of your time, Mr Docherty. Thanks for talking to us.’

I followed the men to the office door, thinking, Is that it?

‘If there’s any follow-up questions we’ll be in touch.’

‘Can you tell me anything about how she died?’ I asked.

‘Blow to the side of the head,’ the young cop said.

‘Really?’ I recoiled. That didn’t sound accidental.

‘She was found on the floor beside the fireplace. It’s possible she fell and hit her head on the marble hearth. We’ll have to wait for the post-mortem to confirm cause of death.’

‘Yes, sir, we can’t speculate at this time,’ the older cop said with a quick look at his colleague. I had a vision of Mrs Brown escorting us to her front door then making her way back to her armchair, tripping over the dog and hitting her head as she landed.

Would that be enough to kill her? And would that be enough to satisfy the police?