A Journal of Sin (12 page)

‘I started doing stupid shit,’ she went on, ‘sleeping around. For money.’

‘For money?’

‘I know. It gave me control. Gave me my own income. I don’t know, I think about why I did it and nothing makes sense. It was revenge I guess, partly a way of showing that people still wanted me after I’d been rejected. Showing I could earn my own money in some twisted way. The list goes on. Either way, it happened.’

‘And you think some of your punters may have confessed this to Father Michael?’

‘They weren’t “punters”; I wasn’t some common whore. Some of them were married and felt guilty afterwards. There’s a chance my name comes up in those books more than a few times. If any of that’s read out in a courtroom, I don’t know what I’d do.’

‘Would it be? Surely it won’t come up if it’s not related to the murder?’

‘Are you that sure? Do you know enough to say that for certain? Because I’m not and I’m not going to take that risk. The murder of a priest will hit the headlines and the press will be at the trial listening for any dirty details they can. And news doesn’t go away these days, it’ll stay online forever and I don’t want Billy growing up being called a son of a whore.’

‘Maybe you should have thought about that before you put it around?’ He instantly regretted saying it. He hurt. He thought she’d seduced him because she found him attractive, saw something in him that other women didn’t. Listening to her talk about her past shattered his ego; he was just another man, back down on the shelf with the rest of them.

‘Oh, fuck you. You think it’s all so easy, how come your marriage failed? What made you such a perfect husband? You’re just another dad who walked out on his kid.’

The blood rushed to his face, his heart pumped and his feet pinned themselves to the floor as his body responded to the aggression in the same way it would to a physical attack.

‘I didn’t walk out on anyone. Jenny was a slut too, she just didn’t let people fuck her for fiver. Billy should know the truth, so he can get the hell away from you as soon as possible.’ The gloves were off. He wasn’t holding back on hurting her feelings anymore; he was aiming to crush them as hard as he could. He’d sympathised for a moment – she’d had him on the ropes – but he’d been lead on before and wasn’t about to be strung along again. ‘Yeah, he kept tabs on us. They go back years and your dirty secrets will be all over them.’ He heard the words leave his mouth, but didn’t feel they were his. Her words cut him deep. It hadn’t been discussed for years; it was something his family didn’t bring up, his friends wouldn’t joke about or even mention. Had Suzanne only said what they’d all been quietly thinking? It wasn’t true. It hadn’t been his fault; she’d run out on him.

‘I knew you were bullshitting, Sean was right. Listen, don’t be stupid. You’ve a chance to make a lot of money here. It’ll change your life.’

‘Sean? What’s he got to do with this?’

‘That doesn’t matter.’

‘Now who’s keeping secrets?’

‘Oh, just fucking leave it. I knew you were just another fucking loser.’ Anger took control of their mouths. Neither were sure what they were saying, if they even cared. They were two people with broken pasts reaching deep inside their own misery and flinging it at each other. She stormed off. He punched the wall, then sat on the floor, then hung his head and cried.

SIX

Well, she’s found the body. I shouldn’t be too surprised; any idiot could have stumbled upon that. Having to dump it wasn’t ideal. Given more time, I’d have found a better spot, but time was hardly on my side. The storm had lifted and the sun was rising. It wouldn’t have been long before people were up and about, and being seen coming back from the woods would have led to some uncomfortable questions. The woods looked so different after the storm. Next time, I’ll plan a little better. Next time? – that came a little too easy.

Luckily, that girl doesn’t know what she’s doing. I, like most of the people present, I imagine, sat in that church hall wondering just how she managed to become a police officer. It doesn’t say a lot for the force. Maybe she’s one of those community bobbies with illusions of grandeur. Stuck out here, how would anyone know? Boy, did her face drop when the questions started. What did she expect? People to sit there and take it? To let her leave out the details without so much as making a sound? I didn’t consider the possibility of a police officer being here during the storm – what are the chances of that? I should be worried; an investigation launched and I’ve no way of leaving town. Having watched her these past couple of days, I’m certain I have little to worry about. Should she get a little too close, I’ll deal with her too. Having murdered a priest, what line is left to cross?

The flood will lift soon and I’ll be out of here until this all dies down. Leaving town for a while isn’t an unreasonable reaction to being stuck indoors for weeks on end, so shouldn’t look too suspicious. I’ve got no record and no record means no prints, no DNA and nothing on any database that would raise an eyebrow. These modern cops can’t do anything without forensics. Heaven forbid they actually have to do some detective work. It’s only a matter of days.

SEVEN

‘We’re live here in Dumsdale, where the residents have been struggling to recover some sense of normality in the wake of Eliza,’ said William Bartlett, CBN correspondent. That morning, a phone call telling him he had to come in a day early had interrupted eggs Benedict with his wife. News teams had underestimated Eliza and had called in extra staff to report from the vast amount of towns and villages that had been struck by severe rain. Most of Dumsdale was covered in water and Will stood up to his knees in it, interviewing one of the local residents whilst people on wooden rafts floated past in the background.

‘We’ve been treated abhorrently,’ said the local man, his white comb-over blowing about his face. ‘There’s elderly people here, forced to live on the second floor of their houses because the ground floor is flooded. People with young children, with no power or heating and limited food.’

‘You mention being treated abhorrently – surely this is just an act of nature and there’s little anyone can do?’ He fashioned the question to invoke an emotional response and wasn’t disappointed.

‘Little anyone can do? The councils knew it was coming as did the government, but nothing was done to help and nothing is being done now either. Injured people are trapped in their homes with no medical help and all this standing water is bringing more germs and disease with it.’ He’d have gone on for longer if Will’s producer hadn’t bleated in his ear to move to the next location as soon as possible.

‘Sorry, I have to rush you. Mr Langswitch, you work for the local council, what do you say to claims that you had ample time to prepare and you simply haven’t done enough?’ He turned to a sharply dressed silver fox, who looked like he’d just stepped out of a Bentley ready for a slap-up meal, not into the scene of a natural disaster.

‘Well, this is an unprecedented event. There’s not been a storm of this magnitude in this country since recorded weather began. The emergency services are working night and day to assist the affected areas, we have paramedics airlifting the sick and injured to nearby hospitals and engineers are working tirelessly to re-establish the communication networks. All in all, we’re doing everything we can in a very difficult situation.’

‘But you’re not – you’re not doing anything. People are stuck in their attics ’cos their houses are flooded and you’re standing here in a smart suit about to go home to a warm house!’ shouted someone to Will’s left. The cameraman turned to cover a small gathering of people standing a few metres from Mr Langswitch. Again, Will’s producer shouted in his ear to wrap it up, but he wanted to keep this show on the air. He motioned to Alan, the cameraman, to keep it rolling.

‘We prepared all we could; no one could have anticipated the severity of the situation.’

‘The only thing you’ve prepared are your bloody lines for the camera,’ shouted a local woman.

Langswitch, thinking he was off camera, looked at Will and said, ‘Aren’t you going to do anything about this lot? We’re trying to have an interview.’ Will shrugged his shoulders so he wouldn’t be heard condoning or condemning anything that was going on. Alan looked at him and tapped his watch, but Will ignored him. A handful of mud slopped onto Langswitch’s jacket, then another and then another.

‘Bloody ridiculous.’ He marched off back towards his Land Rover, whilst the crowd pelted him with dirt and shouted obscenities.

Will smiled and gave the signal to cut the camera. ‘I love nothing more than embarrassing public figures. Nobody squirms on camera like a public-sector drone.’

‘They won’t like it if you keep on doing that,’ said Alan. ‘Remember what the gaffer said last time.’

‘He says a lot of things. Most of it’s meaningless drivel. He wants good television, and politicians being abused and assaulted is good television. Am I right?’ He zipped up his red North Face jacket and turned away from the wind.

‘You’re right, but –’

‘I’m right.’ Will had his own idea of how the news industry worked. He’d only been with CBN a few months, but was already ignoring most of the standard practices and advice he’d been given.

‘Well, either way we’ve got to get moving. It’ll be a slow walk back to the truck in this water.’ They trudged towards the truck, with Will doing the most complaining and, despite being in the best shape, the least lifting. The rest of the crew shared the load of the cameras, boom mikes and other heavy equipment, whilst Will tried his hardest to get some signal on his mobile.

‘I wish they’d hurry up and sort the phone masts out,’ said Will.

‘Just use the satellite phones in the truck,’ said Matt, balancing the boom mike with an awkwardly packed rucksack.

‘You can’t play “Snake” on a satellite phone,’ said Alan.

‘You can’t play “Snake” on any phone these days, Alan. Except maybe your brick,’ remarked Will.

‘It’ll do you some good to be disconnected. You spend far too much time on that thing.’

‘A lack of phone signal only doesn’t bother you, as no one is likely to contact you anyway. I, on the other hand, am in constant demand.’ Will continually swiped his smart phone, despite knowing there was no hope of a connection.

‘You know that the phone in the truck’s probably ringing right now with the gaffer wanting to shout down your earhole,’ said Matt, ‘You know he hates it when you ignore him over the earpiece.’

‘Oh, shut up, the pair of you. He’ll blow his top, then calm straight back down again when he realises how much people loved the footage.’ Matt and Alan looked at each other, expecting the call to have an entirely different outcome.

‘Their press office have been on the phone to me – to me, not you – I get the stick for all of this, asking for your head. Do you understand the position that puts me in? I need to decide whether you keep your job or not. This isn’t Joe Public you’re pissing around with now, this is a bloody politician. A politician with a lot of friends. A lot more friends than you’re making pulling bullshit stunts like this.’ It didn’t need to be on loudspeaker for everyone to hear the conversation. Will waited until his producer finished before daring to speak as Alan and Matt laughed in the background.

‘I’m just documenting events out here. It’s what people want to see, we shouldn’t be censoring it.’ The crew cringed just listening to him and Will smiled, still pushing his luck knowing his job was on the line. He also knew that in modern journalism, ratings were king.

‘Just do as you’re told. You’re not at your old shitty station now, Sunshine. You’ve only got two more locations on the route. Within a week, the public will be bored of the disaster and we’ll find something else to knock the government about, so for Christ’s sake just get the job done properly. Your attitude is a hassle I just don’t need.’

‘This assignment’s dull. Most other stations have stopped reporting on it already. One town to the next, same story: lots of water and pissed off locals. I’ve added a little colour to the whole thing. You’ll thank me when the ratings come in.’ Alan stopped laughing and the crew got the feeling Will had crossed the line. The voice on the phone fell silent for a moment.

‘Just get it done.’ He hung up before Will could shoot his mouth off again.

‘Jesus Will, are you trying to get fired?’ said Alan.

‘Don’t get me wrong, that was pure entertainment mate, but you’re treading on thin ice.’ Matt saw a funny side that Alan could not. Both Will and Matt were young men. If they lost their jobs, they’d bounce back far quicker than he would, if he managed it at all.

‘I’m not. You’ll see. I just want something more interesting. This is bullshit. We’re all better than this. A child could report this story. I want something we can really work on. Something that’ll get the public talking –’

‘Something that will get you more Twitter followers,’ said Matt, smirking. ‘Can’t get your apps either on that satellite phone?’

‘Alan you must feel it more than me. You’ve been in this game longer than I have, you must get sick of the same old thing?’ He tried to drive some passion into their tired faces, but nothing lifted their enthusiasm for his ideas.

‘Not really. I like getting paid every month and keeping a roof over my head,’ replied Alan.

‘Guys.’ He sighed and gave up trying to change their minds. ‘Okay, so where to tomorrow?’

Matt opened the file. ‘Sunbury.’

‘Sunbury? Another dead-end village, I suspect?’

‘Yep, and you’re gonna love this. We can only get there by helicopter. Bagsy not sitting next to Will after that trip to Edinburgh.’

‘Great.’ He already felt his stomach starting to swirl.

EIGHT

Sarah drove along the winding country road that led out of town. Yesterday’s meeting could have gone better, but so far there’d been no sign of any real panic. She’d only slept for a few hours and awoke feeling as drained as when her head had hit the pillow.

Fallen trees led to a few detours, but she eventually turned onto London Road, the nearest route out. Boggy woodland flanked both sides and a silver Aston Martin was parked just where the water flooded the road. She pulled up a few metres behind it and stepped out. The wind blew her hair across her face, and she wrapped her thin, beige trench coat tightly around her and tied the belt, holding on to the knot, knowing it was more for fashion than practicality. Birds sang in the woods and the air still had that earthy, post-storm freshness.