A Reason to Kill (20 page)

Carol Parker burst into the kitchen and dropped her bag on to the floor. ‘What happened to our Georgie? Oh, Karen, where's he gone? Where's he gone?' Then she stopped dead in her tracks and fell silent, staring at the picture which still lay on the kitchen table. Her scream took Mac utterly by surprise. Loud and piercing and repeated, on and on and on.

Karen grabbed her mother, forced her down into a chair and Mac grabbed the picture, fumbling it into his pocket. No need to ask, he thought abstractedly, if she recognized who it was. Karen was fighting with her mother now, as Carol ripped at her hair and tore at her face in a frenzy of grief and fear that had Mac retreating, helpless, into a corner.

‘What do I do?' he shouted over the noise. Carol was wailing now, the screams less piercing but no less distressed. ‘I'll call a doctor.' He went out into the hall, then into the living room so that at least he could hear. He spoke to Eden, explained what was happening. Karen appeared at his side. She went to the sofa, pulled the cushions free and dug deep into the lining.

‘Sedatives,' she explained. ‘We keep them for emergencies. George knows but Mam doesn't; she'd take the lot.' She extracted two from the bubble pack, handed the rest to Mac. ‘Put them back, will you?' Then she retreated to the kitchen.

Mac looked at the pack he was holding. The prescription was an old one, the date almost a year ago. ‘Two tablets, as needed,' the label said. From a bubble pack of sixteen, eight tablets were now gone. A second pack was untouched inside the crushed box. He recognized a trade name. His own doctor had prescribed them for him when he'd finally crashed. Couldn't think, couldn't function, couldn't even sleep. He'd taken them for a week or so, Mac recalled, and the world had retreated to a pleasantly hazy distance for a while and – though he'd still been unable to think and decidedly unable to function – sleep, albeit with the most vivid of dreams, had at last come without the need for a half bottle of whatever was available that night.

Not sure what else to do, he hid the pack and replaced the sofa cushions, joined Karen in the kitchen where screaming and panic had now subsided into choking sobs as Carol tried her best to swallow tablets and the water Karen was holding for her.

The doorbell rang, and Mac opened it to the doctor who'd attended Mrs Freer that first morning when the carer had found her.

‘Inspector Eden called me,' he said. ‘I'm just up the road.'

Mac nodded. ‘Thanks,' he said. The doctor passed him and went through to the kitchen. Mac looked on as Karen explained what she had given her mother and gave a medical history with a precision and calm that left Mac astounded again by the quiet control of this very young woman.

‘We've got to go,' Carol was saying over and over again. ‘Got to go.' Hysteria returned as the doctor suggested she lie down upstairs. ‘No, we've got to go. He'll come back. We've got to go.'

Mac could see from her eyes that the drugs were kicking in. ‘We've got to get her out of here,' Karen said. ‘She's terrified he'll come back.'

‘I'll try to arrange a safe house,' Mac said. ‘Or a hostel?' He looked expectantly at the doctor but it was Karen who replied. ‘They give priority to women in immediate danger,' she said. ‘Mam's not. Not that immediate, anyway.' She sighed. ‘Maybe a hotel, just for tonight?'

Mac felt in his pockets, knowing even as he did so that he was going to regret this impulse. ‘Here,' he said. ‘I'm renting a flat looking out on to the promenade. Take the keys, grab what you need.'

The doctor nodded. ‘I'll get my car,' he said. ‘Drive them up there.'

‘Thanks.'

‘But what about you? Is there somewhere for you to sleep as well?'

Mac thought about the lumpy sofa. Too short and too uncomfortable to do anything more than sit for a brief while. ‘You'll have to share with your mam, I'm afraid. You'll find clean sheets in the top of the wardrobe. Frankly, I don't think I'll be getting much chance for sleep anyway, but if I do, I'll crash on the sofa.' He smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging fashion.

‘Thanks,' Karen said again. She looked so relieved that Mac's misgivings faded, just a little.

Glancing at the kitchen clock he saw that it was already almost ten but when he ran through in his head all of the tasks that lay ahead of him that night, sleep, even on the lumpy sofa, looked to be a long way away.

B
y half past ten, Karen and her mother were installed in Mac's flat and he had informed the Robinsons of this additional problem.

‘If George should happen to turn up here,' Mac said, ‘I don't need to tell you to hang on to him and call me.'

Eleven o'clock saw the arrival of a drizzly rain. Mac reported to Eden, marking how old and tired his senior colleague looked, though, to be fair, even young Andy Nevins was flagging.

‘You think Karen was a definite for making that phone call?' Eden asked him.

‘She would have admitted it if her mam hadn't turned up,' Mac said. ‘I'm sure of that. I'll talk to her about it later.'

‘Question is,' Eden mused, ‘does she have any proof of that or is it pure speculation based on what Dowling did to her little brother's friend? And, of course, it depends what else the rumour mill's been putting about. You seemed to think she had her ears open.'

‘I think there's more to it than that,' Mac said. ‘I'm just about convinced the two boys broke into the old woman's house. If Mark Dowling got wind of what scared them off …'

‘Then the opportunity to get himself a nice little revolver would be just too much to pass up.' Eden nodded. ‘It figures,' he said. ‘I've got a warrant to search his home. Came through an hour ago. I suggest five o'clock might be a reasonable enough hour. He'll like as not be back from a night on the town and he's not likely to be awake enough to do a runner.'

‘What if he's at his so-called girlfriend's?'

‘Then we'll have officers posted there, just to be sure. I've managed to wangle a few extra bodies from our friends in Dorchester. I suggest we all try to grab a couple of hours' shut eye.'

Mac nodded. He got up and stretched. His body ached, through tension as much as tiredness as the old focus returned. He was, he realized with a slight but pleasant shock, starting to feel like a policeman again, instead of some great pretender.

‘See you here at four, then,' he said

Mac stopped off at the flat to collect some of his things but had decided not to stay. It didn't seem appropriate.

‘Mam's asleep. Fast off,' Karen said.

‘Good.'

‘You stopping then?'

He shook his head. ‘Going to bunk down at a friend's,' he said. ‘You've got my mobile number?'

‘Yes. I've got it.'

‘Look.' Mac stood in the middle of his living room, his overnight bag clutched in his arms. He lowered it to the floor. ‘Look, I know it's late but …'

‘But you've got to ask about the phone call.' She nodded. ‘Yeah, that was me, but you already sussed that. You want to know why? Because Mark Dowling beat seven shades out of Paul, made him tell about the gun and then beat on him some more just because that's the way he is. Then he made Paul go with him when he killed that poor old woman.'

Mac was stunned. He'd suspected most of this, but to hear it out loud and delivered so starkly came as a shock. ‘Paul was there? Jesus wept.'

‘Poor little bugger was scared out of his wits. He told George but made him promise to keep it secret. Course, I got it out of George. He's not used to keeping stuff from me. I thought, stupidly I suppose, that if I put Dowling in the frame, Paul's problems would be over. I mean, I knew it would have to come out that he was there and, as you've probably guessed, that it was him and George who broke in the night before.'

‘Why did they do that?'

Karen shrugged, resigned. ‘Got pissed on Sharon Bates's dad's booze, and couldn't resist the dare. Or face being made to look like a pair of wimps if they chickened out. Oh, they both knew it was wrong; George has been going through hell over it. I'd have made him tell, but it seemed more important to get someone to take notice of Mark Dowling.'

‘Karen, you should have just come to us, told what you knew. When did you know?'

‘Sunday night. I got it out of him. You're right though, I should have brought him in but he was horrified at the idea of dropping Paul in it. Paul's convinced he's an accessory to murder.'

‘Well, in a way he is. But any decent lawyer would plead mitigation.'

She nodded. ‘I know. It's just I'm used to protecting my own the best way I know how. I guess I don't always get it right. George must have let on to Paul that he'd told me and he must have been terrified. People – if you can count Dowling as a person, though I can't call him an animal; that would be downright insulting – the Dowlings of this world thrive on knowing they have everyone running scared. Even if that's just a thirteen-year-old kid. The Dowlings of this world need their entourage and that entourage has to be too shit-scared to step out of line. It's like Machiavelli said: “Men shrink less from offending those who inspire love than those who inspire fear.”'

‘Machiavelli?' Mac laughed. ‘OK, Machiavelli. Though to be frank, I suspect that comparing him with Dowling probably insults the Prince more than it insulted the animals. Look, Karen, I'll need you to make a formal statement. I'll arrange it for tomorrow. If need be we'll sort out someone to come and sit with your mum while you do it. Meantime, try and get some sleep.'

She nodded. ‘Yeah. I'm knackered. Look, thanks again. I really don't know what to say about this …' She gestured, taking in the scruffy little flat.

‘Get some sleep,' Mac repeated and quietly let himself out, pausing on the stairs to listen as she locked the door and slid the bolt.

Then he went out into the night, his bag oddly heavy though there was very little inside it. He paused on the promenade and called Eden at home, waking him from sleep and then waking him more fully as he revealed that they had a witness to Mrs Freer's murder.

For a few minutes they discussed the possibility of bringing the raid forward, but it was already midnight and by the time everything was rearranged maybe only an hour or so would be saved in time.

‘I'll arrange for a patrol to keep obs,' Eden said.

As Mac closed his phone and slipped it back into his coat, he glanced over at the headland where he had seen the lights. Nothing tonight. The sky was black and small clouds were scudding, not yet heavy with rain but busily gathering their moisture for later in the new day.

He turned and walked down on to Newell Street and paused outside Peverill Lodge, recalling that he had done the same just a few nights before. A light burned in Rina's inner sanctum. This time Mac knocked quietly on the door.

Rina sat him down at the kitchen table and Tim made tea. The rest of the house, it seemed, was asleep, but the two had been watching a late film together.

Mac filled in sparse details about his day, about the Parkers, Paul, Mark Dowling. He knew Rina could be trusted to say nothing and he needed to unload. She seemed unsurprised by any of it.

‘There's a small spare room,' Rina said. ‘We use it for storage so it's a bit cramped, but you can get to the bed. I'll find some fresh sheets.'

It sounded like heaven to Mac. Tim set his tea down in front of him and he sipped the scalding liquid gratefully.

‘So,' Rina said, ‘how much of a threat is this Parker fellow?'

‘Hard to say, I suppose, but I've seen pictures of what he did to Carol Parker and I saw her reaction to his picture. She was terrified.'

‘Why wasn't he put inside? It's common assault.'

‘Because,' Tim said, ‘she wouldn't press charges. Am I right, Mac?'

Mac nodded. ‘Now, of course, the police can decide to press charges whether the victim is willing or not. But that wasn't true a few years ago. Karen was willing, apparently, but Edward Parker took off into the wide blue yonder before anyone could bring him in.'

Mac's phone began to ring, the tone uncomfortably shrill in the calm of Rina's kitchen. Wearily, Mac answered it.
What now?

‘You're kidding me? You're not kidding me. Right, OK, I'm on my way. No, be as quick for me to walk down. Fifteen minutes. Right.'

He closed the phone and stared at it, disbelieving.

‘What is it?' Rina asked.

‘It's Mark Dowling,' Mac said softly. ‘His parents arrived back from seeing friends and found him dead on the hall floor. Someone killed him.'

‘Should I applaud?'

‘Rina,' Tim said. ‘It's still murder.'

‘And your point is?'

Tim shrugged. ‘You want a lift down? The car's parked out the back.'

Mac had forgotten that Tim owned a car. ‘Thanks,' he said.

Mark Dowling dead? Mac just hadn't seen that one coming.

G
eorge, used to the journey by bus only taking three quarters of an hour to get to or from the school, had not realized just how far it was by foot. Or how lonely.

They had carried out their plan and gone first to the bus station, but had been disappointed that no one seemed to be taking any notice of them. George thought that was inevitable, given that there was hardly anyone there. A sole driver sitting in his cab, reading the paper. A couple of people in the draughty-looking waiting room. They duly wandered round a bit and then George decided they should begin their trek back to Frantham.

Once away from the comfort of the streetlights, the night closed in around them. Barely any moon, little starlight despite the clearing skies. It was better once their eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, but it was still seriously spooky, their footsteps unnaturally loud on the tarmac and the night rustlings in the grass frighteningly alien.