Sebastian - Dark Bonds (2 page)

As every day passes, I feel the finger of blame is more firmly pointed in my direction.  Brian won’t talk to me at all, and the police officer is due to come over again this afternoon.  I don’t understand why they all seem to blame me… when I blame myself enough for everybody. 

Blame should focus upon my treatment of Alan and our incessant fights.  Blame should not focus on my causing the accident.  However in the last twenty-four hours I’ve also begun to hold myself entirely accountable for Alan’s actions, which led to the crash. 

If I hadn’t been such a bitch, wanting something I couldn’t and shouldn’t have, been happy and content with my marriage, then Alan wouldn’t have been a drinker, and therefore wouldn’t have crashed and my baby would be here with me.  So would Alan. 

Could I have lived out the rest of my life with him?  I go round in circles and thoughts always conclude that I could not have lived with Alan any longer, but equally I would do anything to bring him back to life. 

Sebastian has been wonderful.  My rock.  He has returned to Cornwall for a few days to attend to matters on his estate and I miss him dreadfully, but life goes on.  He has enormous responsibilities I know, and I’m grateful for the time he’s spent with me when I needed him so.

At five to four the doorbell chimes and I welcome Detective Inspector Pete Chambers and WPC Laura Viney into my home, hoping my contempt for them is not outwardly apparent.  They both have a grave expression on their faces, which increases my anxiety.  I seat them at the kitchen table and switch the kettle on.

“Mrs. Dove, thank you for seeing us this afternoon.  We realize this is difficult for you,” he says without sincerity.  “WPC Viney here, and I have paid a visit to Coldwell Garage.  Very helpful mechanic, that Jimmy.  Very efficient garage too I might say, rare to find a garage which books your next service in even before you’ve left from your last one.” 

I’m unsure where he’s going with this so I busy myself making mugs of tea. 

“Yes, he says Mr. Dove bought his Ford in three weeks ago for it’s MOT and service.  Fitted new brake shoes and discs, he says.  Checked the steering mount, changed a bald tyre, and gave it a damn good check over.  Very thorough is Jimmy at Coldwell Garage Mrs. Dove.  Reassures you, doesn’t it, that your car’s well cared for and safe don’t you think?”  I see now where he is going with this and I do not like it one bit. 

My cheeks are blushing and I spin around on my heels and let him have the wrath of Beth, no holds barred.

“Just you wait one damn minute!” I bark.  “If you’re implying there’s anything suspicious about my husband’s accident, then I will stop you right there!  Yes Alan was particular about his car, bloody anal about it actually if you want my opinion.  But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t pissed or that he didn’t hit the bloody tree because he was so tanked up with whisky he didn’t know what he was doing.”  The policeman looks affronted while the WPC shoots him a sideward glance and it is she who speaks next.

              “Mrs. Dove, Detective Inspector Chambers is not implying any irregularity, but it’d be remiss of us if we didn’t investigate the circumstances leading to this tragic accident.  It’s normal procedure in this type of event to look into all aspects of the deaths, and you wouldn’t thank us if we didn’t do our jobs properly so that you could have closure would you?”  I’m speechless. 

“Also, Mrs. Dove, the sooner we carry out our enquiries the sooner you can plan the funerals.” 

That hits me firmly between the eyes.  Until now I have convinced myself that it was normal red tape and inefficiencies, which was causing the hold up in the release of Alan and Joe – now the delay takes on a far more sinister aspect.

“Do…do you think someone tampered with Alan’s car?” I ask hesitantly.  I note that the police officers exchange knowing glances again.  Pete Chambers replies.

“At this stage, Mrs. Dove, it’s not clear.  I have to say though that foul play is one consideration at this time, and if that were to be the case, it would be a horse of a different color. I’m afraid it would be a murder investigation.”  He stares at me and I meet his stare, unwilling to look away lest I should seem guilty.

“I see.” I reply.  “Whatever help I can give then it goes without saying that I want to be as helpful as possible.  Honestly though, I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt Alan or my Joe.”

“I see,” echoes Pete Chambers in the most unnerving manner.  “I thank you for your offer of help Mrs. Dove and we’ll be sure to be back in touch with you very soon.  Very soon indeed, so don’t plan on going anywhere for the time being ok?”  I nod sullenly and the two officers rise, both leaving their tea untouched. 

At the front door, the Detective Inspector turns to me, and says “if you need to call me, if you have any leads on where Mr. Dove may have got the pills, call me on this number.”  Handing me his contact card, he leaves. 

3

Day eight.  It seems like an eternity since I held Joe in my arms and today I’m going to visit him at the hospital, only I will not be taking a ‘get well’ balloon or a comic when I visit my son.  Instead I shall be taking Joe’s favorite Manchester United football shirt and his ‘snuggly’ – a tatty old teddy which I bought for Bella to give Joe when he was born.  Snuggly has sat on Joe’s bookshelf for the past three years, because Joe is a big boy now.  Was.  Too grown up for teddies.  Too grown up for the Spiderman toys, cars and trains, which have been boxed up in the attic for the past year.  Snuggly needs to be with Joe now though, to offer comfort to my frightened boy and the smell of home to replace the antiseptic hospital smell. 

Sebastian has driven back up from Cornwall and I am so glad he is coming with me.
  At the General Office we are guided to a private waiting area while we wait for a staff member to collect us.  A short plump mortuary technician appears in hospital scrubs and shakes our hands.  He has a well practiced empathy and gentle voice.  He leads us down to the bowels of the hospital to the mortuary reception area, where he politely asks us to take a seat while he checks if Joe is ready. 

I’m gripping Sebastian’s hand tightly and he strokes my hair from my eyes with his free hand then kisses me lightly on the forehead. 

“Be strong my darling,” he whispers. 

The plump technician returns and tells us that Joe is ready and to follow him but my legs are suddenly leaden, and I find it incredibly difficult to put one foot in front of the other. 

My mouth is dry and parched, and beads of perspiration are forming on my forehead, and I feel as though I can’t breathe.  A panic attack.  Sebastian is so in tune with me that he immediately detects my fright and steadies me.  “Deep, slow breaths Elizabeth.  Look at me.”

I raise my eyes to his and focus on what he is telling me. 

“Slowly in and slowly out.  Good girl.   Now, you can do this darling.  I’m here with you ok?” 

The plump man hands me a paper cup of water and I drain it then hand the empty cup back.  Plump man tosses it into a waste bin and opens a blue door.  Sebastian and I follow him down an artificially lit corridor.  He opens the second door on the right and I take a deep breath as I enter, clutching Snuggly and the bright football shirt under my arm.

It’s a beautiful room, quite out of place in this vast clinical building.  The walls are papered with an elegant gold patterned paper and the carpet is a deep blue.  There are candles, which I can see are not real flame but battery powered imitations but the soft glow is calming and the gentle piped music almost uplifting. 

In the center of the small elegant room lies my son.  Asleep.

Joe looks so little, that it’s hard to believe he’s seven years old, nearly eight.  He never will be eight now of course. 

I lift his lifeless little arm and tuck Snuggly tightly against him under his armpit, so that Snuggly’s head is looking up at Joe and my son now looks even younger with his worn and much loved little bear tucked up cosily with him.  I brush my lips over Joe’s hair and kiss his forehead, and he smells clean and fresh but it is a very different smell to the usual aroma of apple shampoo I am used to.  I stroke his hair gently, but withdraw my fingers sharply when they touch the ridges and bumps that are now mapped across his scalp. 

Sebastian kisses Joe too, very lightly on his right brow and I see a tear tumble down my lover’s cheek. 

“Sleep well little guy,” he whispers to Joe and I crumble into his arms.

4

Day nine, and I’m expecting Detective Inspector Chambers and his side kick once more.  I’m growing weary of their visits and increasingly impatient to have Joe released to me.  I’m hopeful that today will be the day that this happens. 

Ruth is with me and it’s good to see my dear friend.  She distracts me with humorous tales of our staffs’ antics and does her very best to bring some cheer to our deathly quiet house while we wait for the police officers’ arrival.  Sebastian left early this morning for an estate meeting at Penmorrow, with the promise of returning in two days time and I miss him already.   I was so was glad when Ruth arrived unannounced this morning.  Punctually at eleven fifteen, the two police officers arrive.

“Detective Inspector, this is my dear friend and business partner, Ruth Evenshaw.  Ruth, this is Detective Inspector Chambers and WPC Viney.”

They shake hands and I lead us to the lounge, where Ruth sits next to me on the sofa while the two officers take the armchairs.

“Mrs. Dove” says the detective. 

“Beth,” I correct him.

“Beth.  Thank you.  Can you tell me please, if either yourself or your husband have ever been prescribed anti-depressants?” 

The question takes me by surprise.

“We’ve both been stressed, yes.  Not depressed.” I reply.

“So, neither of you have ever taken, or had possession of, a medicine called Benzodiazepine?  It may be a pill called Diazepam, Flurazepam, Chlordiazepoxide…?” he reads from his notebook. 

I shake my head and again tell him, “no. We’ve never been prescribed any of those medicines to the best of my knowledge.” 

“That’s what your GP says too, but I had to check.  You never know these days.  People can buy all sorts on the streets if they have a mind to.  Benzo’s aren’t as widely used these days because of the contra-indications and side effects but some Psychiatrists still prescribe it.”

I’m astounded and affronted that the officer has questioned our doctor, but I also know that it’s his job to be thorough, and anything that will free my Joe from the hospital is ok by me.

DI Chambers reads from his notebook,

“We’ve eh, had the autopsy and toxicology reports back.”

I’m filled with trepidation.

“It seems your husband took a cocktail of alcohol and pills before he died Beth but, although they were a toxic dose, they weren’t a lethal dose.  In a nutshell Beth, the booze and pills didn’t cause the deaths of Alan and Joe, but they would certainly have impaired his reactions and judgment.  It seems your husband had a few too many whiskies, managed to get some anti-depressants from somewhere, popped a couple then made the very grave mistake of driving.  Where he obtained the pills is a line of enquiry the WPC here will follow up.  Can’t have those sort of pills rattling around somewhere if you get my drift.”

I wonder if Mike has such medicine at home although it seems unlikely, as he’s a very jovial man. 

He’s studying me and it unnerves me. 

“I’m sorry, how rude of me.  Would you like a cup of tea or coffee, officers?” I ask, looking from one to the other.

“No thank you.  We won’t keep you any longer than necessary,” the DI replies, before returning to his notebook.

“Ok,” I say quietly.  “Will you let me know if and when you find out where he got those pills?”

“Yes, will do,” he replies, watching me intensely.

“The coroner is releasing the bodies you’ll be relieved to know.  There won’t be an inquest.  He’s recording it as accidental death.” 

This news hits me like a tornado and lifts my spirits swirling high.  The relief is immeasurable and I can’t hold back the tears. 

The two police officers exchange glances but, although the detective looks uncomfortable by my emotional outburst, the WPC leans forward and lays a comforting hand on my knee.  Ruth puts her arm around my shoulder comfortingly.

The crucial thing is that we can lay Alan and Joe to rest, and my thoughts turn to Heart brothers and the call I must make when the officers leave.

“So, that’s it?” I ask, dabbing at my eyes with a tissue and blowing my nose.  “We can bury them?”

“Yes.  That’s it for now,” he replies.  “If we hear anything further, we’ll be back in touch.”

“Thank you.  It means so much that we can lay them to rest.”  I tell them.

The officers shake our hands as they leave and, closing the front door behind them, I collapse into Ruth’s arms.

When Ruth leaves, I call Dora and Brian to tell them the news,
and then call Sebastian.

“Beth, what a relief that must be for you,” his voice is so soothing.

“It means no more waiting, Sebastian.   Finally, we can say goodbye to them.”