Watched: When Road Rage Follows You Home (30 page)

When Esther didn’t reply, he shrugged, finishing what he was doing and then running off.

She sat watching the ducks paddle in circles for a while until a woman plopped herself down on the bench with a sigh. Esther jumped, risking a sideways glance at the intruder, who had short blonde hair and a pram.

‘Another stonking day, isn’t it?’ the woman said.

Esther whispered a ‘yes’ but the other woman didn’t seem to notice her unease.

‘…still the better the weather, the quieter it keeps the kids. They tire themselves out running around all day and then actually sleep at night.’ She stopped for a moment, pushing herself off the bench and cupping her hand around her mouth, calling towards two boys on the edge of the pond. ‘Ethan, what have I told you? Don’t
eat
the bread, give it to the ducks.’

The small boy with the round face grinned back to his mother, tore a corner of bread from the slice and threw it into the pond.

‘And don’t throw it
at
the ducks either. I’ve told you before – they’ll come after you while you’re sleeping if you keep hurling things at them.’

She pressed back onto the bench. ‘I’m Karen by the way.’

‘Hi.’

‘You’ve got to make up these little stories to keep them in line. Santa’s a bit old and none of them believe in him any longer. What with the Internet, they just type in ‘Father Christmas’ and they all know he’s fake. I tell them about the Damien the Duck, who quacks your face off if you’re naughty.’

Esther coughed a smile before she knew it had happened. ‘Damien?’

‘My dad made him up when I was a kid. Every now and then, I’d hear a quack at night and it scared the royal shite out of me. Still, it stopped me from misbehaving, so it did the trick. You should hear my two squeal when my husband quacks his way up the stairs after them when they’ve being playing up. Anyway, what’s your name?’

‘Esther.’

‘How many have you got?’

‘None… sorry.’

Karen didn’t miss a beat, speaking almost too quickly for Esther to make out the words. ‘Oh, right – you must think I’m mental talking to strangers out of the blue. Usually it’s mums who sit around here, so we have a bit of a natter about what shites our kids are. And husbands for that matter. Honestly, I’m not a loony. Still, if I was a loony, I’d be out here saying I wasn’t, so you’ll have to take my word for it that I’m not… if that makes sense.’

‘It does.’

‘Good – so what brings you out here then, if it’s not to moan about your kids?’

‘It’s just… peaceful. Sort of. I don’t mind the children.’

‘Can’t argue with that.’

They sat for a few moments watching as Ethan leaned forward to try to feed the bread to the duck, nearly losing a finger in the process. He reeled away falling backwards into his brother on the bank.

‘Serves you right,’ Karen called, before lowering her voice. ‘He does that every time. I’ve stopped shouting at him – he’ll learn his lesson the hard way one of these days. He only listens to his daddy.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘My husband?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah, y’know – the usual. He serves a purpose.’ She laughed at herself. ‘Nah, he’s all right. Better than most of the pricks out there, plus he looks after those two.’ She nodded towards Esther’s wedding ring. ‘What about you?’

Esther took a breath of the warm air, not knowing what to say at first. ‘Do you want to hear something that’ll make you laugh?’

‘Always.’

‘I was at uni and had just turned twenty. We went out a few days after my birthday to celebrate and ended up in this absolute hellhole. Were you ever a student?’

‘Not at university.’

‘Right, but you’ll know the type of place I mean – hardly any lights, loud music, low ceilings, loads and loads of people. The booze is cheap, so everyone’s pissed—’

‘—Amen to that.’

Esther sniggered again. ‘Quite. Anyway, the only reason you go in a place like that is to cop off – it’s like a meat market, so half of my friends are off snogging lads, or whatever, with the rest of us sitting around talking about what a rubbish night it is. We’re ready to go but it’s two-for-one cocktails and one of the girls is so lashed, she ends up buying everyone a drink. I’m standing up and in the middle of complaining about it when this guy appears out of nowhere. He’s six-foot-something, but he carries it well… it’s hard to explain.’

‘He’s tall but it doesn’t feel like he’s on top of you all the time.’

‘Yeah…’

‘Well, unless you want him to be!’

Karen cackled at her own joke with Esther joining in, forgetting where she was. ‘No, you’re right. He’s just got this way about him, without trying. I’ve never liked taller blokes because I hate feeling so, I don’t know, powerless I suppose. I don’t know if that’s the right word. Anyway, he comes over to me and he’s bobbing from one leg to the other as if he needs to go to the toilet. He’s really nervous and he ends up saying, “Aren’t the floors sticky in here?”.’

Karen snorted so hard that her children looked up from the pond wondering what was going on.

‘He really said that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Those were his actual words?’

‘Yep.’

‘And he’s your husband?’

‘Well that wasn’t part of the wedding vows, but yes. I think I fell for him the moment he said it. His eyes were so serious and he was trying so hard. We ended up sitting together and talking for the whole night – the staff had to turf us out.’

Karen settled herself down, wiping her eyes with a tissue. ‘How long ago was that?’

‘Nine and a bit years.’

‘And you’re still together?’

‘We always will be.’

Karen reached across and patted her knee. ‘Well good for you, sweetie. There are a lot of dickheads out there, so if you find one who ain’t, then you’re already on a winner.’ She pushed herself to her feet with a sigh louder than the one before. ‘I’ve got to go but we should definitely do this again. Do you come here often?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Ah well, if you do… like I said – mother’s bench. You stay sitting here and there’ll always be someone to talk to.’

She kicked the brake away from the pram and yelled for her children. Ethan and his brother jumped up and tore after her, the ducks quacking them an affectionate goodbye.

Esther sat enjoying the peace, wishing she had the life this place promised. A mother’s bench to sit and moan about kids and husbands… how marvellous.

She looked up to see her sandy-haired gentle giant emerging along the pathway. His eyes were frantic and he looked utterly dishevelled, drenched with sweat, still wearing his dark work suit with shiny black shoes. When Charlie spotted her, he hurried around the pond and sat next to her, reaching out to take her hand.

‘Shall we go home?’ he asked.

‘Where’s home?’

He squeezed his fingers between hers. ‘Shall we go back to the house?’

‘Okay.’

THIRTY-EIGHT: CHARLIE

Esther’s hand was cold, despite the warmth of the morning. Charlie led her back through the alleys, trying to keep her talking, even if it was just chit-chat about nothing.

When they emerged onto their road, Esther stopped walking, spotting it a fraction of a second before he did. Parked outside of their house was a police car. One officer was resting on the driver’s side as another knocked on their front door.

Esther pulled her hand away from his and hurried across the road. Charlie tried to call her back but it was too late – she was already next to the car asking what was wrong.

The officer removed his hat and peered at her, asking who she was as the policeman who had been by the front door crossed the driveway.

‘I’m Esther Pooley and this is my house.’

‘Is your husband Charlie Pooley?’

Esther turned to face him, closely followed by the pair of officers. With all three sets of eyes upon him, Charlie knew what was happening. He wanted to tell Esther he was sorry but there was no time.

‘I’m Mr Pooley,’ he said.

The taller of the officers stepped forward. ‘Mr Pooley, I’m arresting you on suspicion of a section thirty-nine assault. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’ He took a breath before adding: ‘Do you understand?’

Charlie gazed at Esther, watching her eyes water.

‘I understand.’

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Charlie was sitting in the interview room staring at the blinking red light of the camera ahead, recording every movement he made and every word he said.

He’d been led through the station looking at the officers’ faces, wondering if Chief Inspector Keith Jamieson was among them. They were all in it together.

The two detectives across from him had just finished explaining all of the technical things they were required to and read him his rights. The duty solicitor sitting on his left was a smart, efficient woman who had seemingly known exactly what to do with him once he’d been brought in for questioning.

To Charlie it had been one big daze.

When alone with the solicitor, he’d told her straight away he was going to confess – he’d hit Dougie, after all, so there was no point in pretending he hadn’t. He wasn’t a good enough liar to pull it off anyway – plus, if pushed to come forward, someone would have admitted to seeing a blond, suited man dashing away from the scene. She’d tried to shut him up as he was in the process of telling her but gave up soon enough, listening to his story and saying that if he was that honest in the interview then he’d at least get credit for a guilty plea.

Above him, the strip light hummed quietly. Ahead, the red light of the camera continued to blink.

The officers seemed nice enough. They offered him water and hadn’t been the stereotypical television types. They actually seemed normal – the types of bloke you might go to the pub with. DC Dixon had blond, almost ginger hair cut short and DS Best had a shaved head. They both seemed relaxed: no accusing stares, no hard sell, no threats. Just three men and a woman in a room having a polite chat.

DS Best did the talking, his accent from somewhere Charlie couldn’t quite place, though definitely north easterly. ‘So, Mr Pooley, would you like to tell us in your own words what happened this morning?’

‘…
In your own words
…’ – who else’s would he use?

‘I was about to leave for work when I noticed the For Sale sign outside of our house had been snapped in half and someone had dumped a binful of rubbish on the drive.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Me and my wife tidied it away into bags – it’s not the first time.’

‘And your wife is a Mrs Esther Pooley, correct?’

‘Right.’

‘What do you mean by “not the first time”?’

Charlie sighed. In so many ways, he’d been waiting for a police officer to ask that and, now someone had, he wished they hadn’t.

‘We’ve been having a few issues with… someone… doing things to the house. Someone slashed the tyres on my wife’s car and they’d dumped rubbish before. Things went missing from our washing line, we were getting hang-up calls, plus things delivered that we hadn’t ordered.’

DS Best shuffled the papers in front of him. ‘This culminated in a visit from PCs Campbell and White, I believe, in relation to someone distributing posters about you with certain allegations.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But you didn’t want to press the matter.’

‘Sort of – I thought it’d make it worse, so they left it.’

‘I’ve also got a report about someone being called to your house for a noise-related incident—’

‘—That was a malicious call-out.’

DS Best nodded and moved on. ‘…and also you called the non-emergency number to report some criminal damage on your property?’

‘Yes, someone came out but they couldn’t really help because there were no witnesses and no evidence.’

‘Okay – so that gives me a little context. What happened after you filled the bin bags?’

‘My wife was taking them to the back of the house. I’d gone inside to wash my hands because I had to go to work but then I heard her screaming. I ran around the side of the house and there was a dead cat on the garden.’

DS Best sucked on his bottom lip for a moment. ‘Right… a dead cat. What did you do with it?’

‘Um… nothing. I suppose it’s still there.’

‘Was it your cat?’

‘Not exactly. My wife had sort of adopted it.’

‘Okay – and what happened after you saw the dead cat?’

‘She was in shock. It wasn’t just dead, it had been killed – murdered. Someone had sliced it open and left it for us.’

‘Did you report it?’

‘Well, no…’

‘If someone sliced my cat open and left it on the lawn for me, I’d probably call the police.’

Charlie knew this would come up at some point and he didn’t have an explanation. He’d known then what he should do but had seen red. ‘I know – I wish I had but my wife was really upset. I got her inside and put her to bed and then I was just staring down at this thing from the upstairs window. There was blood everywhere and I was just thinking, “Who could do that to a creature?”.’

‘But you still chose not to call us, or even attempt to clear it away?’

‘No.’

‘What did you do?’

Charlie couldn’t look at the officer any longer. He glanced at the blinking light of the camera and then the grey of the table suddenly became incredibly appealing.

His reply was a whisper: ‘I went  round to Dougie’s house.’

‘For the sake of the recording, can you confirm you mean Douglas Jamieson’s house?’

‘Yes.’

‘Also to confirm, Douglas Jamieson is the person with whom you’ve been in a dispute over the other incidents you’ve mentioned.’

Charlie could sense the tone in the officer’s voice. The award-winning Douglas Jamieson. The Douglas Jamieson who was gifted a £10,000 grant for the community centre. The brother of Chief Inspector Keith Jamieson. He stumbled over his words, trying to be the calm one. ‘Yes, but it’s not like that. He was following my wife. His girlfriend attacked my wife.’