Chapter 30
The car park opposite the general store was deserted at 6am on Saturday. Rick pulled into a space, locked the car and jogged across the road. The smell of fresh coffee hit him as soon as he entered. Barbara was alone. Spotting him, she patted a large box on the counter next to her.
‘Morning. Everything on your list is in here. Do you need anything else?’
‘A black coffee to go, please.’
She filled a cardboard cup. As he tapped his credit card, Rick’s eyes drifted to a bundle of newspapers on the floor. Cora Diamond’s smile beamed up at him from the top sheet. He twisted his head to better read the headline.
Cora Diamond, new face of Hants FM.
‘It’s a shame, what happened to her lad,’ muttered Barbara. ‘But all the notoriety isn’t doing her career any harm, is it?’
Rick forced a polite smile. ‘She is highlighting the need for more child and adult mental health services, though, so maybe we should give her a break.’
‘You’re too nice for your own good.’
‘Not really, just trying to find a silver lining. I’ll just run this box out to the car and come back for the coffee.’
On his return, she brandished a small package. ‘I nearly forgot; this came.’
‘Ah! My new phone. With a new number. Hopefully, this one will stay private.’
‘Are you getting harassed?’
‘You could say that but I have to stay in contact with my legal team. I can’t not have a phone.’
‘Right you are. I’ll expect your next list of groceries from a different number then. Just let me know it’s you.’ She came out from behind the counter to fetch the papers, grunting as she lifted them.
‘Let me,’ said Rick, taking them from her. ‘Where do you want them?’
‘By the rack near the door, please.’
He placed them where she asked. A magazine cover caught his eye. It was the sort of publication that featured people who claimed to have been abducted by three-headed aliens, who forced them to clean spaceship toilets. He yanked it from the shelf. ‘Bloody hell, how can these two charlatans be getting an award?’
‘Let me see.’ Barbara flicked to the full article and read aloud. ‘Social media commentators Sal and Ade up for an industry award for their innovative investigation of the #DrDeath story and the Find Dr Death Podcast .’
‘Innovation? Lies and bullying, more like. I don’t stand a chance in court, thanks to them.’
Barbara snapped the magazine closed. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, Rick, it’s that what you give out into the world, eventually comes back to bite you on the bum. Like my Brian always says, it’s important to behave honourably yourself. Keep doing the next right thing. That way you can live with yourself whatever happens.’ She put the magazine back. ‘Don’t give them a second more of your time or energy.’
*
Back at the barn, Rick set his new phone up, punched in Mark Freeman’s number and stared out of the window at the llampaccas skipping and dancing in the back field in the sunshine as he listened to the ringtone.
Daft animals.
‘Mark Freeman speaking.’
‘Hi, Mark, it’s Rick Mahon.’
‘Rick, at last. You’re a difficult man to get a hold of. You’ve not replied to any of my emails.’
‘Sorry, Mark. It’s been a bit difficult. There’s just so much stuff coming in from journalists and social media… Look, take a note of this number, will you? It’s new. I’m hoping to keep it private. You should be able to contact me directly on this.’
‘Will do. What about emails? There are documents we need to send you. And you’re going to have to think about coming back to London soon.’
Rick’s heart lurched. He wasn’t ready. ‘When?’
‘Not yet. Keep your head down a bit longer. But be aware, Cora Diamond’s team are trying to get the first court date moved up to some time in the next few weeks. I’m not sure when. We’ll need to go through some stuff. Make sure you’re ready.’
Rick’s chest tightened at the thought.
‘It’ll be fine, Rick. Sort an email account I can send papers to. We’ll take it from there.’
The call over, Rick did as he was told. His fingers hovered over the phone keys, wondering if he should ring Sam at the surgery and see how they were all coping.
A knock at the front door made him jump.
Surely one call on a new line couldn’t have given his location away? Perhaps paying for the phone with his credit card had left a digital trail. He rubbed his forehead. That’s paranoia. Get a grip.
A second knock sounded.
Supressing an impulse to dive to the floor and crawl commando-style to hide behind the sofa, Rick got to his feet. It was pointless hiding. Barbara’s Brian was right. The important thing was to be honourable and behave in a way that he could live with.
There were no reporters outside poised to thrust microphones in his face. Instead, two lanky teenage lads were larking about. One shoved the other off the porch step and sniggered. They looked vaguely familiar.
‘Can I help you?’ Rick asked.
Both boys immediately straightened and flicked greasy fringes out of their eyes. The taller of the two spoke, ‘Nah, bud. Me and Kyle are helping you.’
The quieter boy nodded, sniffed and wiped the palm of his hand up his nose and into his hair.
‘Helping me, how?’
‘We’re here to clear up.’
Rick looked closer. ‘Hang on, I recognise you. You’re the lads I chased off here yesterday. The ones smoking pot on my property.’
The two youths shuffled their feet, huddling closer together.
Kyle muttered, ‘Sorry, man.’ He nudged his friend. ‘Told you he saw us, Tyler.’
‘Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?’ said Rick.
‘Yeah. We’ve had the “no smoking in the forest ’cos it’s causes fires” sermon twice already this morning,’ grumbled Tyler.
‘It’s also bad for your health,’ said Rick.
‘Yeah. We got that lecture, too. Like I said, we’re here to clear up. To make amends, like. Even though we didn’t actually start the fire.’ Tyler clearly thought they deserved a medal for altruism.
‘Great, there’s a whole pile of charred shed ready to go in a trailer next door. I’ll show you.’ Rick was halfway across the yard before he realised that the lads hadn’t moved. Instead, they were staring at Tyler’s mobile. ‘Hey,’ Rick said, ‘you coming, or not?’
The lads looked from the phone to Rick.
‘That’s you,’ said Tyler, pointing at his phone.
‘Tyler, leave it,’ muttered Kyle.
‘What’s me?’
‘Doctor Death.’ Tyler turned the screen towards Rick.
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘Woah, get away.’ Kyle’s eyes widened. ‘You’re Dean Markwell’s doctor? You’ve actually spoken to Dean Markwell? For real?’
‘I have.’
‘No way.’ Kyle shook his head. ‘You mean it? Oh man! The D-Man’s gameplays are epic.’
‘Are they?’
‘Yeah,’ said Tyler. ‘He’s sick.’
‘Yes, he is. He’s very sick,’ said Rick. ‘Like I said. Drugs are dangerous.’
‘Nah man. Not sick as in sick … well he is sick, like, but I mean sick as in seriously cool.’
Rick had nothing to say to that.
‘Can I get a selfie with you?’ asked Kyle.
Tyler shoved him. ‘Don’t be daft, mate. He’s undercover.’
‘Is he?’ Kyle frowned. ‘Why?’
Tyler rolled his eyes. ‘He’s the new guy Aunty B told us about. You know, Mr Extra Hush-Hush.’
Kyle looked Rick up and down, wide-eyed. ‘You mean, he’s on the list?’
This was getting surreal. ‘Who the hell is Aunty B and what list?’ asked Rick.
‘Couldn’t possibly say,’ said Tyler. He mimed zipping his lips, locking them and throwing away a key. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t rat you out. Wouldn’t be worth the grief. Now, we clearing stuff up or what?’