Chapter 11
It didn’t take long for the police to arrive.
While I waited, I did the logical thing and spewed my guts up in the weeds. I managed to do it as far from the car as I could run in three seconds. That was all the time my body gave me as a warning that it was not happy with the situation.
When the cops arrived, I was sitting with my arms clasped around my knees. I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to.
A vehicle crawled into the car park and made the long, slow procession over to me. The doors on both sides slammed, and a shadow blocked out the already hot sun.
“Arden,” a voice said gently, and PC Adebayo Oduwole took my hands apart to help me stand. “What on earth happened to you?” His face was a picture of concern. We weren’t friends or anything. But he was currently dating Sonia in an on/off capacity and had been eager to keep himself in my good books.
“Jesus, look at the state of you,” he said, brushing some of the dirt off me. Where had that come from?
“Go wait in the car and I’ll come see you in a minute.” He beckoned for his fellow officer, PC Lauren Trescothick, to let me in. Lauren opened the door silently and then did a double take when she recognised me.
A few minutes later they returned to the car where I sat in the back staring into space.
I have no idea what they said or what they were asking me. Ade called my name several times and even waved his hand in front of my face before eventually giving up.
I couldn’t speak. The idea of making conversation, of answering questions, was too much.
Riz was dead. Dead. Simon’s Riz was dead. His fiancé.
Bullet to the side of the head.
There was the sound of more cars arriving.
An ambulance. Another police car. More vehicles.
Tape went up, tents were erected. Radios were spoken into.
All the time I sat there staring into space.
Eventually, the door opened, and Ade appeared with a bottle of water.
He crouched beside me. “Drink,” he commanded.
“I …”
“Drink.”
I guzzled it and then managed to swallow half down the wrong tube and coughed violently. Ade patted my back. “Who should I call for you?” he asked.
“No one,” I said a little mournfully. It’s happening again. Maybe this time Tarquin will finish the job.
Ade pursed his lips. “C’mon, mate,” he said.
“I wanna go home. My dog needs me.”
“Okay. Well, I think they’re gonna want to speak with you down the station.” He drummed his fingers on his knee for a second and then took his phone out. He dialled a number.
“Hi, babe, it’s me. Listen, sorry to wake you on your day off. I know, I know. Yeah, it’s a bit of a situation.” He covered the phone with his hand and addressed me. “Do you have a spare key to your place?”
I nodded. “In the shed on the windowsill.”
“Hey, can you go to Arden’s place and see if his dog is okay? On the windowsill in the shed. Yeah. I’ll explain later. We’ll drop him off in a while.”
He hung up and gave me a weak smile. I stared into the distance.
“Does Simon know yet?”
Ade shook his head. “Don’t worry about all that. We’ll sort it.”
Another car pulled up beside us. Out hopped the person I wanted to see least in the world. DI Neuberger glared at everything in front of him as he made his way over to another officer and got the lay of the land. DS Maslin followed him from the car.
Neuberger beckoned for Lauren to come towards him. She spoke for a second before pointing me out. He gave me a look of pure venom.
Ade stood and patted me on the shoulder. “Everything’ll be alright, Arden,” he said. As he departed, he gave a nod to Neuberger.
“Mr Forrest. We meet again,” the DI said as he approached.
He and Maslin stood beside the car and glowered down at me.
“Quite the habit you’re making of this,” he continued. “One could become suspicious.”
They both stood waiting for me to speak.
“I’d like to go home, please,” I said eventually. A bit more plaintively than I would have hoped.
“Yes, I think we can see to that. But first, why don’t we have a chat down at the station? Sound good? Jack.” He flicked his hand at Maslin and walked off to inspect the scene.
Maslin gestured for me to join him in the unmarked car they had arrived in, and I meekly followed. The man was so broad and tall that he created not just a shadow as he walked but a small eclipse. He opened the door to the back seat for me.
After I got in, he shut it with an almost imperceptible click.
His giant dinner plate hands were capable of subtlety.
He got in the driver’s seat and reversed around the cars and tents, and then turned and drove out of the car park.
We said nothing. Maslin gave me filthy looks in the rear-view mirror as he drove, his big hands sitting lazily on the steering wheel. I stared out the window and slumped down in my seat.
How was this happening again? Why hadn’t I kept walking?
Sittingston Police Station was no more than a third of a mile away, and we were there in a few minutes.
It was a small and phenomenally ugly prefab beige building sitting in the middle of a car park that never seemed to get sun.
It was behind a large church off the High Street, with the only block of flats in the town to the other side.
We pulled into a space in the dark, cool car park, and Maslin went through the same rigmarole of letting me out like we were in Downton Abbey and I was the duke. Wait, was he a duke in that show? A lord? I laughed to myself. Maslin gave me a look like I was insane.
I probably was.
He led me into an interview room. I sat and waited. He brought me a glass of water. I waited some more.
Then I waited more. How long was I in there? Who knew. I could’ve reached for my phone; it had a few per cent battery left, but if I did that, then the rest of the world was invited back into my little palace of quiet, and I would have to deal with everything.
The last time I found a body, at least I got laid. Wait, I just got laid. God, what was wrong with me? Did sex mean death in my world? Was I a sex addict? Did someone die every time I got another notch on my bedpost?
After what seemed like days of solitude, where my thoughts began to take increasingly bizarre turns, the door opened, and Neuberger and Maslin entered.
“Mr Forrest,” Neuberger said. “I’ve brought you a sandwich. Thought you might appreciate it as we’re assuming it’s your breakfast that we found a few metres away from the crime scene?”
I nodded and accepted the sandwich. It hadn’t been my breakfast. When did I last eat?
“Please go through the specific details of this morning. All in your own time.”
I breathed out shakily and took a bite of my sandwich – egg and cress – and chewed slowly, then gave them the short spiel of my walk across Sittingston.
“And where did you spend the night?”
“Cock and Feather. They have rooms for rent above.”
Maslin noted this, presumably to check out later.
“And can anyone corroborate that?”
I swallowed. “The barmaid served me a few times. If they have cameras, then I’ll be on them.”
Neuberger paused. “Anyone else confirm this?”
I eyed him.
“C’mon, Arden, not like you’re short of companionship.”
I closed my eyes to stop from screaming at him. After a long pause, I spoke again. “Errol Mottley.”
Maslin wrote that down, then paused. “The bloke managing Suzy Rabbit’s campaign?” he asked in a proper cockney accent. Not a hint of estuary or mockney. No, he was old-school Bow Bells.
I nodded.
Neuberger eyed me steadily. “Are you dating?”
I startled. “Is that relevant?”
They both shrugged. I shook my head and ate more of my sandwich.
“Do we have a number for Mottley?” Neuberger asked Maslin.
“With all the Frobisher stuff.” Maslin looked at me.
“Oh, yes. The Frobisher stuff,” Neuberger said. “So sorry to see your private life splashed over the papers, Mr Forrest. Can’t imagine. Now, you were with Mr Mottley from when to when?”
Twenty minutes later, it was all over. Neuberger whistled as he exited the room. Maslin grabbed my empty sandwich wrapper and gave me a nod. “A uniformed officer will drive you home,” he said.
I followed him out but hesitated by the gents. “Can I?” He waved me on.
The bathrooms were a truly vile shade of beige with little in the way of space.
I checked the place was empty, then went to the sink and ran the tap.
I scrubbed my face vigorously and splashed enough water over my cheeks to drown a small elephant.
My hair and the top of my shirt were sopping.
A stinging sensation travelled over my skin as I scrubbed with my hands.
Suddenly, my shoulders gave in, and I slumped down, resting my forehead on the mirror in front of me. The cool glass felt amazing on my skin.
The door opened and I scrambled to stand up straight.
Simon stood before me in the doorway. His burly frame taking up most of the space and red hair standing out at all angles over his pale face. He took in the sight of me and then slowly closed the door.
I tried to speak, but nothing came out. “I’m … so sorry,” I managed eventually. He nodded tersely. Like the act caused him pain.
“I …” I had nothing to say.
“Are you okay?” he asked me through gritted teeth. His voice sounded choked, like the idea of my well-being sickened him. But he was polite.
“Fine,” I answered. “I’m fine.”
He did the nod again. “I need to know—” He faltered. His head cocked, and a second later, he walked into a cubicle and shut the door behind him, his feet disappearing.
I had no time to react prior to the door opening again and Jack Maslin walking in. He whistled as he did. He’d started unbuckling his belt before he’d even opened the door and was turning to the urinal when he saw me and stopped.
“Sorry, I forgot you’d be in here still.”
“I … I needed to wash my face … I—”
He gave a grim smile. “Perfectly understandable,” he said. “First time I saw a dead body, I had the shakes for a week.”
I shuddered at Simon hearing that. Not my first dead body, I wanted to correct.