The Teacher: A shocking and compelling new crime thriller – NOT for the faint-hearted! (22 page)

‘Grey,’ she heard from behind her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She knew it was her former partner, Detective Samuel Brown.

‘What do you want this time? How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?’ She turned around, hand on her hip, trying to give the impression she was calm and collected, it couldn’t be further from the truth. Her heart was racing, and not in a good way.

‘I was hoping we could put all that business behind us, Grey. You got a promotion.’

‘So did you!’ she interrupted.

‘I’m just saying, can’t we go back to being friends?’ He stroked her arm, she was grateful she had three layers of cloth between his hand and her skin, which was crawling. She backed away from him but he walked with her.

‘Friends don’t try and have their friends killed. Friends don’t stalk each other!’

‘That is not what went down, you’re overreacting as usual. You don’t have all the facts.’ His hand was still on her arm. She thought about shrugging it away, or cutting it off. She couldn’t move though, she was frozen.

‘I have to get inside. Don’t talk to me again. We are done.’

‘You’re making a mistake, Imogen.’

‘The only mistake I made was trusting you, Sam.’

She stared at his hand. He didn’t move it, instead he held on with more conviction, leaning forward and staring into her eyes.

‘Let me give you a little friendly advice.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Just watch your back, OK?’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘You know what? If it gets you to step back, then yeah, I am! You’ve been told to back off by your boss already, maybe you should listen to him.’

‘There’s nothing you can do to me that you haven’t already done!’ she shouted; he put his hands up and stepped back. She really wanted to punch him in the face, instead she just spat on him, somehow that seemed appropriate.

She shook off the anger and walked into the station and saw the familiar sight of Denise the desk sergeant looking wistfully across the squad room at her partner. Miles, of course, was oblivious to it. He didn’t seem to be very aware of other people’s feelings. Imogen was fine with his introspective nature, he never pushed her for details about herself, he wasn’t overly chatty or even friendly, he seemed driven in his work and that was about it. So far she hadn’t felt the overwhelming urge to manipulate him, something people often brought out in her.

‘Did you bring any food?’ Miles asked her, reminding her that she was starving. She always forgot to eat at work, and thank God she kept a massive stash of emergency chocolate in her glove box.

‘Never mind that, what are we doing now that the old duffer at the museum stonewalled us? We can’t get a warrant without Daniels finding out, we need to maintain a low profile, we don’t know who is involved.’

‘I figured we have a couple of invitations right here.’ He waved the invites of the dead men in the air with a smile on his face. ‘We don’t need a warrant to use them, and we can see who is at the party in person, you never know, we might get lucky.’

‘Lucky how?’ She frowned at him, half joking, knowing his propensity to charm the pants quite literally off of almost every woman he had contact with.

‘I mean, the killer might be there.’ They looked at each other, well aware the pretence of the conversation they were having was for everyone else’s benefit.

‘Are we running this past the DCI?’ She looked around to check if anyone was in earshot. She knew full well the answer to that question.

‘Come on, Grey, what do you say? Wanna go on a date with me? I’ll pick you up at seven.’

Curiosity would always win out, it was why she became a police officer in the first place, so she could legally stick her nose in other people’s business. It’s how she got into most of the messes she got into – she just wanted to know first-hand. She wanted to see what was going to go down at this party, not just interview people in the aftermath. She had a feeling something bad was going to happen there. There’s no such thing as coincidence.

‘OK, I’ll do it, but I’ll drive myself there, I have some things to do tomorrow. I can’t meet you until eight.’ His excited face forced her to smile a little, he was goofy all right.

‘There’s a small catch.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You have to dress up … you know … like a girl.’ He put his coffee to his mouth and raised his eyebrows in an apprehensive manner. Obviously waiting for her to back out or tell him off.

‘You mean pigtails and a gingham dress, Miley?’ She twiddled her hair and batted her eyelashes at him, he almost choked on said coffee.

‘Woman, you need to dress like a woman, it’s black tie,’ he stuttered as he wiped the coffee spatters off of his shirt.

‘That might be a problem.’

‘I’m sure you’ll think of something.’ He continued to rub the shirt, mumbling something as he sloped off to the toilets to clean the big brown splodge off.

Imogen huffed and looked down at her clothes, pretty much everything she had looked like some variation of this. When she had left Plymouth she had gotten rid of any trace of who she used to be. After the attack she donated all of her clothes to a charity shop and went out and bought clothes a little more reminiscent of her youth, from when she hung around with skater boys and listened to alternative rock music in the park until all hours of the morning. She was never particularly into pretty dresses or high-heeled shoes but it would have been useful to have some around, for situations like this one. She hated shopping, so that was out. She scanned the room until her eyes rested on Denise, the doll-faced desk sergeant. They were roughly the same size. She walked over to her, noting that every so often her eyes would glance in the direction of the toilets, clearly waiting for Miles to come out.

‘Denise, I need your help.’ Imogen realised this was one of the three times she had engaged in conversation with Denise, apart from the hellos and goodbyes before and after shift. She rested on the desk and leaned over, a slight look of fear on Denise’s face. ‘You’re about a size ten, right?’

Adrian put his phone down again, Andrea wasn’t answering and he needed to talk to her about Tom. He hated leaving her a voicemail, besides, this was more of an ‘in person’ kind of discussion. He wanted to talk about the possibility of enrolling Tom into a new school before the new term started. He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation, he knew she wouldn’t be reasonable about it. He walked into DCI Morris’ office. Daniels was standing in there on his phone. He quickly hung up.

‘You could knock first!’

‘Where’s the DCI?’ Adrian asked.

‘He’s out, left me holding the fort.’ Daniels put his phone back into his pocket and walked over to the door to leave. Before he could get to the door Grey walked in and closed the door behind her, leaning on it.

‘Are you out of your mind? You need to let me go.’

‘We have some questions, Mike,’ Grey said, crossing her arms, determined.

‘What’s going on?’ Daniels looked concerned.

‘You have to admit things have been pretty weird around here lately,’ Adrian said, moving closer to Daniels.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I feel like I’ve been running around in circles, where I am allowed to. Like every move I make is being watched.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Daniels said again, flustered.

‘You said that already.’ Grey half smiled at him.

‘You and I both know Ryan Hart didn’t kill himself. Did you do that? Did you kill him?’ Adrian asked directly, no point beating around the bush at this late stage in the game. There were going to be more murders, he knew that much, he just didn’t know when or how many. He needed to get to a version of truth that made sense to him.

‘Miles, you need to leave this alone, trust me.’

‘Or what?’

‘You don’t know what you are dealing with, best just let it go, it’s all under control.’

‘Does this look under control to you?’ Adrian threw Caruthers’ crime scene photos at Daniels; they landed on the floor, red upon red. Daniels looked down and shook his head, he fought back tears.

‘He promised me it was all under control.’

‘Did someone get to you, Mike, is that it?’ Grey put a comforting hand on his shoulder, he shrugged it off. She walked behind him and leaned on the desk.

‘First it was just a little favour here and there. Then it got bigger, until it was out of control.’ He let out a sigh of relief as he spilled the secret that had obviously been playing on his mind for quite some time, he looked instantly relieved.

‘Like what?’

‘That evidence that got you suspended, I had to frame you up for that, they needed you out of the station. I got rid of the most incriminating paperwork and the gun and made it look like you had fucked it up.’

‘They? Who is they? Kevin Hart’s people?’ Adrian’s heart was pounding, had he really been set up? He had never questioned his guilt, knowing that he was out of his mind at the time when the evidence went missing.

‘When I was asked to get rid of Ryan, I really had no choice. There is so much dirt on me now, there’s no walking away from it.’ He wiped the tears from his eyes and took a deep breath. No one in the squad room was even looking at them, they didn’t have a clue. ‘It started years ago. I would help get Ryan out of trouble, until he got too big and started getting noticed. Then of course there was you. They tried to keep you off him but you were like a dog with a fucking bone.’

‘What did Kevin Hart have on you?’

‘Kevin Hart? This goes beyond him, Ade. I was stuck! I would have lost my job. I got caught drink driving, bloke got run over and almost died, they wrote it off as a hit and run. They sorted it for me, as long as I helped them out.’

‘So who else?’

‘Stone, Markham, Hart, some vicar who died over in Paris. Respected people, people who could crush someone like me.’

‘Adrian,’ Grey said solemnly. He looked up at her, she never called him Adrian; she was holding something out to him. He took it from her and felt the blood drain from his body as he read it. It was an invitation to the museum fundraiser, number 001, and the name on it read Harold Morris. The DCI.

‘I’ll deal with you later, Mike, go home for now! Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll help you get out of this, I promise.’

Adrian walked out of the office dialling the DCI’s number on his phone, straight to answer phone.

‘There’s an explanation for this, I am sure.’

‘I know. Of course there is.’ Grey tried to reassure him.

‘He’s got nothing to do with this.’ Adrian was trying not to hyperventilate; trust once broken can never be repaired. He didn’t want to lose all faith in Morris until he had a chance to speak to him. If the director was telling the truth and over a hundred of those invites were sent out, then it made sense that Harry’s name would be on it. Didn’t it? He wasn’t sure how much sense it made that Morris would be number one, though.

‘You’re right, of course he hasn’t.’

‘I can’t get hold of the DCI. I need you to keep this to yourself, Grey. Don’t tell anyone.’

‘No, I won’t. Of course I won’t!’

‘We act as if nothing is different.’ He managed to calm himself with a deep breath, trying to stop his thoughts from spinning out of control. ‘You want to grab some lunch?’

‘I’d love to but I can’t. I kind of have somewhere to be and I’m off tomorrow. I’ll meet you at eight tomorrow night, yeah?’ She put her hand on his shoulder. He knew he could trust Grey, she wasn’t a part of whatever was happening, he was sure of it.

Adrian left her standing in the station. He had to get out of there. His world was turning upside down. Again.

The Shop

The pub was near the train station in the centre of town. It’s where the young marine wannabes would come before getting the train back to the training centre. It was renowned for being the chosen hangout for the testosterone-filled angst-ridden late teens. A short train ride away from the Lympstone Commando stop. They got drunk in the city to get away from the watchful eyes of the COs. Adrian pushed through to the bar. He was pretty sure that the girls who came here weren’t eighteen yet, you could usually tell because of the excessive make-up. Just for tonight Adrian wasn’t a police officer. Just for tonight? Who was he kidding? He let them finish their alcopops and display their bare midriffs, cleavage and thighs all in an effort to pull the most obnoxious of the boys, as if their volume and bravado was an indicator of their importance in the group, it was like watching Animal Planet. Adrian wasn’t fucked up like that, he appreciated how easy it would be to be interested in these eager young women and he thanked the stars that he wasn’t. Everyone has a secret behaviour they are ashamed of, something they try to suppress, something inside that constantly tries to force its way out. We all have something that will not be denied.

He watched the teenage girls being mauled by the overenthusiastic hyenas. He saw the boys indiscreetly slipping their hands between the girls’ thighs and pressing up against them. He remembered Andrea and how they had made out like this when he was younger, not too long before Tom had come along. They had been younger than this and they would cling to each other like no force on earth could tear them apart.

Adrian ordered his third drink from the bar, already knowing how he was going to end his evening. It’s easy to start a fight in a place like this without even throwing a punch. He took a deep breath and turned away from the bar, scanning the close proximity for a female, apologising to his body before committing this act of treason on himself.

‘Can I buy you a drink?’ Adrian walked a few steps towards a plainer girl that appeared to be alone. She was standing next to her friend who was in the throes of a rather unbecoming embrace with one of the men.

‘No, thanks.’ She half smiled, uncomfortable but still cocky. Sucking her vodka pop through a straw until the final drops rattled in the bottle.

‘You sure? You’re getting low there.’

‘Hey, old man, she said no thanks, are you deaf?’

Adrian felt a hand on his shoulder.

‘I’m just being friendly.’

‘Well, go be friendly someplace else, she’s with me.’ A freckle-faced nineteen-year-old stood behind Adrian with his arms folded, presumably in an effort to make his biceps look bigger.

‘Really?’ Adrian scoffed. ‘With you? She’s well out of your league, mate.’

‘Just leave it out, “mate”. You’ve been told nicely.’ He was holding his head high, making sure that everyone around knew who had the upper hand.

‘By you?’ Adrian turned to the girl. ‘I bet this guy wasn’t your first choice. Got stuck with the runt of the litter, did you?’

She was enjoying the attention, her female companion even seemed a little jealous that two men were fighting over her plain little friend. The pub had quietened and people were starting to watch. It wouldn’t be long now; the young man would have to save some face somehow.

‘What are you saying, old man?’ he said. Adrian saw his knuckles getting whiter around the base of his pint glass. He hadn’t quite decided if he was being insulted or not.

‘I’m saying, I’m surprised you didn’t have to roofie her to get her to let you touch her.’

Adrian thought he might have to bait the boy some more by cracking some insults about his mother as he saw him obviously trying to quell his anger. Apparently not. Adrian saw the clammy fist quickly approaching his face. Adrian could take a punch. He barely even recoiled, which seemed to anger the young man even more. The marine was holding back though, he was still so cocksure of himself that he didn’t want to lose it completely in front of the young woman in hooker shoes. He saw the foam gathering in the corner of the marine’s mouth.

‘Is that all you’ve got? My dead grandma hits harder.’

There it was, the uppercut. Harder to pull off if your opponent is fighting back, but Adrian had no intention of fighting back. It was better than his right hook anyway. His ears were ringing but he still heard the rest of the pub laughing. Within moments he felt fist upon fist until he was on the ground shielding all the important bits. The shrill sound of the girls screaming mixed with some encouraging chanting and the occasional giggle.

‘Shit, he’s a fucking copper!’ Adrian heard someone exclaim and the beating stopped. His wallet had made its way out of his pocket on to the floor in a bid to save him, traitor. He was mildly annoyed that he had even brought it out at all. There was a neurochemical imbalance in Adrian that could only be diminished by pain or humiliation. He had accepted this a long time ago. He was addicted to the rush he got from being beaten. It triggered the same stress reactions as intense arousal, only without the intimacy or the feeling of want. It was a way to forget himself. He attributed this to both his addictive personality and his fucked-up family. As someone who had always been in control, had taken hold of his own life at a young age, forced to assume the role of parent both literally and figuratively, Adrian needed to be out of control once in a while. He couldn’t bear the thought of putting anything stronger than alcohol in his body and on the occasions when he had done that the self-reproach lasted a lot longer than any bruise. He thought back to the times when he saw his father wasted and high, wielding a knife, hurting others, hurting Adrian. At least this way he knew the only person getting hurt was himself. This was a fix, nothing more. Adrian’s dad had always maintained that he was like a cockroach, indestructible. He didn’t feel that way when the owner of the pub helped him to his feet and showed him the door.

Adrian staggered towards his house. He looked for the dark spot in the street where the street lamp outside his house was broken. He could make out shapes, he could just about see the pavement. His eye was so swollen he could feel the pressure of his eyelids being forced together by the blood that was pooling under the surface of his skin. His eyelashes were beginning to matt together. He should have had a couple more drinks before instigating the fight. Usually in this situation he couldn’t tell if he was concussed or just very drunk. He was in fact just sober enough to realise that he needed to sit down. He saw the step outside Uncle Mac’s corner shop and headed for it, it was a little closer than the ground and he could use the door to steady himself on the way down. He slumped against the door, even with the wall for leverage it was a long way down. The blood had stopped seeping from his nose but his ribs still hurt, they weren’t broken, he knew what broken ribs felt like, but it still hurt every time he drew breath. Adrian felt the door behind him give way and he found himself lying flat on his back looking up at the shop girl.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked him, she was kneeling on all fours looking straight into his eyes, all the lights were off and there was no one else there.

Adrian struggled to take in a breath before heaving himself upright again. She sat on her heels watching him as he laboured to his feet.

‘I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’m sorry.’

‘No, please, come in, let me help you.’ She smiled and took his arm. He followed her inside, he was still curious as to why she was in there at all.

She led him to the back of the shop and opened the big green door that led to the storage cellar. She helped him down the stairs and he saw there was a fold-out bed in the corner of the room. It occurred to him that whenever he saw her she was wearing the same clothes. She lived here. There was a small toilet cubicle behind a curtain with a sink and there was a counter top with a kettle. She turned the kettle on. He leaned against the wall and watched as she gathered a hand towel and some bandages. She poured some boiling hot water into a bowl and brought all of the items over on a tray which she placed on the floor. Adrian had never really looked at this girl before. She was young, he wasn’t sure how young though, and her eyes were so brown they were almost black.

‘You don’t have to do this, I can make it home.’

‘Please, let me.’ She smiled as she dipped the towel into the boiling hot water.

He flinched as the steaming towel touched his skin. She mopped away the blood from under his nose and his lip. She went to the sink and rinsed the towel out with cold water before giving it to Adrian to put on his eye. He winced as he leaned forward, instinctively putting his hand to his side. She slowly reached up to his collar button and undid it, she continued to undo his shirt buttons and he watched through his one good eye.

‘Why are you helping me?’

‘You are always nice to me.’ She smiled.

Adrian felt kind of bad at this point because he could only remember seeing her on one or two occasions in the past, she had not registered with him as someone he was either nice to or not. Obviously the brief encounters they had had before had meant something to her at least. Which in turn begged the question, was no one else nice to her? As her fingers brushed against his bare, bruised skin he couldn’t help but look at her in a different way. She was very pretty and he had never seen her hair down before, it was always swept up in a bun, but at this moment it was trailing down her body and resting in her lap. He hated himself for always boiling everything down to this feeling of desire, as though he had no control over it, as though it were an involuntary reaction. It was still sore to breathe and he held his breath as she pulled his shirt further open, the bruises were really starting to come up now, so was the swelling. She pressed on his rib and he flinched again.

‘It’s not broken,’ he whispered through the pain.

‘I will wrap it anyway, give it some support. I think it is still deciding whether it is broken or not.’ She looked up at him.

‘Your English is very good.’

‘Thank you.’ She looked away. ‘Stand up, please.’

Adrian stood, it got harder to move every time. She slid his shirt off of his shoulders and threw it on the bed, it was still caked in his blood and a mixture of alcohol from when he lay on the floor and people poured their drinks on him. What a waste. She started to wrap the bandage around him, getting really close as she passed the bandage from hand to hand behind his back. Adrian couldn’t help himself, as usual, he leaned forward and kissed her. She pulled back surprised, shocked in fact.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know why I did that. Well, I do know, you’re beautiful and I’m an idiot.’

She tucked the bandage into itself and walked over to the sink to wash her hands. ‘You looked like you needed help, I hope I didn’t give you the wrong idea.’

‘It won’t happen again, I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘You think I’m beautiful?’ She smiled.

‘Yes, I do.’

She turned back to him and pulled her T-shirt over her head, she stood there in nothing but her skirt.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I like you, you’re kind to me.’

Adrian couldn’t ignore his surroundings. He also couldn’t ignore the pain he was in. He picked the crochet blanket up from the bed and walked over to the girl, wrapping the blanket around her.

‘You don’t need to do that, I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I’m sorry.’ He put his hand under her chin and kissed her again, this time on the forehead. Her eyes were glistening, threatening to cry. He hoped to God she didn’t cry, then he would feel like a complete arsehole. He pulled her to him and hugged her, she buried her face in his bare chest. ‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘My name is Eva.’

He stood there holding her against his broken body, but feeling as though he were the least damaged person in the room.