A Cry in the Night (30 page)

‘I almost wish we had gone to court if she was their main witness,’ Helen added. ‘It would have been quite a circus.’

She was crowing, and Zoe disliked her all the more for it.

‘There’s something else about her though,’ Helen said as she finished her cigarette and stubbed it out. ‘I think she’s in love with Sam.’

Zoe thought of the way Ashley had sat in the back of the car, and how she’d gazed at Sam in the interview room. Zoe’s mind fizzed. How had she not noticed this before? But love? How? When had there been time for this to happen?

‘You know, if you’re worrying about witnesses,’ Helen said, stretching in her seat, ‘you might want to look closer to home before throwing any accusations at me.’

‘Thanks for the lecture,’ Zoe replied.

Helen laughed, apologised, then put the car into gear, steering them back to the hotel. She turned on the stereo and a jaunty song played – country-and-western. It seemed so incongruous with Zoe’s spiralling fears. As they drove Helen prodded some more. Would Zoe let her know if Sam did anything strange? Did she recognise how dangerous he
was? Did she see that she was on the right side, doing the right thing?

Zoe nodded and made the appropriate replies, but she struggled to maintain this appearance. She hated being here, hated the dark. She wanted it to be light, to throw on some trainers and to run; burn away the doubts and worries and clear her head. But the night wouldn’t budge.

Helen let Zoe go in first, telling her she would make a few calls in the car and then wander in later to avoid them being seen together. Zoe slipped out and hurried past the bar. She went back to Sam’s room, but stopped when she saw the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. Her hands felt too puny to reach the door and knock. She felt too slight, too small, and yet so pumped full of betrayals.

She went to her room and sat in a miserably lukewarm bath. Sleep didn’t come easy.

Downstairs, the men huddled together at tables where they muttered and drank, drank and muttered. A loud cough of laughter would punch through, but otherwise all you could hear was a low murmur. Thick, calloused hands, rough from everyday work, grabbed tough pint glasses, and weathered faces flushed red from the heat. They joked the same jokes, just as they had always done. Hands flicked through thinning hair and tales were retold about glory days now long gone.

Someone would mention a girl or a woman and lips would be licked and more jokes would be made. Everything was harmless, everything was just as it always had been. There was no need for it to change or for anyone to take offence.

No one saw Sam slip upstairs, or the girl that followed. But they all saw Zoe when she hurried in and they scoffed at the hasty retreat she beat to her room.

And no one knew what to do with Helen when she strolled into the bar with a small, polite nod to the locals that was somewhat undone by the way she stood at the bar so confidently, ordering a double whisky and daring anyone to come and talk to her. No one did, and as she stood there and watched them all, so the conversation was that tiny bit quieter.

When she left, they grumbled and moaned. Something not quite right about that one. Standing there, so proud and so arrogant. Not right at all.

Zoe woke to the sound of driving rain. She got up and stared out at the bleak landscape. Heavy, watercolour clouds squatted on top of the fells, obscuring their peaks, and the wind lashed against the windowpane. A moment later, her phone chirruped with a text. It was from Helen.

‘
Gone back to the city. Weather coming in. Keep me informed. H
.’

The weather was coming in. No shit.

She dressed quickly and went to Sam’s room. She knocked loudly, trying to make herself feel as she normally would. A shove and joke to loosen things up. Sam opened the door, a towel wrapped around his waist.

‘Morning, boss,’ she said, and tried to push her way in, but he barred her way.

‘Hi,’ his voice was raw.

‘Let me in then.’

‘Er, no.’

She folded her arms and stared at him.
Explain yourself
.

‘I’m not dressed, Zoe.’

‘So what? I’ve seen your bits, mate.’

He didn’t reply or even offer an excuse of some sort.

‘Are you serious?’ she said.

Still nothing.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Fine. Let’s meet in ten minutes downstairs for breakfast. Will that suit you, sir?’

He nodded.

‘Great. I look forward to the pleasure of your company.’ She turned then chucked an ‘arsehole’ at him as she walked away. The door shut quickly behind her and she knew immediately why: there was someone in there.

She waited and, sure enough, about five minutes later, the door opened and Ashley Deveraux came out. Zoe made sure she wasn’t seen but couldn’t help the sting of seeing the case’s lead witness slip away from his room.

She watched her hurry out of the hotel room via a back door and then went to the bar and sat numbly at a table. A polite young waitress took her order and poured her some watery coffee. She’d never sat so still in all her life.

Sam appeared soon enough, ordered his food and sat down opposite, grabbing some toast instead of explaining himself.

‘What’s going on?’ Zoe asked. Sam looked up at her and she felt tears flood to her eyes. She didn’t want them, didn’t
want to look weak and emotional, but she couldn’t help it.

‘It’s fine,’ he replied, but there was no conviction in his answer.

‘We’re a team,’ she said.

‘I know.’ He buttered the toast. They were the only people in the room, and a Hoover upstairs was the only counterbalance to this awful intimacy. ‘I’m sorry,’ he added, much later.

‘That’s shit.’

‘I’m okay, Zoe. Please.’

‘No you’re not. You’ve been weird for ages and you won’t talk to me and now, you’re, you’re …’

He chewed on the toast and said nothing. Boss, you’re fucking the witness. The words were bursting out of her, but she still didn’t dare say it. She wanted to throw her coffee at him.

‘We should go and visit Sarah today,’ he said eventually.

He really was going to pretend that she was stupid and hadn’t picked up on anything. He knew her too well for this, but he was bloody well going to do it anyway.

‘We go to see Sarah and we listen very carefully for any change,’ he continued, then poured himself some coffee and waited for her approval.

‘And what do we do if there are no changes?’

Nothing. Another sip. Eyes down. He placed his cup back
on the saucer. His hands enveloped the entire cup. He let out a slow sigh and she waited for the confession.

‘After we’ve seen Sarah, we go back and talk to Tim. He’s not protecting her now.’

She kicked him under the table, but missed and the whole table shook. The waitress looked up but then went back to writing the lunch menu on a blackboard.

‘Is this how it’s going to be? Really, Sam?’

She finally had his attention. He feigned ignorance and this pushed her on.

‘You’re fucking the bloody witness!’ She said it again, more quietly, more sadly, and Sam couldn’t meet her eye. You’re fucking the witness.

‘Why?’ she asked after a long silence.

Sam muttered excuses about it being difficult to explain, that he liked her, that he hadn’t known she’d turn out to be involved in the case, that he was lonely and sad. But as much as she wanted to believe him, it felt as though he was going through a prepared speech.

‘Come on, Sam, it’s me. I’ve always been honest with you, haven’t I?’

And then she faltered because her words weren’t true either and she knew that Sam would pick up on this. And sure enough she saw him peer at her more closely.

‘What’s happened, Zoe?’

She tried to answer him with bullshit but the words
made her tongue-tied. The waitress appeared and placed two plates of full English breakfasts onto the table. She warned them about the hot plates with a happy, warm tone and then walked away. Neither ate. Sam watched her and she fidgeted with a napkin.

‘Zoe. Tell me.’

‘I don’t know why you think there’s a link between those old cases and this one,’ she said, trying to wriggle free.

‘What have you done?’ he asked. He wouldn’t be deflected, not now.

‘I think it’s crazy. We’ve got a missing girl here, miles from any of those things. I don’t see what the connection is.’

‘There
are
connections, Zoe.’

‘Which are what, women? Some sort of cabal? Come on, if you did that the other way round with men, then ninety per cent of cases would be linked. It’s insane.’

He finally began to eat, but his eyes returned to her soon enough.

‘And I don’t see why you’re so interested in Helen either,’ she said, and then fell silent. She’d said too much and they both knew it.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked. He did it ever so quietly, but she’d worked with him long enough to know that this was the voice he used when he was about to pounce.

‘You said you hated her,’ she said. ‘At the hospital.’

It was a good lie, but it wasn’t enough.

‘I did, but why are you defending her?’ There was a sense of threat in the question.

‘I just want to find Lily.’

‘Have you seen the files?’ he asked. He gazed at her with those powder-blue eyes, and she now knew just how it felt to be on the wrong side of the interview room table.

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘I saw them in your room. After I went to check on Issy. Like you asked,’ she said, stressing the last bit to make her point. She was his friend. His colleague.

‘You went into my room? Why?’

There was no easy answer so she took a different path.

‘It scared me. The way you’d arranged it all. The way you’d lined up their faces.’

‘They scare me too.’

‘Not them. You. I’m worried about you, Sam.’

He chewed on his food, his eyes locked on her, slowly piecing it together, unravelling her betrayal.

‘Did you tell her about the witness?’ he finally asked.

She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to lie, but she couldn’t stop herself from nodding.

She saw him grip his knife and fork a little tighter. He stared at her as though she were a stranger, someone to be broken down and taken apart.

And then her phone rang. She grabbed it gratefully, and used the excuse of needing some decent reception to get away. It was from the police station back in Manchester. Mr Frey had demanded to see her. The tone of the call made it clear that this was about Malcolm Cartmell.

She stood in the shelter of the pub’s wooden porch and watched the rain howl down. She tried to work out which was worse – the hungry pack waiting for her in the city, or Sam’s lies and anger across the table. She was perfectly, horribly trapped. She wanted to run and run, let the rain soak her and wash everything away.

Instead, she went back inside and stood in front of Sam at the table and delivered the news that she was being screwed back at work as well as here. He shrugged her anger off, which only made her come back at him for more.

‘You were going to help me with this,’ she said.

‘You’ve been helping Helen Seymour.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And you’re shagging the lead witness in a case. So we’re both fucked, aren’t we?’

He stood and threw his napkin onto his half-finished plate.

‘You’ve been lying to me, Sam. Don’t turn this all on me. You’ve not been straight either.’

They stood either side of the breakfast table, close enough to touch, to hug, to scratch or punch.

‘Please, Sam. It’s me. Come on, mate.’

‘Fuck you.’

He said it so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right for a second. Maybe it was because he’d never spoken to her like that before. But she was here to help him, to protect him.

‘Sam … it’s me … I’d never …’

Words failed her. Her arms hung uselessly by her side. Her mind and body failing in perfect harmony.

‘Go talk to Mr Frey,’ was all he said before he headed back up to his room. She went to hers and packed her things, then got in the car and didn’t bother to look for him to say goodbye. She turned on the engine and wondered how he would get about without a vehicle. How pathetic of her, she thought, to still be worrying about him and his needs after all this. She was about to put her foot on the accelerator when the tears came. She sobbed and sobbed, but the rain hid her tears away and no one saw.

Finally, she drove off, her eyes red and her emotions still raw. She turned on the radio to distract her. A local station warned that the weather was coming in. It confused her for a moment, it was already here, surely. But then she heard them talk about snow.

As she continued, so the rain turned to sleet and then to snow. She made it onto the motorway before it got heavy and managed to escape the worst of it. When she reached the city, a few hours later, all she faced were dull clouds and dusty pavements.

*

But on the fells and over the lakes, the snow fell hard. Sam sat in his bedroom and watched it settle on his windowsill. He looked up at the sky and saw the snowflakes tumble. Whereas that night he had stared out at an impenetrable darkness, now the snow lit everything and swamped it all in a remorseless white. Ashley returned and pulled him back under the sheets, where she teased and played with him, as a cat might play with a mouse.

Later, when they were done, he went back to the window and marvelled as the snow smothered everything. Slowly but surely, the only colours left were black and white.

The snow fell all day. It wasn’t unusual for it to fall like this but it wasn’t common to have so much, so quickly. Roads were soon impassable, and as the sheer physical weight of the snow rose, so the power to the village inevitably failed.

There was a small pop, a wheeze and then silence as the lights snapped off. Weary villagers stared at their lifeless appliances and then threw nervous glances at the white storm outside their windows. Common sense told them that this wouldn’t be fixed soon. Shrugs followed, then blankets were pulled from cupboards and logs from outside to keep the fires running.