A Poison Tree (Time, Blood and Karma Book 3) (22 page)

32

CLAIRE

For Claire Braddock, that Thursday had
started like any other Thursday. There was nothing remarkable about it, least of all the drab, drizzling weather.

David had left for the office earlier than usual, and she wouldn’t see him again until late that night after his trip to Sheffield to see his old school friend.

Claire was becoming concerned about her husband. For several weeks, his usually sharp mind had seemed distracted, as if he were focused on solving some intractable conundrum. He always cited work as the reason for his preoccupied state, but Claire was only half-convinced by this explanation.

She wondered whether he had found out about her liaisons with Jack, but
persuaded herself that he had not. Like other spouses with secrets, her shield against discovery lay in the deep trust he placed in her. His inherent decency coated his eyes like cataracts. It both protected him from disappointment and heartache even as it provided a cloak for her dishonesty.

More and more
, Claire was feeling uncomfortable in her own skin, and she had finally resolved to sever the relationship with Jack. If it continued, sooner or later, the truth would come out. She could not always rely on David’s wilful unknowing.
Someone
would see her and Jack together, and when the news broke no amount of irrational thinking would help.

Claire Braddock had a lot to lose.

Moreover, some small voice told her that her husband needed her support now. Perhaps it
was
work that was troubling David – and he did work hard. Perhaps he was missing Katie. The house felt strange without her effervescent presence. Whatever it was, she was sure the man she loved was in a dark place, and
her
place was with him. The only time David relaxed was in the company of her sister. Anna was shouldering a duty that was Claire’s. That situation needed to change.

But how and when to tell Jack?

The previous two days he had been in a foul mood, following some phone call that threw him into a state of incandescent anger. She had heard shouting, punctuated by obscenities, from his office – as had everyone within a fifty-yard radius – but he had offered no explanation afterwards and no-one had had the courage to inquire what had ignited the rage.

This weekend. Claire would call Jack and arrange to see him. Then it would be over. If things became awkward between them after that, she would change jobs. She knew of several companies that would be happy to employ her.

Then she could once more be the wife and companion she had been before a shadow had fallen between her and David. The shadow of Daniel.

Claire loaded up the dishwasher, locked the house and drove to the office, where most of her time was spent kicking the monthly accounts into order and mentoring a new starter on
her duties in the accounts department.

Jack spent the whole day at Kettering
on project meetings on engineering matters. These did not require Claire’s presence.

When her cell phone rang around seven
-thirty, she was at the big supermarket in town, filling a trolley with food supplies. The display told her the call was from Anna.

“Claire? Oh my God, something terrible has happened.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve just called the police and
the ambulance. It’s – it’s Max.” Anna broke into wracking sobs.

“What about Max?”

Claire could not make out what her sister was saying. Anna sounded on the edge of hysteria.

“Anna, listen to me. Where are you?”

“At home.” Between choking breaths, Anna managed to get the words out.

“Stay put. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

Claire abandoned her shopping, ran to her car and drove dangerously fast to Anna’s apartment building. Other drivers sounded their horns as she weaved through the traffic. The drizzle was turning into heavy rain, and Claire switched the wipers to their fastest speed. She considered calling David on the way, but she had no real information to give him, and besides she worried that driving one-handed, she might not be able to keep the car on the road. She needed to get to Anna. David could wait. There was nothing he could do from Sheffield, in any event.

When Claire arrived, the entrance to the car parking area was blocked by a police
car, its lights flashing, and two ambulances were parked inside. A second police vehicle screeched to a halt behind Claire’s car, and two officers, one male, one female, dashed past her. Residents from the building stood around in the car park, and others craned over their balconies ogling at the activity below. Claire slammed her car door closed and, careless of the rain, rushed onto the driveway to scan the crowd for Anna.

She saw her sister sitting on the steps of the building.
Anna looked dazed and soaked through. The female police officer was kneeling by her and holding her hand.

Claire sprinted
over to her and threw her arms around her, but Anna barely seemed to register she was there.

Claire followed her sister’s gaze which was directed towards the two crews of paramedics. One crew was loading a blanket-covered body onto a stretcher, while the second crew was working to resuscitate a man lying on the gravel. The man’s limbs were splayed at unnatural angles
and he wasn’t breathing.

It was Jack Irving.

33

DAVID

In truth, w
e never know how we will behave in a crisis.

We like to think we will
act with courage and fortitude, and that, guided by our unfailing moral compass, we will without hesitation step up to the mark and do the right thing. The pedestal of goodness awaits us. Our gold medals bear the inscription, ‘Decency under Fire, Always’.

We may well discover, however, that we fall short of these exacting standards when calamity strikes, that our ethics are only shibboleths we spout when all is
well with the world. As Leonato, a character in the Bard’s play
Much Ado About Nothing,
observes, it is difficult to find a philosopher who can endure the toothache.

We do not know ourselves.

Entombed behind our wall of ego, selfishness and fear lurk, awaiting the appearance of a crack through which they can squeeze into the daylight. Then we see what we really are, glimpsing in that second the uncertainties and dreads that lie beneath our everyday actions, our delusions of valour. These are the monsters that drive us, we learn, and not some higher purpose.

We are
all still children. We are afraid of the dark.

On Claire’s instruction, I drove to our house. She had not been able to tell me exactly what had happened – in deference to the presence of her sister, I presumed – but I had gathered enough for sharp nails of worry to dig into my gut for the entire journey through the pouring rain. I chain-smoked while driving down the motorway, careless of the spray from lorries and the blinding stab of headlights.  All thoughts of Jim Fosse and the police were exorcised from my mind.

I had to get home.

Natalie Holland’s car was outside our house and Claire must have been watching for me because the door opened before I had time to insert my key.

Claire led me into the kitchen. “
Anna’s in the living room with Mum,” she said. “I need to fill you in first before you see her.”

“Of course.”

My wife was pale and haggard and she trembled when I put my arms around her.

“Tell me,” I said.

Claire took a deep breath. “Max is dead.”

She sat down at the kitchen table. “Jack Irving turned up at Anna’s apartment this evening. He had got wind of the fact that Max
was seeing his daughter, Ruth. Anna said he was furious, out of control.” She faltered, and I stroked her shoulders to reassure her.

Claire swallowed hard and continued. “
Jack started shouting at Max, but Max refused to talk to him, turned his back and walked out onto the balcony. That’s when Jack snapped and attacked him. There was a struggle, and they both went over the balustrade.”

“Christ Almighty. Anna saw all this?”

“Yes.” Claire swallowed again. “Max was killed instantly by the fall.”

“And Jack?”

“He’s in a critical condition at the hospital. They don’t know whether he’s going to make it.”

I pulled Claire’s head onto my chest. If I had ever entertained thoughts of revenge on Jack, they had all gone now.

Glad I see my foe outstretched beneath the tree
.

Claire
drew back from me. “Anna has given a preliminary statement to the police, but she’ll have to make a formal one. The police have taped off her apartment, but they let Anna pack a bag. She’s staying with us. I called Mum and she came straight here.”

“Of course she’s staying with us. How is she?”

Tears brimmed over. “How do you think? That shit of a husband, I’m glad he’s dead.”

Anna and Natalie were sitting on the sofa. Anna was still in shock. Her face was
a ghostly white except for the redness around her eyes. She had one of Claire’s shawls draped over her shoulders, but that wasn’t enough to stop her shivering in spite of the fact that the central heating must have been on maximum.

I knelt in front of her and touched her hands. She didn’t react.

“Anna.”

“Hello, David
.” Her voice was a whisper. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Don’t be silly. None of this is your fault.”

“Max is gone.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

In a closed system,
the scientists tell us, entropy increases. The difference between hot and cold erodes away until equilibrium is reached, at which point no further change is possible.

Humanity is a closed system.

My sister-in-law wept, while the rest of us sat around and offered what support we could. The rain kept falling on the just and on the unjust fellow. The hands on the mantelpiece clock continued to move, reminding us that the flow of time is irreversible.

What’s done is done. And we all have to live with it.

34

DAVID

Claire and I accompanied Anna to the police station the next
morning.

With everything that had been going on, it had completely slipped my mind that I
was supposed to have been going to Twickenham, but that was out of the question now and it was too late to offer my ticket to anyone. Besides, I had no desire to explain how it was I came to have a spare ticket.

My mother-in-law
had argued that she too wanted to be there for her daughter, but we insisted she stay at home otherwise it was going to look like a family outing. Happily, I didn’t bump into DCI Banks. That would have resulted in the solids hitting the air conditioning big time. There had been no sensible opportunity to say anything to either Claire or Anna about the Jim Fosse matter. To have spoken so soon after Max’s death would have made an already dreadful situation worse.

That little slice of trauma would have to wait for another time.

The female police officer who led the interview opened by being solicitous and tactful. Her male colleague appeared bored, and to my eye looked like he’d been on the beer the night before. As the discussion progressed, the questions became more pointed.

“Were you aware that your husband was seeing Ruth Irving, Mrs
. Harper?”

“I
don’t think that’s an appropriate thing to ask,” I said, feeling the outrage starting to bubble.

“We are just trying to establish the facts behind what happened, sir
.” The woman replied smoothly, but with a steel edge to her voice.

“Maybe you should have a solicitor present for this, Anna.”

“It’s all right, David,” Anna responded.  “I knew Max was seeing someone, but I didn’t know who.”

“So you don’t know the Irving family at all?”

“No.”

Claire and I exchanged a look, but remained silent.

“You don’t know their address for instance?”

“She has already told you she doesn’t know them,” I said
.

The male officer suddenly stirred. “Would you mind if we took your fingerprints, Mrs
. Harper? This would be voluntary on your part, you understand.”

Anna could see I was about to object, and she put a hand on my arm. “No, I don’t mind,” she replied. “Anything to help. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Harper. I realise this is an upsetting time for you. We will give you back access to your apartment just as soon as we can.”

Once we had returned to the house, I took Claire to one side. “I don’t like how some of those police questions were going.”

“Do you think we should have said that we know the
Irvings?”

“I don’t think that would have helped. I’m struggling to see why any of that should be relevant. It seems pretty obvious what happened.”

“Perhaps they are wondering if it was Anna who told Jack about the affair. It’s a mess, David. Ruth is only seventeen, you know.”

“I thought she was eighteen.”

“Not until the end of this month.”

“We don’t know for sure Max had sex with her.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “Don’t we? Knowing Max? It’s not likely he was helping her with her homework.”

I looked down at my shoes. “Do you want to go into the hospital and see how Jack is doing?”

“No.  I have asked the office to ring me if there is any news. Eleanor will be at the hospital. My place is here with Anna. You go to work. We’ll be fine.”

I didn’t go to work. There were things I needed to figure out. So I drove to Foxton Locks, parked the car and walked up the towpath. I needed solitude, and given the cold of the day, I doubted there would be many people around.

In the event, some hardy
types were shuffling about and a couple of narrow boats were moving on the canal, but there was not enough activity to disturb my thoughts. I stopped at the place where I had taken that photograph of Claire all those years ago – the one I still carried in my wallet.

Fragments of Ian
Kenney’s bizarre take on Buddhist philosophy wafted through my head, and I tried to work out how any of that might be relevant.

Everything we do has consequences
.

Was Max’s death some kind of karmic payback for his
misdeeds? Were Anna and Claire being punished too for their infidelities? And if so, when could I expect the sentence for my night with Anna to be passed down?

I s
ighed and lit a Marlboro.

This was no time to indulge in whimsy.

I parked all thoughts about Jim Fosse. He would have to wait. I had to work out first what had gone on in Anna’s apartment, why the police were so interested in whether Anna knew the Irvings and why it was important that they had her fingerprints. Because something told me all these things
were
important and it was not only Braddock paranoia making an appearance.

Who were the good guys and who were the bad guys?

I lit a second cigarette from the stub of the first, feeling like a character in some pulp fiction novel.

Forget Jim Fosse
.

Claire had slept with Jack. I had slept with Anna. Max had slept – I supposed – with Ruth
, Jack’s daughter. Jack had killed Max.
La Ronde
. What goes around comes around.

Jack was the pivot.

I went back to my car, started the engine and headed for the hospital.

The Leicester Royal Infirmary, which dates back to 1771 and is sited close to the centre of the city, houses the accident and emergency department to which Jack Irving would have been rushed the previous evening. By this time, I reasoned, he would presumably have been transferred from A&E to the Urgent Care Centre, assuming he was not still in surgery. Or in the morgue.

Two nurses of Indian extraction were busy shuffling papers at the reception desk. The area was bright, but lacking any human touch
es. The place was geared for processing efficiency, not for calming ambience.

Now that I had arrived, I was unsure how to proceed. Had I expected Jack to be up and about and ready to answer any questions I had
?

The nurse in spectacles looked up from her desk and
peered at me. “Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m here to see Mr
. Jack Irving,” I said. “He was admitted last night.”

Her fingers moved over the keyboard and she squinted at the display screen. “Mr
. Irving is in the ICU. Are you family?”

“No, but he’s a good friend of mine.”

“Family only, I’m afraid.”

A voice from behind me said, “I didn’t know you knew Jack that well.”

Eleanor was standing holding a cup of coffee. She was dressed sombrely, as if she were already in mourning. She addressed the girl at the desk. “It’s all right, nurse. Mr. Braddock is with me.”

Eleanor Irving looked at me for a few seconds.
Her expression was difficult to read. Anger? Puzzlement? Then she said, “Come to finish the job, David?”

“Eleanor, I am so sorry.”

She made no reply. Instead, she indicated for me to follow her. We passed through double doors and turned into a corridor where a large glass window acted as a viewing port into the room that was occupied by Jack. “No-one is allowed in at present,” she said.

Jack Irving appeared to have tubes everywhere.
His breathing was being facilitated by a ventilator – a bad sign. His head and every limb were swathed in bandages. Such skin surface as was visible was covered in cuts and bruises. He looked like a broken doll. Banks of machines clustered at the bedside, and a nurse was moving around checking displays and drips.

Eleanor stared through the glass and sipped her coffee. “This is what it has come to,” she said.

She sounded calm, but I could sense behind that still exterior something was waiting to burst. I felt a jab of guilt. Eleanor Irving might be a priggish and cold woman, but she was still a creature capable of feeling pain and sorrow.

I couldn’t imagine what sensations and thoughts must be passing through her right now.
I guessed she was still in shock, her system struggling to come to terms with what had happened.

“The doctors have warned me to expect the worst. They can detect no significant brain activity. I expect it won’t be long before they ask me for permission to turn off the machines. They are the only thing
s that are keeping Jack alive.”

She turned to me. “Do you have any cigarettes?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go outside.”

We found a quiet, sheltered spot in the hospital grounds and sat down on a bench. Eleanor took a cigarette from me and we both lit up.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” I said.

She gave a bitter laugh. “Why, do you think I’ve always been this dried-up, joyless, middle-aged woman?”

“I didn’t –”

“You may find this hard to believe, but I was considered an attractive girl in my youth. I used to have fun.” She stared at me in defiance. Then her bluster subsided and she looked away. “Tell Claire not to come in to see him. There is no point.” She flicked ash from her cigarette and watched it blow into the bushes. “The man who was seeing Ruth, I understand he was your brother-in-law.”

“Yes.”

“How is his wife? I mean – widow?”

“Surviving.”

“So what are you doing here? I should have thought it beneath you to come and gloat?”

“What do I have to gloat about?”

“Oh,
please
.” She spat out the words. “Are you going to sit there, look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t know your wife and Jack were seeing each other?
I
knew. You must have known too.”

“Eleanor, this is not the time to talk about this.”

“This is the perfect time.” She smoked some more, then said. “Jack has always played around. All our married life. There was always someone. Until recent years, anyway.”

I put my hand on her
shoulder. “Why are you telling me this?”

I knew perfectly well why she was telling me. She had no-one else to tell.
So much for the support mechanism of religion in times of trial.

A spasm of
distress passed across her face, but she managed to keep control. “There is one thing you almost certainly don’t know, however. Unlike in his previous dalliances, Jack and Claire never had sex.”

“How could you know that?”

“Because it would have been impossible. Jack has been impotent for the last five years. A kind of poetic justice, I suppose. Then he goes and gets himself killed fighting with a man who was just a younger version of himself. Another philanderer.”

“Jack’s not dead, Eleanor.”

“As good as. And they are going to ask me, a devout Christian, for permission to turn off the machines. Jack’s last gift to me. So typically selfish of the man.”

“You’re in shock.”

Eleanor looked away again. “I had best get back inside.”

She stood up and
all of a sudden looked old and frail.

“What did you mean when you asked me if I had come here to finish the job?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.”

She made to walk away, but something stopped her. “A few days before it all happened, Jack received an anonymous phone call making disgusting remarks about our daughter. It put him in a terrible mood, but I thought nothing of it. Jack has been in business a long time and has collected some enemies along the way. But yesterday he received an anonymous letter giving details of Ruth’s meetings with Max Harper. That’s what triggered his driving over to Harper’s apartment. My husband has always had a short fuse.”

“An anonymous letter?”

“Yes.” She paused. “I thought perhaps you might have sent it, given the circumstances.”

“Jesus, no, Eleanor.”

“Anyway, the police have it now. It’s their problem. Whoever sent it, I hope they track him down and throw him off a balcony.” She tossed away the remains of her cigarette. “Tell me, I’m curious. Does Claire know you know about her?”

I shook my head.

Eleanor snorted. “Well, good luck with that. And thank you for the cigarette. Smoking is every bit as disgusting as I remember.” She walked back inside the hospital.

I lit another Marlboro.

The wind blew dried leaves around my ankles. I saw cars come and go from the car park and heard the big tree creak. The light started to fade.

Claire had not been unfaithful.
Cumberbatch had been wrong. I had been wrong. With Jack, Claire had sought nothing more than the same comfort I had sought with Adele. She wanted a shoulder to lean on, a shoulder other than mine. She had taken matters no further than that, in spite of the superficial ‘facts’ in my private detective’s report.