The Silence (Dc Goodhew 4) (21 page)

‘So he’s at lunch then, early lunch?’

‘No.’ Colin rubbed his forehead just above one eyebrow. ‘Rob’s struggling at the moment. I told him he should get some space – you know, straighten his head out, I suppose.’

‘He’s struggling how? I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Is he drinking at work or . . . depressed? Restless, aggressive – what?’

Colin hesitated for a second as though trying to make a decision. Sometimes when they did that, people were running through all the tactful ways to answer, the ways to avoid that can of worms that so often lurked behind a simple answer to a simple question. And quite often, like now, Goodhew would see them give up, deciding that the tactful answer would be too complicated, would lead to something even more complicated later on; they were usually right and Colin Wren was no exception.

After this hesitation, Colin relaxed and just told it how it was.

‘Rob lost his previous job. He had time off when his wife Mandy was ill, then more when she died. He started drinking heavily then. I think losing Mandy was too much. It wasn’t just the drink, he wasn’t reliable any more – he couldn’t concentrate. He was a welder at the time and, let’s face it, it’s a job where you’ve got to concentrate. He was working at a garage and the jobs were getting behind. He told me he reached a point when he was relieved when they let him go.’

‘So he was confiding in you through all of his.’

‘I’ve known him since school. He’s always been a hard worker, a good employee too, as far as I know. He never worked for me before but I think he’s been one of those straight-up guys who just turn up and do a good job. But now he felt he’d gone too far the wrong way to pull himself up. He had to start somewhere else and so he left I suppose under a cloud. He then tried several contract jobs but he couldn’t hold them down, and I was watching him fall to bits.’

‘Is that when you employed him?’

Colin nodded. ‘They always say that two years is the big turning-point. When you’re grieving the first year, it’s the loss, and the second year it’s the anniversary of that loss. After that, things get better so I figured I’d stick with him through that. I have contracts, care homes like this, the grounds of buildings; places that require a mix of skill and hard labour. Rob seemed perfect – he doesn’t have to go face to face with people. I thought he’d have space to think and still be working. It all made sense to me.’

‘But something went wrong?’

‘Look, I’m not admitting defeat at this point, but it’s a struggle, and several of the care homes have asked me politely about him; they’re not tremendously happy with him being in contact with some of their residents. He’s not dangerous, but sometimes he’s aggressive in a verbal way. He wouldn’t hurt anyone, but he has a slightly confrontational way about him, and he’s turned up several times after lunch when he’s obviously had a few too many to drink or even first thing in the morning.’ Colin stared at the ground for a moment then back up at Goodhew. He looked apologetic. ‘That type of thing will end up damaging my reputation.’

‘Is that what happened today?’

‘It’s what happens too frequently, if I’m honest. If a job goes well, it goes well. If I have a problem it’s always about Rob, and that chip on his shoulder is growing so huge he can’t pull himself out from under it. It’s in my interest too that he just keeps his head down and steers away from the customers, but today . . .’ Colin shrugged. ‘At first he seemed fine, but soon he was muttering to himself. I couldn’t even work out the words, but he was internally sorting things out and swearing under his breath. He was working on a flowerbed that was a bit closer to the house, up at that end by the patio. He was filling it with bedding plants – it’s the job of the day. All Rob had to do was move some tools from the van, collect the plants from the greenhouse, take them down to the flowerbed and plant them up. Little things kept going wrong, which turned into a vicious cycle. He’s flustered so he’s clumsy. He’s clumsy so he swears. He swears in a way that sounds aggressive, and he’s heard by a couple of residents who complain to the manager.’

Colin made a ta-da gesture with his hands, but didn’t actually say it.

‘This is a really good nursing home and they keep their grounds maintained for the residents all year round. Even in the winter we still have a few things to do here. The greenhouses here have been restored. My point is that this isn’t any old contract – I need to keep them happy.

‘The manager doesn’t want somebody wandering around in the grounds and using bad language, even if it’s only to himself. From Rob’s point of view, he probably wasn’t even aware that he was doing it, but that’s no excuse. He knew I was annoyed. By the time she spoke to me, he’d cleared off further from the house and was keeping his head down.’

‘So you argued?’

‘I was just trying to make him see that it wasn’t a way he should behave. I’m not stupid – I know that when he’s angry, it’s about what’s going on in his head, not about the garden and the residents and all of that. I therefore suggested he took time out and went down by the river – have a walk, clear his head, all of that.’

‘And he’s still down there?’

‘Well, he hasn’t been back. You could go down there and look, I suppose. You might want to check out the pubs, the tow-path.’

‘Are you planning to let him go?’

Colin rubbed the bridge of his nose with the back of his wrist. If he’d been trying to push away the fatigue, he failed. ‘I can’t keep on like this. I want to find some way round it. I can’t lose my customers. But I can’t lose my mate either.’

‘What’s your biggest concern for him?’

‘I don’t know. Some days it’s that he’s going to drink himself to death, and other days it’s that he’s going to do something stupid and get himself arrested.’ Colin threw up his hands. ‘What do I know? These kids dying has had an effect on him, and he’s scared for Charlotte and Matt. As long as nothing happens to them, I think he’ll hang on in there.’

The nearest two pubs were the Green Dragon and the Pike and Eel. Goodhew checked there first but neither of them had seen Rob Stone. So much for the obvious assumptions. Goodhew walked along the tow path for about twenty minutes, away from the city. And walking at pretty much the same pace that the river flowed.

Goodhew turned round when he was almost opposite the Plough in Fen Ditton. He decided that it was unlikely Stone had walked this far, or if he had, had kept on walking. He was about halfway back when he spotted the figure in the distance sitting in the grass of the river bank.

Goodhew squinted. He saw no sign of fishing rods, or bait boxes. He walked a little further and when the man came into focus he was able to pick out the shape of Rob Stone’s features. Although facing the river, Stone seemed to be staring across it at Stourbridge Common. He didn’t look round as Goodhew approached.

‘They once used to hold the biggest fair in Europe there, did you know that?’ Stone didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Used to be a couple of days and then it grew until it lasted almost a month. It was famous – they probably couldn’t imagine it no longer existing.’ He tilted his head in Goodhew’s direction, not quite looking him in the eye, but almost. ‘What is the point of anything, if nothing lasts forever? Whatever you build crumbles. Whatever you don’t build doesn’t matter.’

‘Mr Stone.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know. Pointless drunken ramblings.’

There were three empty cans lying next to Stone’s feet. The fourth of the pack was in his hand. He’d arranged the empty ones so they were side by side with the labels positioned at precisely the same angle.

Goodhew guessed this must mean that Rob had been there for more than a few minutes and if that was the case, he must have sat down pretty much as soon as Goodhew had passed the first time.

‘I walked this way a few minutes ago.’

‘Yeah, I saw you. I wasn’t in the mood.’

‘But you are now?’

‘Yeah. No, I can’t be bothered to get up. I can’t be bothered to.’ Stone pushed down the corners of his mouth. ‘I just can’t be bothered.’

‘D’you remember when I came to speak to you at the Carlton Arms? I went outside and shortly afterwards I was attacked.’

‘Yeah, I heard.’

‘Well, two things. Firstly, I don’t remember our conversation before, not clearly, though I know we were talking about Shanie. Secondly, I know you’ve also said you don’t remember seeing anything, so I just wanted to check.’

‘Check, as in catch me out? Or check to see if some memory emerged through my drunkenness? No, when I said I don’t remember, I don’t remember – and if I said I saw nothing, I saw nothing.’

‘Okay, fair enough.’ Goodhew sat down beside Stone and joined him in looking out at the river. ‘But I might remember something if we go back over the last conversation about Shanie.’

‘Ha, do you think I remember any more than you do? I remember us talking about Shanie but nothing else.’

‘I will need to take a formal statement about how Shanie came to be in the house. But could you at least think about whether anyone saw you leave the Carlton?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Look, try to remember. There were people inside. There was some pool match on and the woman at the bar . . .’

‘No, I don’t remember. Ask them.’

‘Okay, how did you get back home?’

‘I walked – it’s not far.’

‘No, but your daughter Charlotte came looking for you. She must know the quickest way from the pub to your house as well, but you didn’t cross paths?’

Stone smiled; it was accompanied by a short snort of amusement. ‘Well, that’s simple, because Charlotte would go the lit way, while I go up the back alley. She’s sensible, I’m the stupid fucker that comes home with dogshit on my shoes and a head that’s banging so much I don’t know if I’ve been clouted or not. Great.’

‘Well no, it’s not really, is it? At the moment all I have to corroborate your statement is Charlotte’s statement saying where you were. That’s not much help.’

‘I didn’t hit you over the head, you know.’ Rob tried draining the final can even though he’d made a show of draining it just a few moments before. He held it in his hand, crushed the middle of it then folded in the ends and finally concertinaed it so it made a disk about an inch thick. Then he did the same with each of the other three cans, and stood up.

‘I bet you think I’m messing my life up. I am, I know I am – however, I haven’t turned Matt against me.’ Stone spoke slowly at first, as though the thoughts were only revealing themselves to him a moment before he spoke them. ‘Matt is me, Matt is who I was before he was born. He’s got the same anger that was already in me before all of this happened. I don’t have some big chip on my shoulder because I’ve lost Mandy. I’ve always found life a mental struggle. Charlotte, she’s different, she is like her mum. She wants to care and nurture and show everybody that there is something better in the world. And I make that worse.’ Stone’s words emerged uneven, spilling from him in irregular volleys, but the sentences themselves were becoming surprisingly coherent. ‘I lean on her good nature and let her take care of me in the way I don’t take care of myself, and all the while I’m thinking, my god, she deserves so much better. She does, you know. She deserves so many things I can’t give her and so does Matt.

‘Now I’m talking, so that means I’m just a burbling drunk shooting my mouth off. Isn’t that the way we are? Passive aggressive? I’m either offending people or talking garbage and offending them with that. Don’t worry about a lift either. Colin will take me or I’ll walk. Either way I could do a lot worse.’

‘We’re not finished yet, Mr Stone,’ Goodhew told him. ‘Shanie Faulkner, remember?’

‘What about your own injury?’

‘I’m not really interested in that right now.’

Again the snort of laughter. ‘Well, you’re a fucking arsehole then, aren’t you? You’re judging it on how badly you were hurt and how quickly you recovered. Maybe if you’d turned your head a little, or landed badly, or if my Charlotte hadn’t found you, you could be dead or in a right fucking state. Whatever the outcome: same man, same attack.’

‘I wasn’t dismissing it, but my focus is Shanie.’

‘And the other girl, Meg?’

‘Of course.’

‘No, no it’s not. I see something in your expression. What’s with you? Both cases should be treated the same, but they’re not.’

Goodhew shook his head.

‘Liar,’ Stone said. Then: ‘Charlotte and Matt think like you.’

‘Think what?’

‘That Shanie wasn’t the type. Never was.’

‘There isn’t a type.’

‘And who taught you that? It’s bollocks. This fucking life crushes me but I’m not the type. If I was, I would have done it. And you? Are you the type?’

Goodhew didn’t answer.

‘No, I didn’t think so. You never met Shanie but you don’t buy the idea that she killed herself: it’s bugging you. You don’t think it was an accident either. You really think someone killed her?’

‘Why would they?’

‘I’m not the fucking detective here, I’m the fucking alcoholic, remember?’ Stone’s uneven speech had gone: both his thoughts and words had suddenly sharpened. ‘But even a fucking alcoholic can work out when his own kids are in the shit. I think the least you can do is hear their concerns.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘And don’t throw “fair enough” at me and think that’s the end of it.’ And before Goodhew could respond, Stone demanded, ‘Did you have Lego when you were a kid?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘I had a whole box of it. I had names for the different pieces, like “eighters” and “flat fours”. I even didn’t need to check if I had a “see-through twelve-er”, I just knew. Didn’t matter how many times I tipped it out or churned it over, I knew what was there.’

Goodhew nodded; he knew too.

‘That’s Charlotte and Matt, and everything connected with these deaths. They’ve stored every thought, question and discussion. Without examining the whole box of Lego, how do you know what you can build from it?’

When Goodhew woke the next morning, he knew it was early. The room was too grey for 5 a.m. but the traffic was too quiet for six. He lay on his back, staring straight up at the indistinct shape of his ceiling lampshade, aware of the things he hadn’t done. He hadn’t taken Rob Stone’s statement – nor spoken to Matt and Charlotte, as he’d eventually promised.