Escaping Life (12 page)

“How can you be
sure it was her?  It was four years ago.”  He was focused again.  He had put
them back where they belonged.  Safe and sound in his memory.

“No, I
remember.  I remember because of her green eyes.  I couldn’t forget them, she
looked so different.  God, what was her name?”  As he processed her words, his
conversation from Sunday night slowly came trickling back into his
consciousness.  He recalled that woman that he had assumed was crazy,
desperately trying to find a dead family member upturning every stone possible,
searching every face in every crowd.  He thought that he knew what she was
doing because he had already tried it.  He also knew it was impossible.  He had
looked for his wife and son in every person who passed him by.  In every
voice.  He had even heard them in the night when alone at home.  That’s why he
had to leave that place.  Instead, he moved into the most open place he could
find.  He didn’t want any dark corners for the voices to hide in.

He was already climbing
over her, his sweat-soaked skin glistening in the soft glow of the city moonlight.

“Where are you
going?”  He ripped up the picture of the woman from the floor.  Charging back
over to the bed, he thrust the picture at Kate.  Fumbling for the switch, he
turned on the bedside table lamp and angled it like a spotlight onto the dead vacant
face staring back at them.  The light cast even more shadows onto his own face,
accentuating the dark bags under his eyes.

“Look at her
closely, Kate.”  He was charged now, charged with purpose; he couldn’t get this
wrong.  This was the best lead he had so far.  He trusted Kate, but he had to
be certain.  He picked up his pace into a sort of run, sort of hop, as he
reached for his jacket on the settee.  Snatching out the small leather bound
notepad, he raced back to the bed, his hopping transformed into a fully fledged
effort.

“Where is it? 
Where is it?”  He rifled through the pages, frantically searching for a name. 
There, he had it.  “Elizabeth Green.  Is that her name?”  He could see her
thinking.  It didn’t look positive.  “No, hang on!”  He flicked another couple
of pages, past his notes about the small fishing village.  “Rebecca Jackson.”

“That was it. 
Rebecca Jackson!” Kate yelped excitedly.  “Rebecca Jackson.  I have no doubt.” 
He scrambled for the clothes tossed casually on the floor only a few hours
before.  Kate looked round at the clock and saw how early it still was. 
Immediately, he saw her expression change, her eyes dropped and mouth pursed. 
He knew before she did what she was thinking.  Now wasn’t the time to leave her
here.

“When does your
shift start?” he asked.

“I have to be
there for six.  Can you take me home first?”  He looked at the clock.  He had almost
three hours.  He considered the journey across the city to her house.  He
judged that it might take him half an hour to get her home and then back across
the city.  They were only five minutes from the hospital.  He could see the
deflation in her face, and he could hear it in her voice as she told him that she
would call a taxi.  He knew that she now wished that she had waited a couple of
more hours before she bothered to say anything.  The regret was clear and that
new feeling of belonging so
early
in its creation hung
delicately in the balance.

“No, I won’t.” 
She looked up, mobile already in her hand.  He dropped his shirt back onto the
floor, from where he had just picked it up and took the mobile from her hand as
he climbed back onto the bed.  “I can’t leave my top detective here alone.”  He
crawled back over her on all fours.  His smile was soft, as he rested his body
down on top of hers, his weight pushing her into the soft mattress.  He held
himself up on his elbows above her, resting his fingertips onto her temples,
the other hand gently caressing her hair.  “I’ll take you to the hospital in a
couple of hours.  Is that OK?”  She didn’t say anything, but from the way she
arched her body towards him, he knew that he had her approval.  They rested
their bodies together like spoons and he held her until he felt the rhythmical
rock of her gentle slumber, as her chest rose and fell.  His mind, however, was
alert; he couldn’t sleep.  He would lie here and be comforted by the security
of her own contentment, wrapped up safely in his arms.  He would wake her with
a coffee, and they would share that same connection as if it were the first
morning that they would wake up together.   In many ways, for him it would be.

She turned and
waved to him as he drove away from the grand entrance of the hospital.  He
could see her in his rear view mirror still staring at the car as he drove up
the one way street, buoyant from the excitement of him dropping her at work for
the first time;  like a real couple.  He raised his hand up to acknowledge that
he saw her, and she excitedly waved back.  Had so much really changed when they
woke up together this morning?  When she woke to the smell of fresh coffee,
just as he’d promised, her eyes were so puffy.  She opened them as far as they
would go, but her eye lid was so bulbous from either the lack of good sleep,
alcohol, or the salty Chinese food that they’d eaten the night before, that there
was no crease as she did so.  She smiled at him; the kind of smile that in some
way is almost a grimace as you wake up much earlier than your body is telling
you to and the light streams in, assaulting your puffed up eyes even more.  She
sat propped upright listening to his plans as he moved about the area which
loosely functioned as the bedroom.  He even surprised himself when he apologised
for his impending absence for the next day or so whilst he tried to piece
together the case, yet promising to call when he could.  He retrieved a small
bag containing his essentials from underneath his bed; a couple of clean
shirts, pants, socks, no need for extra shoes.  He threw in his toothbrush and
a few essential toiletries.  He didn’t know if he might have to stay away.  As
he drove around the corner of the road, the entrance to the hospital disappearing
from his view, he was sure that he saw her do a little skip and a jump as she
made her way into the hospital.  Maybe it was just his imagination; maybe it
was just wishful thinking.

As he pulled up
outside the police station there was already a lot of activity - or rather,
still a lot of activity from the night before.  He could see two junior-looking
officers trying to wrestle a man through the front doors of the station.  There
were several squad cars parked outside, and so he knew that the cells must be
pretty full.  He considered going over to help the two young officers; the
accused looked pretty intoxicated, and was putting up a good fight. 
Everyone
has to learn,
he thought to himself, as he slipped in through the side
entrance, deciding instead to let them battle it out.

He walked
through the dark corridors, unlit without the presence of the day staff.  He
knew his way around easily enough, the hours he spent here.  He found his way
to his office.  In the background he could hear the commotion in the cells.  In
fact, he was certain he could still hear the drunk from outside protesting his
charges, his accusers not paying him any attention.  He pulled the small cord on
his banker’s style desk light, bringing his cluttered desk into view under a
green glow.  He wanted a copy of everything he had about the case so far which,
to be honest, wasn’t much.  He pulled the crime scene photography, and his
first notes from Lyme Beach.  The overhead strip lighting in the main office
blinked on as he hit the switch, searching around for anything that might be
useful.  On Gibb’s desk he could see the crime scene report from the Wellbeck
guys. 

“Gibb came
through,” he said to himself, nodding in appreciation of his efforts.  He read
the report for the first time.

‘April 4
^th
,
2006.  9pm.  The surface of the road is wet from the rain.  The road bends to
the right, and at the corner of the bend on the left-hand side of the road the
barrier is broken.  Assume broken in crash.  No tyre tracks on road. 
Approaching the edge of the road, the cliff falls away to form a deep ravine, which
looks to go maybe twenty metres down?  There is a vehicle noted at the bottom. 
Vehicle is on fire, even with the rain.  Vehicle is upturned; it is not
possible to see the top of the car at all.  Large amount of debris is noted,
possible items from the car.  Visible windows appear smashed, as expected. 
Driver’s door open.  Ground search will be started immediately.  Fire service
en-route.’

He continued
reading down the page, scanning for anything that seemed relevant.

‘April 4
^th
,
2006.  9:45 pm. Scene of accident secured for investigation.  Initial approach
to ravine reveals a potential passage.  There is no debris from the car.  No
shards of glass noted on the ground at the entrance to the ravine.  The
embankment is heavily damaged from the impact of the car.  The ground is not
easy going but passable.  This could lead to potential disruption of evidence. 
Making my way down to the site of the crash, there is a brown bag noted on the
side of the ravine.  Contains chewing gum, hairbrush, purse, and mobile
telephone.  Purse searched.  Contains three credit cards, twenty pound note and
loose change.  ID noted as Rebecca Jackson.  Car approached.  Driver’s door
open.  Driver’s seat belt is not engaged.  Nothing remains but a metal shell and
a few metal objects from inside the car.  No identifiable body or human parts.  ID
check completed.  Family called.’

He grabbed the
files and along with the photographs, stowed them safely into a brown case
file.  Turning off the lamp, he walked swiftly towards the door, knowing
exactly where he was going, but having absolutely no idea what it was that he
was expecting to find.  There was, it seemed, only one person who could at this
moment help him.  He had a dead woman in his mortuary who, by all accounts,
survived an un-survivable car crash.  There were details in this case that he
needed to find, and the only place to start was in Haven.

I had already decided
not to take anything of mine with me.  I needed it to look like I intended to
come back.  I had already placed my handbag and a small plastic bag on the
front seat.  Inside it there was on old dress, a necklace, and a pair of
sandals.  The dress probably hadn’t been worn for a decade or so, and she had
thrown the plastic bag in the under
stairs
cupboard, ready for disposal.  I took it because somehow it still smelled like
her.  In the boot of my car, there are two litres of petrol, just as there are
every day.  I had broken down a few times:  I was useless at filling the car up. 
People always told me that it was dangerous to keep the fuel in there and that
it was like a loaded gun.  Tonight I would prove them right.  

I told myself
not to look back at the house in the rear view mirror as I drove away.  Half an
hour ago Elizabeth had walked out, slapping me across the face.  It wasn’t hard,
but as her hand connected with my cheek it struck me as if a bomb had just
exploded inside of me.  It was at that moment that I knew I couldn’t protect
her if I stayed; I was scaring her by staying.  I was no longer the sister that
she adored.  There was nothing left for me here.  I had to leave, but not for
me. 

It was the
weather that had finally made me make the decision that day.  I had been
thinking about it ever since I left that house.  Ever since I had left that
house, carried half by Elizabeth and half by a police officer, not knowing if
he was coming for me next, I had been trying to work out in my mind what I had
to do.  I had remained virtually motionless since, save the constant calls to
Elizabeth, and I was almost too scared to turn on a light in case that was the
very reminder he needed that I was still there.  Still there and still alive; still
sat there, waiting with my memories.  At least away from here I will be able to
breathe, and Elizabeth will be able to live her life.

As I left the
city and drove upwards on the winding roads, the sagging storm clouds above me grew
blacker and the rain drops heavier as they pelted my windscreen.   The crackle
of rain grew louder as the wind battered it against my windows, large waves of
water like static on a poorly tuned radio.  It was true I could barely see to
drive.  This was good.  Nobody in their right mind would be driving up here
tonight.  All journeys would be delayed.  Telephone calls to expectant
relatives waiting for weekend visits would be made.  Reunions would have to
wait.  Storms like this one seem to last a lifetime when you have somewhere to
be. 

Eventually the
belly of the clouds broke out, the thunder ripping through the sky cleaving it
clean in half.  My window wipers skipped back and forth, sending waves of rain
water shooting off into the air, only to be pushed back down onto my screen by
the driving winds.  But the rain was my friend tonight; it would hide me as I slipped
out of my life.  It will be my unwitting accomplice, as it shields them all
from the truth.

I had driven
this road many times.  This was the road that took everybody away from their
busy lives.  It lead
s
only to the outside world,
where real life for those who lived on the side of the city could be rested for
a weekend, put on a shelf for a couple of days, to be picked up again on the
Sunday evening.  People sometimes drove on this road just to leave the city,
never having a final destination in mind.  They might stop at one of the picnic
spots, with a small basket of goodies packed up that very same morning.  The
city kids would feel nauseous as they played their hand-held electronic games
on the back seat, desperately irritated that they had been removed from their
comfortable and convenient lives for a few hours without internet access.  But
they would love it once they got here.  They would eventually run around in the
forest clearing, kicking a ball about with their father who was normally too
busy and too well dressed for such activities.  This was a place for escapism; this
was a place to leave your life behind for a couple of hours or, in my case, for
good.