Someone To Save you (19 page)

I’ll miss him so much.

He opened his eyes, to find Louisa watching him intently.

‘Anything?’

Sam shook his head. ‘Bit of a long shot, though, wasn’t it?’

Louisa smiled. ‘Keep listening out Sam, just in case.’

Sam took Louisa by the hand. ‘C’mon, let’s get going.’

Sam and Louisa walked slowly and silently hand in hand through the churchyard, back towards the car. As Sam started the engine, he took one last look across the cemetery towards Cathy’s grave. He might not have had a divine revelation, but maybe something had happened in those few minutes at the graveside.

Sam turned to Louisa. ‘I think I might have made a terrible mistake.’

21

‘What if Marcus really didn’t do it,’ Sam said, looking out of the car window towards the churchyard. ‘For all these years, I’ve been so sure, but what if he was innocent all along?’

He couldn’t really believe he was saying this. For so long he’d been so sure of Marcus’s guilt. Or had he? Had there always been that doubt, bubbling just under the surface? The doubt that pressed him to reply to Marcus’s letters, the doubt that coaxed him into arranging the prison visit. For the first time in fifteen years, he had vocalised that doubt, and it felt strange but liberating.

‘I know,’ Louisa replied. ‘To think that Marcus might have spent all that time in prison, for something he didn’t do, it would make what happened even worse.’

‘He was locked up for fifteen years,’ Sam said. ‘I didn’t go to see him once, didn’t speak to him, even when he wrote to me pleading his innocence. And now maybe he was telling the truth.’

‘You had no reason to believe he didn’t kill Cathy,’ Louisa said.

‘I had his word,’ Sam replied. ‘And he was my best friend. I could have just trusted him.’

Sam thumped his hands against the steering wheel. ‘God, I don’t know what to believe any more.’

‘Don’t beat yourself up over it, Sam,’ Louisa said, touching his shoulder. ‘We all thought the same thing, every one of us. You weren’t the only one who didn’t go to visit him, or believe what he said. And remember, for a long time even he couldn’t say for sure whether he’d done anything wrong. So it wasn’t straight forward.’

Sam turned to face her. ‘And now, do you believe he’s innocent?’

Louisa paused. ‘Do you?’

‘I asked you first.’

‘Yes,’ she replied, without missing a beat. ‘I don’t think he killed Cathy, I really don’t, Sam.’

Sam was taken aback by the certainty of her answer. ‘You really think he’s innocent?’

Louisa looked uncomfortable voicing her feelings. ‘I’d had doubts for a long time, wondering how he could have done it, wanting to believe he was innocent, despite all the evidence. Now, after what happened with Richard Friedman and the locket, I’m as sure as I can be that he didn’t do it.’

Sam held her gaze.

‘So what about you?’ she pressed, ‘do you still think your best friend killed Cathy?’

‘To be honest, I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘But for the first time, I really want to believe Marcus.’

‘Then go and see him. Listen to what he has to say.’

Sam’s parents had moved into Clarence Avenue, just half a mile from the parish church, the week before they had got married, and had lived there ever since. Built in the early 1970s, the attractive tree lined street had kept most of its original inhabitants, who had moved through the life course together – having kids and watching them leave home. Twenty years ago the street had been alive with the sights and sounds of children, especially in those heady summer months. Footballs spun and bounced off parked cars, into gardens, and occasionally, off windows. Multi-coloured chalk adorned the pavement with the artistic flare of the best urban graffiti. And paddling pools, filled with laughter, sprung up as the sun burned.

Now the children had gone, returning only to visit from their varied bases around the country. The street had mellowed, lost some of its life, but one day it would regenerate with the arrival of a new generation of homeowners, and the process would start again.

Sam half-expected there to be a police car parked outside his parents’ house, with officers already inside breaking the news, but the street was empty of vehicles.

He pulled into the driveway; coming to a stop behind his father’s Civic and glanced across at Louisa. ‘I’m not looking forward to this.’

Louisa gave him an encouraging smile and squeeze of his arm. ‘It’ll be fine.’

He still had a spare key, but it was a long time since he had used it – it didn’t feel right anymore just to walk in like he still lived there. So he knocked and waited, nerves plucking at his insides.

His mother opened the door. Irene Becker was a petit lady, around five foot five. She’d just turned sixty, but could easily have passed for ten or fifteen years younger with her almost wrinkle-free skin and subtly coloured blonde hair. Cathy had shared many of their mother’s facial features – their bright blue eyes, the shape of their nose and mouth – even the way their hair curled around their ears. Sometimes looking at his mother offered a painful reminder of what they’d lost, and Sam had wondered whether his mum sometimes felt the same when she looked in the mirror.

She’d been crying - maybe not in the last hour or so, but definitely recently. Her eyes always took a long time to recover. Sam had grown used to that over the years. The smile was genuine, but it seemed born out of relief, like a rescuee to their rescuer. ‘Sam…’ she noticed Louisa as she stepped into view, ‘…Louisa, what are you doing here? Come in, come in.’

They followed her through the hall and into the lounge. ‘Take a seat, I’ll go and make you a cup of tea.’

‘Mum,’ Sam said, as she was about to leave the room in suspicious haste. Irene Becker froze at the doorway, her back to them. Suddenly her shoulders sagged and she let out a loud sob, bringing her hands to her face.

Sam moved over and placed an arm around her back. ‘They’ve been, haven’t they? The police – they’ve told you what happened.’

She nodded. ‘About an hour ago.’

This was just what he had feared might happen. He held her tightly, smelling the familiar scent of her favourite perfume. It reminded him of his childhood more than any memory or photo ever could. ‘I’m so sorry; I should have called to warn you.’

He looked over his mother’s shoulder at Louisa, who was watching, solemn faced. Sam nodded to her and immediately she knew what to do. ‘I’ll go and make that cuppa,’ she said, leaving the room.

Sam led his mother to the sofa and sat down next to her. She wasn’t crying now, but looked on the brink. It broke Sam’s heart to see her like this again. The situation was just so cruel. Last week at the remembrance weekend she had looked so well. Would she ever be allowed to move on? ‘I wanted to tell you myself, in person,’ he explained. ‘That’s why we’re here. I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.’

‘It’s okay,’ she said, trapping a stray tear with her finger.

‘Where’s dad?’

‘At the allotment – he said he needed to get some fresh air.’

‘You shouldn’t be on your own,’ Sam replied, angry that his dad had abandoned her to wallow in the news alone. He should be there for her.

‘I’m worried about your father,’ she said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘He’ really upset, Sam. Will you go and see him, now? I’ll be okay here with Louisa.’

Sam nodded.

The allotments were five minutes’ walk away, on the other side of the village. Sam went on foot, leaving his mum in the care of Louisa. He wanted to talk to her about what had happened, and what it all might mean, but he also wanted to do something to make her feel better. And seeing his father was it – for all these years, his mum had worried about other people more than herself, and it wasn’t stopping now.

It had been years since he’d walked through the village, and it brought back happy memories. The village – its streets, hidden lanes, fields and footpaths – had been their childhood playground. As he reached the outskirts he looked out across the sunbathed fields, breathing in the countryside air, remembering the good times with Marcus and their close circle of friends.

His father was busy at work in the otherwise deserted allotment, and didn’t see Sam approach. Sam watched as he dug into the soil, pushing down hard on the spade with his right boot. Releasing his grip, he took off his cap and wiped sweat from his forehead. His father had taken over the allotment ten years ago from Sam’s grandfather, and from what Sam heard, spent most of his time down there since retiring. His mother called it his oasis, but Sam thought refuge was a more apt description. He came here to escape from his demons, and to avoid facing up to his emotions. Sam knew all about that.

‘Hi, Dad.’

Graham Becker turned around, seemingly unsurprised and unmoved, and straightened up to greet his son. Still an impressive bear of a man, his full head of hair now greyed, Sam’s father had aged less well than his mother. Cathy’s murder had put years on him – he’d changed physically since that day; his face trapped in the terrible moment when the call had come through from the campsite.

There was no smile of relief from him. ‘Sam. I wondered if you’d turn up.’

‘Mum told me the police have been,’ Sam said, shading his eyes from the dipping late afternoon sun. ‘I wanted to get up here sooner, and tell you in person. I didn’t want you to find out from someone else. Not from the police.’

His father shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter – what’s happened has happened.’

He had never been one to reveal his emotions – he worked hard at not letting the mask slip. And Sam knew it was a mask. His father had never cried in front of anyone about Cathy, but a week after her murder, Sam had crept upstairs and listened to him sobbing uncontrollably in the locked bathroom. Five minutes later he was downstairs, barking out orders and exuding an air of solidity. The mask was back.

Sam’s feet toyed at some soil. ‘I am sorry it happened like that though. Mum’s really upset, isn’t she?’

‘I’m sorry for your mother, Sam. That she has to have all of this dredged up again.’

‘Louisa is with her,’ Sam said.

He nodded. ‘Louisa is a nice girl.’

‘How is mum?’

‘You saw her yourself.’

‘She’s been crying.’

Again, just a nod.

He wanted to ask him why he’d abandoned her, why he wasn’t with her now, comforting her. But it wouldn’t help the situation. ‘What did the police say?

He looked frustrated at being asked to revisit it. ‘They told us that someone else admitted to killing Cathy, and that he had her locket.’

‘And they told you what happened to him?’

‘Yes. It must have been hard for you, Sam, watching someone do that in front of your eyes.’

‘It was.’

He moved back to his plot, picking stones out from the soil. ‘You’ve had a terrible time this past week haven’t you? With the crash too – they were all talking about it at the club.’

‘It’s been difficult.’ Sam didn’t elaborate. It wasn’t the right time to talk about the latest twist. Not now. There were other priorities.

Sam’s father recommenced his digging.

Sam moved closer. ‘We should talk about what’s going on.’

His father stopped, seemingly annoyed by the interruption, and faced him. ‘Why?’

‘Because we need to talk about what this means for us all.’

‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ he replied sharply.

Sam was taken aback by his reaction and hostile tone. ‘But Dad, if Richard Friedman did kill Cathy…’

‘…then the bastard is now where he belongs.’

His father rarely got angry, but he was now. His eyes were wide, seething with fifteen years’ worth of pent up fury.

‘But what about Marcus?’

‘Marcus is out of prison,’ he replied, suddenly checking himself, trying to regain control. ‘He’s a free man.’

‘But if he was innocent all along…’

‘Then we all made a terrible mistake, including the police. But what good would it do to rake over it all now? We’ll never know what happened to Cathy, and it certainly won’t bring her back to life. It’s best left. That’s what I told the police.’

‘You told the police you want them to not investigate?’

‘Yes. Not that my opinion matters. I’m sure they’ll do what they feel they have to do.’

‘But don’t you think that if Marcus is innocent, he deserves them to look into it?’

His father laughed. ‘And you think that will be enough for Marcus and his family?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘No, you don’t understand.’

They were squaring up to each other, their faces just a few inches apart. This wasn’t what Sam had planned at all.

‘Then tell me, talk to me.’

His father turned away. ‘Tom Johnson came round to our house the day after the trial ended. I never told you about it. He said he was sure that Marcus didn’t kill Cathy. There wasn’t even a shred of doubt in his mind, you could see it. He said that one day we’d find out the truth. I told him that he was blind, and as good as threw him out. Three months later they moved out of the village, and I haven’t seen him since. I was good friends with the man Sam, for years and years. Your mother used to baby-sit Marcus.’