'Til Death (DI Steven Marr Book 1) - UK Crime Fiction Whodunnit Thriller (14 page)

And what if Lizzie didn’t want him around anymore? What if he went straight home now, told her everything and begged for forgiveness: could he live with it if she just left? And decided she didn’t want him to have anything to do with the baby? Because you could be damn sure that, if she did that, the court wouldn’t be on his side. And nor should it.

That, in the end, was the truth of it. He was scared. Scared that, before his child had even come into the world, he had fucked it all up.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

‘DS Alexander, what a privilege to have you down here.’

Ray smiled and, as ever, Becky didn’t quite like the way he did so.

‘Ray, I need a quick favour.’

‘I’m at your service.’

‘The techs aren’t in. I’ve got a burner phone I need to get into, like now. A little birdie told me that you’re a bit of a wizard yourself.’

‘You know I’m a forensic scientist?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you know that I’m not paid to be a hacker?’

‘I’m sure that you could if you tried charging.’

‘Aaah, flattery. Why must you always cut to the heart of me, Becky?’

Becky rolled her eyes.

Whatever works, you weirdo.

It hadn’t always been like this. Ray had always been professional. Then a couple of years ago at a Christmas party she’d had a few drinks and ended up having a drunk conversation with Sam about sex. Ray had been in the booth behind them, leaning over to crack a joke about ‘joining in’ the conversation.

Since then, he’d been more friendly. Never anything dangerous, nothing remotely reportable. Just…over-familiar. She hated using that term – it sounded Victoria – but that’s what it was.

‘Just asking for a favour, Ray’ she said, not looking at him.

‘Well, since you asked nicely, I’ll have a look later today. You have to do me a favour, though.’

Becky said nothing, really hoping he wasn’t about to go there.

‘Have a coffee with me on Friday evening.’

Becky sighed, holding up her hand until the light caught the silver band on her finger. Ray smiled; it was a smile of a man trying to turn the conversation into a game; a flirt.

‘Can’t blame a man for trying, can you? Oh Becky, to have met you before you were married.’

Becky picked up the phone from the desk. Ray looked down at it, before looking back at her, his eyebrows knotting.

‘Hey now; I was only joking’ he said.

‘You don’t get to decide that, Ray. Forget it: I think I’d rather wait for the techs to look at the phone.’

She moved to go up the stairs, trying not to think of his eyes wondering over her body and knowing that’s exactly what they were doing. She stopped halfway up.

‘Ray.’

‘What?’

‘If you ever utter another word to me that’s not professional, I’ll arrest you. And then I’ll make sure you spend a week in a cell with someone who’s so desperate for a new toy that they’ll even tear your doughy ass open.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Marr had been waiting by Becky’s desk for fifteen minutes when she returned, looking pissed off.

‘You alright?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘Any luck with Ray?’

‘No, he’s tied up with another case.’

‘Shit. Well, I’ll ping it across to Laura, she’s bound to know how to sort that.’

‘Shit, of course, Laura could do it.’ said Becky, looking even more cross.

‘You sure you’re OK?’ Marr asked.

She nodded.

‘Well, tell me if there’s anything pissing you off. Anyway, I’m going to see Thomas Coulthard, but I wanted to grab you for five minutes if that’s alright?’

‘Sure’

They found an empty side room, one that smelt like someone had thrown up in it over the weekend.

‘Nice.’ He said, ‘
Eau de kebab
’

Becky smiled politely at the attempted ice breaker. Normally, of course, an ice-breaker wouldn’t be necessary. Unfortunately, this time they did, because they both knew why the hell they were in here. Marr decided that it was probably best to just rip the plaster off.

‘Suppose you’ve probably gathered why I wanted to talk away from everyone else?’

Becky nodded.

‘Sam.’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Go on,’

‘Has she talked about it much?’

‘Sam? No, barely at all. Briefly this morning, but it’s not like we gossip about you behind your back, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘Well, no, I wasn’t worried about that. I don’t really know…I suppose I wanted to make sure she was OK.’

Becky was looking at him.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Sir, I like you. I know that probably doesn’t mean much, but I’d like you to know that before I say this.’

‘Say what?’

‘Fucking pull the other one. You’ve just been told you’re going to have a
baby
. A wedding ring might not mean a huge amount to you, but you’d be an alien if a baby didn’t. You’re worried that you’ve fucked the whole thing, because it’s not just you that has to live with the consequences anymore.’

‘And what do you think?

‘I can’t speak for your wife, sir, though I would say you’ve been an idiot even risking losing her, and it’s safe to say you might never do better.’

‘Well, I appreciate that.’

‘Sam, well…Sam isn’t a child. She’s not going to stamp her feet, or be petty. She knew you were married when she got involved. Who knows how Sam’ll take this? She might just let it go; let you and Lizzie swan off with the baby. Or, she might not.’

‘Do you think I should talk to her?’

‘That’s more or less up to you, sir. But I’ll say this; I wouldn’t just leave her to fester over it. Unfortunately for you, babies make everything a lot more serious.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

As Marr drove the short journey across to see Thomas Coulthard, he thought through everything that Becky had said. He was forced to admit she’d been annoyingly right about the whole thing. Marr had always known that Sam wasn’t passive enough let the whole affair blow over when
he’d
had enough.

Which was what he’d been hoping would happen, wasn’t it? God, what was it with men?

How many times had Marr criticised Gregor Stanic in his thoughts? He’d judged him for being a nearly married man, unable to let go of anything that would give him a swagger in the morning.

Stanic is just a misogynist.

Stanic is just a caveman.

Stanic is just a bully.

But Marr wasn’t any different. He was worse, if anything: it was possible Stanic could have given up Caroline after the wedding. Marr, though, had a silver ring around his finger.

The truth was that the judgemental, superior voice was the same one that drove men like Thomas Coulthard. Men that defined themselves through what they thought, rather than what they did. Men that sat around sneering at others whilst making damn sure they did nothing that anyone else could sneer at.

They were cowards at heart. And Marr was just as bad as any of them.

That might be what I did, but that’s not who I am.

So, who was Marr going to be now? He had a horrible suspicion that he knew.

The sad thing was, he’d seen a thousand times over. An ex-married man, stuck in a poxy flat, seventy per cent of his wages used to pay for a house in which his kid’s step-dad now lived. Life all over at forty.

Was Marr going to be
that
man? Was he prepared to ask Sam – no, to
beg
Sam – to keep quiet?

With a deep breath out, Marr realised that he’d have to. Because he wanted a family. He wanted his child to be raised in a good home, a happy home.

If there was even the slightest chance of Lizzie forgiving him, and letting him be a part of their child’s life, he’d have to never see Sam – never
fuck
Sam – again.

Marr parked the car, and walked out towards Thomas Coulthard’s office, not entirely happy with how that last thought had made him feel.

CHAPTER FORTY

Coulthard was waiting by his desk when Marr arrived; there were two steaming mugs of coffee waiting.

‘Black, no sugar?’ he asked, giving Marr a smile.

Marr nodded.

‘You’re looking good, Thomas. You don’t seem too down.’

Thomas said nothing for a moment, before sitting down and leaning his chair back.

‘Why should I be depressed?’ he asked.

‘Anna was your friend. For years. I’d have thought you’d want some time off from work to think things through. It can’t be easy losing someone.’

Thomas seemed to consider the idea before he spoke.

‘Anna was a positive, happy person, and she made the world better while she was alive. I’d hardly be honouring her spirit if I just moped around the place. I think by being happy, I’m doing what she would have wanted.’

It was a reasonable answer, thought Mar. It was complete horseshit, too.

‘It’s that easy for you to switch on and off, is it?’ he asked. Thomas chuckled.

‘I’d like to think I’m made of sterner stuff than some. Life isn’t always easy, but I believe that you can deal with a lot more than many people seem to think. A lot of what people consider ‘major problems’ are actually easy to deal with, as long as you’ve got some perspective. I mean, take yourself; I’d imagine you’ve dealt with some pretty reprehensible people in your time.’

‘Many’ Marr replied pointedly, the implication obvious:
present company not excepted
. Then Thomas smiled, satisfied, and Marr realised he’d been baited. Thomas had wanted exactly that reaction.

‘So doesn’t it drive you crazy’, he asked ‘when people call 999 just because there’s a kid wearing a baseball cap kicking a ball against their garage door? Or because a pizza place forgot their chips but won’t refund their money? I mean, just the idea annoys me, so god knows how you must feel.’

Marr shrugged.

‘It’s just part of the job. It doesn’t bother me at all.’

Thomas nodded.

‘See, you compartmentalise in the same way I do. I think we’re probably quite similar Inspector, if you’ll pardon me talking like Hannibal Lecter. We’re both tough, probably because we’ve had to be.’

‘I’ve had to be tough?’ Marr asked.

‘Well, of course; you’re a policeman. You deal with scum on a daily basis. And I mean real scum, not the posers. Not the braying jackals you get in sales offices. Christ, we’ve got some of them here. You should see them in meetings, yapping around each other, all of them pretending to be the alpha, the wolf, the one that breaks the rules and doesn’t care.’

Marr thought about interrupting, but he knew Thomas was on a roll. He was preaching, and preachers sometimes said more than they should. Marr let him continue.

‘There was one guy; Jack. Used to work in our sales team. Brilliant at his job. He brought us in the contract on a multi-million pound retail-company, beating out international corporations you’ve seen adverts for on TV. Good looking, too: a weightlifter; big guy, looked like he could take care of himself.’

Thomas paused, as if for dramatic effect. Then, he smiled.

‘He got mugged by a couple of travellers as he was walking home from some slut’s flat. Broken nose and ribs, a few teeth knocked out. I overheard a friend say he was crying by the time the police got to his house. The big bad wolf, weeping into his four thousand pound sofa.’

Marr sighed.

‘Have you ever been mugged Thomas? Or beaten up?’

‘Of course not,’ Thomas replied, smiling to himself. ‘But then, I’m not stupid enough to walk around the street at night, asking for trouble from gypsies.’

Marr rolled his eyes.

‘The point’ he said, ‘Is that it doesn’t matter how big you are. Vince being upset at being mugged doesn’t make him weak; it makes him human. I’ve interviewed hundreds of mugging victims, and they all said the same sorts of things; I thought I might be about to die. I thought I might never see my wife again. I thought I was going to leave my kids alone with no dad. If you’re not scared by that you’re not tough: you’re fucking stupid. And you claim that you’re tougher than people like this salesman?’

‘I didn’t say tougher, I said…’

‘See, let me tell you what I think; I think you’re a fucking coward. I think you hide behind this little wall of superiority, where you can think what you like, and believe what you want. You think that you could fight, but you choose not to. You think that you could go up there and dominate the sales game, but that you’d be selling out if you did.’