Page 40 of Dying Breath
Her finger hovered over the reply button: yes, she wanted to talk, desperately. Maybe she’d been too hasty calling it a day before it had even got going. He was a bit controlling, but he was also a nice, caring guy. Her phone went black as it died, making the decision for her. She’d reply tomorrow because by the time she’d had her bath and charged the phone he’d be back at work on the department, and she didn’t know if she was just being soppy because of the overwhelming amount of grief she’d endured tonight. She undressed, stepping into the warm water. There was something about a bath that was so much nicer than a shower. Taking a huge mouthful of wine, she lay back into the soft, scented bubbles and closed her eyes.
* * *
Lewis Waite lay under the partially collapsed stage. At one time it had held the bingo caller and the huge machine that spat out the numbered ping pong balls. Occasionally they used to have social nights back in the sixties and early seventies. Bands would play and the regulars, who included his mum and gran, would go and jive the night away. He’d listened for hours to the tales his gran had told him about her younger days. His mum had never had too much time for him; she was always at the pub flirting with anyone who would buy her a drink and he’d practically been brought up by his gran.
Even though the stage had a mouldy, moth-eaten curtain around it that smelt like a tramp’s Y-fronts, he felt comfortable; it was the warmest place in the draughty building. He’d made a bed out of the bits of cardboard that had been strewn all over, eaten four sandwiches and drunk the last of his bottle of whisky. It wasn’t as good as a hit of the old china white, but it had stopped the aching in his bones. He’d decided that until he found out who had killed Stacey, he was going to keep off the drugs, even if it killed him. The coppers would nail it on him and frame him otherwise; he had no choice. He’d done some bad shit in his time and he knew he deserved a lot, but what he didn’t deserve was a trumped-up murder charge and a fucking life sentence.
His life was a mess and it was ironic that it had taken something as serious as seeing Stacey’s dead body for him to realise it. He wanted to turn it around; he didn’t want to be like this any more. It was as if he’d finally had an epiphany, as if a light bulb had gone off in his mind so bright that it had taken away the shroud of darkness that had clouded his brain for the last eight years and woken him up. There had to be more to life than this; he knew there did. He couldn’t shake off the regret that he’d had it all with Stacey and thrown it away.
How had it come to this? He was currently Britain’s most-wanted man. He had nowhere to live, no money and one set of clothes. He would go to the homeless shelter first thing in the morning, or maybe the Salvation Army – get a shower, some hot food and a change of clothes. The Salvation Army was probably the best bet because they’d give him a sleeping bag as well, which would make kipping in here a lot warmer. If he did it before the newspaper headlines hit the billboards it wouldn’t matter if they reported him to the police. He’d be long gone, but at least he’d have some supplies. If he had to steal, beg or borrow to get him through the next few days he would, but it would be the last time. He was going to change his life once this mess was sorted out. He would show those coppers who’d looked at him as if he were the scum of the earth just what Lewis Waite was made of, and that underneath he was a decent human being.
* * *
Lucy towelled herself dry, pulled on her pyjamas and refilled her wine glass. She went into her bedroom and turned on the television; she hated a silent house. Every creak and groan of the floorboards made her jumpy. At least the constant chatter on the television disguised the normal household noises that nobody else would give a second thought to. Not wanting anything serious or remotely violent, she put the comedy channel on because laughter was good. Then she turned the sound down low.
How had her life turned into an episode ofLuther? It was crazy and she didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. What was it she’d said to the friend of that poor girl who’d been murdered by Lizzy Clements? The one whose body Mattie had dragged out of that filthy hole full of dirty water after he’d saved her life? That life was thankfully rarely like the television shows. But she had that wrong: her life was currently giving old Luther a run for his money. She started to giggle.
Bending down, she plugged the charger into her phone and held the button down to bring it back to life. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she finished her wine. She had that warm feeling inside and she was much more relaxed than when she’d come home. As the screen lit up, she remembered the message from Stephen but, switching the phone onto silent, she put it down on the bedside table. She’d text him back tomorrow – he’d be busy now and the wine had loosened her up. She might say something that she wouldn’t be able to take back in the morning when she was thinking clearly.
What she did do was open the brown envelope and stare at the sheaf of divorce papers. She knew that life was far too short to keep holding on to the hope that George was coming back. If this week had taught her anything it was that life was precious. She didn’t even bother to read the papers – she didn’t care about her share of the house or their possessions. She’d been the one to walk away after she’d found out about his affair. She didn’t want anything from her past life; the memories were too raw.
She picked up a pen from the bedside table and signed them, then put them back into the envelope. She would drop them off tomorrow. There was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer. She dimmed the lamp then lay down, snuggling inside her duvet as her eyes closed. She felt herself sinking into the darkness and prayed there would be no nightmares as she tried to block out the faces of the Martin family.
Chapter Thirty-Six
When Lucy’s alarm went off she didn’t know if she could open her eyes; they felt so heavy. She scrabbled around to find the phone and turn the annoying sound off before she threw it out of the window. She lay there for five minutes, willing herself to move and letting out a loud groan when she finally did. At least she hadn’t had any nightmares, but her head was pounding from the wine and her mouth was dry. She ran downstairs and made herself a bacon sandwich and a large mug of coffee. The smell of the bacon made her stomach growl. She was so hungry she devoured it in a few mouthfuls and felt much better. Taking three paracetamol to clear her thudding head, she was as ready for the nightmare of a day ahead of her that she could be. Realising she’d left her car in one of the side streets by the Italian restaurant, she phoned Browning, who answered sounding even crankier than she had been when she’d woken up.
‘Morning. Can I have a lift into work, please?’
‘What time?’
‘As soon as you’re ready. I think Mattie might need one as well.’
‘You think right – he’s already texted and said we had to pick you up on the way.’
‘I’m impressed; thank you. I’m ready now, by the way.’
There was a grunt as the line went dead; she took it that he wasn’t.
As she walked upstairs to the incident room she saw the shadowy figure of a man in Tom’s office and headed towards it. She stared in shock at the sight of Patrick sitting behind Tom’s desk.
‘What do you think you’re doing in here?’
‘Morning, Lucy. Any news on Tom?’
She shook her head.
‘I’ve been asked to take over as temporary DCI – I’ve been waiting ages for the position to come up so this was kind of perfect.’
‘How is it perfect? Tom’s in hospital fighting for his life.’
Her fists clenched, Lucy turned and strode straight into the incident room, where Mattie had begun writing up another whiteboard. There were photographs of all the Martins with their names above them. She crossed over to her desk to see a steaming-hot mug of coffee and immediately felt better. Mattie turned to look at her and she mouthed ‘Thank you.’ He winked at her, then turned back around.
Mattie soon finished writing down what they had so far and sat down across from her, waiting for her to speak first.
‘My head is a complete mess this morning. I can’t seem to get my brain into gear and it’s not for lack of trying.’
‘Well, that’s you and me both. Last night was pretty intense – it’s no wonder. So what’s the new boy doing behind the boss’s desk?’
