"I just…don't understand."
"I'm very sorry for your loss."
She looked over at Dr Nelson who, after delivering the news of her father's death over the phone, had agreed to wait until she got there so that he could try and answer some of her questions. The traffic had been, fortunately, light and it had taken her a little over two hours to reach her destination. Pounding up the stairs, she had hoped against all hope that it had been some sort of mistake, that the doctor was in the wrong flat or that they had the wrong person. But he had greeted her upon arrival, his face sombre. Her father had still been in the bed where he had died, peaceful and calm looking. Her mind had gone blank looking at him, wondering if there were things that she was supposed to say. In the end, the funeral directors had arrived and taken him away before she could formulate a cohesive thought.
"Are you sure this was suicide?"
Dr Nelson frowned, "How do you mean?"
"I mean…he gave no sign when I last saw him that he was planning anything like this and…" she looked around the living room. "I mean, when you got here, did it look like there was any kind of…well…foul play?"
He smiled sympathetically at her. "You mean, do I think he was 'helped along the way'?" She nodded. "No, there's nothing to suggest that. Your father had enough medication to do the job and he was still fairly fit and able to take the pills of his own accord…some people just decide it's the choice they want to make for themselves."
She shook her head and sank down onto the couch, unsure of how she was supposed to feel. They had only just reconnected when he had delivered the news of his diagnosis, but she had truly believed that they would have had more time together. "We still had a lot to discuss," she said finally. "I'm just…shocked that he would do this." Pausing, she looked up again. "Was there a note?"
"No, not that I could see. But some people who take their own lives in this way often leave things in special places for relatives to find at a later date. It's more often the ones who take their lives in distress that leave notes by their bodies. I'm sorry, I'm sure that's of little comfort to you." He glanced at his watch, and she suddenly felt guilty for detaining him.
"I'm sorry," she got to her feet again. "It was good of you to wait for me. I really do appreciate it."
"Not at all. I'll have all the paperwork you'll need to register the death by tomorrow if you're able to come to the surgery?"
"Yes," she replied automatically, though she hadn't even considered the prospect of remining in Brighton overnight. "Yes, that would be great, thank you."
"Is there someone I could call for you?"
"No, I'm fine." Her mind flitted back to Frank, no doubt waiting at home for an arrival that would never come. "Thank you." Once she was alone, she wandered from room to room in the small flat, looking at her father's possessions and wishing that he had chosen some other course. The doctor had told her that a neighbour had been concerned at the post not being removed from the letter box and that had been the catalyst for someone breaking in and finding him. In some ways, it seemed so dramatic an end.
Once she had regained some form of calm, she lifted the phone and dialled Frank's number. He answered on the second ring, a note of unmistakable concern in his tone. "Hello?"
"It's me?"
"Where the bloody hell are you? I've been ringing your place for ages and I'm only just back from going there myself to find the place in darkness. What's going on?"
"I'm in Brighton."
"Why, what's happened?"
"My dad's dead. He…killed himself."
There was a pause at the other end of the phone. "He's done what?"
"Killed himself. Overdosed on his medication. I don't know why, there's no note…" she let out a long breath. "I can't believe he would do this and just…not give any hint."
"Right, I'm on my way."
"No, please don't come, please," she said hurriedly. "I don't…don't need you." There was another pause. "I'm sorry, I don't mean that the way it sounds. I just mean…I don't know…my head's spinning and I think I just need to be by myself for a while. I'm going to stay here tonight so I can register his death in the morning."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm positive, please. I'm sorry I didn't contact you before now…"
"Stuff that. I just want to make sure that you're ok."
"I'm fine…I will be fine. I'll stay here tonight, do what needs to be done and then come back up the road. Can you explain to Meadows for me?"
"Of course, leave that to me." He paused again. "You're not going to do anything stupid are you?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know, decide to join him in the afterlife?"
"Don't be stupid, of course not. Do I come across as being that unstable?"
"No, but then neither did he, did he?"
"No, I suppose not…" she trailed off and let out a long breath. "I promise I'm not going to do anything stupid. I love you too much for that." As she said the words, she felt her eyes well up and her chest tighten. Despite what she had said, part of her wanted him to be there, to feel his arms around her, to know that he would help and deal with all the things that she would find difficult. But part of breaking away from Stewart had been about learning to stand on her own two feet. It would be too easy to delegate what she knew were her own responsibilities.
"As long as you're sure."
"I am."
"All right…I love you too, you know, more than anything."
"I know. I'll call you tomorrow." She replaced the receiver, suddenly painfully aware of how quiet the flat was. Moving around, she turned on the television, then the radio and then boiled the kettle, a cacophony of sounds that blotted out the penetrating silence. She stood looking out of the window at the sea beyond and suddenly realised that she hadn't brought anything with her, no toiletries and no change of clothes, and her stomach started to growl with hunger. Lifting her car keys, she left the flat, leaving the appliances on, and hurried downstairs to her car, unsure exactly where she was heading.
XXXX
"Suicide?"
"Yes Guv, she just called me a few minutes ago from Brighton."
"Well, that's terrible," Jack said. "And I take it, unexpected?"
"Well, her father was terminally ill, but I don't think anyone thought he would do this. He wasn't that bad yet by all accounts. She's going to stay down there tonight to sort out the paperwork in the morning and then head back up, but I imagine she'll need a bit of time over the next few weeks just to sort everything out, the funeral and what not."
"Yes, of course…" Jack mused. "She was meant to be back at the domestic violence course tomorrow."
"Well, I'm sure she can get the notes from someone," he replied, rolling his eyes.
"Yes…shame to waste the opportunity though."
"Well, Martella's up to her eyes unfortunately, or I could have sent her instead."
"Perhaps you should go."
"Me? Go to a domestic violence course?" It wasn't exactly an experience he had always been waiting for.
"Why not? Just because Christina's going to be the main officer involved doesn't mean that it wouldn't be helpful to have some knowledge at senior level too. You might learn something, Frank."
"Well, I doubt that Guv, but…"
"Excellent. No point in the place going begging, is there? I'll sanction Christina having tomorrow off and then she can let me know what other time she might need later on. Meanwhile, you can go on the course and all's well that ends well."
"If you say so," he replied, hanging up the phone. It wasn't exactly what he would have considered the best use of his valuable time, sitting about listening to some twat pontificating on what did and didn't constitute domestic violence. After all, it was obvious, wasn't it?
He lay in bed thinking about her, worrying about her, alone in her father's flat. It wasn't that he had any real concerns about what she might do to herself, more that he simply wanted to be there for her. He could imagine what would have happened if she had still been with Stewart. He would have been singularly unconcerned about the whole thing. It amazed him to think sometimes how much better he knew her life was going to be when she was married to him.
Morning dawned bright and fair and though he still had misgivings about the whole thing, he tried to inject some sort of enthusiasm and interest into what he was going to learn about that day. Besides, if he was going to go for promotion in a few months' time, the more strings to his bow, the better. Fortunately, when he arrived at the location, there was no-one he recognised, no-one to give him a good ribbing about his being there, which allowed him to slip into a seat at the back and remain largely undisturbed.
To his surprise, the subject matter was actually rather engaging and even though he hadn't been present for the previous day, he felt as though he was gaining useful knowledge. The speaker was talking about mental abuse, rather than physical, something which he hadn't really considered before, and the more he listened, the more he started to convince himself that that was what Stewart had been, deep down; a mental abuser. That alone made him angry.
At the lunch break, he nipped across the road to a nice-looking little café and ordered himself soup and a sandwich, away from the wilted offering normally found at those types of events. He'd also bought himself a newspaper and was enjoying the solitude of reading it, when a shadow fell across the page and, looking up, he met the gaze of a slightly overweight, sweaty looking individual who merely stared at him. "You got some sort of problem, pal?"
"I thought it was you," the man replied. "I saw you across the room, but I initially thought I must be mistaken. I mean, what would Frank Burnside be doing at a course on domestic violence?"
"Do we know each other?"
"Harry Grimm."
"Oh…right…" Realisation suddenly dawned, and he found himself taking in Stewart's former squad colleague, the man who had spoken to Christina the day before. "I suppose I could say the same about you and the course."
"Always keen to expand my knowledge," Harry replied, pulling out the chair opposite and sitting down. "You don't mind, do you?"
"Well, actually…"
"I saw Christina yesterday. I was expecting her back again today for day 2, but there's no sign of her and, well, every sign of you."
He was savvy enough to know when someone was fishing for information and given Christina had told him that Harry had been a regular visitor to Stewart in prison, he didn't want to give away any information that could get back to him. "Yeah well, it's good to spread the knowledge, know what I mean?"
"Yeah, of course." Harry paused for a long moment, eyeing him speculatively. "How did you get away with it?"
"Get away with what?"
"You and Christina. An affair right under the bosses' noses, no transfer, no sanction…nothing." He said nothing. "I mean…in any other circumstance, one of you would have been out. Look at DCI Wray. That set a few tongues wagging in the squad, I'll tell you that, even if it wasn't entirely unexpected. But Christina…that came as a huge surprise."
"Is there a point to this or are you just here to disrupt my lunch?"
"Just curious, that's all. I know Stewart is too."
"I reckon Stewart's got enough on his plate to keep him occupied. For the next eight years or so at any rate."
"You must have pulled some strings."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"No question about it, you must have pulled some strings, much like you did at Longmarsh."
He paused, "What do you mean?"
Harry sat back in the chair. "I mean…Stewart wanted to write to Christina, to try and explain about what had happened, to tell her how sorry he was. I told him not to bother, but he was adamant that it was the right thing to do, even if she never replied. Dead set on doing it he was and then…. all of a sudden…he changed his mind."
He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. "So?"
"So, it just seemed a bit off for him to have such a change of heart. And I asked him why and, do you know what he told me? I mean, I had to force it out of him, but he told me in the end. He told me that he'd been threatened. Said that someone had visited him in his cell and told him that if he persisted in wanting to write to her, he'd find himself on the end of a nasty little accident. Being an ex-copper, that could have meant anything, with lots of people keen to take a pop at him." Harry blinked. "Know what I mean?"
"Well, I'm aware that ex-coppers don't have it easy inside, but I'm not sure what any of this has to do with me."
Harry leaned forwards, dropping his voice. "Well, a little bird let slip that the threat had come from someone very close to Christina, very close indeed. In fact, it had come from the person she had spread her legs for. Now, unless she was putting it about a bit, that means…you."
He paused for a long moment, his mind racing, his stomach sinking at the triumphant look in the other man's eyes at the thought that he had caught him out. Whatever he did, he had to make sure that he gave a convincing denial. "I'm surprised you think I have that much clout."
Harry laughed. "You're Frank Burnside and you know fine well how much clout you have. More than enough to threaten a man's life, I reckon."
"Why would I have any interest in whether or not Stewart wrote to her?"
Harry sat back again. "Because you like to be in control and you couldn't stand the thought of Stewart being able to get to her, wriggling his way into her conscience, maybe making her feel bad over what had happened, bad enough to break off whatever was going on between you, then and now."
"There's nothing going on between us. It was a brief fling, that's all, and I did not threaten anybody."
"Be prepared to swear on oath to that, would you?"
He paused, "Meaning what?"
"Meaning Stewart could get you into a lot of trouble if it ever came out. Police officers threatening prisoners…" he shook his head. "Nasty business."
He toyed between telling the other man where to go and trying to find out what his underlying motive for this all was. "What is it you want?"
"Oh, it's not me. I don't have any stake in this. Don't get me wrong, Christina's an attractive woman, but after you've dumped your load, I wouldn't touch her with a barge pole. No, this is about Stewart. He wants to see you."
"What for?"
"He came to Sun Hill to speak to you, and you lied to his face about you and her."
"He never asked me about me and her."
"He asked you if she was seeing someone else and you said no, knowing full well that you were the one between her thighs."
"I said I didn't know, there's a difference."
"Rather splitting hairs, don't you think?" Harry paused. "He just wants to look you in the face and have you tell him you're sorry for ruining his marriage."
"Me?" he laughed humourlessly. "The only person for ruining Stewart Church's marriage is Stewart Church. Maybe if he hadn't become a worthless drunk who couldn't keep himself out of trouble, Christina wouldn't have needed to look elsewhere. Not forgetting, of course, the fact that he stabbed her in the back!"
"He's accepted his guilt for that and he's doing his time. You owe him."
He got to his feet. "I owe Stewart Church nothing, except a good hiding for what he did to her. So, if you don't mind…"
"Fine, then he's got a story to tell, doesn't he? And even if your friends at Sun Hill wouldn't be interested, I'm sure the papers would be."
"What is this, blackmail?"
"Something like that. I doubt Christina would be too happy to find out what you did, especially as she wanted him to write to her, would even have gone to visit him, if it hadn't been for your interference."
In that moment, he saw the trap. If she knew that he had been the one effectively preventing her from seeing Stewart, he could only imagine how furious she would be and given what had just happened with her father, he couldn't trust that her emotions might cause her to do something stupid, like decide to call off their engagement. All he would need to do, was face Stewart and perhaps be honest about their relationship. "Fine."
"You'll go then?"
"Later this week. First chance I can."
"Good," Harry got to his feet. "I'm glad you can see the wisdom of it all, Frank."
"Yeah," he glared at the other man. "That's DI Burnside to you, Constable."
XXXX
"That should be everything you'll need," Dr Nelson said, handing over the paperwork. "Again, I'm very sorry."
"Thank you," she accepted it from him and put it into her bag. "You've been very kind."
"Not at all. Your father was a lovely man. He'll be missed."
As she left the surgery, his words ran around inside her head. There had been so many times over the years when she had thought her father to be anything but a lovely man. That was why there had been so little contact. Now it seemed as though she had barely known him at all and never would. Unable to sleep properly, she had spent part of the night going through his things, trying to see if she could find anything that would give an explanation as to why he had decided to take his own life rather than wait for nature to take its course. It wasn't that she didn't understand him wanting to end things now before the pain became unbearable or he had no quality of life, but she felt cheated somehow of the time they could have had together, the conversations they could have had.
The funeral directors had left her their card and so she went to their office to start making the arrangements. As they discussed caskets, hymns and prayers, she realised that she had absolutely no idea what her father would want, whether he even considered himself to be religious, whether he would have preferred burial or cremation and who on earth she would invite to any funeral. She had no idea if he had any friends in Brighton or how to contact them. Family was pretty scarce, only his sister in Canada, a woman she didn't think she had ever met and a brother, whose current whereabouts were completely unknown to her. It upset her to think that she might be the only person at the graveside.
But there was Frank. He would be there for her, of that she was sure. Suddenly desperate to hear his voice again, she hurried back to the flat and dialled his office number, only for it to ring out. Then she dialled Viv's extension, her friend answering on the third ring.
"CID, Martella?"
"It's me."
"Oh, hi. Meadows told us about your dad. I'm very sorry."
"Thanks," she replied, then realised in the silence that followed that they had never resolved their argument from days past. "I've just been with the funeral director and I'm going to register the death."
"Right, that must be difficult."
"It is. I've no idea what he would have wanted. Viv…"
"The DI's not here," Viv cut her off. "Meadows sent him to take your place on the domestic violence course."
"Oh."
"I'm assuming he's the person you were looking to speak to."
The other woman's tone only served to make her feel worse than she already did. "I suppose so."
"You'll probably catch him later."
"Yeah, probably. Look, Viv…"
"I have to go, Chris, I'm swamped here at the moment. I'll see you when you get back, yeah?"
"Oh…umm…yeah…" the dial tone suddenly sounded in her ear, and she pulled the receiver back, staring at it for a long moment before replacing it in its cradle. She clearly had some work to do there, bringing Viv back onside. It was just another thing to have to think about.
A sudden knock at the door broke her reverie and, upon answering it, found herself face to face with an older woman, roughly her father's age, holding a small bouquet of flowers.
"Hello my love, you must be Christina."
"Oh, uh, yes I am."
"I'm Hilary. Hilary Jackson. I live across the hall. It was myself who noticed that your father's mail hadn't been collected and I contacted the surgery. I was so sad to hear about his passing. These are for you."
"Thank you," she said, accepting them gratefully, "that's very kind of you."
"Not at all my dear. I've known Bill ever since he moved in here. We used to have coffee once a week and catch up on all the local gossip. He always spoke very highly of you."
"He did?"
"Oh yes. He was very proud of how well you'd done in your job, always talking about how you were out there, nicking villains. I spoke to him last week and he told me about your promotion. Detective Sergeant now, is it?"
She felt tears suddenly pool in her eyes and her body start to shake with emotion. It was all so unfair. Why had he done this? Why had he robbed her of the chance to really be able to connect with him again after all these years? Why had he left her?
"Oh my…I didn't mean to upset you my darling," Hilary stepped forwards and put her arms around her in an awkward hug. "Tell you what, why don't we go inside and have a cup of tea? I'm sure I've got some stories to tell you about your dad and I'll be able to help you ring round his friends."
Gratitude swamped her, and she felt herself nodding as Hilary propelled her back inside the flat. Perhaps she wasn't quite so alone after all.
XXXX
He barely heard what the instructor was saying after lunch, painfully aware of Harry's presence in the far corner of the room. Every time he happened to glance over, he could see the other man watching him, a faint smile of triumph on his face. Arrogant git. He knew he had him by the short and curlies.
He couldn't tell Christina that he was going to the prison. She would never understand why he wanted to see Stewart and he could never tell her the real reason. Besides, if she knew, she would most likely want to come with him, or set up a visit of her own and he couldn't let that happen, for all sorts of reasons.
The day finally over, he made his way back to the station, bumping into Viv as he walked along the corridor to the CID office. "Oh, hello Guv, how was the course?"
"Riveting."
"Chris called earlier."
"Yeah?" he turned back around to face her. "What did she want?"
"I don't know, it wasn't much of a conversation. I told her she'd probably catch you about now though."
"Thanks." He turned and headed into his office, poised to call her at her father's flat, and then deciding to call another number first. The line rang out four times before it was finally answered. "Yeah, I'd like to book a visit please. My name's Frank Burnside."
"Name of the inmate?" the woman on the other end asked.
"Stewart Church."
"And when would you like to visit?"
He paused. "Friday. First thing, if you've got it."
"Nine-thirty?"
"Fine."
"Right, that's you booked in then. Friday at nine-thirty."
He replaced the receiver without replying and then stared at it for a long moment. He would need to be careful how he approached the other man, what he said and how he said it. He didn't want to say anything that could be construed as any kind of admission of anything. After all, Church was the one in jail for a violent crime, not him.
After a while, he lifted the phone again and called Bill's flat, almost surprised that Christina answered. "I thought you might have been on your way back by now."
"I've been talking to Dad's neighbour, Mrs Jackson," she replied, her tone sounding brighter than it had done before. "She's known Dad since he moved here, and she's been a big help with the funeral arrangements. She knows Dad's friends too, so I'll be able to notify them."
"Oh, I see. Well, that's good, isn't it?"
"Yeah, it's a huge weight off my mind. It doesn't make me feel any better about what's happened though."
"No, of course not."
"I spoke to Viv earlier. She said Meadows had sent you on the domestic violence course."
"Oh yeah, no point in wasting the space," he mimicked.
"How was it?"
"It was…fine," he replied. "Rather interesting, actually. Are you coming back up tonight?"
"No, I'm going to stay another night down here, try and get as much organised as I can. I'll be back up tomorrow night though. I've already squared it with Meadows."
"Ok. I miss you."
"I miss you too. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"
"Yeah, see you tomorrow." Slowly he replaced the receiver and sat back in his chair.
He couldn't let Stewart Church, or anyone, ruin what he knew they had together.
