The Back Road

6

A few hundred yards away in a red-bricked cottage, Tom Douglas relaxed on his comfortable sofa with the Saturday papers spread around him. An old Fleetwood Mac album that he’d bought out of nostalgia was playing in the background. His dad had played “Rumours” non-stop when he was a kid, and when he saw it on iTunes, he couldn’t resist downloading it.

He was struggling to get used to these lazy days, though, and after a couple of hours of doing nothing, he was getting restless. He’d just decided that he should get up and do something useful when the doorbell rang. He couldn’t imagine who on earth had tracked him down here. He knew hardly anybody except the neighbours who had invited him to dinner that evening.

Remembering that one job he still had to do was to take the front door off and plane a bit off the bottom, he opened it with a sharp tug to welcome his unexpected visitor.

‘Steve! Hi! What a surprise to see you. What brings you to this neck of the woods? Come on in.’

It was good to see an old friend. Steve had been Tom’s sergeant in Manchester a few years previously. He had taken a promotion by moving to the Cheshire force and they had kept in occasional contact but hadn’t seen each other since Tom had relocated to London three years ago.

Tom had forgotten how tall Steve was. He was one hell of big guy, in girth as well as in height, and although Tom had checked that the low beams and ceilings of his cottage were sufficient to accommodate his own six foot height, he hadn’t allowed for the extra five inches that Steve could boast. And no hair on top to cushion him either, Tom noticed with surprise. It was obviously longer than he thought since they had seen each other.

Ducking as he made his way through to the sitting room, Steve spoke over his shoulder.

‘Sorry it’s the first time I’ve had a chance to call round. I couldn’t believe it when I got your email to say you were moving back up north, but I don’t blame you.’

Steve looked around the sitting room.

‘Wow – this is a bit smart, Tom. I didn’t know you were into interior design. New career, is it?’ Steve winked at Tom, a habit of his that Tom had completely forgotten. He remembered thinking that Steve had some sort of facial tick when he’d first met him.

Tom glanced at the dark aubergine sofa and stone coloured armchairs grouped close to an inglenook fireplace, and the fat porcelain lamps on chunky wooden side tables.

‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ he said. ‘I found a great shop in Chester, and they sorted the lot. After the place I had in London – which was uber smart, but always felt cold and stark to me – it’s a pleasure to have somewhere that feels like home.’

‘Never could stand London myself. Anyway, it’s good to have you back up north. I’d have popped in sooner, but things have been a bit hectic with work. You know how it is.’

Tom grinned. He certainly did.

‘Before I sit down, can I get you a drink of anything? Beer, wine, or tea or coffee if you’re on duty?’

‘I’d love a beer - only a glass though, as I’m driving. I officially came off duty a couple of hours ago, but I had stuff to do in the neighbourhood.’

‘One beer coming up. Have a seat - I’ll only be a minute.’

Tom made his way to the kitchen, opened a bottle of beer and grabbed two glasses.

‘Here you go,’ Tom said, handing a glass to Steve and filling it slowly.

‘Thanks. I’m ready for this.’

They chinked glasses, and Tom sat down.

‘You never did say what made you decide to make the break from London, Tom. Just that you were moving back here. Problems?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ Tom shook his head, while admitting to himself that he wasn’t being entirely honest with his friend. ‘Lucy’s back in Manchester with her mum, and seeing her for the odd weekend wasn’t working for either of us. She’s only eight, and I felt that I was missing out on so much. So I wanted to be within driving distance. She’s coming tomorrow for the day for the first time. Her mum’s bringing her – but you know Kate – she’ll just want to have a nosey at my new home.’

‘So how was life in the big league then?’ Steve winked again, and Tom glanced down at his beer to hide a smile.

‘If you mean the Met, I had a great boss. But he took early retirement after a health scare, and I couldn’t think of a single good reason to stay. So I packed up and moved here. And now I’m job hunting.’

‘Bloody hell, Tom - that’s a bit of a risk, isn’t it? What will you do if nothing comes up?’

‘Something else entirely, I expect,’ Tom replied with a shrug of his shoulders. He was keen to move the focus of the conversation away from himself. ‘More to the point, though, what are you doing in this part of Cheshire on a Saturday afternoon? I don’t suppose you were just passing?’

Steve took a long gulp of his beer, and set his glass down on the coffee table. The smile disappeared from his face.

‘Pretty horrible case, actually. Some kid got herself knocked over last night on the back road, if you know where that is. It’s the local name for the lane that cuts through between the two main roads on either side of the village. Anyway, whoever hit her dragged her to the side of the road and left her there. Left her to die.’ Steve shook his large head. ‘The bastard. I bloody hope I catch whoever it was, that’s all I can say. We’ve got a team working the area, but I thought I’d take a detour on my way home to see how they’re doing.’

Tom leaned back hard against the sofa.

‘Oh God, Steve, I’m sorry. I’ve always hated cases like that. Give me a murder any day, but hit and run smacks of cowardice doesn’t it? How old was she?’

‘She was, or rather is, fourteen. Despite leaving her on the grass verge like road-kill, somebody found her pretty soon after it happened, it seems. She’s in a coma - but she’s alive. Barely. The doctors don’t hold out much hope, I’m sorry to say. The trouble with the back road is that there are no cameras at all, and although we’ve picked up what we can from the ones in the village, it’s going to be hard to prove anything.’

Steve filled Tom in on some of the background and the two men discussed all the usual routes to evidence. As he listened to the details of the investigation and everything that the police had found – or failed to find - Tom had to admit that it didn’t sound too promising. It was easy to see that Steve was feeling a sense of hopelessness, and Tom felt bad that he had no words of wisdom to offer.

Steve looked regretfully at his watch.

‘I need to make a move, I’m afraid. Sorry it was such a short visit, but I’ve been working silly hours recently and I was supposed to be home hours ago.’

He pushed himself up from the sofa and made his way to the door, keeping his head bent low as he went.

‘If you hear any gossip, Tom - being as how you’re so well in with the neighbours - give me a call, would you? You know how it is. The locals in a place like this always know everything that’s going on. There’s no such thing as a secret in a village.’

Tom smiled. ‘I know what you mean. Go into any shop around here, and you can hear them talking - usually about the person who walked out thirty seconds previously, although to be fair it’s usually without malice. God knows what they say about me.’

Steve gave Tom a knowing smile, a final wink, and lifted his hand in a farewell gesture.

Tom closed the door and walked through to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. He didn’t think there’d be any shortage of alcohol at tonight’s dinner with the neighbours, but tomorrow was going to be a special day for him and Lucy, and a hangover wouldn’t be ideal.

He was looking forward to the evening ahead. When he’d bought this cottage, he hadn’t realised how it would feel to spend long days without speaking to anybody. He’d always been happy with his own company, but nowadays he sometimes felt as if his vocal cords had seized up.

The other problem with spending long hours alone was that it gave Tom too much time to think. He’d always had such a clearly defined concept of right and wrong, but in the last couple of years he’d been forced to question his own values. He had thought that taking a break from the police might sort out his muddled mind, but instead he’d discovered that too much introspection confused him even more.

Now he just wanted to get back to work. Especially when he heard stories like the one Steve had just told him. Tom felt his scalp prickle, a familiar sensation when something about a crime didn’t seem quite right, and he wanted to be there, on the front line, working out just what it was that didn’t fit.