Carter shook his head. He still felt like crying. ‘I know, but you have no idea how horrible it is, not being able to help.’
Laura smiled gently. ‘You do know that your “seeing” Tom is part of what we call survivor guilt? It’s a common reaction, Carter. When others have tragically died and you have survived, it has a massive impact on you. Many people in similar circumstances try to keep the memory of the deceased alive.’ She leaned a little closer to him. ‘Actually you have devised a brilliant way to move forward, and you did it without anyone’s advice. Lots of therapists recommend finding a way to memorialise the deceased. The way you’ve done it is by helping their loved ones, and that is wonderful. It’s a very positive action, Carter.’
Carter rubbed his eyes. ‘Maybe. But why does he seem so real? And why do I always smell burning?’
‘It’s all part of the terrible thing you witnessed. As I recall, Tom was the last face you saw before you lost consciousness?’
Carter’s expression hardened. ‘I don’t want to go there.’
‘And I don’t want to take you back, but you asked for a reason, and that is the answer. Carter, you’re making incredible headway considering what happened, you are getting there. You are functioning well at work and generally holding things together. Please, please, do not be so hard on yourself. The past is immutable, but you can learn to find a new future.’
‘That won’t happen if I can’t give Tom what he needs in order to rest. We have to find Suzanne. I can’t handle this much longer. I need to fulfil the last challenge, Laura, I really do.’
Laura sat back. ‘Then we’ll have to see if we can get you involved in the investigation.’
‘Will you talk to Jackman?’ Carter asked urgently.
‘I’ll need to think about it. Leave it with me, and I’ll do what I can.’
Carter drew in a shaky breath. ‘Thank you! Thank you.’
Laura left. He had seen her expression. He had put her in a very difficult position, but what choice did he have?
There was no way Laura could actually interfere with police procedure. It was not her responsibility or her business. But Carter knew that for his sake, she would talk to Jackman. He just prayed that she could convince him.
Carter leaned back against the side of his beloved Eva May and heard it again, whispered above the lapping of the water. ‘Suzanne . . . Suzanne . . .’
He choked back a sob. ‘Leave me alone! I’m doing my best! What more can I do?’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Robbie touched down at Heathrow in a daze. Had his trip been a waste of money? Maybe not. At least he’d found somewhere new and beautiful to go hiking. Robbie didn’t travel abroad much. In his childhood he had been dragged from one resort to the next by his gold-digging, social climbing parents, and had vowed never to get on a plane again. But he had fallen in love with the coast of Galicia.
He thought about his new drinking partner, Harvey Cash. After three hours drinking together, Robbie had begun to like this bitter, disillusioned man. By the time he left the apartment, he felt truly sad that he could do nothing to help him.
The beautiful young Suzanne had been the end of the road for Harvey. She’d tricked him into marriage, bled him dry and tortured him with stories of her unfaithfulness. When she divorced him, he thought it was finally all over. But then she took him to court, accusing him of stealing thousands of pounds from her savings. ‘Should have known, should have realised.’ Harvey had paid a high price for simply loving her.
Harvey hadn’t provided much real evidence, but at least Robbie knew more about Suzanne Holland’s character. It wasn’t pleasant. He walked out to the car park wondering about her marriage to Tom Holland. It didn’t fit with what Harvey had told him. He wondered if Harvey had been honest with him, but he had seemed genuine enough. Robbie desperately wanted to talk to Carter McLean. The two had been best mates, and Robbie was sure Tom would have confided in him. Maybe that final argument had been more than a simple tiff. Perhaps Tom and Suzanne were not as blissfully happy as they’d seemed to have been.
Robbie recalled what Harvey had said, shortly before he put his head back and began to snore. ‘She hurts the ones she claims to love. And I mean hurts, Robbie-boy. Hurts.’
Robbie wasn’t quite sure what he meant. An old song had briefly flitted across his mind, You always hurt the one you love . . . But Harvey seemed to mean more than this. He had kept repeating the word “hurts.” By then it was too late to ask. Harvey Cash was out cold.
Robbie was convinced that Suzanne’s past had caught up with her.
He drove away from the airport, full of a fresh enthusiasm for the case. He had copies of all the original investigation reports on his desk at work, and suddenly he felt the need to read them again, especially the ones about Tom and Suzanne’s marriage. He glanced at his watch. Just after ten. By the time he got back it would be around midnight. Yeah! He’d call in and frighten whoever was on CID night cover, and spend a quiet hour reading up on Saltern’s own Black Widow.
He entered the CID room to the sound of gentle snoring coming from behind a desk.
Charlie Button was fast asleep. For a moment he was tempted to drop a filing tray onto the desk, or yell “fire!” in Charlie’s ear. Robbie smiled and went across to his own desk. The kid had been working long hours. Let him grab a bit of shuteye while he could.
Robbie sifted through the papers, took out those that referred to her marriage and settled down to read.
It took around thirty minutes to get the picture, and it did not coincide with Harvey’s story in any way. There had indeed been that acrimonious divorce from Harvey, followed by a string of casual affairs. But from the moment she met Tom, Suzanne seemed to have become a model wife. Until the week before Tom’s death, they seemed to be the perfect couple. Apart from the time Tom spent working on the old lifeboat, they spent every other moment together. So what had happened to shatter love’s young dream?
Robbie turned pages and checked statements but found nothing. Then he remembered that Ray had been about to get married. They had died on their way to his stag do. Robbie logged into his computer and accessed a site that gave a report of the aftermath of the light aircraft crash. It listed the mourners at the remembrance service.
Joanne Simms, Ray’s heartbroken fiancée. He nodded to himself and scrolled through again, watching for the name Joanne.
And there it was.
‘Can you tell us the reason why Tom Holland was staying over at Ray Barratt’s flat?’
‘He and his wife had had a bit of a falling out, that’s all.’
‘Do you know what about?’
‘A something and a nothing was all Ray told me. He was sure it would all blow over quickly, but then . . .’
Then they all died, thought Robbie.
‘How long did he stay?’
‘Four or five nights, yes, five I think, and then it was the stag . . .’