She laughed at the expression on his face.
‘I can always pass on your apologies, Max.’
Max drove away from Jill’s cottage and then decided he should stop at the newsagent’s for cigarettes. He had a feeling it was going to be one of those nights.
The way the snow was drifting, the roads into Kelton Bridge would soon be blocked. He should drive home while he still could.
He sat in his car outside the newsagent’s and lit a cigarette. Snow swirled into the car as soon as he wound down the window.
Maybe they wouldn’t be able to get to Liverpool tomorrow. The motorways would be clear, at least he assumed they would, but he had to get into Kelton Bridge before heading off for the motorway.
His cigarette finished, he restarted the car and drove slowly off.
He really wished he could go straight home. Sadly, he couldn’t. He wasn’t that sort of bloke. He wouldn’t be able to rest.
Lights were on in the houses, just visible through the snow.
He pulled up outside one particular house, switched off the engine and lit yet another cigarette. There were times, he decided, when he loathed his job.
What had Jill said? That their killer was someone who held Bradley Johnson in contempt, someone who was very familiar with Black’s Wood, someone who had nothing to lose …
Spot on, Jill.
Love and hate, good and evil. There were very fine lines between those.
Bradley Johnson had been an evil man. He’d preyed on vulnerable women, demanding money in return for his silence. His luxurious lifestyle had been paid for by other people’s grief. Yes, he’d been an evil man. As Jack Taylor had said, the world was a better place without him.
Whoever had killed him deserved a medal …
He tossed his cigarette butt out of the window, got out of his car, locked it and walked slowly through the driving snow to the front door.
How he wished he could walk away and forget it.
He hammered on the door and a dog barked somewhere inside. It was a high-pitched, excited bark, one that could easily be mistaken for that yappy little ankle-biter belonging to Olive Prendergast.
A light came on in the hallway. A bolt was dragged back. The door opened and there stood Archie.
‘You’ve picked a bad night to be out, lad,’ Archie greeted him. ‘Come inside, quick.’
The collie leapt all over Max as Archie closed the door behind them.
‘Jess, damn it. Get down,’ Archie scolded.
The dog took no notice whatsoever and leapt up at Max’s face as if it was on springs.
‘Sorry about Jess, but she’ll settle in a minute,’ Archie told him. ‘Come in and grab a chair by the fire.’
Max, very reluctantly, did as he was told.
‘Will you have a drink?’ Archie asked him.
‘No. No, thanks, Archie.’
Archie carried a wooden rocking chair closer to the fire. A heavy chair.
‘What brings you out on a night like this?’ he asked Max.
‘Work, I’m afraid.’
‘Ah.’ Archie’s hand automatically went to his collie’s head.
‘That’s what I’m paid for,’ Max said.
‘Of course it is, lad. It’s late to be working, though.’
It
was
late. Max could be halfway home by now. He wished to God he was.
The TV had been on when Max walked into the room, but Archie had switched it off and now, the only sounds were the ticking of a clock on the mantelpiece and an occasional hiss from the fire.
‘You told me you’d given up the radiotherapy,’ Max said, his heart somewhere down in his shoes.
‘That’s right. I decided it were a waste of time and the doctors didn’t argue.’
Max nodded. ‘So those hospital appointments—you showed me the dates, Archie, remember? You didn’t keep an appointment the day Bradley Johnson was murdered, did you?’
Archie looked at him for long moments, his hand stroking the remarkably quiet collie. Perhaps even the dog sensed the sudden tension in the room.
‘I didn’t, lad. No.’
If Max had done his job properly, he would have checked with the clinic. On two occasions, he’d been on the verge of doing just that. And why hadn’t he? Because he had so wanted to believe Archie’s story.
‘Hannah Brooks is your goddaughter, isn’t she? Your best friend’s granddaughter?’
‘She’s a good woman,’ Archie answered. ‘She’s been foolish in her time, but haven’t we all? Making mistakes when we’re young is how we learn. That’s what life is all about.’
‘If you hadn’t killed Bradley Johnson, Jack would have done it, wouldn’t he? You couldn’t let him do that, could you? He had more to lose. You? You know you don’t have long. You’ve nothing to lose, have you?’
‘Nothing at all,’ Archie agreed. ‘And I’ll tell you something else, I don’t regret it. If he walked in here now, I’d do it again. I wouldn’t bloody hesitate. Men like that are bad. Like rotten apples, you have to get rid of them before their badness spreads to the others.’
‘Who was he supposed to be meeting that day?’ Max asked curiously.
‘Jack. Poor Hannah hadn’t known what to do so, as always, she’d gone running to her granddad. Jack told her to leave it with him. He told her not to worry, that he’d see Johnson and sort it out. The poor lass has been half out of her mind with worry. For a while, she thought Jack had killed him.
‘So Jack saw him—met him in the street one day—and said he’d hand over the money on Hannah’s behalf. Do you know what that evil bugger Johnson did? He knocked Jack down in the street. Hit him, caught him off balance and knocked him to the ground.’
‘Why on earth didn’t you call us—the police?’
‘No point,’ Archie said flatly. ‘What would you have done, eh? But I couldn’t take that. No one comes to this village and knocks down a man like Jack. Johnson were a bloody newcomer and he should have shown some respect for them as have lived here all their lives. Lived honest, decent lives, too.’ He shook his head. ‘He knocked him to the ground.’
Taking a big breath, he went on, ‘Anyway, Jack told him he didn’t want word of Hannah’s mistakes getting out and ruining her future, so he’d pay the money. And the greedy bugger believed him.’
‘When we found him,’ Max said, ‘he had an empty money belt on him. He was expecting to fill that with Jack’s money, wasn’t he? You’re right, Archie. He was evil.’
‘He was, and we can all rest easier knowing that he’s gone. Jack’s been a good friend to me, and to many others, too. No one knocks him down and gets away with it.’ He pushed himself up out of his chair. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, lad, while I use the bathroom.’
‘Of course.’
‘You stay here, Jess,’ Archie murmured, bending to stroke his dog. ‘You’re a good dog really, aren’t you? Your heart’s in the right place, girl.’
Archie left the room, his step slow and laborious on the stairs. The collie slunk over to Max for fuss. The more Max stroked her, the more boisterous she became.
‘Your heart might be in the right place, Jess, but you’re a pretty hopeless case. If you were mine, I’d—’
The short, spine-chilling bang made the dog yelp.
‘Shit!’ Max raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. ‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’
The door to Archie’s bedroom was open, as was the top drawer in the dresser. Archie lay on his bed, one leg dangling lifelessly over the side.
The collie sniffed at her master, confused by the sight of him lying so still. She sniffed at the blood and began to whine.
Clasped in Archie’s lifeless hand was an old service revolver, one that should never have worked.
‘Shit!’ Max said again.
Jess was licking her master’s hands, as if she could make him get up and stroke her head. All the while, she whined.
Max could have wept with her.
‘Come on, Jess.’ Max dragged the dog from the room while he took his phone from his pocket. ‘Let’s get you downstairs.’
Max had seen a lot in his time, but it didn’t alter the fact that his hands were shaking so much that he was struggling to tap in the number. He listened to it ring out, and wondered if he’d managed to get the right person.
‘Yes?’
‘Jack? It’s Max. DCI Trentham. I’m at Archie’s.’
‘Oh.’ There was a pause. ‘Oh, I see.’ A longer pause. ‘Is he gone?’
‘I’m sorry, Jack. So very, very sorry.’
‘Can I come over,’ Jack asked gruffly, ‘or is the place crawling with coppers?’
‘Yes, come on over. There’s no one here but me.’
The connection went dead and the silence was overwhelming.
How Jack did it, especially on a night like this, Max would never know, but he was there in under five minutes.
He said nothing as Max opened the door, but his gaze went towards the first floor.
‘Archie’s in his bedroom,’ Max told him.
‘Can I see him?’
‘Of course. That’s why I called you.’
‘Thank you.’
As erect as ever, Jack headed for the stairs. He hesitated at the bottom, took a deep breath and then, as slowly as Archie had, he climbed them.
Even the sight of her sister didn’t cheer Jess. She was pacing and whining, and doing her damnedest to get upstairs to her master.
Max kept both dogs in the kitchen, and he paced with them.
Jack spent no longer than two minutes upstairs and, when he joined them in the kitchen, he looked as calm as he always did.
‘That’s it then,’ was all he said.
‘I’m so sorry, Jack.’
‘It weren’t your fault, Sherlock. It were that evil bugger, Johnson.’ He reached into the cupboard for two glasses, then went to another cupboard for a bottle of whisky. ‘Archie were prepared for it. He’d been polishing that old revolver up every day. I didn’t think the thing would work—it’s that old.’
‘If only it hadn’t,’ Max murmured.
‘No, lad. Archie was planning on using it anyway,’ he told him. ‘He still had a few good days when he could take Jess out for a good long walk, but they were getting few and far between. He’d seen what cancer did to people. He always swore he’d prefer to take a bullet.’
Max shuddered.
‘Here,’ Jack said, thrusting a glass of whisky at him.
Max hesitated. He was responsible for Archie taking his own life. It didn’t feel right to take his whisky, too.
‘Go on, lad. The last thing Archie wanted were people moping around all miserable when he’d gone. He respected you. I do, too,’ he added gruffly. ‘Come on, lad. Archie’d want you to drink to him.’
It still didn’t feel right, but Max, in need of a drink, took the glass.
‘To Archie,’ he said, chinking his glass against Jack’s.
‘Rest in peace, mate,’ Jack said solemnly.
They emptied their glasses in record time, neither saying a word.
‘How come the place isn’t crawling with coppers?’ Jack asked at last.
‘Because I haven’t called it in yet. I wanted you to see him first.’
Jack looked surprised at that. ‘Thank you. Yes, thank you. I appreciate that.’
‘I do have to make that call now.’
But they had another drink first.
Jill wasn’t sure which was worse, her father refusing to set foot in the place and celebrating his wedding anniversary at the working men’s club, or her father, very much the worse for wear, standing on stage singing ‘My Way’.
‘What do you think of Mum’s outfit?’ her sister asked her.
‘It’s not quite as shocking as I imagined,’ Jill replied, and Prue grinned.
‘It is pretty awful though, isn’t it?’
‘Yep.’
Against all odds, it had been a good day. There had been no bickering between her parents, just a few very sentimental speeches, and it was good to see them surrounded by so many friends. Her parents might spend half their lives hurling abuse at each other, but they were a devoted couple. Their world revolved around their family and friends.
‘Do you know,’ Jill said, ‘I never thought I’d say this, but I’m really proud of them.’
Prue smiled as she watched her father performing on stage. ‘Yes, me too. If only we could have talked Mum out of that outfit.’
They both laughed at that. Their mother’s dress sense left a lot to be desired.
‘Is Max OK?’ Prue asked curiously.
‘Yes. Why?’
‘He keeps escaping and wandering outside.’
‘He’s smoking again,’ Jill explained.
But she knew it was more than that. She knew how much Archie’s suicide had shaken him. It had shaken them all.
Except Jack. Jack had been prepared for it. She could even imagine the old boys saying their goodbyes weeks ago.
Jack had accepted it. He’d taken Archie’s dog home with him, and now he would get on with life as best he could without his dearest friend. After almost eighty years of friendship, the circle was broken.
While Prue reprimanded her daughter, Jill went outside to find Max. After the crush inside, it should have been good to be in the fresh air. It wasn’t. It was freezing.
She was right; he was smoking.
‘I just stepped out for a breath of air,’ he told her.
‘You stepped out for a cigarette,’ she corrected him. ‘And you’ve spent more time out than in.’
He looked pale and unsettled. It took a lot to get to him; he’d seen too much to be easily upset.
‘You OK?’ she asked him.
‘Yes, I expect so.’
‘Archie was prepared for it, Max. Jack told you that he’d vowed to take a bullet rather than a slow death from cancer.’
‘I know.’
‘And he respected you,’ she went on. ‘He knew you had to turn him in. He understood that. He was ready for it.’
‘Turn him in?’ He tossed his cigarette butt across the car park and leant on the railings. ‘I had no intention of turning him in.’
‘What?’
‘I wish I’d kept it to myself,’ he said on a long sigh. ‘I could easily have pretended to have checked that appointment with the hospital. God knows, the NHS is in such a shambles, they don’t know who keeps appointments and who doesn’t. There was no need for him to—do that.’
Jill felt her world shift slightly. Max did nothing by the book, nothing at all, but he was a firm believer in justice. As much as he believed that people like Bradley Johnson didn’t deserve to walk the planet, he would not, under any circumstances, allow anyone to take the law into their own hands.