No Reason To Die

Fourteen

After arranging to meet Kelly later, Karen then found herself battling with nagging doubts. Was she doing the right thing? After all, she had originally promised herself that this investigation, and the extent to which she was allowed to investigate it at all, would be strictly by the book.

She picked up the paper cup of coffee which she had extracted from the machine a little earlier, then half forgotten about, and took a mouthful which she promptly spat back into the cup. It was barely tepid, and the stuff was bad enough even when it was hot.

She poured the coffee into the pot of the rubber plant she kept in one corner, noticing as she did so that the plant no longer looked all that happy, which could, she reflected, be not unconnected with the many previous cups of highly questionable coffee which had been emptied into its container. None the less, she set off downstairs to fetch herself another one. There were all kinds of people in a CID office who could, without too much difficulty, be persuaded to fetch coffee for their boss, but somehow Karen was never comfortable asking people to do such menial tasks for her. In any case, running the errand herself gave her thinking time.

She didn’t really have any doubts. Just some fears, she supposed. And that was only rational.

But by the time she reached her home that evening, only just before 7.30, she had conquered her fears and come to terms with her intentions.

He arrived on the dot of 7.30. She had barely had time to take off her coat and rush around her flat picking up the abandoned shoes and various other items of scattered clothing, which she then hurled indiscriminately into the bedroom. Sometimes her untidiness did spread from there into the living room and other parts of her flat, in spite of her best efforts not to let that happen.

She had only just shut the bedroom door on the mayhem within, even greater now than it had been that morning, when her front doorbell rang. As she hurried to open it, she ran the fingers of one hand through her hair, in a pathetic effort to bring it to order after her exertions. She thought her face was probably bright pink. But, in any case, it was only Kelly waiting outside in the corridor. And she forgot about herself when she saw him. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale and drawn. He did not look well at all, and she thought he had aged dramatically over the last few days.

‘Come here,’ she said, and, almost automatically, gave him a big hug. ‘You look all in.’

‘I’ve had better days,’ he said. ‘And better times in my life.’ He paused. ‘Mind you, I’ve had worst times, too.’

He grinned. Karen smiled. She knew all about his chequered past. Yes, he almost certainly had had worst times, she suspected.

Yet Kelly’s sense of humour rarely failed him, even in the grimmest of situations, and it was, to Karen, one of his most endearing characteristics. He was acutely aware of his own shortcomings and had always used humour, often directed quite harshly against himself, to deal with the more unfortunate consequences of his frequently wayward behaviour.

‘Come in,’ she said, ushering him into the sitting room with one hand, as she closed the front door with the other.

She offered him tea and went to the kitchen to make it and to open a bottle of red wine for herself.

When she returned he was standing by a window, with his back to the room, looking out over the bay. She walked silently across to him and held out the mug of tea without speaking.

He turned and took it from her. ‘You know, I think Moira enjoyed walking along Torquay seafront more than almost anything else. We had holidays together — even one or two quite flash ones — but I think the times when we both had an afternoon off and we walked together along the front, had an ice cream or a hot dog, and maybe a drink in the early evening and a fish supper, I think those may have been our happiest times together.’

He stopped abruptly and immediately looked as if he wished he had not said so much. Karen knew only too well that it did not come easily to John Kelly to share his feelings. And it was highly indicative of his state of mind for him to tell her a story about Moira, rather than jumping straight in to cross-examine her about any developments in the Hangridge case.

She waited for a moment, but he said nothing else. She also knew better than to try to prompt him. Instead, she squeezed his arm and invited him to sit down on the sofa.

She sat next to him and, without waiting for him to ask her anything, launched into an account of her problems with the hierarchy concerning any further investigation of Hangridge.

‘At the moment, I cannot get the CC to agree to launch an official police investigation. I think that is wrong—’

‘So do I.’

‘Don’t interrupt. This is tricky enough, and if you ever tell anyone a word of what I am about to say to you, I shall deny everything. OK?’

‘Can I speak now?’

‘Kelly!’ There was a warning note in her voice, but she was actually mildly reassured. He might be in a bit of a state, but he was still the same old Kelly. And as sharp as ever.

‘OK. I shall press delete immediately and wipe this meeting from my memory.’

‘Very funny. This is no joke, though, Kelly, as you well know, and you really will have to do just that for both our sakes. You see, I actually want you to blow this thing wide open, because it’s the only way, I’m afraid, that anyone is going to get even close to the truth.

‘So, I’m prepared to give you every bit of information I can to help you investigate. And I’ll be working with you behind the scenes. Officially I can do bugger all, not yet, anyway, but unofficially everything I can glean will be yours. However, in return, I do expect you to tell me everything you get. I don’t want any holding back.’

Kelly looked doubtful. He really was a typical journalist, thought Karen, much better at acquiring information than giving any away. And that went for his personal life, too.

‘That’s the deal,’ she said. ‘Take it or leave it.’

‘You’re a hard woman,’ he replied.

‘Sometimes I think I’m soft as shit,’ she replied.

‘Never.’

She waited.

‘OK, it’s a deal,’ he said.

He hesitated then. She saw through him at once. She knew Kelly well.

‘Come on,’ she instructed. ‘Spit it out. You’ve something to tell me already, haven’t you?’

‘Yeah, I guess I have. The families are getting together. Margaret Slade called me this morning, sounding, much to my surprise, extremely switched on...’

He then gave her a précised version of the call.

‘So, there you have it,’ he said when he had finished. ‘The families are going to form an action group, and they want me to be their official representative. Funny old world, isn’t it?’

‘It sure is. That could be extremely good news, though, Kelly. The authorities won’t be able to ignore you if you’re representing the families of the dead young soldiers, so you should be able to get access, certainly with a little persistence, to almost anyone you want to see. And it distances you from the media too.’

‘Well, up to a point...’ said Kelly cautiously.

Karen grinned. She was a realist. She would not even ask about whatever deal Kelly may have made with Margaret Slade, and indeed it was probably better that she didn’t know. But she could imagine it well enough. And, deal or no deal, to imagine even for one moment that Kelly would investigate Hangridge without recording everything that happened and attempting to turn it into the story of his life would be completely unrealistic.

‘Once a hack...’ she said.

He grinned back.

‘Thanks, anyway, Karen,’ he said. ‘You know, together we may even be able to crack this.’

‘All I need from you is enough information, so that I can damned well force that arse-licking bastard Tomlinson to let me launch a proper police investigation. At least, that would be a start.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ said Kelly. Karen felt his eyes on her.

‘I have a feeling you may have some information for me first,’ he continued.

‘You’re right,’ she said, reaching for her Voyage denim bag which she had dumped on the floor next to the sofa. She opened it and retrieved a small sheaf of A4 paper print-outs from her office computer.

‘Inquest reports,’ she announced, and watched Kelly’s eyes light up.

‘Jocelyn Slade, whose death doesn’t add up at all in my opinion, Craig Foster, and a young man called Trevor Parsons.’

She paused for dramatic effect and was not disappointed. Kelly was on the edge of his seat.

‘And the death of Trevor Parsons is indeed another alleged suicide, even if it was much earlier.’ She tapped the small pile of papers. ‘Parsons’ home address is on record and so is the address of another young soldier, who seems to me to be of considerable interest. Fusilier James Gates. He was called as a witness at Slade’s inquest.’

‘Wow,’ said Kelly. ‘That’s a hell of a start, Karen. I’d better be off. I’ll read the reports tonight and start following them up in the morning.’

He rose to his feet and held out one hand. She passed him the papers. He smiled at her, but it was a pretty wan attempt. Karen looked him up and down. His appearance was haggard. In spite of the enthusiasm he had displayed, she thought he might be close to total exhaustion.

‘You’re not sleeping, are you?’ she enquired.

‘No,’ he said, then managing a smile, added: ‘Well, not in a bed, anyway. Sit me upright in a chair and I go off like a light, only to wake up crippled with cramp and feeling a darned sight worse, I suspect, than if I hadn’t slept at all.’

‘And are you eating?’

‘Eating?’ Kelly sounded puzzled. ‘Do you know, I can’t really remember when I last ate anything. I felt sick all day yesterday, and today, eating just hasn’t occurred to me.’

‘Do you feel hungry now?’

‘I honestly don’t know.’

‘How about staying here for a while, and I’ll order us a pizza?’

She saw him hesitate, then he sat down again on the sofa, folding the papers and tucking them into his jacket pocket.

‘I think I’d like that,’ he said.

‘Any particular sort?’

‘I’ll leave that to you.’

He may have recognised that he should eat, but he was obviously still uninterested in food. Karen was more than a little anxious about her old friend. Still watching him out of the corner of one eye, she reached for the phone and arranged for her local pizza takeaway to deliver a large Four Seasons.

Kelly started speaking again as soon as she finished the call. And it was almost as if he had forgotten all about the controversial case they had just been discussing and the plot the two of them had hatched.

‘I know Moira and I never officially lived together,’ he told her, his voice much softer and weaker than usual. ‘But she was always in my house, and even when she wasn’t, well, it felt like she was. Does that sound stupid? What I mean is, I could always feel her presence. She was there. In my life. Even when she wasn’t actually within the same four walls. And now, well, she’s gone. For good. Her presence is no longer there and the place just seems totally empty. And I... and I... I feel quite desolate.’ He stumbled over the last few words.

‘Does that make any sense at all?’ he went on.

‘Yes,’ said Karen promptly. ‘Of course it does. That’s the way these things are, I think.’

It was the answer she thought that he needed, and she was also sure it must be the truth. But she realised, with a fleeting sadness, that she really had no idea whether that was actually the case, because she had never achieved a relationship which even approached what Kelly had described. There had been that disastrous early liaison with a man who turned out to be a con artist, which could have ended her career, had not Kelly, who was investigating the man, chosen to refrain from making it public. And her subsequent love life had been little more than a series of casual flings and one-night stands, until her recent, mind-numbing, soul-destroying affair with Detective Sergeant Phil Cooper. But she wasn’t going to think about him and the devastating effect that relationship had had on her. Not tonight. Not ever again, if she could help it.

The ring of the doorbell saved her from having to come up with more of the right thing to say. After all, she was no better at soul-baring than Kelly. Indeed, quite possibly she was worse.

She opened the door, paid the pizza delivery boy, turning down Kelly’s shouted-out offer to share the cost, and put the box on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

After going into the kitchen and fetching a roll of kitchen paper, another glass of red wine for herself and a Diet Coke from the fridge for Kelly, she returned to the living room to find Kelly staring into space, the box still unopened before him.

She did the honours and passed him a slice of pizza, precariously balanced on a piece of kitchen paper.

He ate without enthusiasm, but finished the slice apart from the edge of the crust, which he rolled up in the kitchen paper she had given him.

She persuaded him to take a second slice, which he ate half of. She was starving — as usual. Two slices disappeared at a rate of knots and she was well into the third before she felt her hunger even begin to abate.

Kelly, having finished, walked to the window again and once more stood, with his back to the room, looking out over the bay, while Karen continued to eat. When she eventually felt moderately full, she joined him there.

The room was dimly lit and they could see outside quite clearly, as the entire seafront was brightly illuminated by a mix of standard street lighting, strings of multicoloured fairy lights and the headlights of passing cars.

‘Still thinking about those walks with Moira?’ she ventured gently.

He did not reply, instead turning slightly more away from her.

She did not persist. She knew better. She stood quietly alongside him for a moment until she noticed that, although he had uttered absolutely no sound, his shoulders were shaking almost imperceptibly.

She put an arm around him and half turned him towards her. His body was strangely unresisting. She saw then that tears were streaming down his face. He was silently sobbing his heart out.

She put both arms around him then and held him very tightly, still saying nothing.

‘It’s all mixed up in my head,’ he muttered through the tears. ‘Moira’s death, Hangridge, not being able to write. Did I tell you? Barely two fucking chapters, that’s all I’ve managed. I didn’t tell you that, did I?’

‘No, Kelly, you didn’t,’ she said quietly.

‘No. I haven’t told anyone. I can’t do it, Karen. So much for becoming the great bloody novelist. I can’t fucking do it. You have to go into your head to write fiction. I don’t like what’s inside my head, and I can’t cope with it either. Not now I can’t. And as for Hangridge, well, I’ve been as absorbed with that over the last few weeks as I have with Moira. And that makes me feel guilty. I just feel so guilty. I can’t sort myself out. It’s all such a muddle... such a desperate, fucking muddle...’

He clung to her.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’ He repeated the words over and over again, in between great wrenching sobs.

‘It’s all right, Kelly,’ she said, in a way that she hoped was soothing. ‘It’s all right. It’s allowed to show grief, you know. You’re allowed to cry. So do so. Go on. Cry. As much and for as long as you like.’

After a bit, he stopped even attempting to weep quietly. He gave in to it and stopped trying to control the tears. It must have been fully two or three minutes before the sobs became less violent, but he still held onto her. Like a child, she thought. Then he said it again.

‘I’m so sorry. Really.’

‘Don’t be, please don’t be,’ she said. ‘I’m honoured.’

She took a paper tissue from the pocket of her jeans and gently wiped his face with it with one hand. With the other, she stroked his forehead. Suddenly she felt very tender towards him.

And then it happened. Something changed in his body, and to her surprise, and perhaps also to her dismay, she felt it change in her own body too. Maybe it was the display of tenderness that brought about the change, maybe it was something else, something beyond both their comprehension. She wasn’t sure. But, suddenly, John Kelly was no longer a child seeking nothing more than comfort.

His arms tightened around her and he began to kiss her face, her forehead, her eyes, and then, finally, her mouth. His lips sought hers with a kind of desperation. She didn’t mean to respond, but somehow could not stop herself. He pressed his lips against hers and his arms began to move over her body, stroking and caressing her. Then she found that she was doing that to him too. He eased her lips apart with his tongue. She did not resist, instead she opened her mouth for him. For several seconds they stood like that, wrapped around each other, straining to make the kiss deeper and deeper, more and more demanding.

Then, all of a sudden, a moment of sanity hit her. What they were doing was madness. Total and utter madness. And she had had enough of such madness in her life. Kelly had buried his partner only the day before. His emotions could not be trusted, and neither, she suspected, could her own. Also, this was, at the very least, totally crass behaviour. Worse than that, it was quite horrible behaviour. And she could not live with it, even if he could. In addition, this was John Kelly. Her old friend and sparring partner. He had never been, and never could be, her lover. Not under any circumstances, she told herself, and certainly not under these circumstances. She was disgusted with herself.

Immediately, she jerked her head back, pulling away from his kiss, and at the same time struggled to push him away. It wasn’t much of a struggle. She felt his grip slacken and sensed him beginning to back off, even before she put both her hands on his shoulders and pushed. They both stepped back and stood, breathing heavily, looking at each other.

Kelly bowed his head slightly. She suspected he felt much the same way as she did.

‘Now I really, really, am sorry,’ he said eventually. ‘I just don’t know what came over me. That was a disgraceful thing to do. I’m just—’

‘No,’ she interrupted him. ‘No. It takes two. I played my part, all right. And I don’t know what came over me, either. At least you have an excuse. You’re on an emotional roller coaster at the moment. You’ve just lost the most important person in your life, you’re in a muddle, you said that. You hardly know what you’re doing...’

‘Don’t I?’ he responded quietly. ‘No. No. You won’t make me feel better. I have no excuse at all, just a lot of reasons why I should not have done that. Look, I really had better go.’

She felt almost as emotionally drained as she was sure he was. Certainly, she had no energy left to try to further rationalise either his behaviour or her own. She just wanted to be left alone, to at least try to come to grips with what had happened. Or rather, she supposed, what had nearly happened.

‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I think you better had go.’

She made no effort to see him out. He knew the way well enough. And he went at once, without saying another word. Perhaps, like her, he did not know what more to say.

She remained standing at the window and watched as his little MG pulled out of the car park and began to move slowly along the seafront road.

Sophie was at her feet, brushing against her, trying to wind herself around her legs. It was funny how, on the one hand, she was a typically selfish cat and, on the other, so sensitive to Karen’s moods that she almost invariably seemed to know when her mistress needed comfort.

Karen bent down and picked up the cat, scratching the back of her neck as she lifted her against one shoulder. Sophie’s more or less constant purring grew louder and louder in her ear.

‘You know what, Sophe,’ Karen murmured. ‘Your Uncle Kelly and I very nearly did something extremely stupid.’

Karen realised she was almost in a state of shock. Fond as she was of him, she had never considered Kelly in any sort of romantic or sexual way before. It had just never occurred to her.

And she was grateful that they had both come to their senses before that extraordinary moment had developed into something more. She was extremely glad they had stopped. But only because she had felt it was wrong. After all, the timing had been just terrible.

But the man, when his arms had been around her and his body pressed against hers, had not felt wrong at all. He had been both tender and exciting at the same time. As for the kiss, well, the kiss had been fabulous. Quite fabulous. She didn’t want to admit that, but it was true.

She could still taste it, still feel it. It had been a very special kiss indeed, and she was quite astonished. She had never thought there could be anything like that between her and Kelly.

None the less, it must go no further. She did not need any more man trouble, and Kelly was always, always, trouble. Also, she valued their friendship a great deal, and romance — or perhaps she really meant sex — was, in Karen’s experience, all too often inclined to render friendship dead in the water.

‘There’s only one thing for it, Sophe,’ she muttered to the still-purring cat. ‘Your Uncle Kelly and I just have to forget all about that little incident and go back to exactly the way we were before.’