Under a Dark Cloud Page 5

  ‘I don’t know!’ Sophie cries out. ‘He got it from someone at uni.’ Tears are streaming down her face and Robin turns away, exasperated.

  ‘I need to phone Craig,’ he growls and walks out of the flat, into the bleak concrete corridor.

  The phone rings and Robin waits. Craig answers without pleasantries.

  ‘Have you found anything?’

  ‘The flat’s a mess. It looks like Finn hasn’t been functioning properly for a while.’ Robin looks at the bag in his gloved hand. ‘And a small quantity of LSD.’

  ‘LSD? Seriously?’ Craig exclaims.

  ‘Yes, apparently he was microdosing to cope with his anxiety and depression—’

  ‘But he could have got the amount wrong,’ Craig finishes for him. ‘Would explain a lot. One of our DCs managed to get close to the door and plant a listening device, but all we’re getting is garbled nonsense.’

  ‘You’re thinking Finn’s at the tail end of a bad trip?’

  ‘Maybe, yes.’ There’s a long pause, and Robin fills in the gaps. A bad hallucination, and who knows what Finn imagined. God knows what he might have done to Simon Sharp. ‘Bring it back,’ Craig says at last, ‘and we’ll get it rushed to the lab for testing. See what nasties might have been included.’

  Robin signs off the call and rejoins the others in the flat. The three of them are still in the living room. Sandra has her arm around an ashen-faced Josie, who is holding a notebook in her hand. On the sofa, Sophie is crying quietly. They all look up when Robin comes back in.

  ‘No change,’ he says, and they look away, disappointed. He points to the notebook. ‘What have you got there?’

  Josie flicks through the pages. ‘Oh. No. Sorry. This was on the side, one of Finn’s weather record books.’ She looks at it, almost reverently. ‘I have boxes of these at home. I’m surprised he still does this.’

  She holds it out to Robin, and he runs his finger down the page. Temp. Dew point. Humidity. Wind speed. Rainfall. Air pressure. And their corresponding numbers. He glances towards the window; outside he can see an array of strange-looking instruments attached to the wall on a pole. He remembers Finn doing this as a kid, excitedly showing Robin his first weather station, Robin baffled by his enthusiasm. The technology has obviously improved since then, even if his method of record-keeping hasn’t, and Robin feels a sudden wave of sadness.

  He returns the notebook to Josie. ‘We need to be getting back,’ he says, quietly.

  * * *

  They drive in silence, Sophie staring out of the passenger-side window, Josie and Sandra in the back.

  Sophie turns to Robin. ‘I want to go in there,’ she says. ‘I can persuade him to come out, I know I can.’

  Robin glances her way as he negotiates a roundabout. His anger has subsided, and tiredness and hunger are starting to take over.

  He sighs. ‘It’s not as simple as that, Sophie. He’s not in his right mind. You don’t know what you’re going to face if you go in there.’

  ‘He’d never do anything to hurt me.’

  ‘I would have said he’d never do anything to hurt anyone, but here we are: Finn locked in a van with a dead body. There’s blood everywhere,’ he says quietly, trying to keep the women in the back from hearing this fact, one Craig had held off from telling them earlier.

  ‘There’s blood?’ Sophie says, her face draining of colour.

  Robin nods. ‘And I’m guessing you’ve never seen a dead body before, right? Let alone one that’s been murdered?’ Sophie looks like she’s going to be sick. ‘It’s a messy crime scene, Sophie. It’s not like it’ll just be you and Finn having a cosy chat.’

  She shakes her head. ‘I can’t believe Finn killed him.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ Robin says quietly.

  Sophie goes back to staring out of the window.

  As he drives, Robin thinks about the van. What would he do, if he was in charge of the case? He glances at the time. It’s one p.m. now, and Finn’s been in there with a dead body for at least seven hours. With no food, on little sleep. Robin knows there’s no way they’ll let it get to nightfall.

  The longer it goes on, the worse it’s going to be. Robin knows Craig will be trying to get eyes into the van so they can see what’s going on. He knows she will be trying to talk to Finn. Keeping lines of communication open in a negotiation means the offender might let you into what they are thinking. And then be persuaded into leaving peacefully. An offender. He’s still struggling to see Finn in that way.

  In the past, they’ve called a dog unit. He’s had people lock themselves in buildings, and the mere threat of a large toothy Alsatian being sent in has been enough to get the most hardened skinhead out with their hands in the air. But not with Finn. Not with him in this state.

  Professional detachment has helped him this far, but in the face of what they’ve seen in the flat, he is scared for his friend.

  Finn was his closest ally growing up. His sister Georgia was two years older and had her own gaggle of giggling girls to hang out with. He and Finn played together every day. Elaborate games of make-believe. Of cops and robbers, of scientists and laboratories – their disparate interests clear from an early age, but each happy to play the part created by the other. Finn got Robin through school, helping him out with homework, science and maths a mystery to the practical Robin. And Robin was there for Finn. Bullies stayed well clear from the skinny glasses-wearing nerd, knowing that his mate Butler wasn’t afraid to throw around a fist or two.

  They stayed close, even when they both went away to uni. Finn got a first in physics, then a doctorate. He landed plaudits and gained respect from his peers; Josie always spoke about him with pride. Robin scraped a lower second, then joined the force. But despite feeling in his shadow, he’s always been proud of his friend.

  He finds it hard to reconcile his calm, nerdy, slightly naive mate with this bloody crime scene. He needs to get in there, talk to him, find out what’s going on. There is no way Finn killed someone. No way.

  But as they drive into the car park, his feelings of dread intensify. The small crowd of press is bigger and clamours to see into the car as they pass; a large ambulance waits on the ground floor. And where before first responders were standing around waiting, almost bored, now there is activity. People are milling round computers, talking in frantic, hushed whispers. A DC runs up to the car, ushering him towards Craig.

  ‘Over the last half hour he’s got louder,’ she says. ‘I tried to talk to him but he started shouting.’

  ‘Saying what?’ Robin asks. They walk closer to the van.

  ‘I haven’t been able to make it out. But the nearer I got, the more pissed off he seemed.’

  They stop about five metres from the van. It’s silent again now; the car park goes quiet as everyone waits. Then Finn appears at the window.

  Robin involuntarily gasps. Finn’s face is gaunt, cheekbones protruding sharply. He isn’t wearing his glasses and he screws up his face, squinting out. His hair is in disarray, and Robin can see traces of something dark across his chin and face. Blood, he assumes.

  He feels a nudge from Craig next to him.

  ‘Finn,’ Robin shouts. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Robin?’ Finn’s face rumples with confusion, as if he hadn’t realised that Robin was there. He glances back into the van.

  ‘I’m here, Finn. Your mum, too.’ Robin hears footsteps behind him, as Josie walks up to his side.

  Finn looks back out to the car park. ‘Mum…’ he says, but he stops as he begins to cry. His voice is softer now; Robin can just make out what he is saying. And it makes his blood run cold.

  ‘Mum. He’s dead,’ Finn sobs. ‘It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.’

  8

  Shock reverberates across the car park. A ripple of chatter, buzzing around the detectives and first responders alike. ‘Did he…?’ ‘What did he…?’

  Craig is staring at the van. Then, as Finn disappears from view again, she turns to Robin.
r />   ‘We need to get him out. Now.’

  Robin is still stunned by Finn’s words. ‘There’s no way he killed Sharp. Something else must have happened.’

  ‘Well, we’re not going to find out standing around here. I’m tempted to do a smash-and-grab and hope for the best.’

  Robin turns on her angrily. ‘Hope for the best, DI Craig?’ he replies. He gestures for them to move away, far enough so Josie can’t hear the exchange. ‘What? Pray that he doesn’t kill himself in front of his mother? Or injures a police officer in the process? Please say your tactics are more sophisticated than that?’

  ‘Listen, DS Butler,’ she says, reverting to formalities to emphasise her senior rank. ‘Despite what you say, it looks like we have a murder on our hands. You know as well as I do that his confession doesn’t mean shit under PACE without a caution. What am I supposed to do? Bellow one from here?’

  Robin stares at the now-silent van. She’s right. The Police and Criminal Evidence Act, Code C, requires that a caution be given before any questions are asked about an offence, along with a million other requisites, to make it hold up in court. But he hasn’t got any solutions either.

  He can see everyone getting ready: first responders are standing by with big green bags, two PCs kitted out with stab vests. One steps forward, holding a yellow and black Taser.

  ‘You’re not going to use that, surely?’ Robin snaps.

  ‘My DCS is going nuts,’ Craig replies. ‘He wants him out, negative press coverage or not. We’re hoping the red dot on his chest will persuade him. But if you want to try before we do, this is your last chance.’

  Robin snatches the black stab vest that Craig is holding and puts it on.

  ‘And don’t go messing up my crime scene.’ He’s handed a full white suit, gloves and shoe covers. He pulls them on obediently.

  ‘But if he’s a threat to himself, or others, we won’t hesitate to go in with the Taser.’ Craig’s face is grim as she continues, ‘And caution him the moment you get in there.’

  ‘Roger, boss,’ Robin mutters, sarcastically, and gets a warning look in return.

  Robin takes a step forward towards the van. Everyone is silent. He glances back and catches Josie’s eye. She’s standing with Sandra’s arm round her, her face drawn. Sophie is next to them, looking stunned.

  He turns back. The easiest way in is through the main double doors at the back, so he heads towards them. He can feel his hands shaking slightly; he’s not sure whether it’s anticipation or the fact that he hasn’t eaten all day. He takes a long breath in, then reaches forward and knocks on the door.

  The loud metallic bang bounces around the car park.

  ‘Finn? It’s me, it’s Robin.’ There is no noise from inside, so he tries the handle. It’s still locked. ‘Finn, please. Let me in. I can help you.’

  He hears movement from inside. The sound of someone shuffling closer to the door.

  ‘You can’t help me.’ Whispered, close to where Robin is standing.

  ‘You trust me, don’t you?’ Robin says. ‘Finn? You know me, I wouldn’t lie to you.’

  Robin hears the almost imperceptible sound of metal against metal. He stops and listens. The lock being pulled open.

  He glances back towards Craig. She makes a sign with her hands, urging him to go in. Robin reaches forward and pulls at the handle; this time it moves. The door clicks open.

  He pulls it towards him and pokes his head inside. The first thing he notices is the smell – the unmistakable odour of a dead body heating up in a warm van all day. The second thing is the blood. It’s all over the floor, smeared up the walls, across the window.

  ‘Finn?’ he says quietly. ‘Can I come in?’

  There’s a pause. He tries to look inside but can’t see him. Then he hears a voice.

  ‘Just you,’ it croaks.

  He pushes the door open further and carefully steps up into the van. He has to stoop to get inside. It feels claustrophobic, anxiety-inducing, and that’s even before Robin considers what’s in front of him. On the metal floor is a prone figure. Stained with dark red, it is almost unrecognisable as a person. It looks like it has been dipped in blood, clothes ingrained, skin stained. Robin looks down at the body, following the torso up to the head. Wide-open eyes, blank.

  His neck is in pieces, sinew and muscle visible. Eyes stare upwards. Glazed. A large gash runs horizontally from his throat to the right-hand side of his face; Robin can see the white of the jawbone and the tendons in his neck.

  A pool of blood lies under a small table. How much is actually left in him? Robin wonders. Not much.

  ‘Finn?’ Robin whispers. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m here,’ he says.

  He leaves the door open, moving further inside the van, past the body, and there he is. He’s sitting in the furthest corner, his legs pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. His face is covered in blood, his clothes saturated with it.

  Robin crouches down in front of him, his eyes level with his friend’s.

  ‘Are you hurt, Finn?’

  ‘I… I don’t know,’ he starts. ‘I don’t feel right, I…’ He stops again. His gaze flicks to the legs under the table, then back to Robin. Robin notices his eyes seem strange – Finn’s eyeballs are constantly twitching side to side and he looks slightly cross-eyed.

  ‘Why’d you lock the door?’ Robin asks gently.

  ‘I was scared. I…’ He looks to the dead body again. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on.’

  Robin kneels down, knowing that blood will be soaking into the white suit, his presence contaminating the scene. But there’s nothing he can do about that; he needs to get to Finn. He holds his hand out, slowly, as if approaching a nervous dog. Then, when Finn doesn’t recoil, takes his hand in his.

  It is cold and covered in blood; his fingernails, some of which are broken, are stained underneath. He wonders what other marks he might have on his body – indicators of a struggle, Dr Sharp fighting back as he was murdered.

  Robin can’t think about that now.

  ‘Finn,’ he asks quietly. ‘Would you like to come with me? To get out of this van?’

  Finn looks at him again, his mouth opening and closing redundantly.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Finn repeats.

  Robin knows what he should be saying now. Cautioning him, following protocol. Procedures every copper knows by heart.

  Instead, he puts his finger against his lips.

  ‘Shush,’ he says quietly. And Finn stops, his eyes still flickering. ‘Finn, listen to me.’ It goes against all of his police training, but this is his best friend. Family. ‘Don’t say another word, you hear me? Don’t say anything else until I say so.’

  Finn nods slowly.

  ‘Now, let’s get out of here.’

  Robin stands up again, as much as is possible in the confined space. Holding onto Finn’s hand, he pulls him to his feet. Finn is wobbly and uncertain, standing with his legs wide apart, struggling to get his balance. Robin moves so his arm is supporting his friend’s weight, and he realises just how skinny Finn is. It takes little effort on Robin’s part to support him, and they start moving towards the exit, one shuffling step at a time.

  At last, they reach the open door and they both blink in the light. Hands rush forward to meet them, paramedics in green helping Finn down the step and into a carry chair.

  Robin watches him go, as Josie and Sophie run to join him. Craig walks up to his side.

  ‘Did he say anything in there?’ she asks, and Robin shakes his head.

  ‘He’s confused. There’s definitely something wrong,’ Robin replies. ‘This isn’t Finn. He wouldn’t do something like this.’

  Craig looks at him, her gaze resolute.

  ‘You know as well as I do that people do strange things. Even the people we love,’ she says, after a pause. ‘Did you caution him?’

  ‘No.’ Robin expected the scowl he receives in return. ‘He wouldn’t understand it a
nyway, boss. He’s completely out of it.’

  ‘And the body?’

  ‘Definitely dead. And starting to stink the place up.’

  Craig grimaces. ‘Pathologist en route. Hopefully, he’ll be able to tell us more.’ She looks at Robin. ‘And we’ll need a formal statement from you. Once you’ve got cleaned up. I want that suit for forensics.’

  Robin looks down at the white coverall. It’s streaked with blood, red soaked into the material.

  They stand in silence as the SOCOs descend on the van in a cloud of white.

  ‘I want to be involved,’ Robin says at last.

  Craig sighs, her gaze locked on the paramedics as they wheel Finn away to the waiting ambulance, one of the uniforms accompanying them as an escort. ‘You know full well that’s not possible. You’re personally involved.’

  ‘He didn’t do this,’ Robin protests again, weakly.

  ‘He was locked in a van with the victim,’ Craig begins. ‘Nobody else could get inside. Multiple witnesses heard him say it was his fault. We’ll follow procedure, of course, but it’s not looking good, wouldn’t you agree, DS Butler?’

  She uses his police title deliberately, highlighting the fact that, as a cop, he shouldn’t doubt the evidence either.

  ‘I won’t touch anything,’ Robin says. ‘I won’t say anything. Consider me a silent bystander. You can have one of your DCs with me at all times.’

  Craig closes her eyes for a moment in frustration. ‘Christ, Butler. You’re making my life difficult, you know that?’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Fine. Come along, see for yourself. But if I hear you have so much as sniffed at a witness, then you’re out, okay?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Now, I need to update my DCS on how this shitshow is going. If it’s okay with you,’ she finishes sarcastically and leaves, her mobile phone clutched in her hand.

  Robin watches her go, then turns back to the silver van. It’s easy to identify the crime scene manager, already giving orders, locking down the scene, preserving the evidence. Robin’s glad that DI Craig has given him permission to come along, but the sinking feeling in his stomach is telling him something he knows intuitively as a cop.