‘Yeah. We’re back to Layton’s version. Hocus pocus and witchcraft.’
Monday 25th August
Some time later Fox heard the tap, tap, tapping of the pipe on the tobacco tin. Then a faint acrid aroma caressed his nostrils. His grandfather. Fox kept his eyes closed, not wanting to believe. He waited for the old man to say something.
Again: tap, tap, tap.
‘Simon?’ His grandfather’s voice sounded muffled, as if the sound was coming from far off in the distance. ‘Simon, wake up.’
He’d been dozing, the warmth of the sun soporific, the slowness of the game of cricket lulling him to sleep. He’d open his eyes now and his grandfather would suggest they drove off to a pub where the old man would buy a pint of Guinness for himself and water with a splash of lime for Fox. Maybe, if he was lucky, a lemonade. Now he did believe. This wasn’t the ending, it was the beginning. Whatever had gone before was done. He could start all over again, full circle.
Tap, tap, tap.
Fox opened his eyes. He was still sitting in his car, the tools still gleaming on the rack in front of him. His eyes flashed to the rear-view mirror. The garage door stood open now and the early morning light streamed in, pale, cold and unwelcome.
Tap, tap, tap.
‘Simon, what on earth are you doing? I woke up and didn’t know where you’d gone. Thought you’d been called out.’
Fox turned his head to see Jennifer, his wife, bent to the window. She clicked the door open and looked to the rear of the car where the hose curled across the back seat. Wafted her hand in front of her face to disperse the exhaust fumes.
‘Oh God, Simon. Why?’ Jennifer reached in and turned the key to the off position. She collapsed to her knees, her hands grasping at the door sill, her head bowed. When she looked up, tears were streaming down her face. ‘Whatever’s happened?’
‘The air-conditioning,’ Fox said. ‘Positive pressure.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Kept me alive. Despite everything. I fucked up. Again. I should have known better than to even try and make things right.’
‘Simon. Please.’
‘I tried, didn’t I? Made sure the reports got mixed around. The teams checked the wrong cars. They never found out. Until now.’
‘I don’t understand. What are you on about, darling? Tell me.’
‘Tinkering, bloody tinkering.’ Fox moved a hand to the top of his wife’s head and stroked her hair. Then he reached for the ignition and pulled out the keys. ‘Let’s go inside.’
In the living room, Fox bade his wife to sit. He stumbled across to the drinks cabinet and took out an unopened bottle of premium malt and two tumblers. The glasses clunked down on the occasional table and he unscrewed the whiskey and poured a generous measure into each.
‘No,’ Jennifer said. ‘You had enough last night and it’s not even breakfast time.’
‘Drink up, you’re going to need it.’ Fox considered his own glass for a moment and then returned to the drinks cabinet. He selected a fistful of mixers: bitter lemon, ginger ale, tonic water. With an opener in one hand and the bottles in the other he went and sat on the sofa. The bitter lemon fizzed open and he took a gulp straight from the bottle. Three more gulps and he’d drained the contents.
‘Simon, I—’
‘You remember a few years ago that lass was killed up on the moor? A hit-and-run accident?’
‘No, I can’t—’
‘DI Charlotte Savage’s kid. Nine years old. We never caught the driver, never traced the vehicle.’
‘Oh yes, of course, I remember now. The poor woman. Losing a daughter must be awful. I can’t imagine what I’d have done had anything like that happened to our children.’
‘No, I dare say you can’t.’ Fox pointed to Jennifer’s glass. She’d drunk a mouthful. ‘More.’
Jennifer took another sip. ‘What’s this got to do with you, Simon? Have you caught the driver?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’ Fox fizzed open another mixer. Tonic. He downed the bottle, the bubbles catching at his throat. He swallowed a burp. ‘Owen was up on the moor on the day of the accident. He’d camped out the night before, somewhere north of Princetown, with a few friends. They’d had a party way off in the wilds. Plenty of beer, a couple of bottles of spirits, other stuff as well. Lauren was with him too.’
‘Other stuff?’
‘I’ll come to that. Back then Owen drove that Impreza, didn’t he? All souped-up like a rally car. The important thing is, Owen’s route back the next day took him past the spot where DI Savage and her family were picnicking.’
‘He was a witness to the accident? He saw the hit-and-run car?’
‘Oh yes, he saw the car alright. Owen and Lauren were in the car. Owen was the driver.’
‘What?’ Jennifer’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Our son? He killed the young girl?’
‘Yes.’ Fox paused. His wife’s eyes glistened as they filled with tears. Fox wanted to move across and hug her, but he couldn’t. He had more to say. Much more. ‘Owen drove off. He panicked. He called me and I went round to his place. He showed me the damage to his car, confessed everything. He wanted me to bring him in. He was a complete mess, blubbering and ranting. Crying like he was a baby again.’
‘So what happened?’
‘The other stuff I mentioned along with the drink? Drugs. Amphetamines, cocaine, cannabis.’
‘Owen was taking all those?’
‘He was on speed, yes. The other drugs, he was selling. That night on Dartmoor he’d shifted a load to his friends. Wouldn’t have looked good on the news, would it? Chief Constable’s son arrested on drug and murder charges.’
‘Murder?’
‘I don’t know what the CPS would have come up with but you can be sure it wouldn’t have been a speeding ticket.’
‘But you said Owen wanted to turn himself in?’
‘Yes, but I told him I’d handle it. And I did.’
Jennifer put her hands to her face. Fox rose and walked across to her. He knelt in front of the chair and reached out for her.
‘We’d have lost all this. Our son, my job,
