'Ouch!'
Sam threw the screwdriver to the ground and held his hand up in front of him. Blood began to trickle down his finger. He cursed his carelessness and wrapped a bloodied cloth around the finger. It was the third time he had nicked himself while fitting the new lock. It was too dark, he was too drunk and he had way too much on his mind to concentrate properly. But the door needed securing tonight in case of any more unwelcome visitors. He removed the cloth and studied his finger. Nodding with grim satisfaction, he retrieved his screwdriver and torch off the floor, ignored the driving rain and wind pummelling him, and carried on with his work.
Sam's mind wandered to who he was trying to keep out of his home. After today's events, Peter Canning had shot straight to the top of the list. The gardener hadn't been following Sam around town to get shopping tips off him. What could he have been up to? And something wasn't right with his involvement in the storage of Carl's valuables. Sam recalled Molly’s words, her description of how Peter gave her the creeps with his silent staring. Sam's own intuition had warned of something about the man. Something he could not quite put his finger on. It seemed he was right.
As Sam finished fitting the door lock, he thought of who else might want to break into the cottage. It wouldn't be environmental activists, not now he had established they were a figment of Carl's rabid imagination. Mason? Sam laughed at himself. Now it was his imagination running riot. The two bruisers looking for Carl outside the Renshaw house? No, they had no beef with Sam. The blokes who had given chase in the Audi? Sam doubted it. He was convinced that was to do with Carl as well.
In fact, it was all to do with Carl. The break-in. Being followed. Even the weird and wonderful methods of Detectives Mason and Carter. Sam didn't understand it. When Carl perished in the fire, anyone holding a grudge against him no longer had reason to continue with their vendetta. The story of Carl and his troubles should have been all over.
But it wasn't.
Slowly and surely, Sam seemed to be inheriting it.
All the enemies. All the secrecy. All the danger.
Sam tested the door. Satisfied the lock worked, he bent down and picked up the screwdriver and whisky bottle. He heard the sound of a car and turned in its direction. Headlights were approaching his way.
He groaned and clutched the bottle and screwdriver tightly in each hand. Not the scariest weapons, but they would have to do. As the car neared, he realised he wouldn't be needing them.
It was Lucy's Clio.
Sam watched her pull up at the bottom of the path. Lucy was the last person he had expected to see again. He presumed she had come to give him a piece of her mind. She got out of the car and immediately found herself buffered by the strong wind. She pulled her hood up and strode up the path towards him. A few feet short of Sam, she stopped and frowned at him.
Sam broke out in a grin and laughed. He couldn't help it.
Lucy looked at him as though he had lost his mind.
***
Sam had drunk more whisky than he realised while fixing the door. He held the bottle up to the light. It was nearly empty. He started to smile again.
'Sam, are you going to tell me what's so funny?'
Lucy had followed him inside the cottage. Now, she was staring at him with a combination of confusion and impatience.
Sam sat down, unscrewed the top of the whisky bottle and drank a mouthful. Lucy didn't move. She continued to stand on the other side of the room, watching him, waiting for an answer.
'Well, Lucy,' he slurred, cradling the bottle to his chest. 'I've just answered the door to you holding a whisky bottle and a screwdriver...' He gazed down uncertainly at his hand. '...with blood all over my hand.'
'While slightly inebriated,' she added, raising her eyebrows. Her tone wasn't condescending. She was just stating facts.
'That's right!' exclaimed Sam. He tipped the bottle up and emptied the remnants down his throat. With a disappointed look, he studied the empty bottle before gently dropping it onto the cushion next to him.
'Now, this morning,' he said, trying to focus on Lucy, 'when the police called round, my front door was hanging off, and I was waving an almighty knife in their faces. Apparently, I looked ready to take somebody's head off.'
Sam was forced to close his eyes to stop the room from spinning. He heard Lucy talking, her voice quiet and concerned.
'Sam, what has happened to you?'
Something flickered in his muddled head. What did she just say? He asked her to repeat it.
But he never got a answer.
He was asking in his sleep.
'Wakey, wakey...'
Despite feeling as though he had been twelve rounds with a heavyweight boxing champion, Sam nearly jumped out of skin.
'What the-?'
Lucy smiled at him.
'Good morning. Feeling a bit rough?'
Sam's first thought was to wonder what sort of dream this was. Lucy was sat opposite him holding a mug. He was lying on the chair, squashed up uncomfortably, with his legs hanging over the side and a blanket draped over him.
He closed his eyes. His dreams were getting more and more realistic.
'Sam...'
He wasn't dreaming.
***
'So, you chucked a blanket over me, took a spare key and went back home?'
Lucy nodded, holding out some tablets in the palm of her hand.
'Then you came back this morning to find me like this?'
Another nod.
Sam took the tablets off her and washed them down with the mug of tea she had laid on the table for him. He lay back in the chair and groaned.
'It's okay, Sam,' said Lucy. 'I've seen worse. A lot worse.'
All of a sudden, he wondered what she was doing here. Seeing him like this. With some effort, he swung his legs over the arm of the chair and sat up.
'How?' he asked, rubbing his coarse chin. 'Do you moonlight for the Salvation Army in your spare time?'
'No,' she replied quietly. 'My dad is an alcoholic.'
'Really?' said Sam. 'Does that mean you're on a mission to save the world from the dreaded drink?'
He regretted the words the moment they slipped out of his mouth. She looked hurt. Her eyes glistened softly.
'Hey, I'm sorry,' he said. 'That was out of order.'
She nodded slowly in agreement.
'Yes, Sam, it was.'
An awkward silence followed.
'It's just that I'm not sure why you're here,' said Sam. 'Not after yesterday.'
Lucy sipped from her own drink. She put the mug down and looked Sam straight in the eye.
'I came to apologise.'
'Apologise?'
'Yeah,' she said, slightly embarrassed. 'For yesterday. I saw the news about Carl Renshaw, remembered you asking about him and jumped to the wrong conclusion.'
'What's changed you mind?' asked Sam, kicking the blanket off his legs and folding it up.
'I don't really know to tell you the truth. Maybe it was the look on your face when you left the library. Or maybe I just remembered what I thought of you the first time I called here.'
'What was that, then?' asked Sam, raising his eyebrows.
Lucy blushed a little.
'Just that you were a good person.'
'Bloody hell,' said Sam with a smile. 'A compliment. I haven't had too many of them lately.'
'Well, don't get used to it,' said Lucy, her eyes twinkling mischievously. 'But, seriously, I panicked...and then I listened to Gareth-'
'Ah, you're guardian angel,' laughed Sam. 'He's very protective of you.'
Lucy's face coloured again.
'Oh, he's a sweet thing when you get to know him. He's just got it into his head that you're not-'
'A very good influence?' suggested Sam humorously.
Lucy laughed.
'I suppose that's one way of putting it.'
'Well, he can join the club,' said Sam, serious once again. 'I'm not exactly flavour of the month anywhere right now.'
They both went quiet for a moment, lost in their own thoughts. Each mulling over questions they wanted to ask. It was Lucy who spoke again first.
'Last night-'
'My turn to say sorry,' Sam butted in, raising his hand to confirm his apology. 'I've had a lot on.'
'Okay,' replied Lucy. 'Apology accepted. But I still want to ask you about it.'
Sam accepted he wasn't getting out of this one.
'You mentioned your door being broken when the police turned up yesterday morning. What was that about?'
Sam had only a vague recollection of what he said to Lucy last night. He realised that mattered little now. What was important was he had let something slip about recent events. Now, he had to decide whether to tell her anything else. But could he trust her?
'Look, Sam,' she said. 'You helped me out. So, if I can be of any help to you...'
Sam told her everything, starting from the moment he first clapped eyes on her.
'So, if you hadn't seen me and chased that man to get my purse back, you wouldn't have got involved in any of this?'
Lucy had listened attentively to Sam as he relayed everything that had happened over the last few days. Now, having heard the entire story, she stared at him, eyes wide open in astonishment.
'Well, I suppose when you put it that way,' said Sam soberly.
Lucy put her hands to her face, mortified.
'Now I feel terrible,' she said. 'Everything that's happened to you is my fault.'
Sam's face cracked into a wide smile.
'Lucy, I'm only joking,' he told her. 'It's nobody’s fault. I just happened to be in the wrong place when Carl was looking for someone. Bad luck, that's all it is. And as far as Carl is concerned, somebody was determined to get him sooner or later.'
Lucy nodded in agreement, deep in thought.
Sam watched her. She was still taking it all in. He couldn't explain what had finally pushed him to confide in her. He couldn't deny he was feeling better for it. A weight had definitely been lifted off his shoulders. But he hadn't told her because he wanted her to share the burden or provide him with an answer.
It dawned on him he had told her because she had put her faith in him. Trusted and believed in him. Coming out here last night. Tolerating his drunkenness. Coming back again today. All at a time when others were viewing him as a psychopathic murderer.
Telling her was his way of repaying her.
Suddenly, he felt a touch of anxiety. Lucy had wanted to hear his story, and he didn't believe he had put her in any danger by telling it to her, but that had to be it now. He silently vowed not to involve her any further past this discussion. Not to ask anything of her. He didn't want her put at any risk.
'Who do you think killed him?'
Sam drank the last of his tea and put the mug down. He ran his hand through his hair, looked at Lucy and shook his head. She had asked the million dollar question and he didn't have an answer.
'Take your pick,' he replied, recalling the shadowy figure he had seen leaving the burning factory. 'There were plenty of people unhappy with Carl for one reason or another.'
'I know...but to go to those lengths?' said Lucy. 'To murder him and burn the factory down?'
Sam could see the disbelief on her face. He remembered a time when such cases were part of his everyday life. And how the motives behind them were nearly always money or jealousy.
'Do you know what I don't understand?' he said, thinking out loud.
Lucy looked back at him blankly.
'I don't understand any of it,' she said quietly. 'How anybody could do something so evil.'
Sam watched her trying to comprehend it. It was sinking in now and the true horror was hitting home. He had to remind himself this was a novel experience for her. An unpleasant one, at that.
'I know, Lucy. It's hard to believe.'
She offered him a weak smile.
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Take no notice of me.'
'Are you sure you want to carry on talking about it?' asked Sam. 'I don't want to upset you.'
'No, honestly, it's okay,' she insisted. 'What were you saying?'
'Oh, yeah. I was going to say that I don't get how Carl could have had so much happening around him and not been aware it. Or at least not thought it important enough to take seriously.'
'Maybe he simply chose to ignore some of it,' offered Lucy, arching her eyebrows.
Sam considered the implications of her words. By ignoring matters, Carl must have known he was leaving himself vulnerable. Had he underestimated how much danger he was in?
'I just thought he was a bit naïve and eccentric,' said Sam. 'Or I did until I realised he had lied outright about the environmental activists. I mean, why lie about that? He had to have a reason.'
'Perhaps he was a lot smarter than he let on,' shrugged Lucy. 'Not that it helped him in the end.'
Sam realised he was still no nearer making sense of it all.
He looked at his watch, surprised at how long they had been talking. He had enjoyed Lucy's company, despite the unfortunate topic of conversation.
'Lucy, can I borrow your phone?' he asked.
'Why?' she asked playfully. 'Have I got you hooked on the internet?'
Sam wished he had never had cause to use it. But now he had, he may as well use it to his advantage. She passed him the phone.
'I just want to check that blog-'
He stopped and looked at the screen.
No tears will be shed for Carl Renshaw. Justice at last.
Silently, he handed the phone to Lucy. He watched her eyes widen as she read it.
'This was put on by
Martytaylor
only an hour ago,' she said, her eyes still glued to the screen. 'Whoever this person is, it hasn't taken them long to start celebrating.'
'They must have had one hell of a grudge against Carl,' suggested Sam. 'To be this happy he's dead.'
He gazed towards the window, looking at nothing in particular.
'What did you do, Carl?' he whispered. 'What on earth did you do to deserve all this?'
***
Lucy gave Sam the sternest of looks.
'Why can't you leave it to the police?' she pleaded.
Sam was getting impatient. He had decided his next move. However, Lucy was unconvinced.
'Lucy, all I want to do is find out more about Peter Canning. He was following me, after all.'
'Yes, I know that,' she said, looking exasperated. 'But surely it's the police's job to do that? Things have been hairy enough for you lately.'
Sam could understand her concern, and it wasn't that he didn't appreciate it. He just wanted to do things his own way.
'Normally it would be,' he said, 'but I told you I don't trust Mason-'
'I still don't get why he's so determined to blame you!' huffed Lucy in frustration. 'What's made him so sure you're the culprit?'
Sam was afraid this would happen.
He hadn't been entirely truthful with Lucy. He had glossed over his interview with Mason at the station, omitting the discussion about his time in the force and the circumstances under which he had left. She didn't even know Sam had been a police officer.
He hadn't wanted her delving into his past. Asking questions.
'Like I told you,' he said, 'Mason knows I was with Carl at the factory, and he's also got it into his head that I was trying to run away-'
'I still don't-'
'Lucy, please. You're beginning to sound like an old wife.'
It was a throwaway comment. Impulsive and unintentional. One Sam instantly regretted.
They looked at each other. Lucy spoke first.
'It's okay, Sam. I know you didn't mean any offence. I shouldn't have pushed-'
Sam shook his head. He couldn't believe he had used that word.
'Lucy, it's time I got off.'