The Fourth Friend (DI Jackman & DS Evans #3)(6)

‘Yeah, that’s what they call in the zone. You were in a world of your own, sir,’ gasped DC Charlie Button.

Carter managed a painful grin. ‘It’s the only way I could do it,’ he gasped.

He’d been training for six months. Not just running, but studying the science behind it too. He’d worked out his food and training regime like a pro. And it had worked. He’d made a hell of a lot of money from his sponsors, and he had promised Matt that whatever he made, he’d match it from his own pocket.

He slowly moved off after his two colleagues to collect his medal. Matt’s medal. He touched the shiny metal almost reverently.

It was done.

*

A couple of other officers from their station collected them up in a 4 x 4 and drove them home. Most of the lads were meeting later for a celebratory drink in the social club, but Carter declined. The last thing he wanted was to share his evening with a raucous bunch of coppers, all getting rat-arsed. Anyway, he was expecting guests.

He showered, pulled on some loose pants and a sweater, and went down the wide, open-plan stairs to his lounge. He unlocked the big patio doors and slid them open. Then he leaned on the rail of his wide balcony and stared out. The vista stretched for miles across the landscaped gardens, to the town and the acres of fields beyond. He should be grateful. He was the owner of an apartment that most people only ever saw in magazines. He could furnish it with the best of everything and not even need to check his bank balance. It meant nothing to him. How was it that he felt so empty, so detached, so cut adrift from life?

He walked back inside and poured himself a drink. There was no point trying to find answers, and anyway, they’d be here soon. He glanced at his watch, flopped down onto the couch and picked up the TV remote. For a while he flicked through the channels, then pressed the off button. He wondered why he’d bothered with the best TV money could buy when he couldn’t concentrate on anything.

Carter threw the remote onto the soft leather of the couch and looked around. As always the apartment was meticulously tidy. Nothing out of place, no mess, no clutter, everything just so. Carter smiled bitterly. His mother would have been proud of him. He remembered Laura carefully explaining it to him. “Your whole life had broken down, Carter. It was chaos. It’s quite natural that you now choose to live in a carefully structured environment. You have control over your world when everything is in its correct place.”

She was right, of course. Laura Archer was a damned good shrink. Sometimes he wondered what she was doing working for the police. With her ability and endless patience, she could have made a fortune in private practice. And she was good-looking too.

Carter yawned. He ached all over, as though he had been play-fighting with a polar bear. He closed his eyes. Matt’s charity stood to receive a pretty impressive cheque. He had raised nearly three grand today, plus his own contribution. Carter sighed. It was a small gesture, but it was the best he could do. He hoped it would make his friend happy.

His eyes were still closed, but now he knew they were there. A sickly smell of burning flesh was slowly filling the room. Deep down, Carter knew that it was his mind playing tricks — insidious, nasty tricks. He knew there was no such thing as ghosts. Like most policemen he was a staunch sceptic, but nevertheless, he saw them.

‘So, you actually did it then?’ Tom’s voice held a touch of admiration. ‘That’s champion, mate.’

‘Yeah, well done,’ said Jack. ‘I bet it hurt like hell. How many blisters have you got?’

‘Enough, thanks,’ replied Carter dryly.

‘Well, respect! I take my hat off to you, man. I’m damn sure I couldn’t have done it.’ Ray was always generous.

Carter opened his eyes. ‘Where’s Matt?’

‘He said to say thank you.’ Tom’s voice was soft.

Carter looked at them. His friends visited him all the time, and this was the first time that one had failed to turn up. ‘Is he okay? Is something wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ answered Ray. ‘In fact he’s good, he’s really good.’

So why wasn’t he here? Carter frowned. ‘But the race, I . . . I wanted to tell him . . . it was for him, and his dad.’

‘No need, mate. He knows.’

Carter closed his eyes and the smell began to dissipate. When he opened them again, he was alone.

*

Marie sat on her sofa. Her lodger sprawled opposite in a comfortable armchair.

PC Gary Pritchard had transferred from the neighbouring division of Harlan Marsh, and was currently occupying Marie’s guest room. The arrangement was intended to last until Gary made up his mind whether he wanted to commute each day across miles of fenland, or sell his Harlan Marsh home and move to Saltern-le-Fen. Several months had now passed, and neither of them was tired of their new domestic situation. Gary was an excellent cook, and Marie had put on weight, but chose to ignore it. She hated cooking. She was tall and athletic-looking, especially in her motorcycle leathers. She could cope with a few extra pounds if it meant having more of Gary’s “this’ll set you up for the day” breakfasts. In return, she was the perfect landlady. She kept a clean, warm home and imposed no restrictions on her guest, besides feeding the cat if she was on a back-to-back shift. Two lonely people, both bereaved, were no longer quite so lonely. What was to lose?

Marie grinned at him over the rim of her wine glass. ‘I hear Carter made it to the finish line ahead of Max and Charlie.’