The Fourth Friend (DI Jackman & DS Evans #3)(8)

Then there was DC Rosie McElderry. She was pretty bogged down in a drugs case at present, but could still lend a hand. And of course, they had good old PC Gary Pritchard.

Now for the downside — DS Carter McLean.

Jackman crawled back into bed and pulled the duvet over himself.

No, he would not put Carter on the Holland case. There were other investigations running that Carter could work on. Looking into the seedier side of his dead friend’s missing wife was a definite no-no. He closed his eyes. At least that should make Marie slightly happier. He hoped so, because he didn’t like the preoccupied, anxious expression he saw on his trusted sergeant’s face these days. He needed the old Marie back.





CHAPTER THREE

‘Marie?’ It was three in the morning.

She recognised Carter’s voice immediately. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Apart from being unable to sleep and worried sick, I’m fine.’

‘That’s not surprising, now, is it? Big day tomorrow, my man. Back on the front line.’ She fought off sleep and spoke as casually as she could. But she was worried.

‘I guess. But that’s not why I phoned.’ He sighed. ‘Oh hell, Marie, this could have waited until tomorrow, I know, but I wanted to you to know how much I appreciate what a good mate you have been to me since . . . the accident. You’ve been my rock. To be honest, I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

‘Rubbish! You’d have done fine, and what have I done anyway? It’s Laura you should be thanking.’

‘We both know that’s not true. You’ve listened to my inane ramblings and never criticised me once. Laura has been amazing, but it’s her job. She’s paid to worry about me. You’re different. You’ve been a real friend.’

‘I am your friend, Carter, and you were my Bill’s closest mate. Would I leave you to suffer alone? Besides, if you’d ranted like that to anyone else, they’d have locked you up, and you are far too good a copper for that.’

Carter gave a low laugh. ‘You are not wrong about locking me up!’

‘Are you really that worried about tomorrow?’ she asked softly. ‘Three in the morning is a bit extreme, even for you.’

‘I’ll cope. I’m well on the mend. It’s not that.’

There was a very long silence.

‘I see them.’

Marie took a moment to realise what he meant. ‘I’m sure you do. I saw Bill for months after he died — at the station, here in the garden, in shops . . .’

‘No, I see them.’

‘But that’s natural, Carter. Denial is one of the stages of grief. You know that.’

‘But I’m not denying anything. Jesus! I know they are dead. I watched them burn, didn’t I? What I’m saying is that . . .’ Carter stumbled over his words, then whispered hopelessly, ‘I see them, really I do. And I smell them burning.’

Marie exhaled. She was just not prepared for this. Carter should be talking to Laura Archer. But apart from Laura, she was the only one Carter could speak to about what had happened. It was a heavy weight on her shoulders. Wise words were sometimes hard to come by, and she was never quite sure how to answer his questions. All she wanted to do was say something that would really help him, but every time she opened her mouth, the tired old clichés emerged.

She knew Laura Archer had warned him that he might “see” his friends, especially in crowded places or walking along the street. He would see them in his mind’s eye in all the places where they had been together. After he was killed, Marie had seen her lovely husband everywhere. Laura had told Carter that because his trauma had been so extreme, he might even hallucinate in the early days. But these were no longer early days. Marie wondered what he was getting at. Was he thinking of spirits? Ghosts? Surely not! Not the down to earth DS Carter McLean. ‘So how do you see them?’ she asked quietly.

‘Just like anyone else. They are as real as you and I.’ Carter’s tone was unnervingly matter-of-fact. ‘I’ve been seeing them since day one. They mainly visit me at home in the evenings, but it can be anytime, anywhere.’

Marie shivered. They’d talked about his friends for hours, days. Sometimes it seemed like they talked about nothing else. But he’d never mentioned this. ‘What do they do?’ she asked tentatively.

Carter inhaled. ‘We just hang out really. Try to make sense of things.’

Well, this made very little sense to her. She found it spooky. A group of dead guys “hanging out” at Carter’s place. She surmised that it was Carter trying to make sense of everything. Imagining that his friends were there helped him sort out his screwed-up head.

‘You do know they would never blame you, don’t you?’

‘Yeah, I know. They tell me that themselves. It’s just that there’s so much unfinished business. They never should have died, Marie. They all had things that they really needed to do. Things that were desperately important to them.’

Marie tried to massage her aching neck with her free hand. Surely, no one, whatever the circumstances, was ever prepared to die? We all leave unfinished business.

‘The weird part is,’ Carter paused, ‘I believe it’s down to me to finish what they started.’

Marie stopped rubbing her neck. The penny was dropping. ‘Ah. Like the marathon?’