15. The Husband

DS Vega has an unwanted visitor, both at work and home.

15

Vega strode down the steps that led to his 1960s semi and fumbled with his key before shouldering open the door.

‘CHERRY?’

‘In here, Padre.’

She was in the lounge, curled up on his ugly aubergine recliner, her diminutive body looking positively childlike. On the squashy brown corduroy sofa sat a man Vega recognised from numerous television appeals but who he had yet to have the displeasure of meeting in person.

DCI Adrian Lytton.

Cherry removed from her mouth the strand of ratty peroxide hair she’d been chewing on and pointed at him. ‘He basically bust in,’ she said, glowering at the chief inspector. ‘He pushed me.’

Vega rounded on Lytton who got to his feet and held out his hand. ‘That’s not strictly true. I just impressed upon her the importance of seeing you.’

Vega didn’t take his hand, letting him stand there with it held out in silence. Eventually Adrian Lytton took the hint, dropped his hand, and sat back on the sofa. ‘I didn’t want to come here, you know. You left me no other option. This wouldn’t be necessary if you’d answered my calls.’

‘So it’s my fault that you’ve barged into my home?’ Vega barked, making the most of his height and looming over the DCI who shuffled where he sat and swept his fingers through his thinning blonde hair.

‘No, not quite, but you could have been more cooperative.’

‘He doesn’t do cooperative,’ Cherry said. ‘Do you, Padre?’

‘I do, when I’m not dealing with a total twat.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You’re excused. Now what’s so bloody urgent?’

‘I’ve brought some items for you to look at,’ Lytton said through his teeth as he reached for his briefcase. ‘It’s going to take longer than we had anticipated to get the DNA results back, so anything else you can give us which might expedite things…’

Vega felt Cherry watching him as his temperature crept up and his heart began to thud against his breastbone. ‘I need a drink.’

‘Tea would be lovely,’ Lytton said as he laid a clear plastic packet on the tiled coffee table.

‘I wasn’t offering.’

Vega went to the kitchen and opened the cupboard in which he kept an old, sticky bottle of spiced rum which Cherry must have been swigging from because it was emptier than he remembered it being. He poured a measure into his Garfield mug with a hand that was suddenly trembling and knocked it back.

‘You okay, Padre?’

Vega didn’t turn to face her yet, keeping his eyes fixed on his greenhouse outside. It was dark now, but the neighbours’ obscenely bright security light was glaring off of the panes. ‘It’s bright as day out there,’ he grumbled. ‘What sort of wattage do you think that light is? It’s like living in f*****g Colditz.’

He felt skinny arms wrap around his middle, her cheek press to his back. ‘Want me to tell him to piss off? I’ll bite him, if you like.’

Vega chuckled. He patted Cherry’s little hand and rinsed his mug. ‘No, sweetheart. It’s fine.’

‘Just as well. Bet he tastes rank.’

‘Let’s not find out, eh?’

He headed back into the lounge and found Lytton looking at the framed photos lined along the shelf above his electric fire. He had picked up one which showed a troop of six men sat in long, dry grass under an azure sky. All six were grinning, squinting from under their jaunty berets, and it took a moment for Lytton to pick out Vega: he was darkly handsome back then, his skin tanned and healthy and his bare torso muscular.

‘That was taken in Cyprus. Peace keeping duties, 1990,’ Vega said as he lowered himself stiffly into his recliner. ‘Lots of sun, lots of ouzo…good times.’

‘You were in the forces?’

‘I was a chaplain.’

Lytton’s brows arched in surprise but he said nothing. He placed the photograph back and looked somewhat nervously at the strange girl leaning against the doorframe. She snapped her teeth at him. ‘Shall we press on?’ he said. ‘I’m sure you have things to be getting on with.’

‘What do you need?’

‘Just for you to take a look at these items and, if possible, confirm that they belonged to your father.’

‘Right.’

Lytton passed Vega the objects in their slippery plastic. Vega fingered them gently, feeling the weight of them, and focussed his tired eyes.

It was a tatty leather wallet, tan originally but now stained almost black by god only knew what. Next to it was a watch, Mont Blanc. The glass was cracked and the face dark with a congealed fluid. The silver links of the strap were clumped with organic matter.

‘Can you confirm that these are the possessions of your father, Vincent Roche?’ Lytton said, his voice indecently eager. Vega looked up at him, unable to conjure the glare he had been trying for. His throat was unexpectedly tight.

‘Yeah,’ he said, laying them back on the coffee table. ‘I think they probably are.’

‘Probably?’

‘Yes, they’re his.’

‘Wonderful,’ Lytton said with a rush of relief as he fell back against the sofa. ‘That wasn’t too difficult was it?’

‘You got what you wanted so you can go now,’ Cherry said, thrusting the soiled possessions back at him and throwing him his briefcase. ‘Laaahvley to meet you, don’t hurry back.’ She ushered him out the door and slammed it shut behind him before returning to Vega who was still sat silently in his chair. ‘You okay?’

‘Fine. Look, get yourself a Chinese or something tonight,’ he said, levering himself onto his feet again. ‘I’m going to be late back. Save me the left-overs. Kung pho pork would be nice.’

‘Can’t the team manage without you?’ Cherry frowned. ‘It’s pretty late already…’

‘I started at noon today, remember? Here, I’m leaving the money by the phone,’ he said, taking a twenty from his own tan wallet and flattening it on the hall table. ‘I mean it, Cherry. Make sure you eat something. I’ll see you later tonight.’

‘Okay, if you’re sure…’ Cherry heard the door click shut. She went to the front window and watched from behind the net curtain as he slowly climbed the steps up to the square of elevated tarmac where he parked.

He sat in his car for nearly ten minutes before she heard his engine start.

 

Back in the MIS, Vega sat oblivious to the sound of the phones ringing around him and the team brushing past as they hurried from task to task. He picked at a flap of loose vinyl which was peeling off of his desk, revealing the MDF beneath.

He felt concussed by the emotional clout of those possessions put before him. He hadn’t realised it would affect him like it had. Even without the facts, he had thought he’d reconciled himself to his father’s death some twenty years ago; he was a grown man now, an old man almost, he didn’t need his father. What difference did any of this make?

It might be nice to know what had happened to him, he supposed, but whatever his father’s fate had been he was certain the b*****d deserved it. He didn’t need the details. It wouldn’t change the outcome.

The piece of vinyl snapped off and Vega cursed. He flicked it into his empty wastepaper bin and noticed for the first time the post-it stuck to his monitor: Walker (?) wants call back.

He recognised Rosen’s slightly demented cursive and fingered the square of yellow paper a moment before tucking it neatly inside the pages of the Bible he kept in his desk drawer. He dialled Walker’s number.

While waiting in the field beside the torched van, Vega had confided to the police constable the registration number of the Audi A2 which Reese had stolen from Jodie, regardless of how she chose to see it. Walker seemed the sober, dedicated sort that could be trusted to handle sensitive information with discretion.

He hadn’t expected him to get back to him quite so soon.

‘Hi, Walker? It’s DS Vega,’ he said when the phone was answered on the second ring. ‘Sorry I missed your call.’

Khan appeared at his side and shoved a folder under his nose. Vega swatted him away and Khan stifled an enormous, sucking yawn behind his forearm which proved to be contagious.

‘The car you were interested in,’ Walker said. ‘It’s parked on a residential road. Well, a close.’

‘Don’t hang about, do you?’

‘Can’t take credit, I’m afraid. It was called in. The residents reckon it’s been abandoned but I think they’ve just taken umbrage to the fact that it’s taking up a space.’

‘Parked illegally?’

‘Nope. It’s all above board, as I told the neighbours.’

‘What’s the name of the close?’ Vega asked, and jotted it down as Khan continued to loiter by his desk. ‘Brilliant. Thanks. And can you do me one last favour? Ask the neighbours to call you, or me, the minute the driver returns. Tell them not to approach him, just to call it in.’

‘That’ll have the gossip mill in overdrive,’ Walker chuckled.

‘Won’t it just? Thanks again.’ Vega hung up and rounded on Khan. ‘What? What do you want?’

He didn’t hear whatever it was the detective constable had said. He was distracted by the sight of the man who had just entered the MIS, who looked initially lost before catching sight of him and giving a cheery wave.

He was wearing bib shorts that fit like a second skin and a sleek racing helmet that looked like something out of Alien. He was rail thin, bespectacled, with vascular legs and an earnest sort of face that inspired no spite regardless of who he was and what he represented.

‘Hello, Richard! Zaid,’ he smiled, walking towards them with a long, bouncing gait and clapping both hands firmly on Vega’s shoulders, kneading them with strong thumbs. ‘Is my better half around?’

‘Hi, Simon. She’s in her office,’ Khan said, already matching the man’s inane grin.

‘Is she still calling it that?’ he chuckled, looking towards the blue felt noticeboards. ‘Bless her heart. Still, who knows? If she does make chief inspector maybe she’ll get real walls!’

‘Daria’s looking to be promoted?’ Vega asked before he could censor himself.

‘Oh yes, yes. She’s quite determined. Well, you’ll both know that.’

‘Yeah. Richard’s always saying how enthusiastic she is,’ Khan smirked. ‘She really gives it some, right, Rich?’

Vega felt the tips of his ears beginning to burn and turned his attention to his screen while Simon continued to massage his shoulders.

‘Simon?’ Daria had stepped out from behind her noticeboards and now she headed towards her husband, looking between him and Vega. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Hello, darling,’ he smiled, releasing Vega’s shoulders and greeting her with a chaste kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ve brought you something to eat; I assumed you’d be missing dinner tonight, and you really can’t keep eating petrol station fare.’ He placed a tupperware box in her hands and she lifted the lid.

‘Quinoa and avocado…yum.’

‘I thought you’d like that. So how are things progressing here?’

‘I can’t discuss it with you, Simon, you know that.’

‘Yes, yes of course. Loose lips and all that,’ he said, bobbing his head.

‘I won’t be too much later.’

‘Take as long as you need. Wake me when you’re home though, won’t you?’

‘I will. Are you cycling back?’ Daria said, putting her hand on the small of his back and guiding him towards the door. ‘Do you have your lights?’

‘Of course!’

As the couple stepped out Khan snorted and doubled over, breathless with laughter. ‘Oh my days, how awkward was that?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Vega muttered, eyes still fixed on his screen, clicking pointlessly.

‘Come on, brother. We all know. The Christmas party? You two were not subtle.’

‘It’s sir, not brother. All right? There’s a chain of command here. Respect it.’

‘Is that what she says?’

Vega got sharply to his feet, his chair shooting out from behind him, and Khan was smart enough to hurry back to his own desk. Vega sank back down again and closed his eyes. He could still see the glow of his screen behind his lids.

Work was a refuge, usually, and one he was in need of right now but the situation with Daria was making it difficult to concentrate.

One of them should leave. He realised that now. Perhaps she was planning to, if she was looking to be promoted. If not, maybe he could transfer.

Or maybe Carmichael would get him sacked before then, who knew.

He felt a hand settle lightly on his shoulder and turned to see Daria. His pulse picked up, he couldn’t help himself.

‘I called Jodie. She’s agreed to take part in the appeal,’ she said. ‘We’ve arranged it for tomorrow morning.’

‘That’s good.’

‘I thought if she asked Reese directly to make contact…’

‘If you think that’s wise.’

‘Don’t you?’

Vega shrugged. ‘It’s worth a shot. If Reese is going to listen to anyone, it’ll be his mum.’

 

Author's Note

This is the last chapter I'll be posting on the Writers Cafe, on the advice of a reader who suggested I might be making myself vulnerable to plagiarism.

Thank you so much to all who have read and reviewed my work; I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed your comments and kindness.

If you would like to continue reading the story you can contact me through: [email protected] or add me through FB (same email).

Kind regards,

Sarah x

Reviews

[NoelHC]

Another well written chapter, the font was a bit small for comfortable reading. As to the plagiarism, the most recent batch seemed to be poaching poems only.
You know where to send me future work to review.
Best wishes, and good luck with the publisher Sarah.