Tania Carver - The Surrogate

Clayton still liked nothing better than to hit a few bars on a night off with his mates, see what he could pull. He thought he would have had enough of it after years in uniform, clearing up on weekend nights when the town-centre pubs were swarming with squaddies from the garrison, hitting on town girls and students, hungry for anything they could get a hold of, ready to fight for it if necessary, but he hadn’t. He looked back fondly on those times; it was good, uncomplicated fun. Bash a few heads together, a few free drinks or whatever else was going.

And it wasn’t all one-way traffic with the squaddies: Clayton had seen plenty of predatory middle-aged women, their bodies squeezed into clothes designed for teenagers, desperately trying to remove the wedding rings from fattened fingers, as if that mattered, bar-hopping in the hope of attracting a young, fit squaddie for the night. In his uniform days he had been called on to break up plenty of fights as young men, having failed to get off with anyone their own age, fought over these women, the women themselves turned on at the sight, thrilled to be a trophy for the winner.

And if they failed to get off with a squaddie, he remembered, a smile crawling across his face, a copper would often do.

But alluring as that was, he had to ignore the memories, the pull of the bars. It would be so easy just to sit there, have a few beers, let it wash away. But he couldn’t. Things had become serious. He had to take action. And he needed privacy for the call he was about to make.

He took out his mobile, dialled a number from his address book. It was a number he hadn’t used for quite a while, but he hadn’t deleted it. He had thought it might come in handy some time. One way or another.

He had lied to Phil when he told him he was following up a lead. Nothing personal, but he had no choice. This was damage limitation. This was his career at stake. He hadn’t gone to look into anything. He had just been walking round the town centre trying to sort everything out, work out what to do next. Whatever he did, he had to tread carefully. Make sure any move he made left him protected.

He turned off the main road, ducked down Church Walk, all boarded-up shops and lock-ups, headed towards the church and the graveyard, ignoring the teen goths and the drinking school gathered by the rusted old gates. The trees and tombstones looked desolate against the darkening sky. It was like the backdrop for some clichéd old Hammer film.

The phone was answered.

‘It’s me,’ he said.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. He waited.

‘I knew you’d call,’ a voice said eventually.

‘Thanks for not grassin’ me up,’ he said.

‘You’re welcome,’ the voice said, in a tone Clayton could-n’t read.

‘I need your help.’

The voice laughed. ‘Course you do.’

Irritation ran through Clayton. He opened his mouth ready to spit out angry words, but stopped himself. That wouldn’t help.

‘I do.’

‘Why?’

‘To… square things. Make sure you’re protected.’

The voice laughed. ‘Make sure one of us is protected, you mean.’

Clayton felt the irritation turn to anger. Swallowed it down. ‘Don’t-’

‘Play games?’ said the voice. ‘You used to like playing games, as I remember.’

Clayton kept a grip on his temper. ‘This is important. We’ve got to talk. Tonight.’

The voice sighed. ‘When and where?’

‘You name the time and the place.’

‘Nine o’clock. The Lamb and Flag, Procter Road, New Town.You know it?’

He did.

‘And I’ll need a lift home afterwards.’

‘Right.’

He rang off. Looked round. The graveyard was fully dark by now. Ghosts and other horrors were free to lurk. He turned, walked back to the station. He didn’t need those ghosts.

He had enough of his own.

Anni Hepburn was still questioning Geraint Cooper.

‘So Ryan Brotherton killed Claire? Is that what you’re saying?’

Geraint Cooper nodded. ‘Not content with just Claire, he has to do Julie as well.’

‘Why d’you say that, Mr Cooper?’

‘Oh, come on. It’s got to be him. That bastard.’

‘Do you have any proof, Mr Cooper?’

He looked at her, anger abating slightly. ‘Well, no. But it must be, mustn’t it?’

‘Why must it be?’

‘Because of what he was like.’

‘What was he like?’

‘I told you.’

‘You said he didn’t want the baby and wanted Claire to get rid of it. She wouldn’t and she dumped him. Hardly sounds like grounds for murder.’

‘Well, he was a bastard. The worst kind of bloke. The kind kids leave home to avoid and spend all their lives hating.’

‘Abusive?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Was he not.’

‘To Claire?’

Geraint Cooper calmed down, nodded. His voice dropped. ‘She always goes for the same type. Big blokes, look like they can handle themselves. Real macho. I’ve told her she shouldn’t, they’re trouble, won’t do her any good, but she still does it.’ He stopped, attempted to correct himself. ‘Does… did…’ He sighed again, fighting back tears, then used his anger to regained composure. ‘Oh God… anyway. It’s him.’

‘Tell me more about him, Mr Cooper.’

He leaned forward. Anni didn’t doubt the honesty or sincerity in his eyes. ‘He was awful to her. Started out nice, but then they all do. Then a couple of months in, he changed. Little things. She was late home. Bang. She looked at someone in a pub a funny way. Bang. He didn’t like the dinner she’d cooked him. Bang.’

‘But she didn’t leave him?’

He shook his head. ‘She was unhappy, but she loved him. Kept going back to him. Every time. She would turn up at my house or Julie’s in tears with a black eye or something, saying she was going to leave him. Then she’d get better and he’d call her, promise never to do it again, and that would be it. She’d have him back.’

‘Right,’ said Anni.

Geraint Cooper looked at her, his face hard. ‘I suppose you’re saying she deserved it, aren’t you? That she brought it on herself for being so stupid? So soft? For letting him do that?’

‘Not at all, Mr Cooper,’ said Anni, her voice calm and even. ‘I’ve seen this happen a lot. Too much, to be honest. And not to soft, stupid women. They’re intelligent, sensible and mature. And often they don’t know how they’ve ended up in that state either.’

Her words seemed to calm him down.

‘So what happened next?’

‘We had what you’d call an intervention. Julie, Chrissie and me. We were her best friends. And we hated what was happening to her. Hated it. Luckily we managed to make her see sense.’

‘But the next thing, she was pregnant?’

Geraint Cooper nodded.

‘By Ryan Brotherton?’

He nodded again. ‘That’s when she finally left him.’

Anni frowned.That contradicted what Emma Nicholls had said. ‘Really?’

‘Really. He said he didn’t want a baby. At all. Under any circumstances. She did. Even his. So he decided she was going to get rid of it. And if she didn’t do it, he would. Forcibly.’

Anni swallowed hard, kept her face as straight as possible. ‘How?’ Her voice was slightly less calm than she wanted it to be.

Geraint Cooper held up his hands, clenched them hard. ‘With these.’

‘Right.’ She swallowed again. ‘And that’s when she left him.’

He nodded. ‘And that’s when he decided he wanted her back.’

‘What about the baby?’

He shrugged. ‘He wanted her more.’

‘So how did he go about that?’

‘Nice as anything. Charming, flowers, the lot. He’d changed, he was a new man, the usual.’