Doctor Who_ Deep Blue - Mark Morris [42]
Charlotte felt her face flush with indignation, but the words that emerged from her mouth sounded like an apology. „We‟re not going to cause any trouble.‟
„I do hope not,‟ said Mrs Macau. „Good day.‟
Charlotte turned to her mum. Imogen‟s eyes were wide and fearful.
„It‟ll be nothing,‟ Charlotte said reassuringly, though her insides were fluttering like a moth. „They probably just found Chris asleep on a park bench. They‟ll want us to go down to the station to pick him up.‟
Imogen nodded eagerly, but said nothing, and the two of them went downstairs. Charlotte expected the policemen to be uniformed, but they weren‟t. They were waiting in the hallway, looking hot and uncomfortable in their grey suits and ties despite their unbuttoned shirt collars.
They straightened up when the two women appeared, like army privates in the presence of a commanding officer. „Mrs Maybury?‟ said the foremost of the two men. Charlotte was about to defer to her mum when Imogen stepped forward, anxiety making her movements and voice jerky.
„Yes, that‟s me. What‟s happened?‟
„Is there somewhere more... comfortable we can talk?‟
Why? What is it you‟ve come to tell us?‟ Imogen snapped.
„There‟s the lounge,‟ said Charlotte, slipping into the familiar role of arbitrator. „We can go in there.‟
Dusty sunlight streamed through the tall bay windows, enlivening the red flock wallpaper, but seeming to bleach and age the lumpy sofa and pale brown carpet. The sofa rustled when the women sat down on it as though its misshapen cushions were filled not with foam padding but with straw.
The senior officer perched on the edge of an armchair facing them, elbows on knees, trousers riding up to reveal fluffy green socks. His colleague, a younger man with fuzzy sideburns and wiry eyebrows that clashed in a tangle above the bridge of his nose, leaned against the wall, arms folded.
„I‟m Detective Inspector Worthington,‟ the seated officer said, and there was something about the urgent compassion in his voice that increased the fluttering dread in Charlotte‟s belly. „I‟m afraid you‟re going to have to brace yourself for some distressing news.‟
„What is it?‟ Imogen whispered, and Charlotte could feel her mum trembling beside her. „What‟s happened?‟
Gently DI Worthington said, „This morning a body was washed up on the shore several miles from here. We believe it to be that of your son, Christopher.‟
In the silence that followed it seemed as though time was coming to a slow, soupy halt. Distantly Charlotte heard a door open and it seemed to give her the momentum to ask,
„Why do you think it‟s Chris?‟
„He was carrying a rail card with his name and address on it,‟ DI Worthington said. „Our enquiries led us here. We were given this address by a neighbour of yours.‟
„Mrs Ramirez,‟ said Charlotte dreamily. „She‟s looking after our house while we‟re away.‟
DI Worthington nodded. „I understand what a terrible shock this is for you, but I‟m afraid the body must be formally identified, and as quickly as possible. Christopher may have died in suspicious circumstances. We need to carry out a post mortem immediately to ascertain exactly how.‟
Charlotte felt light-headed, not quite rooted in reality. She stared at DI Worthington with tunnel vision, oblivious to everything else around her. „What do you mean, “suspicious circumstances”?‟
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. „There was extensive... damage to the body. It may have been caused by rocks, but then again...‟ He clasped his hands together and gave a grimace of apology, sympathy, discomfort.
All at once Charlotte was jolted back to reality by her mother‟s scream. It was a terrible scream, like an animal in intense pain. Charlotte jumped, then sank back, shaking, as her mum dissolved into tears beside her.
The grief was frightening in its intensity, emotion so raw it seemed to possess an awful destructive power that Charlotte felt sure would tear around the room like a hurricane