True Witness by Jo Bannister Read Free Book Online Page B

know exactly when the crime occurred, we got to the pier while the scene was still fresh, we had Cochrane and his house and Land Rover under surveillance within a couple of hours. We were never in that position before. Forensic techniques have improved in ten years. And this time we have a witness.”
    Ennis was staring at him, a coal in the grief-muddied blue of his eyes. “Somebody saw?”
    â€œThe whole thing. I have the time, the place and a damned good description. I’ll get him, George. I promise you.”
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    They met on the shore. Both wanted it though neither intended it. Daniel thought Brodie was right when she said it was too soon to express his regrets to Chris Berry’s mother; and Frances Berry didn’t even know Daniel’s name. She went to the pier because something deep in her was saying that she knew how and where her son came into the world, she ought to see where he left it; and alone because she didn’t believe anyone would understand.
    Charlie Voss had arranged for a police-car to take her home. But she’d had it drop her here, said she’d make her own way. WPC Meadows wasn’t happy and she didn’t think DS Voss would be either. But the woman was calm, apparently in control of herself, and giving someone a lift somewhere they don’t want to go is kidnapping. Jill Meadows told her to call the station again if she needed them, gave her the number of a taxi firm, and left her on the promenade.
    Daniel was on his way home. He sat in Brodie’s office, sipping her coffee, until she got busy, then he left. It was a five minute walk from Shack Lane to the netting sheds, but half way he was suddenly so tired he could go no further. He dropped onto a bench and stared out to sea, and didn’t notice his eyelids growing heavy.
    He may have dozed for a few minutes or an hour. He woke cold and stiff with a small woman in a grey coat watching him. He started, thinking he’d done something stupid; and then he knew who she was. It was the quality of her gaze that told him: plummetingly sad, and yearning, as if she wanted something from him. He stood up, unsure what to do with his hands. “Mrs Berry?”
    She nodded. “You’re him, aren’t you? The man who tried to save my son.”
    Daniel nodded, a shade reluctantly. “I’m Daniel Hood.”
    â€œI asked Mr Deacon to thank you for me – for Chris’s family. I’m glad to have the chance to do it myself.” The words were coming out just a little faster than they should have done, but
Daniel marvelled that she could hold an intelligent conversation at all.
    â€œI’m so sorry it wasn’t enough,” he said, his voice low. “For a while I thought I’d got to him in time. But –”
    When his voice faltered her gaze turned compassionate. Eight hours after the event, and those few minutes of exhausted slumber on a promenade bench were clearly all the sleep he’d had. He looked drained and grey, and despite her own misery – perhaps, in a way, because of it – her heart went out to him. “I’d like to talk to you, if that’s all right. Is there somewhere we could go? I’ll buy you a coffee.”
    For an instant he saw himself through her eyes – frail, pathetic even, running on empty, too weak to make it home – and winced. This woman had raised a big, strapping, athletic son with endless strength and energy. Even at his best Daniel was not an impressive physical specimen. Today the contrast between the man who died and the one who lived was painfully acute.
    He gestured awkwardly. “My flat’s just here. Come inside, I’ll put the kettle on.”
    While he assembled the cups she stood in the kitchen door, still with her coat on, and began talking to him as if to herself. Anyone would have served: a friend, a stranger, the cat. Daniel let her talk, only responded when a response seemed