Snakes and Ladders

Chapter 2

2

Jack Culverhouse winced as the early morning light streamed in through his kitchen window. It was a far better wake-up tool than any coffee he’d ever tried, but he’d still be hitting the black stuff all the same. Over the past few weeks, his sleep had been worse than at any point he could remember, so even reaching a functioning state would be a bonus.

Functioning was as good as it got. Ever since his team’s recent investigation into local organised crime, life and work had become purely functional. His world had been ripped apart by the revelation that Frank Vine, one of his longest-serving colleagues and a distinguished Detective Sergeant, had been feeding information to Gary McCann, a local criminal and Jack’s arch-nemesis since becoming a detective.

Not only had Frank been feeding operational information to McCann, but he’d been actively losing evidence and information in an attempt to ensure McCann got off scot free — and it had worked. Jack had never quite understood how Gary McCann always managed to wriggle through the claws of justice, but the revelation of Frank’s involvement had caused a few pennies to drop. Frank had never explicitly stated how long he’d been working for McCann, but Jack had his suspicions.

For Frank, there was no way out of this. His involvement had been clear, even if they were still unable to prove McCann’s guilt. That was the most frustrating aspect for Jack in trying to nail his nemesis over the years — the way in which McCann managed to keep himself one step removed from any action, making it almost impossible to prove his involvement at any point. He had enough of a hold over his minions that plenty were willing to take the rap for him — and be paid handsomely for it. There’d even been rumours of those who’d refused suddenly finding themselves ‘disappeared’, but — yet again — evidence was thin on the ground to say the least.

But perhaps the most frustrating aspect for Jack was that Frank had clammed up, completely unwilling to talk or throw McCann under the bus. Despite having spent his whole career getting criminals locked up, Frank seemed hell bent on ruining his entire life’s work by refusing to testify. Jack could see the logic: what was the point in Frank risking having his family harmed in return for a lesser sentence? He’d still be going to prison, and in any case his career and reputation had been ruined. With retirement around the corner and his health failing, there was a half-decent chance prison would finish him off either way, so it was understandable that he’d want to protect his family. But that wasn’t enough for Jack.

To him, it was simple: if McCann was locked up, Frank’s family would be safe anyway — as would everyone else in and around Mildenheath. They’d spent years trying to bring McCann to justice, only to be thwarted at every opportunity. Now, finally, they had their chance to nail him and it was one of his own detectives who held the key. However, with Frank having swallowed that metaphorical key followed by a lifetime’s supply of metaphorical Immodium, it was now as good as useless.

To Jack, it was clear that McCann’s grubby tentacles reached further than he could ever have imagined, and he felt more determined than ever to make sure the bastard rotted in a prison cell for the rest of his life. That determination, though — for now — was buried below a well of despair and utter despondency at recent events. Jack and the rest of the team at Mildenheath Police had faced the ultimate betrayal, and it was one they wouldn’t recover from any time soon.

It had been a mild consolation to discover that McCann’s wife, Imogen, had left him and moved abroad with the gardener, but it wasn’t enough for Jack. Besides which, there were still heavy rumours that McCann had been responsible for the disappearance and death of his first wife years earlier.

Chrissie padded silently into the kitchen in her dressing gown and slippers. She’d been spending much more time at Jack’s, and it was an unspoken truth that they were gradually heading towards her moving in permanently.

Their own relationship had been tricky, not through any sort of incompatibility, but sheer circumstance. Although Jack’s daughter, Emily, claimed she was fine with her dad dating her headteacher, he also knew Emily took after him in managing to hide things. One thing she hadn’t managed to hide, though, was her pregnancy.

‘What’s on your mind?’ Chrissie asked, her voice almost a whisper, yet still making Jack jump.

‘Nothing. Just looking at the garden.’

‘You can’t stand gardens. That’s your “I’m looking out the window and thinking” pose.’

‘As a matter of fact, I was thinking about getting rid of that rose bush and replacing it with a… something else.’

‘It’s meant to be good for you,’ Chrissie said after a few moments.

‘What is?’

‘Gardening. They say it’s good for the soul.’

‘Bloody good job I haven’t got one, then. I can keep my fingernails pristine.’

‘It might help. Reconnecting with nature, taking a few moments to be at one.’

‘Look, I appreciate your concern, but I don’t think hugging a f*****g tree’s going to help much.’

Emily let out a laugh as she came into the kitchen and headed straight for the kettle. ‘Not quite the line I was expecting to hear first this morning.’

‘Yeah, well I like to keep everyone on their toes,’ Jack replied.

‘I find it quite relaxing,’ Chrissie said.

‘I’m not stopping you. Someone’s got to dig that rose bush out.’

‘Have you tried yoga?’ Emily asked, not daring to look at her father for fear of descending into a fit of giggles.

Jack simply stared at her, causing Chrissie to pull her lower lip in and look down at the floor.

‘So, what are your plans for the day, Em?’ Chrissie asked.

‘First antenatal class. Basically, I get to sit in a room and be patronised for an hour while a woman with no children tells me how to change a nappy.’

‘Do you want me to come with you?’

Emily glanced up at her and considered this for a moment. ‘Nah. It’s alright. I’ll be fine. Anyway, there’s a yoga class going on in the next room and I wouldn’t want Dad to start a fight.’

Chrissie returned a half-humoured smile, but it was laced with mutual concern for Jack. She nodded her head ever-so-slightly in his direction, nudging Emily to say something.

‘Uh, Dad, I was wondering if maybe you might be able to show me a few things. The best way to do stuff, I mean.’

Jack turned away from the window for a moment to look at his daughter. ‘Like what?’

‘Well, like changing nappies and stuff. Getting them to sleep. All that.’

‘It’s probably all changed. They’re meant to sleep on their fronts now, I think.’

‘I think it’s the other way round.’

Jack shrugged. ‘I dunno. To be honest, by the time I got home from work the nappies were all done and you’d wriggled about in the cot so much you looked like you were doing a double pike.’

There were a few moments of silence before Emily spoke. ‘I think you were a great dad,’ she said. ‘Still are, I mean.’

Jack dearly wanted to point out that it wasn’t hard to look like a great parent when the other one was Helen, but he decided against it. He’d made his mind up soon after Emily came back into his life that one thing he’d never do is badmouth her mum. Helen was more than capable of digging herself into her own problems, without Jack helping and running the risk of slamming his shovel into an unexploded bomb.

Before Jack could think of a response, the ringing of his phone jolted him into the here and now. He listened as his colleague on the other end of the phone gave him the news, then tensed his jaw and grabbed his car keys.