Hard Water

Francine Heller rubbed at the grit that had stuck to her cheek from the damp wind drafting in from the beach. She hadn't had time to clean herself up properly after they'd brought the suspect in and she wished desperately for a hairbrush to comb through her knotted locks. She liked to look at least presentable at all times. Harris had promised it would be a quick job - they'd assert his guilt (easily, almost like magic) and then they could bring him back to the mainland. He’d clapped his hands, grinning widely to expose beer-yellowed teeth as if to say, ‘Let’s do this, team!’ like it was all a big joke, a game, a little bit of fun to distract from the aching dullness of everyday petty crimes back in Aberdeen. Of course he would milk it for all its worth.

In her head, she had anticipated Adam’s reaction to be something akin to a wild animal taken from its native forest and dumped in the middle of a grey concrete metropolis. Too much noise, too many lights, too many people and too much purpose. Fury and indignance would overcome any rational emotion he might have felt, or at least forced himself to feel, and he would most definitely not want to co-operate with the local force. Her hands shoved in her green trenchcoat pockets, Heller tilted her head up to gaze at the blended purple sky. Pretty.

Harris trudged over to her, his large body solid and unruffled against the fierce gale blowing in off the sea. “There’s a storm coming in,” he informed her matter-of-factly, “better be making our way back. I’ll bet the waves get pretty vicious when the wind fires up.” How would he know? she thought. He lived in Aberdeen. It wasn’t exactly the edge of the Earth. Still, she turned and began to walk away to gather up the rest of the team when he spoke again.

“Heller, I want you to go down to the station and question Mr Adam Johansson,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue snarkily, like the man was undeserving of a proper human title. Ah. She could see where this was going. “Find out what his motives were, assess his state of mind, if you can.” So that was it – he had decided, and likely so had the rest of the team. Adam was guilty, no discussion about it. It was a sad fate, really, resigned to those who lived in a perpetual state of solitude and never gained the trust of others, no matter what right or wrong they did. “It may not be that easy, Jase,” she answered, sincerely, truthfully. “Do you really think he’s going to confess just like that? Especially considering we have no solid evidence against him, or-“

“Aren’t the witness accounts enough?” Harris cut her off irritably. He had a problem with listening to women, but Heller was used to it by now. He raised an eyebrow when he saw that she wasn’t satisfied. “All right. Let’s see what we’ve got. Marsden!” The youngest member of the team, and full-blown genius forensic scientist Michael Marsden glanced up from his spot by the body and jogged over at Harris’ signal, his brown hair flopping in front of his face in a manner that irritated Francine more than it should have. “Any injuries inflicted on the victim that weren’t caused by the fall?” Harris enquired in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer, and was just trying to prove something. As usual.

“Signs of a struggle were prevalant,” Marsden reported stiffly, “you know, the expected – bruises on her wrists and shoulders, marks indicating cut off blood flow – but there are no signs of sexual assault, sir.” A wave of suprise passed over Harris’ face at the last statement – maybe he hadn’t been expecting it after all.

“No sexual assault? Interesting. Our job just got harder.” Marsden nodded awkwardly in agreement with him, hovering on one foot.

“You mean my job just got harder.” Heller snapped, a little dramatic, but she was sick of having to do all the work for every godforsaken case that was thrown at them. Relenting for the sake of co-operation, she added, “Her name is Elena Garrison, twenty-three years old. One of the locals that live up on the hill came down and informed me that she was living with her father on the other side of the island. We’ll need him to identify the body. I’ll go tell him.”

Harris threw her a glare. “One of the officers can go tell him. It doesn’t need special expertise to tell someone a loved one has died, just a packet of tissues,” he said gruffly. “I hope you aren’t skipping out on your duties, Heller.”

After that, Francine knew that the discussion was over, for as long as she wanted to stay in Harris’ good books. He wasn’t her boss by any means, but he was closer with the Chief and she just couldn’t afford to have him badmouthing her. Despite this, she wanted to get information from the victim’s father, about Elena, about Adam, and she knew that none of the younger officers would be able to handle the situation as…delicately as she could.

She began making her way up the hill on a dirt road behind the small collection of red-brick houses, walking in the direction the local had told her. Harris wouldn’t find out, and none of the officers would bother to tell him: in fact, they’d probably be grateful that she had taken the task off their hands.
As she walked, she found herself floating under the evening bluish-pink sky, marveling at the intense feeling of serenity, her heels hitting the ground with resounding clicks . There was no-one around as far as she could see, not even a farmer working in the endless fields surrounding the path. Mr Garrison truly did live in pure isolation. Although, despite the smallness of the main settlement compared the rolling wilderness of the island, Francine suspected that nobody here was ever that far from one another. Not really. It was an intricately-woven thread, built up over the years that bound them together, bound them by their lives and deaths and hopes and dreams. It was something she would never be able to understand, and something told her she was better off without.

-

It took the stranger three knocks on the door before he was even out of his chair. Sharp, purposeful knocks, rap rap rap. It confused him: if it had been a local, or Elly, they would’ve just walked straight in. It was always unlocked, after all. No such thing as crime around here, or so he thought.

He opened the door, already breathless, leaning on his walking stick. “Mr Garrison?” He nodded. “Hello. I’m Detective Heller from the Aberdeen Police Department. May I come in?”

He must have sat her down, took in her petite form and wispy brown hair, her dark eyes, stern but gentle. Maybe even made her tea or coffee. Elena was found dead earlier today. I’m so sorry. It was all a spiral downwards from there. We believe that she’s been murdered. It reminded him of the sea, of that one time he cast his net too far and accidentally overturned his tiny fishing boat. A split-second of despair before reality hit him full force and he went crashing into the stormy indigo waves, letting himself be pulled deeper and deeper until it hit him that he had to swim to stay afloat. Her body will need to be brought to the mainland for an official autopsy. Yeah, it was kind of like that.

“…my sincerest condolences,” the detective finished, and he could see she really meant it, honestly. Maybe she expected a reaction from him, but he was numb with shock. It couldn’t be…could it really? First Sara, and now Elena? He was glad he never went to church.

Maxwell clasped his shaking hands together tightly in his lap, feeling his chest grow tighter. “I don’t have any money of my own,” he said quietly, then hated himself for it. She would think that was the only thing he cared about.

She did look a little taken aback. It was obviously not something she’d been expecting to have to deal with. “Um…you’ll get compensation, Mr Garrison, and if the perpetrator is apprehended you could file a wrongful death lawsuit. How much pension do you receive, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He shook his head, already growing tired and frustrated, overcome with incredible waves of sadness and guilt. “I’m really…I’m ill. Cancer. Elly looks after me. I can’t afford to pay for care.”

“Oh,” more revelations, “maybe you should consider checking yourself into a hospice on the mainland. We’d help you.”

He could see she was beginning to regret her visit, and he didn’t blame her. They said Elly had been murdered, but right now he couldn’t bring himself to blame anyone but himself, and he didn’t even know why. “Have you arrested anyone?” he whispered.
“We’ve brought a young man named Adam Johansson into custody. A friend of your daughter’s, I believe?”

He choked, coughed violently. His hand flew to grasp at his ribs, his airways suddenly feeling as if they had completely closed up, and a feverish sweat passed over his body and seeped into his brain, racking it with dizzying sickness. Heller was quick, like a flash, and had already passed him his breathing equipment before he registered what was happening. He sucked the life from the tube and felt his own gradually slipping away.

“I have one last wish, if you will,” he breathed, and she nodded eagerly, “Let me speak to him.”