Page 23 of The Tapes

EIGHTEEN

Police tape stretches across the gateposts of Owen’s house. Neighbours are milling on the pavements and between the parked cars, pointing and talking – which isn’t a surprise when a pair of police cars are blocking the street.

That’s the thing when something terrible happens in a small town. People do put down their phones; they do gather and talk. Everyone wants reassurance together that only other people can bring.

Dina is sitting on a wall across the road from Owen’s place.

She looks up as I approach and practically hurls herself at me.

This is not the brash, confident woman from the office.

‘I didn’t know who else to call,’ she says.

‘I was supposed to be on a job with him today but he didn’t show up.

He wasn’t answering texts, or calls – which is really unlike him. ’

She stops and fishes for a tissue to blow her nose.

When she can’t find one, she stands and heads to the work van that’s parked a little further along the street.

When she returns, her eyes are dry. We sit and watch as an officer diagonally across the street sits on a wall and stretches blue net covers over his shoes.

He then ducks underneath the police tape, heading towards the house.

‘Owen lives in the downstairs flat,’ Dina says.

‘I’ve picked him up a few times. I thought I’d come by to see why he wasn’t answering his phone but, by the time I got here, the police had already blocked the road.

One of the neighbours said they’d found a body and I was talking to the officer, telling him my friend lives in the flat. That’s when they said…’

She tails off and I take her hand. She squeezes back, blinking away more tears.

I know why she called. Mark is the macho face of the company and he’s designed it in his own image.

Dina has to be tough on the surface, or he’d walk all over her.

But this is the real her – and I bet Owen was well aware of it as well.

‘I was only with him yesterday,’ Dina says, as she releases my hand.

‘Does anyone know what happened?’

A shake of the head. ‘Someone said carbon monoxide but I think they were guessing.’

We watch as a uniformed police officer tries to shoo away a young woman who’s either taking photographs, or filming.

There’s a stand-off as he tries to block her view while she argues that she pays his wages.

I’m consumed by my own selfishness – because Owen has my tape.

I have some of it as a voice note on my phone but nowhere near all of it.

I wonder if it’s in his flat, or his work bag.

His car, maybe his work locker? How can I find out? How can I get it back?

None of which I can ask, of course, because a young man we know has died.

‘I wonder if his mum knows,’ Dina says, largely talking to herself. ‘Would they have told her yet?’

The officer who recently entered the flat re-emerges and removes the booties.

He checks something on his phone and then talks to the man who’d previously been arguing with the young woman.

She’s gone but the man turns in a semicircle, before pointing toward Dina.

We both stand as the first officer approaches, a slim, grim smile on his face.

‘Are you Dina?’ he asks, talking to me.

‘That’s me,’ Dina says and he shifts his gaze towards her.

‘Are you the one who worked with him?’

‘We were supposed to be on a job together today. That’s our van.’ Dina nods along the street towards the vehicle. The officer clocks it with a nod. He’s in a suit, so a detective.

‘When did you last see him?’ he asks.

‘Yesterday. We work together most days and we had a pair of jobs out near Gatacre.’

The officer has a pad out now and writes something with another nod. ‘Can you come and talk to my sarge?’ he asks. ‘It’s this way.’

He doesn’t wait for a reply, stepping away from the kerb and back towards the flat. ‘Can she come?’ Dina asks, pointing to me. ‘Eve worked with him too. I don’t think I want to do this alone.’

The detective scans me up and down and then says it’s fine, before taking us over the road, underneath the police tape and down a set of steps to the front of Owen’s flat.

I’m struggling with the bemusement of it all – which isn’t helped as it turns out the ‘sarge’ is someone I know only too well.

It was around twenty-four hours ago that I was sitting with Detective Sergeant Cox in the canteen of the police station.

She’s as surprised as I am, rocking away a fraction and letting out a confused ‘Eve…?’ when she sees me.

With Dina and the other detective, four of us are huddled on the doorstep – but the first officer soon steps away, leaving only us three.

‘What are you doing here?’ Cox asks.

‘Owen was my workmate,’ I say. ‘Dina works with him directly and she called me.’

Sergeant Cox turns her attention to Dina, asking the same questions her colleague had before.

Owen had been at work the day before, he’d not shown up in the morning, and hadn’t replied to any messages or calls.

Cox makes her own notes but it’s impossible to miss the sideways glimpses in my direction.

How am I tied up in all this, after already arousing her suspicions yesterday?

‘Do you know if Owen was having any problems?’ Cox asks, talking to Dina.

‘I don’t think so. I was with him all day yesterday in the van. I think he said he was playing five-a-side in the evening.’

That gets a nod, as if Cox already knows this. ‘There’s a post on his Instagram about the football,’ she says. ‘We’re trying to track down anyone he might’ve played with.’

‘I don’t think I know anyone on his team.’

Cox writes something on the pad.

‘What happened?’ Dina asks. ‘Someone said carbon monoxide…?’

The sergeant lowers the pad and glances past us, up the stairs.

There’s nobody there. ‘This isn’t official yet,’ she says.

‘There’ll be an autopsy, plus we’re still tracking down family members.

We’ve got a phone number for his mother but nobody’s answering, so we’ve sent someone to the house…

’ She tails off, then checks over her shoulder towards the flat, before apparently making a decision.

‘I need your discretion here,’ she says, looking between the pair of us.

‘I’m not going to tell anyone,’ Dina says. ‘I’ve already told the office I’m taking the day off.’

I immediately wonder who she spoke to, given I’m not at the office. Somehow I keep making things about me, which is when I realise Sergeant Cox is looking in my direction. ‘I won’t either.’

Cox thinks for a second more and then: ‘It looks very much as if Owen hanged himself.’

‘No, he didn’t,’ Dina replies immediately.

‘I’m sorry,’ the officer replies. ‘Like I said, there will be an autopsy but that’s what it looks like.’

‘I, just…’ Dina’s struggling, looking to me for an answer I don’t have. ‘I was with him yesterday,’ she says. ‘We were talking about the jobs we had today.’

‘His landlord has a cleaner who visits every two weeks,’ Cox says. ‘She found him hanging from a light fitting.’

It’s brutally direct but perhaps that’s Cox’s way. Dina’s staring towards the door and there’s a moment I think she might burst past the officer to see for herself.

‘He wouldn’t hang himself,’ she says.

Cox doesn’t reply, though it’s hard to know what she could say.

‘Are you sure?’ Dina adds.

‘I am really sorry to have to tell you. We are still investigating and there will be an autopsy. We’ve got his phone, so perhaps there’ll be clues to his state of mind on there.

We’ll be speaking to his mum shortly, so we might get answers then.

For now, we’re still trying to track down who he was with last night. ’

Dina waits a moment and then clicks into action. She pulls out her phone and taps the screen, before squinting at it. ‘I think that’s…’ she says, before handing me the device.

There’s a photo of a group of footballers, some kneeling at the front, others standing behind. They’re sweaty and a couple look as if they’re on their last legs.

‘Do either of you know anyone?’ Cox asks.

And I do. Because one of Owen’s teammates is a really familiar face.