Carruthers' Demise (standard:drama, 2702 words) [5/24] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Jun 23 2011	Views/Reads: 2585/2045	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Carruthers makes an unfortunate discovery. Continuation of my drama.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

what he'd just heard.    But it wasn't going to happen. Whatever had 
occurred wasn't going to be easily explained, he knew it. And what did 
he do now, through the pinball machine of broken thought that was his 
mind? 

He couldn't go to the police with Helen Winterman's visual account, even
if he genuinely believed this miserable situation wasn't of her own 
making. He no longer had anything to go on. She'd got willingly into a 
car as far as Winterman had been concerned, and that put an end to any 
possibility of Foulkes being involved. Surely it had to. 

But had the woman been wrong? She'd said herself they hadn't paid too
much attention. And yet he'd a strong hunch from the outset that she'd 
seen something and withheld it, probably because she'd sensed the 
delicacy of the situation. So they'd obviously seen enough. 

He needed a drink, and this time it would be a stiff one. He raided the
mini-bar, poured himself a neat scotch and then raised it to his lips 
where it lingered a moment before he slammed the glass on the table. 

What would getting drunk solve? Nothing. He checked his watch; enough
time had passed now for Chelsey to have made it to their Chiswick home 
if that had been her intention, but a hastily made call to their home 
number went unanswered and caused him no great surprise. 

Carruthers flung himself on the bed, a tired wretch of a man, his head
felt heavy and his eyes began to yield to that weight. He'd had enough 
for now; the storm had done little to raise the blanket humidity of the 
day, which was pressing him to sleep when the phone rang again. 

‘Chelsey?' 

‘Oh Martin, I'm so sorry to disturb you, I know you said not to call
but...' 

‘Casey, not now, please.' 

‘Are you all right, Martin – is Chelsey not there with you?' 

Carruthers clasped a hand to his brow and rolled over, exhaling deeply.
‘No Casey, she isn't. I don't know where the hell she is, now what do 
you want?' 

‘It's just that I met a publisher at a function this afternoon. He might
be interested in Chelsey's latest offering.' 

‘Who is he?' Carruthers asked, his enthusiasm at low ebb. 

‘Bob Leonard of Leonard-Collinson, you know him.' 

‘Yep, I know him.' Leonard-Collinson were lesser known publishers, the
kind he'd go to if he had belief in a writer's book, as a last resort. 
But Carruthers was far from pursuing that path for now as far as 
Chelsey was concerned; he'd find her a lucrative contract elsewhere. He 
was taken aback that Casey had even thought to mention it. However it 
mattered little at the moment. ‘I'll speak to Chelsey,' he said 
abjectly. 

‘Are you and Chelsey okay, Marty? You seem, well – flat.' 

Casey Jennings' soft yet husky voice was soothing in its way, and tired
though Carruthers was, she was a good sort. Everyone thought so, apart 
from Chelsey that was. 

Carruthers became drawn into relaying events of the afternoon in much
the same fashion as he had Noades, only this time with the demoralizing 
eye-witness account of Helen Winterman. 

‘Oh how awful for you Marty, and after all you've done to promote her
career – you must be...' 

‘Hang on Casey. I don't know what to think at the moment, I've been that
worried. I really don't need you jumping to conclusions, there's 
probably some innocent explanation to this. Right now I need some rest, 
it's stifling here. I'll be in contact, okay?' 

‘You be sure you do,' came Casey's concerned reply. ‘Sorry to have
bothered you, Marty, but I'm here for you. Please remember that.' 

‘I will. I will.' 

Carruthers flung his phone to the side, lay back on the bed. The next
thing he heard was the tap on the door. 

Chapter Nine 

‘Sorry to disturb you pal, but when you didn't show downstairs I thought
I'd pay a welfare call.' 

‘Oh – yes, come in.' Carruthers swept a hand across his eyes. ‘What time
is it?' 

‘Eight o'clock.' Noades hovered uncomfortably as Carruthers scrambled
his senses. ‘I take it no news. Huh?' 

‘I'm afraid not,' but Carruthers checked his phone just in case. ‘No. I
fell asleep, I was that tired.' He made for the window, forcing up a 
sash, lit a cigarette and held it over the edge. 

‘I hadn't realised your wife was a famous writer – the receptionist told
me. He didn't mention...' Noades coughed, changed tack, ‘Well I suppose 
the police will be more inclined to act...' 

‘What did you mean by that?' Carruthers frowned at Noades' puzzled look.
‘You started to say “he didn't mention”...I wasn't aware there was a 
male receptionist.' 

‘Oh I see...the manager, as a rule he informs us when we've a
personality in our midst.' 

Carruthers gave a nod. ‘But in any case the police won't be in a rush to
act.' Turning sharply, he drew on his cigarette, aware he was smoking 
inside and with a member of staff present at that, but he didn't care. 
‘She was seen getting into a car with a bloke.' Carruthers relayed Mrs. 
Winterman's account, becoming more dejected as he went. ‘You know,' he 
said with an air of finality, ‘I've been trying to keep an open mind on 
this, but how can I really? It speaks for itself.' 

‘The reality is, pal, we don't know that.' Noades glanced down at
Carruthers' untouched scotch. ‘And resorting to the hard stuff won't 
help. I suggest we take the original course of action, and take a trip 
out to the forest. You never know what it might turn up.' 

Carruthers shook his head, he couldn't see any purpose in it, but it was
one up on the sense of hopeless confinement he felt now, and if there 
was any chance it might lead to something – 

He glanced at Noades, and then at his cigarette – ‘Sorry Robin, but
needs must.' He squashed it on the outside window ledge. ‘Okay, let's 
do it.' 

‘I suggest I drive; no offence.' Noades winked, Carruthers supposed the
gesture was intended to keep his spirits up. He managed a smile. ‘I 
don't think my nerves are up to your forest roads, at any rate.' 

Noades' car was parked in the staff bays near the entrance arch, a smart
little red sporty number Carruthers couldn't put a name to, until the 
hotel barman told him it was a kit car he'd assembled himself. 

The storm had receded into the distance where a few rumbles of thunder
persisted, leaving the evening overcast and damp, and still intolerably 
humid. ‘We'll follow the route you would have taken,' Noades said, 
‘apart from the village one-way system that is.' He slipped the car 
into gear and followed the road out of Lyndhurst as Carruthers kept 
sharp eyes on the leafy roadsides, quiet now that the storm had 
deposited its torrents of rain. 

Noades gave Carruthers a quick glance. ‘Gillian – that's our head
receptionist – was saying she's a reader of your wife's books, says she 
doesn't think there's been one for a while.' 

‘No, I told her there'll be a release soon. I'm her agent, I should
know. Oh look I'm sorry,' Carruthers said, apologising for his surly 
response. 

‘No, it's okay; I can understand you being distressed.' Noades kept his
gaze straight ahead, moving up through the gears on the open road. 

‘The fact is, that her normal publisher rejected her latest offering –
I'd been telling her I didn't think it was up to scratch, but of late 
she's been excitable to say the least.' He sighed,yearning for a 
cigarette, but the interior of Noades' car was immaculate, and he 
sensed that smoking inside his vehicle was something he never did. ‘I 
must say I didn't expect a straight-forward refusal, however. And so 
basically that's why we're here; we reckoned a short break was probably 
the best thing – for both of us. I just didn't allow for this – 
development...' 

‘I don't suppose anything like this has happened before?' Noades must
have seen the look of irritation on Carruthers' face as he added, ‘I 
just thought I'd ask.' 

‘It's okay.' Carruthers chewed on the inside of his lip. ‘No, not on
this scale anyway.' True, there had been unexplained absences; she 
wasn't immune to disappearing for a few hours occasionally, returning 
without explanation of where she'd been – but he'd assumed she'd been 
out walking as she was apt to do. At any rate it didn't warrant 
dwelling on here. 

They'd reached the turning into Ornamental Drive and Noades slowed the
car down, the engine growling in protest. Things looked so different 
now in the gloomy evening air, the big firs and pines dripping their 
water onto already soaked ground. Carruthers broke off any attempt at 
conversation, focusing now on the slightest movement amongst the trees 
either side of the road, but it was as if any human, any animal had 
given up on the day, and left the area for the nocturnal creatures sure 
to follow. 

And then with dusk setting in early they reached the picnic area, the
point where Carruthers had last seen Chelsey, deserted now apart from a 
gathering of deer near the woodland fence to their left. 

‘So this is it,' Noades said, looking across at Carruthers, any
cheeriness in his manner long gone. ‘Where did this woman say she'd 
seen Chelsey?' 

Carruthers stretched an arm to the far left, perhaps two hundred metres
distant, where an old dirt road terminated in a dead end. ‘I think 
that's what she meant, but it's pointless now, there's nothing to see.' 


‘You never know, and now we're here we may as well take a look around.' 

Noades jumped from the car, looking for Carruthers to follow suit, which
he did reluctantly. His stomach felt hollow, empty, he'd hardly eaten 
that day but lack of food wasn't the reason. The disappearance of his 
wife was that reason – and the way she'd deserted him. And now, taking 
that trip across the rain-sodden picnic area in the same direction 
she'd trod, caused anger, pain and confusion to rain on him, lodging in 
the base of his stomach. 

They veered to the left, where the long-disused track, littered with
weeds, curved to meet them; Carruthers noticed the toilet block was 
about twenty metres to their rear. He stopped, put hands on hips and 
exhaled loudly. ‘Well, this is about it, where they say she was when 
she was picked up. Damn her doing this to me.' Carruthers smacked the 
fence support with his balled fist. ‘She must have known I wouldn't see 
a thing through the crowd.' 

‘Either she or somebody else did.' 

‘Say again?' 

Noades gave him a lop-sided look, shrugged, ‘Well, we don't know. Do
we?' He sighed. ‘I'll take a quick look in the woods.' He hurdled the 
fence, watched a group of deer shy into the woods and then disappeared. 


Like that'll help. But Carruthers bit back the words. It would have been
unkind to have uttered them given the help Noades was providing. 

He'd been gone some minutes leaving Carruthers a lonely, isolated
figure, when he returned through the foliage speaking on his phone and 
appearing agitated. ‘You didn't tell me...' Carruthers thought he heard 
Noades say, but on his approach the call was terminated. ‘It's 
girlfriend trouble, I'm afraid. You think you're the only one,' he 
added awkwardly. 

Noades studied the ground around him, his eyes falling on some tracks.
‘Well, it looks as though whoever met her reversed all the way back – 
hey – what's that...' 

He backtracked to where the woodland encroached and scooped up a small
leather case from the tufted grass. Slipping it open he beckoned 
hurriedly to Carruthers. ‘You better come see this.' Noades dug his 
hand inside the case, producing the small grey object that had been 
inside. ‘Would this be your wife's?' 

Carruthers scrambled over the log fence ignoring the splinter that
spiked his hand, and grabbed the phone from Noades. ‘Yes, this is 
Chelsey's – she must have dropped it when she got into the car – 
there's still life in it,' he muttered. 

‘Yeah, well I guess the case protected it from the elements.' Noades
gazed over Carruthers' shoulder. ‘That's why she couldn't call you.' 

‘Oh yes? Look at this...' Carruthers, his jaw clenched, his eyes
bulging, was staring at a text message – ‘Look, meet me at four, I'll 
ring when I'm there – you don't know what you've been missing...' 

‘Oh shucks,' Noades whistled. ‘So she was seeing someone.' 

‘Not just someone,' Carruthers uttered with rising fury. ‘The text is
from Alexander Goldhawk, the bloody publisher!' 


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