The Moment Before Impact

by Alison Bruce

Genres: Mystery

Synopsis

'Alison Bruce always delivers. Her latest is tense, twisty, terrific' Ian Rankin

' [Alison Bruce] has written a superior thriller, full of suppressed menace' The Times Crime Club

'A powerful and absorbing story that stayed with me long after I'd finished reading. A writer at the top of her game' Elly Griffiths

'Unpredictable, challenging and compelling' Sophie Hannah

'Alison Bruce has long been one of the most adroit crime fiction practitioners in the UK. The Moment Before Impact is . . . her most accomplished outing yet' Barry Forshaw, Financial Times
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A terrible car accident - or calculated murder?

An evening out for five students ends in tragedy, with two dead and one critically injured. Nicci Waldock survives, but her life is left in tatters. Years later, a sighting of Jack Bailey, the brother of her dead friend, leaves her with a shocking realisation about the night of the accident.

Helped by former journalist Celia Henry, Nicci sets out to learn the truth about what really happened, and discovers a series of lies and dangerous secrets that have distorted everything she thinks she knows.

In uncovering the tangled truth of what happened that night three years ago, Nicci must decide who she can trust, and who is about to kill again. And she realises that everything can be saved or lost in the moment before impact.

__________

Praise for Alison Bruce

'As always, Bruce produces a rewarding read' The Times

'I Did It For Us held me from the off. It's compelling, slickly plotted and brilliantly written' Amanda Jennings

'One of our most interesting crime writers' Daily Mail

Release date: October 22, 2020

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 320

Sample

And now, almost eight years later, Celia Henry was aware that the same kind of silence had hung around her since the crash. It had descended when the news broke, and had deepened as the full impact touched the residents of Mawson Road. Of course, she’d carried on since then; she’d worked and shopped and still talked with her neighbours, although, on the subject itself, she said nothing. It was not the time for gossip.

She knew she wasn’t herself, and she hadn’t been since she’d found out the date of the trial. Or, more specifically, in the hours afterwards when she’d first asked herself whether she would attend. Whether she should.

Why would she?

She hadn’t been at the scene. And although she knew them all, she wasn’t family. The date had grown closer, and she had convinced herself that she should let it go.

Right up until last night she had told herself that she wouldn’t attend.

She hadn’t slept well, and rose and dressed while still telling herself that it wasn’t her place.

Eventually she relented.

***

The walk from Mawson Road to Cambridge Crown Court would take no more than twenty minutes, but she still left home with an hour and a half to spare. Breakfast, usually a 9 a.m. mix of fresh fruit and good intentions that lasted until mid-morning, had been skipped … would be skipped.

After all, it wasn’t yet eight and it was still too early.

She closed her front door by tugging it shut by the lip of the letterbox, making sure that it was no louder than just the unavoidable click of spring and latch. She had never been a loud person and disapproved of the noise that spilled in from Mill Road.

But this was different. She still needed her cocoon of silence.

The decision to arrive an hour before the court doors opened was deliberate; a mix of preparation on one hand, and on the other, enough time to slip away again unnoticed if she changed her mind.

In her handbag were two sandwiches and three slices of hummingbird cake, not home baked as usual, but one of four purchased from the Hot Numbers coffee shop on the other side of Mill Road.

And yesterday, without planning it, she’d tidied.

Tidying before a court case had been her in the days when she’d needed to shut the door behind her and forget about home until a trial was done. That had been a long time ago, but the order of sweeping and straightening and putting away still felt comfortable.

And, as she walked, she realised why she wasn’t herself; she had awakened the person she used to be.

Everything about the building was as she remembered. She nodded at Tony, the elder of the two security guards.

He smiled in recognition. ‘Working again?’ he asked.

She shook her head.

‘Ah, that’s a pity, you were one of the friendly ones. So many come in without even a word.’ He ran a handheld scanner across her as he spoke. ‘I recognise their faces, but they look past me like I don’t exist.’

She remembered his line of patter. ‘Photographers are the worst,’ she added. Her voice sounded rusty and she realised they had been her first words of the day.

‘Exactly what I was going to say,’ he chuckled, then switched to a sterner expression as other people arrived. She doubted he’d crack another smile between now and the end of the day.

She glanced back at the doorway, then hurried towards Court 1 before anyone else tried to speak to her. She chose a seat at one end of the back row of the public gallery where it would be easy to slip away, but, more importantly, where her presence would be least noticed, and waited as the court gradually filled. She recognised several of the court officials and knew all of their roles. She knew the traditions and the order of proceedings. The others in the public gallery remained restless and responded to each movement and new sound. The woman in front of her was upright, but visibly nervous, and her reactions were marginally sharper than those of the others. A mother, she guessed, but had no idea whose.

Celia placed her bag on her lap and folded her hands around it. She didn’t care that she would not be taking notes; instead she would close her eyes for the first testimony and then listen to them all, no matter how many days that took.

Then Nicci Waldock was led in and Celia felt the air tighten.

‘So, you had a habit of looking out for your brother?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘You wanted to protect him?’

‘Of course.’

‘What did you think you could achieve?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe I thought that worrying about him would keep him safe.’ And, before the words dried, he added, ‘I was mistaken.’

Jack Bailey had begun his shift at the ‘Five Miles from Anywhere, No Hurry Inn’ at noon. The pub stood about half an hour from Cambridge in a riverside hamlet whose population swelled in spring and summer months, thanks to visitors in cabin cruisers and narrowboats. Now every mooring was occupied and the slope between the bar room and the river was dappled with groups of people sitting at picnic tables laden with drinks or sunbathing on blankets. Weekend days in the hot weather were usually frantically busy, more so when there was a band playing. He had already been around several times to collect glasses. The punters were supposed to take only the plastic ones into the beer garden – health and safety and all that – but people often started in the bar and then wandered outside.

From time to time he scanned the crowd and glanced towards the car park. His brother Charlie had been typically vague. ‘Yeah, well, we might come down in the afternoon. See what the weather’s doing. Will you let me know who’s playing?’

There were multiple bands, three today, three tomorrow. And Charlie had commented each time the line-up had been adjusted, so Jack knew that the question was redundant. It was more likely to be about who would be going, and who wouldn’t.

Nicci would be there, of course. Charlie had been knocking around with her since primary school, and, as far as Jack knew, they had managed to get all the way through adolescence without anything beyond friendship occurring between them, but they remained close to inseparable. Of course, the dynamic had changed since they’d both started at uni, although it would have changed a lot more if one of them had decided to study further afield. But no, they had both stayed in Cambridge and had plumped for Anglia Ruskin, with Charlie studying Sociology, and no career plans beyond that, as far as Jack knew.

Jack suspected that Charlie’s indecision about today had more to do with whether Nicci’s new friend Ellie decided to tag along. Charlie’s keenness was so poorly disguised that Jack was certain that the romance was doomed before it had even begun.

Jack made his way right around the building just to get a better view of the car park. If they did arrive, he’d be pleased to know they’d done so safely. Charlie might technically be an adult but, to Jack, he was permanently somewhere about fourteen.

Jack was back behind the bar when they finally showed up, six of them not three. They stood in the middle of one of the few remaining clear patches of grass. Three girls, three boys. Five of them conferring, with only the sixth, Nicci, standing apart. She had her back to him and seemed to be staring across at the river, ignoring a conversation which involved glances in Jack’s direction, towards the band and back at the spot where they stood.

Jack knew them all.

He turned away, emptying the glass washer of clean glasses and refilling it with dirty ones. The next time he looked at them was when they approached the bar.

‘I wondered if you’d had a change of plans. You missed the first band, you know.’

Charlie’s expression was caught between warmth and awkwardness. ‘Yeah well, we were running a bit late. All good now though.’ He tapped his fingertips on the laminate-topped bar. ‘Four pints of Coke, two of lemonade. Thanks.’

‘Just soft drinks?’

‘Yeah, for starters.’ It was Rob who had cut in. Rob had been three years below Jack at school, but they’d been on the same football team and had been friends for a while. Until Jack and Gemma had briefly dated. He could still picture the darkness in Rob’s expression. The protectiveness. It had been a life lesson; never date a friend’s little sister.

Why didn’t schools offer that kind of real-world advice?

‘Good to see you.’ Jack managed to sound neutral. Gemma stood nearer to him than her brother. It meant that he was looking past Gemma when he spoke to Rob and he could feel her languid gaze resting on him. ‘Do you want a tray?’ She had one arm draped across the shoulder of the third man, Callum, the only one of the six who Jack barely knew. Callum was pink-skinned and scrawny, and nothing like Rob or Gemma. Jack knew they wouldn’t be an item.

When the others took their drinks outside, Gemma hung back. ‘I hoped you’d be here.’

He worked every weekend; it was a pretty good bet. Jack grunted, ‘Why?’

‘Nothing really. A chance to clear the air.’ She smiled, tilting her head back. It was challenge rather than warmth that flashed in her eyes. ‘Isn’t it time we were friends again?’

‘It’s good to see you, Gem.’ Jack picked up a bar towel and began wiping down the beer pumps, giving his work most of his attention and casting just a swift glance at Gemma now and again.

‘Come on. What’s the problem, Jack?’ She waved one hand in the direction of the beer garden. ‘You and Rob could make up.’ She patted the bar and her voice rose a little. ‘Or maybe not, but you should be out there with us right now, having a laugh.’

Only the muffled sound of the band made it inside, so the sight of Charlie waving his arms around as he amused his friends, probably with a ridiculous anecdote, was accompanied by the unrelenting thump of a song Jack didn’t recognise. ‘Who’s driving?’

‘No one. We’re sleeping out.’ She made quote marks with her fingers as she added, ‘Festival style.’ She pretended to think. ‘You could join us when you’re done.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Jack …’

‘The air’s clear.’ He nodded in the direction of the beer garden. ‘And even clearer out there.’ He saw a new customer approaching the bar and turned away from Gemma before she had a chance to reply.

‘According to medical reports you have fully recovered, but you claim your memory of that afternoon and evening is incomplete?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘You can remember being by the river, and everyone who was present, but not everything that happened?’

‘Yes, but what I do remember is accurate.’

‘Accurate, but incomplete? It is hardly the same as the truth, the whole truth, is it, Miss Waldock?’

Nicci couldn’t remember how she and Ellie ended up at the Cam’s edge, but she remembered them standing on the grassy bank and watching the slow flow of the ageing river. They must have wandered away from their friends and were now under the partial shade of a willow, and, in either direction, the moorings were occupied by a long line of narrowboats and cruisers. The ground sloped sharply, making her feet press forward in her sandals. ‘Can we either sit or keep walking, El?’

‘As long as we’re not hanging out with Gemma?’ Ellie asked.

‘I’ll be sociable, just give me some space first.’

‘I’m not a fan, if that helps.’ Ellie looked warily at the sun-wilted grass. ‘I can see duck shit.’

‘Well don’t sit on that bit.’

‘Do ducks pee on grass?’

Nicci chose a spot that looked no more sinister than hay and dust. ‘Don’t know, don’t care.’ She patted the ground. ‘Just sit, will you?’

Ellie seemed reluctant, but did as she was told.

‘Are you going to turn down crime scenes because they look too messy?’

‘We’ll have suits. Anyhow, that’ll be work.’

Nicci raised an eyebrow. ‘So you won’t be fussy if you’re being paid?’

Ellie gave Nicci’s leg a playful flick. ‘You know that’s not what I meant. Besides, it’s a long time before we’ll start applying for jobs.’

Ellie was neat and precise in everything she did. She had plenty of skills that could make her a good CSI, but Nicci wondered whether she had the stomach for it. Nicci herself was the exact opposite; less organised, sometimes clumsy, but rarely fazed. ‘Meaning what, that you are thinking of a different career?’

Plenty of the students on their course wanted to work in crime-related fields; some would be applying to join the police, others, like Nicci, wanted to be crime scene investigators, but most still seemed undecided. And, as Ellie had said, it was still early days.

Ellie seemed to consider the question carefully before replying. ‘I’m thinking about leaving.’

‘Leaving what?’

‘The course. Cambridge. Everything.’ She sat cross-legged with her hands in her lap and her straight blonde hair draped evenly across her shoulders; from a distance she probably looked serene. Up close she did not. Her gaze was unwavering, and her eyes were wider than usual. Her cheeks seemed pinched.

‘But why?’

‘It’s wrong for me.’

‘That doesn’t make sense; we’ve almost completed the first year. And your grades are great.’

‘It’s not about my grades, Nic.’ Ellie looked away, maybe across the water to the flat, scrubby fields on the other side, or maybe at nothing.

‘Then what?’

Ellie shook her head and said nothing at first. Only the side of her face was in view, but it was enough for Nicci to see the pain.

‘Ellie, look at me. Why haven’t you told me about this before? Or has something happened?’ Nicci shuffled closer and put her arm around Ellie, but was immediately shaken away.

‘Don’t, someone will see.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe nothing.’ Ellie took a few steadying breaths. ‘If a man fell in the river now, what would you do?’

Nicci could swim, but nowhere more adventurous than the local pool or in thigh-height water on a sandy beach. ‘If I swam out, we’d both drown. The best bet would be to throw a ring or a rope.’

‘But you’d do something?’

‘Of course.’

‘How do you know you wouldn’t just leave him? People do, or they’re too busy filming it to shout for help. How do you know you wouldn’t be one of those?’

‘I just don’t think I would, but I guess some people freeze … What’s this about?’

‘I know I don’t have what it takes to get involved.’ She pressed her lips together as she fought back tears, then mumbled, ‘I thought I would, but I don’t.’

Nicci began to speak but Ellie shook her head fervently.

‘No, Nic. I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to stand up in court to give evidence or make statements to the police. I don’t want the responsibility.’ She had begun to shake.

Nicci spoke quietly and urgently. ‘Whatever has happened, it can be sorted. Just tell me.’

‘I saw something,’ Ellie whispered.

‘What?’

‘It was cloth, torn, like a rag. And I thought I recognised it, but I couldn’t place it. I didn’t realise what it was until today, but it turns out that I knew all along. I just turned my back.’

‘Ellie, what are you talking about? Tell me everything.’

Ellie was already scrambling to her feet. ‘I can’t get involved. It’s too much.’ Fear and indecision were written on her face, and she was no longer looking at Nicci. Nicci wondered how long there’d been a shadow behind her friend’s smile, and how many times it had gone unnoticed.

Nicci followed Ellie’s gaze and twisted around in time to see Callum crossing the grass towards them. ‘Oh great,’ Nicci muttered.

But Ellie wiped her flushed face with the back of one hand. ‘Forget about it, Nic.’ And then, to Callum, ‘Have we missed the shots yet? I didn’t realise how long we’d been chatting.’

‘Gemma wants us to stay together.’ Callum glanced from Ellie to Nicci, and back again. ‘It’s why we’re here, isn’t it?’

‘Of course,’ Ellie nodded. She reached out and pulled Nicci to her feet. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, too quietly for Callum to hear. The colour had faded from her cheeks and a film of sweat had formed across them and travelled down her neck. She looked as though she needed to throw up.

She looked reluctant when Callum took her arm, but said nothing as the three of them crossed the grass to join the others.

‘How did you first meet Ellie Daniels?’

‘We started university at the same time and happened to rent rooms in the same house.’

‘Did you become close?’

‘Not sex. No, I didn’t think of her that way. But we were friends. Definitely friends.’

‘And on Monday 28 March, when you saw Miss Daniels by the river with Miss Waldock, did either seem upset?’

‘No, they didn’t. That happened later.’

Gemma had pestered Callum into walking over to collect the girls. It was less than a hundred yards, but it wasn’t the distance that bothered him, it was the principle.

So far, Callum would have described the day as disappointing. Ellie had painted a picture of the pub by the river, and the kind of drunken party atmosphere where he’d been able to imagine that anything might be possible. Instead it had almost instantly turned into a complicated knot of subtext and uncomfortable silences. He’d had no idea that Nicci and Gemma shared a mutual dislike for one another which had existed since childhood, and now Ellie found it hard to warm to Gemma because of her ridiculous loyalties to Nicci.

He strode towards the river bank. He could see Nicci and Ellie talking, leaning in towards one another. Sharing secrets probably. Hopefully not discussing how he felt about Gemma.

Ellie had known about it all along; they’d discussed Gemma often enough. In fact, there had been evenings when she’d joked and told him that he needed to find a second hobby, one which was completely Gemma free. She’d made that joke as recently as last night … he slowed, and considered that for a moment.

Last night she hadn’t quite been herself though and the evening had ended rather abruptly.

And now he had had to run after her – at Gemma’s insistence – to bring the group back together. Ellie and Nicci looked up at him, and he tried to ignore the conspiratorial silence that hung between the two girls. ‘Gemma wants us to stay together,’ he said.

Surprisingly, Nicci looked happier about it than Ellie, but neither objected. Ellie walked quickly; it was only a short distance but he had to rush to keep up. He was half a stride behind her and as close to speaking distance as he thought he was going to get. ‘Don’t forget to talk to Gemma,’ he whispered.

Usually she would have replied with, ‘I won’t’, or ‘Of course’. But she didn’t answer until he looked at her and asked again. Then she nodded.

‘What’s the problem?’ he muttered.

She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

He suddenly wondered whether her pace was about avoiding him, and he sensed that she didn’t want to talk to him at all. ‘You’ll speak to Gemma though?’ he persisted.

‘Of course. I said I would, didn’t I?’

Callum sat on the grass, leaning back on one elbow and holding what looked like a pint of Coke in the other hand. His glass now contained about one-third Southern Comfort. He wasn’t usually much of a drinker, but he worked part time in a bar and knew from first-hand experience that a few less inhibitions had fuelled plenty of encounters. He’d also seen many drunken falls and failures, but, he figured, the trick was to stop before it went that far. He would lie back, take it easy and wait until he was sure the time was right.

The six of them sat in an arc, facing in the general direction of the stage. The three boys sat in the middle, with Charlie and Nicci to Callum’s left and Rob, Gemma and Ellie to his right. Callum nodded at the stage and asked Charlie, ‘Who’s up next?’

Charlie seemed to have memorised the running order of the bands, and didn’t need to check. ‘Crackleford.’

‘Never heard of them.’

‘Documentary pop, like very new, new wave?’ Then he added, ‘You’re not into music, are you?’

‘Sometimes. It depends.’ For Callum music was little more than something added to video games and movies for extra effect. On a par with title sequences and power-ups.

Charlie tilted his head so that no one but Callum could catch his words. ‘Gemma loves this band. Just thought you should know.’

Callum wasn’t sure whether Charlie was being kind, or just laughing at him. He took a couple of gulps of his drink, half closed his eyes and watched the drummer reposition his stool and the snare.

Sometimes, Callum reminded himself, it was wise to pause for a moment just to take stock. And, at least until the band started, he thought he might have a chance of hearing snatches of the conversations around him. But Gemma and Ellie spoke in low tones and the only words he caught were inconsequential; about hair and fashion, and nothing to do with him.

Gemma looked across just once, and, when their eyes met, she smiled and raised her fingers in a small wave. Ellie looked at him too, and he raised his eyebrows at her, just enough to give her a subtle reminder. Her expression was blank and unsmiling, and her only response was to lift her glass, and tilt her head as she drained its contents.

The band began to play then, but Callum continued to watch the two girls with growing curiosity. Gemma leant closer to talk in Ellie’s ear, and then Ellie did the same in reply. Ellie looked tense. Gemma seemed irritated, there were no smiles, but there was no shouting either. Somewhere during Crackleford’s second song they stopped talking to one another and, from then on, only watched the band.

Callum began watching the band too, with Gemma and Ellie unmoving in his peripheral vision. He had no idea what had changed between them, although he was sure that neither of them spoke again, or even moved.

But, the next time he looked at Ellie, her face was flushed and he saw her start to sob.

‘So, Mr Hayward, you drove to the pub because your sister Gemma asked you to?’

‘That’s correct.’

‘But there were enough spaces in Miss Waldock’s car?’

‘Yes, but Gemma wasn’t sure how long she wanted to stay, and, like everyone else, I thought it might be a laugh.’

‘But later, you left without her?’

‘I’ll always regret that, but Nicci’s the one on trial here, not me.’

Under Rob’s jacket was a bag, and in the bag were two one-litre bottles of Southern Comfort and another of tequila. The plan was to buy mixers at the bar, add the whiskey, then later switch to shots. No one expected that to end without someone chucking up. But Rob hoped that no one would have the appetite for the tequila, and he’d been preoccupied with thinking of ways to try to divert Gemma from mixing her drinks. If she became determined, then he doubted he could.

Rob dug in his pocket for a twenty, then tried to pass it to Callum. ‘Do me a favour? Go to the bar and get another round in. We need the drinks diluted a bit more than this.’

Callum shook his head. ‘I’ve brought my own. Didn’t want to pay pub prices. Do you know how much profit they make on mixers?’

Rob had no doubt that Callum would have told him, and in far too much detail. Two minutes in Callum’s company was all the motivation Rob needed to head to the bar. By the time he had crossed the grass, he’d reduced his intended order to three soft drinks, one each for himself, Gemma and Ellie.

The. . .