Scream Blue Murder

by Linda Coles

  “Got another tin of biscuits with you?”

  “No, but I can get one.”

  “Well, bring another and I'm sure your wish will be granted.”

  Jack looked at the young lad approvingly. Mino had picked up some smarts working in this place already; he'd go a long way in life. They strolled slowly across the car park toward Jack's car; Jack guessed the lad was enjoying the morning sunshine a whole lot more than being cooped up inside the concrete walls. He took his car keys out of his pocket and turned to him.

  “Well, Mino, it's been nice to make your acquaintance. So, you think another tin will do the trick if I come back tomorrow, then?”

  “I can almost guarantee it, Detective,” Mino said with a smile.

  “In that case, I'll see you tomorrow.” Jack was just about to get into his car when he had another thought.

  “I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell McAllister that I was coming.”

  Mino tapped the side of his nose and winked before heading back to the building.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Jack's head was swimming. He’d missed the fact that McAllister was in the same prison as Michael Hardesty, but he’d had no reason to look him up. McAllister had only been there for a year, and Jack assumed that Hardesty already knew. The drums would have been beating loud and clear when the man had arrived.

  Jack’s stomach was grumbling and while the screws enjoyed their morning cuppa and biscuits, he hadn’t been offered one. Since it was coming up to 12 o'clock, he decided he might as well grab lunch on the way back in to the station. He wondered if Amanda wanted something picked up too. It was all too easy to have a big meal every day in the station canteen, and since he’d had pie and chips yesterday, he’d stick to a sandwich today. He’d already put on a couple of pounds of recent, mainly because of Mrs Stewart’s cooking and all the things she left stocked in his fridge after her thrice-weekly visits. He liked her, and while she was a good deal older than Jack, she was nice to have fussing around the house when he was there. She liked to start early and finish early. When Jack didn’t have to be out with the larks, she’d cook a full breakfast for him, or a boiled egg. He figured she secretly liked to have someone to look after; her own family was now living abroad and, apart from her bridge friends and lawn bowling friends, there wasn't anyone particularly close to her. Jack enjoyed her company like he would his grandma’s, had she still been alive.

  But back to needing lunch. He dialled Amanda's phone and waited for her to pick up.

  “Hi, Jack,” she said breezily. “Are you on your way back?”

  “I am, yes. I'm going to pick up a sandwich first, though. Do you want something, or are you eating in the canteen again?”

  “I’ll have a sandwich, thanks. In fact, bring me two, please.”

  “Two? If you’re that hungry, you should go to the canteen. It’s lasagne today, I believe.”

  “First off, how do you know it's lasagne? And second, I need two sandwiches because I’ll have one for lunch now and the other later on, because Ruth and I are going to the flat-warming tonight and we won’t get to eat anything until later. Is that okay with you?”

  Jack chuckled. “Ooooooh. I was only looking after your nutritional needs. No need for the sarcasm. Anyway, whose flat are you warming again?”

  “Ruth's dad's, remember? He moved out of the big house and bought a flat in Fulham. He moved in about a month ago and tonight's drinkies in the courtyard.”

  “My goodness, is it a month already? It doesn't seem five minutes since she told me he'd sold up. I must've been missed off the invite list.”

  “You hardly know the man. The only time you ever went to that house was when you were investigating the landscaper that went missing.”

  “Yes, but I met him at your wedding, and I saw him one Christmas.”

  “Well, if you really want to come, I'm sure he won't mind. Anyway, I thought you were looking Vivian up tonight.”

  “I have a different hot date tonight, actually,” he said matter-of-factly. “It's lawn bowls night, and they’re putting a supper on.”

  “So, there you go—you don't need to gate-crash with us after all.”

  “I'm perfectly capable of sorting my own social life out, thanks very much. I have hobbies, you know.”

  “Well, that's good to know, Jack. Now, I fancy chicken salad and a ham salad, if you get the choice. If not, I'll leave it up to you. And a packet of salt and vinegar.”

  “Right, got it. And before you go, after I had my chat with Hardesty, I was talking to one of the younger screws on the way out and he just happened to mention another inmate in passing. You'll never guess who is in the same prison, though in a different wing.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Mac McAllister.” Jack let that sink in for a moment.

  “The dogfighting ring mongrel,” Amanda said, and gave a low whistle. “I didn't know he was so local. So he’s in the same prison? That doesn't seem right.”

  “That's what I thought, but it does happen. The offences were years apart, though, and I guess with Michael out of the picture the family feud died down a bit.”

  “I guess it did. It was before my time; you’d know better than me. I was just glad to get McAllister off the street and close down that dogfighting mess. I can remember that old warehouse like it was yesterday.”

  Jack shuddered again, and then indicated to turn left. “Anyway,” he said, “I'm about to pull up at the sandwich shop now, so I'll see you shortly.”

  He pulled into a vacant parking space in front and sat with the engine turned off, just thinking for a moment. He'd forgotten to ask Hardesty if he was unwell, given his deterioration. Not that he could do anything about it, of course, but it he wondered about it nonetheless. And McAllister in the same building? Surely, they were aware of each other’s presence.

  He watched two teenage girls stroll into the sandwich shop. By their ages, they couldn't have been out of school for long; they were probably working their first positions somewhere local. They looked smart in their blouses and skirts, and he watched them through his windscreen as they laughed and giggled with each other, waiting for their lunch order to be made. When they left, he watched them almost wistfully as they headed towards the small park area around the corner. Young and carefree. They made him feel old—maybe because he was getting old, but you had to one day.

  He was just about to get out of his car when he saw a familiar, slim figure enter the shop from the opposite direction. She wore her hair in a stylish blonde bob, and she hadn't changed a bit since the last time he'd seen her about five years ago.

  It was Vivian.

  He debated whether to let on he'd seen her or stay in his car until she’d finished her purchase in the sandwich shop. He opted to stay put, watching her through the plate glass window. It brought back memories of the lonely, empty times after Janine's death when he had occasionally sought Vivian’s personal services and companionship. He wondered why he'd stopped. Maybe it didn't seem important anymore; maybe he’d simply needed something at that time. His grief and his anger over Janine's illness and death had been unbearable at times; Vivian had been there when he’d needed somebody. Time heals, though, and Jack had eventually sorted himself out. Seeing her now, however, made him want to say hello.

  “What the hell. I liked her,” he said to himself. He opened his car door and headed into the shop. He watched as she collected her order and, as she turned in the small space, she came face to face with Jack, who was smiling straight at her. Her pale green eyes lit up with delight.

  “Jack!” she exclaimed.

  “It's good to see you, Vivian,” he said, bending forward to plant a peck on her cheek. Her smile was as big as the chocolate eclair in the cake cabinet next to her. And to Jack, just as sweet.

  “Fancy bumping into you today. I saw your friend Amanda last night; did she mention it?” Customers carried on all around them as they stood to talk, blocking a good portion of the small shop. No
one seemed to mind.

  “She did, actually. She said she saw you at the pizza place, and then she tried to grill me about who you were.” Their eyes caught and twinkled; the secret of how they knew one another was only for them.

  “Well, if you fancy going out for a drink one night, Jack, look me up. It would be nice to catch up again and see what's been going on in your life. It’s been way too long.”

  “I'll do that,” he said with a smile, and watched as she left the shop. He was just about to place his order when he realised he had no idea how to contact her. He babbled his order to the young woman behind the counter, said he’d be back in a moment and ran down the street after Vivian. For a woman in high heels, she could walk surprisingly quickly.

  “Vivian,” he called as he got closer. “Vivian!” he tried again. She heard the second time and turned as he reached her. She broke into a smile as he spoke. “I don't have your number anymore, and a drink would be nice.”

  “Give me your phone, Jack,” she said.

  “What do you want that for?” he said, taking it out of his pocket.

  “So I can put my number in it for you, silly,” she said, laughing lightly. “I thought you were a detective.” He watched as her long, pale pink fingernails tapped her details into his phone. She finished and handed it back. “Call me, soon, Jack.”

  “I will,” he said.

  He walked back to the sandwich shop, paid for his order and drove back to the station. It was one of those journeys where you remember absolutely nothing of it, not a thing, and you wonder how you arrived at your destination safely and in one piece.

  His mind had been somewhere else completely.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Amanda could see something was on Jack’s mind as they sat in the sunshine eating their sandwiches on a low brick wall in the car park. While there were no park benches or shady trees, it was better to sit outside than in the stuffy petri dish indoors. The building itself gave some shade to their heads, and the sun was welcoming on their arms and legs. Jack chewed thoughtfully on his chicken salad sandwich and pointed to Amanda’s boots with a mayonnaise-smeared finger.

  “Aren’t your feet stifled in those during summer?”

  Amanda looked down at her Docs. They shone in the bright light, but they shone in dull light too. Amanda was almost fanatical about polished footwear; it was one of her major gripes with others, particularly her work colleagues. Shoes and how you looked after them said a lot about a person. Hers said “functional, strong, and polished.”

  “No more than yours probably are right now,” she replied. “Talking of which, your shoes could do with a polish. You’re letting the side down, Jack.”

  Jack glanced down. Amanda was right, of course. “I’ll ask Mrs Stewart to do them.”

  “You’re a big boy now. Why don’t you do them yourself?” She watched as he crammed a couple of ready-salted crisps into his mouth with the remains of his last bite of sandwich. There really wasn’t room, and she curled her nose up at him. Crumbs fell to the concrete beneath their feet.

  “Mrs Stewart loves looking after me and my things. It gives her joy. Who am I to take that joy away from her?”

  Amanda rolled her eyes in disbelief. The thing was, she knew Jack was correct, and he himself loved being looked after. It was the perfect match for them both.

  “Pity she’s a bit old for you to become romantically involved with.”

  “I used to wonder what an older woman would be like,” he said, deadpan, gazing off into the distance. Amanda stopped chewing.

  “When?”

  “When I was about twenty, like all young men do, I suppose.”

  “I was going to say—I thought you meant recently. Anyway, age doesn’t matter, though I doubt any woman would want to be in your life as a skivvy only. Even if Mrs S was interested in you, it would change things.”

  Jack turned to face Amanda full on. “Why are we having this conversation? Mrs Stewart could be my grandmother almost.”

  “How about your friend Vivian, then? She looked more your age, and you two go way back.”

  Jack wondered if she’d been sniffing already. How else would she know they went ‘way back’?

  “And what makes you think that?”

  “You said as much.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  Jack turned away, pondering, but was saved from any further inquisition by Amanda’s phone ringing. The opening bars of Landscapes’ “Einstein A Go Go” beep-beeped. It was Faye, the pathologist. Jack smiled at Amanda’s choice of ringtone; better than Elton John’s “Better off Dead,” at least. He finished the last of his crisps and scrunched the packet noisily, earning him a glare from Amanda. He motioned to her to put the call on handsfree and she obliged.

  “Hi, Faye. I have Jack with me too. Have you got something for us?”

  “Yes, sort of, and hello, Jack.”

  He waved a ‘hello,’ not that she could see him.

  “What’s the ‘sort of’?” Amanda enquired.

  “It would be better for me to show you. Any chance of you coming over to the lab?”

  Amanda looked at her watch. “We’ll be there in twenty, if that works for you?”

  “Perfect. See you shortly.”

  Amanda tapped to end the call and put the last of her sandwich in her mouth, passing the remaining crisps to Jack.

  “Come on. I’ll drive,” she said, and they headed over to her car. They flinched as they opened the doors; it was like a furnace inside. They slipped in and Amanda started the engine.

  “You can play with the air con. I’m sick of trying to get it right,” she said as they headed out, the fan on full bore. “I’ll be almost glad when winter comes back. It’s easier to manage, temperature-wise. Set it on hot and leave it.”

  As Jack twiddled with the knobs, they headed across town and back to the morgue in the lunchtime traffic. As they pulled into the car park almost twenty minutes later, the car was the perfect temperature to sit in.

  “Shame it will be like a spit roast again by the time we come back out,” she said, tossing her bag strap over her shoulder. They walked up to the double doors and waited for them to slide open. At reception, a pretty woman with long, shiny black hair greeted them. Tiny pearl studs were only just visible on her earlobes; her lips were painted a deep pink. Jack took everything in like she was a crime scene. Details were his thing. His eyes dropped to her name badge—Gloria. She suited the name.

  “Dr Faye Mitchell is expecting us,” Amanda said as the lift doors behind them pinged open, revealing Faye in her white lab coat.

  “I saw you arrive. Come on up.” She held the door and the two walked over to the lift. Jack gave a slight wave to Gloria, ever the gentleman.

  Amanda leaned in. “Too young,” she whispered, though Faye had no difficulty hearing the comment.

  “Are you on the lookout, Jack?” Faye asked, somewhat amused.

  “Why is my personal life the topic of discussion for the second time today?” he enquired stiffly.

  Amanda and Faye glanced at one another and smirked. Jack kept his back to them as the lift took them up to Faye’s office. Thankfully for Jack, it was a short journey, though he could feel sniggering going on behind him. He shook his head in comical disbelief as the doors opened again and waited for the two women to go on ahead.

  When they were finally seated in the doctor’s office, Faye went through her findings and then sat back in her chair with a questioning look.

  “First, why didn’t you mention that DI Dupin was the person who hit the victim?” She didn’t look pleased.

  Amanda took the question, as the senior officer.

  “We didn’t want your judgement clouded. We figured if you didn’t know, it wouldn’t sway you in either direction if something wasn’t one hundred percent. We didn’t want to influence you.”

  “You wouldn’t have. I work with the facts, and only the facts,” Faye said sharpl
y. “I work with what the body tells me; it alone gives me the story of what happened. I don’t care if it’s the Queen on my examination table. And even if I wanted to alter the facts, there is always the chance of another autopsy being done—you know that. So no, you wouldn’t, never will influence my decision. Do I make myself clear?” Her voice had risen with the last sentence, and both detectives squirmed uncomfortably.

  She went on, “Now that I have that out of the way, I can tell you that Callum Parker’s heart and liver were both enlarged, most likely from alcohol abuse. He was a drinker, even if he wasn’t over the limit at the time of the accident, the initial crash.” Nobody dared to interrupt her. “There was also blood inside the skull from a brain bleed, though that didn’t come from the single blow to the chin.”

  Jack dared to speak now. “So DI Dupin didn’t kill him, then?” He looked at Amanda with wide-open eyes, almost a look of celebration.

  “No, that blow didn’t kill him. If the fight had caused his death, I’d expect a lot more soft tissue injury, and there isn’t any.”

  Jack pumped his fist in the air and Amanda let a long breath out. DI Dupin was in the clear.

  “So, what killed Callum Parker then, Doc?” Jack said.

  Faye pulled out the autopsy photos from a folder and laid them out in front of them: pictures of the neck and accompanying arteries that she had taken out to show a colleague for further inspection. Jack remembered his remark about “dangly bits” and taunting Japp out in the car park afterwards.

  “You might remember I took these out for further analysis.” She pointed to the photos as she spoke. “It’s an odd thing that’s happened. It’s called a sub-arachnoid haemorrhage. Let me explain.”

  “Please do,” said Jack. He inched forward in his seat to get a closer look. It was far more pleasant to view photos than the real-life wet and bloody specimens.

  “When we drink alcohol, it can raise our blood pressure. Add to that the frantic turning of the steering wheel first one way,” she demonstrated, “and then the other to correct the car and avoid collision. By doing that, Callum Parker inadvertently dislocated his spine here,” she said pointing. “That in turn ruptured this artery, sending blood into the brain.” She stopped to check they were both following. “All the activity immediately after the crash—the aggression, the lashing out and the increase in blood pressure—accelerated that bleeding. Now, it might have only been slight to start with, but by the time he arrived home, it proved fatal. It can take from a few minutes to hours for the blood to spread up to the skull.”