Scream Blue Murder

by Linda Coles

  “So, let me get this straight,” said Amanda. “The punch from DI Dupin was nothing to do with his death?”

  “Correct.”

  “And he died of a freakish dislocated spine that burst an artery and filled his skull with blood.”

  “Correct.”

  “Wow.”

  “Quite. It’s not common, but it happens. Occasionally it’s genetics. DI Dupin is not at fault here. If Callum Parker hadn’t wrestled the steering wheel as he had, hadn’t had a couple of drinks and hadn’t tried to punch Dupin, he might still be here now. It was no one’s fault. Rather, it was a series of moves that ended up proving fatal. Callum was a dying man on the drive back home; he simply didn’t realise it. The punch on the chin made no difference whatsoever.”

  Jack sat back in his chair, thinking. He hadn’t got a lot of time for Dopey, but he wouldn’t wish a manslaughter charge on him either.

  It also raised a question concerning another case on his mind.

  Chapter Thirty

  “I really can't believe it,” Jack said as he and Amanda headed back to the lift and down to reception. “Shall you tell him the good news, or shall I?”

  “We should tell Japp first, since he was the one who told Dupin in the first place. What a weird situation, eh? I've never heard of such a thing, though she did say it could be a genetic condition. All her evidence points to the accident itself—his own actions killed him, not Dupin.”

  The doors pinged closed and they travelled the short distance back down to reception.

  “It's made me think of Hardesty and his situation,” said Jack, as they walked across the lobby. “Pathology, I assume, has got more accurate over time. And I've got to say I'm wondering if something similar happened in his case that perhaps got missed all those years ago. And if that is the case, can I do anything about it now?”

  “Yes, but Jack, the guy was a bad lad anyway. He’d probably have ended up inside anyway; if not for that then for something else. He was a career criminal.”

  “Maybe so, but that doesn't make him a killer directly, and that's what his sentence is for. It’s on his record for life, such as it is. Just like they caught Al Capone on a technicality and stuck him inside, doesn't mean it's the right thing to do.” Jack could feel himself getting hot under the collar about it, although he sensed Amanda wasn’t too fussed. It was obvious she didn't share Jack's concern for Hardesty, or the fact that he was rotting in prison and maybe hadn't done the crime he’d been convicted of. That didn’t sit well with Jack, and since he'd been part of the original investigation, it felt a little more personal, much closer to home than it might for anyone else.

  Apart from Eddie Edwards, the arresting officer at the time.

  They were almost back at Amanda's car, and Jack could see heat waves floating across the bonnet. As Amanda clicked her key fob to unlock the car, Jack stated the obvious. “It's going to be like a barbeque inside there,” he said in a singsong voice. A rush of hot air like a hairdryer hit him as he opened the door and sat himself in the passenger seat. Amanda wound the windows down immediately, and Jack twiddled with the air-conditioning and wondered what his old boss Eddie was doing these days. He’d not seen the man for some years.

  “I'm sure Japp will be pleased,” said Amanda, as they set off back to the station, “and it’s good news for the rest of the team too. I know it's been preying on people's minds; it's been quite distracting, actually.”

  “The press are going to go nuts at this,” said Jack. “I hope that Callum Parker's family are satisfied with the results, but I can't help feeling they're not going to be. Particularly his fiancée Melissa. She'll be a right flighty set of bagpipes, that one.”

  “A flighty set of bagpipes?’ enquired Amanda.

  “You must have noticed the size of her chest, surely, and you can't tell me they’re real. And she appears to be a bit of a mouthpiece about all this, so all in all, a flighty set of bagpipes. My observations are spot-on. Case rested.”

  Amanda had to smile. Jack was never crass or crude, but that didn't mean his eyes didn't work like those of any other warm-blooded male when it came to a woman's body. Particularly a manufactured one at that.

  “So, you don't agree with plastic surgery, then?” she asked, knowing the answer.

  “Nope. Make do with what you’ve got, and make the most of it; that’s my motto.” He turned to gaze out the side window as they headed back out onto the dual carriageway. As usual, it was slow-moving. She indicated to cut across into the outside lane, which was moving slightly faster, and navigated the traffic back to the station. Jack checked his watch.

  “Do you fancy an ice cream?”

  Amanda glanced across at him and shook her head. “You're going to be piling all the weight back on that you've lost over recent weeks if you keep eating like you are. Have a bottle of water instead.”

  “You sound like my grandma now.”

  “Your grandma's dead.”

  Disappointed that he wasn't going to get his ice cream, Jack turned his mind back to what they just learned from the pathologist. A sub-arachnoid hemorrhage. Who would have thought it?

  “So, what's the plan then, boss?” he said. “What order are we doing things?”

  “We'll tell Japp first, and then I guess we'll go and see the Parker family and see what happens from there. Hopefully, they’ll accept the findings and everyone can move on.”

  “And if they don't move on, and Bagpipes causes a stink?”

  “In my experience, I expect they'll call for another autopsy and see what that shows up,” she said. “But also, in my experience, Faye Mitchell is one of the best and there will be no mistakes.”

  Jack grunted an agreement. He’d never known her to get it wrong in all the times they’d worked together over the years.

  “She got a bit feisty when we suggested she might be swayed one way or the other. It was stupid, really; she's always been one hundred percent professional. That's why she never gives an opinion before the facts are there to support it.”

  It was Amanda's turn to grunt an acknowledgement; Jack was, of course, right. She glanced at her wristwatch; time was marching on, and she needed to hurry if she was to get to the flat-warming party on time. She hated letting Ruth down, but there was still work to do before she could head off home to change.

  The electric gate slipped back at the station car park, and she pulled into her space and turned the engine off. She didn't immediately move, but instead turned to Jack.

  “You know, this could have happened to anyone—something simple like a car accident, where neither party appears injured, and all the time deep inside someone's head nature is taking its course and silently killing them. It’s quite horrendous, really. I suppose when your time is up, it's time to go.” She was staring straight through the windscreen at nothing in particular, and as Jack followed her gaze, he wondered what was making her feel so maudlin.

  “Then we need to make the most of our time while we've still got it,” he said, reaching to open his door. The warm sun in contrast to the cold fridge of the car was welcoming, and Jack took a moment to stretch like a cat, dropping his head back for the briefest moment. He felt his neck click, the tiny bubbles of gas dissipating from around the bony joints. Thinking of what he’d just learned, he pulled his head back up slowly and followed Amanda back into the station. It had been a learning experience, although a depressing one. On days like this he was glad he had something else to do with his time of an evening that brought joy instead of pain. He was looking forward to his bowling match tonight, a spot of light relief in contrast to his somewhat melancholy though educational day.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Amanda dropped her bag on her desk and, with Jack in tow, headed straight to DCI Japp's office. She rapped on his open door with a knuckle. Over her shoulder, Jack saw Japp's head rise and his eyes readjust away from the document he had been reading. Even though Japp knew Amanda, to Jack there seemed to be a satellite delay of a
couple of seconds before it registered who was actually standing there in front of him.

  Amanda didn’t wait to be beckoned in. “Sorry to intrude,” she started, “but I thought you'd like to know the news.”

  Japp stared at her over the top of his half-rimmed reading glasses like she had just woken him from a deep sleep. Jack wanted to rub his eyes for him. He also wanted to slap him around his jowly face. No one ever went to Japp's office uninvited unless it was important. Surely he knew that.

  “What is it, Amanda?” he said gruffly.

  “We have the pathology results, sir. I wanted to talk to you in person rather than on the phone.”

  Japp glanced across at Jack, who’d invited himself in and was stood next to Amanda. Since there was only one chair on the visitor side of Japp's desk, he let Amanda take it by offering it with an open palm hand. She shook her head lightly preferring to stand in front of the man. He was less intimidating that way.

  “What's the damage?” Japp said, taking more of an interest.

  “Well, that's just it, sir. Damage is probably the right word for it.”

  “What are you talking about, Amanda?”

  “Well, sir, first of all, DI Dupin is not responsible for the death of Callum Parker. Without going into all the gory details, the pathology reports state that it was the actual car accident that caused a brain hemorrhage. I'll get the official report to you so you can read it in full, but basically the punch that Dupin threw was not the cause of death. He is in the clear.”

  Japp sat back in his fancy leather chair; it squeaked and groaned in protest. He took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking as if he was trying to get his head around what Amanda had just told him. Eventually he spoke. “Well, that is good news. Thank you. Good news, indeed. I guess we can all rest easy again.”

  “Will you tell DI Dupin, sir, or shall I?”

  “No, I'll tell him. It's only right. Send me the report, though. I don’t doubt the press will be hounding us.”

  “If I may, sir,” Jack began. He waited until Japp glanced his way.

  “Yes, Jack? What is it?”

  “I thought I should mention… The doc reckoned that the family will want another autopsy. They’ll think there's a cover-up, judging by the reaction we've had from them so far. So you are aware, sir.”

  Japp put his head in his hands, his elbows resting on his desk in front of him.

  “Is there ever any good news?” he said.

  “Dr Mitchell is certain in her work,” Amanda said. “Always has been. You know what she's like—I’s dotted T's crossed. She had specialists take a look at Parker's brain and between them they’re certain his death was not caused by a smack on the chin. If there is another autopsy, she'll be present anyway, because that's what happens. So let them request another autopsy: it will come back with the same result. Let's wait and see. Right now, getting Dupin back to work and moving forward is the important thing.”

  “I've been in this game long enough, Amanda, to know that the family won't take this lying down. But we’ll be ready, because it sounds like the facts won't change, and while it's sad that they won't be able to point the finger, nothing will bring their boy back.”

  Japp folded the report he’d been reading before they walked in and slipped his glasses back into their case. “Right, then. I'm off to give the good news to DI Dupin.” He got to his feet, making his leather chair groan again. Perhaps if he lost a pound or two, Amanda thought.

  “Do you want me to accompany you, sir?” Amanda asked, hoping the answer was no.

  “No, thank you, Amanda. I'm quite capable of telling him myself.”

  “Sir,” said Amanda, for the sake of acknowledging him. She glanced at Jack and they both turned to exit his office swiftly, leaving Japp fumbling for something behind them. Without looking back, they headed straight to their desks and busied themselves with paperwork and emails until they were sure he’d left his office.

  When he was safely out of the way, Jack rolled his chair across the carpet towards Amanda's desk and pulled alongside. “He’s such a stiff old dick,” he said with annoyance. “The guy just never smiles.”

  Amanda was replying to an email and replied distractedly, “Some folks are just like that, and I guess he's one of them.” She carried on typing.

  “Do you remember the movie Good Morning Vietnam, with Robin Williams in it?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “There's a scene in it where Williams is getting frustrated at his grumpy general or whoever it was, and before he walks out of the man’s office he turns and says to him something along the lines of ‘I've never met anyone more in need of a blow job than you.’”

  Amanda raised her head and burst out laughing. “How do you remember such things, Jack?”

  “Because I'm saving that saying for one day when I dare myself to use it.”

  “Well, may I suggest DCI Japp is not the man to use it on. I daresay it wouldn't go down too well, and early retirement without pension could be on the cards for you.”

  “It would almost be worth it,” Jack said, waggling his eyebrows. He turned and rolled his chair back to his desk, chuckling as he went. He glanced at the time on his computer screen; it was almost 5 o'clock. Behind him he could hear Amanda gathering her things to leave.

  She was almost certainly going to be late for the flat-warming.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Amanda was running late, as usual. She’d contemplated driving over to Fulham, but since Ruth’s dad’s flat-warming wasn't far from a tube station it made sense to let the train take the strain, to quote an ancient TV advert. She’d dashed home, dumped her work gear and changed into a slightly more casual outfit of cotton cargo pants and a raw silk shirt, with a pair of chunky heels. A light application of lipstick and some extra gel rubbed through her blonde locks and she was ready to rumble.

  “It'll have to do,” she said to the mirror, not entirely satisfied with what was staring back at her. She grabbed her bag again, checked for her sunglasses and headed out the front door to her car, which she would leave at the train station car park. Since it was gone 5.30 pm already, there was no way she’d be there for six.

  Once on the train, she dialled Ruth. The carriage going north back into London was almost empty, so she didn't feel bad about having a conversation in a public place and being overheard. Ruth was used to her being late; it came with the territory.

  “Hi, hun,” she said. “Are you on your way here?”

  Ruth never gave her a hard time about her long hours and the things that invariably cropped up at inopportune moments; again, it came with the territory. It was how Amanda’s life had been since she’d joined the force and no doubt would continue to be. She had her eyes set on becoming a DI in the not-too-distant future.

  “I’ve just got on the train, so I’ll be there in about forty minutes if I manage to time the District line connection right. Are there many there already?”

  “I got here early to give Dad a hand. Actually, the place is packed. It's a good job there's a patio outside for the overspill.”

  “Any sandwiches? I'm starved. I bought one for this afternoon, but we ended up back at the morgue. I think I must have left it there.”

  Amanda could hear Ruth chuckle down the phone.

  “Little nibbles, I'm afraid, but I'm sure I can make you a sandwich on the sly if you're that desperate. Dad won't mind. Anyway, I should go and mix and mingle, so I’ll see you when you get here. It's a good job you've not driven. I don't think there's anywhere left to park.”

  “Right. I'll see you when I get there then,” she said, and ended the call.

  The train rattled alongside the ends of the skinny back gardens of houses in Croydon; the tumbledown wooden rear fences of the properties all looked the same. Overgrown brambles, discarded traffic cones, and several supermarket shopping trolleys dying on the embankment gave Amanda something to gaze at as cookie-cutter towns whizzed by and bled into each other.
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  She could see her own reflection if she focused her eyes on the window glass in a certain way. It was kind of eerie, almost ghostlike, watching grass banks fly by with an overlaid, stationary image of herself. It reminded her of the movie Girl on the Train.

  The rattling journey to London Victoria took only 20 minutes. She stepped out of the carriage and headed down the platform towards the tube station and the District line. Droves of people were still headed home, back south where she’d come from, and once again she was glad she wasn't part of the daily commuter community, the herd of bored faces on the train to and from work every day. They all looked the same: men and women, all in dark suits with pale shirts, briefcases in hand.

  She navigated stairs and escalators until she found herself on the correct tube platform to get to Fulham Broadway station. From there to Brompton Park, where Gordon Simpson's soirée was being held, was only a couple of minutes’ walk.

  The tube journey from Victoria to Fulham took almost as long as the train journey from Croydon, though with far less to see. The underground tube was one of those places that you tolerated—dirty, hot and dusty no matter what the weather was doing outside—but it was part of London life, of getting around quickly. She settled into her seat and, with nothing in particular to keep her attention, pulled out her phone and surfed the BBC news site. She was not one for Facebook; she saw it as a waste of time, and with precious little downtime in the first place, she wasn't about to spend it on trivial nonsense. So, while Ruth did her crossword puzzles or played word games on her own phone, Amanda like to keep up to date with what was going on in the real world.