by Linda Coles
Her stomach rumbled as she dropped two slices of bread into the toaster. Normally she’d go for a run, but she didn't know if she had the energy this morning, even though she knew it would help to sort her thoughts out, keep her mind in check as well as wake her up. She’d decide when she’d eaten her toast. The sound of water running upstairs caught her attention; Amanda was up. Tuning her ears to the sounds of the house, she soon heard footsteps lightly descending the stairs. In a moment the kitchen door would open, and Amanda would be standing there asking if she was okay, why she was up so early. Ruth realised she would have to go for her run in order to keep away from the awkward questions. It would do her good anyway, in more ways than one. No sooner had she finished the thought than Amanda appeared in the doorway wearing her pink fluffy bathrobe stifling a yawn, her blonde hair sticking up in all directions.
Ruth found some energy and pushed most of it into her opening sentence. “Morning,” she said brightly, forcing the words to sound cheery. Amanda smiled and muttered ‘morning’ back. It was far too early for her. “I'll make you some tea,” Ruth offered, and stood to do the necessary as Amanda sat down at the table with a thump.
“Going for a run?” Amanda enquired,
It looked like the decision had been taken out of her hands. “I fancied some toast first, then I'm off. Should I put you some in?”
“Too early for me, thanks. Just the tea,” as a steaming mug was placed in front of her. Either Amanda hadn't seen Ruth looking so tired or she was ignoring it, but either way she didn't ask.
“What does your day hold for you?” Ruth asked her. “Have you got much on?”
Amanda stared into her tea and mumbled, “Hopefully Dupin is back today. That could mean the press will be hassling us, but it will be good to have him back. It must've been hard on him. I’d have hated to be in his shoes with such an accusation hanging over me.”
“I can't imagine what it would be like, being up for manslaughter or murder. Amazing how a horrible situation can arise out of something that started out so innocently.”
Amanda glanced up from her tea, a questioning look on her face. “Cheery thought,” she said sarcastically.
“It's true,” protested Ruth. “Sometimes we have no control over the outcome, because fate intervenes. And we have no control over what others do; sometimes other people’s actions force us to act out of character.”
Amanda nodded and gave her a thoughtful look. It was a bit deep for so early in the morning.
“I’d better get out there,” Ruth announced taking the remaining half slice of toast with her. “I'll see you in an hour,” she added, and headed off back upstairs to get changed.
Amanda took a sip of tea and mulled over Ruth’s last words. She knew Ruth wasn't acting normally and that she hadn’t had much sleep during the night. Whatever it was that was playing on her mind, she hoped it passed soon. Amanda hadn’t got much sleep either, having been fully aware that Ruth was wide awake and restless. She heard the clunk of the front door closing and hoped her run would help her manage to work through whatever was bugging her before she got back.
Chapter Thirty-Six
By the time Ruth returned home, the sky over Croydon was a pale blue with the promise of sunshine to come. Birds flitted from branch to branch in search of breakfast; some worked the ground with their feet to bring worms to the surface. Amanda was dressed and almost ready to leave, figuring she might as well go in to the station early since she was up; there was always something to do. Not to mention the fact she fancied a McDonald's for breakfast. And their coffee wasn't half bad.
Ruth's face was beet red and sweat glistened on her neck as she stood outside on the patio, a hand towel draped around her shoulders, trying to cool off. She swigged back a glass of water and tipped the last couple of inches into a nearby pot plant. She stood, panting, looking down at the herb garden. A light dew covered everything, making the plants twinkle in the early morning light.
“I must make some basil ice cubes with all that basil; there’s no sense in wasting it. And the same with the coriander,” she said.
On the other side of the open door, Amanda grunted absently in reply; she was only half-listening. Green-fingered she was not, nor was she a chef, but she was good at other things. Luckily Ruth had both those skills; otherwise, it would be takeaway every night and even Amanda would have to contemplate running to keep her weight under control. It was hard enough as it was.
“Right, I'm off,” she said. “Speak to you later.” She planted a quick peck on Ruth’s cheek. Feeling a little more upbeat, she said, “I bet Gordon's got a bit of a headache this morning. The flat-warming was in full swing when we left.”
“I'll call him later, see how he is.”
“Good idea. He’ll want to know how you are, after what happened to you last night. He was a bit worried, I think.”
“I'll call him,” Ruth assured her. “Well, I’d better go get in the shower before I drip sweat all over the place. Have a good one.”
Amanda grabbed her keys and phone and headed out. As the front door clicked closed, Ruth was halfway up the stairs to the bathroom.
The smell of hot bacon and sausage muffins greeted Amanda's nostrils as she entered McDonald's. Rather than collecting her breakfast through the drive-through window and eating it in the car park, she decided to park up properly and head inside for a change; that way her car wouldn’t stink later. It was also less messy; eating in the car, she invariably dropped something and made a grease mark. It was a habit she’d picked up from Jack; he hated eating inside with all the noisy kids and preferred the comfort of his own vehicle.
She placed her order, collected her meal and sat down. Four young boys and a man Amanda assumed was their father sat at a table a couple across from hers. The boys all looked a similar age and were dressed in their school uniforms, enjoying a greasy breakfast. She wondered if it was a birthday breakfast for one of the boys, or a special treat, or maybe their father was just short on time or patience and McDonald's fitted the bill. She hoped they didn't make a habit of it, though she was hardly one to talk, sat with her own sausage and egg muffin, a sheen on her lips that wasn’t lip gloss.
She glanced again at their eager young faces as they tucked into their breakfast and realised they all looked quite similar to each other and the man with them; there was no mistaking that he was their father. She wondered where their mother was, if they had one, even; perhaps he’d taken them out for breakfast to give her a break. The boys weren't quadruplets, she realised, but they could be two sets of twins. Either way, four boys around seven years old would be a handful, tough work.
Her phone warbled out the opening bars of ELO’s “Mr Blue Sky”—Jack. She wiped her mouth and fingers on a serviette before swiping the screen the take the call.
“Morning,” she said brightly. “Another early bird.”
“The best way to see the sunrise is to get up for it.”
“And another deep thinker this morning, too, I might add.”
“Where are you? You’re obviously not at home. No, don't tell me: you're at McDonald's again.”
How the hell did Jack know that?
“What on earth makes you think that?”
“The background noises, for one, and I know you're partial to a bacon or sausage muffin if it’s early. I'm right, aren’t I?”
“You’re one talented detective, Jack.”
“Someone's a bit cranky this morning,” he said. “What's bugging you?”
“Just tired.”
“A big night at the party, was it?”
“You could say that. Anyway, I’m sure you didn't ring to find out how the flat-warming went. What do you need, Jack?” She sipped her coffee.
“I'm ringing to warn you, actually. There's a bit of a crowd gathered already at the station, outside the front doors. Some are press, but there are quite a few of the public and they don't look too happy.”
Amanda groaned; there was no need to ask what
the gathering was all about.
“Thank goodness for rear entrances. I appreciate the head-up, Jack. Don't tell me you’re at work already?”
“No, not yet, but I did go and pick up Mrs Stewart this morning because her car is in for service, and we drove by the station on the way back. I hope that mob doesn't get any bigger.”
“No doubt Japp will sort it out when he gets in. He can hardly send Dupin out to do the job. I wouldn't want to be in Dupin's shoes this morning.”
“Neither would I, and while we know he’s innocent, I'm guessing the angry mob out front are on the family’s side and screaming ‘cover-up.’ I wonder if the Parkers are with them, along with Miss Bagpipes.”
Amanda couldn't help but smile at Jack's nickname for Melissa Ross. Political correctness wasn't his strong point.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dupin felt like a 16-year-old heading out for his first day on the job. Butterflies had been replaced by bats, and they were bouncing off the insides of his stomach as they tried to get out. He was glad to be going back to work but apprehensive at the same time, because not everyone was happy at the autopsy results. He turned the radio on to take his mind off it, but the incessant chatter of the two co-hosts grated on his nerves. He searched through stations, keeping one hand on the wheel, looking for some soothing classical music. If he was going to arrive at work in a calm state, he needed something to help that happen. Piano music filled the car as he settled on the station. He had no idea what the tune was—it wasn't one of the more popular classical pieces—but it would do for now.
The lane was clear and the leafy green trees dappled the tarmac with a lacy pattern as the early morning sun filtered through. He was lucky he could live out of town; many couldn't afford to, or didn't want the commute time, but he loved the outdoors. He and Lyn had chosen a smaller house in a green area rather than a big flat in a concrete jungle; he was not interested in keeping up with the Joneses.
It was coming up to 8 am as Dupin waited for the electric gates to roll back so he could pull into the station yard. Several cars belonging to his team were parked up already. He found a parking space, then turned his engine off and sat for a moment, just thinking. How would the team react, he wondered? While they all knew he was innocent now, he knew there had been doubt in some people's minds before the results had come in. He was aware of his nickname, that people called him Dopey behind his back, and he wondered if now they still viewed him in the same way. He'd never been dopey, not in his mind anyway, but obviously some people thought differently. It was time to go inside and pick up where he’d left off only a few days ago.
He gathered his briefcase and his lunchbox and stepped out of the car, pushing his shoulders back to stand as tall as he was able as he headed for the rear entrance. If anyone was watching on the CCTV camera, they weren't going to see a shrunken, solemn man. He had a team to run and experience to give, so it was business as usual as far as he was concerned.
Walking down the tiled corridor towards the squad room and his office, he noticed that the station seemed unusually quiet. As he entered the squad room, his team, who were all stood to order around their desks, turned towards him. Amanda caught his eye first; she beamed at him as she led a round of applause to welcome their DI back into the fold. He relaxed his shoulders and grinned despite himself as the applause got louder and his colleagues started towards him. Amanda shook his hand first, and the butterflies began to leave his stomach as each person in turn welcomed him back with more handshakes and slaps on the back. He needn't have felt so nervous, it seemed.
Conscious that people were waiting for him to say something, he gathered his thoughts as everyone took their seats. He took in the faces around the room feeling thankful for a decent bunch of work colleagues. He dropped his briefcase and lunchbox on a nearby desk and addressed his audience.
“I don't really know what to say, apart from a huge thank you. I wasn't sure what sort of reception I would get, but I certainly wasn't expecting this, and I thank you for your support from the bottom of my boots.” There was a bit of polite laughter. “It's been a difficult time for me, and the journey isn't yet over, but at least I'm back at work where I can do some good. I’ve still got a disciplinary to face, but I can handle that, I’m sure.”
A low rumble of ‘Hear, hear!’ spread across the squad room.
“Until I know what’s what,” he went on, “why don't I hand over to Amanda, who can fill us all in. Particularly me!”
He smiled and stepped aside as Amanda came forward. She stood at the front of the room and took the briefing on where they were with current cases and issued instructions, while Dupin took it all in. When she was finished, Dupin nodded his thanks and headed back to his office, where he’d most likely stay until lunchtime.
At 12 o'clock, Jack ventured out to the front of the station to see if the crowd had dissipated at all. It hadn't, but it hadn’t grown from what he’d seen earlier, either. He recognised a couple of faces from his spot just inside the door: the local press, a couple of hosts from TV stations and a sizeable bunch of people waving placards. They all carried the same message in various ways, each demanding Dupin's resignation or accusing the police of a cover-up. But what did they know? They were running on passion and motivation, Jack knew—it was facts that declared a person’s innocence, and facts that had declared Dupin's innocence and verified that there was no conspiracy theory.
They’d get bored eventually. And hungry. The police station was an odd place to hold a protest, a daring place to protest, but Jack figured they'd all be gone by teatime. He hoped so; he craved normalcy again.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Jack was ready with another tin of chocolate biscuits. He hadn't seen Mac McAllister for some months, not since the man had been sentenced. He was a rough character, for sure; there was no ‘rough diamond’ about Mac McAllister. He wasn't even the start of the diamond; he was so far away from being a piece of coal that he was prehistoric vegetation. Jack wasn't scared of him, but he knew people who were. They say some dog owners look like their pets, and if McAllister was a dog owner, he'd be a mixture of a bulldog and a bull mastiff. Two purebreds crossed to accelerate the menace. Jack wondered how the man was doing inside prison, and if he'd met his match yet. Someone surely would have wanted to take him on, if only for a bet.
He parked in the same spot he’d used on his last visit and headed to the reception area, where the same prison officer from the previous day was on duty. He wore the same dandruff and the same vacant expression and still showed no obvious signs of personality whatsoever, and simply nodded as Jack approached the desk.
“Hello again,” Jack said, not letting the man's dour persona change his own mood or manners.
“Morning,” was all he got back.
“Is Mino in today, by chance?”
“He is.”
“Could you please tell him I'm here? DC Jack Rutherford, in case you can’t remember.”
The officer made a face like Jack had disturbed him from something important—again. Making the phone call to tell Mino he had a visitor was akin to an hour of hard labour, apparently. Jack moved away from the desk while he waited. Since the officer was not going to be big on conversation, he didn't feel the need to hang around. He moved over to the window to wait. A couple of minutes later he heard a familiar voice behind him and turned to see Mino standing there. His acne seemed worse than the previous day, and it looked sore. He must have noticed Jack looking and instinctively touched his hand to his face as if to cover it. Jack held out a Sainsbury's shopping bag and, without looking, Mino accepted it, knowing exactly what it contained.
“I’m assuming he still doesn't know?” Jack said.
“I haven't told him, and since nobody else knows you were planning a repeat visit today, I'm guessing he still doesn't.” Raising the carrier bag slightly, Mino added “Thanks for these. I'll tell him he has a visitor. Take a pew. I'll be back shortly.”
Jack watched the
youngster head out through an internal door and went over in his mind what he was going to say to McAllister when he finally got in front of him. It was a shame he couldn't start by punching him in the face, but those times were long gone. He was reminded briefly of Dupin and his recent altercation. It wasn’t worth the bother.
It was almost ten minutes later when Mino waved at him to follow him through the door and down the concrete corridor towards the visitor rooms. They stopped outside a metallic grey door.
“I’ll leave you to it. Just knock twice when you're ready to leave,” Mino told him.
Jack nodded his understanding and slipped inside.
If McAllister was shocked to see Jack, he didn't show it. In fact, he showed no emotion whatsoever, no interest in Jack at all.
“I thought a visitor would ease the monotony of your day. I don't suppose you get too many?”
“I get my share,” McAllister said curtly. “What do you want, anyhow?”
“Now, that's not very friendly,” said Jack.
“It's a prison, in case you haven't realised,” said McAllister sarcastically.
Jack ignored him. He pulled out a plastic chair and sat down opposite the big man. Prison food alters the shape of a man, but spending time in the gym had kept McAllister’s bulk firm.
“This place must be agreeing with you; you look in good shape.”
