by Linda Coles
He peeled the foil off the remaining sticks of Kit Kat and munched on them one by one, staring down into the red clay earth. The digger parked nearby reminded him of the giant orange one that had sat in this very same garden back then, awaiting its driver, the landscaper who had walked off the job and never come back.
Or maybe he had.
His stomach rumbled a little—the Kit Kat was not enough—and he wondered if Amanda wanted her Mars bar. She was standing by the group of builders and didn’t look to be doing much other than gazing around, so he headed over to have a chat with her. Three of the men stared at him as he approached. The dust from the excavation covered his shoes in a thin film, turning their formal black finish into a tan colour. It was a good job it wasn't winter; he’d need his Wellington boots. He nodded sideways at Amanda, indicating for her to follow him away from flapping ears. She took the hint and moved alongside him as they headed back towards her vehicle.
“Something is wrong, Amanda,” Jack said. “You’re not behaving like you normally do. What gives?”
She let out a deep sigh before replying. “It just seems… it seems so, oh, I don't know…”
Jack filled in the blanks for her. “It just seems a bit close to home. Is that what you mean?”
“I guess so. It’s not even my home. And I barely knew Gordon a couple of years ago; barely knew him at all.”
Jack nodded, letting her find her words as she carried on. “He just doesn't seem the type to do something like this, and for what reason? Why would he have a body in his garden and then just wait for someone to possibly dig it up?
“It’s most likely not Gordon, like you said. What’s the motive? Why bury someone in your own garden? And he sure as hell wouldn't have bothered moving house; he’d have stayed here forever, keeping this secret buried—literally. So that leaves the only other person who’s lived in this house in the last couple of years.”
“Madeline Simpson.”
They stood quietly for a few moments; they both knew Amanda’s feelings about her.
At length, Jack spoke again. “I guess if we have an inkling of who this body might be, it won’t take long to get a name. Once we've got the dental records, identification shouldn't take too long at all. Let’s hope we have teeth in that skull still buried in there,” he said, pointing. “There’s hardly anything left of him. Or her.”
“Let's hope so, but we’ve got to interview Gordon. And depending on what he says and how long this body has been in there, there could be others.”
“Others?” enquired Jack.
“I don't mean others buried. I mean others to interview. Gordon lived in this house with Madeline for years. I can't see there being anybody else involved. You sure as hell would know if someone had dug your garden up and buried a body in it if it wasn't you or your wife. And that's another question—how would Madeline manage to bury a body without Gordon knowing?”
Jack grunted; it was feasible, but just barely.
“Look at Peter and Sonia Sutcliffe,” Amanda went on. “She had no clue what he was up to. Though he said he’d wanted to confess to her. He told her himself, you know, when he was arrested. He didn’t want the police to tell her what he’d done. Poor woman.”
“What are you going to tell Ruth, and what are you going to do about Gordon?” Jack asked.
“We need to speak to them both, obviously, and the current homeowners.”
“Why don’t I talk to Gordon?” offered Jack.
“And I’ll tell Ruth,” said Amanda glumly.
Chapter Forty-Two
With the scene of crime officers already on their way, Amanda had no choice but to ring Ruth. She knew exactly how she would react and was dreading it. Who wouldn't be? Finding a body buried in the garden of somebody you know was bad enough, but finding one in the garden of somebody you loved was going to be doubly hard. The questions that raised their ugly heads would all need answers, and doubt could be a destructive thing. Amanda made her way to the furthest point in the yard for a little privacy for the call that she was about to make—not that anyone was within eavesdropping distance, but the seclusion gave her comfort. She dialled Ruth's number and waited for her to answer.
“Are you missing me?” asked Ruth brightly. Amanda could imagine her at her desk, sitting back in her big cream squashy comfy chair, phone to her ear with a smile stretching across her face. She was a lucky woman to have met Ruth, she thought.
“Always,” said Amanda. “But I'm afraid I’ve got some news for you, so I'm hoping you're sat down in your office.”
“Yes, I am,” confirmed Ruth, worry now obvious in her voice. “Whatever has happened? You’re calling me rather than visiting, so I’m going with nothing too serious?” she asked hopefully.
There was no point stretching things out any longer than necessary, so Amanda dived straight in. “There's been a body found in your father's garden at the old house. Jack is speaking to Gordon now to let him know, but I thought you should know too.”
Ruth stayed absolutely silent, to the point where Amanda wondered if they'd been disconnected. She tried again. “Are you still there, Ruth? Hello?”
“I'm here. Just a bit shocked, actually. Where was it found?”
“Workmen were digging out for a swimming pool over on the far-right side and they came across it a couple of hours ago with their digger.”
“How long do you think it's been there?” asked Ruth.
“We don't know yet, but from my experience I would say somewhere between two and five years. But I can’t say for sure, until someone more qualified has had a look.”
“Did you say Jack has called Dad already?”
“He's doing it now; we’ll need him to come in to give a statement, since he lived in the house when the body was likely buried.”
“You don't think Dad had something to do with this, surely?” Ruth was beginning to sound frantic; her voice wobbled slightly now. “Because I can tell you now, he isn’t involved.”
“There’s so much we don't know right at this moment, hun, but we have to follow procedure, and the new homeowners will be interviewed in just the same way. I just thought you should know. Gordon might appreciate your support. And I’ll most likely be off the case.”
“I'll call him. Speak to you later,” she said, and the line went dead. Amanda was left holding the phone to her ear. She stared at it in puzzlement and then slipped it back into her pocket and reversed her mind back over the conversation she'd just had. Ruth was a strong and bright woman, and she’d taken the news in her stride, with more acceptance of the situation than Amanda would have thought. It was like she was already expecting it, somehow. She shook her head as if to dislodge such a thought: how would the woman she lived with know about a body buried in the garden of her parents’ old house? The idea was utterly ridiculous.
She looked up to see Jack picking his way towards her, trying to keep to the patches of grass that weren't covered in loose dirt. He looked like an obsessive keeping away from cracks on the pavement. She waited until he was by her side before asking how Gordon had taken the news.
“What did he say?”
“Not a lot, actually,” Jack said. “He was shocked, of course. It’s not every day you get news of a dead person in the garden of your old home. He’s on his way to the station now. I said we’d meet him there and take his statement. The same with the homeowners. How did Ruth take it?”
“Surprisingly well, but that's Ruth for you. Not much fazes her. She hung up pretty quickly, though; said she wanted to give her dad a call, so no doubt they’re chatting as we speak.”
Car doors could be heard slamming over the other side of the hedge; the top of a silver van was just visible.
“That’ll be SOCO,” Jack said. “The sooner they start, the sooner we can get some results. I'll go and show them through.” With that, he was gone.
She checked her watch. It was gone one o'clock. No wonder she was hungry. She walked around to the front of the house. Th
e SOCO team were donning their white paper suits, masks and gloves as she approached them. Jack was already briefing them on what the workmen had found, and the condition everything was in. Dr Faye Mitchell was among them, listening intently to what Jack had to say.
Amanda heard her say, “We'll take it from here, then, Jack. I'll call you later. We could be here a while, so it might be late on.”
“I’ll leave you all to it, then. Amanda, let's get going,” he said, Faye raised an eyebrow. Usually it was Amanda who gave the orders. For her part, Amanda was grateful, since her mind was still on Ruth's reaction—and a feeling deep in her gut that she couldn't quite put her finger on.
“I'll drive,” said Jack, and he took the keys from her fingers and slipped into the driver's side before Amanda could argue. He waited until she was sat beside him before starting the engine and cruising out of the quiet country lane.
“It's weird, don't you think?” she asked.
“What's weird?”
“Being here again, talking about landscapers and the Simpsons.”
“I wish it was as funny as The Simpsons,” said Jack unhelpfully. “But it is a bit weird. I was thinking that if this does turn out to be the landscaper who went missing, he owed money to the bookies in town, which is owned by Mac McAllister, the very same McAllister I saw this morning. How is that for timing?”
“Hmm,” said Amanda. She was quiet for a moment, pondering. “I'm not looking forward to talking to Gordon, either. Perhaps you should do it?”
“I don't think we’re seriously treating him as a suspect at this stage, are we?”
“We have no choice. You saw what state the remains are in. They weren't buried yesterday. So, yes, he is a suspect, as was anybody else that lived or lives in that house.”
Jack grunted; he knew Amanda was right, of course. And since Gordon Simpson was her father-in-law, she was also too close to the case. He would definitely have to do the interviewing himself.
Jack knew the case would fall back on his own shoulders. But to what result?
He'd soon find out.
Chapter Forty-Three
Jack drove them back to the station. There wasn't much they could do until SOCO had finished with the scene. They sat silent, each busy with their own thoughts. Jack wondered what Amanda's were. It wasn't going to be much fun for her observing an investigation where her father-in-law could be a suspect, and he knew that it could make things difficult for her at home with Ruth. He was glad it wasn't him, but at the same time wished it wasn't Amanda, either.
It wasn’t long before they were back on the outskirts of Croydon, the scenery changing from the lush greenery at the crime scene to dappled grey concrete and graffiti. He could understand why people lived out on the greenbelts and commuted; it would be nice to go home to, spend a little time in your own back garden, maybe with a glass of wine. He had about a postage stamp’s worth of grass at his place, as did the neighbours, but then he chose to live local, close to the amenities, and a postage stamp’s worth was about as much as you got for your money.
He’d never left the place after Janine had passed, never felt the desire to move on. Going up at night to the bedroom they’d shared for so many years gave him comfort somehow. It had been only about a year ago that he’d dared to put some of her belongings away; her bathrobe had hung behind the bedroom door for as long as he could remember. Now it had a place in her wardrobe along with the rest of her clothes. He knew most people felt the need to clear out, to give their loved one’s clothing to a charity shop so that someone else might make use of them. Jack had never felt that way, though, and until, if ever, he found someone to spend his life with, Janine's things would stay put where they were.
He pictured his leather bag of bowling balls at the bottom of the wardrobe, adjacent to Janine’s own bag. They’d shared the enjoyment of the game together, Janine playing for the local women's team and Jack for the men's, but when she’d got sick Jack had given up. Then his housekeeper, Mrs Stewart, had started helping Jack out a few days a week, and over a cup of tea one morning she’d mentioned that she’d also used to play lawn bowls. Jack had found a league and asked Mrs Stewart along, and the two of them had rekindled their interest in the sport. Tonight, Jack was taking part in a local tournament.
“I must give my balls a wipe,” he said out loud, forgetting where he was and who he was with.
“Really, Jack?” Amanda said, turning his way with an amused smile.
“What?” asked Jack, nonplussed. “What are you talking about?”
“You just said you need to give your balls a wipe.” She was grinning at him properly now.
“Did I? Shit. I don't remember saying it, though I do remember thinking it.”
“Well, I haven't developed ESP skills overnight, so you must have said it.”
Jack grunted and blushed.
“Anyway,” Amanda went on, “what did you mean, or dare I ask?” She grinned at him again.
“Lawn bowls tonight, a local tournament. I must polish my balls.”
“Yes, I got that part. Is Mrs Stewart playing too?”
“She is, yes. She’s quite good, actually.” He flicked the indicator to turn into the side street entrance of the station and waited until it was clear to pull across. “What are you up to tonight, then?”
“Well, now this has happened I guess it depends on how Ruth is feeling. What happens with Gordon. There could be some family fallout. To be honest, I'm not relishing the conversations ahead.”
“No, I don't blame you, but keep an open mind. You have enough experience in this game to know what's what. I don't think Gordon has had anything to do with this, though. He’s the type of guy who would move a snail off the footpath so it didn't get crushed underfoot. I can't see him having the urge to kill a human, no matter how hard he was pushed, never mind disposing of a corpse. I've got more urge in my little finger than he has in his whole body.” Jack pulled into a parking space and the two sat there for a moment longer.
“Now you need to keep an open mind,” Amanda reprimanded him lightly. “You don't know that much about him, which is a good thing.”
Jack reached to open his door. “I will keep an open mind, but I'm also an excellent judge of character and he's not the person we’re looking for, I can tell you now. But we’ll go through the process and see what happens, see what gives, and take it from there.” He clicked the car lock and handed the keys back to Amanda. She slipped them back into her bag and they headed to the rear entrance. Jack carried on, “Let's see what the doctor comes back with. Maybe that body has been there a good deal longer and has nothing to do with the current or previous occupants of the house.”
It was Amanda's turn to grunt; she didn't believe it for one moment.
Jack turned to her and said, “I’m going to the canteen to hunt down a stray sandwich. As dodgy as they are, they’re better than nothing. Shall I get you one?”
“Please. I might be here a while yet.”
Jack nodded and wandered back towards the canteen. Amanda didn’t need to be at work late, not until they had something to work with, some results, some evidence. Maybe she was avoiding Ruth. Or maybe she wanted to watch Gordon Simpson being questioned.
“Open mind, Amanda, open mind,” he called back to her.
Chapter Forty-Four
The sandwiches from the canteen were only just better than nothing at all. He’d started on the second half and marvelled at how the cooks had managed to do such a terrible job of a cheese salad sandwich. White bread and cheap margarine stuck to his teeth and gums, saturated from the lettuce and tomato that hadn't been dried properly before they’d used it in the culinary delight they sold as a sandwich. Smoked cheese and pale mayonnaise finished off the whole ensemble before being crammed into a cellophane packet that had been kept in the fridge since dawn.
He checked the clock on the wall while he ate, cramming the soggy mass into his mouth as he walked slowly back down the corridor. He needed a drink to
wash it down, to rinse his teeth off, to get the cloying sticky wad out of his mouth and into his stomach. God only knew what it was going to do to his insides as it moved through; indigestion was likely. He sifted change out of his pocket, and when he’d found the amount he needed, he ordered a Coke from the vending machine. He punched in the relevant code number and waited for the can to roll towards him. A good few beats passed; it looked like the machine wasn't going to oblige, like it might once again need a good whack from the palm of his hand. At the last second, the red can rolled free. He grabbed it, pulled the ring open and took a long swig. A little brown tear of Coke escaped the corner of his mouth and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, belching lightly. He took his drink back to the squad room.
Gordon Simpson was on his way in, but he wasn’t due to arrive quite yet. Jack decided he’d use the time to catch up on the never-ending paperwork that was stacked up in various piles on his desk, but his thoughts drifted to Vivian. She’d looked good when he’d seen her. Had that only been yesterday?
“Sod it,” he said, and entered Vivian’s name into the database. “I know I know,” he muttered to himself, “but it doesn't hurt to know what you're dealing with.” He waited a moment or two until her file came up on the screen. She’d looked different back then, when her last mug shot had been entered. She didn't sport the stylish blonde bob that she’d had when he’d met her in the sandwich shop, and she’d aged well. He'd last seen her a couple of years ago while on another case, but she’d still been a working girl back then and had inadvertently become part of a case that he was working on: she'd been about to meet the victim, before he became a victim, or in the midst of becoming one. It seemed he hadn’t been able to answer the door to her either way, and so she’d gone back home, wondering. The next day, they’d discovered what had happened.
