by Linda Coles
Jack and Vivian went back many years; he'd arrested her for solicitation when he’d been new to the force himself and had taken an instant liking to her. He’d looked out for her over the years, trying to help her stay out of trouble. Looking at her file now, it seemed she was on the straight and narrow, had perhaps even given up the oldest trade in the world. It wasn't a game for older ladies; it wasn't really a game for the young ones, either, of course, but it was the young ones who played it the most, mainly out of necessity. He’d spent a lot on warm cups of tea for them through cold winter evenings.
Jack had always got on with the street girls; he'd always liked them, though he'd never used their services. Apart from Vivian, that was. And even then, it was only after Janine had passed. He had never meant for it to happen; he'd never set out to meet Vivian in that way, but had found himself buying her a drink one night in the Baskerville pub and one thing had led to another. He’d felt so lonely at the time, and it seemed the thing to do. Afterwards, he'd felt terrible and had sworn he’d never do it again; his Janine would have frowned on it.
He closed the page down and pulled out his phone. Vivian had taken it from him outside the sandwich shop and entered her details, so she was obviously happy to meet up with him, if only for a drink.
“What harm can it do?” He selected her number and waited to be connected. She wouldn't know it was him; he doubted she had his telephone number in her phone. But she answered quickly, her warming tones like velvet on his earlobe.
“Hello, Vivian here,” she said softly. Jack paused for a moment, not quite sure what to say. She repeated herself. “Hello, it's Vivian. Who is this?”
Jack cleared his throat and said, “It's Jack. Jack Rutherford, Vivian.” He felt like a teenager all over again.
“Jack,” she exclaimed. “I had high hopes you'd ring but I wasn't sure that you would.”
“I thought you might like that drink,” he said.
“I would. When are you free? How about tomorrow night?”
Jack didn't need to look into his calendar to know that tomorrow evening was totally empty, apart from watching The Chase. “How about tonight?” he blurted, surprising himself. He winced, glad that she couldn't see him pulling a silly face. Why had he suggested tonight? he wondered, but it was too late. The words had already left his mouth. Backtracking slightly, he added, “But it would be a bit later on. I've got something to do first. But if you're free, say at nine o'clock?” His face muscles tensed a little as he waited for her reply. He needn’t have worried.
“Nine would be perfect,” she replied. “Where shall I meet you?” Then, thinking quickly, she added, “Oh, how about the Baskerville, for old times’ sake?”
Jack smiled at that. She’d remembered. “Sounds perfect. I'll see you later,” he said, and hung up. While he felt a little out of practice at asking a woman out, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face.
Chapter Forty-Five
No sooner had Jack put the phone down than his landline rang. It was the desk sergeant, Doug, letting him know that Gordon Simpson had arrived.
“I'll be out in a moment,” said Jack. It was only preliminary enquiries, but he wasn't in the habit of keeping folk waiting unnecessarily. And Gordon Simpson was sort of extended family.
Jack made his way to the front entrance and reception area where Gordon sat waiting. He stood as soon as he saw Jack, remembering him from the wedding. He put his hand out to shake and Jack greeted him warmly, or as warmly as a person could do when they were about to be interviewed about a body being found in their old back garden.
“It’s good to see you again, Jack—or should I say Detective Rutherford, since we are here on official business?” Gordon had a friendly way about him, and he reminded Jack of a giant teddy bear.
“And you,” said Jack. “I know what you mean by official business, but we have to follow process. I'm sure this is all a formality.” He did his best to keep his tone level and not overly friendly or direct. He opened the door and Gordon followed him through down a generic-looking corridor and into an interview room. It was like any other: table, two chairs, recording equipment, cameras in the ceiling and not much more.
Jack pointed to a chair. “Take a seat,” he said, and sat down opposite him. Jack spent a moment trying to analyse the man in front of him while they were getting comfortable. He seemed confident, but with a slight edge of concern, which was quite normal in the circumstances. Gordon’s sandy, wavy hair looked like it needed a comb. He must've come straight to the station, anxious to get the chat over with. It was slightly damp at the temples from perspiration. It was obviously still warm outside. Or maybe it was nerves. He wasn't overly cocky, but nor was he as nervous as hell. That was a good thing. Jack prided himself on his gut, though he never relied on it exclusively for results—facts and figures were what he needed
“Let's get on with it, then,” said Jack, smiling, trying to put the man at ease. There was no point riling him up from the outset, not if he wanted to his cooperation. There was time for that later if need be. Playing good cop, bad cop like they did on TV did work; it did have its place, but not in this instance. Gordon was barely a suspect.
“It's unfortunate, I know,” started Jack, “and at this point in time we don't have an awful lot of information to go on. But since you were the last owner of the property until recently, we have to ask you these questions. So, let's start with the easy one. Were you aware there was a body in your garden?” Jack was deadly serious. It seemed like an odd question, but one that needed to be answered.
“Of course, I wasn't,” said Gordon confidently, and then asked a question of his own. “Have you any idea when the body was put there?”
“Not as yet,” said Jack, “but early estimates are between one and five years ago, so definitely during the time that you owned the property.”
“I think I would have noticed if someone had dug up my garden and buried a body. It must've been from before we moved in. I can't think of any other reason.”
“Like I say, just preliminary questions at the moment until we have more info.”
“I don't know what else I can tell you,” Gordon said. “I absolutely don't see how that body could have got there because I didn't put it there, that's for damn sure.”
“Do you remember a couple of years ago when you were having a pond dug, and the landscaper went missing?”
“I do. You don't think it's him, do you?”
Jack ignored the question. He'd already told Gordon they didn't know many facts at the present time; there was no point in repeating himself.
“Do you think anybody else that lived in your house could have known, could be responsible?” Gordon shot up from his seat, his chair scraping back noisily.
“Like who? There was only Madeline and me. None of the children have lived in that house for maybe ten years. And I can't see it being Madeline, God rest her soul.” He was still standing as his anger and frustration started to boil to the surface.
“Sit down, Gordon,” Jack urged him. “I have to ask these questions.” He waited until Gordon was sat back in his chair and his breathing had returned to normal before he went on. “Can you think of anybody else that would have been on your property, particularly at the time when you were having the pond dug, anybody at all? Perhaps an electrician or a plumber or another workman, somebody that we haven't any knowledge of? Because if it wasn't yourself or Mrs Simpson, then we will have to explore other avenues. And right now, we haven't got too much to go on, so any help you can give us would be greatly appreciated.”
Gordon sat quietly now, racking his brains to think of people who had been to the property during that time. Madeline had handled the whole project. He had been busy at work and hadn’t got involved at all. Though he remembered her temper and her frustration at getting the landscaper there in the first place. The digger had been delivered a couple of days earlier, but still the man had not turned up to do the work. He remembered Madeline telling him that wh
en the landscaper had finally arrived, he’d then cleared off shortly afterwards with no explanation and had never come back. It hadn't been long after that that Madeline herself had had her accident and the whole sorry saga of wanting a pond in the back yard had been forgotten. The orange digger had sat there for days, reminding him of her plans, before it had finally been picked up and removed by a transport delivery company. It hadn't been an easy time, and not one that Gordon wanted to revisit.
“I really don't know what else I can tell you, Jack—I mean, Detective Rutherford,” said Gordon. “I have no answers, but I certainly haven't done anything wrong. I certainly haven't buried anybody in my own yard. So, I'm going to leave now, and if you've got any more questions, let me know so I can organise a solicitor.” He got to his feet.
“Why would you need a solicitor, Mr Simpson?” enquired Jack.
Chapter Forty-Six
Amanda had watched Jack leave the interview room; she wondered if they were going to get any real results from the interview with Gordon. She, like Jack, knew they had nothing as yet; perhaps the questioning was a little premature. But that didn't mean they couldn't speak to Gordon Simpson again, because right at this moment, it looked like he’d been involved somehow. He'd owned that property until recently and had been there for some years, and while he might not be able to explain it now, there had to be a reason. A body had been found in his garden; whether he knew about it or not was another question.
It had been a couple of hours since they’d left the crime scene and Amanda knew that the SOCO team would be knee-deep in dirt, gathering evidence. She decided she might as well get Des Taylor’s dental records organised, in case her suspicions were correct, to make the process of confirmation that bit quicker. She dialled Faye’s number but the call went straight to voicemail. Amanda left a brief message stating that she was organising dental records and asking if there was anything worth reporting as yet. Faye rarely gave much out before her official report, and it drove Amanda and Jack to distraction sometimes, but it was best in the long run.
While she waited for Faye to call her back. Amanda slipped into the coffee cupboard and made herself a decaf. At least she could indulge without the caffeine keeping her awake all night. She put the capsule in, pressed the relevant buttons and waited. She’d have to talk to Ruth later on when she got home and she wasn't looking forward to it, knowing full well Ruth was going to get emotional. The woman could be tough as nails on the outside, but Amanda knew that inside she was as soft as marshmallow, although she rarely showed that side of herself in public. Amanda knew she’d be worried sick about her father and the implications of what they'd found in his old back garden.
Once the capsule had released its contents and the strong aroma of coffee filled her nostrils, she added milk and took it back to her desk to think. The squad room was almost empty. There was just herself and Raj, who sat with his feet up on his desk scrolling through his phone; she assumed he was working. She glanced up at the smeared office windows and smiled as she remembered Jack saying that they worked in a petri dish and that they needed to get new cleaners. It was odd, the things you thought about when you let your mind wander, particularly when it was wandering away from something important that you should be thinking about.
She was dragged back to the present by the ringing of her phone. It was Faye’s ringtone. Amanda clicked Answer and dove straight in without any preamble.
“I know it's too early yet, Faye, but I have an inkling of who this could be, so I thought I would just see what your initial thoughts were and I can get the dental records organised.”
“I understand that, Amanda, but you know as well as I do that science needs to take its time. That said, in this case, since you already have an inkling, I can probably help you with some of it.”
“Like what? What can you tell me?” asked Amanda excitedly.
“What I can tell you is that the body is male, and given his state of decay and the organic evidence around him, he's been in the ground for two to three years. Does that fit with your timeframe?”
“It does, actually. If it's the person I think it is, he would be roughly five foot nine in height. Does that fit too?”
“Well, until I get the whole skeleton back to the morgue and take some accurate measurements, I couldn't say precisely at this moment. But I can tell you that, judging by the long bones, this person wasn't particularly short and they weren't particularly tall.”
“When do you think you will be able to start on the autopsy properly?” Amanda asked.
“We’re still busy excavating and will probably be here until dark, so realistically I'm not going to have much to you until later tomorrow. And we may need the help of a forensic anthropologist we’ll see. I have limited experience with bones.”
“Okay. I'll get the dental records for my possible victim. That timeline fits, as does the height, so hopefully it will make identification that bit quicker.”
“Great. I'll speak to you later on tomorrow then. Thanks, Faye,” Amanda said. “Though I'm not sure if you've made my life easier or harder. I guess we'll find out.”
“That sounds cryptic.”
“I guess it does,” Amanda said resignedly.
She finished her coffee and took her mug back to the coffee cupboard to rinse out. She left it on the draining board, ready for the following morning. There was no sense hanging around the station, so her last chore for the day was to organise getting the dental records. They'd be at the morgue first thing in the morning.
All that was left to do now was go home and have a chat to Ruth. As she pulled out of the car park, she dialled Ruth's number to see if she was on her way home yet. Maybe they'd get take-out for dinner tonight as a distraction on what was going to be a weird evening.
Ruth picked up right away. “I've just got off the tube,” she said without any preamble. “I'm not far from home. Are you on your way back?”
“Great minds think alike,” said Amanda. “I thought I'd come home a bit early. To chat.”
Silence filled the airwaves for a moment before Ruth said, “I suspected you would. May as well get it over with sooner rather than later.”
Amanda could tell Ruth was doing her best to keep it light.
“You're not a suspect, Ruth, but yes, we do need to chat. And sooner.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Amanda had called in at Wong’s on the way home for crispy pork balls and sweet-and-sour sauce. Amanda wasn't sure if she was trying to bribe Ruth or prep her or what she was trying to do with her at all, really, but it felt like a nice touch, a sort of peace offering before the peace was possibly broken. There was no reason for Amanda to think that Ruth was involved in any of this, though she was acutely aware, as she’d said to Jack, that process needed to be followed. Ruth had not lived at Gordon’s old house for many years but had obviously visited. So, what could she possibly know?
The food smelled wonderful in the car, the aroma of warm pork and deep-fried batter making her drool. She hoped there was still a bottle of wine cooling in the fridge; even though it was a school night, she didn't much care about adhering to their own self-imposed rule. She pulled up in front of their house and noted that Ruth was already home, as expected. She gathered her things and the hot food and headed up the garden path, feeling a little nervous about the conversation ahead. Perhaps, in reality, she wasn't the one to do this, but then neither would Jack be. He knew Ruth almost as well as she did; he came for dinner often enough. Sometimes familiarity could be a good thing and sometimes not so much.
Amanda slipped her key into the lock and swung the door open. There was a light breeze blowing through and it nearly caught the front door, so she closed it quickly before it banged shut. That meant the rear door was open; Ruth likely out on the patio.
“Hi, it's me,” she chirped breezily, hoping to take any heaviness out of her tone early on. They'd eat first before she broached the subject.
“Out here,” Ruth shouted back. “I
have wine.” There was a singsong tone to her voice; maybe Ruth had already had a glass or two, and was well on her way to becoming merry.
Amanda tossed her car keys in the fruit bowl and dumped her bag and the food on the kitchen table before heading out the back. Ruth was on a sun lounger, eyes closed, soaking in the last few rays of the late afternoon sun. She opened one eye and raised her glass to Amanda. “Can I get you one?” she asked.
“Don't get up. I'll grab it. I need to get out of my work clothes first. I called and got takeaway from Wong's.”
“Excellent,” said Ruth. “Crispy pork balls, I assume?”
“I would be hung, drawn and quartered if I went to Wong’s and didn't return with pork balls. So yes, we have pork balls. I'll be back in a moment.”
Amanda headed upstairs to change out of her work gear. Her feet were boiling; Jack was right: her boots were far too heavy for warm, sunny days. She slipped into a T-shirt and cotton cargo pants and let her feet breathe a little, wiggling toes on the carpet as if freeing them from the confines of the stiff leather they'd been cooped up in all day. Maybe she’d add nail polish to her toenails later.
Back out on the patio, Ruth had sat up and refilled her own glass, and had poured Amanda a glass anyway.
“Thanks,” Amanda said, taking a large mouthful of chilled white wine. “That tastes so good, but I suspect it's going to go straight to my head. I’ve hardly eaten today.” She sat back and closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face for a moment and wondering if Ruth was going to say anything first.
“Tough day?” Ruth enquired.
“You could say that.” She took a deep breath, then let it out.
