Scream Blue Murder

by Linda Coles

  “So, we've got a body that somehow found itself in the ground. Is that about right?”

  “That's kind of how it looks on the surface, Jack. It's almost like a magic trick, don't you think?”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Amanda sat at her desk, perplexed. There had to be a simple explanation as to how the body had got in the ground. The worrying thing now was that her father-in-law could now be part of a murder investigation, which was a whole lot more serious than a random body being found in his garden. But how could that be? She knew Gordon. He really was a softy, and as far as she knew, he had absolutely no motive to kill and bury a landscaper. Madeline, on the other hand, had been foremost in her mind at the time of the original investigation—and long before she knew of her connection to Ruth.

  She needed space to think, and the office wasn't doing it for her, so she grabbed her bag and headed out to her car, figuring a drive would do her good. She drove to a small park just on the outskirts of town, pulled up at the curb and headed over to a park bench in a quiet corner in the shade of an old oak tree. As she walked over, she spotted a man playing fetch with his Alsatian.

  She sat and breathed deeply as she tried to think the problem through. The investigation was becoming a little bit too close for comfort. What was she going to tell Ruth? That her father and stepmother were prime suspects in a murder? There was no other plausible explanation so far, and she thought of Occam’s Razor: “Other things being equal, simpler explanations are generally better than more complex ones.”

  A body is found on a property where you lived, meaning you likely have some knowledge of how it got there. Surely?

  She dialled Ruth’s number and waited, but Ruth didn't pick up. Not bothering to leave a message, she hung up and left the phone on her lap, figuring she’d try again soon. Ruth would call back when she noticed the missed call on her screen. But after another five minutes of sitting there, Ruth still hadn't done so; that was unlike her, Amanda thought uneasily. Her mind wouldn't settle on the issue at hand, so she decided maybe a slow walk around the park would help her sort it out in her head. She thought of Fred and Rosemary West. They had filled their garden with bodies, because their basement was already too full. Amanda shivered involuntarily, wondering if there were any more bodies on the Simpson property. But why would there be?

  She watched as the Alsatian chased the ball again, retrieving it and carrying it back to his owner.

  Ruth had been keen on buying her father’s old property. But Amanda had wanted to look around if they were going to spend such a chunk of money on a house. It was also a bit too far out of town for both of them, really; it wasn’t practical. She had always wondered about that, wondered about why Ruth had made such a fuss about it when she’d only lived there a handful of years herself; she’d lived with her natural mother some miles away for most of her life. Madeline Simpson hadn’t been a part of her life until relatively recently.

  She tried to call Ruth again. It went to voicemail, and again she didn't bother to leave a message. Ruth must just be busy, she told herself. She’ll call back later.

  One thing she did have to organise now was to get Gordon Simpson back in for further questioning, and that meant she’d have to involve DI Dupin. Des Taylor’s sister, Rose, needed notifying too, something else to put on the to-do list. It was another nasty part of the job, but a task she could probably do herself. At least it would give the woman closure, and she’d know why her brother had vanished so suddenly.

  Her phone rang but she instantly knew it wasn't Ruth. The opening bars of “Mr Blue Sky” told her it was Jack.

  “What's up, Jack?”

  “You stood me up for one. Where are you?”

  “Fresh air. What’s up?” she asked again.

  “I've tracked down the foreman from the Hardesty case, so I'm going to go and have a chat with him.”

  “Hang on a minute. What do you mean?”

  “The foreman from the Hardesty case. Did I not say?”

  “I guess not. We were talking about finding Des Taylor.”

  “Sorry, I thought I'd mentioned it. Well, I went to see Hardesty's solicitor this morning, an old guy called Howard King who’s now retired, and he told me something rather interesting. Apparently, King was coming back from a drinking session one night and got caught short, so he pulled over to take a leak. As he was coming out from behind a bush, he heard a commotion coming from a nearby pub on a backstreet and he clearly saw Mac McAllister having a rather heated discussion with another bloke. The light was almost nonexistent; it was nearly dark, but the streetlamps were on, and so he could see McAllister but he only got a glimpse of the other guy’s face. And whatever they were talking about was getting heated, because he clearly heard McAllister shouting in a threatening voice.”

  “And so?” asked Amanda, rubbing her temples and wondering what it all had to do with anything.

  “And so King thought he recognised the bloke that McAllister was roughing up.” Jack paused for effect before going on. “Get this—it was the foreman from the trial.”

  “Right.” Amanda’s brain was clunking into motion now, but it was slow going.

  Jack carried on, “So my take on it is that somebody probably McAllister bought the foreman off for a guilty verdict. Why else would the two of them be together?”

  “So why didn't King do something at the time?”

  “My thoughts exactly, but when I asked him, he said, ‘How could I? I had no evidence.’ He wasn't one hundred percent sure it even was the foreman, but thinking back now, it all fits. Wise after the fact, like it’s easy to be.”

  Amanda continued to rub her temples, trying to think it through. Her brain felt like it was fit to burst.

  “Right. Go and talk to the foreman then. I’m sure he’ll deny it, though. Why wouldn’t he?” Then she said, “I just can't take any more in at the moment, Jack, so deal with it on your own, would you?”

  Jack detected the overcooked tone in Amanda's voice. It was unusual. She sounded scared, worried and stressed to high heaven. He changed tack. “Hey,” he said softly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Amanda felt her shoulders relax a little and was tempted to confide in him, but not over the phone. “I'll be back at the station a bit later. Perhaps we’ll have a chat then.”

  “As you wish,” said Jack, trying to keep things upbeat.

  Amanda ended the call as a white poodle dashed in front of her feet, chasing a stray tennis ball. Its blonde owner ran along behind it, waving, and apologised to Amanda for disturbing her. The woman looked vaguely familiar, Amanda thought; they’d perhaps crossed paths before. She raised her hand and replied that it wasn't a problem, then stood to make her way back towards her car. Her little outing hadn't done much for her thoughts apart, from perhaps depressing her a little further.

  What was about to come? she wondered uneasily. And how much anguish was about to fall on Ruth's shoulders? Nothing good for either of them, she suspected.

  The first thing she had to do was get Gordon back in for DI Dupin to interview, and take it from there.

  It wasn't a day she was going to look forward to.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  His visit with the foreman had been a waste of time. He’d expected as much, as had Amanda. As Jack entered the station through the back door, he nearly collided with DI Dupin, who was exiting. He took a quick backward step to avoid it.

  “Jack,” said Dupin. “I’ve not seen you around much. Been busy?”

  “You know me, always got my nose to the ground like a bloodhound following something.” Jack smiled and carried on his way inside, not wanting to stop for a conversation.

  “I could do with a minute later on,” Dupin called after Jack, who raised his left hand in the air in acknowledgement and carried on walking. He didn't dare look back or stop; this way, he’d won his silly game. One day, though, it would get him in trouble; of that he was sure. Still, it made him smile.

  He was almost
at the squad room when he remembered the vending machine further up the corridor. He fiddled for change in his pocket, hoping he had enough for a Kit Kat. He should be giving them up, he knew, so he decided to share it with Amanda. He put money into the machine and was waiting for his chocolate bar to fall into the tray when something to the right caught his eye. Through the glass in the fire safety doors, he could see through to the front lobby and beyond, where the protesters were still hanging around, though there were now fewer than there had been. He tilted his head to get a better view and counted about ten people still with placards. The ensemble were obviously getting bored now, though Melissa ‘Bagpipes’ still looked enthused, waving her placard and shouting at anyone who passed by. Jack grabbed his Kit Kat and headed back to the office.

  “I've got the Kit Kat. Why don’t you make the coffee,” he called across the room to Amanda. She glanced up at him with a scowl and Jack wondered if he’d been too casual with her; she didn't seem too happy. Sensing something was off, he wandered over.

  “Well, you look like you've lost a pound and found fifty pence,” he said.

  “That’s about how I feel, actually,” she said glumly.

  “You don't have to tell me,” he said. “I gather it’s something girly?” He put both hands up in mock surrender. He knew Amanda well enough to know when something was work related and when it wasn’t. This wasn’t. Something was definitely playing on her mind, and he wondered whether it concerned Ruth. He didn't want to pry, though, so he let it be. He knew she’d say something when she was ready.

  “I figure I’ll make the coffee, then?” he said, pulling the Kit Kat out and breaking it into two.

  “Okay, you win. I could do with the break,” she said, and headed into the coffee cupboard. Jack followed her, starting on his side of the Kit Kat.

  “I've just seen Dupin heading out,” he said. “He wanted to stop and chat but I said I was on a mission. But I'm sure he'll catch me later.”

  “I don't know why you avoid him so much. He is your DI, you know, and he's going to be the one that interviews Gordon Simpson again, because I can't. I’m family, sort of.”

  “I'll do it,” said Jack.

  “No offence, Jack, but I think seniority here will help. You’ve already interviewed him once plus the fact you were at my wedding, remember—so you're probably too close as it is.”

  “But I'm not family.”

  “That may be so, though a court would argue that, so it's better if Dupin does it, I’ll brief him later. Did he say where was going?”

  “I didn't ask. Didn't hang around long enough,” Jack said.

  “I'll call him in a minute. We need to get Simpson back here as soon as possible. He is the only obvious suspect in this at the moment; we have nothing or no one else to work with. Or should I say, you don’t.”

  “It’s a bugger, isn’t it?” said Jack. “There’s no evidence against him apart from the fact it was his garden. But I think anybody would argue that a body found in the garden of a house that you lived in was down to one of the inhabitants of the house, and since there were only two of them, and Madeline Simpson is dead, that leaves Gordon. And I don't believe that Madeline Simpson could have done it all on her own.”

  “I agree with you, Jack,” she said. “But this is going to bring a whole heap of shit down on Ruth, and that means me too. And while I can cope with it, I’m not sure Ruth can. It’s her father, after all.”

  “Talking of Ruth,” Jack said. “How is she taking this so far? You said you were speaking, but only just.”

  “Well, I thought we were speaking,” she said, “but I've tried her three or four times today and she hasn't picked up at all, which is really unusual. So I guess she is taking a break from me for a while. Maybe she needs some breathing space.”

  “I'm sure it's only temporary measures,” said Jack. “And changing the subject slightly, I notice the protesters are still out the front. When is the second autopsy scheduled for? I thought it was today.”

  “It is—it’s probably in progress as we speak,” said Amanda, looking at her watch. “So hopefully everything will be put to bed and that one will be cleared up once and for all. I suspect the only reason the family asked for a second one is to provide ammunition for a civil suit. So fingers crossed that Faye and the second pathologist agree on the results and there is no need for any further mayhem with all this.”

  “Do you think she’d do me a favour?” Jack said thoughtfully. Amanda passed him his mug of coffee and he took a sip before speaking again. “Only, having seen the solicitor from the Hardesty case yesterday and the fact that the foreman could well be involved, I'm just wondering what the autopsy photos showed, whether Faye could take a look and see if she can make anything from them. The whole case just seems too similar to what Dupin’s gone through, and now we know that there was something else going on in the background, a cover-up, possibly, I'm wondering about other evidence. You and I wouldn't make any sense of the autopsy photos, but Faye might.”

  “We can but ask,” Amanda conceded. They walked with their coffees back to their desks, just as Dupin put his head round the squad room door and called across to Jack.

  “Have you got a minute now, Jack?”

  Jack looked at his coffee and considered taking it with him. Dupin, as if reading his mind, said, “Bring it with you.”

  It seemed people knew Jack all too well. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Once Dupin was safely out of the door frame, Jack glanced at Amanda and rolled his eyes before following him to his office. Dupin sat down in his own chair. Jack took the only other chair on the opposite side of his desk.

  “I had a telephone call this morning, a rather interesting telephone call.”

  “Oh?” said Jack.

  “I believe you went to see Mac McAllister at the prison.”

  “I did. yes.”

  “Is there a problem. Jack?”

  “I was curious about something, that’s all.”

  “What has McAllister got to do with anything that you're working on?”

  “A line of enquiry. Actually, sir,” said Jack. figuring he’d better put some formality into it, “I've been working on something in my own time, a case that was very similar to what you've gone through yourself. So, I thought I'd take a closer look, since the guy has been rotting in prison for the last fifteen years.”

  “And who is that?” asked Dupin.

  “Michael Hardesty. You might remember the case from back then, a local battle between Hardesty and Chesney McAllister. Hardesty went down after a car accident and McAllister was killed.” Dupin nodded in confirmation. “There were certain similarities, so I thought I’d take a closer look. And certain anomalies too, I might add. Is there a problem with that?”

  “No, no problem. What anomalies do you mean?”

  Jack sensed Dupin’s interest had been piqued further. “It seems the foreman and McAllister might have been up to something together. They were seen outside a pub one night. McAllister had the man up against a wall, and they were arguing. Odd, don’t you think? Then a guilty verdict and that’s the end of that.”

  Dupin seemed lost in thought, his left hand playing with his lower lip, and merely grunted.

  “That’s that, then,” said Jack, standing. “Anything else?” Jack tried again, itching to leave.

  Dupin raised his head, still miles away. “No, carry on.”

  “Thanks.” Jack shrugged his shoulders and left him to it, perplexed at the strange conversation he’d just had.

  But his coffee was getting cold, so Jack headed back to his desk and concentrated on that instead.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  “What sort of mood was Dupin in?” Amanda enquired when Jack returned to the squad room.

  “He seemed distracted, actually. He was fine at first. He asked me why I’d been to the prison, about my visit to McAllister, of all things. I don't even know how he knew I’d been.”

  “Odd. I wonder
how he did know?” Amanda said. “Oh well, mine is not to question why,” she said. “I may as well tell him about questioning Gordon Simpson and get it over with. Then I'm going to head out for some lunch. Back in a minute,” she said, and wandered off in the direction of DI Dupin's office.

  As she approached his doorway, there was no obvious sound of conversation. His door was wide open, so she knocked lightly but he was engrossed in something, staring at his desk, oblivious to her presence. She knocked a bit harder on the door and he raised his head this time.

  “What is it, Amanda?” he said tersely. Then, as if realising his curtness, he repeated himself in a gentler tone. “Sorry. What can I do for you, Amanda?” He waved his hand for her to take a seat and she obliged.

  “You're aware of the body that was found at the Simpsons’ old place,” she said, “and I'm sure you're aware that Gordon Simpson is my father-in-law. But we have reason to believe that he could be connected to the body in the garden, and so we need you to interview him formally. Jack is happy to do it, but again he knows Gordon, though not as well as I do. So it’s over to you.”

  Dupin appeared to be looking right through her, and she found it unnerving. She gave him a moment to gather his thoughts.

  “Right, okay. Yes, I see your point. When is Simpson coming in? Have you told him yet?”

  “No, sir. Raj is on to it, but I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

  “What evidence do we have on him? asked Dupin.

  “Well, that's the problem, sir,” she said. “We don't have anything tying him to the body, apart from the fact that he owned the property at the time when the body was buried, and with only two inhabitants in the house, one of whom is now deceased, we’re suggesting that Gordon Simpson was part of whatever happened, either solely or along with someone else. The only other explanation is that Madeline Simpson herself disposed of Taylor’s body, but we find it hard to believe that she could do that all on her own.”