by Linda Coles
“DS Amanda Lacey,” she introduced herself. “Thank you, Doctor, for seeing me at such short notice.”
“Not at all. If I can help in any way… Come on through,” he said, pointing to his office door. It was one of the nicest working environments she'd ever seen. The room was modern minimalist, and the walls were covered in bright abstract art. She’d assumed, given his age and position, that his office would be more leather and walnut. Attracted to a large painting on the far wall, she wandered over and stood looking at it for a moment. She had no idea who had created it, but it was striking—not that she was an art expert but she knew what she liked. Winstanley stepped up alongside her.
“Do you like it?” he enquired.
“I do, actually. I'm not really one for art, but I am drawn to it, yes.”
“My granddaughter painted it. Can you believe she is only seventeen years old? She’s going to go a long way.”
“Well, she’s very talented,” agreed Amanda.
Pleasantries over, they turned and headed over to Dr Winstanley's desk. He indicated a chair in front of it, then seated himself in his office chair.
“So, what can I help you with, DS Lacey? Because I'm sure you didn't come to admire my granddaughter’s artwork.” There was that smile again, making her feel comfortable and at home.
“It's a bit of a delicate matter, actually, Doctor, but there is no easy way to do this. So I'm just going to tell you what we’ve found out. Please forgive me before I start.”
“Ah, that sounds ominous,” he said. “Tell me more, then. Don't keep me waiting.”
Amanda first explained the old case that Jack had been investigating. She then mentioned DI Dupin and his own experience, then the first and second autopsies on Callum Parker, and concluded with how it had come to be that this old case was now back on their desks. When she got to the subject of the details that had been missed during his part of the investigation, he grew visibly concerned. She pushed the photographs across to him and watched his bushy greying eyebrows knit together like two fluffy mice joined at the tail. She sat quietly, waiting. It was important to let him digest, let him think; not daring to speak or interrupt him, Amanda wondered what was going on his head.
Was he horrified that he’d made a mistake?
Was he horrified that it had come to light?
Or was there another answer?
She waited—and stayed silent.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Amanda was an excellent reader of body language. After many years on the force, she relied on that instinct to give her clues to a subject’s honesty, or lack of it. She could see by Winstanley’s paling face, the slight quiver of his lower lip, that the old man was mortified. His flyaway grey hair moved gently as he brought his head back up fully from the images laid out on his desk. He directed his gaze somewhere over Amanda’s shoulder, towards one of the windows, and she wondered what was going on in that brain of his.
She also needed to broach the next subject that was on her agenda: that Jack had learned about the possible corruption involved in the McAllister case. Perhaps the great pathologist himself had succumbed, had been asked to do something that he hadn't wanted to do at the time. It could happen to anyone, she knew; money was too tempting for many people to resist. She cleared her throat, and the sound brought his gaze back to meet hers. He looked rather uncomfortable, disappointed and upset. She had a feeling she already knew what his answer to her question would be, but she needed to ask anyway.
“Dr Winstanley, I have another question for you.”
“I'm in shock,” he said. His voice was barely audible.
“There was some talk during the investigation that perhaps the McAllister family had gotten to people on the case, and I wondered…”
She got no further before Charles Winstanley put his hand up to interrupt her. “I know what you're going to ask,” he said with his hand still up, “but absolutely not. On my heart,” he said, placing his hand on his chest. “I have never taken and will never take a bribe on a case. Absolutely not. You have my word on that.” He said it with such authority, such force, that Amanda knew instantly he was telling the truth. His eyes were full of concern that he could have been responsible for a miscarriage of justice, however unintentionally.
“I'm sorry, but I had to ask. Things were different fifteen years ago, as I'm sure you're aware—and remember that it's only because of this current case that we are even looking at the older one.”
“And what happened to the man, the man in the old case?”
“He is still in prison, I'm afraid. He’s still got some more time to go.”
The doctor hung his head in obvious despair and stayed silent. When he raised his head again, he looked directly into her eyes. “What can I do to help now?”
“Well, if you agree that there was in fact an error, we may well have grounds to get the murder charge quashed. There is more work to do yet, and it won't be a short process, but it would be the quickest option.”
“Whatever I can do to help. I can't believe it; this is my worst nightmare come true. Never in my career has something like this happened, and now, just as I’m coming to the end of it, I'll be known for such a grave mistake. And a man has lost the best part of his life.”
Amanda reached out and placed her hand on top of his. “I'll keep you informed, Doctor,” she said gently, and stood to leave. “And thank you for your candidness. Now let's focus and put this right, eh?” She gave him a weak smile, hoping to encourage him. “I’ll show myself out,” she said. She gathered her things and reached a hand out to shake his. He gave her a distracted shake in return, not half as strong as the one he’d given on her arrival only a few minutes ago. All the power had left the man's body; he seemed to shrink like a balloon losing its helium.
As soon as Amanda was back outside, she called Jack to tell him what she’d found out and relay the good news. She couldn't help notice that he was distracted when he answered his phone, not his normal jovial Jack self. Obviously, something was happening at his end, something she wasn't privy to and couldn't ask about. Not yet, anyway.
“So, you were right, Jack,” she said, as breezily as she could manage under the circumstances. “It looks like Hardesty is an innocent man. And I would say I believe the doctor. I don't think he was involved in any bribe or backhand or whatever you want to call it. I think it was a genuine mistake. The poor man is mortified, totally horrified, by what that has meant to Hardesty. As you would expect.”
Jack was quiet for a moment, pondering. “But if that's the case,” he said, “maybe the foreman didn’t have anything to do with the verdict after all. Maybe he was bribed, but it could also be that he simply got lucky because of the evidence that was presented. Hell, Dr Winstanley might not have even known the outcome of the case; he’d no reason to hang around after his testimony. Most doctors don’t. And the same with Eddie—he got lucky, too. Although I know he did accept bribes—that was evident in the way he lived, the flash cars and women. It was pretty obvious that money was coming from somewhere, and the job didn’t pay that well. And that money’s definitely dried up, given how he’s living now. He's a real has-been.”
“I think there's been some grounds in the past,” said Amanda. “Eddie was obviously up to something to get money, like you say, but maybe in this case they all did just get lucky. You spoke to the foreman, didn't you?” She remembered that he said he was going to call in and see the man.
“Sort of,” said Jack. “The guy wasn't particularly friendly; he denied everything. It was a very quick conversation, and basically, I got thrown off his property. So, there wasn't a great deal I could do, and I haven't been back for more. I’ve got no evidence, just an insinuation. People don't tend to respond well to insinuation, so I had to leave it.”
It was Amanda's turn to think while she put the pieces that she knew of in order. At least being involved in what Jack had been working on was keeping her mind off what was really going on back at the
station and in particular with Ruth. She’d got that yet to come.
“I'm on my way back now,” she said. “Is it worth me popping in to see this character Eddie?”
“No, I doubt it,” said Jack. “There’s little point. He was up to no good, and the guy’s rotten to the core but this is down to the pathologist’s mistake, not Eddie’s hand. And by the look of him, he won't be around for much longer, either. I suspect he's got kidney disease or something like it; his eyes look like Mrs Stewart’s bananas and custard. He had diabetes when I worked with him, not that he looked after himself then. Same now, I’d say.”
“Right, then,” said Amanda. “I’m on my way back, then. You can fill me in what's been going on back there perhaps?”
Jack grunted noncommittally and said, “I'll see you later,” before hanging up.
Amanda stared at the disconnected number on the dashboard screen. She didn't like the sound of that.
“Yep, I’m a mushroom.”
Chapter Seventy-Four
“Not now, Jack,” said Dupin distractedly as Jack rapped on his door with his knuckle.
“I think you’ll want to hear this,” said Jack. He needed to be persistent.
Dupin looked up over his reading glasses and glanced at Jack like he was something that had just crawled out from under a rock and bitten him. “I'm a bit busy,” he said, a tad more forcefully this time.
Undeterred, Jack stepped into the office. “It’s about the old case, actually, the one I told you about, with Eddie and Hardesty. It seems the pathologist made a huge mistake with it—the blunder of his career, I’d say.”
Dupin looked up from the note that he was writing. “What do you mean?” he asked, only half interested.
“Amanda has just been out to see the doctor, Charles Winstanley. She showed him some photographs that Faye had looked over, as well as the other pathologist that did the second autopsy for the Callum Parker case. He took a look and confirmed it too. And get this. It seems the cameraman in the old case that day was quite clever and caught the whole thing on film. It’s the same situation as Callum Parker—they both died of a freak haemorrhage.”
Jack let it sink in with Dupin for a moment and stood watching the man’s reaction with interest. “Hardesty is innocent,” he said, “and is rotting in prison, and it's all because the pathologist got it wrong. It had nothing to do with a foreman or bribes. Not in this instance, anyway.”
Dupin sat back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Jack watched the colour drain from his face. Was he imagining it, or was Dupin breathing rather shallowly?
“So, it seems whatever Eddie or the foreman were doing with the McAllisters, it was the pathologist all along—simple, though it’s cost the poor sod fifteen years of his life.”
A grin seemed to spread over Dupin's lips, which Jack regarded as highly inappropriate. But when the man opened his eyes and looked directly at him, he saw something else there. Relief.
Jack’s brow furrowed as realisation began to dawn: his thoughts raced back through what he knew of Eddie and his ways from back then, and what he knew of Dupin both then and now. Sure, the pathologist had got it wrong, but something else had been at play, he was sure of it. Jack’s gut was rarely wrong. Suddenly it was as though a light went on in his head. He could have smacked himself—it was obvious.
“You knew, didn’t you?” he said accusingly. “You damn well knew!” He banged his fist on Dupin’s desk, making his coffee cup rattle in its saucer.
Dupin leaned forward. “I'd advise you to remember who you are talking to, DC Rutherford,” he said warningly.
Undeterred, Jack ploughed on. “You knew Eddie was on the take. That's why when you got promoted to DI, he was the first one that you got rid of. It was all a bit quick, from my memory, all a bit hush-hush. And that’s who shopped you with the Callum Parker death— Eddie sodding Edwards, to get you back!” Jack’s fury rose as it all fell into place. “Why didn’t you say anything back then when you had a chance?”
“What exactly are you accusing me of, Jack?” Dupin asked.
“I'm accusing you of knowing that Eddie put somebody away wrongly and doing nothing to stop it. You bettered your own career and got a tick in a box at the same time for the commissioner’s figures, and a man lost fifteen years of his life because of it. You make me sick!” shouted Jack.
Dupin stood up and pushed his chair back noisily. “Jack, you don't know what you're talking about,” he boomed, “and I’ll thank you to show some respect.”
“Respect?” Jack spat. “I've never had much respect for you, and I certainly didn't have any respect for Eddie. And whether the pathologist made a mistake or not is immaterial. What you did, what you and Eddie did, is far worse than what the pathologist did. You could have stopped it; an innocent man is in prison for case-closed ticks and blood money between the two of you. You disgust me.” Jack’s lip curled in a sneer, and he turned and stomped out of the office. “I can’t be in the same room as you!” he bellowed over his shoulder.
Dupin sat back down heavily in his chair. Deep down, he knew Jack was right. Dupin had been aware of exactly what had happened back then, and had left it be. The truth about the pathologist was something new to him, though. All these years, he'd contemplated what Eddie had done and his own part in it, but had chosen to let the dogs stay sleeping. But the recent events he’d found himself involved in had brought it all home again—what he’d helped cover up and what it had meant for an innocent man.
Sitting in the police cell himself after his own arrest had been the most frightening episode of his life—the not knowing, the uncertainty about his future. But he’d been lucky in the end: the evidence had shown he was not to blame, and the relief that had powered through every sinew of his body at the welcome news was something he’d never forget. But Michael Hardesty had not experienced that welcome news, he knew: only the terror of his life ahead—behind bars. And all for his own career and a few lousy boxes ticked.
“What the hell am I going to do now?” he mumbled to himself.
Jack wasn't quite sure what he could do as yet, but whatever he decided, it wasn’t going to involve Dupin. He knew he should talk to Japp, but would he believe the DI’s involvement? Jack had no actual proof about what the two men had done back then, and he was well aware Dupin and Edwards could deny it all. At least he had the pathology evidence, though, and he hoped that would be enough to help Hardesty.
At any rate, he now had some work to do; he needed to put together a plan for getting him out, and that wasn't going to happen overnight. He hoped the pathologist didn't backtrack on his admission, that he’d cooperate to help Hardesty and secure his release; it was the least he could do. A tough way for the old man to end his career if the news broke, which it would.
Even if Charles Winstanley did decide to change his mind and chicken out for whatever reason, at least Faye and the second pathologist concurred that the images showed another freak haemorrhage. It beggared belief that it had got messed up in the first place at all, but with fresh evidence Jack could now do something about it.
He also needed to talk to Amanda, but as a friend, not a colleague. However, that would have to wait a while. Ruth’s confession had meant she’d been placed in police custody for now, and that was another mess that was going to need cleaning up. Jack knew the fallout was going to break Amanda's heart. All he could do was be there, as impartially as possible, for whatever happened between the two women he loved the most in his life.
It was going to be an emotional time ahead all round.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Two days later
DI Laurence Dupin resigned the day following Jack’s accusation, which surprised the entire station—except for three people close to the truth. DCI Japp had been informed of the miscarriage of justice and had accepted Dupin’s resignation immediately, though Jack and Amanda both saw it as the chicken’s way out. Conveniently, it tidied away the need for the d
isciplinary that was still hanging over Dupin’s head. As with Eddie, there’d be no pension forthcoming, and the wrath from his wife Lyn would be halfway to the punishment he deserved. That and his own conscience, reminding him that he’d left an innocent man to rot, a fate that he himself had narrowly escaped. Since Charles Winstanley’s admission alone would be enough to get Hardesty’s conviction quashed, there seemed little point dragging Edwards and Dupin back into an already messed-up case with no actual evidence of either of their involvement in it. Whether it was fair was a matter of opinion, however.
The squad room resembled a wake rather than a hive of activity now. With the news of Dupin’s sudden departure and Amanda taking sudden sick leave, tongues had started wagging about her own possible involvement in the Des Thomas case. Surely Amanda herself would have known of Ruth’s involvement. Surely they shared secrets with each other? Sadly, some of the team had indulged in sly homophobic, misogynistic remarks on top of it all, which saddened and infuriated Jack.
DCI Japp had eventually intervened with strong words and physical threats, and things had calmed back down. Jack had spoken to both Ruth and Amanda individually by phone, simply to check on them; but fearing they might not welcome his wisdom at the moment, he knew he had to wait at the sidelines until normal play was resumed. He was sure it would be. Amanda wasn’t due back on the job for a couple of weeks, she was taking some time out on the Cornish coast while she sorted through her feelings. Until then, Jack was being the best support he could be for her while she struggled to come to terms with it all. Ruth and Amanda had a lot of work ahead of them if they were going to stick together through this, he knew.
Meanwhile, Jack admitted he was relieved with the quiet atmosphere in the squad room; it was a welcome change from the pace of recent days.
