Jack Rutherford and Amanda Lacey Box Set

by Linda Coles

  Amanda cleared her throat; maybe she was struggling too, Jack thought.

  “Callum here was in a collision,” she said, “and he later threw a punch at the other driver. He missed, but a passerby stepped in, there was a scuffle and the passerby hit Callum full in the mouth. That’s it.”

  Dr Mitchell looked at her quizzically; it was obvious she knew there was more to the story but wasn’t being told.

  DCI Japp took it up now, maybe to give himself something different to focus on for a moment. “The fiancée is now making a huge fuss, saying the passerby is responsible for Callum’s death, and the family appear to be gathering behind her.”

  Again, the doctor waited, but there was nothing else forthcoming. “Let’s crack on with it, then,” she said briskly. “And I can tell you straight away there is no sign he was hit in the mouth, nothing here that would lead me to believe that. I’ve noted the few superficial abrasions down the nose and chin area, as well as the bruising lying diagonally over the right lower neck. That’s from the seatbelt, I expect.”

  Japp looked at Amanda and Jack, but nobody spoke.

  Faye caught the look but carried on; she began to take the organs out of the chest cavity. Placing each organ in turn on the scales to weigh it and examine it, she said, “His heart is slightly enlarged, and his liver is fatty. These are probably signs of significant alcohol intake. The man liked to party.” She directed the photographer to take closeups for her records; the snap of the shutter was the only sound apart from their own beating hearts.

  With the organs taken care of, she prepared to open the top of Callum’s skull. “Hopefully the brain will tell us more,” she said.

  That sent DCI Japp fleeing from the room with his hand over his mouth. Jack smiled and Amanda glared at him. Faye raised her eyebrows and then returned to the task at hand.

  One detective down, two more to go.

  Jack and Amanda watched as Faye removed the top of the man’s skull, made a few deft cuts, and took the brain out.

  “The brain is full of blood. Interesting.”

  “How so?” asked Jack.

  “I’ll be able to tell you more later, Jack. You know I hate to speculate before the facts are all in. But this is interesting. I may get a colleague to look a little closer, just to be sure. He’s a whiz at brain pathology.”

  She busied herself once more with the autopsy. A taste of herbs filled Jack’s mouth again, and he swallowed hard.

  “Since Mr Parker here may have suffered whiplash, I’m going to remove the neck and accompanying arteries so I can do a more detailed examination on those parts specifically. I’ve a feeling that this, along with the brain, holds a clue to what happened to the young man.” She looked up at the two remaining detectives now and smiled; their faces were almost drained of colour. “It never gets easier for you, does it?”

  “It was the brain that did for me,” admitted Amanda. Jack gently nodded his agreement.

  “Well, there’s little for you to see now, so you may as well get some air. I’ll take a closer look at the neck and see what we find, and ask for my colleague to assist with his brain. It might be tomorrow before I have anything for you, though.” Faye smiled again at the almost motionless duo stood before her and urged them out. “Now, unless you want to watch me dissect in detail, go!” she said, flicking the fingers of both hands outwards as though shooing chickens off the doorstep.

  They didn’t need asking twice. As they fled out of the morgue and through the corridor of offices back to reception, Jack let out a resounding belch.

  “Jack!” exclaimed Amanda. “Gross!”

  “Well, it’s better than the alternative,” he said.

  As they rounded an aquarium full of tiny brightly coloured fish and stepped into the reception area, a woman at a desk screwed her face up with disgust.

  “Sorry—I didn’t know anyone was about,” Jack offered.

  “Clearly,” said the woman primly.

  “I’d better call DCI Japp,” Amanda said as they passed back out into fresh air. She dug into her bag for her phone.

  “No need. He’s still right here,” Jack said, pointing to the far end of the car park. As they approached, they could see Japp’s colour had reappeared, though he looked tired out.

  Even though it was an unspoken rule that you never ribbed your boss over something that could affect your own self, Jack went in and took the opportunity anyway; he wasn’t looking for promotion at his age.

  “You missed a trick in there, sir, when she took the neck out. Lots of dangly bits.” Jack mimicked the loose arteries with his fingers.

  “Ignore DC Rutherford, sir,” Amanda said, glaring at Jack.

  “I am,” Japp said caustically. His face had gone pale again.

  She went on, “Dr Mitchell might have something for us tomorrow. She wants a closer look at the neck and brain. Interesting, don’t you think, that there was no evidence of Callum’s being hit in the mouth? Has Melissa Ross got this wrong, I wonder? There was a scuff on his chin and bruising on his neck from the seatbelt, but the chin is hardly ‘full on in the mouth,’ as she stated. It’s a swipe on the chin.”

  DCI Japp let out a long sigh. “Well, let’s hope Dr Mitchell can fill in some gaps tomorrow. I could do with a proper night’s sleep.”

  Chapter Nine

  “You don't do yourself any favours, do you, Jack?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jack and Amanda were walking back to his car, having left DCI Japp looking at the view and clearing his lungs. At least his colour had returned.

  “I mean teasing him, dangling your fingers pretending they're arteries—he was as green as the grass on my back lawn. Why do you do it?”

  “Just for a bit of fun, and because I can. It doesn't matter to me. Promotion prospects and I parted ways many years ago. I'm not out to impress anybody.”

  “Well, if you want to keep your police pension and not get sacked before you retire, you might want to rein it in a little.” Amanda was always the voice of reason, Mrs Sensible. Jack unlocked the car and they climbed in; the air was thick with the trapped heat from the sun. He started the engine and pumped the air-conditioning button; the fan roared like a plane engine.

  Raising his voice over the noise, he said, “It's not that long ago that we didn't even have air-conditioning in cars. Do you remember that, Amanda?” Sunlight glinting off the roofs and bonnets of the other parked cars.

  “I’m not as old as you are, Jack. We didn't start our cars by cranking them with a lever at the front, either.”

  “Now you're being cheeky,” he chided. “Seriously, though, I remember what twenty or twenty-five years ago you had to manually wind the window down, never mind having air-conditioning. And my hair would blow all over the place,” he said, smiling and turning her way.

  She raised her eyebrows at him questioningly. “Was that during your rocker period, before you were left follically challenged?”

  “Harsh.”

  Jack pulled out of the car park and headed back to Park Lane and the station. They fell quiet for a few moments before Amanda spoke again.

  “Interesting, don't you think, that the doc said he hadn’t been hit in the mouth, whereas the fiancée specifically said he had been hit on the mouth?”

  “Maybe, but he was hit on the chin—there was evidence of that—and the chin and the mouth are not that far away. So maybe she just got it wrong in the heat of the moment.”

  “Maybe. She seemed surprised that the brain was filled with blood, though. That's not normal in anyone's book; even I know that,” said Amanda.

  Jack grunted, trying to shut out the image of Faye taking the top off Callum Parker's head. “She won’t be pushed for an opinion, though; not until she’s certain. There is no informal review with Dr Faye Mitchell—more’s the pity.”

  “Keeps her from getting in trouble, I expect. Anyway, let's see what she comes back with tomorrow. And I hope it’s good news for Dupin.”

  Tr
affic was building and a dirty halo of exhaust fumes surrounded the car now. Jack was glad his windows were up and the air-conditioning was finally cooling the inside of the car. He turned the fan down so he didn’t have to raise his voice over it again.

  “You probably wouldn't remember—it was way before your time—but there was a case many years ago of something similar to what's happening to Dopey Dupin now. It wasn't a police officer it happened to, but it was similar circumstances.”

  “Oh?” said Amanda.

  “I’ll have to get the case file out, but the guy went down for life. I thought it harsh at the time, I remember that, but it wasn't my decision; that was the judge and jury. But I often thought about that case afterwards because it seemed a bit rough. From memory, the guy was a bit of a rogue anyway, but he didn't deserve such a long sentence, not for that. I must look it up when we get back.”

  “Why would you bother?” asked Amanda. “What good will that do?”

  “Call it curiosity, just out of interest. Bedtime reading.”

  “Well, if the guy did get life, I wouldn't go telling everybody else, especially Dupin. It’s not going to make him or the team feel any better. The poor guy looked worried sick when I delivered the news to him yesterday, as you would, too.”

  “I’ll keep it to myself. Like I said, idle curiosity and bedtime reading.” He turned into the car park of the station pulled into an empty space beside a gleaming BMW. If the other cars parked in the yard were anything to go by, his colleagues were earning a good deal more salary than he was, he thought ruefully. Maybe he should have worked harder on that promotion when he’d still got the energy.

  He followed Amanda in through the back entry and checked his watch at the same time. It wasn't far off 12 o'clock. His stomach gurgled but he wasn't entirely sure if that was the remains of the full English repeating and giving him grief or the sign of needing more. He’d wait another hour.

  The cooler air indoors was welcoming.

  As soon as they entered the squad room, it was obvious something was afoot. The room was almost silent except for a telephone call going on over by the window; an officer was deep in conversation, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the ledge. He ran his fingers through his full head of hair as he spoke; Jack wondered idly if it was self-soothing. Everyone else had their heads down, like a classroom full of frightened children. Amanda was about to ask what was up when DCI Japp made his appearance behind her. She startled slightly at his firm voice.

  “DS Lacey, a word please.”

  She gave Jack an uneasy sideways glance; he simply shrugged. She had no choice but to follow Japp through to his office.

  “Shut the door,” he instructed, looking at a piece of A4 in his hand. “I'll get to the point,” he said. “It seems the Parkers now know that it was an off-duty policeman that hit their son, and as you can imagine, they feel we are covering something up—or about to do so. How the hell they know, how they found out so soon is a mystery, but since DI Dupin lives just down the road from the accident scene, I suspect a neighbour said something. Either way, however, they found out, and now we have to deal with it.” He sighed. “I don't need to remind you that this could now become quite a circus for the team—for the whole station, in fact.”

  “Right,” said Amanda, sounding deflated. The distraction coming from the media and from the family would now ramp up significantly. “Is there anything specifically you'd like me to do, sir?”

  “I'll be calling a press conference for later on this afternoon, simply because we can't ignore them. May as well face it head on. But the rest is business as usual. This case is no different from any other just because it involves one of our own. We will investigate it with as much resource and vigour as we would any other case.”

  He was beginning to sound like his own press release already, Amanda thought grimly. Maybe he was practising for later.

  Chapter Ten

  After the official news of Callum’s death had been delivered, Melissa’s parents had collected her and taken her back to their home, where she’d spent the night. All plans of her future with Callum Parker were now dashed, and she had sobbed as though her heart would break. She’d drained most of her father’s vodka and had finally fallen asleep on the sofa. Her father had carried her up to her old room and covered her over with her favourite quilt, which had baby rabbits on it.

  Bevan Ross looked down at his daughter now and smiled slightly. Even though she was going through hell, he was silently pleased the wedding wouldn’t now be going ahead. Neither he nor his wife Nicola had liked Callum Parker; he had been too inconsiderate in too many ways, and they both knew Melissa could do better. Lashing out at an old man after a car accident was typical of Callum, Bevan thought with disgust; the boy could never do wrong in his own book and had always been quick to point the finger of blame at others. They’d hoped he’d never do it to their Melissa. Now, thank god, he’d never get the chance.

  Bevan and Nicola had talked about him for hours when Callum and Melissa had first got engaged, about how they both hoped it would never go through, never last. Their concerns had been raised during the winter just gone when Melissa had fallen on the icy pavement and hurt her knee badly, and Callum had thought it the funniest thing, telling his friends he was engaged to Jayne Torvill in training. Melissa had told her parents and had then silently seethed; not wanting to look like a poor sport, she had never confronted Callum—about this or any of his other “jokes.” Instead, she’d put up with his selfish ways and grown accustomed to them—and, perhaps inevitably, some of that spite had rubbed off on her. Over the following months, Melissa had grown to be a precocious young woman who had wanted everything Callum Parker and his money could buy her. And that meant spending his money in style. If she was going to be his trophy wife, she’d do the best job she could, starting with doubling her cup size and getting her lips filled.

  As her father looked down at his sleeping daughter now, he hardly recognised her. He left the mug of tea he’d taken up to her on the bedside cabinet, next to a stuffed pink rabbit who had seen better days. Its glass eyes stared at Bevan like something from a horror movie. He returned to join Nicola in the kitchen feeling heavy inside. He wanted only the best for Melissa, and he was sorry she was hurting inside. He hoped she’d get over her fiancé quickly.

  “Still asleep. I left the mug with her,” he said at Nicola’s enquiring look.

  “She’ll be exhausted, I expect. Stress and shock will do that. And the vodka wouldn’t have helped.”

  Bevan slid onto a bar stool and Nicola filled his mug with coffee. She sat next to him, sipping her own, and they enjoyed the easy silence. They’d both talked long after Melissa had fallen asleep the previous evening, and there really wasn’t much left to say. Conscious that their daughter could appear at the door at any moment, they’d vowed not to mention his name further unless Melissa brought it up. Their thoughts were interrupted by the landline ringing.

  “I’ll get it,” Nicola said, reaching for the handset. She looked at the caller ID and groaned. Taking a breath, she answered, trying to balance her voice somewhere between sadness and resolute cheerfulness.

  “Morning.” There was no point adding the ‘good’ part, because it wasn’t a good morning for whichever Parker was on the line now.

  “Yes. Morning, Nicola.” It was Brian Parker. Unsurprisingly, he sounded tired; his words were slow and weak, not like his usual upbeat delivery. Nicola pressed her lips together tightly in sympathy for the man. Whatever she and Bevan had thought of Callum, they’d always found Jean and Brian to be decent people; Brian in particular was a gentle soul.

  “I thought…” He cleared his throat. “I mean, we thought we’d see how Melissa is this morning. Did she manage to get some sleep?”

  “Yes, thank you. She’s still sleeping now, actually. Do you want me to give her a message when she wakes?”

  “No, just wanted to check on her.” Brian Parker fell silent for a moment or two, a
nd Nicola waited patiently, feeling there was more to come.

  Finally, he spoke again. “Actually, there is something else.”

  “Oh?”

  “We had a visitor last night. Someone from near where the accident took place. I guess he lived along the way somewhere. Anyway, he found us.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, he knows the man who lashed out at Callum. That’s what he wanted to tell us.”

  Nicola wasn’t picking up what he was skirting around, what he was trying to say. “I’m sorry, Brian. What were they trying to tell you?” Bevan looked at her in concern and then moved closer to her, trying to listen in to the conversation.

  “The man who hit Callum. He was an off-duty police officer. A detective, in fact.”

  “Right.” Nicola still wasn’t sure what he was trying to spell out to her.

  “Well, that means a cover-up, wouldn’t you say? Mates together, looking after their own?”

  “Ah, I see what you’re saying now. And you’re worried.”

  He was like an old Morris Minor setting off from a set of traffic lights, slowly accelerating. By the time Nicola had caught up with his meaning, he was full throttle and powering on ahead.

  “Damn right we’re worried! They’ll make it look like Callum was over the limit, crashed his car and died of his injuries. Meanwhile, their man gets to keep his job and pension, and Callum gets to lie in a coffin. Mark my words, that’s how it will go! But I’ll not let them get away with it!”

  He was shouting down the phone now, and Nicola held the handset away from her ear. Bevan had no trouble hearing him now, and he and his wife looked at each other in concern.

  Would that really happen?

  Chapter Eleven

  Brian Parker was shaking with rage as he replaced the handset back into its holder. It bleeped to let him know it was charging. Glancing impatiently at it, he wanted to tell it to go to hell, but what good would it do? The phone wasn’t responsible for his angst; if only it were that simple, he’d crush it under his foot. He let out a loud sigh and stood stooped over, his heart racing, trying to calm his breathing. If he wasn’t careful, he’d need another blood pressure tablet. Jean was hovering nearby and he sensed her wanting to say something.