Jack Rutherford and Amanda Lacey Box Set

by Linda Coles

  “Thank goodness for rear entrances. I appreciate the head-up, Jack. Don't tell me you’re at work already?”

  “No, not yet, but I did go and pick up Mrs Stewart this morning because her car is in for service, and we drove by the station on the way back. I hope that mob doesn't get any bigger.”

  “No doubt Japp will sort it out when he gets in. He can hardly send Dupin out to do the job. I wouldn't want to be in Dupin's shoes this morning.”

  “Neither would I, and while we know he’s innocent, I'm guessing the angry mob out front are on the family’s side and screaming ‘cover-up.’ I wonder if the Parkers are with them, along with Miss Bagpipes.”

  Amanda couldn't help but smile at Jack's nickname for Melissa Ross. Political correctness wasn't his strong point.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Dupin felt like a 16-year-old heading out for his first day on the job. Butterflies had been replaced by bats, and they were bouncing off the insides of his stomach as they tried to get out. He was glad to be going back to work but apprehensive at the same time, because not everyone was happy at the autopsy results. He turned the radio on to take his mind off it, but the incessant chatter of the two co-hosts grated on his nerves. He searched through stations, keeping one hand on the wheel, looking for some soothing classical music. If he was going to arrive at work in a calm state, he needed something to help that happen. Piano music filled the car as he settled on the station. He had no idea what the tune was—it wasn't one of the more popular classical pieces—but it would do for now.

  The lane was clear and the leafy green trees dappled the tarmac with a lacy pattern as the early morning sun filtered through. He was lucky he could live out of town; many couldn't afford to, or didn't want the commute time, but he loved the outdoors. He and Lyn had chosen a smaller house in a green area rather than a big flat in a concrete jungle; he was not interested in keeping up with the Joneses.

  It was coming up to 8 am as Dupin waited for the electric gates to roll back so he could pull into the station yard. Several cars belonging to his team were parked up already. He found a parking space, then turned his engine off and sat for a moment, just thinking. How would the team react, he wondered? While they all knew he was innocent now, he knew there had been doubt in some people's minds before the results had come in. He was aware of his nickname, that people called him Dopey behind his back, and he wondered if now they still viewed him in the same way. He'd never been dopey, not in his mind anyway, but obviously some people thought differently. It was time to go inside and pick up where he’d left off only a few days ago.

  He gathered his briefcase and his lunchbox and stepped out of the car, pushing his shoulders back to stand as tall as he was able as he headed for the rear entrance. If anyone was watching on the CCTV camera, they weren't going to see a shrunken, solemn man. He had a team to run and experience to give, so it was business as usual as far as he was concerned.

  Walking down the tiled corridor towards the squad room and his office, he noticed that the station seemed unusually quiet. As he entered the squad room, his team, who were all stood to order around their desks, turned towards him. Amanda caught his eye first; she beamed at him as she led a round of applause to welcome their DI back into the fold. He relaxed his shoulders and grinned despite himself as the applause got louder and his colleagues started towards him. Amanda shook his hand first, and the butterflies began to leave his stomach as each person in turn welcomed him back with more handshakes and slaps on the back. He needn't have felt so nervous, it seemed.

  Conscious that people were waiting for him to say something, he gathered his thoughts as everyone took their seats. He took in the faces around the room feeling thankful for a decent bunch of work colleagues. He dropped his briefcase and lunchbox on a nearby desk and addressed his audience.

  “I don't really know what to say, apart from a huge thank you. I wasn't sure what sort of reception I would get, but I certainly wasn't expecting this, and I thank you for your support from the bottom of my boots.” There was a bit of polite laughter. “It's been a difficult time for me, and the journey isn't yet over, but at least I'm back at work where I can do some good. I’ve still got a disciplinary to face, but I can handle that, I’m sure.”

  A low rumble of ‘Hear, hear!’ spread across the squad room.

  “Until I know what’s what,” he went on, “why don't I hand over to Amanda, who can fill us all in. Particularly me!”

  He smiled and stepped aside as Amanda came forward. She stood at the front of the room and took the briefing on where they were with current cases and issued instructions, while Dupin took it all in. When she was finished, Dupin nodded his thanks and headed back to his office, where he’d most likely stay until lunchtime.

  At 12 o'clock, Jack ventured out to the front of the station to see if the crowd had dissipated at all. It hadn't, but it hadn’t grown from what he’d seen earlier, either. He recognised a couple of faces from his spot just inside the door: the local press, a couple of hosts from TV stations and a sizeable bunch of people waving placards. They all carried the same message in various ways, each demanding Dupin's resignation or accusing the police of a cover-up. But what did they know? They were running on passion and motivation, Jack knew—it was facts that declared a person’s innocence, and facts that had declared Dupin's innocence and verified that there was no conspiracy theory.

  They’d get bored eventually. And hungry. The police station was an odd place to hold a protest, a daring place to protest, but Jack figured they'd all be gone by teatime. He hoped so; he craved normalcy again.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Jack was ready with another tin of chocolate biscuits. He hadn't seen Mac McAllister for some months, not since the man had been sentenced. He was a rough character, for sure; there was no ‘rough diamond’ about Mac McAllister. He wasn't even the start of the diamond; he was so far away from being a piece of coal that he was prehistoric vegetation. Jack wasn't scared of him, but he knew people who were. They say some dog owners look like their pets, and if McAllister was a dog owner, he'd be a mixture of a bulldog and a bull mastiff. Two purebreds crossed to accelerate the menace. Jack wondered how the man was doing inside prison, and if he'd met his match yet. Someone surely would have wanted to take him on, if only for a bet.

  He parked in the same spot he’d used on his last visit and headed to the reception area, where the same prison officer from the previous day was on duty. He wore the same dandruff and the same vacant expression and still showed no obvious signs of personality whatsoever, and simply nodded as Jack approached the desk.

  “Hello again,” Jack said, not letting the man's dour persona change his own mood or manners.

  “Morning,” was all he got back.

  “Is Mino in today, by chance?”

  “He is.”

  “Could you please tell him I'm here? DC Jack Rutherford, in case you can’t remember.”

  The officer made a face like Jack had disturbed him from something important—again. Making the phone call to tell Mino he had a visitor was akin to an hour of hard labour, apparently. Jack moved away from the desk while he waited. Since the officer was not going to be big on conversation, he didn't feel the need to hang around. He moved over to the window to wait. A couple of minutes later he heard a familiar voice behind him and turned to see Mino standing there. His acne seemed worse than the previous day, and it looked sore. He must have noticed Jack looking and instinctively touched his hand to his face as if to cover it. Jack held out a Sainsbury's shopping bag and, without looking, Mino accepted it, knowing exactly what it contained.

  “I’m assuming he still doesn't know?” Jack said.

  “I haven't told him, and since nobody else knows you were planning a repeat visit today, I'm guessing he still doesn't.” Raising the carrier bag slightly, Mino added “Thanks for these. I'll tell him he has a visitor. Take a pew. I'll be back shortly.”

  Jack watched the youngster head out through
an internal door and went over in his mind what he was going to say to McAllister when he finally got in front of him. It was a shame he couldn't start by punching him in the face, but those times were long gone. He was reminded briefly of Dupin and his recent altercation. It wasn’t worth the bother.

  It was almost ten minutes later when Mino waved at him to follow him through the door and down the concrete corridor towards the visitor rooms. They stopped outside a metallic grey door.

  “I’ll leave you to it. Just knock twice when you're ready to leave,” Mino told him.

  Jack nodded his understanding and slipped inside.

  If McAllister was shocked to see Jack, he didn't show it. In fact, he showed no emotion whatsoever, no interest in Jack at all.

  “I thought a visitor would ease the monotony of your day. I don't suppose you get too many?”

  “I get my share,” McAllister said curtly. “What do you want, anyhow?”

  “Now, that's not very friendly,” said Jack.

  “It's a prison, in case you haven't realised,” said McAllister sarcastically.

  Jack ignored him. He pulled out a plastic chair and sat down opposite the big man. Prison food alters the shape of a man, but spending time in the gym had kept McAllister’s bulk firm.

  “This place must be agreeing with you; you look in good shape.”

  “I'm sure you didn't come to compliment me. What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “That's more like it. Here’s what I'm interested in. But you’ll need to cast your mind right back.”

  “Oh?”

  “You remember Michael Hardesty, don't you?”

  “And?”

  “What can you tell me about what happened all those years ago?”

  “Nothing you don't already know. The guy killed my brother Chesney. And now he is doing time, as he deserves.”

  “Why are you so certain he killed your brother?”

  “Because he was found guilty. Everyone knows he killed Chesney. Now, if that’s all you want to talk about,” he said standing. The metal feet from his chair scraped noisily on the floor. Chairs weren't bolted down in this room; they didn't need to be. McAllister wasn't considered a high enough risk.

  “Sit down, would you?” demanded Jack. “Only I'm not so sure it's as simple as that anymore.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I've been taking a look at the old case; I’ve just been working on a similar one that happened only a few days ago.”

  “You mean that dick Dupin? I saw it on the news. Serves him right.”

  “Well, I'm guessing you haven't seen the latest news; otherwise, you would know that he wasn't responsible for that death.”

  McAllister sat back in his chair with his hands behind his head and smiled up at the ceiling.

  “Bloody convenient. What did he have to do to cover it up?”

  “Well, nothing, as it happens. Pathology doesn't lie. You see, a pathologist deals with facts, not gut instinct; not opinion, but facts. The pathologist found Dupin was in no way responsible.”

  “I see where you're going with this now. You're wondering if the same thing happened and Hardesty isn’t responsible.”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “Why are you bothering? It's my understanding that he’ll be out soon enough.”

  “I wouldn't call another two years soon enough. So, back to my original question. What do you remember about that night and the events that followed?”

  “I'm not telling you a damn thing; you can go to hell. Hardesty deserves everything he got, and he'd better watch out when he gets out, because families are like elephants. We never forget.”

  McAllister stood abruptly, strode to the door and banged on it twice with his fist. He paced for a moment until the officer unlocked the door and he was led from the room back down the corridor to his cell. Jack sat alone, staring at the painted concrete blocks, and wondered if he’d handled it the right way. McAllister now knew what Jack was on to, and also knew that Hardesty was an inmate in the same prison, and how long he had left to serve. Jack would have been more surprised if he hadn't known. He hoped he hadn't made things worse for Hardesty, who was a damn sight frailer-looking than McAllister had been. He’d ask Mino about his health on the way out.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Jack was back at the station a good deal earlier than lunchtime this time. His main task for the day was already done—though the job wasn't finished yet. Amanda knew where he was, so at least he didn’t need to explain his whereabouts to her. And since Dupin was closeted in his office, he’d no sooner have any idea where Jack was that he would the square root of 96. Jack smiled at the thought—the square root of 96. He had no idea either, actually. He’d managed to get through school at a limp and charm his way into the force—education had been low down on Jack’s list of priorities as a youngster. All he’d wanted to do was play in a band, be a drummer, but he’d never given it a chance.

  Walking down the corridor towards the squad room, he caught a whiff of what was cooking in the canteen for lunch, though he couldn't detect exactly what it was. That was never a good thing; it meant it would be something mediocre and nondescript like beef casserole. Curry was always on Friday and one to look forward to; it was his indulgence each week. For the rest of the time, doctor’s orders were a sandwich or a salad.

  He inhaled again. Pie and chips, maybe? But try as he might, he couldn't identify the aroma.

  Up ahead he saw Dupin leaving the squad room and heading his way. Jack had to admit, it was good to have the guy back at work. Dopey as he might be, the team had felt rudderless without him. Jack nodded politely as Dupin approached him, and to his surprise Dupin pulled up in front of him.

  “Jack,” he said, “I've been meaning to talk to you, but with everything that's been going on, it fell by the wayside. I've got to go out now, but come and see me when I get back later on this afternoon, would you? I’ll be in my office later.”

  “Will do,” said Jack, curious to know what the DI wanted to talk to him about. It was obviously something from before the accident, though he couldn't think what it could be. Dupin was already walking away, clearly in a hurry, and waved back at Jack as he went. Jack shrugged and carried on to the squad room and a fresh coffee.

  As he turned the corner, Amanda leaped up from her desk and hurried towards him. She took Jack by the shoulder and guided him urgently to the coffee cupboard, which was where he was about to head anyway. She closed the door and stood with her back to it, arms folded.

  “Are you going to tell me what's bugging you?” asked Jack, “or are you going to keep me a prisoner in here all day?” He was smiling, but Amanda wasn’t.

  She took a deep breath and let it out again.

  “The second autopsy is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Faye is aware, of course, and knows the pathologist that the family organised, as you might expect.”

  “So, what's the problem? We knew this would happen.”

  “This particular pathologist is particularly picky. I guess I'm just hoping that what we thought was all over will in fact stay all over. And I know Faye is concerned, because if the pathologist, comes back with different results, it’ll be one all. Then who do we believe? Will there have to be another autopsy to decide between the two results?” Her voice was getting higher in pitch.

  “I know who I would believe. But the family without a doubt would go with the latest autopsy if the results fitted their belief.”

  “Oh, of course they would, Jack. That's what they're hoping for.”

  “You know as well as I know that Faye Mitchell is our own version of Dr Picky, so I'm not worried.”

  “I wish I could be as confident as you are,” she said, rubbing her forehead with the palm of her hand. Tiredness was catching up with her.

  “Until the new autopsy results are in, there is absolutely no point in thinking or worrying about any possible outcome other than what we already know,” he told her. �
�It will wear you down.”

  Amanda nodded gloomily.

  “Will you attend it? Or do you want me to go?” he asked her.

  “I'm not sure any police officer would be welcome, actually, Jack. But thanks for the offer.” She checked her wristwatch. It was coming up to 11 am. “I need something sweet,” she said. “Do you want anything?”

  Jack rummaged deep in his pockets for loose change for the machine and pulled out a couple of gold coins. “I'll have a Kit Kat, please, if you're going,” he said, and handed over the money. “Do you want another coffee? You look like you could use one.”

  She moved away from the door and nodded yes as she slipped out. As she walked through the squad room towards the vending machine, she glimpsed the crowd that was still gathered outside the front of the station. It looked like they were in for the day. But the crowd weren't her concern, and she focused on purchasing a Kit Kat and a Mars bar to tide herself and Jack through until lunchtime. The machine wasn’t co-operating.

  Waiting for Jack’s Kit Kat purchase to complete, she glanced again at the crowd outside and took a moment to read some of the messages on the placards. Some had been quite creative in their phrasing, and others needed to learn how to spell properly, but the gist of what they were trying to say was clear to anyone who could read. As she scanned the group, a familiar face caught her eye: Melissa ‘Bagpipes’ Ross. She was brandishing a banner and shouting, and appeared to be the one leading the demonstration. Amanda looked for Mr and Mrs Parker but they didn’t seem to be there. Maybe Jack was right: maybe Melissa was leading this, whatever ‘this’ was. Maybe she felt cheated out of more than the death of her fiancé and was looking for a result that suited her needs.

  The second autopsy couldn't come soon enough, Amanda thought. She hoped that Dr Mitchell’s findings would be corroborated, that things would settle back down to normal by the end of the week. When something happened to someone close to you, she knew, it felt a whole lot more personal than any other case. Dupin was one of their own and still might face prison time. It would hurt everyone that knew him.