by Linda Coles
Amanda heard her say, “We'll take it from here, then, Jack. I'll call you later. We could be here a while, so it might be late on.”
“I’ll leave you all to it, then. Amanda, let's get going,” he said, Faye raised an eyebrow. Usually it was Amanda who gave the orders. For her part, Amanda was grateful, since her mind was still on Ruth's reaction—and a feeling deep in her gut that she couldn't quite put her finger on.
“I'll drive,” said Jack, and he took the keys from her fingers and slipped into the driver's side before Amanda could argue. He waited until she was sat beside him before starting the engine and cruising out of the quiet country lane.
“It's weird, don't you think?” she asked.
“What's weird?”
“Being here again, talking about landscapers and the Simpsons.”
“I wish it was as funny as The Simpsons,” said Jack unhelpfully. “But it is a bit weird. I was thinking that if this does turn out to be the landscaper who went missing, he owed money to the bookies in town, which is owned by Mac McAllister, the very same McAllister I saw this morning. How is that for timing?”
“Hmm,” said Amanda. She was quiet for a moment, pondering. “I'm not looking forward to talking to Gordon, either. Perhaps you should do it?”
“I don't think we’re seriously treating him as a suspect at this stage, are we?”
“We have no choice. You saw what state the remains are in. They weren't buried yesterday. So, yes, he is a suspect, as was anybody else that lived or lives in that house.”
Jack grunted; he knew Amanda was right, of course. And since Gordon Simpson was her father-in-law, she was also too close to the case. He would definitely have to do the interviewing himself.
Jack knew the case would fall back on his own shoulders. But to what result?
He'd soon find out.
Chapter Forty-Three
Jack drove them back to the station. There wasn't much they could do until SOCO had finished with the scene. They sat silent, each busy with their own thoughts. Jack wondered what Amanda's were. It wasn't going to be much fun for her observing an investigation where her father-in-law could be a suspect, and he knew that it could make things difficult for her at home with Ruth. He was glad it wasn't him, but at the same time wished it wasn't Amanda, either.
It wasn’t long before they were back on the outskirts of Croydon, the scenery changing from the lush greenery at the crime scene to dappled grey concrete and graffiti. He could understand why people lived out on the greenbelts and commuted; it would be nice to go home to, spend a little time in your own back garden, maybe with a glass of wine. He had about a postage stamp’s worth of grass at his place, as did the neighbours, but then he chose to live local, close to the amenities, and a postage stamp’s worth was about as much as you got for your money.
He’d never left the place after Janine had passed, never felt the desire to move on. Going up at night to the bedroom they’d shared for so many years gave him comfort somehow. It had been only about a year ago that he’d dared to put some of her belongings away; her bathrobe had hung behind the bedroom door for as long as he could remember. Now it had a place in her wardrobe along with the rest of her clothes. He knew most people felt the need to clear out, to give their loved one’s clothing to a charity shop so that someone else might make use of them. Jack had never felt that way, though, and until, if ever, he found someone to spend his life with, Janine's things would stay put where they were.
He pictured his leather bag of bowling balls at the bottom of the wardrobe, adjacent to Janine’s own bag. They’d shared the enjoyment of the game together, Janine playing for the local women's team and Jack for the men's, but when she’d got sick Jack had given up. Then his housekeeper, Mrs Stewart, had started helping Jack out a few days a week, and over a cup of tea one morning she’d mentioned that she’d also used to play lawn bowls. Jack had found a league and asked Mrs Stewart along, and the two of them had rekindled their interest in the sport. Tonight, Jack was taking part in a local tournament.
“I must give my balls a wipe,” he said out loud, forgetting where he was and who he was with.
“Really, Jack?” Amanda said, turning his way with an amused smile.
“What?” asked Jack, nonplussed. “What are you talking about?”
“You just said you need to give your balls a wipe.” She was grinning at him properly now.
“Did I? Shit. I don't remember saying it, though I do remember thinking it.”
“Well, I haven't developed ESP skills overnight, so you must have said it.”
Jack grunted and blushed.
“Anyway,” Amanda went on, “what did you mean, or dare I ask?” She grinned at him again.
“Lawn bowls tonight, a local tournament. I must polish my balls.”
“Yes, I got that part. Is Mrs Stewart playing too?”
“She is, yes. She’s quite good, actually.” He flicked the indicator to turn into the side street entrance of the station and waited until it was clear to pull across. “What are you up to tonight, then?”
“Well, now this has happened I guess it depends on how Ruth is feeling. What happens with Gordon. There could be some family fallout. To be honest, I'm not relishing the conversations ahead.”
“No, I don't blame you, but keep an open mind. You have enough experience in this game to know what's what. I don't think Gordon has had anything to do with this, though. He’s the type of guy who would move a snail off the footpath so it didn't get crushed underfoot. I can't see him having the urge to kill a human, no matter how hard he was pushed, never mind disposing of a corpse. I've got more urge in my little finger than he has in his whole body.” Jack pulled into a parking space and the two sat there for a moment longer.
“Now you need to keep an open mind,” Amanda reprimanded him lightly. “You don't know that much about him, which is a good thing.”
Jack reached to open his door. “I will keep an open mind, but I'm also an excellent judge of character and he's not the person we’re looking for, I can tell you now. But we’ll go through the process and see what happens, see what gives, and take it from there.” He clicked the car lock and handed the keys back to Amanda. She slipped them back into her bag and they headed to the rear entrance. Jack carried on, “Let's see what the doctor comes back with. Maybe that body has been there a good deal longer and has nothing to do with the current or previous occupants of the house.”
It was Amanda's turn to grunt; she didn't believe it for one moment.
Jack turned to her and said, “I’m going to the canteen to hunt down a stray sandwich. As dodgy as they are, they’re better than nothing. Shall I get you one?”
“Please. I might be here a while yet.”
Jack nodded and wandered back towards the canteen. Amanda didn’t need to be at work late, not until they had something to work with, some results, some evidence. Maybe she was avoiding Ruth. Or maybe she wanted to watch Gordon Simpson being questioned.
“Open mind, Amanda, open mind,” he called back to her.
Chapter Forty-Four
The sandwiches from the canteen were only just better than nothing at all. He’d started on the second half and marvelled at how the cooks had managed to do such a terrible job of a cheese salad sandwich. White bread and cheap margarine stuck to his teeth and gums, saturated from the lettuce and tomato that hadn't been dried properly before they’d used it in the culinary delight they sold as a sandwich. Smoked cheese and pale mayonnaise finished off the whole ensemble before being crammed into a cellophane packet that had been kept in the fridge since dawn.
He checked the clock on the wall while he ate, cramming the soggy mass into his mouth as he walked slowly back down the corridor. He needed a drink to wash it down, to rinse his teeth off, to get the cloying sticky wad out of his mouth and into his stomach. God only knew what it was going to do to his insides as it moved through; indigestion was likely. He sifted change out of his pocket, and when he’d found the
amount he needed, he ordered a Coke from the vending machine. He punched in the relevant code number and waited for the can to roll towards him. A good few beats passed; it looked like the machine wasn't going to oblige, like it might once again need a good whack from the palm of his hand. At the last second, the red can rolled free. He grabbed it, pulled the ring open and took a long swig. A little brown tear of Coke escaped the corner of his mouth and he wiped it away with the back of his hand, belching lightly. He took his drink back to the squad room.
Gordon Simpson was on his way in, but he wasn’t due to arrive quite yet. Jack decided he’d use the time to catch up on the never-ending paperwork that was stacked up in various piles on his desk, but his thoughts drifted to Vivian. She’d looked good when he’d seen her. Had that only been yesterday?
“Sod it,” he said, and entered Vivian’s name into the database. “I know I know,” he muttered to himself, “but it doesn't hurt to know what you're dealing with.” He waited a moment or two until her file came up on the screen. She’d looked different back then, when her last mug shot had been entered. She didn't sport the stylish blonde bob that she’d had when he’d met her in the sandwich shop, and she’d aged well. He'd last seen her a couple of years ago while on another case, but she’d still been a working girl back then and had inadvertently become part of a case that he was working on: she'd been about to meet the victim, before he became a victim, or in the midst of becoming one. It seemed he hadn’t been able to answer the door to her either way, and so she’d gone back home, wondering. The next day, they’d discovered what had happened.
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 when 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.
