by Linda Coles
“I hope the money you got was worth it,” Jack shouted. “How much was it, exactly? A new Jag every year? If you've got a conscience, Eddie, you'll do the right thing. I'll leave you with that thought. Help me put it right, then maybe you'll sleep a bit easier at night. You look like you need it.”
He slammed the door closed, and stormed back towards his waiting car.
Eddie slumped down on a ripped vinyl chair and started to cry. In reality, no, it hadn’t been worth it.
But it was too late now.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Doug at the front desk rang through to Amanda to tell her that Gordon Simpson and his solicitor, were still waiting.
“Show them through to the interview room, would you, please?” said Amanda. “DI Dupin is on his way back, so he won't be long. Make him a cup of tea or something.”
“I’ll get the tea boy to do it,” said Doug, “and that ain’t me.”
Amanda rolled her eyes in frustration. She didn’t need the petty grief when there was so much crap already colliding inside her skull. It was about time that man retired. She put the phone down and sat back in her chair, disappointed that Ruth still hadn't called her back. Amanda had stopped trying; there was no point making it more and more obvious what was happening. She’d deal with it later, face to face, when she got home.
Dupin was on the case now, not her, and Amanda resigned herself to hearing what went on second-hand when the DI eventually arrived. And Jack still wasn't back either; his little detour had taken the longest hour in human history. Still, in another few minutes, everything would be well underway and hopefully Gordon Simpson would be back home as if nothing had happened. Deep inside, though, Amanda knew that that was unlikely to happen, and an overnight spell in a police cell could be part of the DI’s plan.
Half an hour later Dupin blustered into the squad room and cocked his head at Amanda for her to follow. She noticed he’d got the folder in his hands, so at least he looked like he knew what was going on.
“Anything else I should be aware of, Amanda?”
“Not to my knowledge. But I’m off the case now.”
“Right, yes, of course.” Dupin carried on towards the interview room, file swinging in his hand. She was about to head back to her own desk, then had second thoughts and slipped into the viewing room so she could watch her father-in-law’s interview take place.
Gordon Simpson looked ill at ease. Who wouldn't be, in his situation? His solicitor sat beside him, and even though Amanda had no prior knowledge of his work, his body language looked competent and his neat, tailored suit gave him an air of authority. The one-way mirror and the computer screens feeding images from the camera told her little else about the man. Maybe after the interview she’d know more.
DI Dupin had his back to her and started off gently by asking some basic questions. Either he was leading Gordon into a false sense of security or he was frantically trying to reorder things in his own mind, having only just blustered into the office. He didn't strike Amanda as fully prepared for what was about to go on in the interview room. But that was how he was at times: Dopey—hence his nickname. And the pressure he'd been under himself of recent probably hadn't helped his focus. Maybe it would work in Gordon Simpson’s favour. Maybe not.
Eventually Dupin reached the time period when Des Walker had actually disappeared.
“So, Des Walker came to do some work at your property. Is that correct, Mr Simpson?”
“Yes, correct.”
“And that was on Wednesday, 10 August 2016?”
“I believe so.”
“You believe so?” questioned Dupin.
“I didn't write it in my calendar, since I wasn't involved.”
“Where were you the day that the landscaper started work at your property?”
“I was at work—with plenty of witnesses.”
“What time did you get to and leave work?”
“I arrived just before nine, and I left just after five, like I do every other day, like clockwork. Anybody at work can vouch for me. The only time I left in between times was to get my sandwich at lunchtime, and I slipped out the office for maybe ten or fifteen minutes.”
Gordon was starting to sound and look a little more confident, thought Amanda. At least he had an alibi for the timeline in question.
“What did you do that night when you got home?”
“Same as always. I had my dinner and watched TV.”
“On the following day, Thursday, 11 August 2016, what was your routine?”
Amanda noticed Gordon's head drop a little. She wondered why.
“Mr Simpson?” Dupin pressed on. Where were you on Thursday, 11 August 2016?”
“I was actually on a course that day.”
“You were on a course?”
“Yes, continued education. We have to do so many hours each year. I was on a course.”
“Where was this course, and what time did it start?” asked Dupin.
“It was out over Ealing way, and it was a full day, from memory. It started at nine AM and finished at four PM.”
“And I'm guessing again you have people who can verify that you were there for all that time?”
Gordon took a deep breath while he seemed to figure his words, and Amanda was curious as to what was going on his head. She pressed her tongue up against her top teeth, willing his answer to keep him out of further trouble.
“That morning there was a delay on the tube,” said Gordon resignedly. “Somebody decided to commit suicide, and the trains were all backed up. So we sat in the tunnel for a good hour before things got moving again.”
“Is that right?” Dupin said, smiling. “So, you weren't there on time, is that what you're telling me, Mr Simpson?”
“I was delayed, but I got there later that morning. There's plenty of people who could confirm that, I’m sure. We left at four PM for home as usual, in time for dinner.”
“Was your wife, Madeline Simpson, at home that morning?”
“I would expect so, though she’d be getting ready to go to work herself. I left at the usual time, so I've no idea. It was the tube that was delayed, not me.”
Amanda noticed that Gordon was getting anxious; his voice was rising slightly and getting snappier with each response. His solicitor hadn't said anything yet, but then Dupin hadn't asked any questions that Gordon couldn't answer simply. She watched Gordon wring his hands nervously on the table in front of him; the questioning was starting to bother him.
Amanda was aware of the door into the viewing room opening behind her, and turned to see Jack slipping in.
“Thought I'd just see how it's going,” said Jack.
“That depends which side you're on,” said Amanda. “Gordon seems ever so worked up now, and I don't blame him, but he's just said that he was delayed getting to his course on the Thursday morning. There was a suicide on the line, and the detective in me says that would have been on the news. He could have used that excuse and not been on that tube at all. He could have been at home, disposing of a body.”
“You’re beginning to sound like you don’t believe him either,” said Jack.
“No, I’m not. I’m saying that’s what Dupin will be thinking too. The chance of tracing anybody that could confirm he was on that tube is pretty remote. Yes, the CCTV cameras down there could be scrutinized. But it would be like searching for a vegan in a butcher’s shop— a long shot— and he is hardly someone that stands out in a crowd during rush hour.
“Good luck with that one,” Jack grunted in reply, hoping he wasn't going to be the one to have to trawl through the footage to prove otherwise.
“Dupin’s taking it easy at the moment, but I can feel where this is going. It could be a long night,” said Amanda. “And until Dupin is satisfied with his replies, he’ll want to keep working on him. And that means an arrest.”
Jack didn't know what to say, and settled for “It’ll all work out in the end, Amanda.” He hoped it sounded encouraging enoug
h, because right now as he looked at Gordon Simpson, it didn't bode well. Even if Simpson had been on that tube, there had still been plenty of time the previous evening to dig a hole under cover of darkness and bury Des Walker.
“Do you recognise this?” Dupin asked, pushing a photo across the table. It showed the gold cufflink.
Gordon stared at it before speaking. “Yes, it’s a cufflink.”
“Of yours?”
“I had some like this, yes. Madeline bought them for an anniversary present one year, but I lost one somewhere.”
“We found a single cufflink not far from the remains of Mr Walker. Can you explain how that could have happened, Mr Simpson?” Dupin sat back in his chair, smug.
“I’m sorry, no, I can’t. Maybe I lost it in the garden and with the digging, it’s turned up.” Gordon’s voice faltered slightly, as he undoubtedly realised where this was heading. An item of his had been found near a dead body in his old garden. Anyone would start to feel frightened at the implications and Gordon couldn’t explain it any further. His solicitor finally spoke.
“Since they are Crystal Palace supporter merchandise, many pairs of these cufflinks would have been sold, so it hardly means my client is responsible for a man’s death, Detective Inspector.” He stood to leave. “Now, if that’s all you’ve got, my client has been more than generous with his time. And we’re leaving.”
Gordon stood, too, confusion evident on his face.
Dupin got to his feet as well, and Amanda and Jack watched intently, knowing in their hearts what was about to happen. They’d seen it so many times before.
“Not so fast,” said Dupin. “Gordon Simpson, I’m arresting you for the murder of Desmond Walker. You do not have to say anything...”
Amanda dropped her head with a mixture of anguish and worry. Only Gordon himself knew if he had anything to do with the landscaper’s death, but his arrest had just made things a whole lot more official. She hoped he wouldn’t be charged, not Gordon. She had to do something, but what? Her hands were well and truly tied behind her back now.
“I need some air,” she said, and left Jack watching the proceedings.
Jack, for his part, knew what this would now mean for Amanda, his friend and colleague, and his shoulders sagged under the realisation.
“Damn it!”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Jack watched as the small group in the interview room split up. Gordon Simpson and his solicitor huddled together deep in conversation, while Dupin left the room for a moment. He wondered about Ruth and whether Amanda would give her a call now, although since Ruth appeared to be avoiding her, it was unlikely. While it was tempting as a friend of the family to call her himself, it wasn't the done thing. And Gordon hadn't been charged with a crime as yet; he was still merely answering questions under caution. Still, it meant they could hold him for a full 24 hours, and because this was in regards to a murder investigation, that could be extended if need be. Jack hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Why Dupin had arrested the man quite so soon Jack wasn't sure, but Dupin had other things on his mind, so maybe he wasn't thinking clearly.
Jack thought back to his earlier conversation with Eddie, and the mention of his previous visitor. It had to have been Dupin, thanks to Kyle at the prison. But why would Dupin be involving himself in an old case, one that he'd only just found out that Jack was working on, and nothing to do with Gordon Simpson at all? The fact that Dupin's mind was evidently elsewhere could be a good or bad thing, depending on your outlook and whose side you were on, but in this case, it didn’t bode well for accuracy and open-mindedness.
He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was getting late and there was nothing more for Jack to do here. He made his way out of the viewing room in search of Amanda; she needed his support right now. When things got personal, rationality went out the window, and he only hoped that she wasn't going to do anything stupid. He made his way towards the back door, figuring that was where she'd headed when she’d announced her need for air. There’d be no point going to the squad room or out the front, where protesters were still waiving their banners and shouting at anyone that might listen.
“It’s about time they buggered off home,” he mumbled to himself.
He found her outside, perched with one bottom cheek on a concrete step, shoulders bent forward and her head in both hands. He hoped she wasn't crying—he'd never seen her cry, and he wasn’t good with other people’s tears. Jack sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders, feeling a little uneasy at the contact. While they were mates, she was still technically his boss and they were at work, but still, she was human and so was he, and if she needed some support, he was the one to give it. If prying eyes didn't approve, tough shit.
He rubbed ever so gently in between her shoulder blades with his left hand, something his mother had used to do to him when he was upset as a young boy. He’d appreciated the comfort. Amanda responded by lifting her head and turned to him with moist eyes. Her tears were about to spill over, but she fought them back with sheer will, and so far, they were staying put.
“Well, there’s nothing more you can do here tonight, Amanda,” said Jack. “Why don’t you head home, go and talk to Ruth?”
“The fact that I'm so close to this makes me want to be involved. He's my father-in-law, Jack. I'm supposed to be able to help him, protect him, protect Ruth from bad things happening. I feel so helpless.”
“I'm sure this will all wear out soon enough. There’s got to be something positive that can help him if he’s innocent, and he’s not been charged yet.”
“You know as well as I do, it doesn't matter about that. If the CPS thinks there is a case beyond reasonable doubt that he is the person who did it, or at the very least disposed of the man’s body, then he'll be charged shortly. And then it’s going to be hell.”
They both knew that Gordon’s being charged with murder meant time in a remand centre while awaiting trial, followed by a lengthy prison spell if he was found guilty.
“Let's hope it doesn't come to that,” said Jack. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Being arrested just means Dupin can formally question him, and until we've got something a bit more concrete to present to the CPS, he won't be charged. This time tomorrow he could be back at his own house.”
“Don't get my hopes up, Jack. I know what you're trying to do and I appreciate it, but just don’t, okay?” She stood, brushing his arm off her shoulders, and headed back inside. Jack was tempted to follow, but figured he'd give her some space. She was probably going to get her bag and head home, as he’d suggested. He hoped she would; there was nothing she could achieve here.
It was time he was heading out himself, but Dupin might need him, so he headed back inside to see what the man’s next move was. He found Dupin in his office, seated behind his desk, deep in thought. Jack rapped on the door with his knuckle and walked in.
“What's your plan?” said Jack. “Leaving him to stew before you go back for more questions?”
Dupin didn’t bother to raise his eyes. “Something like that. Do you need something, Jack?” he asked.
“I was just going to head off home, but I don't know if you need me, what with Amanda out of it.”
“Amanda? Oh, yes. Father-in-law. No, she can't be involved. “
“I guess Raj is going to be working with you on it? Not me?”
“Yes, I’ll stick with Raj, keep things clean. I've had it up to my back teeth with people pointing fingers at procedure and cover-ups. I don't need any more crap. Go home, Jack. I'll call you if you’re needed, if anything transpires.”
Jack was about to head out the door when a question occurred to him. He wrestled for a moment, debating whether to ask it or not. What the hell.
“Do you think the CPS will go for it on what little we have—a body in his old garden and a cufflink nearby?”
Dupin finally looked up at him. “Quite probably.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
If Amanda thought she
was dreading going home before, the dread had now doubled. It felt like broken concrete slabs thrown together in her stomach, jagged edges pushing out from her insides. She wasn't looking forward to facing Ruth. She slipped her key into the lock and went inside. The house was deathly quiet, yet she knew Ruth was home. She could smell her, sense her; her perfume lingered in the hallway and Amanda could feel her presence somewhere close by. There was no point calling out; she doubted if Ruth would answer.
Amanda glanced around the lounge door to check if she was there, but the room was empty. She carried on down to the kitchen and peered inside. Ruth was stood looking out of the kitchen window at her herb garden, but didn't say a word as she heard Amanda come in. Her body language conveyed how she was feeling; her shoulders visibly sagged. Amanda waited patiently, knowing that Ruth needed her space; having never been in such a delicate situation herself before, she hoped that staying quiet was the right thing to do. She stood motionless in the doorway and willed Ruth to turn around and say something.
It felt like a lifetime later when she finally did, though it was probably only a minute or two. Ruth’s eyes were pink around the edges from crying, her make-up slightly smeared, and she looked terrified. Her bottom lip was trembling as she tried unsuccessfully to steady her voice.
“Why didn't you call and tell me?” she asked in a voice that was barely audible.
“I wish I could've, Ruth, you know that, but it's not my place. And you hadn’t returned any of my previous calls. I'm assuming you’ve spoken to your father?”
“His solicitor called me, said he’d been arrested. It’s serious, isn’t it, Amanda?”
“I hope it's not Ruth, but you know I can't discuss an ongoing investigation, particularly when it is one that involves a family member. And I'm off the case so I don't know how much help I could be anyway. I can only tell you what I suspect will happen, and that is if Dupin feels he's got enough evidence, he'll go to the CPS and your father will be charged. If not, arrest means just a formal questioning, so he may well be home in a few hours. It really depends on Dupin, the evidence and the CPS. It’s totally out of my hands.”
