by Linda Coles
“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 disciplinary 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 r
ather 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 Walker 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.
His phone chirped with an incoming text.
Still on for dinner? VV
Jack smiled at his phone as he typed his reply. He must ask Vivian why she always signed off with VV, since her surname didn’t start with V.
You bet. Come for 7pm. It’s coq au vin.
Tres bon! Je vais apporter du vin.
Excellent. Au revoir.
Vivian. It was good to have the friendship of a female companion again, and though his Janine would always be in his heart, Vivian brought a warmth to him he hadn’t realised he had been missing. She was also quite clever at French, and he looked forward to sharing some of Mrs Stewart’s chicken casserole with her; she made it just the way he liked it, with half a bottle of wine in it.
Jack placed his phone on the desk in front of him and turned his chair so he could see out of the window. The sky was filled with thickening grey clouds that looked like cotton wool balls that had been soaked in dirty water. The sombre weather matched the sombre day, and his mind changed tack to Amanda and Ruth—the only other women in his life. Ruth had been charged with assisting an offender, but with the critical information that she had provided on the other two cases, she was unlikely to see any of the three- to ten-year jail term the offence carried. He hoped a suspended sentence would be it.
Gordon Simpson had of course been allowed to walk free; all charges against him had been dropped. Nobody could say for sure how the cufflink had ended up in the soil; maybe Madeline herself had found it and it had fallen into the hole accidentally that day. They’d never know for sure. After Gordon’s initial shock at the truth, he’d decided to take a break from work, giving himself some time to digest what the woman whom he’d known since childhood almost, had shared a bed with for so many years, had done. And his daughter had kept secret.
Jack knew that disappointment didn’t come close to what Gordon felt. “You think you know someone, but really—do you?”
“Talking to yourself again, Jack?” said Raj as he balanced on the corner of Jack’s desk, mug of tea in his hand. He carried an air of despondency, like the others in the room.
“It’s the only way to get any sense around here,” Jack said, smiling.
Chapter Seventy-Six
Three months later
Jack and Howard King stood waiting by the prison gates, like a scene from the Blues Brothers movie. In his head, Jack was running through the words of one of his favourite ELO songs, “Last Train to London.” It had been playing in the car on the way in, and on the night he’d first bought Vivian a drink at the Baskerville pub. As it turned out, that particular situation was bubbling along nicely for Jack. He had wanted that night to last forever, of course, but since there had been many more, he was happy enough. She was now filling her daytime hours with the new support group she’d started.
Howard nudged Jack as the doors opened and a slightly built man exited through them. He didn’t appear to be in any rush, and both men watched as Michael Hardesty ambled slowly toward them, drinking in the lunchtime autumn sunshine on his face as he moved, a small bag of belongings in one hand. By the time he’d reached his welcoming committee, he wore an exuberant grin from ear to ear.
“Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he said, a slight tinge of worry in his voice.
“You’re a free man, Michael, and no one can take that away from you now,” Jack assured him, returning a smile matching Hardesty’s in size. “Have you decided where you want to go first?”
Michael looked at the bunch of notes in his hand, all £46 of it. “It’s not a great deal they give you, is it?” he said.
“Enough for a pint and a bag of fish and chips,” Jack said brightly. As a man released from prison, even though he had been wrongly convicted in the first place, £46 was all Hardesty was entitled to. Not even an apology. He’d have been better off waiting until the end of his sentence in many respects; at least he’d have been entitled to support, or got a halfway house provided to him for a while. But who would want to hang around in prison when they didn’t need to? Not Michael.
“And I’ll buy,” added Jack. Hardesty’s bit of money had to last him until benefits could be sorted out, and that could be some weeks away.
“I had hoped Barbara and Cassy might have been here,” he said solemnly, as the three of them headed slowly over to Jack’s car. Both Jack and Howard King were keenly aware of the man’s physical limitations. Prison time hadn’t been good to him, and his strength was failing him. “But I guess they didn’t get the memo, eh?”
There was nothing for Jack or Howard to say to that. Both women had moved on many years ago, not wanting the family name to bring either of them further trouble. Jack had done his best to trace them both, and had found Barbara. She had remarried, however, and didn’t think it right to contact Hardesty again. ‘It was for the best,’ Barbara had told Jack in a letter, but Michael’s disappointment was obvious.
“I’ll get the first round in,” offered Howard as they climbed into Jack’s car. “You save your money.”
Jack started the engine and they set off out of the prison grounds.
“What are you looking forward to doing with your new freedom?” Jack asked over his shoulder.
“As odd as it sounds, I’m looking forward to making my own decisions again. The small ones, like when to turn the light off at night and when I’ll eat my breakfast. Do you know, I’ve not turned a light switch off in fifteen years? Or watered a plant.”
Jack turned to the frail-looking man beside him; his grey, pasty face was starting to change slightly to pink as his excitement increased. It was the best feeling in the world to see the man with hope in his eyes. Jack reached for his phone and his playlist, tapping the start icon. ELO ticked over in the background, carrying on from where it had been when they’d arrived at the prison. He hummed along as they drove, and Michael wound the passenger window down to sniff the air like a dog riding in a car along a country lane.
In fact, the whole story had started in a leafy country lane.
“Turn it up, Jack, would you? I feel like singing,” Hardesty said, sounding stronger with each word as he joined in with the lyrics he knew. Jack obliged and turned the volume up as high as it would go. He wound his own window down, and Howard, in the back, followed suit. With his long grey ponytail getting caught in the wash, he looked like an old rocker, as Jack’s car headed towards first the chip shop then the Baskerville pub for Michael’s first pint in fifteen years.
“I’ll think I’ll head into London afterwards,” Hardesty announced. “On the train maybe.” He fell silent again for a moment, listening to the words in the song, and then the three men picked up the chorus and sang like a trio of out-of-tune geriatrics on a coach day trip to Brighton.
The last train to London, Jack pondered. Where would Hard
esty go after that?
He had sod all.
But he did have his freedom.
Acknowledgments
This book is a work of fiction, though some physical places are indeed real. The characters however are most definitely a figment of my imagination.
I’d like to thank Graham Bartlett, a police procedural advisor who makes sure the correct process is followed when it comes to the technical stuff. That said, any variation from procedure is for creative purposes because in reality some tests take weeks to get the results back from. That would mess with the story timelines too much and we’d be all day waiting.
Thanks to Dr. Ben Swift who is the easiest forensic pathologist to work with in the whole wide world, along with Dame Sue Black, professor of anatomy and forensic anthropologist. Thanks to you both for your tissue and skeletal advice in keeping it real.
And thanks to Sarah Waters, and her help with the legal beagle.
And thanks to you, the reader because if you didn’t buy my books, there would be little point me writing any more.
And last but not least, hubby Paul, for your enthusiasm, constant support and ideas.
Also by linda coles
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The DC Jack Rutherford and DS Amanda Lacey Series:
The Controller
It takes courage to change sides.
