Dead Girl Found

by Giles Ekins

  Janet sobbed out loud again, her last hope that it was all some ghastly mistake, a hideous nightmare from which she would soon wake up dashed away. Taking a fresh tissue from the box of held by Kimberly, she dabbed at her eyes again and turned towards her son David, who stood by the front window, looking outwards, seemingly oblivious to the tragic scene playing out around him.

  ‘David, did you hear that, it is our Julia. She’s dead David Dead. Oh God. No. No.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I heard. Julia’s dead, sorry.’ he responded dully, still staring out of the window, not even turning to look at her.

  ‘Is that all you can say? Sorry? Your sister is dead and all you can say is sorry. Sorry?

  ‘What do you want me to say? Look, I’m sorry she’s dead, but am I heartbroken? No.’

  My God, thought Mary Tanner, he’s a callous little bastard, can’t he see that his mother is devastated, totally devastated?

  ‘Always so cruel, David,’ sobbed Janet. ‘Julia’s dead and you’ve nothing to say about it?

  ‘OK. I’m sorry. And sorry for the way it happened. But look, she filled her arm with shit heroin, nobody else, and she OD’d on it. Yeah, it’s tragic and all that, but what more is there to say?’ She did it to herself. End of.’ At that, David Jarrett took his mobile phone from his pocket, switched it on, checked for messages, turned on his heel and walked out.

  ‘David, David, wait, please, Wait.’ Janet called after him in anguish.

  ‘I’m outta here. Can’t take all this hysteria shit.’

  ‘Let him go, love,’ said Donald, ‘He’ll be back, he’s just upset, that’s all, he can’t really face up to it yet, He’ll be back soon enough, and you’ll see that he’s upset, really upset about our Julia, honest.’

  The front door slammed to and a minute or so later a car drove away with a squeal of tyres as it sped out into the road.

  Janet burst out with fresh sobs, ‘Donald, why is he always like towards me? No matter what, he’s always like that. It’s as if he hates us, hates me anyway, and after all we do for him.’-

  Donald could only shrug in mute impotence, he had run out of excuses for David’s behaviour, truth be known he was just a nasty little shit with a barrow load of resentments and bitterness towards us and the world in general.

  The sooner he gets himself off his backside and moves out of here the better.

  Two

  Seven weeks later

  He spotted her walking down on the opposite side of the road. Chloe! Chloe Macbeth, once his sister’s best friend, in and out of the house all the time, as if she lived there. Inseparable they were, almost joined at the hip, like Siamese twins..

  He waited for a gap in the traffic then hurried across the road to intercept her. She looked different from the last time he had seen her, but that was 2 years or so ago in fact, not long after Julia pissed off down to London and started pumping that shit into her arm.

  He was 27, nigh on 28, about 5’10’’ in height and of slight build. His hair was thick and dark which he sometimes wore in a tight curl at the back of his head. His clothes, mostly jeans and sweatshirts, although clean were rarely pressed and he carried a permanent scowl across his face, a scowl that reflected his attitude in life, ‘If they don’t like it, tough shit!’

  Chloe had her blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, which swayed from side to side as she walked. She wore a pale green roll neck sweater, jeans with designer rips to the knees and frayed raggedy bottoms and a pair of dark-red Converse shoes. He could see that she was oblivious to her surroundings, earbuds plugged in as she listened to music on her iPhone., her head nodding in time to whatever she was listening to.

  He stood in front of her as she approached and held his arms out in greeting. At first, she did not notice him, too engrossed in her music. He waved his arms at her, trying to attract her attention. She looked up, saw who it was and tried to dodge away to one side, but he stepped in front of her to block the way. She swerved in the other direction, but again he got in front of her, forcing her to halt. Irritated, she pulled out the ear buds and glared at him.

  ‘David Jarrett! What do you want, I’m in a hurry?’

  ‘Just to say hello, for old times’ sake, you know. I’ve not seen you around in a while, is all.’

  ‘OK, hello David. How are you. How are your Mum and Dad?’ Chloe asked out of politeness, not that she felt any need to do so.

  ‘Total zombies if you want to know. Donald moons around, hitting the bottle hard. And Janet? Janet just goes to all these spiritualist meetings, you know, convening with the dead and all that shit.’

  ‘Well say hi to them’ but David still tried to block her way as she made to move on past

  ‘What’s the hurry, eh? Like I said, not seen you around for a while.’

  At 5’9’’, Chloe was nearly as tall as David as she glowered into his face. ‘I’ve been away, now let me pass.’

  But still he blocked her way, grinning at her as if it was a childish game they were playing.

  ‘Been away? Somewhere nice? What, sun, sex and sangria in Magaluf?’

  ‘Askham Grange, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business.’

  ‘Askham Grange? What that then when it’s at home? A fancy spa resort?’

  ‘Hardly. It’s a women’s prison. Now I really must go,’ trying once again to get passed him, without success.

  ‘Prison, eh? Cool. Waddya do?’

  ‘I stabbed this guy who pestering me in the street.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, you always was a joker, Chloe. Look, why don’t you come around sometime? We could have some fun, just like we used to, you Julia and me, OK? For old times’ sake. What do ya say?

  ‘God, you are one sick puppy. Julia’s barely cold in her grave and here you are sniffing around like a dog over a pool of his own vomit. It’s pathetic, And sick. Now let me pass.’

  Think about it, why not? Just think about it.’

  ‘It’s never going to happen. I’d rather go back to prison. Look, whatever happened, happened a long time ago. I’ve moved on. Not going back there.’ She dodged from side to side to try and pass but each time he blocked her way with his arms.

  ‘Look, don’t be hasty. I’ll give you a call, right? Give me your mobile number, I’ll give you a call. Fix something up?’

  ‘David. How can I say this politely? Just fuck off, right? Fuck off!’

  And this time she did get past him and hurried down the street, seething with anger. He stared after her.

  ‘Bitch,’ he mouthed at her departing back , just as rain began to spatter down. He pulled up the hood of his black sweatshirt with a ‘Manifest Skateboards’ logo on the chest and hurried into Waterstone’s where he stayed until the rain eased up

  Three

  Even after she had reached home, Chloe was still angry. Angry and deeply annoyed with David Jarrett for intruding into her life again like that.

  Bastard!

  She lay down on her bed, pulled Jeremy over and pressed him to her breast. Jeremy was a teddy bear, in Chloe’s opinion, a highly intelligent and perceptive bear with whom she often held imaginary conversations.

  Chloe told Jeremy about her encounter with David Jarrett who the hell did he think he was, harassing me like that, eh? Jeremy listened quietly, just nodding in sympathy from time to time

  After she had finished. Chloe picked up her iPhone and began scrolling through her photographs. She had one special photograph in mind. She flicked through rapidly, the images flashing before her eyes. She saw the one she wanted slide past and scrolled back to it. It was a selfie of herself and another girl, both giggling and smiling into the camera lens. Chloe looked at the photo for a minute or so as a tear trickled down her cheek and then kissed the image.

  ‘Miss you Babes, ‘she whispered and hugged Jeremy even tighter.

  Four

  Four months after the death of Julia Jarrett

  He really should not have had that last calvados, tasty as it was.

&nb
sp; Or the one before that.

  And if truth be told, not even the one before that. He’d also drunk a couple of pints of ‘Farmers Blonde’ whilst waiting for the others and then the wine had flowed freely over the meal. But he was OK to drive, no problem, whatever his wife Stella might say.

  DCI George Chatham, from West Garside CID, together with Stella, regularly met up with long-standing friends, Inspector Dave Boothroyd and his wife Sue and DS Fred Burbage, who was currently between divorces. Every two or so months they would go out for a meal at a pub or restaurant, had done so for years, the men taking it in turn to choose the location, not always to the approval of the ladies.

  This time they had dined at ‘The Horns’, a pub out on Staines Moor, about 11 miles from town. ‘The Horns’ was noted for its steaks, supplied by a local farmer and all three men had chosen them. George liked his well done, char-coaled according to Stella, as did Fred, whilst Dave had his blue rare.

  The two wives chose scampi and all the dishes came served with ‘hand -cut, triple fried, gourmet chips. Which looked and tasted no different from the ones George and Stella bought from their local fish and chip shop, only costing three times as much for a third of the quantity.

  Stella and Sue shared, and drank, about two thirds of a bottle of prosecco. George, Dave and Fred got through three bottles of Argentinian Malbec, although George drank the most and was ready to order a fourth bottle, but the others declined, so he ordered the calvados instead, ignoring Stella’s angry looks when he ordered another.

  George was feeling bloody-minded and bullish, in that sullen mood when the more he drank the soberer he felt even though Stella and the others could clearly see the effects. His eyes were glazing, his speech ever so slightly slurred and as he stood up from the table he staggered and wavered before recovering his balance.

  They settled the bill, splitting it three ways down the line as usual, which was a bit unfair since George had drunk by far the most whilst Fred was paying a share of Sue and Stella’s meal as well as his own, but he was outranked by the other two and so said nothing, even though he grumbled about it to himself. ‘Always the bloody same, coughing up way more than my fair share.

  They said their goodbyes, hugged and kissed and George and Stella walked out to the carpark, whilst Sue made a last visit to the Ladies.

  Dave and Sue were giving Fred a lift home with Sue driving, whist everybody, apart from George, assumed that Stella would be driving but he had other ideas. He walked straight to the driver’s side of the car, a Saab 9.5, 2.0 Aero. He loved his Saab, nine years old now, one of the last to roll off the production line in Trollhättan, Sweden, but he refused to part with it. Not that he couldn’t afford something new, a BMW or Merc, but he just loved his Saab and that was the end of it. ‘Be a classic one day,’ he was fond of saying to anybody who cared to listen.

  Stella drove a yellow Fiat 500, but he refused to be seen dead in that, in any case at 6’4’’ and the best part of 20 stone, he could barely fit in anyway. ‘Bloody motorised pram’, he called it, and insisted in taking the Saab whenever they went out together. He drove one way, Stella always driving back after he’d had a drink or three, he thought it a thoroughly equitable division of labour.

  He took the keys from his pocket and clicked on the fob to unlock the doors.

  ‘Pass the keys George, I’m driving, you’re in no fit state.’

  ‘Bugger that, I’m driving. Get in,’ He opened the door and clumsily climbed in behind the wheel.

  ‘No George, you’ve had far too much, All that wine and calvados. Let me drive. Please.’

  ‘I told you no. Now get in the bloody car.’

  ‘Please George, let me drive. Give me the keys.’

  ‘How many more times, No. Now get in the car else you’re walking home.’

  Stella had seen him in this mood before. Blood-minded and wilful, more than capable of driving off and leaving her behind. ‘OK,’ she said as she got into the passenger seat and buckled up her seat belt. ‘Just take it slowly. It’s dark and the roads are narrow and winding. Just take it slowly, OK George? Promise?’

  George grunted something, which might have been a yes or no as he fumbled to get the key into the ignition, located behind the gear lever on the central console between the seats. ‘Stupid fucking place to put it,’ he grumbled. Eventually he got the key in place and started the engine, put the gear lever into drive and drove off.

  ‘Lights George, turn the lights on.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, doin’ it.’

  A red warning light located above the mirror flashed on, ‘FASTEN BELTS’.

  ‘George, your seat belt.’

  Driving with one hand on the wheel, George fumbled his seat belt into place before speeding out of the car park.

  ‘Slow down’, Stella yelled, grabbing onto the sides of her seat.

  The roads down from the moor are, as Stella pointed out, narrow and winding, twisting around a steep drop to the valley below. George was driving too fast for the roads, his reactions far too slow, braking sharply as the bends came onto to him too quickly, oversteering as he exited a corner and bounced across a low grassy bank. An oncoming car approached, flashing his main beams to tell George to dip his but he was too slow to react, and the other car flashed past with a blare of the horn.

  ‘What’s your fucking problem?’ George shouted,

  The road now passed through a forested area, managed by the Forestry Commission, and the trees, mostly conifers, dark and menacing, seemed to close in about the car, making the twisty roads seem even darker and narrower.

  ‘Slow down George, for God’s slow down. Please let me drive or at least slow down, please.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake woman, just shut up, will you? George turned and snarled at her, taking his bleary eyes off the road. It was that split second, that split second that drags out into eternity.

  The Saab was into the corner much too quickly, even if he had been sober George could never have taken the bend at that speed. He fought the wheel, an age too late, Stella screamed as the car hit the grass bank at the road side at an angle, careening the car across the road to the other side, it flew over the banking, crashing head first into a stand of thick pine trees. George was thrown forwards as the steering wheel airbag exploded into his face.

  Stella, although badly hurt and shaken, certain she broken some ribs, had the presence of mind to turn off the ignition. George crumpled back into his seat and slumped down, unmoving.

  The silence was sudden and frightening.

  ‘George, George,’ she screamed, clutching at his arm, shaking it as if to wake him up.

  ‘George’, she screamed again, sobbing with pain and anguish, fearful for her husband. They had crashed on a darkened country road, miles from anywhere, George was injured, unconscious, and the weight of it all suddenly bore down on her and she burst into racking tears, clutching again at George, pleading for him to respond.

  Dave and Sue Boothroyd, with Fred Burbage sitting in the back came around the bend and saw the Saab, crashed and crumpled in the trees at the other side of the road, its headlights spearing into the dark forest night, as if searching for woodland creatures, the front nearside wheel still lazily spinning round and round.

  ‘Fuck! Fucking hell, it’s George and Stella. Sue pull over. Pull over,’ shouted Dave, and Sue pulled the Mondeo as far off the road as she could. Before the car was fully at rest, Dave and Fred leapt out and ran across the road.

  ‘Bloody hell, no! George was driving,’ Fred shouted across, ‘What the hell was he doing behind the wheel, he was pissed out of his skull,’

  ‘Dunno, but you know what he’s like when he’s had a few, there’s no talking to him.’

  The Saab doors were locked, and Dave rapped upon the window, Stella screamed as she saw a face staring in at her before realising that it was Dave. Painfully, she reached down to press the central locking switch so that Dave and Fred could open the doors.

  Dave half carried the
whimpering Stella across to his own car, opened the back door and laid her down across the back seat.

  ‘George,’ she moaned, ‘get him out. Get him out.’

  ‘No Stella love, best to leave it for the paramedics when the ambulance comes. He might have spinal injuries, best to let the experts deal with him. You just lay here quiet like and we’ll sort it, George’ll be all right, you’ll see.’

  He ran to the back of his car, opened the boot and took out an emergency warning triangle and a powerful torch. He then ran back up the road for fifty yards and placed the triangle at the side of the road. He handed Sue the torch and told her to wave down any cars who came down, the last thing they needed was for a speeding car hurtling into the accident scene. Cars coming from the other direction would have a clearer sight and more warning of the accident.

  ‘Fred, he shouted, ‘get on the phone, get the lads over, we’ll need the fire brigade and an ambulance double sharpish.’

  ‘Already tried that, there’s no signal down here.’

  ‘Shit! Right, Sue had better take the car, turn it around where she can and get back up to the Horns, call it in from there. Sue’ he shouted, ‘get back down here. Fred, you take the torch. I’ll do what I can to make George comfortable.’ Twenty minutes later, Sue came back, having called the emergency services.

  It was another twenty minutes before the fire brigade arrived. Police cars, blue lights flashing now blocked off the road at either end, preventing any further unofficial traffic. An ambulance followed shortly.

  The paramedics and the fire brigade commander agreed that the only way to extract George without causing further injury was to cut the roof from the car and lift him out that way.

  Almost two hours after the crash George was finally lifted out from the wrecked Saab and placed in the ambulance. Stella got in with him and with lights flashing the ambulance sped away. Stella held his hand throughout the journey. ‘George darling, she repeated over and over. ‘George darling come back to me. Come back to me.’