After Jessica: A mystery novella

by Bailey,Morgen

  The man flipped open an ID badge. “I’m Sergeant Lewis.”

  Simon laughed as Sergeant Lewis said his name. Inspector Morse had been one of Jess’ favourite programmes and she’d almost called her cat Lewis until she found out he was discovered at the back of the local theatre during panto season, so named him Buttons instead.

  The officer continued serious faced. “And this is my colleague DS Taylor. May we come in?”

  “What’s this about?” Simon wasn’t the promptest of bill payers but he was sure there wasn’t anything outstanding.

  “I’m afraid we have some bad news and we’d rather not discuss it on your doorstep.”

  “Er, sure. Come in. Go through to the lounge.”

  The officers headed in that direction as Simon shut the front door, his heart thumping as he followed them.

  “Mr Price?” the Sergeant asked a clearly vacant Simon.

  “We suggest you sit down, Mr Price,” DS Taylor said.

  Simon immediately thought of his mother.

  “I’m afraid there was an accident this morning near Eversley involving…” She didn’t need to say any more.

  “Jess!” Simon blurted.

  “I’m afraid so, Mr Price.”

  “Is she…?”

  DS Taylor nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “No… How?”

  “Black ice, sir. We have you listed as the next of kin.”

  “Shit! Sorry. Shit!” Simon repeated as he sank into a chair. He sat there stone-faced as she told him the details. It was like watching TV and doing something else at the same time; you know someone’s speaking but it’s not sinking in. You snatch bits letting your sub-conscious soak up the rest.

  “Mr Price?” Sergeant Lewis said when he’d finished talking but had no reaction.

  Was that what they wanted? Simon thought. A reaction? For him to break down, to scream hysterically? Of course men didn’t do hysterics. Only mothers did hysterics. Their mother. Oh God. How was he going to tell her? She’d fall to pieces. Simon had heard over and over, parents being interviewed on TV saying how they’d never imagined they’d have to bury their child before them and here they were. His mum would be another interviewee saying exactly the same thing. Jess’ life would be the clichéd “such a waste of a young life”, “snatched away too soon” and so on.

  “Simon?”

  “Sorry. I am listening.”

  “It was quick. She wouldn’t have known much about it.” It wasn’t strictly true but it softened the blow.

  “That’s what we all want, isn’t it,” Simon replied numbly, “to not feel anything.”

  “There is something we need to ask you,” DS Taylor said. “Your sister had a donor card in her bag. The hospital would like your permission to…”

  “If that’s what she wanted.”

  “Thank you. I know it’s a difficult decision but time…”

  “Of course. Just… sure.”

  “Thank you. Excuse me then please, I’ll need to make a call.”

  Simon watched the woman leave the room, tapping digits on her mobile.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Sergeant Lewis asked when his colleague had left the room. “We'll keep in touch as the investigation progresses but at the moment it looks like a tragic accident. A freak of nature.”

  Simon laughed. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny, obviously, but that’s Jessica. Mum said she was a freak of nature, in the nicest possible sense. Mum had been told she couldn’t have any more children after me, then along came Jess.”

  “She’ll take it hard then.”

  “More than you know.”

  DS Taylor re-entered the room as the Sergeant continued. “Would you like us to break the news to her?”

  “Thanks, but I think it would be better coming from me. You turning up on her doorstep would be bad enough, no offence, but with the news you’ve got, it would finish her off.”

  The two officers looked at each other then back at Simon. “That’s quite all right. Is there anything else you need to know?”

  “Just… what happens now?”

  “We need you to make a formal identification.”

  “Oh right. Where?”

  “She’s been taken to Moorcroft Hospital. We can recommend companies to help you with the funeral arrangements. Unless...”

  “We know someone – my dad died a couple of years ago. A heart attack, as sudden but not…” Simon lowered his head, “…the same.”

  “I’m sorry. Can you come with us?” DS Taylor smiled weakly as Simon nodded.

  As they left the house, Simon grabbed his jacket from a hook in the hall.

  Pulling his keys out of his trouser pocket, he locked the front door before following the officers to the patrol car. He couldn’t help feeling like a criminal as he got in the back and imagined his neighbours’ curtains twitching. Let them think what they want. Word would get round soon enough.

  The twenty-mile journey to Moorcroft Hospital was the longest of his life. He dreaded seeing Jess on a ‘slab’. He’d seen many a crime programme, fact and fiction and knew what to expect, although he’d never seen a body in real life, not even his father. He knew seeing one in the form of a friend or family member though would seem real, yet unreal. Memories stick and although he wanted the last memory to be of his sister alive, he had to save this from his mother. She had to remember her daughter as she was; full of life, fun and smiling.

  As the patrol car arrived at the hospital, Simon stared at the patients and staff coming and going, all seeming to have the weight of the world on their shoulders. Sergeant Lewis drove towards the ‘emergency vehicles only’ area and Simon spotted two nurses, standing under what looked like a small transparent bus shelter, smoking. Simon shook his head and thought they, of all people, should know how bad it was. He recalled an article some years earlier about every cigarette ‘losing’ eleven minutes off a life. To take his mind off his situation, he did some calculations in his head based on a packet a day; almost six eleven minutes per hour, twenty cigarettes in a packet… so they’d lose an average of four hours a day. Simon was still trying to comprehend the craziness of the whole issue, when he realised DS Taylor was towering over him.

  As she opened his door, Simon’s mind raced back to a family holiday on a Devon farm when he’d put the child lock on his door despite being told not to, and was terrified of what his dad would say. Now it was another kind of terror. He wanted them to be wrong but the feeling in the bottom of his stomach told him they weren’t.

  They walked to the reception desk in single file and were then escorted through the maze of corridors towards the rear of the building. When they reached the mortuary, the hospital worker stepped back and bowed his head. DS Taylor turned to Simon. “Please brace yourself. Your sister sustained significant injuries.”

  Simon gulped then nodded as the DS opened the door.

  ###

  Chapter 7: Simon and Marion

  Sliding the key into the lock, Simon turned the key 180 degrees to the right, pulled down the white PVC handle and opened the door.

  “Mum?” he whispered.

  No reply.

  “Mum?” Simon repeated a little louder, walking to the kitchen / diner.

  Marion Price dropped the spoon she’d been holding into the cereal bowl. “Hello, dear… shouldn’t you be at work?”

  “Yes, only… I have something to tell you. Something bad.”

  “Is it work? Have they let you go? You know, it’ll be fine. You’ll find something else. You’re a bright–”

  “No, Mum,” Simon interrupted, “it’s Jessica.”

  “Is she all right? Where is she?”

  “There was an accident. This morning, on her way to work.”

  “Where is she?” Marion repeated.

  “At the hospital. At Moorcroft.”

  “Then she’s going to be all right.”

  “No. I’m so sorry.”

  “No!” Marion groaned and sunk to her knees
. “No, it’s not true. Who told you? They’ve got it wrong.”

  “Sorry, Mum, it is true. I’ve seen her.”

  “Where?”

  “At the hospital.”

  “You’ve… you’ve been to see her? She’s… it’s definitely her?”

  Simon nodded.

  Marion, sitting on her knees, said, “but why didn’t anyone tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “The police came to see me before I went to work. They only just caught me, I was running late.” Remembering her question, he continued. “Jess had me as next of kin.”

  At the use of the ‘had’, Marion winced. She couldn’t think of her daughter in the past tense. “I want to see her.”

  “I don’t think you should. She’s…” Tears welled up in his eyes. “It was a bad accident.”

  “How? Did she…?”

  Simon helped his mother onto the nearest chair and sitting opposite her at the table, recounted the morning’s events, though suitably toned down. She grasped a tissue from a box he’d moved from a nearby sideboard. As he spoke, she pulled it to pieces.

  As Marion stared at the tablecloth trying to take it all in, Simon walked over to the kettle and flicked the on switch, taking two blue-shaded mugs off a tree of six.

  “So it was quick?” Marion said finally, as Simon put her tea in front of her.

  Simon nodded again.

  “What happens now?”

  “It’s quite straightforward, they said. I’ve made the formal identification…”

  “Oh, Simon.”

  Simon’s eyes filled with tears. “It wasn’t her.”

  “What?”

  “No, I mean, it was her but she looked so cold; so pale. Not as we know her. So full of life and…” He gulped at his tea.

  “I can’t take it in.”

  “I know. They said it was an accident, black ice. Nothing she could have done. She’d tried to move her car, drive it out of the way of the train.”

  Marion yelped.

  “She did it to save the passengers,” Simon continued. “She’d always put herself last.”

  “Was anyone else…?”

  “No. No one badly injured, a few bumps and scrapes apparently. The train had slowed down but not…” Then he remembered Jessica’s cat. “Mum, can you take Buttons?”

  “Of course.”

  “I could but I work long hours and… I think he’d rather be with you.”

  Marion resumed staring at the tablecloth. “We’ll use the same company as with your father.”

  “Bennett's? Leave it with me. And I’ll sort out her house. I’ve phoned work to say I won’t be in today but I’ll say I need more time. I’ll get her numbers and contact people.”

  Marion nodded and tried a smile, which was reluctantly forthcoming.

  “It’ll be on the local news and in the papers. You may get people phoning you. May be best to leave the answerphone on and I’ll deal with it when I come back. I’ll stay for a while if that’s OK.”

  “That would be lovely,” Marion whispered.

  “If you speak to anyone, give them my number and I’ll handle everything.”

  “Thanks, dear.” Marion replied, not listening, eyes fixed on an embroidered bee hovering over a delicately sewn red rose.

  ###

  Chapter 8: Emily and Frank

  “Em! Phone’s ringing. Do you want me to get it?”

  “Thanks, love. Up to my armpits in soapy suds.” Emily heard her husband stomp along the landing from the bathroom to the bedroom and the phone stopped.

  A few seconds later, he thundered down the stairs and into the kitchen where Emily was drying the lunch dishes.

  “There’s been an accident.”

  “Andy!”

  “He’s fine. He was driving though, so he’s understandably upset. They’ve given him some time off. He’ll ring later to have a chat with you. I said we’d go over and see him but he says he’s fine. I’m not convinced so I think we should give him time then… Here, sit down. You look awful.”

  Frank put the kettle on and made his wife a cup of tea, then held her hand while he explained what had happened.

  ###

  Chapter 9: Simon and the Press

  “I’m off to collect Buttons.” Simon was heading for the hall when the phone rang. “Shall I?”

  “No. Let it go to the answerphone.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  The answerphone clicked in. “Hello. This is Marion Price. I can’t take your call, so please leave a message after the beep. Thank you for calling. Is that it? That button? Oh, yes.”

  “Hello, Mrs Price. This is the Eversley Echo. We’ve heard about your daughter and extend our condolences to you and your family. We were wondering whether you wouldn’t mind giving us a short statement. You can ring any of the features team on… 01632 821821. Thanks very much, Mrs Price, and again, we’re sorry for your loss.”

  Marion stared at the phone. “How did they find out so quickly?”

  “I think the police tell them. In a way I’m surprised they’ve not been in touch sooner. I’m so glad I beat them to it. Imagine if you found out from them first.”

  Marion shuddered.

  “Are you warm enough? Shall I put the heating up?”

  “No. I’m not cold.”

  “Do you want me to stay here?”

  “It’s fine. You go.”

  “I’ll ring the paper later? It’s too soon for you to deal with it.”

  Marion nodded, mouthed a ‘thank you’ and returned to the kitchen.

  As Simon opened Marion’s front door, a barrage of flashbulbs blinded him. He put his right arm to shield his eyes and the lights stopped. Several microphones were thrust towards his face with numerous reporters speaking at once.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t understand you,” Simon said, squinting.

  The nearest reporter to him repeated her question. “Mr Price? Can you tell us what happened.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “We’d like to hear it from you.”

  “My sister died this morning, that’s what happened.”

  “We understand.”

  “And how are you feeling?” another reporter asked.

  “Are you serious?” Simon snapped. “How do you think we’re feeling?”

  “We’re sorry. Of course. It must be a difficult time.”

  “Have you ever lost a sibling? A daughter?”

  “Well…”

  “Please, we’re trying to deal with this.”

  “Certainly, Mr Price. We just…”

  “If I talk to you, will you leave my mum alone?”

  The reporter looked at the group. “We will.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “We’d like your reflections on what’s happened and tell us something about your sister.”

  Simon shook his head and sighed. “I’m told by the police that Jessica was travelling to work and her car skidded on some ice, it clipped a van and ended up on the railway line.”

  “With they be pressing any charges?”

  “Against who?”

  “Er… anyone, sir?”

  “I don’t know. For Christ’s sake, I’ve only just told my mother she’s lost her only daughter.”

  “We’re sorry…”

  “So you keep saying.”

  “A few words on your sister, please, Mr Price,” another reporter shouted out.

  “Jessica… was fun-loving, had a great sense of humour and someone who would do anything for anyone. She’ll be sorely missed and we ask that you respect our privacy.”

  A couple of the reporters nodded.

  “Can I go now?” Simon asked, breaking the silence.

  “Thanks very much, Mr Price.”

  “Will you go too, please.”

  The group reluctantly disbanded and Simon waited until they’d driven off before leaving his mother’s house.

  ###

  Chapter 10: Simon

>   The white PVC door slammed against the hall’s wooden meter cupboard, the echo reverberating through the empty 1930s semi. Simon removed his key from the lock and switched on the hall light. Bending down and picking up half a dozen pieces of post, he closed the door behind him, locked it and walked towards the kitchen. He felt along the side wall and switched on the light. On the floor on the far side of the room was a fresh litter tray and by the fridge / freezer near him were two bowls, one almost to the top with water, the other contained remnants of dried cat food.

  “Buttons?” Simon called loudly but there was no reply. He called again but no sign of the cat. He looked around the room for the back door key and saw a bunch hanging on the side of a chest-height cupboard. Ignoring a small window lock key, he selected the next three smallest and tried each one in turn. The second worked and he went out into the garden, calling the cat’s name.

  A few seconds later, a squeak emerged from a nearby bush and Jessica’s black and white cat ran into the light streaming from the kitchen window and towards Simon, purring and weaving its body around Simon’s legs. Simon wasn’t particularly a cat lover but Buttons was Jessica’s and she’d adored him so he picked him up and made a fuss as if he were a long-lost child.

  As they returned inside the house, Simon lowered Buttons gently on to the kitchen floor and watched him run towards his food bowl. Simon then noticed a series of beeps coming from the direction of the lounge. A red flashing number eight greeted him as he walked over to the answerphone and pressed the green ‘play’ button.

  The machine dutifully beeped and said robotically, ‘Message one, received today at 9.21am. The caller withheld their number.’ “Alexis, it’s Veronica. Where are you? I’m getting irate phone calls from Daniel and he says a bloke’s answering your mobile. I’m at the office. Give me a call, will you, as soon as you get this.”