Poetic Justice

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘When they say it’s an accident, then it is an accident,’ said Larry. ‘You’ve just got to accept it and move on.’

  Dylan stopped and turned. His eyes were the colour of steel. ‘Until I’ve reviewed all the facts for myself, just as usual, I won’t be assuming anything. And you won’t either. Do I make myself clear Detective Sergeant Banks?’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bill Jones, Jen’s new landlord, had gone way beyond his remit to ensure her safety by calling in to fit deadlocks on the doors at the little cottage. Her new home had a lovely little garden out back for her to hang out in and plenty of room for Max to play. Out at the front she marvelled at the magnificent views of the valley below and the spectacular surrounding hillsides.

  ‘Rita wanted to make sure you felt safe,’ Bill had said. ‘Now, I don’t need to know what’s gone on, but I can’t have a junkie living in my property, no matter who vouches for your character. Do you understand?’ The balding, pot-bellied man in overalls peered sternly at her over his glasses.

  Jen suppressed a giggle. ‘I can promise you, Mr Jones, I don’t do drugs of any kind. Never have.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘What, never?’

  ‘No, never. And I never will. I’m just an old-fashioned girl.’

  ‘Well, that’s quite a revelation by today’s standards. Even I smoked a bit of pot at college.’

  His confession made Jen chuckle, which brought laughter lines to his eyes and to the corners of his mouth.

  ‘There’s some lovely walks around here for you and the dog. You’ll love it!’ he said.

  When Bill Jones had gone, and with her security assured, Jen had still found herself checking from time to time that the doors were locked and no one could enter, such was her fear that Martin might find where she was living.

  ‘You’ll be all right now,’ Rita had assured her a few days later as they sat eating fish and chips straight out of the paper and drinking the white wine Rita had brought out of cheap and cheerful glass tumblers.

  ‘I guess he doesn’t want to encourage drinking either,’ Jen said.

  Rita frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ she said, feeding Max the leftover scraps. ‘How’d you get to know Bill anyway?’

  Rita smiled widely as she took a sip of wine. ‘Because his nosy neighbours – he calls them Mr and Mrs Can’t-Mind-Their-Own-Business – don’t know the difference between a cannabis factory and a darkroom.’

  Jen screwed up her nose. ‘Eh?’

  ‘We ruined three days of his work when we barged in and turned the lights on while he was developing some film and I ended up with the property seized in the store.’

  ‘Really?’ Jen’s eyes were wide.

  ‘Really. There’s one thing that’s true, life is never dull working at a police station.’

  Suddenly, Jen looked serious. ‘You don’t think Martin will come looking for me, do you?’

  Rita shook her head. ‘I doubt it. He’ll be warned off trying to contact you and, besides, he’s a wimp. He knows he’s lost you, and no doubt that’s what he’s always been afraid of. But he was the author of his own disgrace; he certainly didn’t need a third party’s help.’

  Jen slid down onto the floor and put her arms tightly around Max who, lying comfortably on his side, put his head on her knee and looked up at her with his big brown eyes. ‘Maybe I should just resign myself to the fact that I’ll never meet anyone who’ll love me the way Max does,’ she said, ruffling his ears. Moaning contentedly, Max nuzzled his face in her lap.

  ‘Well, he obviously likes the idea, but I don’t think someone like you is destined to remain a spinster for ever,’ Rita said. ‘Mr Right will appear one day when you least expect it, and only then will you realise that the others really meant nothing.’

  Jen sighed heavily. ‘I wish I had your faith, but right now I am more than happy with a roof over my head and a job I love that gives me enough to pay the bills. And I like it just being me and Max here. Although, if I’m honest, another person’s contribution towards the rent would be a great help. But I can manage, just, and that’s all that matters right now.’ A huge smile lit up her face. ‘I’ve never had an en-suite bathroom before.’

  ‘There’s always a positive in everything. Sometimes it takes some bloody finding, but I’ve always found that as one door closes another one usually opens.’

  Martin Schofield entered the pub and headed straight for the bar. After being released from the police station on bail he’d got a taxi home, where he’d discovered all Jen’s personal belongings had gone and found a brief note telling him it was over between them. He ordered a beer and a shot, then another and another. In no time at all Martin was very drunk – and very loud.

  ‘Good riddance is what I say!’ he said to the landlord before sarcastically raising his glass to make a toast. ‘Here’s to the exes and the goody-goody police officers who kiss ass,’ he said. ‘Nothing but trouble, you women.’

  ‘Aye, you can’t live without ’em and you can’t live with ’em,’ said the landlord, taking Martin’s empty glass and refilling it for the umpteenth time.

  Arriving at the intensive care unit, Dylan flashed his warrant card to the woman manning the nursing station.

  ‘We need to see the injured driver, please,’ said Larry, with a close-lipped smile.

  Unquestioning, the nurse led them down the corridor.

  ‘Could you update me on his condition?’ asked Dylan. His voice sounded strange to his ears.

  ‘No change,’ she said.

  ‘And we still don’t know who he is?’

  She shook her head in reply as she walked ahead, briefly peering into each room as she passed. Each door had the patient’s name on. When she came to the door without one, she put her hand on the handle, knocked gently and pushed it open to show the officers the patient lying prone on the bed, connected to intravenous tubes and wearing an oxygen mask. The bandages wrapped around his head were thicker on the right-hand side, giving him a grossly misshapen look. His hands were also wrapped in bandages, which formed thick white mittens.

  There was a nurse at the foot of the bed, filling in an observation chart. She nodded to the detectives and whispered something to her colleague, then they left together.

  Dylan took a step closer to the bed, his fist forming a tight ball. He swallowed hard and felt his stomach clench. Larry, sensing his distress, gripped hold of his arm, feeling the raw hatred pouring out of every pore of Dylan’s body.

  The man in the bed lay still as death, breathing with the aid of the mask, but showing no signs of consciousness at all.

  ‘What if he never wakes up?’ said Larry in a whisper.

  Dylan opened his mouth and then shut it. He gave a slow shake of his head. ‘It’s not an option. He has to,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  For a few minutes the two stood in silence, Dylan motionless, scanning the patient with his trained eye, searching desperately for something about him that would tell him who he was. But he could find no clues.

  ‘It’ll take time, but you’ll find out soon enough,’ Larry said, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Why don’t you go now and leave this to me? You must break the news to Isla, before she hears it from elsewhere.’ He tugged at Dylan’s arm. ‘Come now. There’s nothing we can do here.’

  Dylan didn’t move. Larry tried again. ‘Let’s go and grab a coffee, eh, and maybe something to eat? We can talk about how you’re going to tell Isla?’

  At last Dylan spoke, but his eyes didn’t leave the patient.

  ‘Don’t worry. When I hit him I want him to be conscious – and to know it’s me.’ Dylan screwed up his face. ‘Who the fuck is he anyway?’ he said with venom.

  Dylan held Isla’s hand while he broke the news of her mum’s death to her, awaiting some sort of reaction, but there was none.

  ‘That’s sad,’ she said eventually, wiping away a lone tear. ‘Can I see her?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Dyla
n. ‘We’ll go straight away.’ He looked across at the nurse standing beside them. ‘I need to make sure it’s okay with the staff first,’ he said. The nurse nodded her consent.

  Isla wanted her father to comfort her; she didn’t like seeing him looking so tense and powerless. It wasn’t like Dylan to be so reserved, as if he was detached from reality. His reality, to all intents and purposes, was also her world – one that had just been blown apart. She tried desperately hard not to show him, or anyone else, how upset and frightened she was really feeling, in order to help ease his burden.

  While Isla went to get her things, Dylan spoke to the nurse. It concerned him deeply that after hearing such devastating news Isla had yet to show any kind of emotional reaction.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Dylan. It’ll be the medication she’s taking; it’s helping to keep her calm.’

  Perhaps when he took her to see Kay’s body she would be different. He would be prepared for her reaction and, of course, would be there for her for as long as it took.

  Why was it Mum who died? Isla asked herself repeatedly as she stared out of the car window. Maybe if I hadn’t been away from home, she’d still be alive. Her questioning lasted the entire journey, until they pulled up outside the mortuary.

  When he stopped the car, Dylan laid a hand on hers. ‘There was nothing you could have done,’ he reassured her. ‘Your mum’s death was out of our control. I want you to remember that.’

  But she couldn’t take in Dylan’s words. She felt numb. If only he hadn’t gone to that stupid conference, she thought to herself. You were her husband. You should have been with her. But she couldn’t speak those words out aloud to him, as she became increasingly confused about what she should say or do. The mind-numbing medication didn’t help.

  In his own state of shock, Dylan assumed that her calmness was a sign that she was coping, little realising just how much she needed him to console her.

  It was the first time she had ever seen a dead person, let alone the cold, dead face of someone she loved. Isla could never in a million years have prepared herself for what she saw, or for her reaction to the waxwork-like mask that had taken the place of her mother’s beautiful face, which was purposefully laid on one-side for the viewing. Although the mortician had done his best with the make-up, the body lying in front of her was unrecognisable as the person who’d cared for her and nurtured her from birth.

  A stifling sensation crept through Isla’s brain, her pulse began to race and there was an intolerable struggle inside her. Strange lights flashed before her eyes and an unearthly singing rang in her ears. For the first time in her life Isla fainted.

  Once again, Derek Booth was there and when he heard Isla’s breathing getting shallower and saw her swaying, his eyes met Dylan’s over Isla’s head and he reached out ready to catch her.

  ‘You okay, Isla?’ she heard her father’s voice, as he dabbed at her forehead with a cold cloth. She was lying down on a sofa and Dylan was putting a cold glass of water to her lips, encouraging her to take small sips. ‘When you’re ready,’ he said gently. ‘I’ll take you back.’

  ‘Will she be cremated or buried?’ Isla asked, struggling to sit upright. Her head felt fuzzy. Dylan put a hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her back towards the cushion that acted as a pillow. He couldn’t believe her calmness and was somewhat shocked that she should already want to know about her mother’s funeral arrangements.

  ‘What do you think your mum would have wanted?’ he said.

  She seemed to be contemplating his question. He squeezed her hand. ‘It’s okay to cry, you know,’ he said softly.

  Isla looked confused. ‘Don’t fuss. I’m fine. I’ve seen her now and I know she’s not coming back. We’ve got to move on. I think she would have wanted to be cremated and, to be honest, I don’t like the idea of putting her in the ground for the insects to eat her up.’ Isla got up. ‘Shall we go now? I don’t want to miss tea.’

  ‘She’s not grieving,’ Dylan told one of the rehabilitation staff.

  ‘Give her time,’ the nurse replied.

  At the police station the news of Kay’s death had spread as quickly as an outbreak of flu. Detective Inspector Jack Dylan’s wife had been killed and the sour gossip was spreading throughout the building like wildfire. Who had been driving Dylan’s car? Was the man really her lover? Malicious tongues were extrapolating further: she’d been going to leave Dylan for another man.

  Dylan could not deny any of it. But they were all surprised at him turning up at work. As far as he was concerned, he had a job to do and he needed to focus on that to get him through, with the help of the many friends and colleagues who truly cared about him and chose to ignore all the gossip.

  ‘Boss, what are you doing here?’ asked Larry.

  ‘I can’t be at home.’ Dylan reached for the paperwork in his in-tray. Surprisingly, most of it had already been done. Dylan raised his eyebrows at Larry. He looked at his friend knowingly. ‘So, you can do it if you put your mind to it.’

  Larry smiled. ‘How’s Isla? Or is that a daft question?’

  ‘She looks and acts like a zombie. But the staff at rehab tell me that the medication she is on is helping her to cope with the situation.’

  ‘It must be good stuff.’

  ‘Or bad, depending on how you look at it. But she did say she was looking forward to her tea, so if she’s managing to eat now, at least that’s a positive.’

  ‘Talking of food, have you eaten anything since this morning?’

  Dylan’s eyes were on his computer screen as it pinged into action. He didn’t reply.

  ‘Didn’t think so. So, how about we get out of here and go across to the Armitage Arms and get ourselves a couple of pints of anaesthetic and a sizzling hot beef sandwich? The others are setting up in readiness to pick up James Vincent Maloney Junior, the brace and bit burglar, tomorrow morning. I’ll tell them not to bother us unless it’s urgent.’

  ‘Obviously learned everything he knows from his dad. I’ve locked Vincent up a few times.’ Dylan looked thoughtful. ‘How come it’s always the wrong ’uns that seem to live till a ripe old age?’

  Larry shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Tell me,’ Dylan said as they stood at the bar. ‘Why do you think people cheat on each other?’

  Larry picked up his pint and eagerly put the golden nectar to his lips. The cold liquid felt good to his parched throat. ‘Excitement, the thrill of the chase? Who knows?’

  ‘You’ve been in some close scrapes with the husbands of your “acquaintances”, so what’s it all about for you?’

  Larry tipped his head back and finished his pint. He nodded at Dylan’s full glass. ‘Drink up,’ he said, handing his empty glass to the bartender.

  Dylan looked at him questioningly.

  ‘Sex! I don’t know what else you want me to say! Sex without any strings attached. If the ladies need my services, then I’m available. And luckily I’m a fast runner.’ He laughed, trying to make light of the situation as he accepted the second pint and paid the bartender.

  ‘Do you never think about the husband?’

  ‘No,’ he said, pulling back. ‘Why should I? When all’s said and done, I’m not the one who’s doing the cheating.’

  Dylan managed to produce a brief smile. ‘Aye, and it’s me that’s left to deal with all the shit when they make threats against your life!’

  Chapter Twenty

  Surely Kay couldn’t have known how her philandering would pan out and the hurt it would consequently cause her husband and her daughter. She couldn’t have been that selfish, could she? As Dylan lay on the sofa in the darkened living room, an intense welling up of pity for Isla and loathing for his wife churned together like a whirlpool in his stomach. He let his chin fall to rest on his chest and was grateful for this moment of solitude to think things over.

  No matter what he’d done to cause her to take a lover, there was no reason for her to have neglected her own daughter to pursue her own self-
gratification; but she’d paid the ultimate price – and her lover was still alive. Dylan squeezed his eyes shut and let the alcohol numb the pain, but it sent his mind reeling with unwanted thoughts.

  What twists and turns their lives had been dealt. They’d been happy once, simply out of their love for one another.But was it love he had felt? He questioned himself now. Had it merely been a fierce need to protect the lovely young woman and the little girl who’d been parted from her father after a fatal freak accident at work? All that seemed a lifetime ago now: a lifetime since he’d been the young CID aide called upon to comfort a victim’s wife. However, all that was inconsequential now, in light of the recent tragedy that had befallen them.

  What he was currently going through didn’t compare with Kay’s loss at that time, or with Isla’s now. Kay had lost the person with whom she had chosen to spend the rest of her life, the father of her baby; Isla had lost both her birth father and, now, her beloved mother.

  When Dylan had married Kay, his promises to her had been set in stone. He had fully intended them to last a lifetime. To have and to hold from this day forward … until death do us part.Now, hurtful as it was, he was forced to accept that for her the words she had spoken in front of the registrar back then had meant nothing. Just the thought of it gave him pain, and moisture began to fill his eyes. Was it shameful of him to be angry with a dead woman? Hastily, he brushed the tears away with the back of his hand. He sat up and shook his head. Get a grip! What good were tears anyway? The past was gone. A past that apparently had never really mattered to anyone but him. That was the stark truth.