Poetic Justice

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Jack Dylan, off work? You’re kidding, aren’t you?’ said Rita, popping another Pontefract cake into her mouth. She offered one of the small, circular, black liquorice sweets to Jen.

  Before Jen could respond, Avril Summerfield-Preston, who had been eavesdropping on their conversation as she passed them, butted in.

  ‘He shouldn’t be here,’ she said. ‘I told the chief superintendent as much this morning. His private life is using up far too much of his energy for him to be able to function properly at work.’

  Jen could hardly believe her ears. ‘Well, I guess the reality of the police officer’s world doesn’t always fit into your neat, systematic format,’ she said, sharply.

  Rita’s look told Jen she was impressed by her reaction, and surprised at her defence of Dylan.

  Avril gave Jen a dirty look, stuck her nose in the air and flung open the heavy office door. She left with a piece of paper tightly grasped in her hand and the door closed very slowly behind her.

  ‘I wish someone would bloody see her off,’ Rita said, offering Jen the sweet packet again.

  Jen looked at her out of the corner of her almond-shaped eyes. ‘These are moreish! Where did you get them from?’ she said, eyeing its embossed image of a castle and an owl.

  ‘Well, you know that officer I was speaking to on the phone the other day, from Pontefract?’ she said with a wink.

  ‘He didn’t?’

  ‘Oh, yes he did!’

  ‘What’re you like?’ Jen frowned. ‘Does Mr Dylan’s job usually mean he’s constantly having to look over his shoulder? That must be awful for him and his …’

  ‘No, does it ’eck. He’s just having a run of back luck, that’s all. Let’s face it, you only need one idiot on your case to cause havoc in any profession.’

  Jen looked curious. ‘What was his wife like?’

  ‘I didn’t know her personally, but I have heard rumours.’ Rita eyed her narrowly. ‘Still, it’s none of my business. Nor yours either.’

  A hint of a blush rose in Jen’s cheeks. ‘No, no, of course it isn’t,’ she said. ‘I’ve only seen the DI a couple of times.’ A cold shiver ran down her spine and goosebumps covered her flesh. ‘But I know I certainly wouldn’t want to cross him.’

  Rita smiled at her friend. ‘That’s just his detective’s mask. He might look hard-faced, but underneath that tough façade he’s got a heart of gold. And if ever there’s any trouble, everyone knows he’s a safe pair of hands. If you had to choose to be on anyone’s team, you’d want to be on Team Dylan, any day of the week.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll find out who did it?’ Jen asked.

  Rita laughed out loud. ‘It’s Jack Dylan we’re talking about, Jen. Have no fear, he’ll find them, and I’ll bet my life on it there’ll be no time for a review. Anyway, talking of houses, how are you settling in?’

  Jen’s smile was wide, but her eyes looked slightly pained. ‘I absolutely love it. In fact, I love it so much that I’m worried that if the landlord puts my rent up, I won’t be able to afford it any longer.’

  ‘You’re a born worrier. We’ll cross that bridge when it comes to it.’ Rita gave Jen a teasing wink and wrinkled her nose, succeeding in putting a smile on Jen’s face. ‘Anyway, you’ve got a spare room, you could always take in a lodger.’

  Jen nodded. ‘That’s definitely a maybe, but at the moment I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.’

  ‘Anything’s got to be better than where you were and the psychopath you were living with,’ said Rita.

  ‘It’s a wonder anyone survived,’ Dylan muttered, staring at the mangled wreck of his car.

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said the man who suddenly appeared at his shoulder. Lean and willowy and quite a bit older than Dylan, he was wearing saturated blue overalls that reeked of diesel and were tied with thick string at the ankles.

  ‘I was told the anchorage point had been tampered with?’ said Dylan.

  The mechanic winced, his eyes red-rimmed and sore, no doubt from carelessly rubbing them with his greasy hands. ‘Grade 5, 7/16th’s fine thread Hex bolt that screws into a locking nut. There is no doubt in my mind it had to have been unscrewed. Like I said to the boss, these things don’t come loose on their own.’

  Dylan looked thoughtful. ‘Not even over time?’

  The mechanic shook his head emphatically. ‘Nah, and of course if they’re not connected the seatbelt is rendered useless on impact.’ He pushed a pair of old spectacles, which Dylan noticed had been repaired with sticking plaster, up his nose. ‘It’s about as much use as a chocolate teapot, as my old mum would say. It’s got to have been tampered with.’

  The mechanic took out his pen light and pointed its ray of light in the direction of the glove compartment. Dylan couldn’t help but notice his scarred grimy knuckles and ragged nails, bitten down to the quick.

  ‘Look, can you see, there? The passenger airbag is switched off.’ He looked back at Dylan over his shoulder. ‘Someone had to physically do that.’

  Dylan paced slowly around the car. It was blatantly obvious to him that the passenger side of the car had received far greater damage than the driver’s side, which again confirmed what the witness had described. When he got to the boot, he looked over the roof at the mechanic who’d managed to slip away and make Dylan a mug of tea. Dylan accepted it with a nod.

  ‘I guess it’s already been searched?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So where are the contents now?’

  ‘Listed, bagged and tagged and taken away by you lot to be returned to the owner. Isn’t that the usual procedure? Not that they’re in a fit state to be of much use to anyone,’ he said. ‘I can grab hold of a copy of the list of items for you if that’d help.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dylan said, ‘it might.’

  Half an hour later Dylan found himself sitting in the car park at HQ. The list of items found in the car that he’d tossed on the passenger seat before leaving the garage drew his attention and, turning off the car’s engine, he sat quietly to read the document. The items were much as he expected: a handbag, a purse, cash, credit cards, store cards, a hairbrush, perfume and make-up, all clearly belonging to Kay, together with a wallet containing credit cards in the name of Kenny Fisher. There was just one item that struck him as odd: a syringe, which had been found in the footwell of the car at the driver’s side. What the hell was that doing there?

  Dylan burst through the external door and ran through the CID office. He pounded up the steps two at a time. His heart racing, he rushed down the corridor to the Traffic Office. Thewlis and Cane were sitting at their desks, drinking coffee and eating pre-packed sandwiches for their lunch. They both looked startled to see him, especially since he seemed out of breath. If it was the last thing he did, Dylan swore he would get justice for Kay. She might have been an adulteress, but she didn’t deserve to have died in such a horrific way.

  Cane pulled out a chair for him. ‘Here, have a seat. Can I get you a drink?’

  Dylan nodded and turned to Thewlis. He steadied himself and cleared his throat. ‘I’ve just read the list of personal items that were recovered from my car,’ he began.

  ‘Ah,’ said Thewlis. ‘Yes, they’re in the property store. I was waiting for the right time to return them to you. I thought after the inquest would be best.’

  Dylan looked agitated. ‘It’s my understanding that the inquest will open and close, with nothing more to be done until after the full investigation?’

  Thewlis nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Look, I told you I wouldn’t pry, but I need to know; the syringe that was found in the car … is Kenny Fisher a junkie or a diabetic?’

  Thewlis glanced down at the file that he had obviously been working on and scanned its contents. He shook his head and looked up at Dylan who was sporting a frown. ‘We’ve no reason at all to suspect that he’s connected to drugs, but that’s not to say he isn’t; he may just not have been caught.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘As for him being a diabetic
… yes, it seems he was wearing an alert bracelet, so, as the syringe was obviously part of his kit, nothing further was looked at. So, where does that take us, boss?’ he asked.

  ‘I need to know what was in the syringe and whether any needle marks were found on Kay’s body.’

  ‘On Kay’s?’ repeated Thewlis.

  ‘Yes,’ said Dylan, taking the steaming mug from Cane.

  ‘Why?’ asked Thewlis.

  Dylan took a sip of his drink. ‘Kay wasn’t diabetic and she didn’t take drugs.’ He frowned. ‘Well, as far as I know she didn’t, although it’s becoming increasingly obvious to me that I didn’t really know my wife at all.’

  Thewlis’s eyebrows knitted together in a frown. ‘What’re you thinking Dylan?’

  Dylan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Kay might have been over the limit, but I’m wondering whether there could also have been insulin in her body.’

  ‘That I can’t answer, either,’ said Thewlis.

  ‘I know. I need to see her toxicology results and, also, as the syringe was foreign to the car, I want it swabbed as soon as possible and sent off to the forensic lab to see what it contained. If it turns up insulin, and toxicology also comes back with insulin in Kay’s blood, then I think the pathologist needs to have a second look at my wife’s body to see if there are any needle marks on it.’

  ‘Don’t you think that a needle mark on her skin would have been picked up at her post-mortem?’ said Thewlis.

  ‘Perhaps not, due to the severity of her injuries; something which Fisher might have been hoping for.’

  Cane’s eyes were round. ‘I’d never have thought of that,’ he said.

  ‘Why would you, unless you’d seen it before?’ said Thewlis. ‘But he’s right, you know. An overdose of insulin can kill and, what’s more, a diabetic would know it.’

  To Dylan’s relief, the recovered items from the accident vehicle had been sealed in individual exhibit bags and the syringe placed in a clear plastic tube.

  ‘Excellent!’ he said, gazing at the syringe exhibit as if it was a precious jewel displayed inside a glass case.

  Thewlis was frank. ‘Because of the number of fatal accidents involving druggies, we’re extra careful these days with searches. The last thing anyone wants is a prick from a dirty needle.’

  Chris Cane reached for his helmet and leathers. ‘I’ve an appointment with a witness over in Sheffield in an hour. If you sign me the necessary paperwork, I’ll drop it off at the lab.’

  Dylan’s eyes lit up. ‘Mark it urgent,’ he said, ‘and I’ll ring to let them know you’re bringing it over. Relay the background information and ask them to make it a priority.’

  When Cane had left, it felt like a bit of an anticlimax. It was now a waiting game for results. Dylan would need to update Larry and brief the team once the results had been received, but not before. In the meantime, he would update the computer system with the lines of enquiry he had initiated.

  ‘Obviously, it could be that Fisher just used the syringe himself,’ he said, only now admitting to himself that the used syringe in the car might not be sinister at all. He understood the delayed reaction: an adrenalin rush could wear off, leaving you depleted and hollow inside. ‘But we need to be sure.’

  ‘Yes, I agree,’ said Thewlis. ‘I must admit I’ve absolutely no idea what effect injecting insulin into Mrs Dylan, a non-diabetic, would have.’ Thewlis cocked an eyebrow. ‘But if you ask me a question on braking distances, I might be able to help you.’

  Dylan forced a smile. For a moment the conversation sounded strange. For some reason Thewlis had used Kay’s full title and he was taken aback. ‘Everyone to their own specialism,’ he said quietly. He paused for a moment, mulling things over. ‘I’m no medic but, dependent on how much was used, I suspect it could have put Kay into a hypoglycaemic coma. With that, regardless of the amount of drink she’d consumed, she’d have been unconscious in the passenger seat, clearly unable to cause Fisher any concerns when he slammed the car into those bollards.’

  Dylan returned to the CID Office, the bit now firmly between his teeth. Maybe Fisher had not succeeded in planning the perfect murder after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  While the hunt was on for Todd and Fisher, Dylan had a funeral to arrange, whether he wanted to or not, and he needed to seek the advice of medical staff at the hospital for guidance on updating Isla with the recent revelation regarding her mother’s accident.

  Difficult as it was, the task of breaking bad news was a regular occurrence in his role as a police officer. It was something he would never get used to, but also something he had learned how to deal with over the years: a certain degree of emotional detachment was the only way to do the job effectively and efficiently. But, when it was personal, it was different. He was fully aware that, once she heard this latest news, Isla would need additional support, from himself and the medics. There was no way he could hide the facts from his daughter for ever. Undoubtedly, the media would get hold of the story eventually and, although Isla was presently in a secure unit and protected from news of the outside world, if she wanted to attend her mother’s funeral – and was deemed fit enough to – there was every chance that unsavoury details might be forthcoming, however unintentionally.

  As Dylan sat in the anteroom waiting to speak to the doctor, he felt the knots in his stomach tighten. He contemplated Isla’s reaction. If he knew Isla as well as he thought he did, she would want to know more. She’d always had an inquisitive mind, even as a child. He doubted that had been changed entirely by her present condition. It was important to him that ground rules were laid down between him and the medical staff when it came to responding to any questions she may ask. He wanted guidelines to fall back on when there seemed to be no immediate clues as to what to do next.

  The doctor didn’t keep him waiting long. When she called him into her office, she offered him a seat next to hers and introduced herself. ‘My name is Ande Ankunde but please call me Doctor Ande,’ she said, ‘everyone does.’

  Dylan found the doctor’s responses to his questions to be sensitive and down-to-earth. He admired her professional ability to provide comfort, knowing how hard it was to give someone news that they would rather not be hearing.

  ‘After some careful thought, and discussion with the team who are caring for Isla, I think we should tell her the truth.’ She appeared a little hesitant as she waited for his reaction. ‘But obviously I’ll be guided also by you. You know your daughter better than any of us.’

  ‘I thought I did,’ Dylan said, ‘once upon a time …’ He could tell that Dr Ande was aware of his pain. ‘But I agree with you.’

  The doctor’s smile showed him she was relieved. ‘It is considered best practice these days to be as truthful and open as possible. A few decades ago patients were often protected from bad news. In fact, my father published a paper in the 1960s on methods of evasion that could be used in certain circumstances, as it was widely believed that the truth would be damaging to the patient’s hope, or motivation to get well.’

  Dylan’s eyebrows were raised. ‘But we now have a different perspective on human rights … Disclosure is everything in policing these days, too, because of data protection. A person arrested, for instance, even has the right to know what evidence is against them so their defence has time to come up with an alibi before they are put before the court. So I understand where you’re coming from.’

  ‘I think each case must be dealt with on its own merits; everyone is different, and has different circumstances. How we go about giving Isla any news is important right now. Her welfare is at the forefront of everyone’s minds.’

  ‘I agree. And while I am no stranger to delivering bad news to people, it’s different when it’s someone close to you. So I really value your opinion and advice on our joint approach.’

  ‘Isla is intelligent and capable of digesting any information we impart to her despite her medication. My suggestion is that you share whatever information you n
eed to in the presence of her daily care nurse, who you have probably met before, and with whom she seems to have struck up a bond. We will of course monitor her reaction, keep a close eye, and take whatever action is required.’

  Dylan clenched his fists and took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to be reminding her that her mum died in a car accident. Her mother’s boss was driving the vehicle and evidence now suggests that not everything is as it first seemed. There is likely to be a court case. I think that is enough for her to take in at the moment.’

  Dr Ande’s face didn’t show any emotion. ‘I think the fact that her mum has died will have been the most devastating news for her. In my opinion, how it came about will be secondary to her. I think we need to record on the notes what she is told, so that everyone who cares for her can see exactly what has taken place. Thereafter, we do what we are doing now and continue to monitor her.’

  ‘Thank you for making that more straightforward than it could have been. I agree with you. It’s not going to be easy.’

  ‘It certainly isn’t, but I’m sure she’ll be comforted hearing the news from you, rather than anyone else. I have to tell you she is a very sick young woman, Mr Dylan. She has a long journey ahead of her, which will require a lot of co-operation on her part if she is to get better.’