Scream Blue Murder

by Linda Coles

  So, Jack had a woman after him? She smiled as the queue moved forward.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Ruth and Amanda had been together for a couple of years but still retained a house each. They had thought long and hard about whether to combine their resources, sell both properties and buy somewhere new, somewhere between them, somewhere they could both enjoy from scratch and maybe even raise a family in the future. But it hadn’t materialised yet. While neither of them had any conscious intention of living in separate homes, they naturally referred to Ruth’s place as home and the house that they rented out as Amanda's place. Anybody listening to them would think they weren't married at all, that they were two separate girlfriends living in separate houses.

  So, when Ruth’s father's place had come on the market, Ruth had been keen to buy it. Amanda, not so much. It was just a bit too far out of town, for one thing, and if they were going to spend over £500,000 on a property, she wanted to choose from what was on offer in a more suitable area and not just move into something that had an emotional attachment. Since Ruth had only ever lived in the house as a torturous teenager for a handful of years, she wasn't sure quite where the ‘attachment’ bit came from, apart from maybe some latter memories of her stepmother, Madeline, when she’d been alive. They had just been getting used to one another, and Ruth had found herself actually quite liking the woman, when Madeline had been killed.

  The bottle of red was almost polished off and the pizza box was empty. Amanda and Ruth sat in garden chairs watching birds grab at the remaining pizza crust that Ruth had tossed across the tiled patio. As one starling managed to pick a piece up, another one muscled in. They squabbled for a bit until they eventually managed to break it into a couple of pieces, one for each. More starlings and couple of sparrows had gathered on the sidelines now, perched upon the wooden fence that separated the property from the neighbours’ garden next door, each waiting for its turn but not daring to dive in.

  Ruth drained the last of the red wine from her glass and slithered down in her chair with her face directed up at the setting sun, which was all but disappearing over the fence at the bottom of the garden. She loved the warmth of summer; who didn't? Amanda picked up the bottle and examined the contents; there were a couple of inches left in the bottom, so she topped Ruth's glass up. She’d had enough herself and didn't want a banging headache in the morning. Since Ruth was celebrating, it belonged to her. Picking up the pizza box and trying to fold it in half, she left Ruth soaking up the last of the day’s rays.

  “What time have we got to be at your dad’s tomorrow?” Amanda asked as she moved away towards the house.

  “Straight from work, so any time after six,” Ruth called. “Will you be able to make it?”

  “I'm hoping so. We’re not flat tack at the moment, though with Dupin out of the picture we’re a man down, but it shouldn't be a problem. I'm guessing I’ll meet you straight there?” she called from the kitchen, only just in earshot.

  “Yes, there's no point me coming all the way back here to go back into town again. We can come home together.”

  Amanda returned and grabbed the empty bottle and her glass and went back into the kitchen to load the dishwasher and turn the kettle on. If Ruth was going to avoid a headache in the morning, she needed to dilute the alcohol.

  “I can't believe he’s been there a month already,” Ruth said when Amanda returned to the garden. “He seems happy enough, so I guess it was the right move for him in the end.”

  Amanda sat back down at the table and looked across at her. “You know, just because we didn't buy your dad's old place doesn't mean that we can't still find a place between us. I also know that our setup is not quite the norm for most people, but it works for us, and it just kind of makes sense. We’ve got an income coming in with my old place rented out, and your place here is that bit bigger with a nicer garden. But we can still move. You just need to tell me—just say the word.”

  “No, it doesn't matter now, and as you say, what we've got here makes sense to us. That's all that’s important. I guess I was being a bit sentimental with Dad’s old place.” She sighed. “I was just getting to like Madeline when she … when she died.” She was quiet for a moment. “Anyhow, it’s in the past now. Somebody else lives in their old house, and we’re here.”

  Amanda leaned across and gave Ruth’s hand a squeeze.

  “I’ll go and bring the tea out; it won’t be long before it's dark.” She stood to go back to the kitchen, feeling strangely ill at ease. Inside, she leaned against the counter, thinking, as she waited for the kettle to boil. Maybe she was missing something; maybe Ruth really had started to get on with Madeline and her father after all the years they’d been separated. Maybe it had all hit her harder than Amanda had realised.

  She grabbed the biscuit tin and put the mugs on a tray and took it all out to the patio. The sun was almost down now; there was just a bit of twilight left. The starlings were chirping sleepily amongst themselves, looking for beds for the night in the surrounding trees and bushes. In the quietness of the little garden, she thought, they could have been in any tranquil part of England. Unless Ruth really did want to move to a bigger place, their unconventional ways would do for Amanda. The spot was ideal.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Amanda was glad she’d drunk water during the night; it was a shame Ruth hadn't. She took a mug of tea up to her and sat on the edge of the bed. Ruth rubbed her temples, wincing. Her discomfort was obvious. The wine on its own would have been okay, but the trouble was the vodkas Ruth had later admitted to shooting back at work with the team just before she’d left.

  Amanda looked across the room at her now and said, “Vodka, eh? That would explain it. I hadn’t realised you’d started drinking before you got home; more fool you.” She smiled. “They say don't mix the grape and the grain. Sounds like you’re going to suffer,” she said teasingly.

  Ruth looked at her and said, “ha, ha” with as much sarcasm as she could muster with a stonking headache.

  “I'll go and get you some paracetamol,” Amanda offered, and went back downstairs.

  It was going to be another beautiful day, and Amanda hoped the weather would last for Ruth’s father's get-together later on. One thing you could always rely on with the English weather was its unreliability. Nice now didn't mean it would stay nice later. And the weather apps weren’t much use in terms of accuracy, either, making predictions futile. She took two white pills and a glass of water back up to Ruth, who was sitting up in bed with her eyes closed. She passed them over and watched Ruth slip them into her mouth and drink; afterwards, she lay back and closed her eyes again.

  “You'll feel better when you get up and have got something in your stomach,” she said cheerily. Ruth grimaced at the thought of food, but knew Amanda was right. She wasn't much of a drinker—they only tended to share a bottle of wine over the weekend—but the celebration had called for it. And she’d imbibed. Heartily, it appeared.

  “Right, I'm headed for the shower. I’ve got things to do, and you're not normally sat here at this hour. I take it you're not going for a run this morning?”

  Ruth opened one eye and gave Amanda a ‘You reckon?’ look.

  Amanda laughed and headed into the shower. As the hot water ran over her, she smiled to herself about both their inabilities to get rip-roaring drunk. Slightly merry was Amanda's limit and while Ruth could drink a little more, she suffered for it the next day—as she was right now.

  She rough-dried her short blonde hair, rubbed some gel through it to separate the strands, applied a light covering of make-up and went through to put her work suit on. Amanda wore pretty much the same outfit every day, though with a different shirt; it was her own self-imposed uniform. She made too many decisions daily to need to worry about what to wear each morning; since it worked for Christian Grey, with his array of grey suits and white shirts, it would work for her. She pulled on her Docs and was almost ready. Downstairs, she filled a bowl with mue
sli and sat down to eat it. She was almost finished when Ruth entered, looking a tad more human than she had half an hour earlier.

  “Are you feeling better yet?” Amanda asked.

  “My headache is starting to dwindle; I'll be fine soon.”

  Amanda watched as Ruth filled a bowl with muesli and sat looking at it, willing herself to eat it. She was noticeably quieter this morning, but that was probably the headache. Amanda didn't push any conversation; they rarely ate breakfast together anyway. She stood and carried her bowl to the sink, rinsed it and placed it in the dishwasher. She pecked Ruth on the cheek and grabbed her bag. “I'll call you later, see how you're holding up.”

  “Ha ha,” Ruth said. She still hadn’t picked her spoon up and taken a mouthful.

  “I'll speak to you later. Have a good one,” she called. Amanda was off.

  While it was still early, she was leaving later than she normally did. Traffic was starting to build; buses resumed choking out black fumes. Croydon was waking up and going to work. Since it was a clear morning, a few local commuters walked, backpacks slung across their shoulders.

  The electric gate at the rear of the station slid back and she pulled into the staff car park. There were already a handful of cars parked up, some from the night shift. Jack's wasn't one of them. She entered the building through the rear entrance and went straight to the coffee cupboard for her morning fix. Tea was her preferred first drink of the day, but as soon as she got into work, it was coffee she craved. The machine chugged into action, sending little pockets of steam into the air as it heated the milk. She dropped her bag on her desk as she passed it and took her mug across to the window to watch the world go by while it was still quiet. Even on a sunny day, Croydon was a town like any other concrete mass. There was nothing particularly nice or particularly nasty; it was a nondescript regular concrete town, with regular people, regular crimes and regular everything else. You could have put the whole town up in the north of England and it wouldn't have looked out of place. Double lines of traffic ferried folks to destinations all over the country.

  She focused on a red car below and wondered about its occupants, where they were headed, what their life was like, where they'd been. What was in store for them today? Crime hit the innocent as well as the guilty, and when those innocent folks got caught up in something out of their control, it could be a treacherous time. There was nothing more disconcerting than finding yourself explaining where you were and why you had gone there just because somebody had been murdered or kidnapped or gone missing. If you didn’t have an explanation or an alibi, your whole life could be turned upside down. You almost needed to provide one each and every day just in case, and being at home with your loved one was not enough. It happened all the time. She picked out a white van further down the road and wondered the same. Was it legitimate? Was the driver up to no good? Where were they going? She'd never know.

  A noise behind her brought her back to the present. It was Raj.

  “Morning, Amanda,” he said brightly, as always. Raj never seemed to be in a bad mood, which was just one reason why everybody liked him.

  “Morning, Raj,” she said, turning to face him fully. He always looked smart, and today was no different. Slim and fit, he wore a dark navy suit with a pale blue shirt and his black hair had been gelled back neatly into place. He was a good-looking man, though not Amanda's type, obviously, and he was popular with everyone.

  “We might get some news on the autopsy today,” he said. “I know everybody's concerned about DI Dupin, and I suspect he'll be relieved at some good news.”

  “Good news?” Amanda enquired.

  “Well, yes. Dupin didn't kill that guy on purpose. It was a freak accident; something must have gone on and I hope the autopsy will show it. Then we can all get back to normal, and Dupin can come back to work.”

  “I certainly hope so; it can't be easy having that hanging over your head. I'll call Faye later this morning if she hasn't called me. I know she was waiting for some specialist to take a look at some aspects of the autopsy, so that's what's taking the time.”

  “Well, fingers crossed,” Raj said.

  And she watched as he walked towards the coffee cupboard for his own morning caffeine fix.

  His shoes were almost as shiny as her own.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  By the time Amanda had finished her coffee, several other officers had filed in and a gentle hum of conversation filled the room. It was the usual stuff: what had been on the telly last night, what had happened down the pub or banter over the sports match. Did men talk about anything else? She could hear Jack coming through the door, reciting French lines from his learning app. Why he had picked French she wasn't entirely sure. She’d have to ask him.

  “Bonjour, Madame,” he said with gusto as he reached Amanda's desk. He just needed a beret on his head, she thought, smiling inwardly.

  “Ah, bonjour, Monsieur.”

  “As-tu bien dormi? J'ai bien dormi.”

  Amanda looked at him blankly.

  “That's as far as my French goes, Jack. School was a long time ago, and there's not much call for it around here. Now, Polish or Croatian would be a different matter.”

  “I asked if you slept well. I slept well.” He took out his earbuds.

  “Well, that’s good to know, and yes, I did, thanks.”

  He perched on the corner of her desk, one leg swinging. “Tres bien.” He smiled and looked like he was about to add to it, but Amanda cut him off.

  “I know what that means. Why are you learning French anyway? What's it for?”

  “Oh, I plan to go one day. I’ve never been. I'm quite partial to a croissant occasionally, or a spot of art gallery mooching. I'm not all about bacon sandwiches, you know.”

  Amanda smirked. “You could have fooled me.”

  “Well, I'm off to make a café au lait. Need a refill?” Amanda raised her eyebrows at him, knowing full well that café au lait would never materialise. It would be something coffee-coloured, but who knew what. Jack's coffee attempts were random at best.

  “I'm good, thanks,” she said. She watched him disappear into the coffee cupboard and waited for the cursing to start. Today must have been a good day, though, because all she could hear was the putt, putt, putt of the coffee machine and the next thing she knew, Jack was back hovering around her desk, coffee in hand. Mission accomplished.

  “So, I did a bit of bedtime reading last night. I took the file home, the one I showed you about Michael Hardesty.” He sipped, white foam sticking in his moustache. He must have felt it because he rubbed it away with the back of his hand.

  “What did you learn?”

  “I didn't learn much, actually, which is the point. Wasn't anything in there that I didn't already know about, but it was good to jog my memory. But something is nibbling away at my gut. Something isn’t quite right. Those witnesses, for one: they sounded a bit convenient.”

  “What do you mean, convenient? There were witnesses at the scene, I assume?”

  “Yes, but the McAllister family were well-connected and I can't help thinking that they are behind this somehow. Same with the prosecution solicitor. I don't know, but I'm going to have another look. And it would be better if I could do it with your say- so, boss lady.” He wiggled his eyebrows comically at her. They needed a trim.

  “That’s not really down to me. You know that, Jack. In Dupin's absence ‘Jim-lad’ is looking after these things temporarily, and I don't want to have to ask him for anything unless I really have to. So, it's up to you. I'll turn a blind eye, but we haven't officially got permission for time to be spent on a case that was put to bed years ago.”

  Jack sipped his drink, staring off somewhere over Amanda’s shoulder.

  “I can't see it hurting, though,” Amanda went on. “There’s not too much going on at the moment. Have you got something in mind?”

  “I thought I might go over to the prison and see Hardesty. He's been there a good few years now. D
id you see the press conference last night, with Japp?”

  “I caught the last minute or two on the news, but other than that, no. Did you?”

  “I watched from the sidelines out the front, watched him squirm. Those reporters don't take any prisoners, and I can't say he filled me with confidence. But that's Japp. He looked well-polished in his uniform finery.”

  Amanda sat back in her chair and tapped her pen against her bottom lip. “Right. If he asks where you are, I’ll cover for you. What time are you headed out?”

  “I may as well go first off when I finish my coffee. It's only around the corner. They probably won't let me see him without an official appointment, anyway, though I may as well try. I have a cunning plan.”

  “Well, good luck with that. Oh, and before I forget, I met a woman last night outside the pizza shop—”

  Jack’s eyes lit up in mock horror. “Don't tell me Ruth and you have had an argument and you're already on the lookout? Though I have to say, it’s a strange place to pick up someone.”

  Amanda waved her hand like she was batting a fly and said, “Don't be stupid. No, I met a woman who knows you, silly. She said she was a friend of yours from way back and a friend of that man from the book club who died a couple of years ago, Peterson. She said her name was Vivian.”

  Jack stood open-mouthed.

  “Funny, I’ve never heard you mention a ‘Vivian’ in all the years I've known you.”

  Amanda couldn't resist putting it out there and watching for his reaction. She got one. Jack's cheeks flushed crimson. Amanda leaned forward. “Gotcha,” she said with a grin. “You've got to tell me more now. Who is Vivian? She seemed really nice. So come on, then. Tell me. Who is she?”

  “Like the lady said, we were friends,” he said defensively.