by Linda Coles
A headline caught her eye: it seemed the press knew the autopsy results already. How could that be?
Family ‘Scream Blue Murder’
Amanda doubted it had taken the reporter long to dream that one up. The ‘boys in blue’ insinuation used instead of actually saying; ‘Cop Cover Up.’ She scrolled the page down with her fingers, curious about what the article would say, though really, she had a fair idea, given the headline. It was nothing that they hadn't predicted might happen. But it was another distraction that the team didn't need right now, not to mention more fuel to elevate DCI Japp’s stress levels. She wondered who had leaked the story. Had it been Callum’s parents, or had it been the fiancée? She wasn’t aware that they even knew the results as yet, and couldn’t see Japp dropping in and telling them.
Given Jack's observations about Melissa Ross—the flighty set of bagpipes—Amanda suspected she’d been the one to throw the match in the jerry can. But still, how did she know if it was indeed her? Jean and Brian Parker were more reserved and too busy grieving to have so much anger. Melissa, on the other hand, seemed more upset at losing her planned inheritance now the wedding was off, and as crass at that seemed, it was plausible. She had a reason to stir things up. Amanda wondered if Callum had had a chance to make a will; it probably hadn't been something he’d thought much about in his short life. Not many young people thought about their own deaths and what they would like to happen to their bodies and belongings after they died.
No doubt now, though, that there would be a second autopsy, and even though Amanda knew Faye Mitchell's work was always accurate, it wouldn’t be fun to have someone doubting it and asking for a second opinion. From their conversation earlier, though, Faye knew it would be coming; it was to be expected and was nothing unusual. And she’d attend. What happened next would depend on what the second pathologist found. She pitied Dupin and wondered about the strain he was under. Japp would have told him the good news by now, of course, and he would think he was in the clear, but this article would mean the worry would no doubt recommence. And there was still his disciplinary hearing to deal with. At the end of the day, Dupin had hit a man while off duty.
As the tube pulled into Fulham Broadway station, Amanda gathered her things and made her way to the door, waiting for the train to come to a complete standstill. The station was like a giant garden shed, with natural light streaming through the glass roof. It gave the station a less closed-in feel than some of the others on the District line. Add a truckload of plants and it could look like a greenhouse. The familiar automated warning to mind the gap sounded in her ears as she made her way out and across the platform towards the stairs, and back out up to the high street. She wanted to take a deep breath, but the air above ground wasn’t much different than below it. London never stood still, not for a moment, and the street was packed with people heading home or heading out for something to eat.
Her stomach rumbled. She could smell cheap, hot pizza and greasy hot dogs as she set off for her father-in-law’s place.
Chapter Thirty-Three
By the time Amanda had walked up Seagrave Road, it was almost 6.30 pm. But no one ever arrived at a party on time, so she didn't feel too bad. His new flat was in a nice part of town with plenty of green trees and wide-open pavements; Stamford Bridge stadium was almost spitting distance away. It was a pity Gordon Simpson didn't support Chelsea; he was a Crystal Palace fan through and through and had been for many years.
The big iron gates of the of the smart residential development where he’d chosen his flat were open; cars had been parked up and down the street. Amanda hadn't realised Gordon Simpson was so popular; he’d always struck her as a bit dour. Maybe singledom suited him. The gentle hum of conversation interspersed with male laughter and the clinking of glasses greeted her as she entered the ground floor flat. Frank Sinatra was singing lightly in the background, though she doubted if anyone had noticed. It wasn't a big flat, but it suited one person; Amanda had no trouble in locating Ruth. Her height and her heels made her relatively easy to spot in the small kitchen, and Amanda made a beeline for her.
"I'm not too late, and I didn't have to wait long for a tube connection," she said breezily.
"And you're here now. Shall I make you a sandwich and then you can relax?” Amanda nodded gratefully. “Grab yourself a drink, then, and I’ll meet you outside on the patio,” Ruth said, taking charge.
"You're a lifesaver. I'm famished."
Ruth nodded to where the drinks were out on display in the opposite corner of the kitchen and watched as Amanda poured a glass of wine for herself, took a long mouthful and topped it back up.
"Steady on. You'll not make the evening out if you carry on like that. Bad day, was it?" Ruth called. She was busy buttering bread and adding cheese from the fridge.
Amanda looked sheepish; god, she must have looked desperate. "On the contrary, actually, so call it a mini-celebration. It seems Dupin is in the clear, which is great news, but I don't think it's the end of it—not yet.”
"How so?" asked Ruth adding salad cream and cutting the sandwich in two. She arranged the halves on a tiny plate.
"The family won't accept it, I'm sure of that, so we’re expecting a second autopsy. It just means it drags on a while longer and causes more unrest for everybody, but more so for Dupin."
Ruth handed the sandwich over and nodded towards the open back door. Amanda took it outside onto the patio to eat in private and wind down a little. Ruth joined her a moment later, her own glass of wine in hand. Amanda had already devoured one half of her sandwich in the few seconds since leaving the kitchen.
"Don't give yourself indigestion by stuffing it in," Ruth admonished her. “It’s only a sandwich you're eating, not the Crown Jewels.” Amanda visibly slowed down her eating; she didn't want to be embarrassed if anyone saw her.
"Look, you stay here and eat that, and I'll go mix and mingle. Come out when you're ready,” Ruth said, smiling. Amanda nodded with a mouthful of food and watched Ruth glide off back into the main room, where most of the housewarming guests were sipping and chatting.
Ruth caught her father’s eye and he silently mouthed the word ‘Okay?’ She nodded, and Gordon went back to the conversation he was having with a man who looked like any other commuter who had arrived to a drinks party straight from work. Corporate. Navy-blue. She glanced around the room and noted just a handful of women, many of whom looked like they belonged in Gordon's office by day, the obvious place he’d know them all from. Ruth didn't know anybody at all in the room, only Amanda and Gordon, but as a businesswoman herself, she didn't find a room full of strangers daunting. Scanning the room, she eventually spied someone who wasn't deep in conversation with somebody else. She summed him up. He wasn't dressed like the rest; he was much more casual, in jeans and a T-shirt. Ruth estimated him to be about 20 years younger than Gordon was. Intrigued, she wondered how the two knew one another—unless the guy was a gate-crasher, or a new neighbour.
Or another long-lost child created up the toilet wall in a Croydon nightclub. Like she had been.
Figuring he could probably do with some conversation, she made her way across and introduced herself.
“Hi, I'm Ruth, Gordon's daughter.”
"And I'm Liam," the stranger said, putting his hand out to shake. "I sit next to Gordon as a season ticket holder at Crystal Palace." Ruth nodded. Liam had a welcoming smile, with eyes that matched it, and was clean shaven. A small but deep pink scar about an inch long on his chin caught her eye, and she wondered how he’d got it. Liam followed her gaze and had an answer ready for her before she asked the question.
"An old soccer injury," he said. "I got kicked in the face and a boot stud cut me.”
"Sorry—I didn't mean to stare. That sounds painful. I thought football was a noncontact sport?"
“It's okay. And yes, you’d think soccer was a noncontact game with all the daft new rules, but it really isn’t. Far from it, in fact, though not as rough as rugby. But our
university team could get a bit rowdy at times, and our opposition often took their opportunities—and my chin was one of them.” He flashed his smile again as Gordon approached them from behind Ruth's right shoulder. He leaned in to give Ruth a peck on the cheek.
“I see you've met Liam already?” Her father had a comforting smile, Ruth thought, as she always did, but then again, didn't all fathers? He reminded her of a worn pair of slippers. For a fleeting moment she wondered if he was lonely on his own. She leaned into his shoulder and put her arm around his waist, pulling him in close.
"Yes, another football fanatic, just like you. I guess you'll be supporting Chelsea now, will you?" she said teasingly. She winked at Liam, knowing full well that Gordon would never change teams; she was just winding him up.
"Never in a million years. I’m an Eagle through and through! Though it will be handy when we play them at home, on their turf, I mean."
Ruth was aware that Amanda had joined them now and was waiting for a gap in the conversation. Gordon pecked her on the cheek in welcome.
"And how is my favourite daughter-in-law detective?” he asked.
"I am well, thank you, Gordon,” she said. She glanced across at Liam, waiting for an introduction. Ruth did the honours.
“This is Liam, Amanda. Sits next to Dad at matches.”
"A local detective?” Liam asked.
"I'm out at Croydon, actually. Ruth and I live out that way."
Liam nodded knowingly, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"Yes, we are," Amanda said, smiling, sparing him the question. Liam's face coloured slightly with embarrassment.
Ruth laughed lightly and added, “I guess we stick out like your chin scar.”
"A lot better looking, though," he said, raising his glass as a toast to cover up his faux pas.
Amanda thought it best to change the subject and turned to Gordon. "Are you settling in okay, then, Gordon? It’s a lot more local for your work, and it’s a beautiful flat."
“It's a lot easier to clean, too, and yes, I'm at work in twenty minutes. I should have moved a long time ago.”
“I was out your way—I mean by the old house—only a few days ago. I wasn't paying too much attention, but I thought I saw some earthmoving machinery out there. Are they having some work done, the new owners?”
"They've started already, have they? They mentioned they would like to put a pool in, but I didn't think they'd be digging quite yet. Planning permission takes forever."
"Or perhaps they know somebody at the council," said Liam. "Who you know takes you a long way in this world; that's one thing I've learned in my life. All that study at uni and the people I know have got me further along than any textbook or exam."
“You’re not far wrong there,” added Amanda. “My job is all about connections and people. I leave the textbook stuff to the crime scene techs and the pathologists, and I spend my time playing a giant game of Who Dunnit.”
There was polite laughter from Liam and Gordon, but Ruth didn’t join in.
At all.
While Liam and Gordon hadn’t noticed, Amanda had.
She also noticed Ruth’s colour. She was as white as sushi rice.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Amanda watched Ruth but didn’t say a word. She looked like corpse, a vacant expression on her face as she stood totally statuesque, silent. It seemed Liam and Gordon hadn’t noticed either; they carried on chatting, oblivious. Amanda felt like she was listening with her head submerged in water; the voices around her were strangely muffled. Time stood still as she watched Ruth’s colour gradually return. She took her forearm, made their excuses and gently steered Ruth towards the front door, telling Gordon she needed some air.
“Is she all right?” he asked.
“Probably an empty stomach, and the wine has gone to her head,” she lied, keeping a well-meaning smile in place as she guided Ruth outside. There was a low stone wall to their right, and Amanda steered Ruth over to it to sit down for a moment. The sun was low in the sky, the horizon a beautiful shade of purplish pink with a dash of copper. She still hadn’t said a word. Amanda rubbed the middle of her back in comfort.
“Are you alright? Do you feel ill?”
A shake of the head from Ruth.
“What’s the matter, then?”
Ruth lifted her head and started to speak, but the words stuck in her throat.
“I... Light-headed.”
“Have you eaten? Shall I get you something?” Amanda was concerned now. “Do I need to get help?”
That did the trick. Ruth turned towards Amanda in alarm.
“No!” she shouted, then lowered her voice, abashed. “I mean, no thanks. I’m feeling better now. Maybe I do need a sandwich or something. I’ve had a couple of wines on an empty stomach. Silly, really.” She smiled at Amanda, trying to reassure her; she did seem to be coming back round. Standing now and wobbling slightly, she announced, “I’ll make a cup of tea too. Want one?”
Amanda stood alongside her and their eyes locked. Even in the fading light she could see Ruth’s colour was back to normal. She slipped her arm around her waist and they went back inside to rejoin the celebrations. Gordon glanced over and lifted his chin in question as they went in, and Amanda gave him a discreet thumbs-up. Satisfied all was indeed well, he went back to his conversation with another man in a navy suit. One of the many.
“Maybe we should head back when you’ve had something to eat?” enquired Amanda.
“I’m fine. But I am a bit tired. Would you mind if we did?” Ruth was buttering bread again, though this time she topped it off with strawberry jam. “The sugar will do me good,” she explained, as if she needed to, sounding a little cheerier than she had a few moments ago.
“Not at all. No rush. We’ll go when you’re feeling better. I’ll nip in and tell your dad,” she said, and left Ruth to finish her sandwich.
Amanda could see Gordon was deep in conversation with a grey-haired man in yet another navy suit; she waited for a break in the discussion and then quietly told Gordon they were about to leave.
“Tell her I’ll call tomorrow, and thanks for coming, the two of you.” He beamed as he pecked Amanda lovingly on the cheek. Amanda had always found Gordon easy to get along with; everyone liked Gordon Simpson, the salt of the earth, and she was no exception. She pecked him back and gave him a light wave as she went back to the kitchen. She found Ruth staring out of the window, her hands prayer-like in front of her mouth as though she were deep in thought. The jam sandwich lay uneaten on a small plate by the sink to her side. Amanda waited; the sound of jumbled conversation carried on behind her, interspersed with bursts of laughter. It was going to be a late night for Gordon and his friends.
“All set?” Amanda enquired, making Ruth jump a little at the sound of her voice. She turned, grabbed her sandwich and, slinging her bag over her shoulder, linked her arm through Amanda’s.
“Yes.”
“Gordon will call you tomorrow, he said. He’s busy being the social butterfly, so I told him we’d let ourselves out.”
Ruth took a bite of the sandwich and they headed back outside, down through the shared driveway and out onto the pavement. The amber glow of streetlights warming up cast the world in half colour as they made their way towards the tube station. Ruth stayed silent and Amanda let her be, not wanting to intrude on whatever it was that was bothering her. Not yet, anyway.
Fulham Broadway was as busy at dusk as it had been coming up to rush hour. As they stood on the District Line platform that would take them back to Victoria station, Ruth finally spoke.
“Sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me,” she said. “But I feel much better now. Maybe I did just need some food and air. I hope I didn’t wreck your evening after dragging you all the way out here.”
“As long as you’re alright and feeling better,” Amanda reassured her. “I’m glad to be headed back, actually, between you and me.”
A heavy breeze pushed itself onto t
heir platform; a crisp packet blew into the air and tumbled back down onto the rails below. Their tube was about the enter the station. The mechanical roar drowned out all conversation until the train eventually came to a standstill, and the automated voice reminded travellers of the ever-present gap. The carriage was almost full, but they managed to find seats adjacent to each other. Not wanting the occupants, at least those without buds in their ears, listening in to their conversation, they opted for a silent journey, each using their own thoughts to entertain them until Victoria.
If Amanda could have looked inside Ruth’s head, she’d have seen what was really troubling her.
And it was far from entertaining.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ruth stayed quiet all the way home. Inside her head all sorts of eventualities were buzzing around, visions of what might happen if the secret came out. Her father had only just got his life back together, moved to a new flat, and things were going well for him; to have something like this come along and mess it all up wasn't fair. She herself could deal with the headaches it would inevitably bring, because she was prepared for it, but not her father. And suspicion would fall on both their shoulders, she was sure. She’d gone straight to bed when they got home and had then lain awake half the night staring up at the ceiling, knowing sleep would never come. It had been a long night.
At 4.30 AM she’d crept out of bed, eyes swollen with exhaustion, feeling like she’d been punched. She grabbed her robe and slipped down to the kitchen. The room was pitch black; it was far too early for the sun to be up. She switched on the light and filled the kettle to make her first cup of tea of the day. Looking out of the kitchen window, she could see only her reflection staring back at her—it was like looking at an image printed on a blackboard. It was a pity she couldn’t rub some bits out. Her swollen eyes looked like they’d been crying, though she hadn’t. Turning the tap back on, she splashed cold water on her face and dried it on the kitchen towel. She knew she looked like hell, but she could blame it on the housewarming. Her work colleagues would tease her that she’d had too much to drink, and she’d let them believe their own story. Because the real story was far more sinister, far more unbelievable, and far more serious.