by Linda Coles
Gordon stood, too, confusion evident on his face.
Dupin got to his feet as well, and Amanda and Jack watched intently, knowing in their hearts what was about to happen. They’d seen it so many times before.
“Not so fast,” said Dupin. “Gordon Simpson, I’m arresting you for the murder of Desmond Thomas. You do not have to say anything...”
Amanda dropped her head with a mixture of anguish and worry. Only Gordon himself knew if he had anything to do with the landscaper’s death, but his arrest had just made things a whole lot more official. She hoped he wouldn’t be charged, not Gordon. She had to do something, but what? Her hands were well and truly tied behind her back now.
“I need some air,” she said, and left Jack watching the proceedings.
Jack, for his part, knew what this would now mean for Amanda, his friend and colleague, and his shoulders sagged under the realisation.
“Damn it!”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Jack watched as the small group in the interview room split up. Gordon Simpson and his solicitor huddled together deep in conversation, while Dupin left the room for a moment. He wondered about Ruth and whether Amanda would give her a call now, although since Ruth appeared to be avoiding her, it was unlikely. While it was tempting as a friend of the family to call her himself, it wasn't the done thing. And Gordon hadn't been charged with a crime as yet; he was still merely answering questions under caution. Still, it meant they could hold him for a full 24 hours, and because this was in regards to a murder investigation, that could be extended if need be. Jack hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Why Dupin had arrested the man quite so soon Jack wasn't sure, but Dupin had other things on his mind, so maybe he wasn't thinking clearly.
Jack thought back to his earlier conversation with Eddie, and the mention of his previous visitor. It had to have been Dupin, thanks to Kyle at the prison. But why would Dupin be involving himself in an old case, one that he'd only just found out that Jack was working on, and nothing to do with Gordon Simpson at all? The fact that Dupin's mind was evidently elsewhere could be a good or bad thing, depending on your outlook and whose side you were on, but in this case, it didn’t bode well for accuracy and open-mindedness.
He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was getting late and there was nothing more for Jack to do here. He made his way out of the viewing room in search of Amanda; she needed his support right now. When things got personal, rationality went out the window, and he only hoped that she wasn't going to do anything stupid. He made his way towards the back door, figuring that was where she'd headed when she’d announced her need for air. There’d be no point going to the squad room or out the front, where protesters were still waiving their banners and shouting at anyone that might listen.
“It’s about time they buggered off home,” he mumbled to himself.
He found her outside, perched with one bottom cheek on a concrete step, shoulders bent forward and her head in both hands. He hoped she wasn't crying—he'd never seen her cry, and he wasn’t good with other people’s tears. Jack sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders, feeling a little uneasy at the contact. While they were mates, she was still technically his boss and they were at work, but still, she was human and so was he, and if she needed some support, he was the one to give it. If prying eyes didn't approve, tough shit.
He rubbed ever so gently in between her shoulder blades with his left hand, something his mother had used to do to him when he was upset as a young boy. He’d appreciated the comfort. Amanda responded by lifting her head and turned to him with moist eyes. Her tears were about to spill over, but she fought them back with sheer will, and so far, they were staying put.
“Well, there’s nothing more you can do here tonight, Amanda,” said Jack. “Why don’t you head home, go and talk to Ruth?”
“The fact that I'm so close to this makes me want to be involved. He's my father-in-law, Jack. I'm supposed to be able to help him, protect him, protect Ruth from bad things happening. I feel so helpless.”
“I'm sure this will all wear out soon enough. There’s got to be something positive that can help him if he’s innocent, and he’s not been charged yet.”
“You know as well as I do, it doesn't matter about that. If the CPS thinks there is a case beyond reasonable doubt that he is the person who did it, or at the very least disposed of the man’s body, then he'll be charged shortly. And then it’s going to be hell.”
They both knew that Gordon’s being charged with murder meant time in a remand centre while awaiting trial, followed by a lengthy prison spell if he was found guilty.
“Let's hope it doesn't come to that,” said Jack. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Being arrested just means Dupin can formally question him, and until we've got something a bit more concrete to present to the CPS, he won't be charged. This time tomorrow he could be back at his own house.”
“Don't get my hopes up, Jack. I know what you're trying to do and I appreciate it, but just don’t, okay?” She stood, brushing his arm off her shoulders, and headed back inside. Jack was tempted to follow, but figured he'd give her some space. She was probably going to get her bag and head home, as he’d suggested. He hoped she would; there was nothing she could achieve here.
It was time he was heading out himself, but Dupin might need him, so he headed back inside to see what the man’s next move was. He found Dupin in his office, seated behind his desk, deep in thought. Jack rapped on the door with his knuckle and walked in.
“What's your plan?” said Jack. “Leaving him to stew before you go back for more questions?”
Dupin didn’t bother to raise his eyes. “Something like that. Do you need something, Jack?” he asked.
“I was just going to head off home, but I don't know if you need me, what with Amanda out of it.”
“Amanda? Oh, yes. Father-in-law. No, she can't be involved. “
“I guess Raj is going to be working with you on it? Not me?”
“Yes, I’ll stick with Raj, keep things clean. I've had it up to my back teeth with people pointing fingers at procedure and cover-ups. I don't need any more crap. Go home, Jack. I'll call you if you’re needed, if anything transpires.”
Jack was about to head out the door when a question occurred to him. He wrestled for a moment, debating whether to ask it or not. What the hell.
“Do you think the CPS will go for it on what little we have—a body in his old garden and a cufflink nearby?”
Dupin finally looked up at him. “Quite probably.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
If Amanda thought she was dreading going home before, the dread had now doubled. It felt like broken concrete slabs thrown together in her stomach, jagged edges pushing out from her insides. She wasn't looking forward to facing Ruth. She slipped her key into the lock and went inside. The house was deathly quiet, yet she knew Ruth was home. She could smell her, sense her; her perfume lingered in the hallway and Amanda could feel her presence somewhere close by. There was no point calling out; she doubted if Ruth would answer.
Amanda glanced around the lounge door to check if she was there, but the room was empty. She carried on down to the kitchen and peered inside. Ruth was stood looking out of the kitchen window at her herb garden, but didn't say a word as she heard Amanda come in. Her body language conveyed how she was feeling; her shoulders visibly sagged. Amanda waited patiently, knowing that Ruth needed her space; having never been in such a delicate situation herself before, she hoped that staying quiet was the right thing to do. She stood motionless in the doorway and willed Ruth to turn around and say something.
It felt like a lifetime later when she finally did, though it was probably only a minute or two. Ruth’s eyes were pink around the edges from crying, her make-up slightly smeared, and she looked terrified. Her bottom lip was trembling as she tried unsuccessfully to steady her voice.
“Why didn't you call and tell me?” she asked in a voice that was barely audible.
“His solicitor called me, said he’d been arrested. It’s serious, isn’t it, Amanda?”
“I hope it's not Ruth, but you know I can't discuss an ongoing investigation, particularly when it is one that involves a family member. And I'm off the case so I don't know how much help I could be anyway. I can only tell you what I suspect will happen, and that is if Dupin feels he's got enough evidence, he'll go to the CPS and your father will be charged. If not, arrest means just a formal questioning, so he may well be home in a few hours. It really depends on Dupin, the evidence and the CPS. It’s totally out of my hands.”
At least they were talking, and Amanda wanted to ask again why Ruth hadn't returned any of her calls, but now didn't seem the right time. There were clearly more important things worrying Ruth; Amanda hated seeing her so distressed. Abandoning caution now, she walked over and took her in a warm embrace, rubbing her back like Jack had rubbed hers not long ago, hoping it gave her comfort too. Whatever happened, it would be a trying time for both of them.
“Do you think Dad did it?” asked Ruth.
“I don't think so,” said Amanda. “I know what people are capable of, but I hate to think that Gordon did do it.”
“And what if he didn't?” said Ruth, struggling to keep her tears at bay.
“Then hopefully there’ll be some evidence to say that he didn't do it, but right now it doesn’t look good. To anyone looking in, a body found in your garden can only mean one thing: the occupant or occupants put it there.”
“But two people lived in that house—Madeline was there as well.” Ruth sniffed loudly.
“Unfortunately, Madeline is not here to answer questions, though, and the CPS will think that one of them couldn't have done it without the knowledge of the other. That they were accomplices.”
“So, you’re saying that just because it was found in Dad’s garden, he is now responsible even though he might not have done it?”
“For some of it at least, unless evidence proves otherwise. Concealing a crime, particularly one as serious as a murder, still holds a sentence.”
Ruth turned back to the window and wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “How long will we have to wait to find out if Dad will be released tonight?”
“Again, I can't comment, Ruth but I would suspect that he would be held overnight for questioning. That's normal tactic. Your best bet is to talk to his solicitor. Do you have his name and number?”
“I do,” she said. “I can't bear to think of him lying in a prison cell overnight.”
“He’s at the police station, Ruth, not in prison.”
“It's the same thing!” Ruth shouted as she swung round. “He’ll be lying in a cold concrete room with a plastic mattress and a sink if he’s lucky. And he didn't do anything—it's not fair!”
Tears were running freely down her cheeks now, and Amanda could do nothing but give her another hug. Ruth's body shook as Amanda tried to console her, and she sobbed as though her heart would break. Ruth rarely got upset over anything, and while Amanda knew she was worried about her father, she couldn't help wondering what else was on her mind to have elicited such a powerful reaction. Perhaps it was the stress of work added into the fact.
When Ruth’s sobs subsided slightly and she pulled away, Amanda tore a piece of kitchen roll off the dispenser nearby and handed it to her to dry her eyes.
“Let's see what the morning brings,” said Amanda, in as soft a voice as she could muster. “We may well be worrying about nothing. Try and remember that.”
Ruth nodded as she dabbed, then turned back and resumed gazing down the garden. Her shoulders shook slightly and Amanda knew that she was crying again.
Stress affected everyone differently, she thought, but Ruth’s display was wildly out of character.
No, something else was up, Amanda knew.
She didn’t have to wait long to find out what it was.
Chapter Seventy
While Amanda was off the case and sleeping fitfully through the night, another team were going through Gordon's new flat, armed with a search warrant after his arrest. Every drawer, every cupboard door, every nook and cranny was looked into as they searched for something that could possibly link Mr Simpson to the body in his old back garden. Since he’d recently moved house, a lot of his belongings had been sold; not everything from the five-bedroom place would fit into his one-bedroom flat. But he’d kept sentimental things for his new life as a widower.
It was Raj who found the missing link—quite literally. He had been tasked with searching Gordon's bedroom. Gordon it seemed, was a tidy man, a formal man, and looking through his wardrobe Raj stood to admire his array of neatly pressed shirts and nice suits. They weren't overly flashy, but they were nice nonetheless. Appearance was important to Gordon. Raj ran his hand down the sleeves of the shirts, and even through his latex gloves, he could feel the quality of the cotton. They weren't the finest Egyptian, but they weren't high street either—and they were quite possibly made to measure, to boot. Each shirt had double cuffs rather than the regular single button that most men opted for; Gordon really did like the formal feel. But double-cuffed shirts need to be fastened by something other than a button, and it was the cufflink box on the top of his dresser that gave Raj the final clue to Gordon's involvement in the burial of Des Taylor. As he tipped the contents out onto the top of the bureau, there were several pairs that he matched together. But there was an odd one left over, and he'd seen it before in a crime scene photograph. The eagle looked straight at him.
“Mr Simpson, what have you been up to?” Raj said to the empty room.
It was identical to the one that had been found in the grave. He slipped it into an evidence bag and labelled it, then alerted the officer in charge of the search.
The search of the rest of Gordon Simpson’s flat turned up nothing more of use, and the team went back to the station. Gordon was still in police custody but wouldn't be questioned again until the morning. Raj wondered how he’d react to the news that the mate to the mystery cufflink had been found in his own trinket box. It didn’t bode well.
Raj felt sorry for Amanda; this wasn't going to be easy to weather. While it wasn't her fault, she was going to feel somewhat embarrassed that her father-in-law had been charged with murder; it was only natural. And as she was close to the case, he knew there’d be people with suspicious minds and gossipy mouths.
Ruth had barely touched her plate at dinner time; Amanda wasn't surprised. She wasn't particularly interested in food herself, but her stomach had grumbled regardless and she’d forced herself. Ruth had then retired to bed early, saying she’d got a banging headache; after her tearful outburst earlier, this was understandable. Amanda had stayed downstairs catching up with work. After that, she watched a little TV and went up to bed just after 10 PM. Ruth had been already fast asleep, which was a good thing. The rest would help her recover and deal with whatever else was to fall on her shoulders. She knew it wasn’t over yet.
When Amanda awoke the following morning, Ruth had already gone, but that was not unusual since it was her early morning running time. She wrapped herself in her pink robe and went downstairs to make the first cup of tea of the day. While she’d managed to sleep herself, she had been aware of Ruth's restlessness, but there was little she’d been able to do to help. The clock on the kitchen wall said it was a little after 6 AM, and the first thing that Amanda thought of was Gordon and how he’d taken his first night in a police cell. After his arrest, she knew there was no way Dupin was going to let him out until he’d used the allocated time to question him. What would today bring, she wondered? Would the CPS charge him? Oh, how she hoped that it wasn't Gordon, that there was another explanation, though what, she couldn't think. Ruth had mentioned Madeline last night, but again Amanda thought there was no way one woman on her own cou
ld have disposed of Des Thomas’s body; he’d have been a dead weight—literally—and far too heavy for even a muscular man to move, let alone Madeline Simpson. And even if she could have moved the body, there was no way she could have done it all without her husband knowing what was going on. No way. At the very least he had to be an accomplice, and that was a chargeable offence.
By 7 AM Amanda was at work, anxious to find out if anything significant had happened during the night. Even though she wasn't on the case, there was no harm in asking. Whatever the outcome was, she needed to be able to support Ruth as best she could. Forewarned was forearmed.
By 10 AM, Gordon Simpson had been charged with the murder of Desmond Thomas. He would appear in the Magistrates Court the following morning. It wasn’t the news she wanted to hear.
But the day was about to get worse. At 1:35 PM, Jack walked into the squad room, where Amanda sat staring at her blank computer screen, and informed her that Ruth was in reception and wished to talk with the officer in charge of Gordon Simpson’s case.
“What?” she said, her voice full of astonishment. “What is Ruth doing here, and what does she want with Dupin?”
“It’s highly unusual, I know, but get this. She says she's got something to discuss, something that will prove Gordon's innocence.” Jack shook his head in disbelief.
Amanda rose up, ready to head out the door, but Jack put himself in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Now, you know you can't do anything, so stay put and let me find out what's going on.”
“But Jack, I need to find out for myself!” Her anguish was audible.
“And I will tell you when I know,” he said firmly. “You'll be the first to know. But right now, find something else to do to take your mind off this and trust me. All right?” Jack locked eyes with her, hoping his authority as a friend and colleague would make her see sense. She sat back down.