by Linda Coles
“There was an accident. I had to stop and assist.”
She relaxed her arms to her side and let him through, satisfied but needing more information.
Gossip.
“Oh? What happened? Anyone hurt? I thought I heard a siren. Did you see it? Where was it exactly?”
One at a time, please.
“A car travelling too fast hit another coming out of his driveway. The chap who got hit was an old guy; he was pretty shaken up but ended up with just a head wound, nothing too serious, I expect. There was a young couple in the other car, and he was driving. Started throwing punches and I intervened.” Laurence was searching for a glass in the kitchen cupboard while he babbled out what he knew, quenching her need for details. He filled it from the tap and drank it straight down, then refilled it again. He turned back to her. “Fancy lashing out at the old man when he was the one in the wrong. What a prick.”
“Huh. The world’s full of them. And trust you to get involved, on your day off, too.” Her hands were back on her hips, matron-like.
“I couldn’t very well leave them to it, now, could I? I was first on the scene. Anyway, it’s all cleared away now.”
“Yes, but you’ll be pulled in for a statement, won’t you? Wasting your time.”
“That’s hardly a hardship, now, is it?”
“Still.” She grunted disapprovingly. He watched her amble out of the back door and down into the small garden out the back. ‘Her’ chair was placed in the shade of an old plum tree that straddled their property from their neighbour’s garden. It never produced any real quantity of plums, but the green coverage was appreciated on sunny days. She picked up her Woman’s Weekly and resumed reading. Laurence watched her from the window. He wondered when his wife had turned into an old woman. She was 45 going on 65 and had a sour spirit with it. He couldn’t imagine what she’d be like when she did reach 65.
“Heaven help us,” he said to no one in particular, and went in search of his book. His thoughts drifted to the woman in the car—Melissa had been her name. When she’d finally recovered herself, he couldn’t help noticing she was a bit of a looker, though about half his age. In her prime. Even during the melee, he had been rather surprised to realise that his desire for a sweeter woman in his life had been on his mind. It wasn’t the first time he’d contemplated finding someone a bit more appealing, but he’d stayed true to his marriage vows and never acted. Not that an opportunity had ever come his way since Lyn had staked her claim on him. He doubted anyone would want to cross her if she ever found out.
He was making himself comfortable in the lounge when his mobile phone rang. He got to his feet and scrabbled around for it; he found it lying under the pile of newspapers that were still on the sofa from before lunch. He’d yet to finish them, though the Sunday supplement was already wrapping the vegetable peelings in the compost heap at the end of the garden. He’d asked her repeatedly to use a tray for the job until he’d read it but had given up reminding her. Reading the tiny screen, he groaned.
“Some day off this is turning out to be.” He swiped to accept the call.
“DI Dupin,” he said flatly. “What can I do for you, Amanda?” The joys of caller ID. There was no escaping even if you wanted to.
“Sorry to bother you, sir. Are you at home, by chance?”
His left eye twitched involuntarily, something that plagued him when he got wound up. His hopes for a relaxing Sunday were diminishing fast.
“I am, yes. Is there a problem?” He knew there was, or else why would she be calling him at nearly 3 pm?
“Hopefully not, sir, but I need to pop over right away. I’ll tell you more when we get there.”
There was a pause as they both realised what she’d just said.
“We?” Did he detect a groan on the other end of the line? “Who is ‘we’?” A moment passed before Amanda spoke; her annoyance at being caught out was audible now.
“DCI Japp will be meeting me there, sir. It’s a bit of a delicate matter. So as long as you’re home, please stay there and we’ll be right over.” It was obvious Amanda was trying to get off the line and avoid any more stupid mistakes. “See you shortly, sir.”
And then she was gone, leaving Dupin staring at his phone. It was warm; there were traces of grease on the screen from his sweating temple and sticky fingers. He hadn’t realised how hot he’d found himself during the strange conversation.
“What the hell can Amanda and DCI Japp want?”
“I’ve no idea. What does he want? And why is he calling on a Sunday, for heaven’s sake? And don’t tell me he’s coming here? Why?”
He hadn’t realised Lyn had been listening in on the other side of the doorway. He looked up at her as she continued to barrage him with questions, registering the damp, sweaty patch across her top lip. He wiped his own as if that would remove hers. The woman looked like a double-handled tea pot, with a spout to match.
“Well, I’ve no idea either, but he’s on his way round. I guess we’ll both find out soon enough.” He looked down at his T-shirt front. There was a small patch of blood on it, from the old man’s head, he assumed. “I’d better go and change my shirt.”
What did Japp want, indeed? The only possible reason he could think of was the accident he’d just witnessed. Maybe they’d take his statement while he was at home, get it out of the way. That must be it.
But on a Sunday? Was it that important? And the DCI coming to do it?
He hoped the old man was okay.
Chapter Six
DCI Jim Japp had the same moustache as his Agatha Christie namesake, but stopped short of wearing a trilby. Having both Japp and Dupin in the same station had caused a ripple of laughter when the more well-read detectives and staff realised they now worked with famous namesakes in the same profession. Not that their surnames were commonly used, as in Dupin’s case. Dupin was slyly referred to as ‘Dopey’ behind his back.
As for Japp, his nickname was ‘Jim-lad’, after the character in Treasure Island. He’d picked up the name when the movie had first come out and was well used to it now in his 50s. Right now, he, Dupin and DS Amanda Lacey were sat in Dupin’s lounge waiting for Lyn to bring mugs of tea through, though on this warm Sunday, they all would have preferred a cold beer. Japp was attempting small talk until they could talk without fear of interruption, though Dupin would no doubt tell his wife later. Having met Lyn on several occasions, he wanted to avoid the burst dam of questions that would no doubt spew from the woman’s mouth as they always did. He pitied Dupin sometimes.
When the tea finally arrived, and Lyn had got the message to leave and not to linger, DCI Japp cleared his throat and did his best to look Dupin straight in the eye as he spoke. The swirl on the green carpet underfoot was distracting.
“You’re wondering, I’m sure, why we’re both here on a Sunday and interrupting your time, so I’ll get straight to the point,” he said, then paused, choosing his words. “You’ll recall the accident you attended earlier on this afternoon.”
“Yes. Is that what this is about?” Dupin felt relieved, even though he’d figured the visit was likely about that—though why the DCI, he’d still no idea. Yet.
“Can you run me through what happened, exactly? From the beginning?”
Dupin looked at Amanda, then back at his DCI, and then, receiving no clue from either, started his story from the beginning as instructed, from leaving the house to witnessing the collision. Nobody said anything while he spoke, until he got to the part where he said he’d thumped the male driver because he’d tried to attack the older man. Amanda and Japp exchanged glances silently.
“What?” asked Dupin. “I was protecting the old guy; otherwise, he’d have been in a far worse state than he already was.”
“And what happened after you hit Mr Callum Parker, the younger male?”
“He fell back into the grass, then nursed his ego and scrambled back up. The ambulance arrived shortly after that.”
“Was he talking?
Walking about?”
“Yes. Why? What’s this about?”
Japp avoided Dupin’s question and asked another.
“How did he seem to you?”
“Again, fine. Why?”
Japp and Amanda exchanged another glance then DCI Japp turned back to Dupin.
“Because about an hour or so later, Mr Callum Parker was found dead.”
Dupin’s eyes flicked rapidly from side to side as he tried to comprehend what they were telling him. Dead? How could he be dead? He’d scrambled out of the ditch, hadn’t he?
“He was fine! How can the man be dead?”
Nobody spoke, and then it twigged in Dupin’s head what they were getting at. “You think I killed him?” he said incredulously. “I was trying to keep things calm, not kill him! I was protecting the old man!” His voice had risen with his outburst, and Lyn hurried back into the room. Dupin ignored her; his mind was reeling. He was aware of Lyn’s voice asking questions, but there was too much to take in without worrying about her.
“Try and calm down, Laurence,” Japp was instructing him. “We don’t know much at the moment, save for the statement from the woman who was with him.” He looked at his notebook for clarification. “Melissa Ross says you threw a punch and knocked him over. Now, that might be true, but somewhere, somehow, along the way between the accident site and his parents’ house, something happened. We know he went for a nap, and when his fiancée called in on him, he was dead. Now, at the moment, they don’t know who or what you are, but they will find out. And when they do, we have to be whiter than white. Everything in this investigation will need to be by the book. All the way. Because, mark my words, they’ll think it’s mates looking after their mates, a cover-up, and all hell will let loose. Do you understand, DI Dupin?”
Dupin nodded, stunned. Lyn had the common sense to stay quiet in the background.
Amanda carried on where her DCI had left off. “So that means a thorough investigation, without you as part of it, I’m afraid. As of now, you’re under arrest until this is sorted out. By the book, remember. A man has died.”
DI Dupin stared at his boss as the man read him his rights. By the book or not, it had suddenly become a good deal more serious all of a sudden. Amanda gave him a weak smile as he sat stony-faced, trying to comprehend all that was being said.
Dead. The young man was dead. But how? Was he responsible? He was beginning to sound like Lyn with so many questions, he chided himself; he shook his head in an effort to dislodge them.
“Do you understand, boss?” Amanda said.
“Yes.”
DCI Japp stood to leave. “I’ll leave you with Amanda, then, Laurence. I’m sure this is a formality, but until we know what we’re looking at for sure, as I said, everything by the book.” His moustache lifted at both ends over a slight smile that was probably meant to encourage. It didn’t.
Laurence Dupin could think of better things to be doing than worrying about a manslaughter charge hanging over him.
“I’ll see myself out,” said Japp, leaving Amanda to do the necessary.
Dupin glanced at Japp’s retreating back and was reminded of the Grim Reaper. He only hoped his scythe wouldn’t swing his way.
Chapter Seven
Monday morning and Amanda was in the office before anyone else, a mug of steaming hot frothy coffee in one hand, a mouse in the other as she scrolled down a web page. It was the best time of the day to work without interruptions, and since Ruth had risen early for her run, Amanda had prized herself out of bed too. Once she was up, she was fine; it was the act of actually getting out from under warm covers that was the hard part. She’d been the same all her life, and at 42, she knew the struggle was something that would never leave her. The silence was broken by the sound of the coffee machine chugging in the nearby ‘cupboard’ kitchen, accompanied by a few choice aggravated words.
Jack Rutherford had entered the building.
She smiled to herself; it was impossible not to. They’d had the coffee machine for two years, and still it flummoxed him. Either he forgot the coffee capsule itself, making frothy milk with no caffeine, or he forgot to fill the water tank and no coffee erupted from the spout. By the sound of it, it was the former this morning—no coffee capsule.
“It needs a capsule,” she shouted through.
“All right. I know,” he yelled back, clearly annoyed with himself. Amanda sipped her own and then stood to peer around the door frame.
“I can see you watching me,” Jack said testily.
“Just browsing.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You’re in early for a Monday morning. Couldn’t sleep?”
“Au contraire.”
Jack was taking French lessons and now had a habit of dropping odd phrases into his daily routine for practice. “Slept beautifully, thanks. If you want to watch the sunrise, you have to get up to see it.”
Amanda cocked her head. “Are you taking deep spiritual lessons now as well as French?”
“Nope. But if you must know, I’m making more of an effort to fill my spare time with things other than work. Hence the lessons. And I’ve taken lawn bowls up again. It’s called broadening one’s horizons. You should try it sometime.” He raised his eyebrows at her. When his mug was finally filled with coffee and milk, he asked, “What are you working on so early?”
“I’ll be filling the team in soon when everyone’s here, but you may as well know now. DI Dupin got into a scuffle at the scene of an accident yesterday afternoon; smacked the guy in the face, apparently. All was well when they parted ways, but not long after, the man died at his parents’ home. Dupin’s in custody.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Not the best position to be in. As yet, I don’t think the family are aware that Dupin was an off-duty police officer, but they will find out. Apparently, Callum Parker, the young man who was driving, hit an oncoming vehicle driven by an elderly gentleman. No one was badly hurt, but Parker tried to attack the old man, saying it was his fault. Dupin was out walking, saw the accident and intervened to stop the older man getting hit. He punched him. Parker fell, but got back up and was walking and talking. He was also a bit mouthy, apparently. He’d been drinking, but was just under the limit.”
“How’s Dupin?”
“How you’d expect. Worried, mainly, and embarrassed he’s in custody. And the shit pile that could fall down on him, as well as the station, when the press find out won’t help. All in all, a torrid time ahead.”
“Poor old Dopey. I wouldn’t wish that lot on my worst enemy.”
Amanda frowned at him. “Let’s stick with his proper name, eh? Keep it all friendly. I’m sure he could use our support right now. DI Dupin to us all from now on.”
Jack mock saluted, adding, “Yes, boss.”
The rest of the team slowly filed in over the next half hour, and a low chatter of conversation filled the room. Tales of the weekend, what was on the telly, the cricket results. Exciting times around the Croydon region for most. Still, it was better than what Dupin now found himself in, Amanda thought grimly. She called them all to order and broke the news. The gleeful, relaxed faces quickly turned serious. While no one particularly liked or respected Dupin, they were all concerned for their colleague.
“The pathologist will know more when the autopsy is completed,” she said, closing her notebook. “Any questions?”
“Who’s doing the autopsy?” It was DC Raj Atwell, soon to be a DS if he ever took his sergeant’s exam.
“Faye Mitchell, I believe. And right now, she’s no idea who she is autopsying and why. This is just another sudden death to her. And that’s on purpose, so strictly hush- hush, right? All she knows is it’s her priority case first off this morning.
“Also, DCI Japp will be in attendance.”
The officers looked at each other in puzzlement.
“I can see from your expressions I need to explain,” she said. “The doc doesn’t kno
w, so she can’t be biased in any way. DCI Japp feels he needs to witness the process for that same reason, though it’s highly unusual, as you’ve already deduced. No doubt, the doc will wonder herself, but she won’t be told until after her findings.”
Heads nodded sagely, and murmurs filled the air.
“What can we do to help?” asked Raj.
“Liaise with the traffic cops who attended, see what they can tell us. Until we know what we’re dealing with from the morgue, we don’t know if this death is connected to a simple traffic accident or not, but let’s be prepared.”
Amanda wrapped up the briefing and doled tasks out to various officers; one by one, they split off back to their desks.
Jack turned to Amanda and quietly asked, “What’s our next move?”
“Well, that depends on whether Mrs Stewart made you a full English breakfast or not this morning. How strong is your stomach?”
Chapter Eight
Jack was wishing he hadn’t eaten the extra sausage; the faint herb flavour repeated in his mouth each time he stifled a belch. He also wished he was outside, alone, where he could get his wind up with one long, noisy gust. And he wouldn’t have to see Dr Faye Mitchell peel back the flesh of Callum Parker’s chest to get to his organs. The site of human intestines was making it a real possibility that his breakfast would be returning back up his oesophagus. How anyone could perform autopsies on a daily basis he couldn’t compute. But someone had to do it. Of course, people said the same about his own job—being spat at, punched and kicked, as well as witnessing the macabre and horrific things humans inflicted on each other; it wasn’t a job for butterflies. He focused on a fleck of something on a nearby tile, praying his breakfast would stay put.
“Everything looks about normal so far,” Dr Mitchell was saying, “but I’ll know more when I look at the organs in turn.” She turned to Amanda. “Tell me what happened again?”