Jack Rutherford and Amanda Lacey Box Set

by Linda Coles

  Dupin sat back in his chair, not quite sure if he believed what she was saying, but it fitted perfectly. It was too far-fetched to have been made up. He scrutinised her face, her pleading eyes, her strained body language—she looked like she was telling the truth. He’d interviewed enough people in his time and knew when someone was lying or not. Her body language and anguish were genuine. The story, though far-fetched, was certainly plausible.

  “I'm going to leave for five minutes; I need to check on something. Please, stay where you are.”

  Dupin hurried out of the interview room and headed towards the squad room. He needed a computer.

  In the tiny viewing room, Jack stood open-mouthed. Ruth’s story was indeed plausible, and it would fill in an awful lot of missing pieces. But her revelation was going to wreak holy havoc on her life with Amanda—and here at work. Amanda and Jack had investigated that disappearance together, and now it turned out that Ruth had known the details since Madeline had died.

  He hoped Ruth and Amanda were strong enough to weather the tsunami that was surging their way, because they were going to need more than a tough umbrella to withstand this one.

  Not a religious man, Jack crossed his chest silently anyway.

  Chapter Seventy-One

  Amanda paced impatiently up and down the squad room, wondering what was going on, what Ruth was here to talk to Dupin about. She hoped she wasn't going to get herself into trouble, perhaps even make something up just to save her father, though that would be unlike Ruth in the first place. But Amanda knew Ruth was extremely close to her father now; she’d only reconnected with him in her late teens and they’d since become close. She could only hope that whatever it was she was telling Dupin, it was of dire importance. Ruth wasn't soft or stupid enough to think that she could come and plead with Dupin for her father's release; she knew it didn't work like that. So, what on earth could she be saying to him?

  As she paced the squad room, wearing the carpet out, she saw Dupin surging past the doorway on his way down to his office. He looked in a rush, and since he was obviously out of discussions with Ruth, she figured she could follow, ask him what was going on. The worst that could happen was he’d tell her to mind her own business. She was almost at his door when he came blustering back out and collided with her in the corridor.

  “Not now, Lacey,” he shouted, and hurried passed her mumbling an apology as he went.

  “What the hell was that?” said Amanda to herself, and attempted to pace after him. But Dupin was ahead of her and obviously on a mission. He shouted for Raj as he approached the squad room door, then slipped inside. Amanda followed and saw that the two men were already deep in conversation, and it looked secretive. Dupin obviously didn't want the rest of the team to hear whatever they were talking about. Raj was nodding up and down, his head bobbing like a doll’s with a spring in its neck.

  Dupin then flew back out of the room towards the interview room, and Ruth.

  She approached Raj’s desk, but got a similar brush-off from him, which was unlike Raj.

  “Not now, Amanda. I'm sorry,” he said, as he stood in front of his computer, trying to block her view. “Top secret,” he said jokingly.

  Amanda tried to get a glimpse of his screen but caught only some of it. It was an old case, a death she had investigated with Jack a couple of years ago. Raj turned, still keeping himself between her and the computer, and scanned the screen. Then he closed the page down and ran from the room.

  What on earth was this all about, she wondered? The room was empty now, apart from one civilian researcher, who was looking curiously up at Amanda from over the top of her own computer screen.

  Amanda raised her eyes to the ceiling, grasped her hair in both fists and screamed, “Will someone tell me what's going on?”

  The researcher averted her gaze and resumed her work as Amanda stormed from the room, headed towards the back door and fresh air. She was tempted to go and see what was happening in the interview room, but at the same time something told her to keep well away, that she might see something or hear something she wasn't meant to. It seemed everybody in the station was involved in whatever it was except for her.

  Out in the car park, Amanda stood blinking in the sunlight, bewildered and suddenly very nervous. She wished she had a cigarette—not that she smoked, but it would give her something to do and perhaps calm her down. Maybe pacing up and down the tarmac would have the same effect, she thought, so she focused on her breathing as she walked from one end to the other. But after a full five minutes, she was still as stressed as ever. She needed something else to occupy her mind.

  She dialled Jack’s number, and he answered almost immediately.

  “Where are you?” she blurted.

  “Not too far away, actually,” said Jack, wincing on the other end of the phone. He was still in the interview observation room. It wasn't a lie as such; he wasn't that far away. “What can I help you with?” he said. “Anything in particular?”

  “I just thought since no one will tell me what's going on with Ruth, I might as well crack on with something else and be productive, take my mind off things. I thought I'd go and see Charles Winstanley, see what he says, perhaps help you out with the old case. At least I can put my skills to use trying to get a possibly innocent man out of prison. I’m not allowed anywhere near the landscaper case, or Ruth either, it seems.”

  “Good idea,” said Jack. “I was going to call him myself and go and see him with Doc Mitchell, but it may as well be you.”

  “Where’s his details, then?”

  “The file is on my desk. It's all there, so knock yourself out. I'll speak to you later.”

  They rang off, and Amanda had turned to walk back inside when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Jack's car was actually there, parked in the car park. “What the—?” she said. She marched back inside as fast as her booted feet would take her and stormed into the squad room. It was still empty, except for the researcher who was startled by her presence once more. There was no point making a scene to one person, so, mumbling to herself, Amanda grabbed her bag and then went over to Jack's desk to get the notes. When she’d got what she needed, she headed back out towards her own car. She’d ring the pathologist on the way and hope that he could see her, because there was no way she was staying in the building and being treated like a damn mushroom.

  Being kept in the dark and fed bullshit was far too stressful.

  Chapter Seventy-Two

  It was an easy half-hour journey for Amanda down from Croydon to Leatherhead. She drove past Epsom Downs racecourse and on to Ashtead, where she picked up the A24 and heavy roadworks. It wasn't far from there to the hospital where Dr Charles Winstanley was still working part-time. She’d called his assistant on her way down and told the woman it was of vital importance that she speak with him today, and he had agreed he could spare a few moments later on in the afternoon. She'd sit and wait until he had those moments, but she needed to put her energy into something. Unfortunately, Dr Winstanley was probably going to get more than he bargained for, given the mood she was in.

  She parked her car and made her way towards the building, forcing her shoulders down in an effort to stop her insides from churning. She felt like a pent-up steam engine.

  “Slow it down,” she coaxed herself. There was no point going in guns blazing and upsetting the poor man. If they were going to get Michael Hardesty out of prison, then they needed the good doctor to be on their side rather than going on the defensive straight off. He might also have a simple reason for having missed what they’d seen in the photos.

  She called at reception and asked that Winstanley be notified of her arrival, and said she’d wait in reception till he was free. No sooner had Amanda taken a seat than the receptionist called her brightly back over and gave her directions on where to find him. The woman’s ponytail bobbed up and down with each syllable she spoke, though why Amanda noticed it when her brain was so overloaded she had no idea; nonetheless,
it amused her just the same. The bobbing ponytail was just the mundane thing she needed to get herself back on track, and she felt herself relax a little more.

  She headed down corridors that looked the same as the corridors in any hospital and finally reached the offices of the autopsy suite. She pressed the buzzer and waited. An older woman opened the door and welcomed her into a smaller reception area.

  “You must be Detective Lacey,” she said with a bright smile. “Dr Winstanley won't be long. Can I get you a cup of tea, perhaps, or a coffee?”

  “A glass of water would be good, actually. Thank you,” said Amanda. She made herself comfortable to wait. Moments later the woman returned with a glass that she plopped down on a glass coaster beside her. Amanda looked through the file notes and photographs again and rehearsed what she was going to say to Winstanley. She dreaded upsetting him, but at the same time they needed to find out what had gone on back then. It was a shame she hadn’t brought Faye Mitchell along—too impatient to get on and do something.

  A few minutes later a man appeared in front of her with his hand outstretched. He was no more than five feet tall, with wispy grey hair that stood straight up. She had heard the man looked like Einstein but hadn’t quite realised just how accurate that description was. His friendly smile stretched from one ear to the other, and she took an instant liking to him; he reminded her of everybody's cuddly grandad. She stood towering over him, even though she wore flat boots, and shook his hand briskly.

  “DS Amanda Lacey,” she introduced herself. “Thank you, Doctor, for seeing me at such short notice.”

  “Not at all. If I can help in any way… Come on through,” he said, pointing to his office door. It was one of the nicest working environments she'd ever seen. The room was modern minimalist, and the walls were covered in bright abstract art. She’d assumed, given his age and position, that his office would be more leather and walnut. Attracted to a large painting on the far wall, she wandered over and stood looking at it for a moment. She had no idea who had created it, but it was striking—not that she was an art expert but she knew what she liked. Winstanley stepped up alongside her.

  “Do you like it?” he enquired.

  “I do, actually. I'm not really one for art, but I am drawn to it, yes.”

  “My granddaughter painted it. Can you believe she is only seventeen years old? She’s going to go a long way.”

  “Well, she’s very talented,” agreed Amanda.

  Pleasantries over, they turned and headed over to Dr Winstanley's desk. He indicated a chair in front of it, then seated himself in his office chair.

  “So, what can I help you with, DS Lacey? Because I'm sure you didn't come to admire my granddaughter’s artwork.” There was that smile again, making her feel comfortable and at home.

  “It's a bit of a delicate matter, actually, Doctor, but there is no easy way to do this. So I'm just going to tell you what we’ve found out. Please forgive me before I start.”

  “Ah, that sounds ominous,” he said. “Tell me more, then. Don't keep me waiting.”

  Amanda first explained the old case that Jack had been investigating. She then mentioned DI Dupin and his own experience, then the first and second autopsies on Callum Parker, and concluded with how it had come to be that this old case was now back on their desks. When she got to the subject of the details that had been missed during his part of the investigation, he grew visibly concerned. She pushed the photographs across to him and watched his bushy greying eyebrows knit together like two fluffy mice joined at the tail. She sat quietly, waiting. It was important to let him digest, let him think; not daring to speak or interrupt him, Amanda wondered what was going on his head.

  Was he horrified that he’d made a mistake?

  Was he horrified that it had come to light?

  Or was there another answer?

  She waited—and stayed silent.

  Chapter Seventy-Three

  Amanda was an excellent reader of body language. After many years on the force, she relied on that instinct to give her clues to a subject’s honesty, or lack of it. She could see by Winstanley’s paling face, the slight quiver of his lower lip, that the old man was mortified. His flyaway grey hair moved gently as he brought his head back up fully from the images laid out on his desk. He directed his gaze somewhere over Amanda’s shoulder, towards one of the windows, and she wondered what was going on in that brain of his.

  She also needed to broach the next subject that was on her agenda: that Jack had learned about the possible corruption involved in the McAllister case. Perhaps the great pathologist himself had succumbed, had been asked to do something that he hadn't wanted to do at the time. It could happen to anyone, she knew; money was too tempting for many people to resist. She cleared her throat, and the sound brought his gaze back to meet hers. He looked rather uncomfortable, disappointed and upset. She had a feeling she already knew what his answer to her question would be, but she needed to ask anyway.

  “Dr Winstanley, I have another question for you.”

  “I'm in shock,” he said. His voice was barely audible.

  “There was some talk during the investigation that perhaps the McAllister family had gotten to people on the case, and I wondered…”

  She got no further before Charles Winstanley put his hand up to interrupt her. “I know what you're going to ask,” he said with his hand still up, “but absolutely not. On my heart,” he said, placing his hand on his chest. “I have never taken and will never take a bribe on a case. Absolutely not. You have my word on that.” He said it with such authority, such force, that Amanda knew instantly he was telling the truth. His eyes were full of concern that he could have been responsible for a miscarriage of justice, however unintentionally.

  “I'm sorry, but I had to ask. Things were different fifteen years ago, as I'm sure you're aware—and remember that it's only because of this current case that we are even looking at the older one.”

  “And what happened to the man, the man in the old case?”

  “He is still in prison, I'm afraid. He’s still got some more time to go.”

  The doctor hung his head in obvious despair and stayed silent. When he raised his head again, he looked directly into her eyes. “What can I do to help now?”

  “Well, if you agree that there was in fact an error, we may well have grounds to get the murder charge quashed. There is more work to do yet, and it won't be a short process, but it would be the quickest option.”

  “Whatever I can do to help. I can't believe it; this is my worst nightmare come true. Never in my career has something like this happened, and now, just as I’m coming to the end of it, I'll be known for such a grave mistake. And a man has lost the best part of his life.”

  Amanda reached out and placed her hand on top of his. “I'll keep you informed, Doctor,” she said gently, and stood to leave. “And thank you for your candidness. Now let's focus and put this right, eh?” She gave him a weak smile, hoping to encourage him. “I’ll show myself out,” she said. She gathered her things and reached a hand out to shake his. He gave her a distracted shake in return, not half as strong as the one he’d given on her arrival only a few minutes ago. All the power had left the man's body; he seemed to shrink like a balloon losing its helium.

  As soon as Amanda was back outside, she called Jack to tell him what she’d found out and relay the good news. She couldn't help notice that he was distracted when he answered his phone, not his normal jovial Jack self. Obviously, something was happening at his end, something she wasn't privy to and couldn't ask about. Not yet, anyway.

  “So, you were right, Jack,” she said, as breezily as she could manage under the circumstances. “It looks like Hardesty is an innocent man. And I would say I believe the doctor. I don't think he was involved in any bribe or backhand or whatever you want to call it. I think it was a genuine mistake. The poor man is mortified, totally horrified, by what that has meant to Hardesty. As you would expect.”

  Jack was
quiet for a moment, pondering. “But if that's the case,” he said, “maybe the foreman didn’t have anything to do with the verdict after all. Maybe he was bribed, but it could also be that he simply got lucky because of the evidence that was presented. Hell, Dr Winstanley might not have even known the outcome of the case; he’d no reason to hang around after his testimony. Most doctors don’t. And the same with Eddie—he got lucky, too. Although I know he did accept bribes—that was evident in the way he lived, the flash cars and women. It was pretty obvious that money was coming from somewhere, and the job didn’t pay that well. And that money’s definitely dried up, given how he’s living now. He's a real has-been.”

  “I think there's been some grounds in the past,” said Amanda. “Eddie was obviously up to something to get money, like you say, but maybe in this case they all did just get lucky. You spoke to the foreman, didn't you?” She remembered that he said he was going to call in and see the man.

  “Sort of,” said Jack. “The guy wasn't particularly friendly; he denied everything. It was a very quick conversation, and basically, I got thrown off his property. So, there wasn't a great deal I could do, and I haven't been back for more. I’ve got no evidence, just an insinuation. People don't tend to respond well to insinuation, so I had to leave it.”

  It was Amanda's turn to think while she put the pieces that she knew of in order. At least being involved in what Jack had been working on was keeping her mind off what was really going on back at the station and in particular with Ruth. She’d got that yet to come.

  “I'm on my way back now,” she said. “Is it worth me popping in to see this character Eddie?”

  “No, I doubt it,” said Jack. “There’s little point. He was up to no good, and the guy’s rotten to the core but this is down to the pathologist’s mistake, not Eddie’s hand. And by the look of him, he won't be around for much longer, either. I suspect he's got kidney disease or something like it; his eyes look like Mrs Stewart’s bananas and custard. He had diabetes when I worked with him, not that he looked after himself then. Same now, I’d say.”