‘But how long does it take? How long have I got to put myself through this. I try to forget about all the bad, Jake. I really try. I don’t want to forget Jim, but all I see when I think of him is his burnt watch and wedding ring the officer showed me as identification. I feel I’m losing the good memories that Jim and I had, only to be replaced by what I saw on that day.’
Jake could see that Kirsty was both frustrated and tearful. ‘Let me tell you,’ he said, gently turning her head towards him. ‘It never goes away. The feelings only subside with time and then you are left with the good memories.
‘You know, I remember the face of every dead person I have ever seen, in the situation in which they died. As a young cop it was terrifying, it kept me awake at night. We didn’t have a welfare department then, we had to deal with it in our own way. Find a way to block the bad out. They were there, every time I closed my eyes. Believe me when I say that over time it becomes easier and their images may fade from your conscious thought, but they are still there – locked away.
‘In fact, it’s a bit like those remains found at Fulborough Wood, which still recline in your mortuary,’ Jake said, trying to change the subject a little.
‘It’s not my morgue anymore,’ she whispered.
‘To me, it’ll always be yours, Kirsty.’ Jake smiled at her and she reciprocated, but her smile faded quickly.
They continued walking in silence, until she slipped her arm out of Jake’s, when they reached an empty bench. Jake handed Kirsty her packet of sandwiches that they’d bought from the hospital restaurant.
The sun glinted off the river and the tops of the boats in the marina, as they sat in contemplative silence, eating their sandwiches. Jake could see that Kirsty was thinking about Jim again. He’d learned to recognise the signs of her deep thoughtfulness about her husband over the last year, along with the turning of her wedding ring, which she had refused to remove after an explosive argument with her father.
‘Look,’ Jake said lowering his voice as a couple walked passed them and turning towards her, breaking the silence, ‘this whole Parker thing. You can’t let it consume you.’ He took her hand and held it lightly in his.
She looked away. There was a pause before she replied. ‘You know it’s difficult for me, Jake, and I know you understand, don’t you?’
Jake wondered whether he should continue with the next part of the conversation. He knew how she might react.
‘I do, yes, but I also know that there comes a time when you need to, well… let it go. You know, you’ve done so well these last months and this is the only thing that seems to be holding you back from getting on with your life.’
Kirsty removed her hand from his, and looked him in the eye, before saying quietly, ‘I don’t have a life, Jake – it ended when Jim died.’
Jake saw a small tear forming in one of her eyes and, in an attempt to distract her, he held up both hands in surrender.
‘Hey, sorry but… ’ He tipped his head to one side and smiled. Her gaze softened.
‘You’re right, of course, and I’m glad you’ve been at my side, even if you do say things that I don’t want to hear.’ She finally returned his smile. ‘It’s so very difficult, and it can’t have been easy for you either. I forget that he was your friend and colleague. I’m so wrapped up in my own grief and sorrow.’
Jake nodded slowly.
‘Even my month in Spain didn’t help much,’ Kirsty continued. ‘Belinda is only my age and she was so kind and considerate, but she spent most of the time fussing around me like an old mother hen.’
They both laughed at the lighter moment, but that was lost when Jake’s phone rang. He glanced at who was calling and answered it. ‘What?’
He listened. ‘I said I’d be there on the date we’ve already arranged.’ Jake terminated the call as quickly as he’d answered it.
He sighed deeply and looked over towards the marina.
‘Are you OK?’ Kirsty asked.
‘Yeah… but I think lunch is over I’m afraid.’
‘Duty?’ she asked.
‘No, the ex, always manages to interrupt me getting on with my life. We’re trying to arrange to hand over the keys of the house to the estate agent. When she can’t make it we re-arrange. And she’s been incommunicado since she left. I can never get hold of her and neither can the estate agent.’
‘How many times have you tried?’
‘This’ll be the third time. The agent isn’t bothered, but when I can’t make it all hell breaks loose, pisses me off, it really does.’
‘Can’t you just hand the keys to the agent?’
‘I could I suppose, but if I’m honest, I’m a little reluctant to let it go.’
Kirsty stood, but said nothing.
‘Come on, I’ll walk you back to work.’
8
The command corridor at police headquarters is generally a hushed environment. The corridors to the offices of the command secretariat had deep pile blue carpet and grey walls, interspersed with scenic views of Northamptonshire, past chief officers and the odd Major Crimes, one of them being the fire in the mid-eighties at British Pepper and Spice.
Detective Inspector Fletcher Randall took time to look at the photos, as he waited to see the Assistant Chief Constable, Colin Marland.
It was Randall’s first day as a Detective Inspector and his first day in a new force. He’d taken advantage of an advertisement to apply for the Detective Inspector’s role in Northants. Most of his service had been with Thames Valley Police and living on the Northamptonshire/Buckinghamshire border, he didn’t even have to move.
Randall was 5’9”, of stocky build, and liked to keep himself fit, but it wasn’t an obsession. He wore a pair of in-vogue unframed spectacles, a moustache, and had standard-length light brown hair. He’d joined Thames Valley Police after spending time in the Army. He’d met his wife, Annabelle and lost her, a front-line army medic, after only having been married for three years. She died under fire while attempting to administer to the wounds of his platoon, who’d come under attack while on active service.
Randall was invalided out of the Army as a result of his wounds, which were obvious from the long scar on the left-hand side of his face and, when the weather was cold, a limp on his right side from shrapnel embedded in his hip, close to his spine.
Applying to join the police was a long shot, but he managed to get through the assessments. At twenty-five he was surprised when they took him on. Getting a promotion to Inspector in the short time that he had been in the job was another bonus, but living alone he’d become a bit of a bookworm, so spent his time studying for his promotion to Sergeant then to Inspector. As an officer in the army, he thought his new bosses wanted to get him up the ladder as quickly as possible.
Being promoted into a job vacated by the murder of Detective Inspector Jim Kingsfield he knew, probably better than most, about jumping into a dead man’s shoes.
Randall stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corridor and adjusted the plain tie he had decided to wear on his first day. The red of the tie stood out against the grey pinstripe suit he was wearing. He squirmed a bit, as he adjusted himself. He didn’t like wearing suits or a collar and tie. After the formality of the Army’s Officer’s Mess, he much preferred to dress down whenever he could. But not today.
As CID in his old force, he spent most of the time in polo shirts and jeans, which matched his personal dress style. But of course, as he’d been promoted and got two stars on his shoulder again, he realised that he was going to have to set an example to the officers under his command – whoever they might be.
He heard the door to the ACCs office open, followed by laughter and another senior officer wandered out. As he passed him, he acknowledged him with a brief nod, before striding off down the corridor.
Right then, he thought, ready or not, and walked towa
rds the open door, only to be confronted by a small portly man of about 5’, who waddled away down the corridor.
‘Back in a minute – need a pee.’
Randall stood open mouthed as he passed him leaving him standing at his door. He turned around to the office opposite the ACC’s, which he discovered was his Personal Assistant.
‘Is he always like that?’ he asked of the woman sitting behind the desk.
She smiled. ‘He’s in a good mood today, otherwise he would have just ignored you.’
‘Is that supposed to comfort me?’ he smiled warmly at the PA and she returned the smile.
‘I assume you’re DI Randall?’
‘You assume correctly.’
‘Take a seat. I’m sure he won’t be long.’ She indicated a seat opposite her desk. Randall walked into the medium-sized wood-panelled office, which had the smell of fresh polish, reminiscent of a museum, and took the seat offered. He glanced around. The sun was streaming in through the window and he watched flecks of dust floating in the sunlight.
‘Can I get you a coffee, water or something?’ the PA asked.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ Randall felt like he was sitting waiting for the headmaster to return to give him a good caning. He smiled awkwardly at the secretary again, as he heard Marland coming down the corridor.
‘Do you want to come into the office then?’ Marland called.
Randall thanked the PA as he left her.
‘Take a seat,’ Marland barked, ushering him to his much larger office. The office was like the PA, wood-panelled, but with a large bay window overlooking the fields behind headquarters. Shutting the door, he did what he was told.
‘Now, Detective Inspector… ’ Marland shuffled some papers on his desk, before he found the one he wanted, ‘…first, I’d like to welcome you to Northamptonshire Police and your new role as Detective Inspector.’
‘Thank you, sir, it’s good to be here.’
‘I’m not going to beat about the bush, Randall,’ Marland gabbled in his thick Derbyshire accent, ‘do you understand that you will be replacing one of our officers who was tragically murdered last year?’
‘Yes, sir, I understand that.’
‘You may well encounter some resistance. He was a popular man, a maverick at times, but nonetheless a good detective.’
Randall said nothing.
‘If you do encounter inappropriate behaviour because of this, you are to come directly to me at once. Do you understand?’
Randall said nothing.
‘Straight away?’ Marland looked at him purposefully.
‘Yes, sir, straight away,’ acknowledged Randall.
‘Good, that’s that settled then. I’ve arranged for you to meet our new Detective Chief Inspector at Major Crimes. He’s only been with us for a couple of months – he’s an American, on loan for a little while – some exchange thing arranged by my predecessor. He’ll fill you in a bit more about how things work around here.’
Marland paused and sat forward in his chair, looking at Randall directly. ‘There is one thing.’ He glanced at the papers on his desk. ‘A cold case that I want to start you on. I’ve told the DCI that I want something done about it, so he is fully up to speed.’
‘A cold case? Old cold or recent cold, sir?’
‘We think it’s certainly within the last – say – fifteen years.’
Randall listened to Marland explain about the female remains discovered in Fulborough Wood. Identity unknown. DNA was degraded, but there was nothing to test it against to get any reliable information. It was assumed that the death of the woman was caused by Bingham Tyler.
‘So we need to get a handle on that.’
‘Right, sir, I’ll look into it.’
‘OK then, and good luck.’ Marland stood and shook Randall’s hand as he left the office.
That was interesting. Not one question about where I’d come from, why I wanted to come here. Answers he had ready just in case.
Randall asked the PA the route to the Major Crimes Team and made his way down two corridors, before turning right and through the main Incident Room. Randall found the DCI in the corner office. He continued to reflect on his brief encounter with Marland, and couldn’t decide whether he liked him or not, as he entered the office of Captain (DCI) Chuck Freeman.
Freeman was a black, six-foot ex-American-football-player, invalided out of the game fifteen years previously. His hair was cropped extremely short, almost bald, but with obvious signs of grey around the temples. He wore a badly fitting greyish blue suit, which seemed to be at bursting point, a white-and-blue-striped shirt, the collar of which he couldn’t do up because of his thick neck, and a loosely knotted blue tie.
From Randall’s point of view, the suit just didn’t sit right on the shoulders for some reason. Freeman looked up at Randall, as he walked into his office. He offered Randall a seat and coffee. He almost asked him for some donuts, but didn’t want to alienate the big American on his initial meeting.
‘First day then?’ Freeman enquired, in an accent that Randall assumed was middle America. He certainly didn’t come from New York.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You can drop the sir bit. I don’t hold with all that sort of stuff. Chuck will be fine.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Freeman glanced at Randall.
‘So what did Mr Marland tell you?’
‘Very little, actually, just hello and welcome, and that you’d fill me in with what’s going on and what I’m supposed to be doing. Oh, and he did say something about a cold case he wanted me to work on, something to do with the Kingsfield death.’
‘Yes, I only came into that case after it was all over, but we do have unidentified bones, which we need to put a name to. I’ll see that you get the papers.’
‘Thank you. What sort of team do I have to work with?’
‘They are a good group, but the murder of Jim Kingsfield is still raw.’
‘I understand. Were any of them involved in the cold case, do you know?’
‘Yes, DC Stevens, now a sergeant. Kingsfield’s working partner was Dave Harte. He’s since been promoted to Inspector and moved back to a precinct. There were another couple of guys on the periphery.’
‘Right, perhaps I ought to speak to them about it some time – get a handle on what it may be about.’
‘Good idea. You perhaps also need to speak to Kingsfield’s wife. She’s a forensic pathologist at the hospital. Still very traumatised about it. I would go to her via the Family Liaison Officer, Sergeant Jordan. He’s Traffic.’
‘Traffic? How does a murder end up with a traffic FLO?’
‘Long story, but as Kingsfield was killed in his car, it fell to Traffic to do the investigation.’
Traffic? thought Randall, bemused. ‘You better talk me through it.’
‘I’ll tell you what I know, but you need to speak to those who were there as well,’ Freeman answered. Freeman then explained to Randall the sequence of events leading up to Kingsfield’s and Tyler’s deaths.
‘Wasn’t there some story going about that Tyler had escaped the car before being hit by the train? That even got down to my old force.’
‘No, I don’t think so. From what I’ve read, there were enough body parts, confirmed by DNA, that convinced everyone that he was in the car when it got hit.’
‘Right, I’ll get on to that as soon as I’ve read the file.’
Freeman nodded, shook his hand and took him to his own workspace.
‘When do you want me to meet my team?’
‘They’ll all be back in here about 16:30, so any time after that. It’ll give you plenty of time to settle in.’
9
‘Are you going to put us all out of our misery and tell us how you managed to get handcuffed to a lamppost in the middle of the night then, Chris?’ Reg J
ohnson was sitting at a desk with his feet up, mug of coffee in his hand as they were all close to the end of their shift. Prentice had just completed writing the press release for the A5 fatal collision.
‘I think he’ll tell us when he’s ready,’ Jake called from his office. He stood and walked out into the crew room. ‘Although,’ he said smiling, ‘we really ought to be told. So we can scotch any rumours.’
Prentice stood up from his work-station and wandered over to the window. He looked out across the Northamptonshire countryside and the setting sun, with his back to his colleagues. Hearing the office door open, he turned to see who it was, smiled, then said, ‘It’s all his fault.’
Everyone turned to see DS Clive Stevens entering the room.
‘What?’
‘You were supposed to have watched my back last night, Clive, that’s what.’
‘I did! You look like shite, by the way.’
‘Thanks for that.’
‘So, come on then, out with it,’ Jake said.
‘OK, OK.’ Prentice sighed and pushed himself away from the windowsill, sitting down in the nearest chair. ‘If you laugh, I’m leaving and never coming back,’ he grumbled.
‘We won’t. We promise.’ Stevens said.
‘Yeah right.’
Everyone waited in anticipation until Prentice cleared his throat. ‘When I got to the bar, Stevens here had already lined up a row of shots. Standing there like he is now, with a big grin on his face.’
‘I thought it’d get you off to a flying start,’ he said. ‘Downed all twelve in quick succession. Quite impressive for one so young.’
‘I just got more and more pissed. We then decided to go to the club next door and they continued to ply me with a range of cocktails, shots and beer. I swear I’ll never drink so much again. Don’t exactly think I’m firing on all cylinders at the moment.’
Jake predicted as much at the start of the day. ‘I knew you’d hit the wall sooner or later, Chris,’ he said.
Driving Dead Page 3