by Paul Watson
Jess cared more about others than herself, she was a wonderful mother, and he’d got used to her shouting at him for most things that went wrong in life. He understood that he provided security, she assumed him immune to any suffering, so did Max and Sam. They were correct; he’d made himself immune.
During the everyday humdrum, Andy took Jess for granted; he knew it. Andy gave her treats now and again, but it wasn’t a priority for him. When away from her, on business trips and now in the hospital, Andy thought about her.
He imagined her as she was when they’d first met. Jess brimmed with sunshine. Andy pictured her as she was now, the sunlight hadn’t dimmed, and she’d grown tough, and Andy loved her for it.
Jess was shy and didn’t share her opinions all the time. Her friendly nature made her appear weak and easy to manipulate to her colleagues at work; sometimes they got a surprise. Jess cared for people and hated injustice; if she saw incompetence and laziness or vindictiveness, then she would deal with it.
Andy and Jess gave Sam and Max different approaches to parenting. Andy proposed that he and Jess should write a book together: ‘The non-consistent parents.’
Jess nurtured her young chicks; she was there, observing every move, advising. Andy’s interventions were less frequent: ‘Let them find the boundary, and when they reach it, they will find me there.’ Andy was proud of this little saying; Jess paid no attention to it. Andy kept his word though, and his punishments were rigid on matters that sometimes seemed unimportant to Jess. The differences caused a fair bit of conflict over the years, and Jess worried whether it would affect the boys. Andy thought it wouldn’t: ‘We’ve given them both extremes and the right way is somewhere in the middle.’ Andy convinced himself that they’d figure it out and also that arguments are not the end of the world.
Max wouldn’t be with them much longer. He was heading to university in the Autumn, and Andy was looking forward to it. He would miss Max and their Saturday’s watching sport together, their common ground, but he felt relief he’d done his job. Max and then Sam changed Andy’s goals but simplified life for him. Andy used to see work as a place to get recognition, promotion and status, but now it was a way to make money.
Working from home was lonely for him, but he could get more done; contracting brought in more money than being a permanent employee. He would never reach the top, but he could earn more and reduce his travel expenses. In exchange for the friends at work that Andy used to have, Max and Sam produced friends for Andy, from dads at Scouts and school, and from watching sports on the freezing January mornings. The trade-off pleased Andy and as he looked over to his big son, the tears flowed.
Andy remembered feeding the baby Max. He always used the big-holed teat on the bottle to speed up the process, even though Jess recommended the small one. She had no sympathy when she found Andy covered with the regurgitated concoction. Jess took Max to the Doctor, suspecting Reflux. Her demeanour towards Andy had been lukewarm for several weeks after the incident.
Andy thought of Max aged seven when they took a trip together to watch England play football. It was Max’s first trip to a big Stadium, and Andy remembered Max with his little flag looking up at his Dad amongst the crowds. The look in Max’s face showed complete trust in his father, who would always keep him safe, and he had. There had been a few mishaps on the way with bumps and bruises, but Max was strong and confident; Max trusted Andy and loved him.
And now Andy had poisoned his son. Andy’s carelessness and not doing as Jess had advised, had put him in danger.
Andy held Max’s hand. He’d not done it for a few years, and it felt good. Max slept with the same expression that Andy saw in that cot back in the hospital eighteen years ago. Eighteen years that made Max; eighteen years that made Andy. They were one; father and son, distance would soon separate them, but they’d always be together.
This future was now at risk. Life had thrown an extra hurdle close to the finish line. Andy’s carelessness might destroy the most important things in the world and it would be all his fault: Jess’s life wrecked; Sam’s life wrecked; failure.
SIXTEEN
Amy milled around in the street amongst the cars, vans and officers. The inspector’s chastisement had been light, and he’d delivered it more like a question than a criticism, but Amy couldn’t get it out of her mind: ‘Why did you let her in there alone?’
Amy had put a civilian in danger and kept herself safe. She’d tried to keep Janet from going into the college and failed. Why did she have so little influence? With no uniform, she appeared more like she was going shopping than on duty, but Janet would have paid more attention to Rob.
Jamie had called Amy: ‘Cassandra.’ It had been one evening while she recounted her day to him over a bottle of wine. He only half listened, and she thought he would have preferred to be reading his book, The Iliad by Homer. Amy knew of the Trojan horse from school but not the details that Jamie seemed to have learned through his bedtime reading.
Apollo cursed Cassandra, the daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecuba of Troy, to utter prophecies that would come true but that no-one would believe. Jamie said, ‘Amy, you were right, you’re always right but why does no-one ever listen to you. There’s no point moaning every night.’
Amy could have left the conversation there; she knew Jamie didn’t want to talk; he never wanted to talk. Amy carried on though.
‘I knew I should have arrested him, he’d caused damage, and it was a good enough reason to get him out of the house.’
‘I wish you’d arrested him too. Then you’d still be booking him in, and I could read my book.’
‘Phil didn’t want to arrest that late in the shift, he wanted to get home on time. He said the damage to the lipstick was slight and not enough to make an arrest.’
‘Phil’s a lazy bastard; you should have arrested the man. The arrest would have boosted your figures and kept Thomas off your back for a day or two.’
Sergeant Thomas was Amy’s nemesis. Amy still remembered his first words to her after she’d finished her street duties course and joined his team. Thomas had spoken to each new probationer.
‘Amy is it? I expect you to be out there looking for work, be proactive. We’ve got enough sad sacks around here already. Do the work, and you’ll have no problems from me.’ That was the best conversation she’d had with Thomas.
The last two years had been miserable. Amy had struggled to tick off the different tasks in her binder, and her arrest record was poor. Amy achieved limited success; she’d attended three sudden deaths and dealt well with the families of the deceased, but it hadn’t eased her ride with Thomas.
Thomas was a professional, and would never use nicknames or bully anyone. The PCs with five or six years’ experience were different. If Amy had been a boy, then the other officers would have come up with some cruel nicknames for her. ‘Deadwood,’ had been at Hendon with Amy, and she imagined his early career had been as miserable as hers.
Amy watched the female officers, a few years older than her, some of them acting sergeants, better than the men, decisive and experienced. Amy didn’t have the same drive. Did she want it? Yes, but she didn’t love it, she knew she didn’t belong, these were not her people.
The best thing in her life was Jamie. Amy remembered their first date; it was a pleasant walk. It started at the morning briefing.
‘I need two volunteers for foot patrol in the high street,’ Thomas said. No hands raised. Never volunteer. Amy remembered her Dad’s words.
‘Jamie take Amy for a walk will you and show her how to do it,’ Thomas said.
Thomas was one of the few officers to like Jamie. The other officers sensed that Jamie was different and maybe dangerous. They didn’t bully him; but left him alone. Thomas was always chatting to Jamie. He’d say things like, ‘How’s it going son. I was going through your process, and that was a great piece of work yesterday, keep it up.’
Jamie would smile and say ‘Thanks, Sarge.’ It was the epitome o
f a professional relationship. Thomas would joke around with the other experienced officers; with Jamie, he wouldn’t get personal.
Rob was Jamie’s only real friend in the job; Jamie had experience and was competent but couldn’t drive, which made him first choice operator.
Amy felt that there was something else that made Rob and Jamie get on. Rob had all kinds of things going on outside the job, and he liked to tell Jamie about new inventions from his shed, and to hang around with him.
Rob didn’t get to hang around with Jamie on that warm June day a year ago though. Amy did.
‘Right then Amy, let’s get your binder looking better,’ Jamie said as they walked out of the police station. They were wearing shirt sleeves with a stab vest on top and high visibility jackets over. Amy’s stab vest seemed to stop just above her belly button and looked like a crop top. Either the storeman was joking, or she had a long back compared to her shoulder width.
‘Get that changed. It won’t do much good if someone aims lower than your chest,’
This man will be full of advice and opinions, Amy thought. She’d been correct in her assessment.
They walked down the pavement in the expensive neighbourhood; it had been Amy’s first choice borough. A man got into a new Volvo estate and pulled away from the kerb. Jamie stopped in the road in front of him and put his hand up. The man paused, and Jamie walked around to the driver’s window.
‘Can you get out of the car please mate?’ The man wore brogues, chinos and an expensive white shirt. ‘You weren’t wearing a seatbelt.’
‘Sorry.’
‘There are no points for that, but it is a ticket, and a sixty pound fine.’
‘You’re joking; I would have put it on down the road.’
‘Amy, can you take it from here please?’ Amy took the fixed penalty notice out of the pouch on her belt.
‘Can I take your name and address please?’ Amy said.
‘Are you joking? It’s just a seatbelt.’
‘You can request a court hearing if you’d prefer,’ Jamie said. ‘It’s more writing for us but no problem, we still need your name and address though.’
The man reddened and was rocking back and forward. The guy gave his name and address. Amy name-checked him, and he came back no trace.
Amy issued the ticket and put the carbon copy into her pouch. The man drove off. ‘Questions?’ Jamie said to her.
‘Did we need to do that? We’ve just ruined his Saturday morning.’
‘Do you know better than the lawmakers? Think about yourself too. Don’t you want to get Thomas off your back? One down, four to go.’
‘What?’
‘You’ll get five bits of paperwork today. You’ve got to set yourself targets.’
Two girls, sixteen years old, paraded towards them wearing flip flops, shorts and bomber jackets. Jamie stopped them. ‘Hello there, what are you up to today Charlene; shopping? Those coats look warm.’
‘Nothing,’ the taller of the girls said. ‘You can’t stop and question us, we’re not doing anything.’
‘I can ask you whatever questions I want. Are you in a rush? Those coats look hot for this time of year. I’m detaining you for a search. My grounds are you’re wearing coats I suspect you of using to conceal stolen property, and that you were evasive when asked to account for them. My colleague here will search you, and then we’ll give you a form.’
Amy searched the girls and found nothing but mobile phones in their pockets.
‘No money?’ Amy said. The girls didn’t reply and didn’t smile. Amy went through the details on the forms, gave them both a copy and sent them on their way, she put the carbon copies in her pouch.
‘Two for the price of one there Amy. You’re on fire today.’
‘It’s not why I joined the police. Those girls were doing nothing.’
‘They’ll be raiding the shops this afternoon.’
They carried on walking down the street and arrived at a roundabout.
‘Take your hi-vis off Amy. Let’s wait here for a while.’ Jamie stepped back from the road a little.
It was an unlucky day for the BMW driver who jumped a red light and found Jamie stood in the road with his hand up. The driver considered carrying on but stopped.
Amy’s fourth bit of writing for the day. The man was boiling with rage, and Jamie hoped that they might get more than another ticket, but six points and a fine would do. Amy felt no sense of shame issuing this ticket. The man was a middle-class thug, everything she hated.
‘One more for a full house Amy, and then we’ll get in for some lunch, you can do your writing, and we’ll be off on time. You got plans for tonight?’
Amy had been about to reply, when Jamie jumped into the road again, this time he wore his hi-vis vest. The truck driver got out of his cab and joined them on the pavement.
‘I was only taking a call from the guvnor,’ the truck driver said.
‘Your guvnor has landed you with six points.’
‘I thought it was three?’
‘Well, at least we’ve not caught you in a while.’ The truck driver had a neck like a tree trunk and biceps like thighs. ‘My colleague will take it from here.’
Amy checked the man’s name over the radio. Jamie stood just to the side of the man, two arms lengths away. The check came back as no trace.
‘Can I see your license or other I.D. please?’ Amy said.
‘It’s at home, but my current address is not on it.’ The truck driver breathed faster, and his nostrils flared. Amy looked at Jamie.
‘We’ll take him in, Amy, if he can’t prove his identity.’
‘You’re fucking joking mate. For a mobile phone?’
‘Stop swearing, or I’ll arrest you for a public order offence.’ The man swivelled and ran to the cab. Before he reached it, Jamie tackled him to the ground. The truck driver hit the tarmac, and Jamie cuffed his hands behind his back.
‘Arrest him for the mobile phone offence Amy, not able to confirm the identity for a fixed penalty or process at the scene.’
Amy arrested the man and called for the van. Thomas was in custody when Amy arrived with the prisoner. Thomas didn’t smile as she gave him the account of the offence; he booked in the prisoner. Jamie did the Fingerprints and DNA and let Amy get on with her writing in the canteen. Jamie joined her for a sandwich, and then they both returned to the custody suite.
The fingerprint results came back, and it turned out there was a warrant for the truck driver’s arrest.
‘Good result Amy, decent body,’ Thomas said. You should take Jamie out to celebrate.
Jamie and Amy left the custody suite. ‘I’d better do as he says,’ Amy said.
SEVENTEEN
Janet strolled through the open courtyard; there was no sign of Mackey or the construction workers. She remembered dropping her son off at Quercus a few times, twenty years ago, before she gave him her old Rover Metro and he’d become self-driving.
It surprised her how little had changed since the developers had bought the college, along with the adjacent abandoned asylum, a few years ago. The upper walkways connecting the various blocks were still there, and the landscaped courtyards and gardens too.
English Heritage must have listed the building; otherwise, it was an expensive way to build new housing. With the rail links nearby and central London just a thirty-minute stop away then the price was worth it. The new apartments were out of Janet’s price range, but she could see the attraction.
Janet trusted herself; age had dimmed the limbs but sharpened the mind. She walked through the college grounds over to the side bordered by woodland away from the main road. By the fence she noticed something glinting in the sunlight near the boundary. It seemed out of place.
Janet perused birds pecking at discarded chips on the ground. There was a hole, obscured by foliage and thorns. A piece of material, yellow and silver, hung from the thorns; blood drops stained the fabric. Janet picked the cloth from the bush and smelt it; she kn
ew already that the blood was fresh; it was bright red. Janet pushed through branches and the gap in the fence, easy when you’re small.
The hole opened out onto a path running along a ridge, and a steep bank fell away into more woodland. A narrow stream snaked along through the undergrowth in the valley. Boot prints carved a random pattern into the dirt of the bank. Janet returned through the hole in the fence.
Janet called Amy. ‘I’m at the back of the college. It looks like people have been leaving in a hurry, they’re heading for the road through the woodland; send units to have a peek.’ Amy handed the phone to Ed.
‘What’s your suggestion Janet?’ Ed said.
‘I’d get the fire brigade to bring their giant can opener and cut you a big hole through the fence.’
‘Good enough for me.’
Janet walked back over to the main blocks. She saw a smashed window in one of the lower level buildings and looked through the shards. Scary clown masks hung on the wall; Janet remembered her son bringing something similar home. His artwork now hung on the walls of a little gallery in Brick Lane, and, to her amazement, it paid his bills.
There was a thick liquid smeared on the art room vinyl floor, dark red, paint? More likely to be blood; Janet followed the trail to a set of double doors, opening from the courtyard. She entered the building, arriving at a stairwell.
The blood trail led up the stairs. Janet had no rush of adrenalin, and felt no apprehension, as she climbed the stairs. Her heart rate dropped as she rounded the half landing and ascended the last flight.
Janet entered the science room and gawped at two figures lying on the ground. The first was dead with three holes in the chest.
The second man was smaller, wearing a white shirt and black trousers. Something had smashed his nose up, and he had a purple swelling on the side of his temple. She shook him by the shoulder and said, ‘Jamie.’