After Jessica: A mystery novella

by Bailey,Morgen

  Simon stared at the machine, “Sorry Veronica. Think you’ve got the wrong number.”

  The machine beeped again: ‘message two, received today 9.46am’. “Alexis, I’ve tried your mobile a couple of times but some guy keeps answering it and telling me… he’s not very nice. Please ring me. You’re probably asleep but I need to speak to you.”

  Simon frowned and muttered “her, again.”

  The machine continued: ‘message three, received today 11.53am’. Another withheld call. “Alexis, it’s Veronica. Daniel’s giving me earache. Says you left in a hurry and you have something of his? You’ve got my mobile number, ring me on that. I’ve got a lunch appointment so I’m leaving the office. Ring me today, will you, so I can sort this out.”

  Simon shook his head. “My, Veronica, you are persistent, and you’re persistently getting the wrong number.”

  ‘Message four, received today 1.37pm.’ read: “Jess, it’s Elliot. You’ve not arrived at work yet. Hope you’re OK. I wanted to ask you where the Contini papers are but I’ll see if I can find them on your desk. Will you give me a call anyway please. Thanks. Talk to you later.”

  Simon wrote down Elliot’s name making a mental note to look up his number when he collected Jessica’s mobile the next day. Failing that, he’d Google the company.

  The machine had already beeped again and Simon caught ‘…five, received today 4.51pm’. “Jess, it’s Daph. Elliot’s doing his nut. Says he’s found the Contini case paperwork but needs them typing a-sap. Are you sick? I’ll do Contini before I leave tonight but can you ring me if you’re not going to be in tomorrow. If you’re not, we’ll get a temp but need to know either way. Thanks, hon.” Simon added Daph’s name to Elliot's.

  ‘Message six, received today 7.15pm’ read: “Alexis, it’s Veronica.”

  Simon shook his head.

  The machine continued, “I need to know whether you’re free tomorrow night. Daniel says he needs someone to accompany him on a business meeting and he’s willing to overlook last night, whatever that means. Maybe he just wants his stuff back. He’s a regular and asked for you so I don’t want to let him down. Sindy may be free but I know he prefers you. Oh, and can you give me your new mobile number. I don’t want to get that jerk again. So, what happened last night, with Daniel? Oh, and another thing… shit, I’ve got to go. Ring me, will you. Thanks. It’s Veronica. You’ve got my number.”

  “Yes, Veronica, I think we know it’s you.” Simon said, then with his face close to the machine, “Veronica, stop calling here. You’ve… got… the… wrong… number!” Simon didn’t do shouting at people but shouting at machines he did do, and today of all days, it made him feel better. Actually, he didn’t know how he felt. Too early. Baby steps, he thought.

  The machine beeped. Message seven was received about an hour later but consisted of a few seconds of mixed silence and background noise before the caller hung up and the machine went on to the final message.

  ‘Message eight, received today 9.16pm’. Simon looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. He’d only just missed the call. The machine continued. “Alexis, it’s Veronica. I’m not going to ring again.”

  “Thank God!” Simon said, during a brief pause.

  “I need to know what’s going on. You know I can’t get you on your mobile, can’t get on your landline. If you don’t ring me back tonight I’m going to have to call Sindy. I can’t mess Daniel around like this. I’ll give you until ten.”

  “Call Sindy then, Veronica. I dare you!” Simon threatened, sticking his tongue out at the small black box. He wanted to press the ‘delete all messages’ button but he needed Jess’ work number so resisted the urge. He could delete them one by one, he was sure, but it would mean playing the messages again and that wasn’t something he wanted to do. It was getting late and he couldn’t face Veronica another five times.

  Simon dialled 1471. The recorded operator’s voice said, ‘Last call received today 9.18pm. The caller withheld their number’.

  “Of course you did, Veronica. Didn’t want anyone but Alexis to get hold of you, but she’s not ringing you, is she?”

  Knowing he was to go to Eversley police station the following day to collect his sister’s belongings, he took the piece of paper with the two names he’d written and, in the absence of Buttons’ carry basket or a cardboard box, Simon took the throw.

  Keeping the cat in the house, Simon laid the throw on to the back seat of his silver VW Polo, and returned to the house. Switching out the kitchen and lounge lights, he picked up Buttons, who’d been sitting at the bottom of the stairs watching Simon come and go. The cat made a slight whimper but didn’t struggle as Simon had expected. Simon switched off the hall light, shut and locked the front door and put the house keys into his jeans pocket.

  “There we go, mate,” Simon whispered and lowered Buttons gently on to the back seat.

  The cat was quiet and stared back with big brown eyes.

  “It’s going to be fine. You’ll love being with granny, she’ll spoil you rotten.”

  At the word ‘granny’, the cat purred and Simon smiled. “Yes, you’ll be fine.”

  He did a quick tour of the house. Nothing untoward; nothing except for the three thousand pounds sitting innocently in the lounge pine chest of drawers.

  ###

  Chapter 11: Simon and Marion

  A knock on his bedroom door woke Simon from a troubled sleep. His mother stood in the doorway wearing a baby blue towelling dressing gown, her eyes red and puffy.

  “Hi, Mum, are you OK?”

  Marion nodded and entered the room carrying a tray holding a steaming mug and plate of buttered toast.

  “Four slices? I’m not hungry.”

  “You need something. You didn’t eat last night.”

  Simon watched his mother put the tray down on the top of a chest of drawers. “What’s the time?”

  “Ten thirty.”

  “Did you sleep?”

  “Not really. I still can’t take it in. Your dad, now… this.”

  “I know. I can stay here for as long as you like.”

  “Thanks Simon, but you have your home, a job. Have you rung work since yesterday?”

  “No. I’d better do it. Explain everything and… I’m sure they’ll be fine. There’s a lot to sort out. The funeral, her house… where’s Buttons?”

  “On Jessica’s bed.” She looked at the wall to the room next door. “He isn’t hungry either.”

  “Poor thing. Are you OK with him living here?”

  “Of course, it’ll be company for me. The arrangements… it’s too much for you to do alone. Tell me what I can do.”

  “It’s fine. I can manage.” He paused. “There was something I forgot to tell you yesterday.”

  “Yes?”

  “Jess carried a donor card. Did you know?”

  “We chatted about it once. She said she wanted to. I didn’t know she had.”

  “I gave my permission, was that all right?”

  “Of course. It’s fine. I’m… pleased she’ll be helping someone else.”

  “Have you spoken to Gran or Aunt Helen yet?”

  Marion shook her head. “Your gran wouldn’t understand and... I’ll go and see Helen and Graham at lunchtime. I do anyway on a Tuesday…” Her voice trailed off and she looked down at her faded red slippers.

  “I can go with you… or on my own…” Simon offered.

  “Thank Simon but it’s fine,” she replied rubbing the underside of her nose with the back of her curved index finger, “your uncle will be there. Helen said he’s working from home this week so…”

  “I’d better ring work and get down to the police station.”

  Marion looked up suddenly. “They have some news?”

  Simon shook his head. “No, I have to go and collect… collect Jess’ things.”

  Tears brimmed Marion’s eyes. “Of course. Simon… thank you, you’re being so brave.”

  Simon smiled wanly. “On the ou
tside, Mum, just on the outside. It’s hard.”

  As Simon entered the kitchen, Marion was cleaning the oven. It was a job that was always dreaded yet this seemed perfect. The vigorous action appeared to melt the anguish, not completely of course but enough to have her humming to the radio in the background. Simon wasn’t fooled. She’d probably break down again while he was out.

  “I’m off then. Won’t be long.” Picking up his car keys from a bowl by the kitchen door, he walked into the hall before turning back and saying, “I phoned the office, they’re fine. One of my colleagues will cover my work until I get back.”

  “OK, love.” Marion looked at the buffed-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life oven shelf.

  “Shall I get some shopping on the way back? Do we need anything?”

  “Oh, yes. Milk… bread… and… and cat food… erm…”

  “Sure. I’ll get the basics. No harm in having spares. You sure you don’t want me to go to Aunt Helen’s with you? I can be quick.”

  “No, love. I’ll be fine. As you say, Graham’s going to be there. You go.”

  “Right then, see you later.”

  ###

  Chapter 12: Simon and the Police

  Simon pulled into Eversley police station car park, his stomach lurching as he saw a large white van with a dented front wing being towed into a large wire compound. Simon was certain it had to be the one involved in Jess’ accident; the one responsible. Apart from the dent there looked to be nothing wrong with it and therefore probably nothing wrong with the driver. Simon knew it was a ‘tragic accident’ but at the same time he couldn’t help but feel angry. Maybe the driver was going too fast or wasn’t paying attention. Accident or not, Simon wanted... no, needed, someone to be responsible.

  He got out of his car and slammed the door. A couple of uniformed officers walking by stared at him then continued chatting before turning into the station. Simon looked over at the compound, at the van was parked with the recovery truck driver unhooking it. Simon’s gaze then rested on the small car next to it. “Oh no!” he said as he recognised the last three letters of what was left of the number plate. JES. He remembered the day his sister had bought the car. She’d been delighted that it was accidentally personalised. She wasn’t one for spending money on such luxuries but to have it free was a bonus.

  The blue Kia Picanto was almost unrecognisable as a car let alone the make and model; as well as being less than half the size, the whole of the roof had been sheared off, Simon hoped courtesy of the fire brigade. He wanted to turn away, stop looking at it, but his legs had rooted him to the spot. ‘It was like watching a train wreck’ – was that the saying? Simon shook his head as he thought of the phrase and how he’d never seen anything as tragic in his life. He and Jess had talked about how they’d wanted to ‘go’; one of many morbid conversations they had while sharing a bottle of wine and a DVD. He’d said in his sleep but Jess said she wanted to go out with a bang, more of a statement; to finally be a headline and she’d cruelly got her wish, though far sooner than anticipated.

  “Can I help you, son?” a low voice mumbled near his ear.

  Simon jerked round and saw one of the officers he’d earlier seen walking into the station. There was no sign of the colleague.

  “Sorry. I’m here to see Sergeant Lewis or DS Taylor. I’ve come to… to collect some belongings.”

  It was evident from the officer’s expression that he knew who Simon was; that Jessica’s death was the lead subject at the station. Simon guessed unexpected deaths were still far and few between. The local rag recounted crimes almost daily but thankfully more small-time stuff.

  “Sir?” the officer said gently as Simon’s gaze drifted.

  “Sorry. Yes, I’m here to see… sorry, I’ve said that already.”

  “Don’t worry sir, I’ll take you to them. I’m so sorry for your loss. We’re doing our best to find out what happened.”

  “Are you on the case?”

  “Yes, sir, a lot of us are. I’m PC Thompson. David Thompson. It’s looking like an accident but we need to investigate thoroughly. I’m sure you can appreciate…”

  “I do, thank you. Her mum and I are… we’re grateful for everything you’re doing. Sergeant Lewis and DS Taylor have been very…” Simon tailed off.

  “Come this way, sir. This won’t take long; some forms to sign and you can be on your way. I’m sure you have a lot to take care of.”

  As they walked side-by-side into the station, the officer said, “Were you given a Victim Support pack, Mr Price?”

  Simon nodded as a female officer behind the counter buzzed them through. He followed PC Thompson to a side office where he recognised DS Taylor.

  “Hi there, Mr Price. How are you doing?”

  Simon shrugged. “You know…”

  “Sure. I can imagine. Sergeant Lewis has gone back to the scene to do final checks at that end. The train track’s reopened but it’s loose ends. We’ve taken statements, and forensics have done their bit so it’s just testing your sister’s car.”

  “It’s here, isn’t it? And the white van.”

  “Yes. Both here. We’ve interviewed the driver and his passenger and they’ve confirmed that it was an accident. Black ice. That’s the way the investigation is going, if that helps. No one to blame.”

  “No. I mean, yes, it helps. That… that there’s no one at fault.”

  “So you’ve come to collect your sister’s things.”

  “Yes please.”

  “Certainly.” DS Taylor got up from her desk, scraping back her chair, and walked over to a neighbouring desk. She picked up an archive-type box and walked towards Simon. As she approached him, she said, “I need you to sign a release form please.”

  Simon signed the form, took the box, which was lighter than he’d expected, thanked the officers and left the room. As PC Thompson escorted him back down the corridor, Simon couldn’t help but look in the box. On the left was a bright red jacket, which he lifted, expecting to see her shoes. The right half of the box contained a handbag, book and mobile phone. Simon had bought the phone for her for Christmas and remembered how excited she’d been when she’d taken it out of its packaging. It was the same model as his so he’d been able to show her how it worked and they’d spent Boxing Day morning Bluetoothing information to each other.

  As they reached the front door of the police station, PC Thompson opened the door. “Do take care, sir. If you think of anything that you’d like to ask, please do let us know. We’ll of course keep you informed of progress.”

  “But it looks clear cut, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir, it does.”

  “Will there be an inquest?”

  “There will, yes. Should be straightforward though; plenty of witnesses.”

  “Thank you for everything. You’ve been so kind.”

  PC Thompson smiled faintly and shut the door. Simon walked down the steps and towards the vehicle impound, to Jessica’s shell of a car and the almost-perfect white van. He chewed the inside of his mouth as he imagined the scene, tears welling up. He closed his eyes and let a solitary tear run down his right cheek.

  As he reached his car, he leant the box of Jessica’s things against the boot, holding it in place with his hip and left hand. He wiped his right cheek dry with his index finger then wiped his finger against his jeans. It produced a dark blue line along the material for a moment then was gone. Simon pressed the unlock button on the remote twice and lifted up the boot, carefully placing the box on to the dark grey carpet lining. He stared at the contents, unsure as to what he should do with them, or the things in her house. The cat had been an easy problem but her worldly goods were another matter. She liked car boot sales so maybe she’d want him to have a stall, or several stalls until everything had gone, or give it all to charity. He’d take each day as it came and deal with whatever threw itself at him.

  ###

  Chapter 13: Beth and Nate

  “Do you mind?” Beth Morrison snapped at
her husband as he clenched one hand around the other and cracked his fingers. “You know it’s my favourite.”

  “CrimeTime? Are you trying to be funny?” Nate said, his face straight as a backbone.

  “No, Nate. Why?” she paused to glare at him. “You said you were past all that.”

  Nate stayed silent.

  “Nate?”

  “I am… honest,” he said, not convincing either of them.

  Beth shook her head and turned back to the TV as a gallery of reprobates appeared on the screen. She laughed as one of them looked similar to her husband. Gritting her teeth and insisting on getting the last word, she said, “You’d better be.”

  They sat in silence for the rest of the programme then Beth left the room to put on the kettle. Whilst she preferred to go to bed early, Nate was a night owl so their last-thing routine consisted of her making him a strong black coffee and herself a cocoa and hot water bottle, before heading upstairs to continue the latest crime or thriller novel. She’d grown up on humour and chick-lit but her tastes had become darker in her twenties, probably influenced by a string of associations with even shadier men.

  It was a routine they had. If she wasn’t asleep by the time he came to bed, she’d go through to the bathroom and brush her teeth while he got changed into his prison-striped pyjamas, a running joke she’d not found so funny recently. She put some of her feelings down to the proverbial seven year itch, but their relationship had been unravelling for some time. She yearned for some excitement and while he got his kicks from breaking the law, she was fed up with not knowing where he was all the time and the appearance of new things in the house.

  As Beth heard Nate’s footsteps up the stairs, she slotted the bookmark into the core of the book and closed it. She stared at the dark figure on the front, the graveyard and the handprint of blood and sighed. Maybe she should go back to reading lighter stuff. She stretched up her arms behind her head and pulling her hair back into an imaginary bunch, she pressed her palms against either side of her head and yawned. She needed an early night. That would help; and to be more of a sound sleeper. If Nate insisted on watching TV too loudly, Beth stomping down the stairs, and belt with a cushion usually did the trick.