by Coles, Linda
“Yes, thanks. This place will keep my mind busy, though I don’t suppose I’ll sleep much.”
Will thought back to events of the previous night, when he hadn’t got much sleep either. He was paying for it now and stifled a yawn at her words. She caught him trying to hide it, it brought a smile to her pink blotchy face stained from crying.
“Looks like you need some sleep too,” she said and rubbed his arm affectionately again. He gathered his keys off the table and bid her farewell. A couple of youths were hanging around near the door and they both nodded, aware Will was a volunteer at the shelter, a sort of ‘thanks’ as well as a greeting, a way of communicating their appreciation for all he and the team did. He carried on towards his parked car, thinking about Clyde and his demise. Based on the lad’s distinctive jacket, the chances of it not being him tomorrow morning were slim to none, he knew that.
Birdie’s comment about how hard it was to move a dead body on your own made Will wonder. Clyde had only been a slight lad, probably weighing not more than nine stone wet through. It was hardly the same as moving, say, Birdie’s husband, a full-grown man. If that was the case, whoever disposed of Clyde’s body at Hunsbury Hill could probably have done so without any help, though Will wasn’t even sure if this was of any consequence. Perhaps Clyde had killed himself. Thoughtfully, Will slipped in behind the wheel and drove home.
Louise was still up and watching TV in the living room when he locked the front door behind him for the night. He filled her in on his conversation with Hazel and noted her face of concern when he mentioned identifying the lad’s body the following morning.
“So, with that, I’m going to bed. It’s been an eventful twenty-four hours and I have to say I’m knackered,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.
“I’ll come up too, then,” she said, turning the TV off with the remote. “It’s a shame I can’t pop over to Path tomorrow to see you, though I doubt it would help you any.”
“Nice thought all the same,” he said, taking her hand and leading her towards the stairs. He could barely keep his eyes open and so he knew sleep wouldn’t be an issue. Not tonight.
Eleven
Colin Hayhurst swirled whisky around almost-melted ice cubes, letting them chink against the sides of the tumbler while he contemplated the lad’s death. They’d killed him, then. When the ransom note had reached his desk, he’s brushed it off as nothing serious. Who kidnaps a homeless person and then demands money? He’d assumed it was a prank, someone that hadn’t a clue how kidnappings and ransoms worked. It was almost laughable. Surely, they’d be better choosing a rich businessman’s daughter over a street person. But it hadn’t been a hoax after all. He detested the urine-soaked doorways he passed some mornings, and while it was a shame the kid been killed, it was one less to litter the streets. That was how he reconciled it with himself anyway. Perhaps he should have reported it to the police instead of ignoring it, though it was too late now. He tossed the remainder of the whisky to the back of his throat and picked up his briefcase. It had been a long day. Fancying something spicy for dinner, he decided to pick up a takeaway curry on his way home. He very much doubted Babs had cooked.
Twelve
He’d slept well, all things considered, and Will wondered how Hazel was feeling this morning. With Louise on an early shift, Poppy and the triplets fell into his charge, and he battled to get breakfast into three four-year-olds and persuade a six-year-old that she couldn’t go to school dressed as a dinosaur. While he smiled inwardly at his headstrong young girl, his priority was getting everyone fed, appropriately dressed and out of the door before his own shift started. He needed to push them on.
“Let’s get moving,” he shouted over the morning din. “Ice cream after dinner if you can all make the car within the next ten minutes!” It was one way of persuading Poppy to lend a hand and remove her focus from what she was or wasn’t wearing for the day.
It took precisely nine minutes to get everyone into the car and ready to go and Will clapped his hands together in triumph. When he had everyone strapped in, he set off first to the village day care and then on to Poppy’s school. He pulled up outside and watched while his eldest made her way into the grounds and began to catch up with one of her friends who was waiting for her. She gave a backwards glance to her father and smiled just enough to say, ‘see you later.’ Satisfied, he headed back into town and the shelter. Hazel would be waiting, breakfast rush over with, likely a few stragglers making a mug of tea last as long as possible. At least it wasn’t raining, the service users wouldn’t need the indoor areas quite the same today. Will remembered the long, cold, wet days living on the streets; they could be bone-achingly tough. He pulled into the car park. Hazel must have been watching for his vehicle because she was standing by the passenger door before he’d taken his seat belt off. He was relieved to see she looked a good deal brighter than she had the previous night and was back to her strong self.
“Morning, Will,” she said brightly. “All the girls at school okay?” She was making polite conversation, away from the task ahead.
“Fed, dressed and delivered. Poppy was adamant she was going as a dinosaur this morning, and I thought we might have a tantrum, but it was narrowly avoided,” he said triumphantly as the car pulled away. It was only a short drive across town to the general hospital, and Hazel filled him in on the local gossip. It seemed the news of Clyde had spread among the other centre users and everyone feared the worst. From what Hazel had heard, the stories were getting more and more sinister, with theories ranging from abduction to overdose and everything in between. She’d been tempted to tell them all to shut up but had refrained. Until she knew anything certain, there was nothing to tell.
“Who are we meeting there, do you know?” he asked.
“A detective, DC Stephen Flint. He was the one that I met when he dropped in asking questions.”
Will turned the car onto Billing Road before turning again. The trick now was to find a spot to park. As with most busy hospitals, it was a lottery, but he spotted a car slowly pulling out of a space up ahead and waited patiently for the elderly man to take his time. He looked about a hundred years old, small and frail and probably shouldn’t still be driving at his age. Hazel and Will sat in silence as they watched the man struggle and eventually pull away clear. Will slipped effortlessly into the spot. He turned to Hazel. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”
It looked like any other drab hospital building with modern grey concrete slabs and facias that many larger buildings consisted off. The dead had to be processed somewhere and Will doubted they noticed the building they were refrigerated in. They entered the hospital itself and followed the signs, past the oncology centre where Louise would be busy working, past the blood taking unit, and then they were there. The mortuary with its viewing room stood straight in front of them. Will felt Hazel pause for a moment. When she eventually summoned the strength to move forward, he hung back a little to give her some space. He was there if she needed him. Up ahead, he spotted who he assumed was DC Flint and watched as the man stepped forward to greet Hazel. He offered his own hand and the two shook. Will explained where he fitted in and why he was there.
“After you,” Detective Flint said, his outstretched arm holding the door for the two of them. Hazel went first, closely followed by Will, and then the detective. A glass window with a curtain pulled across it was all they’d look through, and Will wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. It certainly made him feel detached from the process of identification, an impersonal way of performing such a task. DC Flint had a word with a technician before asking, “Are you ready?”
Hazel and Will nodded, and the curtain opened. A body covered in a sheet lay in front of them. When the sheet was pulled down away from the victim’s face, Hazel sighed sadly. The amount of angry, visible bruising around his neck told Will all he needed to know. He felt a lump rise in his throat, and he struggled for a moment to swallow i
t.
It was indeed Clyde Mollineau.
Thirteen
Will and Hazel told the detective all they knew about Clyde – who he hung around with, where he stayed occasionally, that sort of thing. The truth was there wasn’t a great deal of information to pass on and that saddened Will. He wished he could have been more helpful.
“What will happen now, to Clyde’s body?” he asked the detective. “Are you personally involved in investigating his death or is that it now for you?”
The young DC didn’t appear to be much older than Clyde himself and Will guessed around twenty-five years old. He’d have preferred someone a bit older, more seasoned perhaps, to investigate what had happened to Clyde. He hoped the man wasn’t in charge of the case, that he was part of the team and someone else was running the show. Maybe DC Flint picked up on Will’s reservation because he explained to them both what would happen next.
“I’ll report back to my boss now you’ve formally identified the victim, and we’ll wait for the post-mortem results before we make a call to investigate. I would, however, say that preliminary findings suggest suspicious circumstances that merit further investigation. Of course, an inquest will be opened. I’ll be working the case along with other team members.” He handed both Will and Hazel his card. DC Stephen Flint had put their minds at rest at least. If nothing else, the man was astute and pleasant with it. “If you think of anything else that might be of use, please call, anytime. It can be the small things that break a case open,” he finished. Will wondered whether the DI would be the same one he saw at the exhumation.
“What is the name of your DI, may I ask?”
“DI Rochelle Mason.”
Will nodded.
“Do you know her?” the detective asked.
“No, though we have been on a case together recently. She wouldn’t know me, though.”
“Oh?”
“I dig graves, for the council. She was at the exhumation, night before last.”
“Ah. I heard about that. Still a mystery about the brass nameplate too.” Hazel looked at Will, puzzled. Perhaps he’d fill her in on the way back. The story might bring a smile to her face. The trio moved towards the exit; it was time to leave.
“We’ll be in touch,” Flint said as they parted, and Will and Hazel watched him head back to where he’d come from at pace. Neither of them felt like rushing off anywhere, that their friend Clyde was likely now back in the refrigerator behind them was a sobering thought. Neither of them spoke, both deep in thought.
When Will pulled up at Refresh again, he asked, “I guess someone needs to make an announcement about Clyde, so everyone is aware?”
“Yes, though that’s way over my pay grade. I’ll inform the boss, he can do what’s best, not that he would have known Clyde. There’ll be publicity to manage too, the press. Managing the cafeteria is more than enough for me.”
“And you do it so well,” he said, smiling, lightening the moment. She let herself out of the passenger side and stuck her head in through the open window.
“Thanks for caring, Will. Many wouldn’t.”
“I could say the same right back at you.” A beat passed, “I’ll be there later on tonight, so I’ll miss you but chin up, eh?”
“Chin up.” He waited until she’d gone inside before making his car available for pickups and driving off. His next booking wasn’t until 2 pm so he headed towards the cab office to wait. Birdie’s offer of help seeped into his grey matter as did the DI with the bluish hair. Add that to the likely suspicious death of someone he knew and he had himself three reasons why he should get involved somehow. Three small instances that all pointed to one activity. It was a sign, surely? A sketch from Monty Python’s Life of Brian made him smile: “The shoe is the sign!” he shouted inside the car, holding one arm in the air as if he too was holding up a shoe, like in the movie. He believed in fate and he believed in acting on opportunities as they arose. While it didn’t feel like an opportunity, was this such an instance?
His phone pinged with a fare request. He looked at the address: police headquarters, Wootton Hall Park. What were the chances? He picked up speed and headed over to meet his next customer. Maybe it was the area commander needing a lift, car in for service perhaps. Surely a liveried vehicle and a constable would sort that out. Or a visitor needing a lift? Maybe someone had had a job interview? He hadn’t bothered to look for the passenger-to-be’s name, he’d do that on arrival.
It wasn’t long before he pulled up outside the huge, imposing red-brick building. It reminded Will of an old hospital from days gone by, though a newer wing had been added, again in depressing red brick. A sign informed him there was a restaurant off to his left and huge stone – or were they marble? – pillars held up the front porch. Will stopped beneath them to collect his passenger. He knew who she was before he’d pulled to a standstill – her hair gave it away. Intent on studying her phone, she was either unaware of his arrival, or was happy for him to wait while she finished whatever she was doing. After a couple of beats, Will got out and walked around to open the rear passenger door for her. She still hadn’t looked up. He felt stupid with the door open and no activity on her part, so he called, “DI Mason, calling DI Mason, do you read me? Over.” She looked up, blank. Had he got her name wrong? He was about to double-check his phone when she rewarded him with a smile. She stepped forward and seated herself on the back seat. When Will was buckled up, she asked, “How do you know I’m a DI?” He caught her eyes in the rear-view mirror and said, “I was sitting in the cab of the digger when the coffin lid blew off the other night.”
“That’s right, you were, I remember now,” she said, before turning her interest back to her phone.
Will thought fast. DI Rochelle Mason was sitting behind him. Clyde was laid in the mortuary. He couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste.
Fourteen
He figured he’d start off with a question on common ground before casually mentioning Clyde’s death and the country park. Since their journey was only going to be a short one, back to the hospital again it appeared, he wasted no time. He took the plunge and hoped for the best. He had to get her talking.
“Any clue as to how that name plaque managed to get above ground? There weren’t any obvious signs of the coffin being tampered with, not from my understanding anyway. Mighty odd.”
“There doesn’t seem to be a reasonable explanation, yet, no. It’s a first for me, but since no crime appears to have been committed…” She let her words trail off as she gazed out of the window. The A45 was not that interesting.
“What made you decide to exhume the body in the first place, just the name plaque?”
“That and the son of the deceased. He was worried that she’d been buried alive and wanted her dug up again to be sure. The coroner had said no, obviously, she’d had a complete post-mortem after all, so there was no way she could have still been alive. Perhaps if she’d only had a minimal post-mortem there could have been a chance, though still highly unlikely. But the plaque found in the grass made it a mystery. Someone had surely tampered with the coffin. We were wrong.”
“Is the son satisfied now, do you think?”
“No clue, but he’s clearly got a mental issue to be so adamant and push like he did. No one survives a full post-mortem, no one.” Will nodded his understanding. Having your main organs removed, weighed and then placed together in a plastic bag before being inserted back into your chest cavity was a sure sign the person was indeed dead. Will moved on to the more important questions he had for her.
“How’s the investigation going, the poor individual found out at Hunsbury Hill?” It pained Will to sound so casual about it. The man had been eating stew and dumplings in the canteen in recent days. Will had chatted to him occasionally.
“Progressing,” was all she said and went back to her phone.
He needed to push a bit harder if he was going to get anywhere. “Do you know how he died yet? I know knife attacks are more an
d more common these days, had he been stabbed?” He tried to catch her eye, but she was having none of it. It was obvious she didn’t want to talk.
“I can’t comment about an active case.”
Desperate measures. “Would it help if I told you I’d just identified Clyde’s body only this morning? I met DC Flint at the hospital earlier.”
Finally, she raised her eyes to meet his in the mirror. “You knew Clyde, then. I’m sorry for the loss of your friend, but I really can’t say anything more. I’m assuming you’ve told DC Flint everything you know?”
“Yes, I have. There wasn’t much to tell really. He was a loner, like many of Refresh’s users are. I volunteer there one night per week, that’s how I knew Clyde.” She nodded but refrained from any further comments. They were almost at the hospital when Will reluctantly had to change the subject. “Which department are we heading to?” He wondered if she was going to the mortuary, and was surprised when she said, “Oncology, please. It’s not far from the mortuary, so just head there again if you want, it’s only a short walk.” A moment or two later and they pulled up in front of the building. “Do you have time to wait? I’ll be about fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. If not, I’ll call another ride back.”
“I’ll wait, it’s not a problem. My wife works in there,” he said, smiling and nodding towards the department where the DI was headed herself. “Shame I can’t grab a cuppa with her.” DI Mason didn’t return the smile, and it was only then that he wondered if she was going in for treatment herself, that maybe it had nothing to do with another investigation at all. He’d assumed her visit was work related, perhaps he was wrong. He drummed up a more fitting smile, one he hoped contained both concern and hope. He jumped out of his seat then opened her door just as she did so herself. “If I get moved on, don’t worry, I’ll be back here to meet you a moment later.” He cut her some slack in the lack-of-return-smile department and made himself comfortable for the wait.