Poetic Justice

by R. C. Bridgestock

I want you to be happy.

  I will always love you.

  Isla xx

  Dylan reached for Isla’s hand and as it lay in his he felt a slight tremor – did she know? ‘Please, Isla, don’t leave me,’ he begged her.

  When there was no answer, he composed himself, stood, looked about him and pushed the piece of paper deep into his pocket. He bent down and kissed Isla briefly on the cheek. Quickly, he turned on his heel and walked away, not daring to look back, for fear he would crumble.

  Dylan looked up, closed his eyes and offered a silent thank you as he twisted his wedding ring round his finger. Kenny Fisher was behind one of these cell doors, but which one? His eyes locked with the custody sergeant for a brief moment before he tore his away, reluctant to heed the officer’s warning not to jeopardise Fisher’s trial.

  ‘Don’t you worry, we’re taking good care of him, sir,’ the officer said, with a nod of his head and a wink.

  Dylan forced his lips to turn up at the corners, though he felt nothing like smiling. What he didn’t know was that Detective Sergeant Larry Banks had already warned the staff that Dylan must be prevented from seeing Fisher at all costs, if they didn’t want a death in police custody on their hands.

  Dylan’s stomach had tightened in anticipation and, with all his senses on high alert, his right hand instinctively tightened into a fist as he tried unsuccessfully to remain calm. The cell area was warm compared with the office and he guessed that a prisoner had complained of the cold, so the heating had been adjusted accordingly, as per Home Office guidelines.

  The custody sergeant watched him stop at Fisher’s cell door. Dylan put his hand to his temples and swayed a little before resuming on course to his destination: the exit. Shoulders back, he pushed the double doors wide open, to an onlooker appearing cool and confident.

  But Dylan’s head felt fuzzy and, feeling disorientated, he headed towards the toilets. A thin sheen of perspiration covered his forehead, so he cupped his hands together and splashed cold water on his face to revive himself. Glancing in the mirror as he dried his hands on the rough paper towel he’d grabbed from the machine on the wall, he realised how much he’d let his appearance slip lately. His hair looked wild and windswept, not from the weather, but from him dragging his hands though his hair; his face was aged by anxiety and his eyes shadowed by fatigue.

  Back in the CID office he began to feel slightly better, mostly owing to the banter of his colleagues, teasing him about him using a knock-out punch on Patrick Todd. His hand still throbbed and he fervently hoped that Todd’s nose was hurting just as much. Alone in his office, he slid open his desk drawer and took out two paracetamols, heading to the kitchenette for a glass of water. The tablets might not help his mood, but they would help to dull the pain somewhat.

  As he put the glass to his lips he heard the door swing open and Jennifer Jones came in. He couldn’t help looking at her. Her blonde hair was tied back in a neat ponytail; the colour and cut of her dress made her look elegantly feminine. Despite the confined space, she took no notice of him standing at the window as she put the tray full of mugs down beside the sink, turned on the tap and squirted washing-up liquid into the bowl. Suddenly, he was aware of the tension within him as, mesmerised, he watched her slowly and carefully put one mug after the other into the soapy water. It gave him a sense of normality, observing a picture of domesticity, and he was grateful for the moment of tranquillity it brought him. Dylan added to her pile of washing-up with his empty glass and she looked up at him and smiled warmly. He picked up a tea towel.

  ‘Gosh, that looks sore!’ she said, her expression sympathetic. ‘You don’t need to …’ she said, as she nodded her head at his swollen red knuckles, the tea towel and the pot he had lifted out to dry.

  Dylan took a deep breath and straightened up. ‘I want to …’ he said, with a faint-hearted smile, ‘really I do.’

  ‘How did you do it? Or shouldn’t I ask?’ Jen grimaced.

  ‘It’s no secret. I was defending myself.’ He raised an eyebrow.

  Was that a glint of mischief she could see in his eyes?

  ‘We located the man who recently put me in hospital and I didn’t fancy any more stitches in my head, so I hit him, wham, straight on the nose.’

  ‘I guess he’s locked up now?’

  Dylan nodded.

  Jen listened patiently to the details. Her concern was genuine and she smiled back at him reassuringly, showing just the amount of support and care he needed. Her eyes were wide and he assumed it was out of curiosity. It was lovely to be listened to so appreciatively. He could hear his voice becoming emotional as he talked and he choked back the tears.

  ‘Why are people such idiots?’ she said. Her eyes were on Dylan with a mixture of interest and understanding and he didn’t want their conversation to end.

  Jen put the kettle on and he stood and watched her reach for the coffee jar, tussle with the teabags and scoop sugar into the mugs. He brought her the milk from the fridge.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked, holding up a steaming mug. When he took it from her he flinched at their contact.

  ‘How’re things with you?’ he asked to cover up his embarrassment. ‘I understand your partner threatened you?’

  Jen busied herself and, when she turned with the tray in her hands, he saw she was blushing. Saying nothing for a moment, she waited for him to open the door. When she did speak her voice was calm and somewhat guarded. ‘News travels fast round here,’ she said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Dylan said, his hand on the door knob. ‘I didn’t mean to …’

  She rested the heavy tray on the work surface again.

  ‘The only reason I know about it is that I was the on-call negotiator and I got a copy of the Log through, for the negotiators’ database. I was stood down about two miles away from the house when uniform informed Control that they had sorted him.’

  Jen could barely speak. ‘Thank you.’ She looked up at him. ‘He’s now my ex, of course. I hadn’t known him long. The relationship was a huge mistake. Brought about by loneliness, I guess.’ Her face broke out in a shy smile. ‘I should have listened to my dog, Max. He’s a better judge of character than me, it appears.’

  ‘What sort of dog have you got?’

  ‘A golden retriever.’

  ‘Give me dogs before people any day of the week.’ Dylan’s eyes clouded over. ‘I’d quite like a dog myself.’

  ‘Why don’t you get one?’

  Dylan sipped his coffee. ‘I’m never at home; it wouldn’t be fair.’ He stopped and looked thoughtful. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t even have a home to be at!’

  ‘I’m sorry. I heard.’ It was Jen’s turn to look uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know how you’re coping with everything …’ She paused. ‘And work too.’

  ‘Work gives me a focus, a reason to get up every morning, if that makes sense. Turns out my wife had been cheating on me for some time. Although I wouldn’t have wished her dead, they do say things happen for a reason. I’m still waiting to see what that reason is, but she paid for her bit of excitement with her life.’

  ‘I’ve just moved into a rented property with my dog, Max. It feels like a fresh start for me. I was extremely lucky Rita in admin knew about a little cottage that was coming up for rent. Have you any idea who burnt down your house?’ she asked.

  Dylan nodded. ‘Yeah, the same bloke who was seeing my wife. He’s been locked up this morning.’

  ‘I thought she died in a road accident?’

  ‘It appears that the accident wasn’t an accident at all.’

  Jen raised her eyebrows. ‘And I thought I had problems. Mine don’t even scratch the surface compared with yours.’

  Dylan sighed deeply. ‘I guess it can only get better, although for now I’m probably going to have to move into Heartbreak Hotel until things get sorted.’

  Jen frowned. ‘Is that a real place?’

  Dylan laughed out l
oud, seeing the serious expression on her face. ‘No, its police flats that are mostly used for officers who are in some kind of crisis.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like a happy place.’

  ‘No, but at least I’ll have a roof over my head instead of sleeping in the office.’

  ‘You’re not?’

  Dylan nodded. ‘Don’t tell Beaky,’ he said in a whisper. ‘If she finds out she’ll hit the roof.’

  ‘I won’t.’ Jen shook her head. ‘And, on that note, I’d better get these drinks back to admin, otherwise I’ll be out on my ear.’

  Sitting back at his desk, Dylan felt a sense of control returning and, being a control freak, he welcomed the feeling. Even when he was informed there were no rooms free at Heartbreak Hotel for the foreseeable future and instead he was to be given a hospitality suite at Bishopgarth Training School in Wakefield, he wasn’t upset. The housing arrangement was open-ended, so he could come and go as he pleased.

  His thoughts were interrupted when Larry Banks put his head around his office door and, seeing Dylan sitting in his chair, walked straight in, brandishing an angry fist.

  ‘I wanted to pummel his fucking face for you.’ Larry threw the interview notes on the desk.

  Dylan’s hopeful thoughts began to drain away as he struggled for composure. Instead he swore silently under his breath. ‘I’m all ears.’

  Larry sat on the edge of his seat looking increasingly agitated. ‘He’s happy to talk, much to the disgust of his expensive barrister. According to him, he started seeing Kay just after she started working for him.’

  ‘Nearly two years ago?’ said Dylan, in amazement. ‘Then why this now?’

  ‘He says, after spending time with her while you were away, he’d asked her to leave you, thinking she’d jump at the chance. But she refused. So he decided that if he couldn’t have her, then no one else was going to.’

  Dylan looked up at the ceiling, leaned back and locked his hands behind his head. ‘What a cliché! I wish I had a pound for every time I’ve heard that line said by a murderer!’

  ‘Classic isn’t it? Apparently, he thought seriously about dispensing with you instead. If you didn’t exist, he was sure she’d turn to him, but when he discussed it with her she told him otherwise.’

  Dylan stared at Larry. ‘She knew he was thinking of killing me?’

  ‘Yes, according to him. While they were having a romantic meal together on the night of the crash, he’d given her one last chance to say she’d leave you, and when she flatly refused he made an excuse of needing to make a private phone call, went out to the car, and swiftly switched off the airbag. Apparently, he’d already disengaged the seatbelt anchorage bolts having done the research in his bid to see you off, understanding from Kay that she usually drove the car and that you regularly travelled in the passenger seat.’

  Dylan sucked in his breath. ‘He could have killed Isla!’

  Larry nodded emphatically. ‘He said he plied Kay with vodka that night, sneaking it into her Diet Coke. Apparently, she was none the wiser and got quickly drunk. I guess, considering she didn’t normally drink much, that’s not surprising, is it? I let him talk. I’d no intention of stopping him before the forty-five minute tape ran out.’

  Dylan sat forward, his elbows on his desk. ‘His plan was flawed. The car left the road.’

  ‘His airbag activated, as we suspected,’ Larry said matter-of-factly.

  Dylan gave a low moan and briefly he buried his head in his hands. ‘If she had agreed to leave me, then she’d still be alive.’

  There was silence.

  ‘God, I wish she had …’ he said in a whisper.

  Larry gave a non-committal grunt. ‘He couldn’t face rejection. Apparently, he was used to getting what he wanted – nobody says no to Kenny Fisher, not his family, not his friends, not his staff: no one.’

  Dylan looked shocked. ‘He has family?’

  ‘Estranged, not surprisingly.’ Larry’s words hung in the air.

  ‘Tell me, did he mention the insulin?’ Dylan asked. He was curious.

  Larry shook his head. ‘No, and we didn’t mention the fact that we’d found the syringe or the results of the blood tests.’

  ‘I want his car searched for a spanner or any kind of tool that would render a seatbelt anchorage point useless. He might be talking, but he’s not telling us the whole story yet. But that doesn’t matter; we will prove beyond doubt that he did it for the CPS and the courts.’

  ‘Well, he’s had every opportunity, so he must have a reason for not telling us everything. Once we have the results from the pathologist at the second PM, we’ll drop that bit of information on his toes and see what his reaction is.’

  Dylan’s phone interrupted them.

  ‘It was Derek Booth,’ said Dylan, as he put the receiver back down. ‘They’re going to re-examine Kay’s body this evening. I’ll inform Thewlis and Benjamin and notify SOCO to attend to take the necessary photographs and samples,’ he said, with a mixture of sickening curiosity and heartbreak. He needed to know that the investigation would be as thorough as in any suspicious death and, even though he wasn’t in charge, he would be damned if he didn’t oversee it.

  ‘Did he say why he torched the house?’

  Larry’s gaze fastened on Dylan’s ashen face. ‘He blames you. Firing the house was obvious to him, but he wanted you in it.’

  Dylan’s eyes were wide, his expression blank. ‘The silent calls on the night of the fire?’

  ‘Yes, those calls. He told us he’d rung you to ensure you were home before setting off to drop a petrol bomb through the letter box.’

  ‘But I couldn’t sleep so I went to see Isla at the hospital.’ Dylan could feel his body going cold at the thought of what might have happened.

  ‘Did I really ever know Kay?’ he said, wiping his hand across his face to disguise the tears welling up inside. ‘How on earth did she get involved with this madman? Do you think she’s ever been unfaithful before?’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘Todd’s nose is broken.’

  ‘Tell someone who cares, Larry.’

  It was obvious to Dylan the DS had no intention of leaving his office. Larry yawned loudly. Dylan lifted his head up to look at him, opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again and returned to his reading. Larry took a seat as he sipped a much-needed energy drink.

  Dylan’s head remained down as he pored over the documents that were spread out on the desk in front of him. He allowed himself a self-satisfied smile.

  ‘They’ve christened you “Basher” in the cells,’ Larry said.

  ‘I told you, it was self-defence,’ muttered Dylan.

  Larry laughed, a throaty laugh. ‘Keep telling ’em that, and eventually CPS will have no choice but to believe you.’

  Dylan looked Larry in the eye. ‘I’m waiting to see what he says in interview.’

  ‘On a positive, you’re still here to tell the tale and a good job too. I’ve told the team you’ll be in the bar tonight. I think you need a break and I also think they deserve a drink for a job well done, don’t you?’

  Dylan gave a slight smile before responding. ‘I guess that means I’m paying?’

  Larry grinned. ‘Yeah, well, you’ll be getting a nice insurance payout … Actually, you’ll be needing a new car,’ Larry lowered his voice, and leaned towards Dylan, ‘and it just happens I’ve a mate who can help you out …’ Dylan gave him a dismissive twist of his lips. ‘There’s a lot of things I need before I buy a flash car …’

  The DS had the good grace to look shamefaced. ‘Let me know when you find out the results of the second PM, then we can arrange for another interview – and charge Fisher with Kay’s murder.’ He rose from his chair and walked lethargically to the door. With his hand on the handle, he turned to face his colleague. ‘So, it’s the bar later then?’

  Dylan nodded. ‘If it’ll make you feel better.’ It was the last thing that he wanted to do but it wasn’t as if he
had a home to go to.

  The office door was ajar. ‘Penny for them?’ Jennifer Jones said, popping her head inside. Dylan looked up. She walked in and picked up the empty cup from the corner of his desk, where it had been placed to avoid him spilling the contents on his paperwork. ‘Are you ready for another?’

  His eyelids were heavy, but he felt calmer than he had done since the accident. It was a welcome feeling. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘How are you?’ Her smile was engaging.

  ‘Strangely enough, knowing that Kay had been cheating on me for some time has helped me to deal with her death. I’ve accepted that what she did was her choice and I realise now that I couldn’t have changed what happened.’

  ‘Good. One day at a time,’ she said softly.

  ‘The team’s having a drink in the bar tonight, would you like to join us?’ Dylan said.

  In the interview room, DC John Benjamin and PC Vicky Hardacre lowered themselves into the chairs opposite Patrick Todd and his solicitor. A table sat between them and the accused. Dylan could see via the link to his office that Todd was sitting on his hands, in case his body language gave him away – he was no stranger to being interviewed and had already shown that he had no respect for the law. There was no way he was going to come easy.

  ‘I didn’t know if fucking Sherlock had clocked me or not, did I? I was as high as a fucking kite and off m’head on coke. In fact,’ Todd said with a laugh, ‘I didn’t even know if he were real, or a figment of my fucking imagination.’ Todd squirmed in his chair.