A gust blew hair into her mouth, she ignored it, grew more serious as she carried on. ‘He said he wanted to look after his father... Poor boy. I doubt asthmatics make good pilots.’
Doc wriggled, his hip shifting stones, worming into a more comfortable position. He wanted to reach out, brush the hair away for her. He tossed a stone at the sea instead, unsure of what he was doing with this beautiful woman.
Judy went on, ‘The whole episode has made me rethink things. After our meal the other night I was still wondering who was to blame for things going wrong between John and me. I’ve always felt culpable. God knows, I even felt I messed up by choosing the wrong man to father my son! This week has changed that. It helped, talking things through with you... And then the crash.’ She stared at the sea again, her physical presence with him, her thoughts far away. He waited a few minutes for her to go on, sure something important was coming. ‘I’m seriously thinking about going part-time. Almost losing Josh has made me realise what a hole that would leave in my life.’
She sighed, her violet eyes now on him, searching for... what? Doc kept silent. The demons rattled their cages, crying to be let out. He made a decision. He needed to talk too, to tell someone. So he did.
‘Family really is the most important thing Judy. Procreation is what drives us, at our most primitive level.’ He felt the next words try to throttle him as he uttered them. ‘Natalie was pregnant.’
She said nothing, her violet eyes just seemed to turn a deeper shade, sympathy and sadness transmitted without a word. Encouraged, he continued.
‘We’d been celebrating. That night... We’d been trying for years. We thought it was impossible. Even IVF had failed.’ Tears streamed as he spoke, but Doc could not feel them, his body numb. ‘She was almost four months with child. Our child. A boy. Daniel.’ He stopped, almost clammed up. Pushed himself to continue. ‘We decided to celebrate – we’d made it past the worst period. You know, not much chance of a miscarriage after three months. We thought we were home and dry. Even decorated the nursery.’ It was the only room in the house he had not entered since the accident.
‘Oh, Colin.’ She reached out, squeezed his arm. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She left her hand there, her palm hot, the body heat slicing through his numbness, urging him on.
‘The worst of it was that it was all my fault. I killed the woman I loved. And our unborn baby.’ He swept his hand over his forehead and down his face, surprised to find his palm slick with tears.
‘It was an accident! The other driver jumped the lights.’ Judy shook his arm, eyes feverish. ‘It wasn’t your fault – the police report was clear on that!’
Doc, whose mind was not as sharp as it should be, failed to ask her how she knew what the police had said, though it would occur to him later. He shook his head.
‘I’d been drinking – ’
‘You were under the limit!’ Her vehemence startled him. ‘How can you blame yourself?’
‘Listen. I know you’re trying to help, but – ’
‘Okay. Tell me. I’m listening. I’ll be quiet.’
Her grip on his arm relaxed and he was surprised to see white finger marks there, had been unaware of her strength.
‘I’m a forensic psychiatrist. I deal with people who commit crimes. Sometimes they claim to have been drunk. Under the influence and therefore not responsible.’ He snorted his disgust. ‘I assess them. Determine for the court whether they can be fully held to count for their actions.’ He could see she wanted to speak, but ploughed on. ‘I know the effect of alcohol on an individual. I am an expert on the effects of a given quantity on a specified body mass index.’ He dragged the words out. ‘How one glass of champagne dulls reactions, how one beer shrinks peripheral vision, how one measure of whisky undermines mental capacity... the ability to judge speed.’
He sat up, tossed a pebble at the water, watched as it clattered on the rocks and bounced with a splash, lost beneath the waves.
‘We were travelling at about thirty miles an hour, the lights were green. I was holding her hand. We were laughing about something she’d said... She’d called herself a baby factory, promised me she would pop them out like peas.’ Judy gasped at that, but Doc kept on. ‘It was a wonderful night. Both of us with successful careers, deliriously happy, so in love and with our lives ahead of us.’ He gulped, voice hoarse now. ‘I didn’t see him. He ran that red light, ramming his truck into our passenger door. Into Natalie... Smashed us up against a traffic light. I was crushed against her. It took nearly two hours to cut me free. And I was conscious the whole time. It was worse than the most terrible nightmare.’
And it keeps on coming back.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
He stopped speaking, concentrating instead on trying to block out the images swamping his mind. Judy prompted him for more, and her words pulled him back. He sensed pity as she spoke.
‘So it was the other driver’s fault. An accident.’
He would not acknowledge the point. ‘She died on impact. Her airbag only served to hold her head up. The truck was travelling so fast she was catapulted into the doorframe, fracturing her skull.’ Fracturing. Wrecking. Destroying. ‘Three lives were lost that night. The driver,’ he could not bring himself to speak the man’s name, ‘Natalie and Daniel. Of course the police report and the newspapers said two people...’
‘You poor man.’ She pressed into him, hugged him to her as they sat by the gentle lapping of the Channel.
‘We hadn’t told anybody. We planned to announce it that weekend – Natalie’s parents were coming down. They were desperate for grandkids.’ He sighed, a mournful note, then started sobbing quietly.
She held him close, her head to his shoulder, sharing his pain, his misery.
***
By the time they arrived back at Judy’s apartment it was pushing 8pm, and Josh was spent. While Judy tucked her son up, Gran, who had invited Doc back for supper, sipped her tea with him in the kitchen, and asked him about himself.
Doc had the definite impression that he was being interviewed, but he did not mind in the least. He liked Gran, her homely, down to earth approach, and her sparkling eyes that were so similar to her daughter’s.
‘So, how old are you Colin?’ She asked without a hint of embarrassment. Colin knew that politely spoken rudeness was the domain of the aged.
‘I’ll be forty-five in September... I won’t ask how old you are, you might think me impolite!’
He grinned and then answered a few more questions about his career and book before she finally nodded and smiled back. ‘I gather you can cook exotic foods too! Quite something!’
‘Nothing to compare with you Betty, just curries and the like.’
Judy joined them and they ate, homemade minestrone and fresh baked bread. Doc thought the food divine. He told them so as he started to clear the dishes.
Gran stood, plucked the crockery from his hands and told him, ‘I’ll clean this up. This is my kitchen Colin and I won’t have you interfering!’ It was actually Judy’s kitchen but nobody would dare argue that particular point. ‘Why don’t you two go and have a nightcap?’ She put a hand on the small of his back and gave a gentle push. ‘Go on...’
‘There’s a nice pub at the end of the road if you fancy?’ Judy cocked an eye at him, and he nodded. They strolled in the cool night air, Judy slipping her hand through his arm as they walked, both pensive, silent, wrapped in their own thoughts.
By the time they arrived at the pub Doc was a confusion of emotions, concerned that he might be reading too much into today. Was she just being a good friend, supporting a colleague in need?
He decided to stick to a safe subject.
‘So what do you think of your new role?’
‘Oh, I’ve hardly got into it yet. But I’ve never been called Ma’am before!’ Her laughter tinkled, breaking the stilted atmosphere that had threatened to engulf them. ‘That episode with Leech shook me up... I began to wonder if I could do the job. Don’t look so
shocked! Even I have doubts sometimes.’
‘You’re a fast tracked super achiever according to my sources.’ He grinned cheekily.
‘Come off it. Here I am, supposed to be part of a team that ultimately decides whether criminals are fit for release, yet I’m not exactly the best judge of character, am I? I mean – look at who I married!’ Her eyes shimmered at him, her sultry look accentuated as she gazed at him over her glass.
Doc pressed on with the work theme, despite her light-hearted response. He did not know what else to say, thinking he might be making a fool of himself.
‘Seriously though, would you consider a career with the Parole Board?’
‘Career? They’re mostly part-timers, legal types with other jobs, aren’t they?’
‘Mostly. I’m full time, along with a handful of others. I’m officially Vice Chairman – the Judge is grooming me to take over in a couple of years... If he ever retires!’
‘Oh, so you think I should be aiming for that too? I’m only seconded temporarily.’
‘But if you wanted a part-time career with real prospects why not aim for it? If you take more time with Josh for the next few years, then switch back to full-time when he’s older... Who knows? It’s worth thinking about.’
Judy sucked in her lip, gnawed at it, her thoughtful gesture sexy as hell from where Doc sat.
‘Is that how it is? You work for the Judge, then get his job. I work for you and then I take over yours. Sounds like nepotism to me!’ She was being flippant, but still thoughtful.
‘Hardly. The Secretary of State makes the appointments – but he has a limited pool of talent choose from. And you’re already a high flyer. Think about it. You could have your cake and eat it.’ Doc finished his drink. ‘Fancy another?’
She did, so they sat huddled in a corner, thighs pressed together, enveloped in the warmth and buzz of the busy bar.
‘What about you. Why did you give up profiling?’
‘I didn’t give up completely.’ Doc sipped his beer as he lied, the cold bite of alcohol settling him. ‘I still get called to advise on the odd case.’ That was true, but these days he always refused. ‘When I first started, it was all jiggery-pokery. Black magic. The police didn’t trust it in those days, but the process developed, proved its worth, and now profilers are two a penny. I’m past it!’ His laugh didn’t quite mask his feelings, but his comment had shifted the conversation and he felt Judy’s hand on his thigh.
‘Past it? I don’t think so.’
‘Judy... I’m not sure – ’ She placed a finger to his lips.
‘It’s okay. I know. We have time Colin.’
His doubts about her intentions swooped away and his spirits soared.
But then the clacking started.
No!
He shut his eyes, pushing his palms into the sockets, trying to force the images away. It worked. The noise quietened, the movie fading. He dropped his hands, and saw the concern written on her beautiful face, eyes aglow with compassion.
He said, ‘I thought it was a vino-ego thing the other night – ’
‘A what?’
‘I thought the wine had convinced me that a fat old man could find a beautiful young woman like you. Vino-ego.’
She leaned forward and kissed his lips with a gentle touch, a fleeting promise, no more. She whispered into his face, ‘And I didn’t expect to find a man like you.’
Then it spilled out of him. ‘I’m no great catch Judy! I think I’m losing my mind. I have such awful nightmares. The crash. Flashbacks too... I’m a psychiatrist. I could certify myself. You really don’t know me.’ He pulled back, held her face in his hands. ‘The truth is, I gave up profiling because I was haunted by the evil of it all. My mind is riven by monsters. I’m burnt out... I’m a mess!’
She covered his hands with hers and said, ‘It’s not working Colin. You may not know how to show a girl a good time, I’ll give you that, but you should already know an insanity plea rarely has the desired effect!’
Doc threw back his head and guffawed, his laughter a delighted rumble that saw off his demons.
At least for now.
***
‘You’re going to have to face it Peter. You may not get parole.’
The obese man with greasy hair and an oily smile was serious. Leech hated him. He wanted to belt the smug fucker in the teeth.
‘I’ve done my time. I’ve kept my nose clean. I’ve done everything you told me to do.’ He growled, but blubberball was unfazed.
‘The odds aren’t good,’ his solicitor told him. ‘Normally a lifer would transfer to open prison for six to twelve months before being released on license. You haven’t done everything I told you. You asked to be transferred back to this place.’ Gruber flicked an imperious hand at the room, the walls, the steel door. ‘What particular moment of craziness inspired that inane request, pray tell?’
‘I prefer it here. What the fuck’s the difference? They should be pleased. Low category prisons are overcrowded as it is. And I could’ve busted out of that shithole, no problem.’ Leech paced the interview room, the two of them unobserved, lawyer client privilege intact. He stopped, placed his knuckles on the table, eyeballing his brief. ‘Anyway, I had unfinished business here.’
Gruber was unflinching. ‘Well Peter, on your own head and all that.’ He shuffled his papers and told him, ‘The good news is that I have received details of your parole hearing. We have the names of the triumvirate that hold your future in their hands.’
Leech sat down, eager to know more. ‘Can I see?’
‘Of course.’ Gruber passed some documents across. ‘The hearing will take place on Friday in the governor’s annexe. A judge will preside. He’s the best bit of news.’
‘No judge is good news Gruber.’
Again the little man was unperturbed by the aggression in Leech’s voice. ‘In this instance be assured Judge Jeffries is about the best news you could hope for. The full Parole Board consists of some one hundred and twenty members. Around thirty are judges. They always preside over parole hearings. From this limited pool of judicial bias I have managed to secure the best of the bunch.’
Leech very much doubted that his oleaginous lawyer had the clout or the contacts to influence such a choice, but he let it slide. In any event, the man was his solicitor specifically because he was as straight as a lavatory u-bend, but, unfortunately, often as full of shit. Leech nodded, listened.
‘Jeffries is always a soft touch on the bench and has only recently been in the news for giving a rapist a four year sentence. Ludicrously soft, but worse, he made a comment about the girl asking for it, or some such nonsense.’ Gruber riffled through his notes and added, ‘He also has the highest number of parolees given licenses as a percentage of hearings undertaken. In other words, we have the best chance of success with him.’
‘You mean I have. I’m the one in here.’
‘And so am I right now.’ Gruber slipped a finger under his collar and loosened his tie. ‘Frankly I would prefer not to be.’
‘You’re getting well paid. Stop bleating and get on with it.’
His equanimity apparently inviolable, Gruber stoically carried on. ‘You have Judge Jeffries details there. Rather more than you should have... so I’ll be taking the documents with me.’
Leech read them – a biography, some personal notes, and his address – branded the details on his memory, then threw the papers back at Gruber.
‘Is that it? What about this one... Looks like a dyke to me.’
‘Unerring as ever, Peter. I gather she is rather fond of tribady. However, although your undoubtedly male charms will be of little use, I believe this may be.’ He slid a newspaper clipping across the table to Leech. It was an article from the Guardian, recommending radical prison reform. As Leech started to read it Gruber added, ‘You can read that at your leisure. It’s yours to keep.’
Leech continued scanning the page and then laughed.
‘Sometimes you are al
most worth the money Gruber.’
His lawyer smiled, it could have been a nervous tic, it twitched and disappeared that quickly.
‘The bad news, and I’m afraid it is potentially very bad indeed, is the medical professional... Jeffries is soft, but still a judge. The lady whose ridiculous jottings you were just reading is an independent member of the Parole Board – ’
‘Independent! Bullshit. No such thing, Gruber.’
‘In the sense used by the Parole Board, there is. Any hearing is chaired by a judge. A psychiatrist or psychologist is in attendance to advise on the potential parolee’s mental well-being. The third member is neither necessarily a judge nor a medical professional. In that admittedly limited sense, she is therefore an independent. There are many of them, some drawn from the police, others are solicitors, probation officers, assorted legal bods. The civil service accounts for most. The best... for our purposes, is this lady and her ilk.’ Gruber tapped her photograph with a finger. ‘Sophie Pugh is a social worker. Her whole life has revolved around assisting inmates to re-settle into society.’
‘Yeah? Excellent.’
‘Yes, all good news. Except this.’ Gruber placed the last set of details in front of his client. ‘The psychiatrist I’m afraid is none other than your nemesis. One Doctor Colin Powers.’
***
It took several minutes for Leech to calm down enough for Gruber to continue. His solicitor resumed as if the outburst had not happened. Leech had to admit his brief was one cool bastard.
‘In terms of our strategy I would suggest that we try to create some friction between Ms Pugh and Powers. I believe he is the weaker party, whereas she is somewhat of a firebrand. I’ve heard he has recently suffered a bereavement and may have a problem with alcohol... Regardless, I believe she is sufficiently persuasive to sway Judge Jeffries.’
Leech was looking sideways at Gruber, chin in his hand, his temple and jaw muscles in spasm as he ground his teeth.
Powers!
‘This is all wrong. Get him dismissed from my hearing Gruber.’
‘I’m afraid I cannot.’
‘Why the fuck not? I’m paying you plenty. You said you got Jeffries appointed, so get Powers un-appointed.’
Remorseless: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1) Page 12