Microsoft Word - John Francome - Inside Track.doc

by Gene

  But how could that be, if Jamie was sitting in the driver's seat on the right-hand side of the car?

  Jane arrived home late. Robbie was having supper at his dad's so there was no pressure to rush back and put food on the table. She dumped her bulging briefcase on the floor and once more dialled Harrogate CID. She'd 266

  finally got the name she wanted out of Keith Wright - DC Colin Stewart.

  But Stewart had not been answering his phone earlier and had obviously left for the day. She resolved to ring again in the morning even though she wasn't on duty.

  She was taking the next day off to keep Robbie company - his school being shut for an inset day. Like every other parent, Jane couldn't understand why teacher training wasn't undertaken in the holidays - the schools were shut for long enough, for God's sake - but Robbie wasn't complaining. The deal was that he came back and worked hard tonight, and tomorrow they'd find something to do together, even if it was only going bowling or a cinema trip.

  Unfortunately she had a load of stuff to get through first, of which tracking down DC Stewart was just one task. She explained as much to Robbie when he returned.

  `What've you got to do?' he asked.

  She sometimes told him about her cases, though she kept the details general and shielded him from anything disturbing. Maybe she shouldn't breathe a word but she believed that children of Robbie's age ought to be educated on the realities of the world around them. Criminals were no respecters of the innocent, she could attest to that first-hand. There had to be some advantages to being the child of a police officer and if she could give Robbie an insight into society's underbelly without injuring him, then she would.

  She gave him a rundown of her tasks, which involved getting up to speed on a domestic assault and a departmental budget report. And there was still the matter of the Bonfire Night Murders. The latest information from the dead girl's sister had piqued her curiosity. Her intention was to research Jamie Hutchison's court case, and with luck Malcolm Priest's involvement, on the internet.

  Ì'll do that for you,' said Robbie. `You've got your own work to do.'

  Ì've done it-well, nearly. Please, Mum, I'm much better on the net than you.'

  There was no denying that but it didn't seem right to involve him so directly.

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  Her mobile rang and a familiar deep voice sounded in her ear. `Just thought I'd better check in to see what I'm having for supper.' `Get lost, Simon.'

  `Why don't I say you made me your legendary coq au vin because you're a fabulous French cook? Please don't tell me you're not, it would shatter my illusions.'

  She shouldn't have done but she began to laugh.

  ÒK, I'll say we had a Chinese takeaway. All right?'

  She was still laughing as she put the phone down. Robbie was giving her a funny look.

  `You are having a thing with him, aren't you?' `No, I'm not.'

  Ìt's all right by me, if that's what you're worried about.' `Just clear off and do your homework, will you?'

  He ambled towards the door. Ì'll have a trawl on the net for you when I've finished, shall I?'

  `No.'

  ÒK.' He shrugged lazily. `You know you could do worse than Simon, Mum.'

  Infuriating child.

  Malcolm was on his way out when a girl bicycled into the yard. He didn't recognise her at first but he gave her a thorough once-over as she explained that she'd come to see Jamie. She was a bit young but a cracker all the same. She could come and muck out his stables any day of the week.

  He took her up to the house and yelled for Jamie. The girl seemed nervous, as if she'd bolt at any moment, so Malcolm ushered her into the hall. From above came the sound of feet on the stairs.

  `Marie,' Jamie said, obviously taken aback by her presence. `What are you doing here?'

  Malcolm was intrigued. In the light of the hallway the girl seemed familiar. For two pins he'd have stuck around just to see how his brother-in-law handled this surprise package. The old Jamie would have whisked her upstairs in short order to see his etchings, but post-prison Jamie was seriously out of practice on the lady-killing front.

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  However, Malcolm was running late and, in any case, now was not the time to show the slightest interest in any member of the opposite sex, especially under his own roof. Whiter than white was how he must be - for the moment, at any rate.

  He put his foot down as he drove to the Fox and Hen, which was equidistant between his home and Ridgemoor and thus a convenient spot for a meeting with his brother. He'd kept Richard waiting twenty minutes already but the get-together wasn't his idea. Richard had sounded panicky on the phone and refused to say what was up. That was typical of his little brother. When it came down to it, he was simply an old woman.

  Richard was at a table by himself in the saloon bar, his eyes on the door as Malcolm strolled in. Jesus, he looked all of a twitch. Malcolm took his time fetching himself a drink and exchanging pleasantries with the barmaid. Eventually he dropped into the chair opposite his brother.

  `So,' he said, `what's eating you then?’ There didn't seem much point in beating around the bush.

  Richard leant forward and muttered, though there was no one nearby and Elvis was booming away on the pub sound system, `His memory's coming back.'

  Malcolm wasn't going to make it easy for him. `Who are we talking about exactly?'

  `Jamie. He can remember the accident.'

  Malcolm sipped his drink. They stocked a reasonable malt at the Fox, probably because the landlord came from Skye. Ìf you ask me, my brother-in-law's never been the same since that car crash.'

  Richard grabbed his arm. Ì'm serious, Mal. When he took a whack on the head the other week it got his memory going again. He can remember staggering around the car park and us getting the car keys off him.'

  `How do you know this?'

  ' Vanessa told me. She was at Wetherby with her dad when he had the fall so she's been keeping an eye on him. He told her he's been having these weird dreams about the car crash.'

  `He's been having dreams?’

  'That's what he's told her but it's probably only a matter of time before he realises.'

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  `Rich, they are dreams.'

  `He even remembers about Mandy being there.' Uh-oh.

  `Doesn't change a thing. Fact - he pleaded guilty and served time. Another fact - he took a bang on the head which so scrambled up his brains he got a personality transplant. However, if I were you, I wouldn't encourage my sexy little wife-to-be to spend time alone with Jamie discussing bedtime fantasies.'

  Richard reacted angrily. `That's not funny, Malcolm. Not everyone thinks through his dick like you and Dad.'

  Ì seem to remember that Jamie never used to think at all when it came to girls like Vanessa. They've run into each other before, you know.'

  Richard plainly didn't. `What are you on about?'

  Ì'm on about Jamie and your fiancée screwing their brains out a couple of years back. When he had that ride for old man Hartley in the Diadem.'

  Ì don't believe you.'

  `Pippa told me. Swore me to secrecy, of course, which is why I'm only mentioning it now for your own good. Vanessa was a bit smitten, apparently. Used to write him letters from Australia.'

  Richard was looking sick, nervously sipping from his glass even though it only contained a wedge of drowned lemon. `She never said she knew him.'

  `Well, she wouldn't, would she? Not if she had something to hide.

  According to Pippa,' he added, just to twist the knife, `she was the last woman he had before he went inside. And there's probably been no one since, as far as I can tell.' Unless, of course, he was back in the saddle with little Marie.

  Richard looked shattered, in an even worse state than when Malcolm walked in. Serves him right for winding me up about Jamie, Malcolm thought savagely. He got up from the table. He'd better get back to Pippa, since he was still on his best behaviour.

  `Don't give Vane
ssa too hard a time, Rich,' he said before he went. Ònce you walk her down the aisle I'm sure she'll be as good as gold.' He was still chuckling as he got into his car when his good humour was punctured by a sudden thought. Marie. He knew who she was now. Marie Kirkstall, the little sister of the boy on the horse. Was Jamie discussing his `dreams'

  with her too?

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  Malcolm didn't like it. A talk with his brother-in-law was long overdue.

  He needed to find out exactly what was going on in his head. Then, if necessary, he could deal with him -just like he'd dealt with the others.

  He hardly noticed the road as he drove home, he was thinking so hard.

  Memory was a funny thing all right.

  Marie found herself babbling, trying to explain to Jamie that she needed a word with him, and because she knew he wouldn't be at Ros's the next morning she'd cycled up here now and she was sorry but it wouldn't wait.

  She knew she was sounding foolish but nerves kept her talking.

  A dog appeared out of nowhere and saved the situation. A big soppy red setter bounded down the hall and flung itself into her arms as if she were its dearest friend and, at that moment, she was.

  `Get down, Matilda,' shouted Jamie and dragged the animal off her. Ì

  don't mind,' said Marie. Ì think she's absolutely lovely.'

  The pair of them fussed over a squirming Matilda who was licking fingers and faces in an ecstasy of delight.

  A dark-haired woman appeared in a doorway to what was probably the sitting room. `What's going on?'

  Jamie introduced his sister though there was no need. Marie knew who she was, just as Pippa had known her. They'd sat close to each other in the public gallery of Leeds Crown Court on the day of Jamie's sentencing trial. Marie had felt sorry for her and she'd guessed the feeling was mutual.

  They'd never spoken till now.

  `You obviously like dogs.'

  Òh yes. We used to have a red setter.' And they'd had to find the dog another home after Dad's breathing problems got bad - but she didn't want to talk about that.

  `Why don't you both take her for a walk? She's always game for an outing.'

  That was clever of Jamie's sister and Marie was grateful to her. It got over the awkwardness of her unexpected arrival and would give her a chance to talk to Jamie in private.

  `What's so urgent then?' said Jamie as they walked up the path that led to the foot of the moor. Though the sun had long since set the light lingered longer up here.

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  Ì've got some questions about the accident.' Ì'm sorry but I still don't remember any more.'

  `You remember your injuries though, don't you? Like - which arm did you break?'

  `My left.'

  Ànd what about your ribs - which side was hurt?'

  `The left. I was pretty smashed up all down that side of my body.'

  Matilda bounded up out of the dusk, just to make sure they were following, then scampered off again.

  `How come you want to know about my injuries?' he asked.

  Ì saw your medical notes today at the surgery. Honestly, I didn't go looking for them. They turned up by chance.'

  `So why are you asking me then?'

  'I need to check - you don't mind, do you?'

  There was a pause. She couldn't read his expression. `You can ask me whatever you want, Marie.'

  ÒK, then. Your car, was it a regular right-hand-drive model?' `Sure. Are you going to tell me what this is all about?'

  It was about time she came clean.

  Ì'm very puzzled, Jamie. I know about the accident. I read the reports and the police explained it to us. Your car came up behind my brother on Misty, knocked them both off the road, crashed through the stone wall on the bend and finished up in some trees. I saw photos of it afterwards. It was a burnt-out wreck but you could see that the left side was all crumpled and bashed in. Two people got out of it with hardly a scratch but they carted you off to hospital in bits.'

  They could hear Matilda woofing in the distance, probably after a rabbit or some other creature she'd never catch.

  `What's your point, Marie?'

  `My point is that the car was damaged on the left-hand side and so were you. The passenger side.'

  He stopped in his tracks.

  `Jamie, are you sure you were driving?'

  Jamie slept badly that night. He often did before a race but this wasn't race nerves. Marie's visit had put him in a spin. He couldn't understand why she 272

  was trying to get him off the hook. He'd never tried to make excuses for what he'd done, so why should she?

  He'd explained that in car crashes the weirdest things happened. He'd read about it. The forces were so immense, the twists and turns of an out-of-control vehicle so unpredictable that no logical conclusions could be drawn about his injuries. For all he knew, the car could have been travelling upside down.

  But she'd remained sceptical and now so was he. Just imagine if he hadn't been driving, after all ...

  The hedgerow Washed by on his nearside, the leaves and grass stems in the verge ghostly in the headlights. Jesus, this was quick.

  There was laughter and shouting in the confined space, his own whoops mingled with the others.

  `Fantastic!’ yelled a voice at his side. `She goes like a bomb.' `Slow down, you bloody idiot,' cried another from behind.

  Out of the window a big familiar shape. A horse and rider. A dappled grey coat and a riding boot so close it almost kicked in the glass. And a thump and a rumble beneath the wheels and the higgledy-piggledy stones of a moorland wall closing in.

  An explosion of light in his head. Then darkness.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jane spread her notes about the Bonfire Night Murders across the kitchen table. There was a new addition to the file - a sheaf of A4 that shed discovered that morning on the floor outside her room. Robbie really was the most disobedient boy. She'd told him not to look up the Hutchison drink-drive case on the internet but he'd gone ahead anyway.

  It was hard to be angry with him, however. He'd saved her a task and she had something to read while she waited for the hands of the clock to creep round to nine - the time when she could put in her first call to Harrogate CID. She was determined to talk to Colin Stewart as soon as possible.

  She ate a banana and some grapes as she read. Robbie had pulled off local newspaper reports which, to begin with, focused on the lad who had been 273

  killed and the grief of his family. It was sad and sober reading. Imagine what it would be like to lose Robbie. She put the thought out of her head -

  she couldn't get emotionally involved in this. It was hard though not to feel that this drunken dare-devil jockey had got off lightly. If it had been her son, she'd have wanted him incarcerated for life. At least he'd had the sense to plead guilty and spare the family the ordeal of a full-length trial.

  The court appearance was for sentencing only and had lasted just one day.

  Nine o'clock had come and gone by the time she picked up the phone. It was answered after one ring - thank God for that.

  Jane was prepared for a fight for information, since the officers of North Yorkshire weren't always entirely cooperative with their Lancashire counterparts. The reputation of some of the old-school detectives was that women like Jane were only welcome in the CID room if they wore stockings and took charge of the kettle.

  DC Stewart, however, was obviously not of the old school. What's more, he sounded almost as young as Robbie.

  `Sorry I didn't get back to you yesterday, ma'am, but I was a bit tied up.'

  Ma'am? She suddenly felt about sixty. She explained her interest in the death of Beverley Harris and he ran through the facts for her without further preamble.

  The woman's body had been discovered late in the afternoon by her employer, Barney Beaufort, who had called the police. The uniformed officers who had first attended had summoned CID and so Stewart had attended the crime scene - if that was what it was.
The death had been reported to the coroner who hadn't yet registered it as enquiries were still in progress.

  `She was lying on her back in the bath,' Stewart told her, ànd she'd obviously been in the water some while. It's a bit difficult to pinpoint the time of death because the heat of the bathwater would have affected the body temperature. But the likelihood is that she'd been in the bath since the night before. The lights were on in the bathroom and in the rest of the house.

  `There was an empty champagne bottle by the side of the bath and the pathologist says there was plenty of alcohol in her system, plus some anti-depressant drug. He says there were no bruises on the body or other signs 274

  of violence. No evidence of sexual activity. The bathroom was well ordered - the floor was dry, a bathmat was laid out and there was a clean towel hanging on the radiator. She had a cupboard stuffed with medicines, all sorts of over-the-counter painkillers and some prescription drugs called Fluoxetine.'

  Ìs that the anti-depressant?'

  `Yes. Her doctor said she'd been on them for about a year. She was a bit of a high-flyer at work but the job stressed her out. The doc said she'd never been suicidal though.'

  `So what do you think?'

  The detective paused, probably to gather his thoughts. `My first impression- given that there was no sign of a third-party presence, no forced entry or anything like that- was that she got drunk on champagne which reacted with her medication. The bath was too hot and she fainted and drowned. I checked it out with people who supervise hot spas. They have to be careful that people don't collapse when the water temperature gets too high. It would be a funny way to deliberately kill yourself. She could have taken some of her pills if she wanted to do that.

  There was no note and no indication from her colleagues that she was that way inclined. Apart from the anti-depressants, of course.'