by Ian Skewis
Jack suddenly felt utterly alone. Any other officer would be congratulating me, but not you. A grudging ‘well done’ is all I get. What is wrong with the man? he wondered.
Returning to the station, he marched off to inform the Chief and make amends.
‘Well, I suppose this is marginally better than exposing yourself in front of all and sundry,’ remarked the Chief without so much as a hint of irony. Jack smiled, knowing he was off the hook, and was then dismissed.
Back in the present, he pictured how Colin must have looked when the Chief had told him the news. He chuckled a little, relishing the childish image in his mind of a piggy little Clements squealing with rage and running off to his wife, tail between his short, fat legs.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
September 7th
‘Jack has found Caroline Baker.’
The Chief Superintendent made the announcement quietly in his large, air-conditioned office.
‘I know,’ snapped Colin, immediately regretting it. He glanced at the Chief apologetically, but saw that he had a bemused expression on his face. He noted that, even when seated, the Chief was a tall, imposing figure, all the more so because of his numerous medals and awards on proud display in the polished mahogany wall unit behind him. Colin observed that the Chief was getting more and more overweight from too many lunch meetings and charity balls. And, though bemused, his gaze was like steel.
‘You look like you need a drink,’ he said, and went to his oversized cabinet and poured the DC a whisky.
‘Ta,’ said Colin gruffly.
There followed a long silence, during which Colin tried not to fidget. ‘So, does this change anything?’ he asked finally.
The Chief turned, planted two glasses firmly on the desk. Eventually, he sat back down and looked thoughtfully into his drink. ‘That all depends on you, Colin.’
The DC looked at him expectantly.
‘Jack has struck gold,’ said the Chief.
‘The little shit got lucky,’ replied Colin, to which his boss raised an eyebrow. ‘Sorry,’ he then muttered, nervously scratching his nose.
‘Luck doesn’t come into it – at least not where Jack’s concerned. Now, I’m none too happy about the press catching him with his pants down. But it’s not too serious and either way it means we continue as planned. With the media interest now at fever pitch we can’t afford not to. The discovery of Caroline will give them something to chew on. Might even reignite their interest in Alistair’s whereabouts. You will speak to them in due course. And I’m sorry, Colin, but you’re staying put.’
The detective was about to protest.
‘It’s only until the case is closed which, given how quickly he’s come up with results, shouldn’t be long. But I need to know, Colin – what’s going on between you two?’
Colin was flummoxed and bought some time by taking a draw from his glass. ‘Nothing’s going on,’ he lied.
The Chief’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘None of your cock and bull stories now. Is something troubling you?’
‘Why? What have you heard?’ Colin demanded, unable to keep the accusation from his tone.
‘It doesn’t take long for word to spread in this place, Colin. And the word is that you and Jack have fallen out.’
‘We were never bosom buddies, anyway,’ Colin replied, curling his lip.
‘But it was never as bad as this. Why aren’t you the one going out and knocking on the doors? You should be out there getting your hands dirty and instead Jack’s doing it all. That’s your job.’
‘I did. I went to the hotel to speak to Margaret.’
The Chief’s expression darkened. ‘And she lodged a complaint about you. That’s two this week. Are you going to try for a hat trick?’
Colin looked away, disgustedly.
‘On second thoughts maybe it’s best you don’t chap on anybody’s doors for the time being. Maybe it’s best for everyone if you take some time off.’
‘I’m fine,’ replied Colin. ‘It won’t happen again.’
‘Damn right it won’t,’ replied the Chief.
‘He just wants all the glory, all the credit. Looks like he’s going to get it, too,’ Colin replied sullenly.
‘Is it because you’re not playing ball?’
Colin sniffed, took another swig from his glass.
‘Answer the fucking question, Colin,’ commanded the Chief, his voice hard as nails.
Colin regarded him with surprise. In all the years he had known him, the Chief had never once sworn at him.
‘I’m having some problems, yes,’ Colin said quietly. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’
The Chief sat back a little. ‘Fine. We all have our crosses to bear and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. What I do want is your total and absolute support on this. Jack Russell has had an exceptional career and his loyalty goes without question – and I know we both want to make sure his final days in the force are unblemished, don’t we?’
Colin scowled.
‘Maybe he’s had some luck, I concede that, but he goes out of this with his reputation intact. Understood?’
Colin gave a curt nod.
‘Since Jack seems determined to hog the limelight, I want you to take care of operations here. And I know this might be asking too much but given his inexperience can we make sure Campbell uses some tact and diplomacy when dealing with Caroline’s family? I want to avoid a hat trick at all costs.’
‘Oh, of course.’
‘Let me make myself clear,’ said the Chief sharply. ‘You will do this or you can kiss your promotion goodbye. Is that understood?’
‘He got lucky,’ Colin retorted.
‘So what!’ shouted the Chief, slamming his fist down on the desk.
Chastened, Colin eyed him sheepishly.
The Chief glared at him and then leaned forward. ‘Jack is retiring after this is over, so just sit tight. Put up and shut up. You’ll have his job soon enough.’
Colin tried not to smile, and instead finished his whisky, for it was the answer he had been waiting for.
‘Good,’ said the Chief pleasantly, sitting back and picking up his glass. ‘Now that’s settled, how is your wife?’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
September 7th
Jack was pacing up and down in the small interview room of the police station like a caged tiger. He was all too aware of the effect this was having on Scott Jennings and his twitchy, inexperienced solicitor. The pair of them were sat at the table like convicts waiting on their last meal.
‘Scott Jennings, you previously gave us a statement on the fourth of September declaring that you never saw or heard anything suspicious on the night of September the first. You have been brought here because since you made that statement there’s been a development. Alistair Smith’s blood has been found in the forest. The very same forest that you’ve taken up residence in for the past few days. Therefore, I need to ask you again: did you see or hear anything suspicious?’
Jack watched closely as Scott looked to his solicitor, who nodded. ‘No. I didn’t see anything,’ he said quietly.
‘For the benefit of the tape can you explain to me what you were doing in the middle of a forest during a violent thunderstorm?’
He observed Scott shift nervously in his chair and try to make eye contact with Campbell, who was standing beside the door. Campbell stifled a somewhat dramatic yawn. There were no windows and the room smelled stale.
‘Would you like me to repeat the question?’ asked Jack impatiently.
‘I was hiding,’ said Scott reluctantly.
‘Hiding from what?’
‘My father, I told you already.’
‘Yes, you did tell us. But what I don’t understand is why you would go to such lengths to avoid him.’ Jack forced a laugh. ‘I know he’s a bad-tempered old so and so when he’s had a drink in him, but you could easily have defended yourself – I mean, he’s got a walking stick for god’s sake.’
&n
bsp; ‘He came at me with an axe!’ Scott pleaded.
Jack watched with keen interest as the solicitor placed her hand on Scott’s, a sympathetic act that Jack felt was a little too personal. He suppressed a smirk as she gently shook her head at her client, her perfect curtain of black, bobbed hair swaying comically from side to side above her shoulder pads.
Jack sighed and glanced wearily at Campbell, who shook his head with a smile of disbelief. You’re taking to this well, Jack thought, impressed by his colleague’s acting abilities, but he needed to get to the root of his doubts about Scott, so he returned to his line of questioning. ‘My colleague spoke to your father earlier today, Scott,’ said Jack quietly, ‘and though he might be a lot of things, I don’t think an axe-wielding maniac is one of them.’
‘You don’t know what he’s like,’ muttered Scott, his deep-set eyes lowered in thought.
‘I have a very good idea what he’s like, Scott. And I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough.’
‘I am,’ he insisted.
‘Alistair is still missing,’ growled Jack, ‘his mother is worried sick and I think you know what happened.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do!’ barked Jack so loudly that his voice reverberated off the walls.
‘You don’t need to answer that,’ the solicitor said with a tremulous voice.
He spied Scott looking once more to Campbell for support, but Jack intercepted. ‘And there’s no point in eyeballing him because he’s not going to help you.’
Jack prowled round him, deliberately disappearing from Scott’s point of view. He stood behind him and marvelled at how someone with such a broad back could be so afraid of an old cripple and cave in so easily under pressure. It didn’t seem truthful somehow. He suspected that Scott was made of sterner stuff than he portrayed. Another actor, just like his father, he surmised.
He watched Scott carefully gripping either side of the chair, as if preparing to make a move. He gave a warning glance to Campbell, who nodded. Leaning over Scott’s shoulder, but keeping a short distance between them, Jack spoke softly but loud enough for the tape to pick up his voice. Sounding eminently reasonable, he said, ‘Do you want to know what I think, Scott? I think you know what happened to Alistair. And I think you’re frightened. But you don’t want to get on the wrong side of the law now, do you?’
Scott shook his head. He began to cry. The woman leaned forward and whispered, ‘Are you all right?’ but he ignored her.
Jack smiled a little triumphantly and patted Scott’s shoulder, then walked past him and stood on the opposite side of the room, beside his officer. ‘So, in your own words, what happened to Alistair Smith on the night of September the first?’
‘My client won’t be answering that question,’ replied the solicitor, who flicked her hair back defiantly with a snap of her neck. It bounced back and a few strands went into the corner of her mouth.
Jack suppressed a smile. ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘but I’ll be asking plenty of questions and if Scott doesn’t give me a satisfactory response then this will count as evidence against him in front of a jury.’
He looked pointedly at Scott, who said nothing.
Jack suddenly felt irritated. ‘Come on. You must know something. You’ve been staying there for days. You mean to tell me that in all that time you’ve not seen or heard anything?’ He noted that the farmer’s son flinched, but still remained stoic. Scott’s eyes were wide, looking around him, as if in search of a suitable response. His gaze rested once more on Campbell, hoping for a lifeline. Jack frowned; his colleague had begun to look a little concerned. He deliberately stood between them, blocking their view.
‘Know this in advance, son,’ he said, imitating Jerome and bearing down on him, ‘you gave me no choice.’ Jack signalled with a jerk of his head for Campbell to join him. However, he did not move. Jack wondered what was going on until he saw the look on the officer’s face. A split second later he heard a strange trickling sound. He abruptly turned back round to face Scott, who was sitting there whimpering, head bowed in shame as his jeans were rapidly darkening from the crotch.
The solicitor screamed, ‘Right, that’s it!’
Jack admired her outrage. At last, he thought, her feathers ruffled. She tried to take Scott’s hand but he refused to budge, perhaps in embarrassment. The stain spread down his inside leg, and the piss was pattering across his trainers and out onto the floor. Just then Campbell’s phone rang and he sharply fished it out of his breast pocket.
‘What the…?’ said Jack, glaring at him as he hurriedly left the room.
‘This interview is now being terminated,’ said Jack reluctantly into the tape recorder. ‘The time is 6.23pm.’
A moment passed during which he scrutinised Scott, observing how he had tried to cover his humiliation by folding his arms over his knees. Campbell crept back in and avoided his eyes. Jack ignored him and leaned forward so that he was almost nose to nose with Scott. ‘This is your last chance to talk. Because if we find out that you’ve been withholding vital evidence your feet won’t touch the ground. I’ll be back shortly.’
‘I think that’s quite enough for now,’ said the solicitor angrily.
Scott remained silent but began shaking uncontrollably. Jack paid no heed to the look of accusation from the solicitor and signalled for Campbell to open the door and call for medical help. Another officer sped into the room whilst Jack and his sidekick exited.
Slamming the door shut behind him, Jack snapped, ‘Well, you fucked that up, didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t know he was going to wet himself, did I?’
‘Yes, I could see how mesmerised you were by his performance. But I’m referring to your bloody phone. You interrupted the proceedings. Do not bring that into the room again.’
‘Well, we never got a confession anyway,’ the officer retorted.
Just then Jack’s phone rang. Campbell sniggered. The DCI stared at him measuredly and reluctantly answered the call. He listened for a minute, then hung up.
Campbell asked, ‘So who was that?’
Jack looked right through him.
‘I don’t think we’re approaching this the right way, sir, if you don’t mind my saying so.’
‘Really?’ commented Jack with mock interest.
‘Well, it just seems a little bit desperate. A wee bit out of character – for you, I mean.’
Jack watched him closely. The officer clammed up. ‘Don’t be afraid to say.’
‘It’s more the kind of thing that DC Clements would do,’ added Campbell cautiously. He gave Jack a nervous smile.
The DCI looked at him steadily. ‘I’ll deal with you later,’ he replied.
As the disgruntled officer marched off down the corridor, Jack leaned against the wall and deliberated on what to do next. He looked in through the small window in the door and saw Scott having his pulse checked. The solicitor caught his eye and glared at him. Jack pretended not to notice. Then came a look of reproach from the medic officer, and Jack felt a pang of guilt at what he’d put Scott through.
He’s right, of course. I am turning into Clements, he thought. Jack recalled Colin’s words to him on the phone. Terrorising anyone, let alone little old ladies, was something that Jack had never dreamed he would be accused of. And it galled him that someone like Clements had the nerve to bring it up, especially since the DC had received complaints from both Alice and Margaret for his own misconduct. But the sight of his near-naked body in the police station faded into obscurity when it transpired that Margaret Crawford was more upset about the fact that Campbell had allowed a bully to interrogate her. And this on the day of her husband’s death. Given that he was in charge of the case, Jack was also implicated and his reputation was now running parallel to Colin’s. A home truth that disturbed him.
But desperate times required desperate measures, he reassured himself. He was particularly desperate to find out whether Scott was somehow involved in Alistair’s disa
ppearance or whether he was simply a witness to it. There was no evidence either way. His intention had been to intimidate him, to soften him up. Neither he nor his colleague had bargained on Scott falling apart quite so easily. It disturbed him that Scott appeared so vulnerable and he pondered whether he should allow a proper doctor to see him in order to assess his mental state. Whichever way he looked at it, his entire operation seemed increasingly pointless as there was still no trace of Alistair’s body. The case now hung on Caroline’s recollection of events. He had arrived at the hospital bright and early, confident that he would come away with something to pin on Scott.
There had been a major setback.
Although it was only 24 hours ago, it now seemed an age since he had found her. Since then, Campbell had informed him how elated her family had been at the news that their daughter had been located. Jack, too, had been on cloud nine and seemingly in total control of events. His discovery of Caroline had implied that the case was about to be closed. Not so.
‘I don’t know what happened to Alistair,’ she said apologetically, in her hospital bed.
Jack stared at her, his mouth slack, trying not to show disappointment. ‘So… when did you last see him?’
‘On the night of the storm.’
Jack felt irritated again. ‘What happened?’
‘We tried to take cover, but then we got separated. I looked everywhere. But I was frightened and I was soaking wet. I’m pregnant. I wanted to protect my baby – his baby – so I went to find somewhere safe.’
‘And this is how you came to be at Alice’s place?’
‘Yes. I don’t know how I got there. I was lost. I came out of the woods and there was her house, up on the hill. I went there to get shelter, hoping that he would have done the same, but when I got there I fainted, I think. Alice looked after me. So I stayed there.’
Jack watched as her blue pupils drifted like twin satellites descending into the Southern Hemisphere of her eyes. He remained there for a moment, tilted his head slightly, then said, ‘You stayed there? That doesn’t make sense. Didn’t you think that your family would be worried about you?’