by Krishna Ahir
"What, when you punched that boy in the face?"
"I'm not talking about that." She indicated and turned back into their original lane. "But he deserved that. He was an arsehole."
"He was also almost two feet taller than you."
"And this is also totally off track from what I wanted to talk to you about." Her dark eyes momentarily moved to him, so that he knew not to interrupt. "Remember Miss Tasker got us all to introduce ourselves to the group?"
"I told her I wanted to be a Mechanic, like my Dad." He thought back to the scene of the classroom. Of the little girl stood at the front, in a blazer two sizes too big, with dark bangs covering her face. "And you said that you wanted to be one too. So that you could work with me."
"Everyone laughed," Barbara completed, turning slightly red as she reminisced. "And Lou asked if we were going out."
"You gave him the dirtiest look I think I've ever seen," Christopher laughed. "Scared the absolute shit out of him. Huh... There seems to be a running theme here with you and boys."
"What, that I hated them? Well, all of them except you. But... Do you remember what I said after, when Miss Tasker asked me why?"
Christopher didn't respond. He didn't need to. He could remember it clear as day.
"I said that I wanted to work with you, because you were the coolest person that I knew."
A dull hum filled the inside of the car as Christopher's phone vibrated. Even before checking the screen, he knew who the text was going to be from.
Maddie's name filled the centre of the illuminated screen.
"Well what are you waiting for, stud? Get to replying."
Flicking his pupils over the message as he clicked out a response, Christopher spoke over to Barbara. "So where are we meeting everyone?"
"Dan said outside Krispy Kreme's. Opposite the cinema."
Parkridge Shopping Centre lay fifteen miles North of Grand Stone Bay, off of the third motorway junction (which the pair had missed). It overlooked a number of the fields and valleys and was a regular haunt for the teenagers of Grand Stone Bay and the surrounding towns and villages. It wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination, but it was the best that they had in the area. Three stories tall, it bordered the industrial estate and housed a number of shops ranging from clothes boutiques to technical paraphernalia, as well as a sizeable cinema. Busses ran regularly out of the city centre to the retail park but were rarely trusted to arrive on time.
Barbara had been beyond happy that she had secured her Father's car for their outing.
"Okay, cool," Christopher replied. Noting the time at the top of his phone, as he finished his reply to Maddie and sent the message, he turned back towards Barbara. "We're already five minutes late. Here's hoping Lester doesn't get into too much trouble when I'm not there."
"You're hoping he doesn't buy tickets to a horror film?" Barbara teased, trying to cover her concern for Christopher. While he seemed to have forgotten finding the mangled cats, she still decided to err on the side of caution. She had only been half joking about Lester. The last thing Christopher needed was to see some kind of gruesome slasher flick; especially when he had seen the real deal first hand.
"Trust me, in Parkridge he can get up to way worse than that," Christopher replied. "Last summer he glued mirrors to the toes of his shoes and walked around looking up girls' skirts."
"That's sick."
"Yeah, but at the same time you've gotta admire the inventiveness of it. Hey, it's at least a bit more intelligent than the time we-"
"-spent all day running up the down escalator, and down the up escalator," Barbara finished, chuckling. "Why the hell did we do that? God, we're such idiots."
Joining her in a boisterous chuckle, Christopher felt their conversation slip into silence.
Barbara was the only person that he could do this with. Sit and enjoy their company, while at the same time being devoid of conversation. The sensation was calming and relaxed, giving him some time to switch off and take some time to appreciate his best friend.
He was glad that she supported his interest in Maddie. God knew, if Barbara didn't approve then he would have never heard the end of it.
Not to mention, Christopher wouldn't particularly want to date someone that she didn't like; someone that couldn't get along with his best friend.
The sound of Ed Sheeran's vocals punctuated their silence as Barbara's favorite album hummed from the car's sound system. Reaching the final track on the disk, it looped back to the beginning and slipped into the instrumentals of the first track. Having long since memorized the beat of the song, she began to rhythmically tap her finger against the rim of the steering wheel.
All around them, the other cars had slowed to a crawl as the northbound motorway descended into a crawl of traffic. Rattling along next to them, a rust-coated van loaded with metal piping matched their pace.
It was still another two miles until they reached the roundabout that they needed to take.
Outside of her peripheral vision, Barbara could hear Christopher humming along to the music. Feeling herself starting to smile, she joined him.
The tone changed and the second song kicked in with a heavy guitar riff.
Voices rising, the inside of the car was soon filled by the sound of their tone-deaf duet.
James Harold felt the thrum of the engine pulse through his fingers as he twisted the key in the ignition. The purring of the car cut short and he was left sitting in silence in the car park of the Grand Stone Bay Morgue.
A sandstone brown single-story building, it stood at odds to the monolithic buildings of the city around it, yet somehow managed to perpetuate a more intimidating appearance.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Harold checked to make sure that it was on full volume. Serious though the case was, if something happened to Joslyn while he was gone, the nurse would need to get in touch with him. He couldn't afford to miss any potential calls.
Satisfied that he would be able to hear the phone, Harold slipped it back into his jacket and looked back out of the car window at the morgue.
A subtle sense of dread plucked at him.
He needed to speak to the Coroner; to discuss the findings and examine the body of Odette Tate himself. However, that wasn't the problem. He was so used to seeing the dead that, much to his shame, it barely affected him at all.
What he was dreading was seeing Drake Gregory.
So determined was he to expose the potential Detective to the world of murder investigation, Harold had invited him along to sit in on the examination and talk with the Coroner. An action that he found himself regretting.
Harold hated appearing vulnerable. Like he needed sympathy. Yet, as of late, that's exactly how he was feeling. The longer Joslyn's illness went on, the more he felt as if he was projecting an air of weakness. So he attempted to cover his emotional vulnerability with a cold and hard mask.
However Drake was extremely sharp.
He wasn't sure if his mask would fool him. It had been slipping a lot as of late, so he decided to arrive early and give himself time to prepare.
Locking his car, he entered the morgue through the automatic sliding doors. He could barely remember walking down the hallway or through the doors.
A curious thought settled on him, questioning whether his loss of time was a result of the building's nature. Did the dead, who's time had been stolen from them, regain it by taking that of those who visit them?
The pale linoleum of the floor squeaked beneath the soles of his leather shoes. Momentarily glancing down, his eyes picked out a smudge of rubber, from the wheel of some kind of cart.
Around him a heavy chill choked the air, from the refrigeration unit used to keep the bodies below freezing. A cloud of smoke escaped his lips as he breathed.
Staring past the vapor, he could see the Coroner at work on the body of Odette Tate.
Looking up over the body, the large man ceased the movement of his scalpel before placing the instrument down. Dar
k red blood decorated the silver surface of the blade.
"Any news?" Harold asked, pulling himself out of his daze.
"It looks like the government is looking to cut funding to the NHS," the Coroner replied, matter-of-factly, as he snapped off his latex gloves. "Again."
"I meant about Mrs. Tate. Do you have any news on Mrs. Tate?"
"You were right about her being pushed. We're lucky she was so old. Brittle bones. The corpse has cracks and bruising along the ulnas, like they were grabbed. The direction and position indicate that she was pushed. If someone had grabbed her to stop a fall there would have been dislocation of the joints too."
"Okay, good. Well, not good. You know what I mean."
"Rough day?" the Coroner asked, looking at Harold. Despite his stooped posture, he found his eye line level with the iron grey of the Detective's hair.
"Rough week."
"It's Monday."
"I meant last week," Harold half muttered, pawing at his face to rub his eyes. "Sorry, I've been really distracted recently. Joslyn's been in remission for three weeks now."
The Coroner broke into a bright smile. "Surely that's a good thing, James? That's wonderful news!"
"You'd think so..." He ignored the cheer and averted his eyes, opting instead to stare down at the mottled and discolored body that lay between them. "I just can't seem to settle. The nurse is with her in the days, and I'm still taking care of her at night, but-... I don't want to get my hopes up. Not in case there's another relapse."
Blue eyes narrowing in sympathy, the Coroner removed his glasses and tucked them into the breast pocket of his lab coat. "How about the kids? What do they think about it all?"
"Stephanie's just glad that it's gone for now. She's been bringing the grandkids over a lot recently, so that's good at least... Andy looks a lot like Joslyn. Same smile." A deep and loving expression filled Harold's face. "Tommy looks more like his Dad, though. He started Junior college back in September. Almost finished his first year."
"From where I'm standing it all looks pretty good," the Coroner chuckled, in an attempt to cheer his friend up. "I don't want to jinx you or anything, but things are looking like they're on the up and up. Hell, I bet Jullian is even visiting."
"He's come over from Manchester a few times, yeah. Back when Joslyn first got sick, he took the dogs. Said that it wouldn't help me, having to look after them too. They seem to like it at his home."
"See," the large man persisted. "There's nothing to feel down about. Just take things as they come. I'm sure it's all going to work out in the end. Things always do with you."
Harold didn't respond immediately, instead opting to place his hands on the chilling metal of the table. When he did reply, his voice was weighted and steady. "Listen. Don't mention any of this in front of Drake, okay? I want him focused on this case, not feeling sympathy for me, alright?"
The Coroner only nodded a response.
Glancing up at the wall-mounted clock, he knitted his brows together and checked the time. "Speaking of your guy, shouldn't he be getting here soon?"
"Not for another five minutes. I told him to get here for half past."
"Didn't want him to see you down and out?"
"In so many words..." Harold muttered, half-heartedly. "I just don't want him getting distracted from the case."
The Coroner smirked. "Sounds to me like you're grooming him."
"What, like Nick did with me?" For the first time since he entered the morgue, Harold allowed a smile to tug at his mouth. "No, no... Not Drake. He's ambitious; he'll get there on his own. Byron on the other hand... He's the one I've got my eye on. It's just a shame he's not the one that caught this case."
"I bet that hasn't stopped you from assigning him to it anyway."
"He needs all the help he can get."
"Who, Drake or Byron?"
The conversation suddenly stopped short as Drake arrived, pushing through the heavy swinging doors. Draped over his shoulders he wore the provided white coat, and he had already pulled on his Latex gloves.
Despite the somber and serious mood that hung over him, Harold could feel a subtle air of anticipation around Drake. He was clearly excited for his first consultation with the Coroner, regarding a murder investigation.
"Sorry, sorry," he apologized. "I'm really late, aren't I?"
"You're not late," Harold replied, stopping him with a calm tone. "I was just early. You haven't missed anything; we've just been catching up."
"That's exactly right," the Coroner smiled. "I haven't even told him the COD yet."
"Oh, okay," Drake breathed, relieved. "So..." He took a breath and looked down at Odette's body. "What was it that killed her?"
"Subdural Hematoma," the large man stated in a matter of fact manner. "After being pushed, the victim caught her head on the corner of the dresser. The blow to the head ruptured a number of veins other than these around the contusion, causing brain damage." He indicated a deep purple spot on the scalp, darker than the rest of the decomposing skin, above Odette's ear. "She would have seized up within minutes, and died a few hours later. Horrible way to go."
Harold watched the younger Officer's mouth twist into a grimace.
Following on with procedure, in an attempt to take Drake's mind off of the harrowing nature of the crime, the Detective indicated a number of plastic tubes, set off to the side. Placed onto a steel gurney, the clear surfaces caught the overhead lighting in a liquid glare.
"I take it you lifted some evidence from the body?"
"Before I washed her, yeah. The crime scene lads had already bagged the clothes, but I found those when I combed through her hair."
Drake grasped one of the cylinders and lifted it up, peering at the contents. "Hair?"
"That's right. And it didn't belong to Mrs. Tate. Wrong color. It's also the wrong length."
"Could it have come from the son?" Harold asked.
"No," Drake added. "Her son has grey hair. Buzz cut. This is much too long."
"So best bet, this came from the killer." Looking back over at the Coroner, Harold nodded his appreciation. "Good work."
"Don't thank me yet. Only one of the hairs has a tag on it. And even then, if their DNA isn't on record, you're one-way blind."
"Still, we have DNA," Drake said, optimistically. He set down the tube and turned back towards the body. "Which means we'll be able to eliminate any suspects we pull in."
"Come back to me when you have any suspects to eliminate," Harold said, his voice flat and steady. "But..." He took a break. "You're right. And you know... It never hurts to look on the bright side every once in a while."
Chapter 14
Pulling up outside Christopher's house, Barbara slowed the car to a crawl and checked the oncoming lane, before swerving into an empty space beside the curb. Rolling into place beneath a recently lit lamppost, the entire car was swathed in a dull orange glow.
Taking her right hand off of the wheel, Barbara reached up and started to pick at the corner of her mouth. Remnants of BBQ sauce, evidence of their meal at the Parkridge TGI Fridays, still clung to the corners of her lips.
"Thanks for the lift," Christopher smiled, shifting in his seat in an attempt to access the clasp of the seatbelt.
"Don't mention it," she replied, sucking on her finger before turning the stereo down. "It's not as if you could've walked back."
"Well I could have," he laughed. "But it would have taken fucking hours."
Nodding towards the front of her friend's house, swamped with shadow, Barbara lowered one eyebrow. "When does your family get back?"
"This Sunday, I think," Christopher replied. "Or next Monday. Either way, they're getting back really late or really early."
"Are you going to be glad when they're home?"
"Maybe," he silently grinned. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss them... At least a little bit."
"Do you think your sisters miss you?" Barbara asked, an ever so slight amount of humor present in her voice.
"A little bit. I'm pretty sure they miss the cat more, though."
"Speaking of..." Barbara squinted her eyes and peered through the darkness, towards the front door. "He's laying on your porch."
Christopher tooted under his breath and followed the line of her eyes. "Damn him... He'll go out of the flap on the back door, but he'll never go back in through it." Patting down his pockets, he made sure that he had everything before exiting the vehicle. "Little arsehole," he added.
Rolling down her window to wave, Barbara called after Christopher as he made his way along the garden path. "See you tomorrow!"
"By the corner, yeah?"
"Yeah, same as always."
Stooping to scoop up the cat, Christopher heard Barbara's car rev slightly before peeling away and vanishing down the road. The distant sound of the engine blended with the muffled purr escaping Crystal as Christopher slipped his hands beneath the feline and cradled him in the crook of one arm.
Fishing into his pocket for the house key, with his free hand, Christopher took a deep breath as he stared down at the ground. As he did so, Crystal twisted uncomfortably in his grip, in an attempt to wiggle free.
Turning slightly, to readjust his hold on the cat, Christopher's eyes momentarily flicked down the dark street.
Chilling sensation licked at the nape of his neck.
Like someone had just walked over his grave.
An off sensation knotted his stomach. A feeling, like he was watching a horror film and waiting for the jump-scare, gripped him with a dull intensity.
Christopher briefly remembered a September evening, on Barbara's sofa watching The Haunting in Connecticut. The pair had switched off all of the lights and turned her Dad's sound system way up. Midway through the film, Barbara had gotten up to use the toilet. When she returned, he hadn't heard her sneak up on him.
He remembered an uneasy feeling settling on him, in the moments before Barbara grabbed him.
The same sensation knotting his stomach, Christopher dashed his eyes around the empty street. As far as he could see, he was alone. However that did little to quiet his nerves. Rather, it enhanced them.