Jack by the Hedge (Jack of All Trades Book 4)

by DH Smith

  He made a cup of tea, using the one cup left in the cupboard. And while he drank, phoned through the takeaway order, to be picked up in half an hour. It was only once he’d come off the phone, that he considered whether it would be to Mr Swift’s taste. It was from the Indian restaurant up the road. He had no doubt Rose enjoyed a varied palate, but you never know with old people.

  Too late. It was ordered.

  His phone rang. It was Mia.

  ‘Hello, love.’

  ‘He’s back,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Bloody Tony.’

  ‘Language, please,’ he said, the admonishment giving him an instant to consider his response.

  ‘Tony is back,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Here. Now. In the flat.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He came to get some clothes he’d left,’ she groaned. ‘That was supposed to be it.’

  ‘And it wasn’t?’

  ‘He said how sorry he was about everything. And he’d packed up finally with Emily…’

  ‘Or she packed him up.’

  ‘Of course. He’s a total liar. And then I was sent off to do my homework… And next thing I know they’re in the bedroom. At it.’

  Jack was torn. Although on the side of Mia, he could see it from Alison’s perspective too, but it wouldn’t do to say that.

  ‘It won’t last,’ he said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The man’s an opportunist. Emily has thrown him out so he’s gone back to your mother. Soon he’ll find somebody else…’

  ‘And lie his head off to Mum. Two-timing again.’

  ‘And she’ll find out and kick him out.’

  ‘But that could take ages.’

  What could he say? Alison’s sex life in some ways was a mirror to his own, but at least he didn’t have a twelve year old taking notes. Or rather, only one weekend a fortnight.

  ‘What can I do, Dad?’

  ‘Is there a counsellor at school you can talk to?’

  ‘I’m talking to you.’

  Good point. And it was better to be talked to than not, having been there, and all stations between.

  ‘It’s difficult, I know, Mia,’ he said with some effort. ‘But the relationship won’t last. Your mother kicked him out once, she’ll kick him out again.’

  ‘Then he could come back again. And again!’

  ‘You could try getting on with him,’ he said warily.

  ‘I don’t like him. He’s creepy.’

  ‘Why don’t you play some music, read a book, go on Facebook, instead of putting your ear to the wall.’

  ‘Thanks for nothing.’

  She’d rung off, obviously angry at his uselessness. He sat in his armchair dejected for a few minutes. There was little he could do. Mia and Alison were in Brighton, he was over 70 miles away. Perhaps he should talk to Alison, not that he’d get through at the moment, and when he did – she’d tell him to mind his own business. But surely she could sense what their daughter was feeling.

  Or maybe she just didn’t want to.

  He tried three times to send Mia a text. Some chin up words. Each time, he erased them. They were too rah rah. She wanted him to get rid of Tony, and he couldn’t.

  He had to send her something. And tried once more: Try talking to your mum. I will as well. See you at the weekend. Dad xxx

  Jack read it through, changed the x’s to capitals, ‘as well’ to ‘too’ and sent it. Then sprang out of the armchair. He picked up his binoculars and left the house to get the takeaway.

  He had his own love life to consider.

  Chapter 45

  From outside the park gate, he phoned Rose. She buzzed the gate open. He entered with the carrier bag and his binoculars in their case around his neck. The park was shades of black, street lamps and houselights spilled orange at the edge. This was the city, there would always be light pollution, just less in the middle of an unlit space.

  He halted near his wall and looked up at the stars. There were the Pleiades in the north west, close to setting. That was disappointing. They’d be gone by the time he would be out here with Rose. But there was the Square of Pegasus – and later, from it, he’d try to find the Andromeda Galaxy. At best a smudge, even with binoculars, but the thought of being able to see another galaxy, across impossible distances, always excited him.

  The Summer Triangle was still up there, the three bright stars of Cygnus, Deneb and Lyra at its points. And yes, the Corona Borealis – the Crown of the North, like a set of golden false teeth through binoculars. And Cassiopeia, a spread-winged bat pointing to the Pole Star, and from there to the Great Bear. A good night for seeing.

  Dinner first.

  As he walked down the drive he heard it, and thought it must be coming from one of the gardens surrounding the parks. Then realised it couldn’t be. The leaf vac. Seven o’clock at night. Surely not. He could not see where it was, somewhere near the end of the park. He had no doubt who it must be, vaccing in the dark.

  He continued down the drive, the groan of the vac growing. Past the tennis courts, the fencing a solid black mesh against the deep purple, along to where the drive turned into the Mayor’s Avenue. There, he could just make her out, an amorphous shadow in the rose garden. He’d not been in it. Where was the entrance? He brushed a hand along the hedge, going back and forth until he found the gap. Then headed for the growl.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ he shouted above the racket as he approached.

  She continued vaccing, and for a second he was unsure whether she’d heard him or seen him at all. He put an arm on her shoulder and pulled her away from the handles. She didn’t fight him but stood listlessly.

  ‘Where’s the damned off switch?’ he exclaimed searching around the handles. She pressed it for him. The silence engulfed them. She had her hood up, her face a black mask.

  ‘What are you doing vaccing this time of night?’

  He grasped her arm and slid down to her hand. It was cold and lifeless.

  ‘What are you doing vaccing this time of night?’ he repeated.

  ‘I have to do Amy’s work,’ she said wearily. ‘The park must be clean.’

  ‘But more leaves will blow in overnight,’ he exclaimed. ‘And it’s not your fault she’s gone.’

  ‘She wouldn’t be if Ian were still here.’

  ‘You’ve lost me,’ he said.

  ‘I put Rose in the playground. He wouldn’t have.’

  ‘I don’t see why you’re torturing yourself about that. She and he were in a racket together. You’re not responsible for her arrest.’

  ‘Not even if I killed Ian?’

  This struck him like a slap. ‘What are you saying, Liz?’

  ‘I poisoned him. Yesterday at lunch time.’

  His hair was prickling, his legs hollow. He recalled Mr Swift telling him Ian had gone to Liz’s for lunch.

  ‘Are you telling me you murdered Ian? Seriously.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  He was choked, flailing. She had thrown it on him. The heat of the takeaway pressed through his trouser legs. Liz was confessing to murder. To him. Out here, in the rose garden.

  ‘How did you kill him?’ he managed to say.

  ‘With death stalk mushrooms. I put them in a pie and a sauce. He was hungry. He told me it was delicious. So I gave him some more.’

  Jack recalled the detective constable telling him Ian’s last words – she killed me. What should he do? As if a cat had placed a half dead bird at his feet. His responsibility now.

  ‘Leave the vac here,’ he said. That was easy to deal with. ‘I’ll put it away.’

  ‘The yard’s locked.’

  ‘I’ll put it in the marquee,’ he said. ‘There won’t be any giants tonight,’ he added, surprising himself at his humour. ‘But let’s get you home first.’

  Linking his arm in hers, he led her out of the gate of the rose garden. What on earth should he do? Call the police? Run away and put his head under
a pillow? Did it have to be true?

  They walked slowly along the path, the leaves slippery underfoot.

  She said, ‘It wasn’t at all necessary. I didn’t have to kill him. Amy didn’t have to be arrested. He’d still be at home with his father instead of in the mortuary.’ He felt her clutching his arm. ‘It’s a horrible way to die. Vomiting and cramps. I left him out there, doubled up in pain. I told him I’d phone the hospital.’

  ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘I left him there,’ she said. ‘It was you who found him.’

  He recalled Ian’s agony on the bench last night. The awful drive to the hospital as he retched and kicked on the seat beside him.

  They were at her door. It was slightly ajar, passage light spilling out on to her path.

  ‘Go in,’ he said. ‘I’ll be along as soon as I can. I’ve got to deliver this takeaway next door. And I should eat some or they’ll be suspicious.’

  ‘Don’t be long,’ she said and kissed him lightly on the cheek. And went in, closing the door after her.

  Jack remained on her path for a minute or so. In that cottage was a woman who’d confessed to murder. He knew what he should do, what law abiding citizens did in such circumstances. Call the police. Lay the half dead bird in their lap.

  But he was stuck with the sanctity of the confessional.

  It’s up to you, she’d more or less said. Doom me or save me. Not that half an hour or so would make any difference. The man was dead. And he had hot food in a bag to deliver.

  He breathed deeply and deliberately as he made his way next door. He knew too much. And felt resentful. Twice this evening, the impossible had been asked of him. Mia and Liz. As if he were a faith healer, a gentle touch on a cheek and the lame would walk.

  At least he could deliver a dinner.

  He rang the bell.

  In the seconds before it was answered, he considered leaving the food on the step and running off. Then he wouldn’t have to speak. Find topics of interest.

  ‘Took your time,’ exclaimed Rose as she opened up and pecked him on the cheek. ‘Ooh, you’re cold.’

  ‘I was looking at the stars,’ he said.

  The heat hit him as he entered. He unzipped his coat.

  ‘Leave your coat in the hall,’ said Rose, taking the carrier of food.

  Jack hung up his jacket and walked the few steps to the sitting room. Mr Swift was sat at the table where three places were laid. Rose was already taking out the aluminium trays from the bag and putting them on place mats in the middle of the table.

  ‘Hello, son,’ said Swift with a wave. ‘I’m so stiff. I think I’ve overdone it, that bricklaying.’

  ‘You were going like you were on double bonus,’ said Jack.

  ‘Nice job, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Class bricklaying,’ he said.

  ‘What have we got here?’ said Rose. All the trays were out, and she was taking off the cardboard tops. ‘Smells lovely.’

  ‘Indian food,’ said Jack.

  ‘And what exactly?’

  He tried to recall. It had been so long ago he’d made the order. In another galaxy, a world like this one, but with one item altered.

  ‘Pilau rice,’ he said. And found it wasn’t so difficult to recall, once he’d begun. He tended to go for the same things. ‘Onion bhajees, samosas, sag aloo, vegetable curry, and chicken kurma.’

  Rose was putting spoons in the containers.

  ‘Do you like Indian food, Mr Swift?’ she said.

  ‘I do,’ said the old man eagerly. ‘Me and Ian would go up the Himalaya in Stratford sometimes, after we’d been to the pictures.’

  ‘I’ll get some water,’ said Jack.

  He went into the kitchen. It was thoroughly tidy. Nothing on the units, nothing in the sink. He sank onto a stool. There was food out there. He should eat. What on earth was he going to talk about? The stars had gone out. Brighton had disappeared. There was the wall. How much could you say about a wall? And there was a woman next door who had told him a secret.

  Rose came in.

  ‘What’s up, Jack?’

  ‘Tired,’ he said.

  ‘There’s something more,’ she said.

  ‘Your sister,’ he said with a flap of his hand. ‘I saw her just now. She’s in a bad way.’

  ‘What do you mean a bad way?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Can’t tell me what, Jack?’

  He smiled weakly. ‘More than I already have.’

  Rose stared at him, biting a finger nail. ‘It’s about today, isn’t it?’

  ‘Might be.’

  ‘It’s about Ian.’

  He stiffened involuntarily.

  ‘It is about Ian,’ she insisted. And when he didn’t reply, she pushed him on the chest. ‘His death wasn’t heart or anything like that, was it?’ He didn’t reply. ‘Someone killed him? Didn’t they? And she knows.’

  He looked at her. He should be denying this, heading her off somewhere, but he lacked the energy.

  ‘Doesn’t she?’ she continued.

  He said, ‘She was out there, vaccing in the rose garden. And she told me that she killed Ian.’

  Rose’s hands went to her face. ‘My sister! My perfect sister.’

  ‘I said I’d go over there,’ said Jack.

  Neither spoke for a while. He’d told her. Was it a betrayal? Either way, it wasn’t just him anymore.

  ‘We’ll both go over,’ she said at last. ‘But let’s play normal and eat. Mr Swift is tired, he’ll want to go to bed early, I’m sure. Then we’ll both pop next door. Like good neighbours.’

  Chapter 46

  Zar and Eddie Thomas were in a pizza house on High Street North at East Ham. It was a quiet night, with only a few other customers at the tables. They’d finished their main meal and were drinking coffee. Thomas was in jeans and a check shirt. Zar had simply taken off his overalls. He had no other clothing, having left home with so little.

  ‘We could go to a club,’ said Thomas thoughtfully, ‘or what do you feel about drag?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Zar, excited and scared.

  ‘I’d like to go back to my place, but I share with a straight cop – and it’d be all round the station if I brought someone back.’ He laughed and lightly punched Zar on the shoulder. ‘A bit like your parents.’

  ‘Bring someone back?’ said Zar, spluttering into his coffee. ‘You must be joking. My mum was horrified at a few mags and some chat room stuff. I couldn’t bring you back. Or if I did, I’d have to lie – and we’d all sit together in the front room watching TV while they puzzled out who you were.’

  ‘Or how about a quiet bar?’ mused Thomas. ‘I don’t want anyone else grabbing you.’

  ‘I don’t drink,’ said Zar.

  Thomas shrugged. ‘Explore the fruit juices while I go through the cocktail menu.’ Then added, ‘Or perhaps we could go to your pavilion…’

  ‘Liz wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘We’re not exactly going to scream from the rooftops. Or are we?’ He laughed.

  ‘It’d have to be with the lights off,’ said Zar.

  ‘All the better to get the feel of things,’ said Eddie with a smirk. His phone buzzed. He scowled as he pulled it out of his trouser pocket. ‘I hope this isn’t work stuff.’ He looked at it. ‘A text. No panic. They’re releasing Amy.’ He smiled. ‘Small fry. Though she had a lot to say, once she realised she might get off if she sang…’ He stopped and added, ‘But she wasn’t any help on Swift’s death. And I’m starting to believe it had nothing to do with the scam.’

  ‘How did Ian die?’

  ‘Didn’t I say? Poisoning of some sort. The lab report isn’t in yet.’

  ‘No, you didn’t tell me.’

  ‘I thought it would be all round the park.’

  ‘What sort of poison?’ said Zar.

  ‘That’s what I asked Liz. What poisons she kept in her greenhouse. She said nothing you could put in a coffee. OK for suic
ide, not for murder.’

  ‘She had me collecting death stalks yesterday,’ said Zar.

  ‘What are death stalks?’

  ‘Poisonous mushrooms. There’s some around the park. Deadly.’

  ‘I asked her about mushrooms,’ mused Eddie. ‘She told me there weren’t any. I distinctly remember that. I’ve got it in my notebook. She said there’s none in the park.’

  ‘There are,’ insisted Zar. ‘Well, there were. Yesterday she got me collecting them all up. I gave them to her to burn. She told me not to tell anyone.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘So there wouldn’t be a panic.’

  Thomas thought a while, scratching his chin. ‘She lied to me, Zar. Now why would she do that?’

  ‘Because you’re a cop.’

  Thomas drained his coffee and stood up. ‘It’s the little things, Zar. Pick up on the little things. We’re going to go and see her.’

  ‘What? Me too?’

  ‘She can’t lie with you there.’

  Chapter 47

  Jack was hungry, surprisingly so. He hadn’t eaten after work, deciding he’d make the most of the takeaway. Liz’s confession had temporarily removed his appetite, but sharing the burden with Rose brought it back again. Rose too was hungry, though attentive to Mr Swift, making him up a plate.

  They talked of the food, perhaps exaggerating, a safe topic they could share. The sweetness and coconut taste of the kurma contrasting with the vegetable curry.

  ‘If only Ian could’ve been here,’ said Mr Swift, with a shake of the head.

  Jack and Rose looked at each other. Neither picked up the topic.

  ‘Though he was never one for company,’ continued Mr Swift, ‘but that Amy used to come round after work. I never knew what that was about. She being married and the size of her.’

  ‘Some men like big women,’ said Rose. ‘More meat.’ She laughed. ‘Or chicken kurma.’

  ‘Ooh, but I am that stiff,’ said Mr Swift, pressing his back. ‘When I was twenty I could work like that for a month and feel nothing. Drink a dozen pints and go out dancing. Now, look at me. A few bricks and I feel like my back has broken in ten places.’