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

by DH Smith

  ‘Early night for you,’ said Rose.

  ‘You can say that again.’

  ‘Thanks for your help today,’ said Jack. Every word had to be chipped out of ice. He’d forgotten how to speak, like Ben Gunn in Treasure Island.

  ‘We started off on the wrong foot, you and me, son,’ said Mr Swift. ‘But you took me to the hospital and you didn’t have to.’ He was wielding his fork in a rather frightening way. ‘And then came with me to the mortuary.’ The old man sighed. ‘He looked just like he had gone to sleep, did Ian. Dead hardly half an hour when we saw him.’

  ‘I was glad I could do something,’ said Jack. ‘Pouring with rain, so I couldn’t work anyway. Then you gave me a hand when the sun came out.’

  ‘Fair’s fair, mate.’

  ‘I was surprised how much you remembered.’

  ‘But didn’t I need that chair!’ He laughed, even as he winced. ‘A lot easier working from the chair. It’s all the bending that kills you.’

  Jack and Rose’s hands went for the last bhaji.

  ‘You have it,’ he said.

  ‘No, you,’ she said. ‘My treat.’ Then she mouthed, ‘Got my money?’

  He nodded, and said to her, ‘I should go next door.’ To Mr Swift he said, ‘I’m a bit worried about Liz. She didn’t look too well.’

  ‘Why don’t you take her a plate of food?’ said Rose.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Jack.

  Rose put some bits and pieces on a plate and covered it in foil while Jack put his jacket on.

  ‘Good to see you, son.’

  ‘And you,’ called Jack, not knowing whether he’d be back or not. Though stargazing was out, but what might be in – he had little idea. The evening had taken a different direction.

  Rose took the plate into the hall and said in a whisper, ‘Let’s have my cash.’

  Jack dug into his pocket and took out the notes. They swapped, she the money, he the plate.

  ‘I’ll get Mr Swift to bed and join you,’ she said.

  Jack left her. Outside, he walked quickly next door, thinking it unlikely that Liz would eat anything, considering the state he’d left her in. But it was a sociable offering. The light was on in her kitchen, though the curtains were drawn.

  He rang the bell.

  This dinner was cooling quickly, even though covered with foil. Well, a minute in the microwave would revive it. Liz was taking her time. This was only a little house. He rang again. Perhaps she was in the bathroom. He felt silly with the plate at the door. An offering for the harvest festival. He rang a third time. He put his ear to the door, there was no sound in the house. She might be in the bath. He put the plate down on the step and took out his phone. He phoned her, going straight to voice mail. He left a message, feeling idiotic: I’m at your door.

  He rang the doorbell once more, and stepped back. There were no lights on upstairs. What was going on? He quickly ran next door to Rose. He rang the bell and heard her coming almost at once.

  ‘You’re back?’ she said. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘She’s not opening the door,’ he said, breathlessly. ‘I’ve rung half a dozen times.’

  Rose thought for a second. ‘I’ve still got a key,’ she said. ‘Wait a sec.’ She took the food from him and went back in.

  He stayed on the step, concerned about what was going on next door. And not wanting to chit chat to Mr Swift. The meal was heavy in his stomach. All this coming and going wasn’t good for digestion. Nor the worry. Liz had been in a state when he’d got her back home. He should have stayed with her, left the takeout on Mr Swift’s step. Liz could be hanging from a rafter or drowning in the bathtub, wrists slashed.

  Rose returned with the key.

  ‘I’m just helping Mr Swift to bed,’ she said, clutching his hand for a second. ‘His back is playing him up. I’ll be over as soon as I can. The key’s a bit tricky. Keep trying.’

  Jack ran next door and put the key in the lock. It wouldn’t turn. A bit tricky, she’d said. He took it out and put it in again. Again it wouldn’t turn. Was it the right key? The trouble he had with keys he was left by customers… He eased the key out slightly and this time it turned. Jack opened the door.

  ‘Hello,’ he called from the hallway.

  ‘Hello, Jack,’ Liz called back. ‘I’m in the kitchen.’

  He strode in hopefully, her voice was confident at least. Though why hadn’t she opened up?

  She was at the kitchen table, the remnant of a meal on her plate.

  ‘What are you eating?’ he said.

  She shrugged. ‘Just an omelette.’

  ‘What sort of omelette?’

  ‘Mushroom.’

  At once, he grabbed the plate and tipped it in the rubbish bin.

  ‘I’m calling an ambulance right away,’ he exclaimed.

  ‘I will deny it,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘Look at me, Jack. I’m fine. Haven’t the medical services got better things to do?’

  ‘Death stalks?’ he said.

  ‘What else?’

  He stared at her helplessly, knowing it was pointless calling an ambulance. She did look well, too well, her cheeks red, she’d brushed her hair and tied it back with a green ribbon. Nothing like the waif in the rose garden, pitiful and appealing.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said. ‘We’ll have a coffee.’

  ‘Rose’ll be here in a few minutes.’

  ‘Three for coffee then. That’ll be nice.’

  He watched as she filled the kettle. She was sprightly, the perfect hostess. Who wouldn’t open her door for him five minutes ago.

  ‘Why did you eat the mushrooms?’ he said.

  She shrugged, taking a cafetiere and coffee down from the cupboard.

  ‘It’s fitting,’ she said. ‘I needn’t have poisoned Ian; he was in trouble anyway. But I was in a rush. Too desperate.’ She spooned coffee into the cafetiere as if each spoonful were a defence. ‘If only I had waited…’ She shrugged, ‘But I didn’t. And that cop is suspicious.’ She turned to him, waving the spoon. ‘Every time I see Mr Swift, I think, what have I abandoned him to.’

  ‘It’s a horrible death. Death stalks,’ he said, thinking of Ian’s agonizing cramps in his van as he ferried him to hospital.

  ‘I don’t want to lose this house,’ she said, as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘And fifteen years in prison – without this sky, the trees. I love this park, Jack. The rose garden in summer, the mist on autumn mornings, my greenhouses.’ She turned to him. ‘What will I see through prison bars?’

  He struggled to find reasons for living, to counter those she’d given for dying.

  ‘Think of your parents,’ he said. ‘Rose.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Rose. She’s tough,’ she said. ‘She’ll bounce back. But think, how would my parents deal with the trial and publicity?’

  She leaned against the counter, awaiting his reply. The kettle was whooshing, the poison oozing into her blood stream. He was a lousy counsellor.

  ‘There’s always a reason to live,’ he said. ‘There’s people, there’s books. You can paint in prison.’

  The doorbell rang.

  ‘Rose,’ he said with relief, someone to come up with better reasons. And went to the door.

  But it wasn’t Rose. Instead, standing there were DC Thomas and Zar.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Thomas with a smile. ‘I was passing and thought I’d drop in. I’ve a few questions for Ms Parker.’

  ‘She’s not feeling too well at the moment,’ said Jack.

  ‘Well, I won’t be long.’

  He pushed past Jack into the house. Zar followed.

  ‘Oh, more company,’ said Liz at the kitchen door. ‘Stay in the sitting room. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just making coffee.’

  Zar and DC Thomas sat on the sofa. Jack sat on the arm of an armchair. He needed a phrase book. Expressions to use when meeting people.

  ‘Might I ask what you’re doing here, Jack?’ said DC Thomas.

  ‘Socia
l call,’ said Jack awkwardly. ‘I was having a meal with Rose and Mr Swift and thought I’d pop over.’

  He noted Zar was fidgety. Cops made everyone feel guilty. Everyone has secrets.

  ‘Hello, Zar.’ He could manage that much.

  ‘Hello, Jack.’

  ‘Been out?’

  Zar shrugged. ‘Just for a pizza.’

  Liz came in with a plate of shortbread which she put on the coffee table.

  ‘Pleasant room you have here, Ms Parker,’ said Thomas. ‘Are they your paintings?’

  ‘Yes, they are,’ she said. ‘That one’s of the park. You probably won’t know the others.’

  ‘Hampstead Heath,’ said Zar.

  ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘You’re very observant.’

  ‘She’s had a meal of death stalks,’ exclaimed Jack. It burst out of him. The politeness. Biscuits and coffee. He had to say it.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Jack,’ she retorted. She turned to the others. ‘I played a little joke on him. And he’s been completely taken in.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound much of a joke,’ said Thomas.

  She shrugged. ‘You’re right. It wasn’t. Totally bad taste. I made a mushroom omelette. What’s that, said Jack when he saw me eating it. Death stalk omelette I said.’ She chuckled. ‘I have a silly sense of humour.’

  ‘It’s in the kitchen bin,’ said Jack.

  ‘Take a look, Zar,’ said Thomas.

  Zar went into the kitchen.

  ‘She has taken them,’ insisted Jack. ‘They don’t take effect immediately…’

  ‘8 to 12 hours,’ said Thomas.

  ‘She’s standing there, playing whatever game with us. And dying,’ said Jack.

  ‘That’s enough!’ shouted Liz. She turned to the detective. ‘Men!’ She threw up her hands. ‘I told him I didn’t want an affair… And now see what he’s doing to me.’

  ‘She’s taken poison. Believe me,’ insisted Jack.

  ‘Get out!’ yelled Liz. ‘Out of my house, right now.’ She pushed him off the arm of the chair. ‘Out! I never want you here again. You forced your way in. Go, get out of my house. I’ll release the park gate for you.’ She continued pushing him, he backed off. She turned to Thomas. ‘Will you help me get him out, officer?’

  ‘I think you’d best leave, Jack,’ said Thomas.

  ‘I’m not lying,’ he insisted, looking for assistance to the detective and Zar.

  ‘Then I’ll find out. But this is Ms Parker’s house, and if she wants you out – then you’d better go.’

  Jack looked at Liz, her face screwed in frenzy. He threw up his hands.

  ‘Don’t say I haven’t told you.’

  And left, slamming the front door.

  In the cold night air, he wondered what to do. He’d told them about the death stalks, but not her confession. Perhaps he should have done. But he couldn’t. Even when she’d turned on him.

  He was going out the garden gate when Rose bumped into him.

  ‘Jack!’ she exclaimed, feeling his body in the gloom. ‘You gave me such a shock. Sorry I’ve been so long. Had to give Mr Swift a back massage. Where’re you going?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘Oh, you can’t.’

  ‘Oh I can. Your sister…’ He waved his hands in frustration. He’d lost the power of civil communication. ‘She’s poisoned herself and is pretending she hasn’t.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Go in and find out. No one believes anything I say.’

  ‘Give me the key.’

  He fished it out of his pocket. ‘Take it. The cop’s in there, and Zar. Your sister is dying. And I’m off home. That’s if she’s remembered to release the gate.’

  He strode on to the drive. He must get home, straight home. Away from this mad world.

  Chapter 48

  Liz was bustling with the coffee in the kitchen, refusing any assistance. Rose joined the others in the sitting room, taking an armchair. Thomas was munching on shortcake.

  ‘Last time I saw you,’ she said, ‘you were arresting Amy.’

  The police officer held up a finger to denote a full mouth, swallowed and said, ‘She’s been released. They might still charge her, but she’s being very helpful.’

  Rose didn’t comment, thinking of the large woman who’d been sitting on her chest and pulling her hair. She turned to Zar to change the topic.

  ‘What’s he like,’ she said playfully, ‘when he’s off duty?’

  Zar smiled. ‘So far, so good. But we’ve only had a pizza together. Honest.’

  ‘So far,’ she said with a wink.

  ‘This is worse than the station canteen,’ groaned Thomas. ‘Talk to anyone, go anywhere, and everyone knows before you do.’

  ‘I like to see you young people getting on,’ said Rose.

  ‘Hark at Methuselah,’ retorted Thomas.

  Liz brought in the coffee mugs on a tray. And passed them round. When they all had one, she sat down in the remaining armchair.

  ‘I don’t want to spoil anyone’s evening,’ said Thomas, ‘but I do need to get to the reason for this visit. Something’s been bothering me, Ms Parker…’

  ‘Liz,’ she said. ‘You can drop the formal.’

  ‘Liz then.’ He put down his coffee and went on. ‘About this afternoon. Specifically about poisonous mushrooms.’

  ‘I’m all ears,’ said Liz.

  ‘You told me there were none in the park. And to be specific – no death stalks.’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘I did. I got Zar to collect them all up.’

  ‘I think that was a misleading answer, Liz, as you led me to believe none grew in the park.’

  ‘I am sorry about that. I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘Hm.’ Thomas chewed his lip, judging the importance of her reply. Then turned to his companion. ‘Zar – you collected all the death stalks?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Do you think you might have missed any?’

  ‘I went round the park a couple of times. Probably not.’

  ‘Hm.’ He thought for a second or two. ‘And what did you do with the mushrooms once you’d collected them?’

  ‘I gave them to Liz. She said she’d burn them.’

  ‘Did she say anything else to you?’

  ‘She said, keep it to myself. She didn’t want to cause panic.’

  ‘Do you agree with that, Liz?’

  ‘Yes, I do. With a big ceremony coming up I thought best to keep it quiet. Death stalks in the park. And you never know, if children find them – they might experiment. You have to be aware of these things in a community setting.’

  ‘Did you burn them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He stared at her, trying to read her. She held his gaze.

  ‘Do you know the symptoms of death stalk poisoning?’ he said.

  ‘Well,’ she began, ‘nothing for quite a while, which makes them so dangerous. Then vomiting and cramps. Then there might be a period of what appears to be recovery for a couple of hours. And then massive liver or kidney failure. Followed by death.’

  ‘You seem to have that off pat.’

  ‘I read it up yesterday,’ she said. ‘When I found out they were in the park.’

  ‘Have you eaten any yourself?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Zar – what did you find in the bin?’

  ‘Remains of an omelette with bits of mushroom in – but I couldn’t say of what sort.’

  ‘So, Liz, why did Jack say you had eaten death stalks?’

  ‘I had a bit of fun,’ she said with a sigh, ‘and then when he was horrified, I told him it was a joke. I know he believed me. We talked of other things. And then out of the blue, he came on to me.’ She threw up her hands. ‘I mean really, Ian dead, what sort of callous beast does he think I am? I told him forcefully that I wasn’t interested. Men! You wouldn’t believe it. He came tonight to see my sister, and then decided that I, a woman by
herself, was a better bet. And when I wouldn’t have it, he had to get his own back.’ She turned up her hands plaintively. ‘Why else come up with such rubbish?’

  ‘Unless you have eaten death stalks.’

  ‘I haven’t. I don’t know how many times I have to say it.’

  Thomas sighed. ‘I don’t know whether to believe you or not, Liz. But I am a lowly detective constable just making a few enquiries to see if Ian Swift’s death might be suspicious. The autopsy is tomorrow, so we can’t even be totally sure that Ian was poisoned. It’s just that Ian himself thought he was.’

  ‘He could’ve been wrong,’ said Liz.

  ‘He could’ve been,’ agreed Thomas. ‘But the doctor seemed to think it the most likely explanation for his sudden death. And he did have lunch with you yesterday, Liz.’

  ‘I didn’t give Liz the mushrooms until mid afternoon,’ interrupted Zar.

  ‘So that’s me off the hook,’ said Liz.

  ‘Unless you found them yourself earlier.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘Lunch would fit the timetable, though,’ said Thomas. ‘He got sick 9 at night. It would have to be poisoning around lunchtime. Dinner would be too late.’

  ‘How can you be so certain it is mushroom poisoning?’ she said.

  ‘You’ve got me there, Liz. I can’t. Not till the autopsy is completed.’

  ‘So isn’t this visit rather premature?’ she said.

  Thomas scratched his chin. ‘I am in a quandary here, Liz. If Ian Swift is found to be poisoned by death stalks – then you are the prime suspect.’

  ‘And if it was something else entirely?’

  ‘As may well be. It all comes down to the pathology report.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘Let’s put aside how Ian Swift may or may not have died. Zar gave you the mushrooms mid afternoon…’

  ‘I agree, he did.’

  ‘So you could have had them in your supper.’

  ‘I burnt them.’

  ‘If you did,’ he insisted, ‘you could be dead by the time we get the autopsy report.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I have no choice, Liz. I am taking you into custody.’

  ‘I’m not going. You have to charge me.’

  ‘You want to be arrested? Fine by me. Obstructing the course of justice.’