Reprobates

by Bridgestock, RC

  ‘Can you not come out?’

  ‘I can, but it’ll cost you around six hundred pounds, if I do.’

  ***

  Jen could see Dylan quietly and industriously collecting cleaning materials from under the kitchen sink. It was almost as if his mind went into work mode at times like this, and he proceeded with the job-in-hand without fuss or complaint. She looked at Max with an expression of helplessness and sitting on the stairs she pulled on her boots. Max was still but his breathing was heavy. Her movements were cautious as she knelt down at his side. Dylan came and stood next to her and looked at her questioningly.

  Jen spoke to Dylan in a whisper. As if Max would understand what she said. ‘The vet wants me to take Max to the surgery straight away. You’ll have to get Maisy to nursery. And tell Avril I may be a bit late will you?’ she asked, gathering her thoughts and the collar and lead from the hook behind the door. She accepted the towel and plastic bags Dylan handed to her. ‘Come on fella, let’s go,’ she said soothingly.

  Dylan nodded his head. He looked past her at the clock in the living room, a roll of kitchen paper and more bags in his hand. ‘It’s only half past five, you’ll probably be back long before you have to go into work,’ he said.

  ‘It’s my own fault. I knew I should’ve rung yesterday,’ she said crossly. Jen encouraged Max to move with a gentle tug of his lead.

  ‘The vet might be just erring on the side of caution because of his history,’ Dylan said, trying to calm his wife.

  Maisy started whimpering. Jen raised her eyes up the stairs.

  ‘l’ll go see to her, and deal with this mess,’ he said. ‘You get off.’

  ***

  It was cold. Jen found herself in the driveway with Max, helping him get into the footwell of her car, which in the state he was in, was no easy task. Once achieved, she hurried around to the driver’s side and got in. Her hands were shaking. A sudden slip of the foot on the clutch made the car jerk and it rolled forward, almost hitting the garage door. But this small incident recovered her emotional poise.

  Jen drove carefully, it was still pitch black and the quickest route had no street lighting. She noticed she was holding herself rigid and felt every twist, turn and bump in the road for Max. As she reached the top of Sibden Hall Road she saw in the distance a cloud of far-off lights spangling over Harrowfield Town below. She felt a moment of relief.

  The vets’ practice on Pellan Lane appeared to be deserted when Jen arrived. Negotiating the narrow gated entrance and the gravel pathway she eventually parked as near to the door as possible. She turned off the engine. Max looked up at her with big, brown, sad eyes and tears sprung into hers. On alighting she saw the dark outline of a figure, through the window, heading towards the door of the building. Jen eased Max carefully from the car. The lights in the foyer sprang to life and a vet Jen hadn’t seen before stood in the doorway. ‘Mrs Dylan?’

  ‘Yes. ’

  ‘Come on in. I’m Sam, Sam Gouldthorp,’ she said. Jen looked at the stone steps before her and the longer route of the wheelchair access and debated for a moment the easiest way forward. With pure willpower and the desire to please, Max made one last big effort to climb over the threshold of the veterinary entrance and then, as if it had taken his final ounce of strength, he collapsed on the floor. A sob caught in Jen’s throat as she saw Max splayed, on the tiles. Instinctively the vet bent down to him and as Jen soothed him Sam left, returning just a few minutes later with a large canvas sheet. ‘We’ll use this to carry him in,’ she said. They swapped glances of concern.

  The smell of the vets’ surgery, reminded Jen of the one Dylan carried on his clothes, from the mortuary. Her stomach tightened. Sam Gouldthorp’s eyes looked vaguely puzzled behind her professional looking glasses. She rubbed her hands together rapidly. ‘Sorry, they’re cold, fella,’ she said before proceeding to examine Max. Her open mouth showed a set of brilliant white teeth – without a smile. ‘He’s been sick. There was blood. Did you bring me a sample?’

  ‘No, I didn’t... The man on the phone didn’t ask...’ Jen shook her head. Her face looked drained.

  ‘Didn’t he?’ She gave Jen little blinking glances and made a movement with one hand above the dog, as though stroking the air before reaching for a tissue. ‘His nose is bleeding,’ she said wiping a droplet from the dog’s engorged nostril. ‘Has he knocked it?’

  Jen shook her head, ‘Not that I know.’

  ‘He has no energy, he’s obviously unstable and his attention to what’s going on around him is minimal, wouldn’t you say?’

  Jen nodded her head and stroked Max’s paw lovingly.

  The sheet that they had used as a hammock to carry Max into the examination room table now lay beneath him in a crumpled bloody state.

  Sam appeared thoughtful. She took off her gloves and ran her hand through her hair. ‘Max appears to have some bruising and haematomas under the skin. Have you noticed blood in the stools or bleeding from his rectum at all?’

  Jen shrugged her shoulders. ‘No. But I haven’t been looking.’

  ‘I need to keep him in and get him on a drip to keep him hydrated. I want to run some tests,’ she said touching the soft, golden fur on his ear.

  ‘Any ideas what might have caused it?’ asked Jen.

  ‘I think he’s been poisoned.’

  ‘Poisoned?’ Jen asked, raising her voice.

  ‘You haven’t put any rodent poison down recently have you?’

  Jen shook her head and felt herself sway.

  ‘Are you okay?’ the vet asked, looking at Jen with trepidation.

  Jen nodded and swallowed hard. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I’m not sure if he’s actually eaten the poison. Has he been engaging himself in chasing rodents lately?’

  ‘No, not that I know of... He is going to be alright isn’t he?’ Jen’s heartbeat quickened.

  The vet remained silent and thoughtful. Apprehensively she looked at Jen over her glasses. ‘You sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Tell me. Will he be okay?’

  ‘We need to take this one step at a time, Mrs Dylan, but I can assure you he’s in good hands.’ Sam smiled kindly. ‘The blood tests will hopefully tell us what we are dealing with quite quickly and we can start treating the cause when we know for sure.’

  ‘You’ll ring me? ’ Jen said, her eyes brimming with tears as she watched Max’s eyes close. The room spun and she grabbed hold of the table.

  ‘If you’re going to faint...’

  ‘No, no, I’m fine.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Max, that’s just the drugs taking effect,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I’ll be back soon, baby,’ Jen said, bending over his face. She put her hand on the top of his warm, furry body and planted a kiss on his head. Jen inhaled deeply. She needed to get out of the room before she threw up. She wasn’t about to force Sam Gouldthorp to administer first aid on her too.

  ***

  The house was unoccupied when she arrived home. Jen wandered around willing herself to accept its emptiness. Toys littered the floor. Their home appeared to reflect her dishevelled self. She glimpsed herself in the hallway mirror and pressed her lips tight together as she caught sight of Jack’s familiar scrawl upon the yellow Post-it note. Tears tumbled down her face and she brushed them away with the sweep of her hand.

  ‘Hope everything is okay,’ the note read. ‘Love you! ☺ J X’

  ***

  Lisa was heading into Dylan’s office to pick up his ringing telephone when she caught sight of him arriving. ‘Ah, he’s just here, Sergeant Megnicks,’ she said cheerily. ‘I’ll hand you over to him,’ she said passing Dylan the phone.

  Dylan smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He took the phone from her outstretched hand across his desk.

  ‘Hello, sir. Just a little bit of info for you regarding our man from the canal.’

  ‘Yes?’ Dylan asked, shrugging out of his coat.

  ‘The search of the immediate area has reveale
d a large bath towel that’s in relatively new condition, stuffed in the middle of bushes on Watergate Road. We think there may be a connection.’

  ‘Sounds positive,’ said Dylan, dubiously.

  ‘That’s not all. Further along the road there is what appears to be an attempt to conceal a mountain bike in the same type of hedging.’

  ‘So, we’re thinking he might have cycled to the canal?’

  ‘Possibly, sir.’

  ‘That doesn’t really fit with the clothing left on the banking though does it? Wouldn’t you expect him to be wearing training shoes if he was riding a bike?’

  ‘There is that but... but I’ve saved the best till last. We’ve found a post code stamped on the underside of the bicycle frame which relates to an area about three miles up the canal towards Tandam Bridge. And before you ask, we are looking into that enquiry as a priority.’

  ‘The body that’s missing from the mortuary is going to take precedence this morning. But good work. Keep me posted.’

  ***

  Dylan sat quietly reading over what information they had in relation to Kirsty Gallagher, which wasn’t as much as he would have liked at this stage. What had caused her death? Avril Summerfield-Preston appeared before him. So quietly had she arrived at his desk that it was as if she had passed through the wall. Her manner was quite the opposite. ‘Jen was supposed to be here,’ she said abruptly.

  ‘She had to take Max to the vet. I’m sure she will be in as soon as she can.’

  ‘Better be before nine forty-five,’ she said nodding at the clock, ‘otherwise she will be out of her core time and might as well go home until lunchtime,’ she said raising her eyebrows. ‘On her first day back too, tut tut.’

  ‘Oh, you’re all heart, Avril... Is that it?’

  ‘I don’t make the rules, Dylan. But I abide by them and will not lose sleep over enforcing them. I’m running a busy office and if Jen can’t hack it then maybe she shouldn’t be coming back to work at all,’ she said stiffly before turning on her oversized heels. Wobbling she fell into Lisa who was carrying a cup of coffee into the office for Dylan. Vicky followed Lisa in and the coffee splashed over the carpet and all over the papers that Vicky had in her hand. Avril steadied herself by way of grabbing hold of the filing cabinet and without looking back walked out of the door.

  ‘Knob,’ Vicky said. ‘Sorry would’ve been nice.’

  ‘She been drinking, do you think?’ asked Lisa. ‘I’m sure I got a whiff of something.’

  ‘What you doing rattling her cage?’ Vicky asked, watching Dylan’s dark facial expression with interest.

  ‘I didn’t. She wanted to know where Jen was,’ he said flatly. ‘And don’t you two go starting any rumours.’

  ‘I just bumped into Jen clocking in. She said Beaky would be on the warpath. Don’t worry, she made it, albeit by the skin of her teeth. Bless her, she was as white as a sheet,’ said Lisa.

  ‘I’m sure that Avril is a bloody witch. A drunken one at that. Her friends ought to tell her that putrid perfume she wears doesn’t hide the smell of last night’s booze,’ Vicky said throwing her blonde mane in the direction Avril had walked. ‘Oh, yes, I forgot she doesn’t have any friends, does she Lisa?’

  ‘She’s a proverbial thorn in my bloody side, I know that,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Then you should be thankful to her,’ said Lisa.

  Vicky gave a short laugh that sounded like a pig grunting. ‘How do you work that one out?’

  ‘A thorn in your side will drive you to find someone or thing to remove it. Without her, you wouldn't have travelled as far in your life to find peace and happiness. It’s a quote from someone. I can’t remember who,’ she said with a smile as she placed the cup of coffee in front of Dylan and walked out.

  ‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Vicky as she sat down and mopped up the liquid that had spilt on her paperwork with a tissue from her pocket. ‘You watch, what goes around comes around.’

  ‘Well it can’t come soon enough for me. If it wasn’t for the fact that she knew so much... well, let’s just say I’d have her guts for garters,’ Dylan spat.

  Vicky raised her eyebrows. ‘And what’s that, pray?’

  ‘It’s private. Nothing for you to worry yourself about,’ he said.

  ***

  DI Dylan’s thoughts were interrupted by Lisa’s voice from where she had retreated to her desk outside his office. ‘Sergeant Megnicks on the phone for you again, sir!’

  ‘Dylan,’ he snapped as he picked up the phone.

  ‘Just had it confirmed that the bike was stolen from outside number 27, Maple Crescent, Tandam Bridge. The house is literally on the canal bank towpath. The trusting owner had placed it outside his front gate with no lock to secure it, in fact nothing more than a “For Sale” sign.’

  ‘Damn,’ said Dylan. ‘So the bike might not be connected?’

  ‘The “For Sale” sign has been recovered by the officer attending and it’s awaiting fingerprint examination so we’ll have to see if we have any marks of significance.’

  ‘Update me as and when.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  ***

  Lunchtime and the identity of the man found in the canal still remained a mystery.

  Dylan picked up his phone and dialled the press office. ‘Debbie Canavan?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Dylan.’

  ‘Thanks for ringing,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve got that update you were requesting on the dead man we recovered from the canal yesterday,’ he said.

  ‘A brief description of the clothing would be great to give out to the press. It might jog someone’s memory, and in turn assist in his identification for you maybe?’

  ‘I’ll get it faxed over,’ he said checking his watch. ‘Crikey, I’m due at the mortuary at ten thirty for the post-mortem.’

  ***

  Jen sat at her desk. Her mind in a turmoil. ‘Jennifer,’ shouted Avril Summerfield-Preston, from the bowels of her office. She appeared at her door and headed in Jen’s direction. ‘I need to do a back-to-work interview with you, but first I want you to go to pick up some papers from court and get my dry cleaning,’ she said. Retrieving a dry cleaning docket from her purse she thrust it into Jen’s hand.

  ‘Can I just ring and see how Max is, Avril...’

  ‘Now would not be a good time,’ she said, screwing up her nose. She folded her arms, turned and smiled sweetly at Jen.

  Suddenly Jen felt angry, an anger that only Avril Summerfield-Preston it appeared could conjure up in her. Jen was thankful for the support of her work colleagues who were all perplexed by Avril’s persona or had been at the end of her scornful conduct at one time or another.

  ***

  Dylan crossed the tarmac in the police station’s yard to his car, he turned. Where was Detective Constable Vicky Hardacre? Was it too much to expect her to be following him as requested? Detective Sergeant Paul Robinson appeared as if from nowhere.

  ‘Great timing. You, my friend need a real job to get you back into the routine of proper police work. You’ve been languishing on that development course at training school for far too long. In fact is that a spare tyre I see round your midriff?’

  ‘Three cooked meals a day, with pudding,’ Paul said patting his stomach. ‘The wife’s not impressed.’

  ‘Wait till you see your sister Fearne. She’ll have something to say about those added pounds.’

  ‘What Fitness Fearne? She already has. She also said she’d been working with you.’

  ‘Yeah, she did a good job for us. I was impressed. That reminds me I need to update you regarding the missing corpse and the man pulled from the canal. Oh, and by the way Vicky’s going to be “acting up”. Keep it under your hat she doesn’t know yet.’

  ‘She is?’ he said. He gave Dylan one of his big broad toothy smiles.

  ‘She’s the only one in the office qualified, and she’s more than capable.’

  ‘The supervisory experie
nce will do her the power of good. Hey, glad it’s you rather than me going to the mortuary.’

  ‘Aye well, someone has to do it.’

  ‘It feels good to be back. The duration of that bloody course was way over the top.’

  ‘Aren’t they all?’ Dylan said raising his eyes to the sky. ‘Another tick in a box for you, though. Bloody hell...’ he said looking at his watch, ‘talking of mortuaries we should be there now. V I C K Y, it’s time to go,’ he shouted across the yard.

  ‘Glad to know nothing’s changed,’ Paul laughed, nodding towards Vicky who was dodging around parked cars, papers under her arm, texting with one hand, one arm in her grey bubble coat and a half eaten slice of toast hanging from her mouth.

  ***

  The pair were met at the mortuary by Professor Stow’s theatrical wave from his chubby pink hand. ‘Tea for me, strong and sweet, preferably with a shot of brandy,’ he said to his assistant with a wobble of his big, fat, red chin. There was unusually no belly laugh associated with the larger-than-life character.

  ‘You okay? You don’t seem yourself,’ said Dylan.

  ‘I have to be on my best behaviour,’ he said. His top lip curled back exposing his teeth, as he grabbed Dylan’s arm to steady himself. He stepped into his coveralls. ‘And, between you and me I absolutely hate being watched,’ he added in a whisper.

  ‘Watched, who’s being watched?’ asked Vicky. Her voice was without enthusiasm at what lay ahead.

  ‘I’ve got an eminent surgeon with me today. They’re assessing us again.’ Head down, Professor Stow looked over his half-rimmed glasses and smiled, as he acknowledged the smartly dressed man who had just walked into the room. He was wearing a three piece suit, his outer coat had a velvet collar.

  ‘Eugene Regis,’ he said holding out his hand to Dylan. He nodded in Vicky and Professor Stow’s direction. Dylan noticed the strength in his grip.

  ‘A man of few words unfortunately for me,’ Stow whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Vicky as Eugene turned his back on them to find a place for his shiny black briefcase. ‘Truth be known, I can’t figure out what he’s thinking about my old fashioned ways. We’re dinosaurs to these youngsters, you know,’ he said.