by Jo Allen
‘No.’ Doddsy shook his head with regret. ‘Mother Nature took care of him for us. You’d have thought he’d have realised that you can’t outrun a grass fire, but that’s what he tried to do.’
‘And Ashleigh? What happened to Ashleigh? Is she all right?’
This time Doddsy’s expression was a pained one. ‘DS O’Halloran is recovering at home. She has cuts and bruises, nothing more. Largely thanks to you.’
Belatedly, Jude realised that his friend was trying to tell him something. Following his gaze, he saw Becca, standing on the other side of the kitchen by the sink, her back to the kitchen unit, her arms folded, and an expression of deep irritation etched on her face. ‘And Sophie?’
‘You don’t need to go through everyone. There’s only one of the good guys got hurt, Jude, and that was you.’ Doddsy pushed the coffee mug away from him and stood up. ‘Concussion and five stitches. You’re a lucky man.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m stepping outside for a fag. I need one every fifteen minutes or so, after yesterday.’
‘Don’t go. I have to talk to you. I don’t remember what happened.’
‘There will be plenty of time later.’ Doddsy stepped past him through the hall and out through the front door and Jude found himself standing staring across the kitchen at Becca. His mother kept the painkillers in the kitchen drawer and Becca was entrenched right in front of it. For once, he found he lacked the courage to take her on. ‘Do me a favour, would you?’
‘What?’
‘See if there’s any paracetamol in that drawer.’
‘Paracetamol won’t help you. The doctor has prescribed you something rather stronger. But you can’t have that on an empty stomach. I’ll make you some toast.’
With something practical to do she swung into action, switching on the grill, hacking a slab of bread off the fresh loaf on the table. Left to watch her, Jude became ridiculously aware of how he looked, standing there in a tee shirt and boxers. His feet were bare on the cold stone floor. ‘I’d better go and make myself respectable, then.’
‘It isn’t as if I haven’t seen it all before. But yes, I expect you’ll feel better after a shower. Be careful of your head. You have stitches.’
Feeling like an old man, he lumbered his way upstairs and risked a quick, cool shower. Even after a dose of strongly scented fresh shower gel, the essence of Ashleigh still hung about his brain in a way it shouldn’t do. His suit, ruined and reeking of smoke, hung on the back of a chair but there were jeans in the wardrobe and a tee shirt in the drawer. Pulling them on, he struggled back down the stairs again.
‘Sit down.’ Becca placed a plate of toast in front of him and poured him a mug of coffee. ‘When you’ve eaten that, you can have your painkillers. Not until.’
‘Yes, Nurse.’ He chewed the toast with difficulty, recognising hunger and knowing he should eat, but nevertheless struggling to swallow. ‘What happened?’ Doddsy might not have lingered long enough to fill him in on the details, but Becca would surely know.
‘I believe you jumped off a quarry with your detective sergeant in your arms. Very Hollywood. You might remember more about it later.’
‘Did I knock myself out?’
‘Only briefly. You’d probably be a bit more comfortable right now if you’d allowed someone to lead you off the field of battle at that point, but no. Apparently you had to stay there and tell everyone what to do. As usual.’
‘I suppose I should be glad that you found some time to come over and see me.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’m only here because the doctor says you shouldn’t be left alone, which is why you’re here, rather than at your own place. Your mum asked me to come and babysit for you while she’s at the dentist. If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t be here.’
‘Great, Becca. Kick a man when he’s down, why don’t you?’ He wrenched his face into an attempt at a smile and even that effort hurt him, though the caffeine shot through him like a dose of ECT.
‘Don’t try and play the wounded hero with me. What about Mikey? You’re supposed to be looking after him. I had to sort him out. It was just as well I could.’
‘I was at work.’
‘So was I.’
‘Thanks for doing it. Obviously, I’ll make sure he pays you back.’
‘For God’s sake. It isn’t about the money. If you think it is, you aren’t the man I thought you were.’
But he was a man who was true to himself. That was all that mattered. In his heart, Jude was certain that Mikey had called Becca because he knew it was the surest way to spite him. ‘If you’ve finished tearing my character apart, perhaps I can have that painkiller?’
She pushed a fat, white tablet across the table towards him and looked away, but not before he’d seen her expression soften. ‘I don’t mean to be harsh, Jude. I’m sorry. I understand you were busy.’
Busy. His responsibility for Mikey had been overrun by a life-or-death situation, and Becca merely thought he was busy. ‘It’s okay.’ He forced the tablet down, following it up with a swallow of strong coffee. ‘Do I get custody of the rest of the packet, or does a responsible adult have to dish them out?’
She passed them across the table. ‘Read the label. One tablet, three times a day, after food. That’s three days’ worth. Any more and you’d be addicted.’
‘Thanks.’ He bolted the last of his coffee, chewed the last crust of toast. ‘That’s great. I’ll be off.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Where do you think you’re going?’
‘I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than look after me. Tell Mum I’ll pop by later on.’ He stood up. ‘Thanks for everything. Especially for looking after Mikey.’ And then he turned his back on her and stalked out.
‘Look after yourself,’ she called, and something in her tone almost drew him back, but he remembered a second before he turned that he was done with her, and even if he hadn’t been he felt too rough to make the effort.
Doddsy was sitting on the wall, enjoying a cigarette and enduring the fascinated attentions of Holmes, who was investigating the newcomer with a distasteful and disapproving twist of his long white whiskers. When he saw Jude, he jumped down and ran down the path towards him, rubbing around his shins with an ecstatic purr.
Jude paid his feline friend the appropriate dues, then turned to Doddsy. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where?’
‘Back to the office. There’s bound to be stuff to tie up.’
Grinding his spent cigarette into the slate slab on top of the wall, Doddsy sighed. ‘I came by to check you were all right, not cart you back to work. Are you suggesting I can’t do my job and wind up a completed investigation?’
‘I take it it is completed?’
‘Yes. Max didn’t make it out of the fire, and I can’t say I’m breaking my heart over it. Not that it was a pleasant thing to see. And Sophie’s with her auntie, who seems to be one hell of a woman and more than happy to take on another child. It’ll be rough for the poor kid, but she’s in good hands.’
Sophie, of course, was the true victim. ‘What about Randolph? Released without charge?’
‘Yes, and went on his way with some smart comment about karma. I’m a God-fearing man, Jude, but I wanted to give him a boot up his smug backside on the way out. Once he knew what happened, he admitted that he’d been lying to us. He and Dawn had been seeing each other on the sly all the time she was married to Sumner.’
‘Isn’t that ironic? Sumner killed two innocent people to punish him, and all he does is go on about karma, so it hardly punishes him at all.’
‘Yes. He had the cheek to say that Dawn had brought it all upon herself, so he didn’t think fate would want him to suffer for that.’
Jude’s dislike of Randolph Flett flared into anger. Yes, Dawn had cheated on her husband and her capacity for love had led her into deceit and betrayal, but she hadn’t deserved to die for it. ‘Do we know for certain that he fathered the
children?’
‘No, but it’s a reasonable bet since Sumner certainly didn’t, and there’s no suggestion that Dawn was sleeping with anyone else. We found a letter from a DNA company at the Sumners’ place in Formby. They weren’t his children, and he knew it.’
Despite the grimness of the case, Jude laughed. When he looked around him he saw rowan trees beginning to turn gold, their branches drooping under the weight of scarlet berries. The clear, fresh air and the first workings of the tablet made the world seem a better place. ‘Was I right about the car?’
‘You were. The two heavies didn’t know what Sumner was up to – or I should say they claim they don’t and I believe them. It’s your old pet hate again, isn’t it? People who don’t ask questions as long as there’s enough money in ignorance.’
Maybe Becca was right. Maybe he asked too many questions when some things were best left alone. He resisted the softness she’d shown towards him because it was over between them and he didn’t want her pity. ‘I’m not staying here, anyway. Not with Nurse Ratched through there scowling over my every move.’
‘Don’t be bitter.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be bitter? She wasn’t exactly warm to me. She treated me like a fifteen year old with a hangover.’
Doddsy shook his head. ‘You don’t learn, do you? I thought you were a student of human nature. She’s worried about you, and probably jealous as well.’
‘She’s no reason to be.’
‘You’ve just put your life on the line for another woman—’
‘I didn’t do that. I saved myself.’
‘It doesn’t look like that to her. And you frightened the life out of her. You did to all of us. That’s why she’s so keen to keep you at a distance — because every time you put yourself in danger, it risks heartache for her.’
Which was exactly how he was behaving himself. Jude left Holmes to his own devices and walked over to Doddsy’s car. ‘She’s had plenty of chances. The only time she ever speaks to me is to put me down. I’m done with that.’ He opened the car door and got into the passenger seat.
‘She gave up her morning off to keep an eye on you.’ Doddsy took a while to join him, making a detour to the wheelie bin to deposit his cigarette end. ‘I’m not going to stop you coming into work, I can see.’
‘It’s my choice.’
‘Yes. And that’s something else I need to say to you.’
‘You don’t need to say anything.’
‘I’m your friend. This is what I’m saying. Stop and think. Because if you don’t, there’s trouble ahead.’
Becca, pulling the front door behind her, left the cottage and walked down the path. Jude pulled down the vanity mirror and watched her as she crossed the road to her own cottage, with Holmes trotting behind her. Then, when she’d gone, he flipped the mirror up again.
‘Trouble, eh?’ he said, with a sigh. ‘Never mind that. Let’s get to work.’
Author’s note
All of the characters in this book are figments of my imagination and bear no resemblance to anyone alive or dead.
The same can’t be said for the locations. Many are real but others are not, and I’ve taken several liberties with geography where the plot required it. For example, you won’t find Jude’s home village of Wasby on the map; you will find the village of Burnbanks, but you’ll look in vain for a shop; and the quarry which features at the end of the book does exist, but is larger and somewhere else.
There are other changes, too, and they are deliberate. I hope any Lake District locals will forgive me!
Acknowledgements
There are many people to thank for their help with my first venture into crime writing. First up, like so many authors I’ve benefited hugely from the support of the online community in terms of advice, answers to research questions and general moral support. Perhaps bizarrely, I have to thank the Romantic Novelists’ Association, from whose members I learned a lot about writing in general, and about persistence in particular. Thanks also to the CWA and other Facebook groups for sage advice.
If I listed everyone who’s helped me I’d have an acknowledgements section as long as the book itself, but special thanks go to (in alphabetical order) Kate Beeden, Sally Calder, Sara Claridge, Frances Evesham, Lorraine M, Pauline Morgan, Amanda Robinson, Kate Scholefield, Julie Stock and Liz Taylorson. Without their constant encouragement, virtual hugs and constructive criticism I would have given up long ago.
Once my book had reached the “completed” stage I couldn’t have progressed without the help I got from my agent, Anne Williams, and from the team at Aria Fiction. (Shoutout to Lucy Gilmour and her colleagues!)
Lastly, of course, I have to thank my husband, who had (and still has) to put up with me insisting on travelling to random locations in the Lakes and staring at the view for a while in deep thought before I would agree to go somewhere for coffee and cake. And my children, without whom, as they say, this book would have been finished long ago…
Jo Allen was born in Wolverhampton and is a graduate of Edinburgh, Strathclyde and the Open University, with undergraduate and postgraduate degrees in geography and Earth science. She’s been writing for pleasure and publication for as long as she can remember. After a career in economic consultancy she took up writing and was first published under the name Jennifer Young in genres of short stories, romance and romantic suspense, as well as writing online articles on travel and on her favourite academic subject, Earth science. In 2017 she took the plunge and began writing the genre she most likes to read -- crime.
Now living in Edinburgh, she spends as much time as possible in the English Lakes. In common with all her favourite characters, she loves football (she’s a season ticket holder with her beloved Wolverhampton Wanderers) and cats.
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