Microsoft Word - John Francome - Inside Track.doc (40 page)

Once he'd been a regular racegoer, sneaking off to midweek meetings when he could and delegating things at the garage. He'd been a couple of times in the year after Alan's death but his failing health had put a stop to that.

`How are you going to get there?' she asked.

`Taxi, train - don't you worry about me.'

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Òf course I worry about you, you daft fool,' she replied with her familiar belligerence. Ì'm not having you puffing and wheezing around railway stations. If you insist on going I'll drive you.'

That's what he'd been hoping for, of course, but he'd not dared to ask. `But what about the Post Office? Can you get the day off?'

Ì'm taking it, whether old Jennings likes it or not.' `Joyce, you're one in a million.'

`Don't give me that rubbish,' she muttered as she whisked away his breakfast tray.

But she was a grand lass. No question.

Jane wondered at which point in the day she could start nagging Keith Wright for the name of the Yorkshire officer dealing with the anonymous phone calls. Maybe she should have held out the promise of a date until she'd got what she wanted? But mind and body rebelled at the thought.

Anyhow it was too late now, as she'd said to Simon when shed phoned him last night.

Ì've got a confession to make,' was how she'd opened the conversation and, Ì wish I'd never said it but it's too late now,' was how she'd ended.

She doubted he'd heard, however, as he appeared to be having a choking fit.

Àre you all right?' she'd shouted into the phone, which had attracted Robbie from his room, any excuse not to be doing his English. She'd waved him back angrily.

The breathy, gulping noises on the other end of the line arranged themselves into a more familiar pattern and she realised, with relief and fury, that he was laughing. It took a while for him to control himself.

Ì'm sorry,' she said finally, `but would you mind playing along for a bit, just to get him off my back? Unless . . .' and a horrible thought struck her

`. . . you're involved with someone at the moment. In which case, I couldn't ask you. That would be wrong. I'll just, well, I'll think of something else.'

He chuckled a bit more - a lazy, deep brown, patronising chuckle this time. She knew she was going to suffer for her stupidity.

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`Don't worry, Jane,' he said finally. Às it happens, I am theoretically unattached at present and I'm flattered to be your - what is it I am exactly?

- your sleeping partner?'

`Thank you, Simon. With luck Wright won't mention it at all but I had to tell you.'

ÒK, but if he does I'm going to need a bit of background. Like what movie we saw last night or what we're planning to do at the weekend.'

`For God's sake, Simon.'

Ì'm serious - we've got to get our stories straight. I'm going to need a full breakdown of all those little details known only to those with whom we share our most intimate moments.'

Òh sod off.'

`This was your idea, darling.'

She'd slammed the phone down and looked up to find Robbie grinning at her from the doorway.

`Have you got a thing going with him, Mum?' A thing? Just what had she started?

Now the phone on her desk rang and she snatched it up, hoping it was the Superintendent with the information she wanted. It was Simon. Ì've just passed Wright in the corridor and he was all over me about you. He didn't look happy. This had better not stuff up my career.'

'Simon, I'm sorry. I'll go and talk to him today and straighten it out.'

`There's no need to do that. Just tell me one thing so I know next time he asks me - what exactly do you wear in bed?'

She hated him.

Marie's mind was only half on the job as she worked through the slowly dwindling pile of files. She'd played and replayed in her head her conversations with Jamie and her argument with her aunt. Out of it all one comment kept returning to bother her. What had Joyce meant by calling Jamie Ros's `toy boy'? It shamed her that such an obvious piece of unfounded gossip should dominate her thoughts. But it did and it wouldn't go away. And she didn't know how to go about laying it to rest. She certainly wasn't going to raise the matter with Jamie or Ros or - least of all

- her aunt.

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An uneasy truce was in place at home. Marie was being polite but distant towards her aunt and Joyce was being distant without bothering with the politeness. So far, fingers crossed, she didn't appear to have said anything to her father. That was something to be thankful for.

She opened the next folder and was unprepared for the physical shock that seized her. She read the patient's name over and over, repeating it in her mind, just to make sure she wasn't somehow fooling herself. But the file really was headed: Hutchison, James Robert. Jamie's medical notes.

When Dr Gooding had employed her he'd stressed the importance of maintaining patient confidentiality. It had counted in her favour that he'd known her all his life and, so he'd said, trusted her as if she were his own daughter. She had signed a document binding her to secrecy and so far she had stuck to it faithfully. Nothing she had learned from the files had been passed to anyone else and she had put aside the medical histories of those few people she knew personally for someone else to deal with.

Jamie's folder was different. She couldn't resist reading it. Compared to most files it was thin. Jamie had been a pretty healthy child. There was a history of sinus problems, which had vanished in puberty, and a few knocks, including a broken wrist, which Marie guessed had been the result of falling off horses. In 1999, however, came the car crash and a sheaf of reports from specialists on his injuries. She noticed references to his amnesia, which gave her a twinge of guilt as she recalled her reaction to his claim that he couldn't remember the accident.

But the piece of paper that interested her most, that riveted her attention as she read it through, was from the Accident & Emergency Department at High Moor Hospital. These were the notes compiled on Jamie's admission immediately following the crash. He had a suspected punctured lung, crushed ribs, a fractured arm and head trauma. One symbol was repeated throughout the list, the letter `L' in a circle, meaning `left'. Jamie's injuries were predominantly down the left-hand side of his body.

But how could that be, if Jamie was sitting in the driver's seat on the right-hand side of the car?

Jane arrived home late. Robbie was having supper at his dad's so there was no pressure to rush back and put food on the table. She dumped her bulging briefcase on the floor and once more dialled Harrogate CID. She'd 266

finally got the name she wanted out of Keith Wright - DC Colin Stewart.

But Stewart had not been answering his phone earlier and had obviously left for the day. She resolved to ring again in the morning even though she wasn't on duty.

She was taking the next day off to keep Robbie company - his school being shut for an inset day. Like every other parent, Jane couldn't understand why teacher training wasn't undertaken in the holidays - the schools were shut for long enough, for God's sake - but Robbie wasn't complaining. The deal was that he came back and worked hard tonight, and tomorrow they'd find something to do together, even if it was only going bowling or a cinema trip.

Unfortunately she had a load of stuff to get through first, of which tracking down DC Stewart was just one task. She explained as much to Robbie when he returned.

`What've you got to do?' he asked.

She sometimes told him about her cases, though she kept the details general and shielded him from anything disturbing. Maybe she shouldn't breathe a word but she believed that children of Robbie's age ought to be educated on the realities of the world around them. Criminals were no respecters of the innocent, she could attest to that first-hand. There had to be some advantages to being the child of a police officer and if she could give Robbie an insight into society's underbelly without injuring him, then she would.

She gave him a rundown of her tasks, which involved getting up to speed on a domestic assault and a departmental budget report. And there was still the matter of the Bonfire Night Murders. The latest information from the dead girl's sister had piqued her curiosity. Her intention was to research Jamie Hutchison's court case, and with luck Malcolm Priest's involvement, on the internet.

Ì'll do that for you,' said Robbie. `You've got your own work to do.'

Ì've done it-well, nearly. Please, Mum, I'm much better on the net than you.'

There was no denying that but it didn't seem right to involve him so directly.

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Her mobile rang and a familiar deep voice sounded in her ear. `Just thought I'd better check in to see what I'm having for supper.' `Get lost, Simon.'

`Why don't I say you made me your legendary coq au vin because you're a fabulous French cook? Please don't tell me you're not, it would shatter my illusions.'

She shouldn't have done but she began to laugh.

ÒK, I'll say we had a Chinese takeaway. All right?'

She was still laughing as she put the phone down. Robbie was giving her a funny look.

`You are having a thing with him, aren't you?' `No, I'm not.'

Ìt's all right by me, if that's what you're worried about.' `Just clear off and do your homework, will you?'

He ambled towards the door. Ì'll have a trawl on the net for you when I've finished, shall I?'

`No.'

ÒK.' He shrugged lazily. `You know you could do worse than Simon, Mum.'

Infuriating child.

Malcolm was on his way out when a girl bicycled into the yard. He didn't recognise her at first but he gave her a thorough once-over as she explained that she'd come to see Jamie. She was a bit young but a cracker all the same. She could come and muck out his stables any day of the week.

He took her up to the house and yelled for Jamie. The girl seemed nervous, as if she'd bolt at any moment, so Malcolm ushered her into the hall. From above came the sound of feet on the stairs.

`Marie,' Jamie said, obviously taken aback by her presence. `What are you doing here?'

Malcolm was intrigued. In the light of the hallway the girl seemed familiar. For two pins he'd have stuck around just to see how his brother-in-law handled this surprise package. The old Jamie would have whisked her upstairs in short order to see his etchings, but post-prison Jamie was seriously out of practice on the lady-killing front.

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However, Malcolm was running late and, in any case, now was not the time to show the slightest interest in any member of the opposite sex, especially under his own roof. Whiter than white was how he must be - for the moment, at any rate.

He put his foot down as he drove to the Fox and Hen, which was equidistant between his home and Ridgemoor and thus a convenient spot for a meeting with his brother. He'd kept Richard waiting twenty minutes already but the get-together wasn't his idea. Richard had sounded panicky on the phone and refused to say what was up. That was typical of his little brother. When it came down to it, he was simply an old woman.

Richard was at a table by himself in the saloon bar, his eyes on the door as Malcolm strolled in. Jesus, he looked all of a twitch. Malcolm took his time fetching himself a drink and exchanging pleasantries with the barmaid. Eventually he dropped into the chair opposite his brother.

`So,' he said, `what's eating you then?’ There didn't seem much point in beating around the bush.

Richard leant forward and muttered, though there was no one nearby and Elvis was booming away on the pub sound system, `His memory's coming back.'

Malcolm wasn't going to make it easy for him. `Who are we talking about exactly?'

`Jamie. He can remember the accident.'

Malcolm sipped his drink. They stocked a reasonable malt at the Fox, probably because the landlord came from Skye. Ìf you ask me, my brother-in-law's never been the same since that car crash.'

Richard grabbed his arm. Ì'm serious, Mal. When he took a whack on the head the other week it got his memory going again. He can remember staggering around the car park and us getting the car keys off him.'

`How do you know this?'

' Vanessa told me. She was at Wetherby with her dad when he had the fall so she's been keeping an eye on him. He told her he's been having these weird dreams about the car crash.'

`He's been having dreams?’

'That's what he's told her but it's probably only a matter of time before he realises.'

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`Rich, they are dreams.'

`He even remembers about Mandy being there.' Uh-oh.

`Doesn't change a thing. Fact - he pleaded guilty and served time. Another fact - he took a bang on the head which so scrambled up his brains he got a personality transplant. However, if I were you, I wouldn't encourage my sexy little wife-to-be to spend time alone with Jamie discussing bedtime fantasies.'

Richard reacted angrily. `That's not funny, Malcolm. Not everyone thinks through his dick like you and Dad.'

Ì seem to remember that Jamie never used to think at all when it came to girls like Vanessa. They've run into each other before, you know.'

Richard plainly didn't. `What are you on about?'

Ì'm on about Jamie and your fiancée screwing their brains out a couple of years back. When he had that ride for old man Hartley in the Diadem.'

Ì don't believe you.'

`Pippa told me. Swore me to secrecy, of course, which is why I'm only mentioning it now for your own good. Vanessa was a bit smitten, apparently. Used to write him letters from Australia.'

Richard was looking sick, nervously sipping from his glass even though it only contained a wedge of drowned lemon. `She never said she knew him.'

`Well, she wouldn't, would she? Not if she had something to hide.

According to Pippa,' he added, just to twist the knife, `she was the last woman he had before he went inside. And there's probably been no one since, as far as I can tell.' Unless, of course, he was back in the saddle with little Marie.

Richard looked shattered, in an even worse state than when Malcolm walked in. Serves him right for winding me up about Jamie, Malcolm thought savagely. He got up from the table. He'd better get back to Pippa, since he was still on his best behaviour.