Buried (DC Jack Warr #1) - Lynda La Plante Page 0,17

what he was hearing. ‘You’re selling? That makes no sense at all. Where are you going to live when you come back?’

Penny gently, lovingly, stroked the back of Charlie’s head.

‘Why don’t you boys nip to the pub?’

*

Although it was way too late to be starting the full post-mortem, Foxy did need to make certain that there was no evidence on the body which simply couldn’t wait until the morning. The preservation of any dead body was a delicate process at the best of times, but ‘Sheila’, as he’d now been universally christened, was extra vulnerable and brittle due to the fire.

‘Sheila’ still lay on his side, almost in the foetal position. This was a common death position for people exposed to extreme temperatures ‒ partly as a natural yet futile defence against flames and smoke, and partly because as the body dried out, the joints would naturally curl. However, this body had been found on a small two-seater sofa and so the curled position could equally be because he’d been too long for it.

Foxy flicked through Abigail Coleman’s very thorough preliminary observations and tentatively agreed that the large fracture to the back of the skull could be a blunt force trauma and therefore the cause of death.

Tomorrow morning, when he cut ‘Sheila’ open, the first thing Foxy would look for would be signs of smoke inhalation. If there were none, then ‘Sheila’ would have already been dead when the fire started. Which would be some consolation.

As Foxy refrigerated ‘Sheila’ for the night, he smiled. He loved a good mystery.

*

Jack and Charlie sat in the window of the King’s Head, looking out over the patch of grass that the locals proudly called the ‘village green’. Charlie told the story of their first meeting and, although Jack had heard it a thousand times, he didn’t mind at all hearing it again.

On that day back in 1987, Charlie had got up from the garden bench and knelt on the grass to greet his potential new son. As Jack got within touching distance, he’d instinctively turned his back to Charlie, reversed, and sat down on his waiting knee. And there he’d stayed, while the women tutted about how inexplicable it was that someone had chosen to walk away from such a stunning little boy.

Reluctantly, Jack brought the conversation back to the present.

‘You’re selling the bungalow ’cos you’re not coming back, aren’t you?’

Charlie took his time in answering. ‘A friend of my brother’s has reserved a short lease on a one-bedroomed flat in a wardened complex for your mum. She can have it for as long as she likes. She’s said she doesn’t want . . .’ Charlie stumbled over his words for a second. ‘She doesn’t want to be in our bungalow on her own.’

‘You might come home though, eh, Dad? I mean, you hear about people surprising doctors all the time. A few months doesn’t have to mean a few months.’

Charlie took a slug from his pint and even managed a smile, as he lied to his son.

‘Maybe. You know us builders, lad . . . if we’re given six months, we always take twelve.’

*

The rest of the evening was like old times. Jack moaned about how badly Plymouth Argyle were doing this year; Charlie asked about Jack’s job, about Maggie and whether there were any kids on the horizon.

‘The jobs have got to come first at the moment, Dad. Mags has not long started at the New Victoria and she’s doing really well ‒ impressing all the right people, you know. Maybe in a year or two.’

‘Ah, Jack, once she gets where she wants to be, she’ll not want to leave to do parenting.’

‘She might not be the one who leaves.’

Jack realised that he’d said this almost without thinking. He wasn’t even sure where the thought had come from ‒ him being the one to give up work and look after kids ‒ but, once he’d said it, he really didn’t mind how it sounded.

‘Mags skips to work ‒ I don’t. It’s my fault. I need to focus and get into the swing of things in London. Don’t tell Mum right now, she’ll only worry and, in all honesty, there’s nothing to worry about. Me and Mags are strong. It doesn’t matter who does what, as long as we’re together.’

*

Charlie took an age to get his key in the front door, partly because he was pissed and partly because it was 11.30 and he was tired from all the meds he was currently taking. They sniggered