“How’s the matron?” Jasper asked, spooning rice and chicken on to his plate out of one of the styrofoam containers.
Lazlo nodded, licking his fingers appreciatively as he tore his naan bread into sections.
“Billie is very well, guv, thank you for asking. We’re going away next week to the Lake District.”
Jasper raised an eyebrow as he loaded his fork.
“Walking holiday, Lazlo, surely not?”
Lazlo chuckled and dribbled rice on to his plate, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“No, guv, a gastro pub inn, small place near Buttermere – good food, good beer – just what we both like.”
Jasper looked up as he chewed and contemplated the photographs of Charlie and Jack that hung skew on the fridge door. He could have removed them, he had been tempted, but decided to leave them as a reminder of something that Jennifer had cherished. He was perhaps trying to share a part of her that he had failed to do when she was alive.
“You know, when I think of what has happened to me, what I’ve lost, what has been done to me, all of which has left me with no reasonable alternative but to accept it and move on, or shrivel up and die, it makes me question… everything I stand for,” Jasper said thoughtfully as he ever so slowly chewed a small mouthful of chicken.
Lazlo stopped eating and looked at Jasper over a loaded fork.
“It’s a job, guv.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there’s life and there’s work. They’re separate. They don’t have to make sense together.”
Lazlo chewed energetically and appreciatively, lowering his head as he prepared another forkful.
“I don’t know if I can do that. My life always exemplified what I did, my work, what I believed in. Now, I don’t know how it will continue as the very foundations of that life have been shaken to expose their… their frailty, and… their failings.”
Lazlo frowned as he ate, a sweat developing on his brow and upper lip.
“You’re saying that life is not black and white, guv?”
Jasper pursed his lips and nodded slowly.
“Do you believe in fate, Lazlo, that some things just happen without cause, without reason, without blame?”
Lazlo shrugged and wiped his mouth with a paper serviette.
“You’re losing me, guv, I’m just a simple investigator.”
Jasper sat back and pushed his plate away with a snort.
“You know, you’re full of Turkish Delight, Lazlo.”
“Oh, that reminds me, I have post from Stacey,” Lazlo said, reaching into his leather jacket and producing a brown manila envelope.
Jasper opened it with a kitchen knife and unfolded the letter.
Jasper’s eyes scanned the page energetically, then as he lowered the letter they met Lazlo’s concentrated gaze.
“So no-one is specifically blamed, but a general apology and admission that Edward Burns’ death was…” Lazlo said.
“’Extremely regrettable’ are the words used.” Jasper tapped the letter with his index finger.
Lazlo made a face and shrugged. They sat in silence for a few moments as Jasper read the letter again.
“What do you think, guv?”
Jasper took a deep breath and glanced at Jack and Charlie on the fridge.
“I’m no longer at all certain that I can do any better. I think I’ll recommend the settlement to Magnus Burns and see what he says.”
Jasper didn’t make direct eye contact with Lazlo, but he could tell that a huge wave of anticipatory relief had washed over his great swede-like face as the big man’s eyes closed momentarily.
Lazlo left soon after and Jasper watched him crunch down the gravel drive to his white van.
“Enjoy Buttermere, Lazlo, and thank you.”
“For what, guv?”
“For everything.”
Lazlo waved his huge arm dismissively without looking back.
SEVENTY THREE
Dr SP Whitehouse MB, PhD, FRCPath, LLM
Home Office Pathologist
Drury Lane
Durham
Dear Mr Candle,
Reference no 7318/10 – exhumation of the remains of Jennifer Candle.
In accordance with Home Office and HM Coroner procedure, the exhumation of Jennifer Candle was undertaken to provide tissue and DNA samples for specific genetic testing.
I am able to confirm that genetic tests for the HTT gene on both Jennifer Candle and the foetus were negative, confirming the absence of Huntingtons disease, either as a carrier or major trait.
Yours sincerely,
SP Whitehouse
artful dodger lodger (lover)
Arthur Scargill gargle
barb-wired tired
bar steward bastard
Bo Peep sleep
bottle and glass arse
bottomless pit shit
Brad Pitt shit
bread knife wife
brown bread dead
cheese and rice Jesus Christ
chicken plucking fucking
china plate mate
cobblers bollocks, balls
cream crackered knackered
crust of bread head
dental flosser tosser
dicky dirt shirt
Eddie Grundies underpants
Engelbert Humperdink drink
fit and spasm orgasm
Frankie Dettori story
Friar Tuck fuck
gay and frisky whisky
Jagger’s lips chips
jam tart heart
hugs and kisses wife
Khyber Pass arse
lager and lime time
Marquis de Sade hard
mother of pearl girl
panoramas pyjamas
Partick Thistle whistle
Patty Hearst first class (degree)
pogo stick prick, penis
Rolls Royce choice, first class
Scooby Doo clue
tent pegs eggs
Tommy Dodd God
tommy guns diarrhoea
Tom Sawyer lawyer
tomtit shit
trouble and strife wife
Turkish Delight shite