Gillian Jackson - The Accident

‘But surely there will need to be witnesses to prove her defence, too?’ Joe asked.

‘Presumably. We’re doing all we can to investigate exactly what happened and what kind of relationship they had. The information you gave me about your brother’s attempt on your life will, of course, be integral to the case, and in due course you’ll most likely be called to give evidence to the events of that time.’

‘What? But what has that all got to do with Pam killing him? Surely I don’t have to be involved?’ Joe was horrified. He hadn’t expected this, and to have to go over everything in court was the last thing he wanted. It also occurred to him that if he testified to David running him down, it would only strengthen Pam’s claim that he was a violent man. What had he got himself into?

‘I’m sorry, Mr Parker, but depending on what charge the CPS pursue, it’s a very likely possibility that you will be called to give evidence. Now, I have the address and number of the landlord of the flat your brother rented. He’s aware that you’re here this weekend and that you need to see the flat.’

Joe took the piece of paper Armstrong offered and left the police station in a daze. Having assumed that telling the detective the truth and holding nothing back was the best way forward, now it seemed as if his honesty would assist Pam in getting away with murder, quite literally.

Joe sat in his car, trying to get his head round what had happened and also what might be in store for him in the near future. He didn’t want to get involved with any part of David’s life, but now it seemed as if he was the one left to sort out the mess his brother had left behind.

Eventually he pulled out his phone and dialled the number which Armstrong had given him. He spoke briefly to his brother’s landlord and agreed to meet him at the flat later that afternoon. Joe’s next task was to pick up a death certificate from the hospital and register the death at the registrar’s office. Mentally, he thanked Phil for the crash course he’d received in the red tape involved after a death. Wading through the bureaucracy after Alison’s death had been difficult and he’d certainly not expected to be repeating the process so soon afterwards.

George Thompson could have been anywhere between sixty and seventy years old, Joe found it difficult to tell. He was a short, stocky man with a head far too large for his body, a ruddy complexion, a large, bulbous nose and he reeked of cigarettes and beer. Thompson was inside the flat when Joe arrived and was obviously not in the best of humour.

‘I need this place clearing out, and fast!’ was his greeting. ‘The police have kept me out too bloody long and I’m losing money on it, and mentioning money, your brother owed seven hundred pounds in rent and I don’t take cheques or cards.’

‘Seven hundred? I don’t carry that much round with me in cash.’ Joe was taken aback. It seemed that he’d not only have to pay for a funeral, but settle David’s debts, too.

‘There’s a cash machine round the corner. If you’re staying here this afternoon I can call back in a couple of hours to collect it.’

‘I bet you can!’

‘Look, you’re getting off bloody lightly with only seven hundred quid. They haven’t exactly looked after this place as you can see, and I’ll have work to do before I can let it again. Be grateful I’m not asking for more. And now it’s got the stigma of having a murder committed here an’ all. Who’s going to want to live here now, eh?’

Thompson was a real bundle of joy, Joe thought. ‘I’ll get your money if you’ll leave me a key. Two hours is all I need so if you’re back then it’ll be waiting for you and you can have the key back.’

‘When’re you gonna move the stuff out then?’

‘I doubt I’ll want to take anything so I’ll put it in the hands of a house clearer. Can I give them your name and number to liaise with?’ This seemed to be the most sensible thing to do. Joe already wanted to be out of this flat, it reeked of misery, and his eyes kept straying to a dark patch on the worn, dirty carpet which he felt sure was his brother’s blood.

‘Okay by me, as long as they can do it quickly.’ Thompson left a key and said he’d be back in two hours’ time.

Joe looked around, appalled that his brother had come to this; the flat was small, yes, but the state of it horrified him. He thought about his parents and the way they had brought up the two brothers. They too had had very little money and lived in a small rented house, with second-hand furniture and very little in the way of luxuries, but the house was always spotless, the floors scrubbed and everything neat and tidy.

His mother would have been shocked to see the filth her eldest son had ended his days in. Unwashed pots filled the kitchen sink, a pedal bin overflowed with rubbish, the odour of rotting food filling the room. Joe understood that the police had been working at the flat as a crime scene, but this was more than a couple of weeks’ worth of neglect.

Sickened by his surroundings, Joe decided to walk to the cash point and fill his lungs with fresh air before facing the task of looking through his brother’s meagre possessions.

Two hours later, Joe was more than ready to leave. The police had initially taken David’s suitcase away but it had been returned to the flat and seeing it in the hallway, Joe felt a cursory look inside was necessary. It certainly wasn’t packed neatly, either David packed in a hurry or the police had found nothing of interest and didn’t bother to leave the contents in any kind of order.

It contained everything necessary for several days, or even weeks away, but the item that surprised Joe the most was a letter addressed to him, already stamped and ready to post. It had been hidden deep in a side pocket, which may have been why the police hadn’t taken it as evidence. He took the letter over to the window where he perched, wearily, on the arm of a chair and opened it with apprehension. It was in his brother’s handwriting, still familiar to Joe from their shared childhood and still able to tug at his emotions. Tears blurred his vision as he unfolded the paper and began to read.

My Dear Joe

I am consumed with guilt and I have no expectations of your forgiveness, or compassion, but I’m going away and I wanted to try to make you understand how I reached such deplorable depths.

We were never close as boys and with hindsight I now know that it was my fault and I allowed jealousy to make me such an awful brother. Sadly, we can never go back and live our past again any more than we can predict our future, but I’m going to try for a new start. When I’m settled and back on my feet, I’ll get in touch, but for the moment I don’t want you to know where I’m going, so you won’t think I’m asking for charity.

It would be easy to pass all the blame on to Pamela for what happened but at the end of the day it was me driving the car and I have to take responsibility for that. You never really knew my wife, and I’m hoping that knowing some of my struggles with her will help you to understand why I behaved so badly. Life wasn’t always unkind to us and our marriage was punctuated with fluctuating fortunes. For several years, we lived in comfort in an exclusive apartment with a sea view in Bournemouth. I held down a reasonably good job as a sales rep, with generous commission topping up my salary, a company car and other perks which we enjoyed, yet took for granted.

When the economy slowed and the company began to squeeze employees to produce more sales for less reward, I stood my ground, demanding to have my salary reinstated; such was my inflated opinion of my worth. Pam encouraged me in this but my insistence only resulted in being fired on the spot. I’d stupidly played into their hands, idiot that I am. Pam sympathised for a while, massaging my wounded ego, until the weeks turned into months and no new job was forthcoming. She then began to nag, grumbling about the lack of money for the luxuries she’d come to expect in life and goading me for being an inadequate provider. When she eventually found out that I’d stopped paying the rent on the apartment and gambled away our meagre savings, she took control of the finances and we were forced to leave the expensive area of Bournemouth and move to Eastleigh.