Dead Alone by Gay Longworth

offspring,’ said Jones.
    ‘A perfect sound bite. You should remember that for the press office.’
    Jones started to laugh, it was an unfamiliar sound. ‘Wasn’t that surreal?’ he said, through the giggles. ‘And as for that bowling alley – God, how the other half live.’
    Jessie joined in with the laughter. The tension from the previous hour erupting in a wave of hysterical giggles. Jones was clutching his stomach, gasping for air.
    ‘P. J. Dean in his pyjamas!’ exclaimed Jessie before another bout of giggling grabbed her. Jones was still clutching his stomach, gasping for air. Jessie looked at him. Jones wasn’t laughing any more.
    ‘Sir?’
    He didn’t reply. He was bent double, hyperventilating, his neck quickly turning the colour of beetroot.
    ‘Hold on!’ Jessie put the sirens on, her headlights flashing blue and white. She put her foot on the accelerator and began to weave through the traffic. Jones’ breathing had slowed. He lifted his head and looked at her.
    ‘What are you doing?’ He groaned as he spoke.
    ‘One of the perks of the job. Ever noticed how patrol cars never get stuck in traffic? Don’t talk, just breathe. You’ve gone a very odd colour.’
    ‘You win. I’m sorry about the hairdresser comment.’
    ‘No, I mean it, you really have gone a very strange colour.’
    Pain clamped around his stomach and Jones doubled up again. Jessie sped on to the nearest hospital she knew. She didn’t radio ahead. She didn’t think Jones would like anyone to know a senior officer was being admitted; news travelled fast.
    When they arrived, she half carried him throughto A&E and at the desk quietly informed the nurse who he was. She filled in as much detail as she could. He’d been off-colour for some time, she suspected, but he never rested. Recently it had been getting worse and he had actually spent a day at home. As far as she knew it was stomach cramps, possibly appendicitis. A doctor came straight away. It was clear to everyone that Jones was now feeling worse. The hot, angry colour of purple had drained away, leaving his lips a pale grey and his skin bone-white. She left the doctor to it and took a seat in the waiting room.
    Like most people, Jessie had an aversion to hospitals, so when a nurse offered her their tea-break room she gladly accepted. A pile of magazines was offered to her and hot tea with digestive biscuits. The simple things in life. She accepted them all. Research, she told herself as she began to read up on the lives of the rich and famous. Anything to keep her mind off the colour of Jones’ lips and P. J. Dean’s eyes.

CHAPTER 14
    Jessie walked along the corridor to her office carrying the twenty video tapes. PC Ahmet was sitting on a chair outside Jones’ door. She was about to ask him what he was doing there when Trudi came out of her office. She looked distraught.
    ‘He’s not going to die, is he?’ she asked, breathless and upset.
    ‘Oh, Trudi, no of course not. I’ve just left him. He asked if you would go and see him – only you, he can’t face anyone else.’
    Trudi picked up her bag and coat, then put them down again. ‘What shall I do about …?’
    ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get a PC in here to answer your phone. You go, I’ll see to it.’
    ‘Thanks, DI Driver.’
    ‘Please, call me Jessie.’
    Trudi backed out of the room. ‘Oh, DI Driver, there’s a woman to see you. She’s in Jones’ office.’
    ‘But –’ Jessie looked down at the video tapes. The autopsy was in an hour.
    ‘I know, but this is important. It’s Clare Mills.’
    ‘Perhaps you’d like to dispense with those,’ said Niaz, holding out his giant hands to receive the stack of tapes.
    Clare was standing at the window, looking out. She was taller and thinner than Jessie remembered. It seemed like months ago that she and Jones had gone to Elmfield House to meet her. Poor Clare. Despite the promises, they’d already let her down. Jessie couldn’t explain why, either;