Title: Next of Kin
Author: Edzel2
Genre: Exile
Rating: Adult for language and content
Word Count: 1,201
Summary: The missing scene: after Tom and Mandy find Ricky Tulse’s body...
Mandy watches -white-faced and with one hand hovering near her mouth as though she might throw up- as Tom moves around the room, opening cupboard doors, lifting cushions and peering under furniture. Tulse’s dead eyes seem to follow him around the room and Mandy turns away, sickened.
‘Tom, what’re you doing? We should ring for an ambulance... report it.’
Tom barely glances at her, so intent is he on his search.
‘Bloody ambulance won’t do him much good, will it?’ Tom pauses in his search for a moment. ‘Sorry, sorry. I’ll ring in a minute; I want to see if he’s got any other information hidden away.’ He’s pocketed the memory chip, but who knows what could be on it – it could be something or nothing and if there’s other stuff here Tulse wasn’t going to show him... it would be stupid to just go, he might never get another opportunity. He wants them both out of here, doesn’t want to be involved; but if the death isn’t what it seems, then doing that could just land them in a pile of shit. His fingerprints will be on the door frames for a start, and the woman who passed them on the way in might remember them if the police ask around.
‘Do you think he will? I mean, why would he keep anything incriminating?’
‘Dunno. But if he’s got anything else, I don’t want the cops getting hold of it.’
‘Cops? Why would the Police be involved? He overdosed.’ Mandy can’t look at Tulse’s corpse; she waves a hand in his general direction.
‘Maybe. That’s what it looks like...’
‘You don’t think...?’
‘I don’t know, Mandy, I really don’t know...maybe. Metzler’s a big cheese... it’s possible. He had me arrested, didn’t he?’
Mandy nods, and starts to help him search; but there’s nothing else, nothing except the envelope with his name and the little chip, both of which are now safely in his pocket. He makes the call.
‘D’you want to wait outside?’ he asks Mandy once he’s done.
She nods. ‘Please. It smells in here, and I’m no prude but...’
Tom has to agree. The place had smelled none too sweet last night but now the musty sick-bed-and-fag-smoke combination has been joined by another stench – Tulse must have lost control of all his bodily functions as he’d died and while Tom had –somewhere, he can’t recall where- read about this being normal, he’d never actually been anywhere near a dead person before they’d been cleaned up. He remembers, with a sudden pang of sorrow, going with his Dad and Nancy to say goodbye to his Mum. She had just smelled....cold, he remembers, and not like his Mum at all. It seems now to Tom that his life had taken a nosedive into misery from that moment on...
‘Tom? Tom?’ He becomes aware that Mandy is shaking his arm, and that he’s leaning against the wall of the hallway with his forehead against the stained paper, and he’s crying. He pushes away from the wall and almost collides with the solid bulk of a green-clad Medic.
‘Mister Ronstadt?’
Tom hastily wipes his face, annoyed that the man will assume he’s crying for the dead man in the room beyond when nothing could be further from the truth.
‘Yes, yes,’ he mutters. ‘Sorry, it’s ... he’s through there,’ he says helplessly and moves aside to let the Medic and his colleague past.
‘Oh dear....’ the first medic’s voice floats back to them from the lounge. ‘Did you call the police, sir?’
‘No, no I didn’t. I’ve not had a chance...’ He’d had time enough; but he doesn’t want Meltzer’s drones to tell their boss anything before he’s ready to confront him again. But of course they would have to be called, wouldn’t they? He’d known they would the moment he’d seen Tulse’s body with the needle still stuck in his vein. Thank God he hadn’t touched him.
‘Well we’ll just confirm the obvious sir, and then we’ll have to phone them, I’m sorry. Can’t have been very pleasant for you to find your father like this.’
‘He’s not my father,’ Tom mutters, but a cold fist is squeezing his gut as the unthinkable idea slithers irrevocably into his brain. No, no, impossible. Don’t even think that!
‘Begging your pardon, sir, I assumed...’
‘Well you assumed wrong! I’m just... someone who needed to speak to him, that’s all. And now I ...’ He realises as Mandy’s slim hand slips around his that his fists are clenched. Okay, so maybe he’s grieving, but not for that fucking creep.
‘Tom...’ Mandy murmurs. ‘Come outside, get some air.’ She shoots a curious glance at Tulse.
His head is ringing and Mandy’s voice seems to come from far away as she takes hold of his arm, trying to pull him along the narrow hallway. He follows blindly, the blood roaring in his ears.
By the time the police show up, he’s recovered somewhat, but he can’t do anything about the red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give for a snort or two right now... or a good stiff whisky.
The officers are polite, with no hint in their demeanour that they know who Tom is or that he’s persona non gratia with some of their colleagues. Seems Metzler doesn’t have the whole of the force in his pocket then. He answers their questions tersely, wanting only to get away and knowing he’s not helping himself and that if the post mortem shows that it wasn’t suicide then they’ll be knocking on his door. I didn’t do anything! He wants to shout at them, and takes another deep breath as they ask him what the reason was for his visit.
‘I’m a journalist. I was hoping to speak to... him in connection with a piece I’m researching.’
‘How well did you know the deceased?’
‘Not at all – I told you; I was just coming to interview him, that’s all. I didn’t even know he was ill.’
‘What makes you think he was ill, Mr Ronstadt?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? All the morphine wrappers? The medicines? Jesus...’
‘Steady on, sir. They’re just routine questions.’
Tom sighs, and Mandy intervenes, placing a hand on his arm. Hold on.
‘Tom... Look, Officers...I know you’re just doing your job, but can’t you see that he’s in shock?’
‘And you are...?’
‘Mandy Eldridge. I gave him a lift, his car’s out of action...’
‘Mike Eldridge’s missus?’ The look in the copper’s eyes says it all.
‘Yeah, that’s me. And Mike knows I’m here.’
‘I’m sure. Right then, I’ll just take a contact number and address for you, Mr Ronstadt, in case we need to speak to you again...’
Tom recites his address and mobile number and finally he and Mandy are free to leave.
The fresh air of the street is a balm, but even so Tom feels utterly wretched as he folds himself into Mandy’s little Fiat. Time to get home and find out what’s on that memory chip...
Fin
‘Tom, what’re you doing? We should ring for an ambulance... report it.’
Tom barely glances at her, so intent is he on his search.
‘Bloody ambulance won’t do him much good, will it?’ Tom pauses in his search for a moment. ‘Sorry, sorry. I’ll ring in a minute; I want to see if he’s got any other information hidden away.’ He’s pocketed the memory chip, but who knows what could be on it – it could be something or nothing and if there’s other stuff here Tulse wasn’t going to show him... it would be stupid to just go, he might never get another opportunity. He wants them both out of here, doesn’t want to be involved; but if the death isn’t what it seems, then doing that could just land them in a pile of shit. His fingerprints will be on the door frames for a start, and the woman who passed them on the way in might remember them if the police ask around.
‘Do you think he will? I mean, why would he keep anything incriminating?’
‘Dunno. But if he’s got anything else, I don’t want the cops getting hold of it.’
‘Cops? Why would the Police be involved? He overdosed.’ Mandy can’t look at Tulse’s corpse; she waves a hand in his general direction.
‘Maybe. That’s what it looks like...’
‘You don’t think...?’
‘I don’t know, Mandy, I really don’t know...maybe. Metzler’s a big cheese... it’s possible. He had me arrested, didn’t he?’
Mandy nods, and starts to help him search; but there’s nothing else, nothing except the envelope with his name and the little chip, both of which are now safely in his pocket. He makes the call.
‘D’you want to wait outside?’ he asks Mandy once he’s done.
She nods. ‘Please. It smells in here, and I’m no prude but...’
Tom has to agree. The place had smelled none too sweet last night but now the musty sick-bed-and-fag-smoke combination has been joined by another stench – Tulse must have lost control of all his bodily functions as he’d died and while Tom had –somewhere, he can’t recall where- read about this being normal, he’d never actually been anywhere near a dead person before they’d been cleaned up. He remembers, with a sudden pang of sorrow, going with his Dad and Nancy to say goodbye to his Mum. She had just smelled....cold, he remembers, and not like his Mum at all. It seems now to Tom that his life had taken a nosedive into misery from that moment on...
‘Tom? Tom?’ He becomes aware that Mandy is shaking his arm, and that he’s leaning against the wall of the hallway with his forehead against the stained paper, and he’s crying. He pushes away from the wall and almost collides with the solid bulk of a green-clad Medic.
‘Mister Ronstadt?’
Tom hastily wipes his face, annoyed that the man will assume he’s crying for the dead man in the room beyond when nothing could be further from the truth.
‘Yes, yes,’ he mutters. ‘Sorry, it’s ... he’s through there,’ he says helplessly and moves aside to let the Medic and his colleague past.
‘Oh dear....’ the first medic’s voice floats back to them from the lounge. ‘Did you call the police, sir?’
‘No, no I didn’t. I’ve not had a chance...’ He’d had time enough; but he doesn’t want Meltzer’s drones to tell their boss anything before he’s ready to confront him again. But of course they would have to be called, wouldn’t they? He’d known they would the moment he’d seen Tulse’s body with the needle still stuck in his vein. Thank God he hadn’t touched him.
‘Well we’ll just confirm the obvious sir, and then we’ll have to phone them, I’m sorry. Can’t have been very pleasant for you to find your father like this.’
‘He’s not my father,’ Tom mutters, but a cold fist is squeezing his gut as the unthinkable idea slithers irrevocably into his brain. No, no, impossible. Don’t even think that!
‘Begging your pardon, sir, I assumed...’
‘Well you assumed wrong! I’m just... someone who needed to speak to him, that’s all. And now I ...’ He realises as Mandy’s slim hand slips around his that his fists are clenched. Okay, so maybe he’s grieving, but not for that fucking creep.
‘Tom...’ Mandy murmurs. ‘Come outside, get some air.’ She shoots a curious glance at Tulse.
His head is ringing and Mandy’s voice seems to come from far away as she takes hold of his arm, trying to pull him along the narrow hallway. He follows blindly, the blood roaring in his ears.
By the time the police show up, he’s recovered somewhat, but he can’t do anything about the red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give for a snort or two right now... or a good stiff whisky.
The officers are polite, with no hint in their demeanour that they know who Tom is or that he’s persona non gratia with some of their colleagues. Seems Metzler doesn’t have the whole of the force in his pocket then. He answers their questions tersely, wanting only to get away and knowing he’s not helping himself and that if the post mortem shows that it wasn’t suicide then they’ll be knocking on his door. I didn’t do anything! He wants to shout at them, and takes another deep breath as they ask him what the reason was for his visit.
‘I’m a journalist. I was hoping to speak to... him in connection with a piece I’m researching.’
‘How well did you know the deceased?’
‘Not at all – I told you; I was just coming to interview him, that’s all. I didn’t even know he was ill.’
‘What makes you think he was ill, Mr Ronstadt?’
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? All the morphine wrappers? The medicines? Jesus...’
‘Steady on, sir. They’re just routine questions.’
Tom sighs, and Mandy intervenes, placing a hand on his arm. Hold on.
‘Tom... Look, Officers...I know you’re just doing your job, but can’t you see that he’s in shock?’
‘And you are...?’
‘Mandy Eldridge. I gave him a lift, his car’s out of action...’
‘Mike Eldridge’s missus?’ The look in the copper’s eyes says it all.
‘Yeah, that’s me. And Mike knows I’m here.’
‘I’m sure. Right then, I’ll just take a contact number and address for you, Mr Ronstadt, in case we need to speak to you again...’
Tom recites his address and mobile number and finally he and Mandy are free to leave.
The fresh air of the street is a balm, but even so Tom feels utterly wretched as he folds himself into Mandy’s little Fiat. Time to get home and find out what’s on that memory chip...
Fin
