Scream Blue Murder Read online

  Scream Blue Murder

  Linda Coles

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 Blue Banana

  Chapter One

  The wind whipped through Melissa’s blonde hair as they sped down the leafy lane on a hot Sunday afternoon. Callum was at the wheel. A somewhat immature and invincible twenty nine-year-old, he pushed the accelerator to the floor a little more each time his fiancée squealed with excitement. He was a show-off. And he liked people to watch him, notice him, in everything he did. Even sex. He turned towards her. Her head was thrown back, her hair flying behind them like a cream silk kite being beaten and jostled in the whip from the wind. The speedometer on the walnut dashboard read seventy, a full thirty over the limit, but what did Callum care? They were having fun. He laughed and squealed along with her, the effects of his lunchtime G&T pumping through his thin veins and firing his adrenalin even more.

  He took the tight corner with ease; he’d done it so many times in the past and knew the road well enough to trust it. There was a long, straight stretch ahead, and he pressed the pedal down further, feeling the power of the V8 engine as they raced forward. Eighty. Eighty-five. Another corner ahead, and he was confident. Melissa urged him on, squealing, laughing, hair still whipping as they raced towards it. Callum touched the brakes of his Ferrari and slowed it a little to take the bend, turning towards her to receive her appreciation of his skilled driving. Her dark shades were a stark contrast to her Colgate mouth. Overly white teeth had been a present for her birthday, her mouth important to him. Turning his attention back to the road, he took the upcoming S-bend with skill, using both sides of the narrow lane like a switchback ride at the fairground. Melissa whooped and squealed like a child at Thorpe Park, without the candy floss. The fire-engine red car sparkled in the afternoon sunshine like a cherry on top of a trifle as they sped out of the final bend and back along the flat.

  “Faster! Faster,” Melissa shouted above the raucous tones of Freddie Mercury urging them not to stop him now, as he belted his soul through the stereo system and out into the vapour trail behind them.

  Melissa was having such a good time. Callum was having a ball.

  He turned again to her dazzling smile as Freddie gave the performance of his life. They both shouted the chorus along with him as they approached another bend. Callum turned back to the road and took it wide, crossing the centre line as the car swung out around the curve. He glanced back at Melissa and saw, as if waking from a dream, that her rapturous expression had changed to horror. She screamed out hysterically and he swung his head around to the front again, following her wide-eyed gaze. Fully alert now, he yanked the steering wheel hard to the left in an effort to avoid the oncoming car turning left out of a driveway. The other driver tried to swerve out of harm’s way as Callum barrelled towards them; he was almost sideways to it now. It wasn’t going to be enough. He yanked the wheel again, struggling to keep the Ferrari away from a collision that was now impossible to avoid.

  It wasn’t enough.

  The few seconds immediately after a car crash are eerily quiet. Callum first checked himself then glanced across at Melissa, who was dazed but conscious. Neither spoke. Through the smashed windscreen, Callum watched as the driver’s door opened on the other vehicle, a navy-blue Golf, and an elderly male staggered out, hand to his forehead. Red oozed through his fingers; he’d cut his head badly. Further up the road, a man who had probably been out walking off his Sunday lunch had turned and was racing towards the carnage, no doubt to see if he could be of assistance. Still Callum didn’t move. Melissa whimpered; Callum ignored her. He wiggled his toes; nothing broken. Opening his door, he staggered out and headed straight for the other driver, gathering his strength and balance as he did so.

  “Are you blind!?” he screamed. “Did you even look? Look at my car!”

  The old man’s milky grey eyes widened in fear as Callum raged at him, not caring in the least that the man was obviously hurt.

  “Are you deaf too?” Callum screamed again.

  The old man’s mouth opened and closed helplessly; he looked like a fish, Callum thought. Stupid old bastard.

  Callum squared up in front of the old man and let loose a torrent of obscenities that questioned the man’s parentage and sexuality, spittle flying from his ashen lips. The man cowered, terrified. Callum’s eyes were bulging; a vein in his neck thumped hard, his face was red as a beetroot.

  Suddenly there was a shout from behind them.

  “Hey!” The man who had been running along the road towards them arrived now, out of breath. He placed a protective arm in front of the older man, shielding him with his body, and whirled on Callum. “Leave it out, eh?”

  “What’s it to you?” Callum shrieked. “Did you see what happened?”

  “I did, actually. So back off, eh?”

  “So, he was in the wrong! Look at my car!” Callum said, turning to look. Melissa was still in the passenger seat, moaning and crying, not that Callum was about to help her anytime soon.

  “What about your friend? Is she alright?” the man asked, taking a step forward and turning away from the old man for a second.

  “She’s fine,” Callum snapped. “Leave her.”

  “I’ll just take a look; she doesn’t sound fine.”

  The young man stepped forward obstructing his path as the first punch landed on his jaw, jerking his face awkwardly to one side.

  “What the—?” He put a hand on his face for a split second, then, quick as a fox, formed a fist of his own and landed a savage punch on Callum’s chin. Callum sprawled backwards onto the grass verge, where he lay catching his breath for a moment. Chastened, he had the sense to stay silent.

  The old man looked on in disbelief as the Samaritan went to check on Melissa; he had his phone in his hand and was already dialling an ambulance. He talked alternately to both the operator and Melissa and was assured that help was on its way.

  Melissa herself was largely unharmed, save for being in shock, and had climbed out of the car. She sat on the grass bank, rocking backwards and forwards to comfort herself. A little blood trickled from her forehead; she would probably need a stitch.

  The passerby went back to the old man and sat him down in the passenger seat of his own Golf; this was a better option for his older body than the grass.

  Callum was still in the ditch, though he’d got to his knees and was preparing to scramble out. Nobody was in a rush to help him.

  The ambulance arrived a few minutes later. The paramedics treated the old man’s head wound on site and decided to take him on to the hospital to check him for concussion. Melissa was largely unharmed; no stitches would be needed. She declined to be taken to hospital.

  Callum had stumbled out of the ditch and was standing beside the wreck of his car, arms folded and a dark expression on his face. He was still angry, but had simmered back to below boiling point. He had called a tow truck to remove his beloved Ferrari, and arranged a ride back to his parents’ house.

  All seemed well.

  Chapter Two

  Melissa Ross had been driven home alongside her fiancé in the back of Mr Parker Senior’s Jaguar. Callum had finally calmed down and, having regained his usual bluster, had regaled his father with the whole story, embellishing each detail for good measure. Callum, too, had refused to go to the hospital, and
Melissa began to feel much better as soon as she was seated quietly in the Jaguar.

  Mr Parker had called his wife to tell her they were on their way, and, via speakerphone, she had voiced her displeasure at Callum and Melissa’s refusal to get themselves checked out properly, a scolding that had made Melissa smile at and Callum feel like a child again. But mothers did that, they both knew; their sons and daughters were always and forever eight years old, no matter their current age or what they were doing. Mr Parker Senior, for his part, hadn’t much else to add—his wife had said more than enough for them both—and as they turned up the long shingle driveway to their house, which stood majestically at the end. Mrs Parker could be seen stood in the doorway, jiggling from one foot to the other as if the stone step was burning the underneath of each foot in turn. Clad in a formal skirt and silk blouse, she looked like a member of the Royal Family.

  She descended on them, full of anxiety, as soon as they got out of the car. “Why don’t you go and get checked out?” she asked again.

  “Because it’s Sunday and I don’t fancy sitting in an A&E department for the next six hours,” Callum moaned. “Plus, the fact, we’re both fine—a couple of scratches each, nothing more. So, stop fussing, Mother!” He carried on past her and into the coolness of the hallway. Melissa followed suit, not wishing to rile her man up any further, even though his words had sounded downright rude. His mother was concerned; she could understand that.

  “I don’t like it,” Jean Parker said, turning to her husband.

  “His choice. He’s a grown man. And he’s not hurt.”

  “But still.”

  They both fell in behind Callum and Melissa and headed through to the lounge, where Callum was helping himself to another gin and tonic. Ice clinked in the tumbler as he sat back in one of the wing chairs, the wing itself almost hiding his face as he closed his eyes, savouring his drink in silence. Everyone else took a seat and collected their own thoughts after what had just happened. Mrs Parker quietly made sure that their future daughter-in-law, Melissa, was truly alright, then changed the subject to lighten the mood, breezily enquiring about where they’d ended up for lunch. She cooed her approval at their choice, a local hotel and a longstanding favourite of her own.

  Callum hadn’t said another word. He’d finished his drink and had dropped off to sleep, so Brian and Jean Parker, along with Melissa, left him be.

  “It must be the shock. Best to let him sleep it off,” Mrs Parker said, taking Callum’s drink from his hand and putting it on a nearby table. They headed outside, where a huge umbrella shaded a table and chairs on the patio. A retired greyhound slept peacefully in the shade of a bush hanging over the far corner. His ears pricked up as they settled in, indicating he wasn’t actually asleep at all, but his eyes stayed closed. Familiar voices were nothing to get bothered by.

  “So how are the wedding plans going?’ Jean Parker said brightly, happy for something else to chat about while her grumpy son had forty winks inside. She hated rudeness.

  “Terrible!” Melissa complained. “The hotel is being super silly over the menu and letting us have the whole of the gardens for our party because there’s another wedding on! Can you believe it? Why they can’t simply tell the others to find another venue, I’ve no idea. It’s causing Mummy and me a lot of stress. As if we haven’t enough to worry about!”

  “Oh dear. How annoying for you. What will you do?”

  “Mummy is going to go and tell the other people they can’t have the gardens. She’s found out who they are, so once she’s told them, it’ll be fine, I’m sure. They’ll just have to find another venue, and we’ll have the gardens to ourselves!”

  Jean watched as Melissa helped herself to the jug of lemonade that stood in the centre of the table. She didn’t offer anyone else a glass. Rather than say anything, Jean filled a glass for herself anyway, and then poured another one for Brian, who had tuned out of the wedding arrangement conversation and was watching the dog sleep. Melissa was turning out to be a proper Bridezilla of gigantic proportions. At least she looked the part, though, Jean thought, and would fit into their lifestyle on looks alone. And as for their future grandchildren, with Callum and Melissa’s natural good looks, they would produce a couple of beautiful children between them. That would be nice to share with the bridge club ladies.

  She was conscious Melissa was talking to her; she’d tuned out herself.

  “Sorry, Melissa. I was elsewhere.”

  Melissa scowled and repeated herself. “I said one of the bridesmaids has put so much weight on, the seamstress has had to make a whole new top half of the dress because she couldn’t squeeze in! I’m telling you, if she gets much fatter, I’ll tell her she can’t be a bridesmaid. I don’t want her ruining the photos because she can’t keep control of her food.”

  “Oh dear,” said Jean again. It was all she could think of saying. She glanced over at Brian, who was still intently watching the dog and showed no signs of rescuing his wife from the conversation. It was all right for him; he could simply turn the TV on or potter in his tool shed and avoid the drama. Even if Jean went inside, Melissa would almost definitely follow her, yammering away as usual about some other self-created drama. She sipped her lemonade and, needing some reprieve from Melissa’s whining, asked, “Why don’t you see if Callum is awake, take him some cold lemonade?” Her smile was as sweet as the saccharine she’d made the drinks with.

  Melissa pulled her bag onto her lap and reapplied her lipstick, then ran her fingers through her hair like a wide-toothed comb. Jean wondered if she did the same things before Callum woke up in the mornings, so she could be ready before he saw her bed-head. When Melissa was happy with her lips, she ran her tongue over her teeth, shook her head like a long-haired dog and went in search of Callum.

  Jean breathed out a deep sigh of relief.

  “Thank goodness for that,” Brian said in a near whisper. “Nice girl, but heaven give me strength,” he added, tilting his chin to the sky. Jean smiled and was about to add that the wedding would be done and over with soon when a woman’s shrill scream shattered the quiet.

  Even the dog looked up in alarm.

  “What the blazes has happened now?” Brian said, standing.

  Chapter Three

  Melissa was almost hysterical when Jean and Brian rounded the lounge door. It wasn’t obvious at first what they were looking at. Melissa stood with her hands covering her face, fingers splayed, screaming and crying all at the same time. Callum was as they’d left him when they’d gone out to the shade of the patio. But Jean knew her boy, and Callum didn’t look right. His eyes were still closed, despite the noise that was emanating from Melissa’s lungs. Jean rushed to her son and held the back of her hand to his forehead like she’d done so many times when he was a young boy. He didn’t feel hot this time; no, he felt cool, and cooler than she would have expected given the warm day. She patted his face, and called out to him.

  “Callum, Callum—wake up, Callum,” she said urgently, but there was no response. Something was dreadfully wrong. “Call an ambulance, will you, Brian?” she directed. He reached for his phone and punched in 999 as Jean carried on trying to wake their son.

  Crying now, she felt for a pulse on her son’s neck. Nothing. She moved her fingers slightly higher up; nothing registered. She tried his wrist but got the same result: nothing. She turned to Melissa, panic written on her face.

  “Melissa! Help me lay him on the floor!” she demanded, but Melissa, still in shock and crying uncontrollably, stood rooted to the spot behind her future mother-in-law.

  Realising Melissa was not going to be much use and that Brian was on the phone with the emergency services, Jean heaved Callum down to the floor and on to his back and started CPR. Somebody had to take charge, she thought, pushing down rhythmically in the centre of her son’s chest.

  Brian rang off with the emergency services, shoved his phone back in his pocket and knelt beside his wife.

  “Ambulance is on its way. Mov
e over, love. I’m a bit stronger.”

  Jean sat back on her haunches, her shoulders aching, and let her own tears flow in earnest now that her husband had taken charge. She watched as he pressed overlapping palms to the spot where Callum’s St. Christopher usually hung; it now rested in the creases of his neck. She could hear Brian counting to thirty, over and over again, his compressions regular and evenly spaced. Each time he reached thirty, he released his hands, pinched Callum’s nostrils shut and administered two deep breaths.

  Then back to his chest.

  Counting.

  Thirty.

  Two deep breaths.

  Still no response.

  Jean and Melissa sobbed as Brian persevered, not willing to give up yet, not willing to give up hope. Now they could hear a siren in the distance.

  “Go to the front, Melissa. Show them where to come! Hurry!” Brian said, panting, not breaking his rhythm.

  Melissa didn’t move.

  “Melissa! Go! Now!” he shouted. That did the trick; she fled towards the front entrance as the siren groaned to a stop outside. There was the sound of the door being flung open, then heavy footsteps, and then the paramedics were there, a man and a woman. Brian was still straddling his son, still pushing at his chest. One of the crew gently placed his hand on Brian’s shoulder for him to move over and let them get to work. Quickly and on auto pilot, the two made basic checks and took stock of what they were dealing with. The female directed questions to Jean, sensing she was a little more coherent than the younger woman.

  “How long has he been unresponsive?”

  “We’ve just found him like this. We were all outside and he was having a sleep.”

  “When did he go to sleep?”

  “About half an hour ago, maybe.”

  The look on the woman’s face told Jean it wasn’t a good sign. CPR was generally futile at this stage.