Jason Shaw Mystery Series Boxset

D C Grant

Book 1

Jason Shaw Mystery Series

Table of Contents

1. The Accident

2. Break-in

3. Salvage

4. Airport

5. Computer Bits

6. Back to School

7. Intruder

8. Funeral

9. Drug Bust

10. Questions

11. Hotel

12. Paralyzed

13. Confession

14. Sandman

15. A Million Dollars

16. Hole in the Floor

17. Caught

18. Stunned and confused

19. Death by Car

20. No escape

21. Fire

22. Hospital Room

23. Graveyard

The Accident

I’m not sure what disturbs my sleep, but I wake with a start. A fleeting dream fades as I open my eyes and I cannot recall it, although it has left me panting and sweaty – a nightmare? Through the thump of blood in my ears, I listen for the sound of my parents’ car in the drive. Is it this that has woken me? But it is quiet. Perhaps they are already home.

I pick up my cellphone and read the time off the screen: 1.30am. They should be home by now; they were only going to a dinner party at a friend’s house and said they would be back before midnight.

Someone is moving around downstairs, and from the pattern of the footsteps I know that it’s Gran, who has come over for the night. I didn’t want her to babysit me – I turned fourteen last month and thought I could be left on my own – but no, my parents said, Gran will come over.

She is probably getting ready for bed and her movements woke me. I roll over, pulling the duvet up in defense against the cool winter night, and close my eyes. But I cannot settle. Something is wrong, but I don’t know what.

A car pulls up in the drive. I slip out of bed, shivering in my pajamas, and creep to my window which overlooks the driveway.

I don’t know the car. Two men get out and I can tell that they’re both police officers; in plain clothes, but police officers all the same. I think I recognize the one on the left, but it’s hard to tell in the dark. They approach the front door and hesitate a second before ringing the doorbell. The chime echoes through the house while I leave my bedroom and walk to the top of the stairs. Gran opens the door and looks out at the two men. The fact that my parents aren’t there to answer the door chills me.

Mrs Shaw? They both hold out identification but I can’t see the details from the landing.

Yes.

Sorry to disturb you. May we come in?

She doesn’t say anything, just stands to one side so that they can cross the threshold. They look uncomfortable, unsure. I start to come down the stairs and they all look up at me. That’s when I notice that my palms are clammy, and I wipe them on my pajamas.

Jason, one of the men says. I recognize him now: Mike Parsons. Perhaps you should both come and sit down? I know that they are about to deliver bad news. I feel numb as I reach the bottom of the stairs and follow Gran into the lounge where I sit beside her on the couch. She takes my hand and it trembles in mine. It’s about your son, Thomas … and Mary, his wife … I’m sorry, there’s been an accident.

Are they all right? she asks, her other hand going to her chest.

We’re not quite sure what happened, Mike continues, ignoring her question like he has a prepared script and he’s sticking to it. But we think a tire blew out while the car was traveling at speed on the freeway and the driver lost control of the vehicle. It rolled multiple times, before ending up on its roof. The Jaws of Life were used to get them out and they’ve been taken to Harborview Hospital in a serious condition. I haven’t heard any more, I’m sorry.

This doesn’t seem real; I can’t believe it and I won’t believe it until I see them, touch them, and know the truth of it for myself.

Why did my dad lose control? I ask. Dad has trained in defensive driving and knows how to handle a skid.

We’re waiting on the results of the blood alcohol tests.

Dad wouldn’t drink and drive!

Your mother was driving.

I know that Mum wouldn’t drink and drive, either, but right now I’ve lost the ability to speak.

We’ll take you to the hospital, Mike says. We’ll wait for you to get ready.

I rush upstairs and dress in whatever is on hand in my bedroom, then meet Gran and the two police officers at the door. Together we drive to Harborview through streets that are dark and quiet with little traffic. We had snow a few weeks back, but now the streets are just wet and shiny from the heavy rain that fell in the night. Is it this that made my mum lose control? It’s a Sunday night and most people are asleep, and I wish that I was too. Perhaps I am and this is all a bad dream. I had been about to go back to sleep, after all.

At the hospital, Mike goes straight to the desk and shows his ID, which gets us in with no trouble. He must have asked at the desk where my father is, as he heads toward the elevator and presses the button that takes us to the Intensive Care Unit. My heart sinks when I see the sign.

The doctor meets us in a small room off to the side, called a family room. I feel that both good and bad news has been received in this room. I wait to receive mine. I’m still numb. Mike remains with us and places a hand on my shoulder as the doctor talks about my father, but I hardly hear anything he says until the last few sentences.

There’s head trauma, broken back, shattered ribs and a fractured shoulder. It’s up to him now. We’ve done all we can. The next twenty-four hours will tell.

And my mum? I ask.

He shakes his head. I haven’t heard. I think she’s still in ED. I’ll find out while you visit your father.

I’m not sure now that I want to see my father, and Gran senses my hesitation. She smiles at me but there are tears in her eyes. Mine are dry. I keep thinking, any moment now I’m going to wake up and my parents will be home, in bed, safe, and this will all be a dream. Or a nightmare.

Come on, Gran says as she takes my hand. My legs aren’t so good. You’ll have to help me.

We walk down the passage to the nurses’ desk. The doctor is still on the phone, but a nurse comes toward us and says: Hi, I’m Vanessa, I’m looking after Mr Shaw tonight. Before you go through I just want to warn you there’s a lot of equipment around him – there are IV lines for fluids and medication, and there’s a tube in his mouth for the respirator. It’s all going to look strange, but it’s what he needs at the moment. He’s unconscious, but not in any pain. You can talk to him if you want, he may be able to hear you. Do you have any questions before you see him?

Is he going to be all right? I ask.

She frowns. He’s stable for the moment. I expect the doctor will tell you more.

Gran says impatiently, Can we see him now?

Yes, of course, this way.

She leads us to a private room. There’s a police officer at the door. I wonder why, but then all the thoughts are wiped from my head when I see Dad. At least, I think it’s Dad, but the person in the bed cannot be my father. My dad is a big person, strong and always with a smile on his face. This man is still and small and quiet and is surrounded by so much equipment that I can hardly see him. The machine beside him hisses as it pumps air into his lungs in a regular rhythm. There’s dried blood on his pale face. I step closer and can see that this man is definitely my dad, in spite of my first impressions. I want to reach out and touch him but there are too many tubes and wires in the way.

Suddenly I need to get away. I turn quickly and head toward the nurses’ desk. Wake up, I tell myself, wake up, this is a bad dream.

I feel Gran’s hand on my shoulder, and I look at her and she’s crying. I’m not; I want to but I can’t. I put my arms around her and she clings to me, but I still can’t cry.

The doctor comes over and stands beside us with a solemn expression on his face.

Erm … I’ve heard back from ED … about Mrs Shaw, he says.

Gran turns to him and I stand next to her, trembling and feeling cold inside.

Is she okay? I ask.

I’m sorry, they did all they could, but her injuries were extensive, he says. Beside me, Gran sobs louder. She died soon after she arrived, the doctor finishes.

What time did she die? I ask, the question coming from nowhere. I’m as surprised as the doctor.

She died about 1.30am, so they tell me.

For a moment I am unable to breathe. When I can, I say, Where is she?

She’s still in the ED until a formal identification can be made, he says.

The words leave my lips though I can’t believe that I speak them. I’ll do it.

How old are you, son?

Fourteen.

We should really have someone over the age of eighteen. He looks toward Gran.

I don’t care, I want to see her, I say.

I advise against it. You should remember her the way she was.

I want to see her.

What do you think, Mrs Shaw? We only need one person to make a formal identification. It’s not necessary to involve the boy.

Gran seems dazed. Tears are running down her face and it takes her several seconds to reply.

He’s their only child, she says. She needs to see him one more time.

I think she’s got the grammar wrong, but maybe it’s the Irish in her. Gran has a strong belief in the afterlife.

I’ll let ED know you’re coming, the doctor says as he reaches for the phone.

As we leave the ward, Mike comes with us. He places his hand on the top of my head to comfort me as we travel down in the elevator. I notice the sorrow in his eyes. I’d forgotten that he works with Dad, that they are mates, and I know it’s hard for him too.

There’s a man in a green lab coat waiting for us as we step out of the elevator into ED and he says, Hi, I’m Dr Waterman, the registrar here in ED. Dr Beresford told me you wanted to see your mother. We’ve put her in a private room.

He leads us through the emergency department to a room with a closed door. He opens the door and hesitates. We’ve cleaned her up but there’s some blood. She’s also got some bruising about the face. If you want to change your mind … He doesn’t finish the sentence but looks at me.

I want to see her, I say and step into the room.

Someone is lying on the single gurney inside, covered with a sheet from top to toe so that it isn’t possible to see who it is and I can believe that this isn’t my mum, that they have it wrong. Dr Waterman walks to where the head will be and pauses, looking at Gran.

Are you ready? He pauses. Is he ready?

Holding my hand tightly, Gran takes a deep breath, nods and he turns back the sheet. I feel tears sting my eyes when I see my mum’s face. Her eyes are closed – she is sleeping, and all I have to do is call her and she’ll wake up.

Mum, I say.

Gran puts her hand on top of mine and says, She’s in the arms of Jesus.

She’s dead, I declare, turning on her, suddenly angry. She’s frigging dead!

Reality hits me then, hits me in the stomach and I double over, vomiting onto their clean shiny floor.

Break-in

Mike half-carries, half-drags me from the room and I can hardly see for the tears. Gran follows, saying something but I can’t hear what; the words are bouncing around inside my head like billiard balls. Mike lowers me into an armchair and covers me with a blanket. I’m shaking but I’m not cold, and my feet and hands start to tingle and I find I can’t breathe. I hear a male voice: Take it easy, son, you’re hyperventilating. You have to take deep breaths, slowly now, slowly. He keeps repeating it again and again until I start to listen to him.

It’s hard to do as he says and I struggle to slow my labored breathing. His voice is strong but calm, and eventually my breathing returns to something like normal. The tingling fades from my hands and feet. A warm cup is pressed into my hands; it’s tea, hot and sweet. I sip cautiously, not trusting that the liquid will stay down. It does. The billiard balls of sounds stop skittering around, and now I can hear Gran and Mike and the registrar.

I told you it wasn’t advisable, the registrar is saying.

It had to be done, Gran says. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw her. I know. I like the way Gran’s taking charge. And don’t talk to me about sudden, violent death, young man. I lived in Northern Ireland. I can tell you a few things!

That seems to shut him up.

Has a priest been called? Gran continues.

Not yet. We have ministers of religion affiliated to the hospital. Would you like me to make a call?

No one’s administered last rites?

No, we leave the family to arrange that.

Gran places her hand on my arm; it’s warm on my cold skin.

Jason, I’m going to call Father Peter. There are people here to look after you. I’ll be back soon.

I nod, or think I nod. The tears have dried but I’m exhausted, as if I’ve run all the way to the hospital. The cup of tea is taken from my hand. I blink to clear the fuzziness in my eyes. I’m in another family room like the one upstairs. I’m in the corner, in an armchair while Mike stands by the door, talking to the registrar. There is a nurse beside me.

There are tissues here, she says, pointing to a box on the table next to me. I’ll look in on you from time to time. Try to rest. You’ve had an awful shock.

Shock is right but rest is impossible. The emergency department is busy, even in the closing hours of the night, and Gran is gone for ages. The nurses come in regularly and check on me and ask me if I want anything. The one thing I want is what they can’t give me: Mum, alive and well.

Gran comes back just as the sun is rising and a dull light comes in through the window, making her grey hair look even greyer. Her eyes are bloodshot and her face pale.

Let’s go home, she says.

Did Father Peter come? I ask.

Yes, he’ll see me tomorrow about the arrangements for the funeral.

And Dad? How is he? I ask. My voice is a croak. I’m afraid of the answer.

Still the same. He’s holding his own. We’ll have to wait and see.

Mike offers to take us home. The city is awake and on the move. It takes us some time to make our way home through the early morning traffic, and when we pull into the driveway of my house I know there’s something wrong: the front door’s ajar. We closed it behind us when we left earlier. Mike notices it too.

Stay in the car, he says. He talks into his radio before he gets out, asking for assistance, and we stay in the back seat of his car while he approaches the open door, taking his gun from its holster as he approaches.

He pushes it open, standing to one side as it swings inward, and then disappears inside, his gun leading the way. Mike was in the army before he joined the police, and I know he can handle whatever or whoever is inside. He’s gone for only few minutes before a marked police car pulls into our driveway. Gran and I climb out of Mike’s car as he comes out of the house, the gun now holstered.

He walks toward the uniformed officers and says, It’s a mess, as he shakes his head. He looks over to us and sighs. It looks like a break-in. You’d better have a look, tell us what’s missing. Just don’t touch anything.

Gran goes in first, but stops in the hallway as she can’t go further without tripping over something. Her face, already strained, goes white. I step around her and see for the first time the mess that our house is in.

It looks like a tornado has gone through and flung everything to the floor: plants, mirrors, frames, books, the ornaments over the fireplace; cushions torn and covers ripped. The kitchen is worse. I know Mum will freak when she sees it and then I sob when I realize she never will. Every cupboard in the kitchen has been emptied; there’s crockery and glasses all over the floor. Mum liked everything neat and tidy and now everything is out of its place, like me, thrown suddenly into chaos. I leave the kitchen with Mike shadowing me, and I go slowly up the stairs, while trying to keep my tears in check, fearful of what I will find at the top.

They have desecrated my parents’ room. Everything from the cupboard is on the floor, the drawers emptied, my mother’s jewelry scattered. Even the spare room, where Gran sleeps when she stays over, has been wrecked.

I don’t want to go into my room. Mike stands behind me with his hand on my shoulder as I push open the door with my fingertips. It’s trashed; CDs on the floor with their cases smashed, my cupboard emptied, old toys on the floor, schoolbooks emptied from my schoolbag. A T-shirt is ripped and lying on the bed. It’s one Mum brought back from Las Vegas when she and Dad went for a wedding anniversary weekend. I feel sick again and tears are blurring my vision. My heart is ripped in two and now our house is ripped apart too.

The bastards, Mike says. As if you guys don’t have enough to deal with already.

Who would have done this?

Who knows? Did you lock the door when you left?

Gran was last out – I think she did.

Don’t you worry, Jason, I’ll get the bastards who did this. Come on, let’s go back downstairs.

My legs hardly seem able to support the weight of my body as we make our way down the stairs. At the bottom is my father’s study, and this appears to be the worst-affected room. Like the other rooms, everything’s taken from the cupboard and bookshelves but here the destruction is total – they even took a hammer to the computer and bashed it into pieces. My photos and music were in there, along with all my email contacts, and my homework – a big assignment due in at the end of term. Not that I really care about homework right now but even that has gone, destroyed, like my life. I turn and walk along the passage and out through the front door into the weak winter morning sunshine, where I join Gran beside the car.

Anything missing? Mike asks.

I try to picture what the place looked like just a few hours ago, but I can’t think of anything – even with the mess, our TV, sound system, PlayStation, jewelry are all still there. The computer too, even though it’s in pieces.

No, I say. It’s all there – well, what’s left of it. They may have taken some of the jewelry, but it’s hard to tell in all that mess."

Hoodlums, Gran mutters. Who would do this?

I’m not sure, but I’ll get them, don’t you worry, Mike says and he glowers so fiercely that for a moment he frightens me. You can’t go back in until forensics has been through. Is there anywhere I can take you to stay for a while? This may take some time to sort out.

Gran has her condo in the retirement village to go back to, but it only has one bedroom and I don’t want to go there. Neither do I want to go back to the hospital.

Can I go to Ben’s house? I ask.

Where’s he? Mike asks.

He lives just around the corner. He’s my best friend, I explain. I’ll text him and tell him we’re coming. I put my hand to my pocket and realize that my phone isn’t there. I’d left it on my bedside table in my rush to get ready in the early hours of the morning.

Can I get my phone? I ask Mike. It’s in my bedroom.

He nods and I rush back into the house, taking the stairs two at a time – but my phone is not on my bedside table, neither is it on the floor among the mess. I start to move things around so that I can find it.

Mike appears at the door. I told you not to touch anything, you’re destroying evidence.

I can’t find my phone.

Did you take it to the hospital?

I shake my head. No, I left it on my bedside table. They must have knocked it to the floor. Can you ring it?

I give him the number, but when he dials it my ringtone doesn’t play. The phone is not in my room.

Do you think they might have taken it? Mike asks as he kills the connection.

I shrug, Why? It wasn’t even the latest model. Why trash the house and only take a cellphone?

Maybe for the data on it?

What data? My friends’ phone numbers and the dates of the track and field meets? It’s hardly worth stealing for that! My dad’s phone would have more data on it. Where is my dad’s phone, anyway? I thought maybe I could take that instead of mine.

It’s bagged as evidence.

Evidence?

In case the driver was using it while driving.

He had hands-free. Besides, you said Mum was driving, so he’d still have been able to use his phone if he’d wanted.

I’m sorry, Jason, we have to cover every angle in a case like this. We also have your mother’s phone.

I know that she wouldn’t have used her phone while driving either. I sigh.

Come on, Mike says. If there’s nothing else that you need, I’ll take you to your friend’s place. We leave the messed-up room without my cellphone.

Wait, I say, as we pass my parents’ room. I’ve just thought of something.

Mike follows me in and I wade through the mess to my dad’s bedside table. The power lead is there but the electronic tablet that is usually attached to it is gone. Instead there is just a paperback on the table next to the bed.

They took dad’s tablet, I say, holding up the power cord.

Looks like they took, or smashed, anything that could hold data, Mike says. I’ll put that on my report. Let’s go. Crime scene investigators will be here soon.

We leave, and I give Mike directions to Ben’s house. Ben’s six months older than me; he’s also bigger than me and smarter than me. There isn’t anything about computers he doesn’t know. He’s good at math and science; I’m good at English and social studies and so we help each other with homework. He’s Jewish, I’m Catholic, but that doesn’t mean anything to either of us. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember.

There’s a comfort in the familiarity of his house as we pull into his driveway, and I jump out of the car and almost run toward the door where I attack the bell, eager to see Ben’s face and restore some normality.

Mike is still helping Gran out of the car as Ben opens the door.

Jase, what’s up? he asks, but his grin fades when he sees my face.

Mum’s dead, I say and stumble forward.

He catches me before I fall. I think you’d better come in, he says.

He leads us into the family room where they’re having breakfast. I feel the emptiness in my stomach when I see the food, remembering that the remains of my dinner landed on the hospital floor a few hours ago.

Ben’s mother stands up as we come in. She knows something is wrong but she makes us sit down and pours us cups of tea and coffee before letting us talk. Mike is the only one capable of speaking, it seems, and he tells her about the accident while sipping his coffee. Her eyes fill with tears as she hears it and she has to take a fistful of tissues out of the tissue box.

I just can’t believe it, I just can’t, she says. It’s awful. And to have everything destroyed in your home on top of it all, well … She blows her nose hard.

Is it all right if Jason stays here, Mrs Rosenberg? Mike asks.

Of course he can, she says. What about you, Mrs Shaw? You’re welcome to stay here too.

No, I must get back to my condo, she says, putting down her empty teacup. I have phone calls to make. Then I’ll have to go back to the hospital.

I think of Mum’s family in Hawaii. I’m glad I’m not the one who has to tell them; in fact, I don’t think I could.

I’ll take you home, Mrs Shaw, he says and draws out some business cards from inside his jacket pocket. I’ll leave a few cards here. It’s got my cellphone number on so you can call me at any time, Jason.

I walk with Gran and Mike to the front door where Gran gives me a hug before getting into the car. It’s a relief when she leaves – it’s as if her grief is a burden on me, a burden that lifts as she drives away. I know I should be giving her comfort, and yet it is too hard to handle my own grief, never mind hers, and I turn and walk back into the house with a heavy heart.

Ben’s mum asks if I want breakfast. I nod and she places a plate in front of me, and I eat what’s on it, although I can’t seem to taste it. It’s like I’m in this altered reality and nothing makes sense. I start to panic. The tingling breathlessness starts again, just like it did in the hospital, but Mrs Rosenberg makes me a cup of hot chocolate and this I can taste, so my panic subsides.

Ben wants to stay home from school but his mother won’t let him. She gives him his lunch and his school bag, and, together with his older brother, Joseph, sends him out the door. His father had left before I arrived so now it’s just the two of us in the quiet house.

You need to sleep, she says

I nod. My eyelids want to close, even though, when they do so, images of the hospital flash past on the insides of my eyelids – Dad lying on the bed with all the tubes and IV lines, and my mother’s dead face.

You can have Ben’s bed.

I stumble down the passageway with Mrs Rosenberg behind me. The room is cluttered, as always; there are at least three computers in various stages of deconstruction or reconstruction, I am never sure which, lying on the floor. I think Mrs Rosenberg has given up getting Ben to clean it.

Do you want me to bring you anything? she asks as I sit on the edge of Ben’s bed and slip off my shoes.

No, I say, swaying slightly.

She lifts up the duvet and covers me with it as I lie down. The bed’s still warm from when Ben left it, probably about the same time I was leaving the hospital.

Mrs Rosenberg runs her hand over my head, just the way my mother does – I mean, did – and I stifle the rising hurt within me, then she exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. I turn toward the wall and close my eyes, but all I can see is my dead mother’s face. When I try to blot that out of my thoughts, I see the destruction of the house; all destroyed, like my life. I bury my head in the pillow and let the tears flow.

Salvage

I wake to the smell of baking. I don’t know where I am; it doesn’t feel like my bed, nor does it look like my room, and I briefly wonder what happened in the night. Did I walk in my sleep and end up in Gran’s room instead?

Then I see the computers on the floor and memories of the night’s events engulf me all at once and I stifle a sudden sob. It isn’t a dream.

I throw back the covers and get out of the bed, stumbling along the passage heading toward the smell of fresh cookies.

Hello Jason, Mrs Rosenberg says I sit down at the table. Would you like a cookie?

Thanks. I take one and bite into it. Mum never makes cookies, I add without thinking, and the mixture sticks in my mouth as I remember that Mum never will. I struggle to swallow the sweet mixture in my mouth until Mrs Rosenberg gives me a glass of milk to wash it down.

Ben will be home soon, she says.

I glance at the clock and see that it’s almost four o’clock in the afternoon, but I’m struggling to kick myself awake, I want to slip back into the oblivion of sleep. I sip at the milk to clear the cookie crumbs in my throat and ask, Have you heard from my gran?

She phoned earlier to see how you are, and she said to let you sleep. Your father’s condition is unchanged and she’ll call you back later.

At that moment Ben rushes in through the door and cries, It’s on the news!

Ben, please, his mother says. I’m sure Jason doesn’t want to hear it.

It’s all right, I say, and Ben runs to the TV and flicks it on. Music plays until the news comes on. The lead story is about the car crash and I notice Mrs Rosenberg look over at me anxiously, but I am as curious as Ben – so this is where my mother died, in the crumpled wreck being towed from the freeway.

A senior police officer with the Seattle Police Department is in Harborview Medical Center today, fighting for his life. Senior Detective Thomas Shaw and his wife, Mary, were involved in a serious car crash last night on the I-5. Mary Shaw later died in hospital. Detective Shaw’s condition is listed as critical. The scene of the accident was closed to traffic for several hours this morning causing significant delays. Police are investigating.

Turn it off, Ben, Mrs Rosenberg says sharply when she sees me swipe the rising tears from my eyes. My life has become a news report and it really hits home. It’s easy to listen to the news and hear of other people’s tragedies without thought, but different when that tragedy involves me.

The landline rings, startling us all, and Mrs Rosenberg answers it, speaks for a while then hands me the phone.

Jason? It’s Gran.

How’s Dad? I ask, afraid of the answer.

Gran sighs. "There’s no change yet but he’s doing well, they tell me. I’ve rung your aunt and they’re flying over tomorrow morning. Ben’s mum will take us to meet them at the