Dirty Old Town

by L M Krier

  ‘She doesn’t mind? Or she’s perhaps raised an objection and been told she doesn’t understand your idea of humour?’

  Ted could see from Burgess’s reaction that his comment had hit home. He didn’t want to be wasting time dealing with issues like this. Ones which DS Ramsay should have been all over. But he wanted to mark Burgess’s card for him, well and truly.

  ‘DC Burgess, I don’t expect to be spending time on my visits here with this sort of outdated and unacceptable behaviour. I shouldn’t need to. I’m here for Serious Crime. So I expect it to stop. Right now. Lee is a valued member of the team. You treat her as you would any of the others, please.’

  The please surprised Burgess, judging by his expression.

  ‘Fair enough, guv,’ he replied, plonking all the mugs onto a small tray and adding coffee or teabags and sugar as request. ‘As soon as we’ve had the brew, I’ll go and help Pete with the suspect interview.’

  ‘There’s no need. I’ll be watching over the monitor, in contact with the DS. The most profitable use of your time right now would be to write up your notes of the arrest in detail, and to see if you can find the other suspect by some means. Who’s overseeing the search of the first one’s premises?’

  ‘I left that to the Woodentops to sort out,’ Burgess told him dismissively, sloshing the freshly-boiled water into the mugs, fishing out the teabags and tossing them into the sink together with the used teaspoon.

  ‘Whereas I prefer always to have a CID presence during the search on a case like this. Then we have a first-hand account of exactly how it was conducted and what was found where. I generally find it works better that way. And once again, talking about respect and equality as befits the Force in the twenty-first century, you will refer to Uniform officers as precisely that and nothing else. Especially in my presence.

  ‘So clean up in here, don’t leave it to someone else to do, finish your drink quickly, then get back to the house search for a progress report and remain there until it’s been done to your satisfaction.’

  Ted could imagine the gestures Burgess was making behind his back as he turned and left the room. It bothered him not the slightest. He wanted to make something of an efficiently functioning unit of this team, then he could get on with the more important aspects of his new role.

  It was later in the day before Ted was happy to leave the Ashton team to it. The search had revealed some of the missing property, although their suspect was still denying everything and refusing to name the second man involved. They at least had enough to charge him with, then release him on bail with strict reporting conditions.

  Ramsay’s interview of him had been competent though not outstanding. Ted had made a few suggestions through the earpiece he was wearing, but it was a good enough result, although there was still the second suspect to find and bring in.

  It was pouring down by the time Ted left to drive back to Stockport. Typically, he’d left his raincoat in the car so he got a soaking on the sprint to where he’d parked it. He took his jacket off and draped it on the passenger seat to be drying out a bit on the drive back, then put his coat handy for when he arrived. It made him think once more about the footage Kevin was threatening him with. He’d better make time to take him for a drink at least once in the week as a down payment on the blackmail he was threatening.

  Trev phoned as he was driving.

  ‘Not wishing to force you to incriminate yourself, but can you give me a rough idea of when to expect you home? Your answer will determine which of two options I cook for supper. I know you can’t always be sure, so I’ll settle for knowing which day.’

  Ted chuckled.

  ‘I’ve improved recently, though, surely? And my answer is whichever will gain me a sticky sweet pudding.’

  ‘Play your cards right and you might get more than one treat.’

  ‘I’m on the way back from Ashton now. I need a catch-up, a brief one, with Jo and the team, then I’m all yours. I’ll give you a bell when I’m leaving, but it shouldn’t be too late. Hopefully.’

  A different attitude greeted Ted when he walked into the main office at his own station. All the team members were at their desks, finishing jobs and sorting paperwork before they went home for the evening. Quietly harmonious, with an air of purpose. Steve was busily working on his computer. He looked marginally better, at least. The deathly pallor had given way to a bit more colour, though not much. Ted didn’t want to make a point of singling him out. He’d find out later how he was.

  ‘We’ll have a quick round-up of developments, boss, now you’re back, before we knock off. Don’t get too excited. There’s nothing definitive yet. But there’s some progress to report, at least. The PM on our suspicious death is tomorrow. Mike’s covering. The Professor’s replacement is a Dr Sinclair. I don’t think we know him yet.’

  ‘It’s not going to be the easiest case to meet him over, either, I imagine,’ Ted said. ‘Mike, I know you’ll do your best to get the information we need, but I’m wondering if there is actually any way to tell if marks from hands gripping can be shown to be from pushing someone or pulling them in an attempt to stop them from jumping.’

  ‘There would be in crime fiction,’ Jezza put in with a grin. Ted ignored her and carried on.

  ‘You’ve probably already thought of this, but have we asked at the school the boy goes to? In case they’ve noticed anything about him recently. Although if they had, it might have been passed on to Children’s Services already. And where are we up to with them?’

  ‘I’m going to the school tomorrow, boss, to see if there’s anything at all they can tell us,’ Jezza told him. ‘Then I’m going with Maurice to see Children’s Services, about us talking to the boy. They’re being reasonably cooperative, but clearly they have to protect his interests. I thought it might help if I went. I know I’ve not done the Victim Support Training, but if I tell them about living with Tommy, I thought that might get us somewhere.’

  ‘Somehow we need to speak to that little lad. I know it will all be very traumatic for him. He’s lost his mam. There’s a chance the man he’s been living with is as innocent as he says he is and the boy’s being kept from someone he would feel safe with. But we can’t take risks with him. We need to try to find out what’s been happening in that household.

  ‘At some point I’ll talk to you about one of the ideas I put in my report to the ACC. Another way of looking out for warning signs. But not now. You’ve all got homes to go to. Anything else to report?’

  ‘Two more Black Mould Scam victims on our patch, boss,’ Rob O’Connell told him. ‘Not such good descriptions from them as from Mrs Hamer. Claire and I have been working through what we have for similarities and differences. We’re pretty convinced we’re dealing with the same people in both our areas. The good news is that we’ve thrown up some possible matches.

  ‘I thought we’d start by taking a few photos to show Mrs Hamer. Claire can come with me, in case Mrs H starts giving me those teacher looks again. Then, depending who, if anyone, she picks out, we can try the photos out on the other victims. We might possibly be getting somewhere.’

  ‘Excellent, well done everyone. Now, just before you all rush off. Some of you may know Mrs Skinner, who’s cleaned our offices for us since long before any of us were here, and generally kept us in order.’

  He wasn’t about to admit to the team the number of times he’d kicked a wastepaper basket to a state beyond redemption in frustration when things weren’t going well. Nor the number of apologetic notes he’d had to leave for Mrs Skinner, who always discreetly sorted out a replacement for him. Not to mention the reproachful messages she left for him in return.

  ‘Long past retirement age, but they’ve always let her carry on. She’s a police widow. A valued officer from this station, killed in the line of duty, and everyone knows the extra cash has been a big help to her. But now, as is always happening these days, the cleaning firm who employed her has been taken over by a bigger one. Impersonal. A
ll they’ve done is look at her age and decide based on that she can go. Goodness knows what she’ll do with herself without her work.

  ‘Anyway, I thought it might be nice to get her something. A small gift to show our appreciation. A card at least. So let me know if any of you want to chip in, or sign it or something. Purely voluntary, of course.’

  Ted went for a quick flick through his emails and any notes on his desk before he left. He had his phone in his hand and was telling Trev, ‘I’m on my way now. Just putting my coat on,’ when there was a light tap on his door and Jezza came in.

  ‘Sorry, boss, have you got a minute?’

  ‘Cancel that,’ Ted told Trev, motioning to Jezza to take a seat. ‘I will be putting my coat on very shortly. Hopefully.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to delay you but I thought you might like to know what I’ve managed to prise out of Steve. Although it’s probably easier to get info out of an MI5 agent. I dragged him out for a sandwich and a coffee at lunchtime and asked him outright what was bothering him.’

  ‘I hope he realises there’s no question of him being in any trouble. His sickness record is excellent. Two days off being ill is nothing to get worried about. And if it was all a bit much for him with the demo, he only has to say and there is help available.’

  ‘Simpler than that, boss. Affairs of the heart. Océane is going to the States for six months, the jammy thing. She’s very highly regarded in her field, you know. So much so that she’s off to share skills with the FBI. And Steve is going to be totally lost without her. Knowing someone like her thinks he’s okay means the world to him. You know how low his self-esteem is.’

  ‘I do, but I don’t know why. To my shame I know very little about him. I don’t think he has family, does he?’

  ‘There’s a father, or perhaps a stepfather, I’m not sure, somewhere, but he has no contact with him and won’t talk about him. I know his mother died suddenly, not long after he joined up, but I don’t know any more than that.’

  ‘You know a lot more than I do. I don’t even know where he’s from.’

  ‘Hampshire, I think. He’s always very vague about himself. But you know I studied language and speech patterns as part of drama training, so that’s where I’d put him as coming from. Oh, and I’ve heard him say grockles on occasion.’

  ‘I’m not even sure what they are. It sounds a bit suspect.’

  Jezza gave an exaggerated eye roll at that.

  ‘Tourists, boss. The invading hordes, who appear as soon as the sun comes out. Like the ones who descend on the New Forest every year and manage to run over some of the ponies and donkeys. Anyway, you’re clearly in a hurry to get off, so I won’t delay you.’

  ‘By the way, before you go, Jezza, I’m hoping you can help me with part of the present for Mrs Skinner. I want to get her a really nice, very solid wastepaper basket.’

  Jezza gave him one of her looks.

  ‘Wow, boss. Just what any woman has always dreamed of.’

  He smiled at her tone.

  ‘It’s a bit of an in joke between us. She’s had to replace mine a few times, for reasons I’m not prepared to go into for fear of incriminating myself. So I thought a nice stylish one, a designer one, if they do such things. Maybe wooden, perhaps? And then put some presents in it. I’ve no idea what. Bath stuff? Hand cream? Trev will have some ideas, no doubt.’

  Jezza had her phone out and was scrolling through some searches.

  ‘Er, boss, you do realise a wastepaper bin like you’re describing is going to cost you a good three figures?’

  She held the phone out to him to show him the screen. He looked at it in astonishment.

  ‘I’d no idea it would be that much. But I think she’d appreciate the humour. Could you send me the link, please? Then I’d better get going or I’m going to be in trouble.’

  * * *

  She was in the kitchen, making his breakfast. She and the boy had already had their tea, and he was in the living room, doing his homework. She’d decided it was best if she didn’t try to help him. She only made things worse and angered his father.

  She preferred it when he was on nights. His mood was generally better when he first woke up. Which meant that at flashpoint moments, like checking homework, he wasn’t usually on such a short fuse. His work took a toll on him, of course. She understood that. He had a lot of responsibility. And accountability.

  She was always so stupid. She’d never learned to judge the sort of pressure he was under when he got home. Always saying the wrong thing. Or not serving his tea just how he liked it. It was no wonder he got angry with her.

  The signs were good so far. She’d heard him humming away to himself as he took his shower and had his shave. She knew he’d slept well. She’d looked in on him a couple of times to make sure.

  The boy knew to creep round like a little mouse when he came home from school and his father was still sleeping. He’d barely made a sound. Now he was at the table in the living room, head down over his books. Trying so hard, as he always did.

  She paused occasionally to put her head around the doorway. Simply for the pleasure of looking at him. Not to disturb him. He was oblivious to her in any case, studying as hard as he was. The feeling of pride, looking at his frown of concentration, almost took her breath away.

  Then she heard the top stair creak as the man started down. He was in his sock feet, his work boots downstairs, ready polished. For a big man, he’d learned the art of moving quietly, but that step always made a noise. He kept saying he’d fix it one day.

  He went into the living room first. She immediately stiffened with tension. She paused in her breakfast preparations. Every fibre on the alert for any sounds which would take her rushing in to try to protect her son. Even though she knew it was a total waste of time and would only enrage the man further.

  ‘Now then, lad, how have you got on with your homework?’

  His tone sounded jovial enough.

  ‘Much better without your daft mother thinking she’s helping and making it worse, I bet.’

  It was quiet for a moment. She interpreted the silence as the boy passing over his book, filled with trepidation, no doubt, then the father starting to look through it.

  She hovered.

  Waiting for the explosion.

  Praying it didn’t come.

  ‘Well, this is a bit better, at least. Good boy for trying. There are still some careless spelling mistakes, though. Where’s that desk dictionary I got you? It’s no use relying on computers to correct your spelling for you like lazy people do. You need to take control yourself. Make sure you check how to spell new words. And it’s very important your written work is beyond reproach. It will need to be to a high standard in your chosen career.

  ‘You’re never going to excel at sports or anything physical, a little lad like you, so you have to exploit your intellect. Get these mistakes corrected. And by that I mean do it again, don’t just scribble on it. Leave it out and I’ll check it again when I get back from my shift.’

  She heard him coming towards the kitchen, even though he still made little noise. She hurriedly turned back to her cooking, desperate to get everything perfect.

  So far his mood was better than she’d dared hope.

  She mustn’t do anything to spoil it.

  ‘And how is the love of my life? I hope you have my breakfast ready, woman,’ he said but he sounded jokey, almost affectionate.

  For once she didn’t cringe as he came up behind her. He even planted a soft kiss on the side of her neck.

  She was trying to be so careful with the hot fat. Not wanting anything he was doing to distract her to the point of splashing or spilling any of it onto herself. Or onto him.

  Now he was running his hands, slowly, sensually, down her back. He cupped one to each of her buttocks, kneading so gently. It was almost seductive.

  She tilted her head, eyes half closing, leaning back against him. Feeling rare arousal despite herself.

  Then
the pressure of his hands increased. Pinching, hurting. She tried to struggle, to say something. One of her hands was still gripping the pan. The oil was getting too hot now. Starting to spit angrily everywhere. She tried to use the other hand to switch off the gas under it but his weight against her prevented the movement.

  Desperately, she dragged the pan off the heat, her clumsy action sloshing hot fat all over the naked flame which instantly flared up.

  He grabbed her by the upper arms, flinging her bodily out of the way as the smoke detector started its shrill, frenetic beeping.

  The boy came running into the room, calling for his mother as the father was soaking a towel under a running tap, dropping it over the flames. Extinguishing them quickly and efficiently.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s only your clumsy mother, trying to burn the place down. Again. What a good job I’d not left for work yet. And now I won’t have time to eat here. I’ll have to grab myself something on the way in. You take care of yourself while I’m out, lad, in case she does something else just as stupid.’

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Is there any way you’ll be able to tell us, doctor, from the marks on the body, whether the lady was thrown or pushed over the handrail? Or whether the signs are more compatible with someone perhaps grabbing hold of her and trying to prevent her from jumping?’

  Dr Sinclair, the stand-in pathologist in Professor Nelson’s absence, gave DS Mike Hallam a rather old-fashioned look over the top of his glasses. He was a small man, slimly built, neat and meticulous in both his appearance and in everything he did and said. He countered with a question of his own.

  ‘Do you watch a lot of crime fiction on television, sergeant?’

  ‘No, sir, I don’t. It’s all too far-fetched for me. Not good for my blood pressure.’

  ‘Doctor is fine, there’s absolutely no need to call me sir. And I’m assuming you don’t like it because of how it misrepresents the role of the police in sudden death investigations?’