by L M Krier
‘Of course you can. I put honey in mine. It’s quite an acquired taste and I have a very sweet tooth.’
Once he’d put the kettle on to boil, Ted reached behind the desk and pulled out the present Jezza had sourced and wrapped for him then put it on the desk in front of the cleaner.
‘I wanted you to know that we’ve all very much appreciated the hard work you’ve done for us over the years, Mrs Skinner. The team had a whip-round to show their appreciation, and I wanted, in particular, to give you something to remember me by.’
He had to help her with the wrappings as emotion got the better of her. Then she laughed in delight at the designer wastepaper basket, and gasped in pleasure at the toiletries Jezza had chosen.
‘This is so very kind of you, Ted. I shall miss coming here. It’s the last bit of contact I have with my Cyril, when he was in the force. Almost like family. I’ve no idea what I’ll do with myself now.’
‘Here’s my card. If ever I can do anything for you, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to get in touch, at any time.’
‘Thank you. And I rather like this tea. I must get myself some.’
It was much later than Ted had intended when he finally got home. In the end he’d insisted on staying and driving Mrs Skinner back to her house to save her having to carry her gift home on the bus.
Trev was less than amused and had clearly decided to go ahead and eat without him, although he hadn’t yet got as far as dessert. Ted was apologising from the moment he set foot over the threshold, hurrying into the kitchen, dodging cats, even Adam, who was the first to greet him, as ever.
‘Sorry. I’m really sorry, but I do have a good excuse. Honestly. I had to help a damsel in distress and in tears.’
Trev thawed visibly at the tale Ted told him, then stood up to give him a hug.
‘You are very kind, and very sweet and more than a little bit soppy. I love that you looked after Mrs Skinner, even if it did make you late. I especially love it when you grovel. But you are on a final warning for Sunday. I want my promised day with you all to myself, or the consequences will be dire.’
‘Think carefully before answering that phone, Ted Darling. It could end in divorce.’
Trev was lying on his back on the coarse grass on top of Mam Tor, his head pillowed on one of Ted’s legs. A skylark, was singing overhead, his fluting tune having been rudely interrupted by the sound of Ted’s mobile phone ringing.
Ted pulled it out, carefully extricating himself from under Trev’s head and looking at the screen.
‘Sorry, it’s Rob, so it must be urgent. He knows I’m not officially on call.
‘Yes, Rob?’
‘Boss, I’m really sorry, but I need to run something past you to make sure you’re happy with my decision. I can’t get hold of Jo, except briefly. He’s had to take his youngest son, Mateo, to hospital with a broken leg from playing football. It’s a bad break, too. It will need surgery to pin it. Jo wants to stay with him. He doesn’t want to phone his wife because she’s taken the three girls to Bolton to see the family and he’s worried she’d drive back like a mad thing and put all their lives at risk.’
‘It’s fine, Rob. What’s the problem? Bear in mind I’m an hour and a half away, at best. I’m up a mountain and the car is down near Castleton.’
‘I’m sure we can manage, boss, I don’t need you to come in. I was after someone senior to say if I’m making the right decision or not. That’s all.
‘I’m up at the Lanky Hill flats. There’s a bit of a siege situation going on. A well-known drug user, who’s totally off his face. He’s got a woman and three small kiddies in the flat with him. None of us can make out what it is he wants, but he keeps turning the gas taps on and waving a lighter around. He goes hysterical at the sight of uniforms, but he’s talking to me so I don’t want to leave him. He knows me. I’ve nicked him a couple of times, but for some reason, he seems to trust me. I’d never forgive myself if I left then he blew the place up and there were fatalities.
‘But meanwhile we’ve got a suspected murder-suicide situation on the other side of town, and according to the first responders, it’s a bad one. A man’s come home from work and found his son stabbed to death and his wife having tried to slit her wrist but still alive. No signs of anyone else present in the property, no signs of a break-in.
‘He’s gone to phone the emergency services, realised he’s left his phone in the car, run outside and the front door’s slammed behind him. By the time the first responders arrived and helped him to break in, they’ve found the woman dead with a fresh stab wound to the chest, which looks self-inflicted.
‘I’ve sent Steve for now to start the ball rolling. A CSI team is on its way and the good news is that Doug is back at work and going to manage it himself. Obviously, if it starts to calm down here, and especially if we manage to get the man out of the flat and into safe custody, I’ll go straight over there myself to oversee. But for the moment I don’t want to leave, unless you tell me to, and the chances of finding a trained negotiator on a Sunday aren’t good.’
‘You’ve done absolutely the right thing, Rob. Let Steve know he can call me at any time if he has queries or doubts. He’ll do a good job on assessing the scene. He was very thorough when he went to the Honest John scene on his own.’
Trev had stood up to start packing away the remains of the picnic. He motioned towards Ted.
‘Go,’ he said, picking up from the one-sided conversation that Ted was needed. ‘Your head’s there already. Go. At least we got to enjoy the picnic in the sunshine. You can drop me off at home on the way, then do some proper grovelling when you finally get home.’
Ted’s mouth moved in silent thanks then he spoke again into the phone.
‘Rob? Tell Steve I’m on my way. I have to drop Trev off first but I should be with him in under two hours, if you let me have the address.’
The metallic stench of blood hung heavy in the air of the well-appointed kitchen of a semi-detached house. Crime Scene Investigators had arrived and were setting up, Doug once more back in his role as Crime Scene Manager, after his sick leave.
Steve went over to talk to him first outside the property, anxious not to do the wrong thing on what was clearly going to be a big case. Doug tried to keep any note of doubt or criticism out of his voice as he asked, ‘Is it just you for now, Steve?’
‘The DCI’s on his way but he’s got to come from Castleton, so I’m starting things off. I have worked a murder scene before, though,’ Steve told him, painfully aware of how defensive he sounded.
‘Well, why don’t you have a quick word with the first responders to begin with, while I assess the scene and get some stepping plates down, before we all go wading in there contaminating everything. We’ll get all the initial photos done, too. I’ll give you a shout when you can go in.’
Steve had exchanged a brief nod with one of the first officers from Uniform at the scene. He was currently sitting outside in the area car with the husband who was looking pale and shaken, wanting to get back into the house. The man was wearing the green uniform of the ambulance service.
The second officer was outside the house, monitoring who came and went. She’d nodded briefly in recognition at Steve when he’d arrived. He knew both officers had considerably more years of service under their belts than he did. It made him more acutely aware of his own inexperience, and more determined not to get anything wrong. He went back now to have a word with her. At least she seemed more approachable than her male colleague outside in the car.
‘So, is it just you for now, Steve?’ she asked him, echoing Doug’s words.
He tried to detect anything behind her tone, but found it neutral enough. He knew her name was Valerie Gabriel but wasn’t quite sure how to address her, so he began with ‘Erm, the DCI’s coming later, but he’s out of town. I’m only here to start things off. Please can you tell me what you know so far?’
‘Ron and I were despatched following a 999 call reporting
the fatal stabbing of a boy of eleven and an apparent attempt by the mother to kill herself. We were out on what turned out to be yet another false alarm, so it was about twenty minutes before we arrived.
‘We found the husband in a right old state, trying to kick the front door in and getting nowhere fast. He said he’d come home to find his son dead from a single stab wound to the chest, and his wife unconscious on the floor, having apparently tried to slit her wrist. You’re the detective, Steve, you’ll have noticed he’s a paramedic, so we took his word for it that the boy was dead and the woman was unconscious when he got home. No need not to.
‘He said he realised he’d left his mobile phone in the car, so he ran outside to get it, phoned 999, but when he tried to get back in to help the wife, the door had slammed shut and he couldn’t find any way to get back inside. He’d left his keys inside the house. He’s been all round the outside, kicking the front and back door, throwing anything he could find at the windows, but it’s the usual story. Double glazing. Not easily broken.
‘When we got here he was hurling himself at the front door. With Ron adding a bit of weight and me doing my best, we managed to break it open and he ran in. We heard him give like a howl of pain and he shouted that his wife was dead. We’d followed him in, right on his heels, and we could see that he was right. She had a big kitchen knife sticking out of her chest, with one hand still by the handle part. I double-checked and she was dead. No pulse, no signs of life, although she hadn’t gone cold by then.
‘He completely lost it at that point. Screaming that he could tell she’d not long died and that if he could have got in earlier, she might still be alive. Blaming the door for slamming. Blaming himself for forgetting his phone, and then leaving his keys in the house. Blaming us for not getting here sooner. You probably know the sort of thing.
‘Ron took him to the car to try to calm him down a bit, but we’ve not made any attempt to question him. We called it in straight away and waited for the cavalry to arrive.’
‘Are none of the neighbours around, and did none of them have a spare key?’
‘Nice sunny Sunday afternoon for a change, Steve. Most of them are out at the nearest park or maybe on a trip to the seaside. We did ask him about a spare key but he says not. He doesn’t like the thought of anyone else being able to go into his house when he’s not there.’
At that moment, one of the Crime Scene Investigators came to the door to tell them Doug had cleared them to go in for an initial look, as long as they walked where indicated.
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ PC Gabriel offered. ‘I mean, I’m sure you know what you’re doing, but sometimes two pairs of eyes are better than one.’
Steve thanked her and agreed to the suggestion, then stepped into the hallway, walking where indicated, and headed for the kitchen at the back of the house as indicated. They passed a living room on their right as they went, the door open to show a television, on quite loud, blaring out the usual Sunday afternoon bland moving wallpaper. A continuity voice was announcing the next programme, an old favourite feel-good film.
As soon as the unmistakable first notes of the most popular Disney film song of all time started to blare out, Steve stopped in his tracks, the colour visibly draining from his face above the mask he’d donned for entry.
‘Turn it off!’ he said sharply.
The PC and the CSI exchanged surprised looks. Not much showed above the masks, only their eyebrows shooting up towards the headwear they both had on.
‘It’s not respectful,’ Steve said, more quietly. ‘Turn it off, please.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘An architect,’ Trev said reflectively.
Ted was concentrating on his driving. He wanted to get to the scene of the incident as soon as he could, but in his own car, he wouldn’t risk getting stopped for speeding. He made a querying noise.
‘Hmm?’
‘That’s who I’m going to have an affair with, to amuse myself when you keep abandoning me. I can’t imagine they keep getting called out on a booked day off.’
Ted changed down to do a sneaky overtaking manoeuvre where there was just about enough room for it to be safe, saying reasonably, ‘They might, if one of their buildings collapsed.’
‘A draughtsman, then. They’re pretty desk-bound. I did go out with one once but he nearly bored me to death. And he kept his socks on in bed. Ugh!’
‘I can only apologise. It was all booked, but fate got in the way.’
He had already explained all the circumstances, but Trev was enjoying playing the martyr.
‘I know, and I shouldn’t complain. Poor little Mateo. And poor Jo, he must be worried sick. I do love it when you grovel, though, so I’m not finished with you yet.
‘But I know you want to get there as soon as you can, so drop me off near Dialstone Lane and I’ll walk from there. It’ll save you a few minutes, at least.’
‘Are you sure? I really am sorry. I’ve no idea what time I’ll be back tonight, either. Not until I get there and assess the situation. I’ll try to make time to take you out for a meal in the week, before you go away next weekend.
‘And please don’t find an architect. Or anyone else, come to that.’
Trev laughed as Ted pulled up at the side of the road to let him get out and grab his rucksack from the boot.
‘You’re safe enough, for now. Goodness knows why I put up with you, but I do love you, Mr Policeman.’
Ted drove straight to the scene. Police tape had gone up round the perimeter of the property now and the inevitable curious onlookers, mobile phones snapping away at anything interesting, had descended. Two more officers from Uniform had been despatched to keep them back.
Ted signed himself in and stopped to pull on coveralls, gloves and shoe covers before going into the house in search of Steve. He found him in the kitchen, making meticulous notes in his pocket book and taking photos and videos on his mobile phone. He looked up in surprise to see the boss arrive. Ted was quick to reassure him.
‘Me being here is no reflection at all on your ability, Steve. You know we’d usually put a DS or above on a potentially complex case like this, but there’s no one except me currently available. And I’m here to advise if you need me to, not to cramp your style.’
The bodies of the boy and his mother were still in the room. Ted was busily assessing the scene, looking for the slightest detail which might be useful. The boy looked to have been tall for his age but slim. Not much bulk about him yet. His life cut short at that gangly stage. Ted doubted he would have had much strength to put up any sort of defence and the blow from the knife which appeared to be what had killed him. Especially if the fatal wound had been unexpected.
The woman was small, too. Thin rather than slim. A pinched face, an anxious expression frozen on it in death. She must have been in unimaginable torment to take the life of her own son, if that was what had happened.
‘The coroner’s office has been informed, sir. There’s no pathologist available to come out today, so we’ve been trying to photograph everything as it is,’ Steve told Ted.
‘Do you have any doubts on the murder-suicide theory?’ Ted asked him. ‘From what you’ve seen so far? To want a pathologist to view the scene?’
Steve looked uncomfortable. There were Crime Scene Investigators in the room, going about their work, and he seemed reluctant to speak in front of them.
‘Could we speak outside, sir, please? Perhaps in the car?’
Ted indicated to him to lead the way. The DC headed for the car he’d come in. Once they were inside, he turned to Ted and began talking, awkward as ever.
‘Something isn’t quite right, sir. About the scene. It looks a bit staged to me.’
Ted was careful to keep his tone neutral as he said, ‘Go on.’
He knew how much effort it cost Steve to speak up about anything. He’d also learned to trust his judgement. Steve was observant. He had shown that on the Honest John case. Ted wondered if he�
��d spotted the same thing which had jumped out at him immediately.
‘A few things, really. But mostly that first knife wound to her wrist. I mean, you’ve just stabbed your son to death, for some reason. That’s unusual in itself. Statistically rare, I think. So in the kind of extreme frame of mind you would need to be in to do that, it wouldn’t be out of character to want to take your own life. So the logical thing would be simply to turn the knife on yourself and stick it through your chest, surely? After all, you’ve already witnessed at first hand how effective that is.’
He was looking anxiously at Ted as he spoke, his tone still hesitant, unsure of himself. Ted simply waited for him to continue, not wanting to rush him.
‘Instead, you lie down on the floor and take a superficial slash at your wrist, then somehow lose consciousness. Because the husband, who’s a paramedic, said she was alive but unconscious when he got home, and that the boy was already dead.’
‘What are you basing that assertion on? That she was lying down when the wound to her wrist was inflicted?’
‘The blood pattern, sir. If she’d done it while she was standing up, there should have been some drips, at least, on the floor. Perhaps down the front of her clothes, too. There weren’t. The only sign of blood was the trickle down the side of her arm and onto the floor, suggesting she was lying down when that wound was inflicted.’
‘She fainted after stabbing the boy?’ Ted suggested, playing devil’s advocate. ‘Came to, saw what she’d done so was filled with remorse, and decided to take her own life? But she lacked the courage or conviction to make a proper job of it and fainted again from her effort, perhaps?’
‘The husband’s a paramedic, though, sir. He said she was unconscious when he came home and found what had happened. Wouldn’t he know the difference between a faint and being actually unconscious and unresponsive? And then there’s the time lapse between the two injuries. Not to mention leaving the knife with her.’