DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Book 1-3

by Oliver Davies

  “Darren!” she called suddenly, and I stopped, poking my head back around the stairs to look up at her. “You’re not going to run back down the lane, are you?”

  Her concern touched me. “No,” I informed her. “Kay is coming to get me.”

  Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “Oh good,” she said, before smiling wryly. “I suppose that means the whole of Lockdale will know that we- you know.” Her shower-flushed cheeks darkened further.

  “She’ll keep quiet if I ask her,” I said seriously.

  “Would you mind?”

  “Of course,” I reassured her. “It’s not anyone else’s business, anyway.”

  “Exactly,” she said, looking relieved.

  Kay’s car horn honked out front and I waved to Alice before jogging out the door.

  Kay was grinning like a Cheshire cat when I got inside.

  “Don’t say a word,” I grumbled.

  “Busy night working, were you?”

  “Kay.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” she chuckled.

  “Keep this to yourself, will you?” I said. “Neither of us wants to be gossiped about, and Lockdale is terrible for it, honestly.”

  Kay looked mildly offended before she nodded. “Alright, I will. But people’ll see me picking you up in the car and wonder where you’ve been,” she pointed out.

  “If they’re paying that much attention to what I’m up to,” I said, “they should apply for my job.”

  “Or get a life,” she added.

  I huffed a laugh. “Or that,” I agreed.

  Our mood sobered as we got closer to the station, and we both fell quiet.

  “Have you seen it yet?” I asked when we were getting close.

  She shook her head. “You called me just as the chief sent the email and I came straight to get you.”

  “Thanks, Kay.”

  “Anytime, loverboy.”

  I snorted.

  We headed into the station, and I nodded to Hogan through the glass window of her office.

  Sliding in behind my desk, I opened up the email she’d sent and started scanning the dense text of the post mortem report.

  “My god,” I murmured when I’d sat back. I looked across the station to Kay, but she was deeply focused on reading it, and I went back to it, reading it again.

  It explained that the York post mortem had been right, it had been the same medicine that killed Graham that was in Sarah’s cabinet, but it hadn’t been just that.

  The blood thinner was a type of drug called Warfarin, and it wasn’t just used for pharmaceuticals, but also in pest control. Other trace chemicals had been present in Graham’s blood, demonstrating that it hadn’t been medicinal Warfarin that had killed him at all, but the type used in rat poison.

  And the dose had been too high, the post mortem went on to say, far higher than two bottles’ worth of Sarah’s Coumadin could’ve accounted for. Perhaps it could have still been a possible suicide if it weren’t for Sarah’s emptied Coumadin bottles. That suggested definite misleading, even tampering of evidence, and Graham had no reason to do that.

  He’d been poisoned.

  I startled when footsteps approached my desk and looked up to find Hogan standing over me, waiting expectantly.

  “You’ve read it?” she said grimly. I nodded. “It’s been upped to murder investigation now. I’ve let York know.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Though you’ve been treating it like a murder investigation all along, haven’t you?” It wasn’t a question.

  “See if there’s any CCTV outside Mr Stewart’s--” she started.

  “There’s not, ma’am,” I said. “I already checked.”

  “The end of the lane?”

  “No.”

  She sighed.

  “Darren?” Kay approached from the side. She glanced over at Hogan, hesitating, but Hogan indicated for her to continue. “You know what the nurse, Donna, was saying about Freddie?” she started. “Well, I looked into it yesterday afternoon, just following up all the leads, like you said.” She paused, and I waited impatiently. “Freddie’s accident happened very close to Graham’s house.”

  My heart rate picked up. “Really?” I said quietly. “That’s a hell of a coincidence. Did he give a statement?”

  Kay shrugged. “He just said he didn’t see anything when he was asked about it. Sarah was away in York, and Graham said he’d slept the whole night. That was it.”

  “It might be nothing,” I said, doubting what I was saying even as I said it. “But good work.”

  Hogan nodded. “Very thorough, you two. If we had the budget, I’d give you both a pay rise.” She shrugged and walked away, her heels clicking.

  “Worth looking into, huh?” Kay said, visibly excited now that the boss had walked away.

  “Absolutely.” I was still turning it over in my head, but the pieces weren’t coming together yet. I shook my head. “We should inform his family of the developments.”

  “Sarah’s first?” Kay said.

  I agreed and, after letting Hogan know what we were doing, we headed back up to Graham’s. I’d not driven the route up to Graham’s half as many times as I had since he’d died. It’d become familiar now. I hardly needed to pay attention to anything, but the road in front of me as I took the winding turns up towards his house.

  It was a dark morning even though it was nearing ten, the grey clouds threatening to drench the land with rain. Graham’s house looked like an old, yellowed tooth lodged into the slope, with the bleak autumn moors stretching out behind it. Summertime moorland was the most beautiful, with the flowering heather and gorse turning the landscape into a patchwork of warm purple and yellow, but there was a certain, cold beauty to the rugged hills now that the heather was dimming down and starting to fade a little. Wild and dramatic, the landscape had been the same since before the Romans and would continue on without us.

  The only bright colour was that of Maha’s patrol car, stationed outside the house.

  I rapped on her window as we came up the drive and she looked up, smiling to see us. She looked a little tired.

  “What time did you get here this morning?” I asked.

  “About seven, sir.”

  “Crikey.” She’d been working long hours, watching Sarah’s home just in case. “Did you hear about the post-mortem?”

  “Hogan called me about it and filled me in, sir.”

  “Good. Hopefully, the York lot will be able to provide some extras to give you a break.”

  “Here’s hoping. But Sarah does bring out tea and cake for me every hour,” she added with a smile. “I’m certainly not going hungry, sir.”

  I chuckled and thanked her again, and then Kay and I made our way over to Sarah’s front door.

  Sarah looked surprised to see us but led us inside. “More questions?” she said, looking weary. The house was dimly lit, and her face looked more drawn.

  “Not exactly,” I said, trying to figure out how we’d break the news. “The second post-mortem just came in -”

  “Oh Christ,” Sarah said, her hand pressed to her mouth. “What did it say?”

  “It was poison, Sarah,” I said, as gently as I could manage. “The likelihood of it being suicide is now considered pretty much non-existent.”

  “He was killed,” Sarah said, and I wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement before she looked up and looked me squarely in the eye. “He didn’t kill himself, Darren. He didn’t.”

  “I believe you,” I said. “I don’t think he did either, I never did.”

  She sagged back in her chair. “Thank you for telling me. I think you should go now.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, genuinely pained not to be able to leave her to process what we’d said just yet. “We just have a couple more questions. It won’t take a minute, and then we’ll leave you in peace.”

  “Go on, then,” she sighed.

  “There was an accident down the lane, about six months ago?” Kay said.

  “What’
s that got to do with anything?” Sarah said, her temper unusually frayed.

  “Did Graham talk about it?” I said. “Please think back. It may be important.”

  She relented. “I don’t think so. He told you lot that he didn’t hear or see anything, and that’s what he said to me too.” She gestured helplessly. “He seemed troubled by it, but everyone was, weren’t they? A young man like Freddie dying before he was twenty-five. It’s a tragedy. Those motorcycles are dangerous.”

  I nodded. “Alright, thank you, Sarah, that was all.”

  We left Sarah alone after that, Maha staying to keep watch. The rain clouds burst as we drove back to the station, Kay at the wheel and quiet eighties music in the background. I ran over everything in my head as the rain came down on the roof and thought about the York DCI I knew would be likely taking this case over now it’d been named as a murder inquest.

  It was still relatively quiet at the station; no officers from York had yet shown up, and I was relieved at that. Lexi was curled up around Samuel’s feet, and Hogan was in her office on the phone.

  After fetching the biggest mug that I could find out of the cupboard, the one I usually claimed, and making myself enough coffee for three people, I settled at my desk and stared blankly at the screen.

  I read the post mortem report over again until my eyes were swimming, but didn’t find anything new there that I hadn’t already read. Thinking of Freddie’s accident, I pulled up the report on the night he’d died, just down the lane from Graham’s.

  The report was somewhat sparse, the explanation for which I realised when I looked at other cases going on at the time, including a series of murders in York. The York officers who’d dealt with it had taken it at face value as an accident and moved on to other cases that needed their attention.

  With my head resting on my hand, I scrolled through the pictures they’d taken of Freddie’s accident, zooming in on parts of the bike, but the quality was too blurry to make out much.

  I chewed the skin of my thumb as I thought about it, wondering if there had been more to Freddie’s accident than anyone had thought to look into at the time.

  Kay headed out with Lexi to get lunch from The Teaspoon and give the dog a walk around the block, and I absently returned her wave as she headed out.

  There was only one garage in Lockdale, a place called Neil’s Tyres, and unless the York officers had sent Freddie’s damaged bike away to be dealt with by a company in York, Neil’s Tyres would have records on what happened to it.

  “Neil’s Tyres, Andy speaking.”

  “Morning, I’m DI Mitchell--”

  “It’s afternoon now, mate.”

  I glanced at my watch and realised he was right. “Afternoon, sorry. I’m looking into a motorbike damaged in an accident that you might have dealt with, can you help me with that?”

  “An accident?”

  “Yes.”

  There was some shuffling on the other end of the line. “Gimme a minute. I’ll get Mike.”

  I stayed on the line as I was handed over, some low talking in the background that I couldn’t make out.

  “Mike speaking.”

  I repeated what I’d said to Andy and was met with a brief silence. “You mean the accident involving that kid, the young lad?”

  “Freddie King, yes. Did you deal with the bike after the accident?”

  “We did yeah, sold it I think if memory serves.”

  That was better than it having been crushed. “Have you got records of who it was sold to?”

  “Who are you again?” Mike said suspiciously.

  “DI Mitchell, from the police station in Lockdale.”

  Mike grunted. “Well, look, I’ve got work going on right now, but you come by later, and I’ll dig them up, alright?”

  “What time?”

  “Say, three or so.”

  I agreed, and he hung up. Looking at my watch, three o’clock seemed too far away. I had a look around the system to see if Freddie’s parents were in the area to talk to, or if he had any other relatives, but it turned out that they’d moved to America soon after Freddie had died. His grandmother, Maggie, was the only one of the family still in Lockdale. I rubbed my forehead, and my stomach grumbled a complaint. I’d had nothing but coffee since my rushed breakfast, and I pulled myself up to go and get something to eat.

  The town centre was relatively busy with people out shopping or on their lunch break like I was.

  I headed over to The Teaspoon and picked up a panini before claiming the chair beside Kay, who had almost finished her soup. Lexi was under the table, and I was careful not to step on her wagging tail.

  “You look glum,” Kay noted helpfully.

  I shot her a glare as I bit into my panini, biting off the stringy cheese. Kay looked at it with jealousy.

  “If Anna didn’t bake such nice things, I’d be able to eat stuff like that.”

  “Anna’s cinnamon rolls are so much better than microwaved cheese and tomato paninis,” I pointed out reasonably, although right now I was so hungry that the panini was tasting pretty damn good.

  “True,” she said, pacified. She polished off the remainder of her vegetable soup and patted her stomach. “Well, any news?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “Not really. I’m following up on Freddie’s accident, but I’m not hopeful. I might just be trying to fit the little bits of evidence together in ways they weren’t meant to fit.”

  Kay bumped her shoulder with mine. “We’ll get to the bottom of it,” she reassured me.

  “Before the trail’s gone completely cold? It’s already been over two weeks.”

  “I know.” She stood up. “I’ve got a couple of calls to make about the funeral. I’ll see you back in the station in a bit?”

  “Graham’s funeral?”

  “Yeah. The Leeds lot have decided they want us to coordinate getting the body to the undertakers. I’m handling it.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Let me know when there’s a set date, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  She left me to finish off my lunch, Lexi giving me sad eyes as she was led away without getting a scrap from my plate.

  The teashop filled up fast, and I took my last couple of mouthfuls of panini outside, wandering absently downtown as I ate.

  It had brightened up into a pleasant day, and the town’s old, sandstone buildings looked especially attractive in the golden light and with the unusually blue sky as a backdrop. There was a small stream running through the town alongside the road, and I followed it down, wanting to stretch my legs before I returned to the station.

  The cemetery was near the edge of town, and I hesitated when I saw it, before letting myself in through the side gate.

  The graveyard was overshadowed by several large yew trees, one of which leaned as precariously as many of the gravestones, some of which listed dates from well over two hundred years ago while many others were unreadable.

  The place was respectfully quiet, and even the noise of the traffic from the town centre seemed muffled. The only other person there was a young woman who looked around twenty, wearing a battered-looking raincoat and with her dark hair pulled back in a loose bun.

  She looked up as I came in, the gate creaking, and I could that she’d been crying. She turned quickly away, back towards the gravestone she’d been kneeling in front of, never mind that the ground was clogged with the recent rain. The gravestone in front of her looked recent, and there were a bunch of brightly coloured, fresh flowers laying on the grass beneath it.

  I ambled down the path, finding myself scanning the newer-looking gravestones for Freddie’s name. Graham would be buried here soon, too, and I wondered sadly where they’d put him and what kind of a stone Sarah would choose.

  By virtue of the way the path meandered, I ended up approaching the young woman, who was wiping her face on her sleeve. As I got closer, I could make out the name on the gravestone she was looking at and stopped abruptly, the gravel path crunch
ing beneath my boots.

  The name on it was Fred King.

  Hesitant as I was to disturb someone who was clearly grieving, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see who this woman was. She couldn’t be family, given that I’d already researched it and none of Freddie’s relatives left in Yorkshire was anywhere near this woman’s age.

  “Hello,” I said cautiously. “I’m sorry to disturb you.” She looked up, blinking several times before she rubbed her face again. “Did you know Freddie?” I asked.

  “Did you?” she said stiffly, her voice cracking. “Half the town acted like they’d been best mates with him, but you’ve all forgotten him now.”

  I opened my mouth and closed it again. “I didn’t know him,” I went with. “I’m DI Mitchell, from Lockdale police station.”

  She stared at me. “Why’re you asking about Freddie, then?” she asked. “Has there been new evidence or something?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.” That was technically true. We’d not had any new evidence relating to Freddie’s accident, other than the fact that it’d happened oddly close to Graham’s. “Did you know him well?” I asked.

  She shrugged, looking down at the wet grass and scuffing her toe against it. The knees of her jeans were soaked through. “I was his girlfriend, then fiancé. We were gonna get married.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Is what it is,” she said, shrugging again. Her voice was flat, but the pain on her face was obvious. She still missed him greatly now, six months on, that was clear. “Can’t believe he was so stupid.”

  “What do you mean?” I was hesitant about speaking, not wanting her to clam up, but the gentle prompt seemed to help.

  “He was a good rider, you know?” she said as if she’d had the words bottled up inside her. “He was always careful when he took me out, and his mum was always on his case with it, cus she was a nurse, and she’d seen motorcycle accidents at the hospital, so she worried for him like.”

  I nodded.

  “It just wasn’t like him,” she said. “He didn’t take turns fast, he didn’t rev, he wore a goddamn high vis at night cus it made his mum feel better. Running into a wall? Just stupid. I don’t know what he was thinking.” She shook her head, glaring at Freddie’s gravestone like she almost wanted to kick it until her expression fell into sadness again. “I miss him, I do.”