Under Parr

by Andrea Bramhall

  She buzzed the intercom and waited.

  “Yes?” The voice was thin, reedy. Maybe wheezy was a better description.

  “Maja Hanin?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Detective Sergeant Kate Brannon and my partner Detective Constable Gareth Collier. May we come in?”

  “Top floor. On the left.”

  The door buzzed and the security latch released to let them in. Post was piled up on a small shelf next to the door, and the doors on either side of the hallway they entered were numbered. While it wasn’t the tidiest place she’d ever seen, for a communal space in a block of flats, Kate was pleasantly surprised. There was no stale odour, no cobwebs, and it looked like the floor had been introduced to a mop fairly recently. The carpet on the stairs was worn in the middle of each step, but it looked as though it was hoovered regularly. The windows were clean, the sills dusted, and there was neither graffiti nor mould covering the walls. She glanced at Collier to see if he had spotted the details. He gave no indication he had. She sighed and started up the stairs.

  Collier was in front of her, setting a fast pace, but she wasn’t going to let the little punk try and show her up. She ran five miles every morning. More on nice days. She jogged up, enjoying the hint of competition that she knew would form between them.

  Maja Hanin stood in the open doorway at the top of the stairs. She looked pale and tired, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

  “Maja, thank you for seeing us while you’re ill. We’ll try not to take up too much of your time,” Kate said.

  Maja nodded and led them into the room.

  Collier had to cock his head to the side to prevent him from hitting it.

  Maja had no such problems. She was a tiny woman. Kate wasn’t sure if she’d reach five foot, but if she did, it wouldn’t be by much. She was thin too. So thin that the bones in her wrist were overly prominent when she shook Kate’s hand and offered them coffee.

  “No, thank you. We’ll try to be as quick as we can.” She held out the reconstructed face. “Do you recognise this man?”

  Maja took the page and studied it. She held one hand over the lower half of the face and squinted like she was trying to shift it slightly out of focus. Then she held it further away, before looking closer again.

  At least she’s giving it proper thought.

  “I think I know him. Maybe. But I’m not sure where from.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  Maja shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. I’m not sure. It might be a face I know. The eyes look like…like someone I remember. But I’m not sure about the rest of the face.”

  “Could it have looked different? Maybe a beard? You said the eyes looked familiar.”

  “Yes, the eyes. Only the eyes. But I can’t think what would make the face right.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. Maybe it’ll come to you later.” Kate handed her a card. “If it does you can call me.”

  Maja took the card.

  “How long have you worked at Brancombe House?”

  “Only four years.”

  Only? “Do you like it there?”

  Maja shrugged. “It’s okay. The chemicals are hard for me. Cleaning chemicals. But it is all I can do.”

  Kate doubted that, but the background details that Stella had e-mailed her on Maja probably didn’t give her an outstanding CV. High school education, no job history before Brancombe House. She looked so fragile, so childlike, that Kate felt sorry for her. Working a job that was probably killing her to live in a tiny flat, and eke out whatever meagre existence she had. “Are you okay, Maja? Do you live here with someone?”

  Maja shook her head. “I live alone.”

  “Do you need anything? You’re clearly not well. Do you have your medication?”

  She smiled wearily. “Yes, thank you. I have everything I need. I just need to rest, to regain my strength. That is all.”

  Kate smiled sadly. “Then we’ll leave you to it.” Maja started to get to her feet, but Kate held out a hand. “We can find the door. You rest.”

  “Thank you.” Maja closed her eyes.

  Kate ushered Gareth out of the room and back to the stairs.

  “That’s it?” Gareth asked as they walked down the wide stairs.

  “Yup.”

  “You felt sorry for her.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Why should I?” Gareth asked with a frown.

  Kate sighed. “Never mind. She’s not the person we’re looking for.”

  Their next stop was Tim Warburton’s semi-detached house, which sat in a plush suburb of King’s Lynn. Wide, tree-lined streets were filled with parked cars, well-manicured lawns, and garden gnomes.

  Kate shuddered. The very picture of making it in the world.

  The Warburtons’ gnomes were sitting around a fish pond that looked to be filled with koi carp. The TV blared from inside, the lights shining out of the window as they approached the door. This guy was a list of contradictions. The house, the fish, the gnomes, none of it fit with the football-hooligan image he presented. The shaved head, the missing teeth, the tattoos. They all jibed with the wife-beater his record indicated he was, but the picture she saw here…well, it didn’t. But, domestic abuse can happen anywhere. It was far more insidious than people wanted to believe, so why not the middle of suburbia?

  Gareth pressed the doorbell and they both looked at each other as “Jingle Bells” rang out. A festive door chime?

  “Coming.” Mr Warburton’s voice echoed down the hallway and reached them easily from somewhere in the back of the house. A moment later he appeared sashaying down the hallway. Is that…dancing?

  He pulled open the door, a broad grin on his face.

  “Hello again, Mr Warburton,” Kate said.

  His smile faltered. “You again. What do you want now?”

  “Tim? Tim, who is it?” A woman’s voice called from the back of the house.

  He appeared to hold his breath for a moment, then waved them inside.

  “It’s the police, darlin’.”

  A woman appeared in the back of the hallway. In her wheelchair. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her make-up flawless, and did a marvellous job of hiding the black eyes Kate was sure would accompany the cut across the bridge of her nose.

  “Look, I told them at the hospital. It was an accident.” She approached them. “I wanted to take a bath. That’s all. Tim was due home, but I was impatient. I thought if I could get the water run and get myself in before he got home, it would save him a job. He works full-time, you know? As well as caring for me.”

  Kate glanced at Tim Warburton. He was watching his wife as she defended him. Not in a way that made Kate worry for her. Like she had to say what she was telling them. More like in admiration. That she would so easily admit to the weakness that led her to her predicament to save his reputation.

  “I have MS. It’s well documented. I have accidents all the time as my condition changes and worsens. What I can do today, well, tomorrow I might not be able to.” She threaded her fingers through her husband’s. “It’s the nature of the bloody beast. So I won’t be pressing charges against my husband, thank you very much. There are no charges to answer. He helped me. He got me up, got me dressed, then took me to hospital to have my nose reset because I hit it on the sink. Before he got home.”

  “Mrs Warburton, thank you, but that’s not why we’re here.” Well, it isn’t now. No wonder he zones out at work when he can. Caring’s his life, 24/7.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “We just needed to ask your husband a couple more questions about the remains that were discovered yesterday.”

  “What remains?” She turned to her husband. “Tim, what’s this all about?”

  “I didn’t get chance to tell you last night. What with the fall and everything. I was going to tell you. It just didn’t seem all that important today.”

  “Well, tell me now.”

/>   “I will, darlin’. Just as soon as the detectives ask what they need to.” He looked back at Kate and Gareth. “Fire away, then.”

  “Does the number 3840 mean anything to you?” Kate asked.

  Mr Warburton frowned. “Don’t think so. What is it?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t go into that.” She pulled out the facial reconstruction again. And held it so they could both see. “And you still don’t recognise this man?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No. Like I said this morning, he looks like every other old bloke out there.”

  “Do you recognise him, Mrs Warburton?” Kate asked still holding out the picture.

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Who is he?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.” She smiled and backed towards the door. Never judge a book by its hooligan-coloured cover, Kate. “Thank you for your time, Mr and Mrs Warburton. We’ll leave you to your evening.”

  She closed the door behind them and heard the latch fall into place. Then she heard raised voices as Tim Warburton started explaining why he hadn’t mentioned something as…exciting…as a police investigation going on at Brancombe House.

  “Strike two, sarge,” Gareth said as they climbed into her car and set off for David Bale’s home.

  “Yup. Good job I’m not playing on any team, hey?”

  He snickered but kept quiet.

  “Have you got the directions for this next one? I don’t recognise the address.”

  “Hang on, I’ll get Google Maps up.” He quickly opened the app and plugged in the address details. “Left out of here, then right at the end of the road.”

  Kate followed his smooth instructions for ten minutes and pulled up outside a property that looked empty. She couldn’t see any curtains or blinds at the windows, and mail looked to have piled up behind the door.

  “You sure this is the right place?”

  Gareth looked up at the number on the door, then at his phone again. “Yeah. It’s the address listed on his employee records. It’s also his grandad’s old house.”

  She tapped on the front door and peered through the window while she waited. “Doesn’t look like he’s been here for a while.”

  “What was that?” Gareth whispered. His body coiled, ready to spring into action as a cat wandered out of the bushes and hissed at them.

  “Just an old tomcat, Gazza,” Kate cooed mockingly. “The little putty tat, didn’t scare you, now, did he?” She bent forward and held her hand out in a beckoning gesture and tried to get the cat to come towards her while trying to impersonate Tweetie Pie.

  “I hate cats,” Gareth muttered.

  “That says a lot about a person.” She looked up and a glint of metal caught her eye.

  “Yeah, that they’ve got taste.”

  “Sh. What’s that?” She pointed behind him, to the tall wooden gate that would lead around the back of the house.

  “Erm, a gate, sarge,” Gareth mocked.

  She gritted her teeth. “I meant that brand new padlock that’s attached to the lock on said gate, Detective.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yes. That.” She walked over to the gate and pulled herself up enough to see over it. There was a bike parked under a makeshift lean-to. The lock on it was clean and new, there was a helmet strapped around the handlebars, and a pannier on the left of the back wheel. Someone was in there. Someone who appeared to be hiding. But she had no warrant.

  “If anyone asks, the gate was open. Now give me a boost,” she whispered to Gareth and raised her left leg. “I’m just going to take a little look around. No big deal.”

  “But, sarge—”

  “Sh! We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Just give me a boost.”

  She heard him sigh then felt his hands cupping her knee and pushing her higher up the gate. She managed to get her arms locked and then lifted her right leg so that her knee was supporting her weight. “Bloody hell, that hurts.” She lifted her leg from Gareth’s grip and swung it over the gate. It was awkward, she could admit it. But she was over the gate. She had to admit, she felt pretty smug. She used the cross-beams on the back to climb down and moved back to give Gareth room to get himself over.

  The gate swung open.

  Gareth held the open padlock in one hand and a lock pick in the other. “It’s like magic, sarge. It was already open.”

  Kate’s cheeks burned. Bollocks. She brushed her hair out of her eyes and straightened her shoulders while Gareth fought not to laugh.

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I tried to, sarge. You told me to shut up and not draw attention to us.”

  Bloody bollocks. “Right well, next time, try a bit harder.”

  “Sarge,” he agreed and pressed his lips together, presumably to contain the rest of his mirth.

  Bastard bloody bollocks. “Where’d you learn a trick like that, anyway?”

  “My dad taught me when I was a kid.”

  “Your dad?”

  He nodded. “He thought it might come in handy in the future.”

  “Why?”

  “He said you just never know what you’ll need until you need it.” He pointed to the back of the garden. “Do you want to lead, or shall I?”

  Clearly the conversation wasn’t going to go any further. Her admiration for the young detective rose a notch at his skills—and her curiosity rose even more at the father who might think his son would need those skills.

  She turned her back on him and started towards the back of the house, keeping as close to the wall as she could. If David Bale was in there, he clearly didn’t want people to know it. Why else would he leave the mail piled up at the front door and leave the front of the house looking uninhabited?

  She saw light spilling out of the window at the back, presumably the kitchen window. She gestured to Gareth, and he nodded, then walked back around to the front of the house. If he was going to run when she knocked, she wanted Gareth watching the front door.

  She rounded the corner of the building and froze. She could make out a figure pacing in front of the window and gesticulation wildly with his hands. She held her breath and watched a moment. He was a big guy. Tall, powerfully built, with big hands that continued to wave in the air. The phrase “brick shithouse” sprang to mind. “You don’t look very sick to me, pal.”

  She tapped on the door and smiled as David Bale dropped the phone and ran for the closed kitchen door. She pushed on the handle, amazed that it opened with no trouble, and chased him through the house. Well, she gave chase. But Gareth already had him on the ground by the time she ran out the front door.

  “What’re you running for, David? I only wanted to ask you a couple of questions,” Kate asked as she regained her breath. “Get him inside so we can have a word.”

  Gareth nodded and hauled him to his feet.

  The kitchen had a much warmer feel to it than she’d expected, given how uninhabited the front of the house looked.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong,” David protested as Gareth pushed him into a chair.

  “Then why did you run?” Kate asked.

  “You scared the shit out of me. Knocking on my back door like that.”

  “Well, why didn’t you answer at the front then?”

  “I didn’t hear anything at the front door.”

  “I knocked.”

  “Yeah? Well, not loud enough for me to hear you,” David said. “Why are you sneaking around the back of my house, anyway? And how did you get in? I’ve got a padlock on the gate?”

  Gareth held up the lock. “You must’ve forgotten to lock it.” He put the lock on the table.

  David grunted a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  “Your boss told us you called in sick today, David. You don’t look very sick to me.” Kate sat opposite him.

  He stared at her.

  “So why did you skip work today?”

  “I had stuff to sort out.”

  “What stuff?�
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  “Personal stuff.”

  Kate nodded. Softly, softly. “Why don’t you use the front room?”

  “How do you know I don’t?”

  “I’ve seen it. The dust in there’s higher than the dust on my telly, and there are no curtains or blinds or anything up at those windows. That room’s south facing. The sun would be in your eyes all day if you didn’t have anything up in there, but it would make it a lovely warm room. So why don’t you use it?”

  David glared at her. “It was where my grandad slept before he went into Brancombe House. It’s got too many memories in it.”

  Ah. “Okay, I can buy that. So why weren’t you at work today?”

  “I told you, I had personal business to deal with.”

  “Yeah, I know, you told me that. But that’s not really an answer to my question, is it?”

  “I don’t have to answer your questions. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  She nodded. “Technically, no you don’t have to answer, but think about it this way for a minute. I’m investigating how an old man, from the nursing home you work at, ended up dead, in a bunker, on a beach.” She paused. “Then you call in fake-sick the day after the body is discovered. Discovered wearing some of your grandad’s clothes, by the way. And now you won’t answer even a basic question like why are you calling in fake-sick?” She paused again and watched his face redden a little. “Do you see how that looks, David?”

  “Wearing Grandad’s clothes?”

  “That’s the part of that speech you focus on?” Kate clicked her fingers. “David, wake up and smell the suspicion here.”

  His gaze snapped into focus and settled on her face.

  “What personal business?”

  “I found out my girlfriend was pregnant.”

  “Should I say congratulations or was this not happy news?” Kate asked.

  “It’s incredible news. Or it was.” He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, and buried his face in his hands. Is he crying?

  “What do you mean, was?”