by Michael Wood
‘Sorry we’re late. Pooh’s fault, as usual,’ James said.
‘Don’t call me that in public,’ Matilda snapped. She didn’t mind being called Pooh in private – an affectionate nickname based on her middle name – but not when they were out, and not in front of friends. ‘It was my fault, though,’ she said to Adele, kissing her on both cheeks.
‘Don’t worry about it. Dinner isn’t even ready yet. We’ve got time for a drink or three first. Come into the living room.’
‘Is Chris joining us?’
‘No. He’s out with friends tonight. There’s a band he’s keen on playing at the Leadmill.’
‘I haven’t been to the Leadmill in years,’ James said, making himself comfortable on the sofa.
‘You’re too old for the Leadmill now,’ Matilda laughed. ‘We’re all too old for it.’
‘That’s a depressing thought.’
‘You’re not wrong, Mat,’ Adele said, opening a bottle of wine. ‘The last time I was in a nightclub, I was standing on the edge of the dance floor and felt like a teacher supervising a school dance. I must have been the oldest one there by about fifteen years.’
‘When did we get so old?’ James asked.
‘I don’t mind that I’m getting old,’ Matilda said cosying up to James. ‘I can picture us together in our nursing home, counting our wrinkles and liver spots.’
‘Well that’s something to look forward to,’ James said, pulling a sour face. ‘I intend on staying young for as long as possible. I might have to pop along to the Leadmill one night with your Chris, Adele.’
‘I’m not sure he’d like that,’ Matilda said.
‘Oh he would, around midnight, so you can drive him home,’ Adele returned. Both women laughed.
During dinner, one of Adele’s signature pasta dishes, conversation turned to the dead former celebrity.
‘I remember him from Emmerdale,’ Adele said. ‘He was a very good looking bloke in his time.’
‘And now you’ve seen him naked,’ James smiled.
‘Not how I like to see my men naked, funnily enough. His character was killed off when he crashed into the post office.’
James laughed. ‘I love how far-fetched soap operas are yet people don’t seem to mind and think they still reflect real life in Britain. I mean, how many times has that village been blown up? You wouldn’t live there would you?’
‘Was he any good?’ Matilda asked.
‘I did have a look at a couple of clips online when I came home this afternoon. He wasn’t the best actor in the world.’
‘His wife said something similar.’
‘Well, you have actors, and then you have soap actors. There’s a huge difference between the two,’ James said. ‘You get the odd one who leaves the soap and manages to shine because they are genuinely talented, but you don’t get many.’
‘Do you think his death could be linked to his acting days?’ Adele asked.
‘I doubt it. He left the show in 1995. He hasn’t acted in years.’
‘So he just happened to get murdered then?’
‘I don’t know,’ Matilda said slowly, mulling over all the possible options running around her head. Again, she kept coming back to something Judy King had mentioned earlier.
‘James, I see work has begun on the house. When do you start tearing the walls down?’ Adele asked, changing the subject once she saw Matilda’s frown grow deeper on her forehead.
Matilda tuned them out. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. She did, it was her house after all, but she couldn’t seem to switch off from work. Iain Kilbride was occupying her thoughts. It was sad how his life had panned out. She wondered if the producers ever thought about the actors they fired who no longer appeared on television, or didn’t they care? It was a sad fall from grace. Iain had lived the good life for more than a decade, but in less than a year, had collapsed.
What did he have left, especially after his daughter had died and his marriage had ended? Could he be blamed for smoking heavily and hitting the bottle hard? He was grieving, and this was how he dealt with it.
Matilda looked across at James whose eyes had lit up as he talked about a topic he excelled in – architecture. She loved him like she had never loved anyone else. He had beautiful ice-blue eyes, a killer smile, and a jawline you could cut cheese with. He was the full package, yet completely humble, which made him almost perfect. If James died before Matilda, she had no idea how she would cope. Possibly the same way Iain was handling the loss of his daughter. But what led to his early demise? That’s what Matilda couldn’t quite pinpoint. But she had the feeling she already knew.
Chapter Fifteen
Thursday 9th December, 2010
The Murder Investigation Team had only been up and running for nine days and Matilda had yet to throw her weight around. She called the computer forensics department and told them Clara King’s desktop computer would be heading their way and asked, in a telling voice, to put it to the top of their list of priorities. She had expected an argument, or at least a protest, but her request was accepted without complaint. The prestige of the MIT obviously opened some doors – for now.
She hung up and was looking through a forensic report left on her desk when the phone started to ring again.
‘DI Darke … sorry … DCI Darke MIT,’ she said into the phone, still struggling to get to grips with her new rank.
‘Hello whichever Darke you are this morning, Terry Babcock here. No fancy title.’ Terry Babcock was the head of forensics in a private company operating on the other side of Sheffield. Matilda had known him for years and was saddened by his impending retirement. ‘How are you settling into your new role? Has the power gone to your head yet? Is everyone below you terrified of your mere presence?’
Matilda smiled. ‘Not yet but I’m working on it.’
‘That’s my girl. Give them hell with both barrels. Are you coming to my retirement party at the weekend?’
‘I certainly am. Although I don’t want to as I don’t want you to leave.’
‘That’s a lovely thing to say, Matilda, thank you. I hope you’ll leave that annoyingly handsome husband of yours at home so we can have a smooch.’
‘I’m not sure your wife would be too happy about that.’
‘Until she has her cataracts done Vera won’t be seeing much at all,’ he gave a throaty laugh which gave away his lifetime smoking habit. ‘Now, I know you’re busy being a big DCI boss woman these days so I won’t keep you long, however, we’ve got a couple of good prints from Ian Kilbride’s flat that do not belong to Mr Kilbride.’
Matilda’s interest was piqued. ‘Go on.’
‘That’s it.’
‘Oh. They’re not on record?’
‘I’m afraid not. Get me a suspect and I’ll match them up for you.’
‘Thanks Terry,’ she said, slightly deflated.
‘I know it’s not much. If I had my way everyone would be fingerprinted at birth. It would make everything so much easier.’
Matilda waited a few hours before going to see Jonah Green in the computer lab. She hadn’t received a phone call so had no idea whether Clara’s computer had been looked at. She hoped it had.
Jonah was a tall man in his early twenties. He had brown shaggy hair, something resembling stubble around his mouth, and, for some reason, an eye patch over his right eye. Matilda gave him an awkward smile. She wasn’t sure whether she should draw attention to the eye patch.
‘Jonah, good afternoon, any joy?’
‘Yes actually. Clara Kilbride and your mystery man met on Facebook but soon swapped email addresses. Here are the printouts for the emails,’ he said, handing her a cardboard folder. ‘Seventy-nine of them in total.’
‘Wow. Are they revealing?’
‘Not on their own I’m afraid. They’re all quite benign. It genuinely does sound like two teenagers chatting about school work.’
‘Typical. Judy King said as much. Any luck with the IP address?’
&
nbsp; ‘I’d prefer to call it skill than luck,’ Jonah said, shooting her a look with his one good eye.
‘Sorry. Can anyone with access to a computer trace an IP address?’
‘It depends on your knowledge. Obviously we’ve got all the technology here,’ he said, sweeping his arm across the bank of large computer screens in front of him. ‘However, if you know what to do and where to look, you can find almost anything.’
‘So if you’d been on a course and had nothing to do but track down the sender of these messages, you’d be able to do it?’
‘It would take a while, but yes. Why?’
‘No reason. So, do you know where these messages came from?’
‘I certainly do.’ Jonah rummaged around on his desk for another file and handed it to her.
Matilda took a deep breath and opened it. There was a single sheet of A4 paper inside. She ran her eyes down the confused text. ‘I’ve no idea what any of this means.’
Jonah took it from her and pointed out the information she needed. ‘This is the IP address. It identifies the computer. Down here are all of its registration details. Now, the sender of these messages used different computers, but he only used three. His main one is obviously at home where he sent the majority of his messages. The address is listed here,’ he said, pointing to the bottom of the page.
‘Good God!’
‘Someone you know?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. Thank you so much for this, Jonah.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Matilda, eyes wide and in a state of shock, turned to leave the room but stopped with her hand on the door handle. ‘I’m sorry Jonah, but I have to ask: what’s with the eye patch?’
‘Staring at these things all day is screwing my eye sight. Unfortunately, one eye is screwed more than the other so I’m having to rest it.’
‘Oh. So nothing to do with National Pirate Day?’
‘No. Just a wonderful coincidence,’ he smiled.
Chapter Sixteen
Matilda managed to catch ACC Valerie Masterson as she was about to leave for the day. She turned off the lamp on her desk and the coffee machine, which she still hadn’t been able to get working. With Matilda in tow, they made their way down through the building and towards the car park.
Matilda talked her through the developments, the unknown fingerprints at Iain Kilbride’s flat and the trace on the computer from Clara’s bedroom.
‘You want to apply for a warrant to search his home?’
‘I do.’
‘It’s too late for tonight but go to the Magistrate first thing in the morning.’
‘I will.’
‘I know it’s early days in the Murder Investigation Team and you’ve been thrown in at the deep end but you seem to be relishing the responsibility.’
‘Thank you,’ Matilda beamed, slightly taken aback at such praise. ‘It’s not just me. I have a very dedicated team.’
‘Yes you do, and you chose them so take the compliment. I don’t give them very often.’
Matilda blushed. ‘Thank you. I really do appreciate it.’
‘Good. Remember what I told you about the MIT in South Yorkshire? I need this to be a success.’
‘It will be.’
‘I know. We’re going to come under some scrutiny for a while until the media get used to us so we’ll have to ride the storm.’ She pushed opened the door at the back of the building and was hit in the face by a blizzard. ‘Speaking of storms,’ she laughed as the light flakes whipped around them.
They said goodbye and began to walk to their respective cars. Valerie, who had the prime parking spot, left first. She beeped at Matilda, waved, and turned left to the outskirts of Sheffield in her four-wheel drive.
Matilda was suddenly alone in the poorly lit car park. The strong wind howled around the building and the snow was getting thicker. She had always ignored the dangers of being a woman alone in an isolated place, but now she felt the tingle of fear. With her collar up and head down, she took large strides to her car.
‘Matilda.’
The call was lost in the wind and by the time it reached her ears it was merely a whisper. She looked around. Nobody was there. Snow blew into her face and stung her eyes. She turned back to her car, key aloft in her freezing cold hand.
‘Matilda.’
Louder this time but still a whisper, it caused her to stop in her tracks. She turned, trying to look unfazed, and swallowed hard when she saw that nobody was there. She was sure she recognized the voice but couldn’t pinpoint it.
‘Hello?’ She called out. She tried to sound confident but her voice broke. Her mouth was dry and her throat constricting. No reply came. Once more she turned back to her car, put the key in the lock, lifted the handle and pulled open the door.
From behind, a leather-gloved hand pushed the car door and slammed it closed. The sound died in the windy and empty car park. Matilda froze. She could hear heavy breathing and feel the presence of someone’s body heat. Whoever it was, they were standing right behind her.
‘I know it’s early days but you seem to be relishing the responsibility,’ the voice was deep and mocking, echoing the words Valerie Masterson had spoken in the corridor on the top floor of the police station.
Matilda turned and looked into the bloodshot eyes of DI Ben Hales. ‘Ben! What the hell do you think you’re doing? You scared me half to death. Were you listening?’
‘It was difficult not to. Neither of you have the quietest voices in the station. I was almost sick. Any more saccharine comments and we’d have all needed treatment for diabetes.’
‘You’re jealous!’
‘Jealous?’ Hales scoffed. ‘Of you? Don’t make me laugh. Don’t you see, you were only given the job because you’re a woman. There’s a severe lack of women in high-profile roles so they hired you to make up the numbers.’
‘I wondered how long it would be before that was mentioned. Poor you. Poor Ben Hales. You’re blaming women because you didn’t get the job. Haven’t you looked at yourself lately? You may be a good DI, I’m not denying that, but you don’t have the personality to be a DCI.’ Matilda opened the car door, forcing Hales to step back. ‘There doesn’t need to be this bitterness between us, Ben. Go home, have a good, long look at yourself and tomorrow, make sure you come to work as an adult.’
Matilda started the car and drove away quickly. She may have sounded confident and tough but beneath she was shaking. Ben really wanted her job. It made her wonder what he would do to get it.
Chapter Seventeen
Friday 10th December, 2010
The snow had continued to fall until the early hours of the morning. By the time James had dug out the driveway and Matilda had de-iced her car, she was thirty minutes late for work.
On her way to the Murder Room she passed CID and looked in expecting to see a seething, dishevelled Ben Hales sitting at his desk but he was nowhere to be found. She was thankful for small mercies.
‘Sian, try and find a decent pool car. I want you and Aaron to come with me. I’ll fill you in on the details on the way but I think we may have identified Clara King’s rapist.’
The pool car might have had decent tyres to plough through the deep snow but the heating system had obviously been bought second-hand from Noah’s Ark. They were just setting off when DC Anna Evans stopped Matilda and handed her the search warrant from the Magistrate’s Court.
They headed for the outskirts of the city. Aaron took the familiar route and Matilda turned in her seat so she could talk to both the driver and Sian in the back, filling them in on everything she knew about Iain Kilbride and his daughter.
Eric Chatterton answered the buzzing on the main door to the flat at Hallam Grange.
‘Good morning. DCI Darke isn’t it?’
‘That’s right, Mr Chatterton. I hope you don’t mind me buzzing you …’
‘No problem at all,’ he interrupted. ‘I’m up at about five o’clock every morning so you didn’t wake me. I
know I’m dressed like I’m still half asleep,’ he said, looking down at his dressing gown and matching pyjamas, ‘but when the weather’s this bad and there’s no reason to go out, what’s the point in getting dressed?’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more, Mr Chatterton. I’d love to be at home in my dressing gown right now.’ Matilda pictured herself in the living room, fire raging, a good film on the television, mug of hot chocolate and a big fluffy dressing gown wrapped around her. Then she remembered she was currently living in a tiny caravan made of baked bean tins and was glad to be at work.
Eric stepped back and allowed Matilda, Sian and Aaron to enter. He watched as they made their way upstairs, and wondered why they weren’t going to Iain’s flat on the ground floor.
Matilda knocked loudly on the door. She didn’t give anyone time to answer before she knocked again.
‘Yes?’
‘Robert Blyth, I have a warrant to search your flat. Would you step aside please?’ Matilda asked, holding the warrant aloft and entering his flat without being invited.
‘What’s going on?’ He looked genuinely shocked as the five-foot-five Sian and the six-foot-three Aaron barged past him.
‘Do you own a computer Mr Blyth?’
‘Of course I do. Who doesn’t?’
‘Where is it?’
‘It’s in my bedroom.’
‘Thank you,’ Matilda said, heading down the corridor.
Robert was led past Sian by Aaron to join Matilda in the bedroom. She pointed to the laptop on the bed and instructed Aaron to bag it up as evidence.
‘Would someone like to tell me what the hell is going on here?’
‘Mr Blyth, do you know someone by the name of Clara King?’
His eyes widened, giving himself away immediately. ‘No,’ he lied, unable to make eye contact.