by M. L Rose
The traffic thickened like a knot on the road ahead. Harry muttered to himself, then put the lights on and hit the siren. It took a while, and some horn beeps, but the traffic started to part. Luke lived in a residential road in Wandsworth, but the streets were narrow like many of London’s old Victorian sprawl south of the river. The houses had stood the test of time, and German bombing during the second world war. Harry slowed down as they took several turns in a grid like maze of streets. The rain was heavier if anything, an absolute downpour.
“Number 34, Leavenworth Avenue,” Arla shouted.
“Yep, I know.” Harry saw the sign and turned into the street. There was no parking, both sides of the narrow street being taken up by residents’ cars. Harry stopped in the middle of the street. He had turned the siren and blue lights off long before they entered the residential area.
Arla nodded at him and jumped off. The hood of her anorak was pulled over her head and rain drummed against it. Rows of terraced houses stood stacked together. They were redbrick and brown, with white eaves and corniches, all of them with tall sash windows. Handsome houses built in the late 19th century. Arla found number 34 and hurried underneath the porch. She rang the doorbell and waited. No lights were on inside, and the bay windows had curtains drawn.
There was no response. Arla heard a sound behind her. Harry opened the latch gate and came in.
Arla pressed the buzzer again. It sounded inside the house, loud and clear. But the lights remained off. Rain splashed into puddles outside, and on gutters above their heads.
Harry tiptoes onto the paving slabs of the front garden, then peered inside the window, between the curtains.
“Can’t see jack,” he called back. He swung his long legs and jumped over a small bush. It brought him to the margin of the property, where the walls of the house next door began. Harry did his antelope gait and swung back next to Arla on the porch. He wiped the rain off his forehead and brow. He was drenched, having parked further away, and water rolled down his cheek. He slicked his hair back, flinging some drops towards Arla.
“Watch it,” she said, leaning back. Harry blew out his cheeks. Arla suddenly realised she had her back to the door, and Harry was standing very close to her. So close she could feel his heat. From his eyes she knew he felt it too. And good Lord, she wanted nothing more than to seek the warmth of his embrace, melt into his arms. Feel his lips on hers. Arla swallowed hard and looked down, listening to her heart slamming against her ribs, drowning out the rainfall.
She spoke with an effort. “Well, he’s not here, is he?”
Harry didn't reply, and when she looked up, his eyes were burning into hers. But he stepped back.
“No,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. Suddenly she couldn’t avoid his eyes. Arla brushed past him, out into the rain, walking fast. She could hear Harry following her. He caught up with her, and then past her. He ran a few more paces to where the car was parked, down to the left, behind a van.
Arla got into the car and slammed the door shut. She knew what was going to happen, and she didn't care. His hands found hers and she leaned into him, kissing feverishly, electric sparks shooting down her spine as their lips grazed, tongues entwined. His hands moved to her chest, below her cardigan, and pulled her shirt open. She squeezed the hardness of his abs, then further down where she found him hardening. Harry moaned into her mouth as she explored him further, her hand massaging, urging.
She was on the verge of crossing over. She wanted to move her leg over the gear shaft, drop into his lap and…
Arla stopped. She took her mouth off Harry’s and cradled his head on her neck. Her hands left his groin. They were both panting. Moisture from their mingled breathing clouded the windows. She could feel his breath, hot and humid on the nape of her neck. Arla slumped back on the seat.
She felt clammy, wet. She licked her lips. Times like this she could barely control herself.
Harry said, “Next time we tow the caravan, right?”
She couldn't help grin at that, and within seconds they were laughing. She stopped when Harry leaned forward casually and touched her breasts.
“Don’t…”
But his mouth was already over hers. This time it was gentle and endearing. Harry withdrew, and they stared at each other. She could read it in his eyes. Words were not necessary. She knew it too, and knew that words would never suffice what she wanted to say, or wanted to hear. He reached out and stroked the corner of her chin. Then he sighed and leaned back. They stayed that way, staring out at the thick drops weaving their way down windscreen.
Harry was the first to break the silence. “Time to head back.”
“Yes,” Arla said, stuffing her shirt back into her trousers, feeling strangely frustrated. She wanted to get her hands on Harry again, but back at home. Right now, there was work to do. She took her phone out. Lisa answered at the first ring.
Arla said, “Gather the team together. I want SOCO, uniforms, everyone. There’s a lot to catch up on.”
CHAPTER 21
The hubbub in the incident room was loud and Arla could hear it as she walked down the corridor. Harry had stepped outside to have a quick cigarette. It was the one bad habit of Harry’s she couldn't agree with. Her lungs itched for a smoke when he lit up, so he did it by himself. To his credit, he had cut down on his smoking a lot in the last six months.
The noise level died down as Arla strode into the room. Lisa and Rob Pickering were at the whiteboard, where photos of the victim and his family were displayed. Arla swept her eyes over the assembled detectives of various ranks, the uniformed officers and the two SOCO’s who had turned up, a man and woman.
Arla checked the time. 14:30. Enough time to get some answers today.
“OK people listen up. The victim’s son is not responding to our calls and is not at home. We know that he had a difficult relationship with his dad. How bad this was, we don’t know. But we do know that he was a difficult child, sent to a special boarding school. He could be a very disturbed young man. It’s possible his father’s influence and money allowed him to slip under the radar of the medical professionals.”
Arla paused. “Whatever. What we do know is that he was present when his mother took an accidental overdose of sleeping tablets and died. Now his father is violently murdered, and he is missing.”
Faces looked at each other and whispers began, which became louder. “Quiet,” Arla said. “This is all conjecture on my part. There could be a perfectly good explanation as to why he is not around, but it doesn’t make sense to me, especially when he is aware of how his father died.”
Rupert, a detective constable who had joined last year, raised his hand. “Guv, do we know anything else about this missing son? History of violence?”
Arla looked at Lisa, who took over. “There’s no mention of him in the database. Of course that doesn’t mean he didn't do anything. I went back over the last twenty years and did a search.”
Arla thought about Luke’s age. “So you went back to when he was twelve years old. Anything in juvenile?”
Lisa looked a bit embarrassed. “Didn't cross my mind, guv sorry. Juvie records are till 16 so I should have looked.”
“Don’t worry, do it now. And I want the name of that boarding school he went to. I want the names of his friends, girlfriends or boyfriends, teachers, their addresses and current locations. I want Luke’s work colleagues interviewed, their backgrounds searched to a Category 1 disclosure.”
Many in the audience were scribbling on notepads or tapping on phones. Arla turned towards the two SOCO’s. She didn't know their names, but the blue and white ID badges hung from their necks gave them away. Arla had seen them around the station before.
Arla leaned forward. “Sorry, can’t see your names.”
The woman introduced themselves. Emily and Aloke. The man, Aloke was the first to speak.
“We got the victim’s laptop back from the house, but his phone is missing. His wife doesn’t know where it is e
ither. We also got folders from his study, fingerprints and DNA.”
“Anything useful?”
“The fingerprints are mainly of him and his wife. There is another set of prints and DNA. We ran this through the usual checks and found nothing. However, the DNA is the same as we found on the carpet.”
Arla felt an excitement inside. “And it’s not his wife’s?”
“No.”
“Then it must be the killer’s if it’s in the study, and on the carpet as well as just inside the door. These are the three locations you got the unknown DNA from, right?”
Aloke and Emily both nodded. Emily said, “The only family DNA we are missing is the sons.”
“Yes, it could be his, but he didn't visit the house much, if at all, according to the wife, Cherie. Therefore, it is suspicious if his DNA is in his father’s study.”
Arla said, “There’s something else. A silver Bentley came to the Longworth house several times in the last two weeks. I know we don’t have CCTV on that road, but maybe we can check the adjoining streets? They should have CCTV.”
“I’ll get on the case,” Rob said.
The Incident Room door opened, and the lanky figure of Harry stepped in. “Sorry,” he said, having the grace to look sheepish. He took his place next to Rob.
Arla said, “Any news of cold cases? Anyone we know killed in this manner?”
Lisa cleared her throat. “Rupert and I had a look.” She indicated the younger man who stood up. “Go on Rupert,” Lisa smiled.
Rupert cleared his throat. “We went back to the 1980’s. I figured if the murderer used force, then statistically chances are it’s going to be a man, and a strong one at that. Therefore, on the young side. Didn't make sense to look before the 1980’s.”
Arla was tapping her fingers against the table. “Get on with it.”
Rupert swallowed, clearly nervous at what was his first address to the incident room. “We found several cases as expected, that involved blunt trauma to the head. But in every case, the perp had been caught, and was either dead, or behind bars.”
Arla sighed. “Well done Rupert and Lisa. So, no unsolved cold cases involving this MO. Can we widen the search?”
“To what, guv?” Lisa asked, a puzzled expression on her face.
Arla was thinking. She spoke slowly. “Frankly, I don’t know. Look for any cold cases in South West London over the last twenty to thirty years. There won’t be that many. Pull them up. See if you can connect them to this case somehow.”
Jason Beauregard, one of the Detective Inspectors who made no secret that he disliked Arla, spoke up.
“Can you explain your reasoning, DCI Baker? The Serious Crime Squad is running on skeleton staff already. We can’t just open up cold cases and start investigating because you have a whim.”
Arla said, “The victim’s ex-wife, Laura Douglas, was killed by an overdose. We don’t know details, but the verdict was suicide apparently. But what if it wasn’t? What if, someone poisoned her?”
Jason frowned. “Like who? You can’t seriously think opening up a suicide verdict of the ex-wife is going to have a bearing on this violent murder?”
“Call it a gut feeling, Jason.”
“Gut feeling?” Jason smirked. “No place for that in my department.”
“Oh there is Jason,” Arla shot back. “It’s hanging over your belt. You’re patting it while you’re talking!”
Laughter rumbled across the room. Arla switched her attention back to the whiteboard. She walked up to it and tapped on the photo of Mr. Longworth.
“I need an updated file on the victim, with his phone logs, emails and websites he browsed. I still don’t have a mental picture of David Longworth. His mobile phone, even if switched off, will give a signal for five days. Let’s work on that.”
She moved on to Cherie. “I know the wife is suffering right now, but I think she can tell us more about her husband, as well as the step son.”
Harry said, “She wants to move back in the house now. Shall we put a uniformed team outside?”
“Yes,” Arla said, indicating Andy Jackson, the uniformed sergeant in the front row. “Can you sort that out, Andy?”
“No problem, guv.”
Arla rapped the photo of Luke Longworth. “Now, this man is the missing link. At the very least, we need an alibi.”
Harry said, “I suggest we ask his place of work, and think of getting a warrant to search the house if he doesn’t turn up.”
“Good idea. Let’s get cracking.”
CHAPTER 22
Luke Longworth waited underneath a tree, watching his house. Dark clouds had snuffed out any light early and despite it being just four-thirty, the street lights were coming on. Luke turned up the collar of his jacket and pulled the hood over his head. He had left work early, knowing the police would call there. A call had come through, but he had told the secretary he was out for lunch.
He closed his eyes and breathed heavily. Emotions ran riot inside him. He needed to focus, but it was proving harder than he had ever imagined. Guilt flooded his body, regret laced with it, wearing him down. The regret surprised him. He had never thought he would feel sad about the old man’s passing.
A car passed by, its headlight lighting him up briefly. Luke pretended to pick something up from the ground. The car passed by while he stayed in that position.
He couldn't stay here any longer. This was a heavily populated area, and by acting strange he was inviting attention. He cast one last look at the cars parked near his house. Any of them could be an unmarked police car, but he doubted the engines would be off in this freezing weather. Besides, all of the parked cars looked unoccupied.
Luke swallowed hard. He walked fast, head bent low, then slowed down as he approached the house. A mother and child walked past him quickly. Luke swung his eyes around carefully. He walked past his address, then took the next left. Another row of terraced houses on either side loomed ahead. This area was called the Grid by its thousands of inhabitants. The terraced houses were large enough for families, and well looked after. No one expected any trouble here. One of the reasons why he bought the house in the first place.
He slipped through a small latch gate and inserted his key in the lock. He was inside within seconds, and disabled the alarm that started beeping. He listened for a while. The house was like a silent tomb. His own breathing was harsh in his ears. He tiptoed down the hallway and felt his way into the lounge room on his left. It was empty, as he expected.
He checked the dining room, then the small kitchen at the back. The place was so quiet even the cat hadn't come back in. The garden was barely visible in the fast fading light.
Luke checked the upstairs quickly. It was as he had left it. He began to relax, then jumped as he felt his phone buzz. He stared at the screen for a while, then answered.
“You shouldn’t be calling me,” Luke whispered.
“I couldn’t help it,” said the male voice. “You don’t understand.”
Luke was silent for a while. “It’s not safe. Our phones might be tapped.”
The voice snorted. “You give the police too much credit. They won’t figure out anything in a hurry.”
Luke paced around the front room upstairs, looking out the bay windows that faced the street. “That’s alright for you to say. Cherie has already told them about me. I’m sure they suspect me.”
“You need to speak to the police, Luke. If you don’t, it’s going to get worse.”
Luke’s voice was a whisper. “Did you do it?”
The voice was silent. Luke said, “I told you everything…”
“Luke!” the reprimand was obvious. “We cannot undo anything.”
Luke knotted his hands into fists. “This could be the end. You used what I gave you, right?”
“Listen to me Luke. Speak to the cops. You have to pull this off.”
Luke was angry. “How? By keeping you out of it? Yeah, that works out perfectly for you, doesn’t it?”
Luke gripped a tuft of his hair and pulled. “I don’t know if I can.”
“Trust me. You can. Call me tomorrow.”
The line went dead. Luke stared at the phone for a while, shaking his head. He glanced at the road again as two cars went by in quick succession, their headlights throwing shadows against the wall.
Luke moved away, towards his bedroom. He stopped in front of a chest of drawers. He opened it and stared at what was inside.
Slowly, he removed the black ski mask.
CHAPTER 23
Arla and Harry were standing outside Fulham Broadway tube station, protected from the rain by the big glass portico that ran across the wall. Londoners of various shape, size and colour streamed in and out of the station entrance in a bewildering maze. It was five pm and the commuter rush was gathering strength, like a slow-moving tidal wave about to lash against London’s creaking infrastructure.
“Which way, Harry?” Arla asked. Harry’s face was bent over the screen of his phone.
“Straight ahead,” he murmured, and without looking at her, started walking. Arla brushed past people to catch up. The car would’ve taken ages in the gridlock of the roads now. It was Arla’s decision to take the tube, and she was now wishing she had stayed in the office. But the need to see Luke Longworth’s business premises had won her over.
Fulham Broadway was a well-heeled part of South London, close to the uber expensive streets of Chelsea. Many media and film companies had their offices here, in buildings by the river. Harry navigated his way to one such tall office complex. Arla was out of breath by the time they got there.
“Wait,” she gasped when Harry pressed the buzzer. “I need to catch my breath.”
“Not getting unfit, are we?”
“If you hadn’t walked so bloody fast I would’ve been fine!”