Watch Over You

by M. J. Ford

  She opened the door on to the small cobbled yard with a tiny outbuilding that would once have housed the toilet when the house was first built. There was a tall fence, but nothing that would keep out a determined burglar.

  Jo retreated indoors and, on a hunch, she checked the fridge. It wasn’t particularly well stocked, but there were two types of milk. More evidence that he was sharing the house with someone else. She opened the cupboards too, to find plenty of tins, but also a sweetened breakfast cereal alongside the porridge oats that seemed a better fit for her friend.

  There was a noise from the living room, and she returned that way to find CSO Mel Cropper arriving, suited up, along with two technicians clad in similar white attire. One carried a digital camera on a loop around her neck.

  ‘Jo,’ he said in greeting.

  She gave a nod rather than shaking hands, and filled him in on what she’d found so far, including the blood near the ceiling and the mugs in the kitchen. Mel showed no signs of acknowledgement that the victim was a friend of hers. The buffer of professionalism actually made things easier. Mel would do his job as thoroughly as always, gathering everything he needed with the corpse in situ before releasing the body to the morgue. There, the forensic pathologist would take over the evidence gathering.

  Jo headed up the steep and narrow staircase. She’d never ventured this way other than to use the first-floor toilet. The house had once been a two-up, two-down, but the back bedroom had been split to accommodate an indoor shower room and WC. Harry’s bedroom door, at the front of the house, had always been closed, and the rear bedroom door was shut now. She went first to the front. It felt strange, entering his private space like this. He’d usually presented himself carefully, in a suit and tie, even if the clothes were a bit shabby. But here, in his inner sanctum, hung a dressing gown, with a pair of slippers tucked neatly beside the double bed. A chest of drawers, and a solid-looking wardrobe; a beside table with a digital alarm clock, a pair of spectacles and a science fiction novel, splayed open to mark the page. There was no sign of another recent occupant. Indeed, there was only a single pillow on the right-hand side of the bed. Here though, Jo noticed, the signs of recent cleaning were absent. Dust coated the top of the bedside lamp, and the carpet’s perimeter was discoloured with the same. The table where the book lay was marked with several rings where a mug or glass had overflowed its rim. Years of drinking had left Harry with a mild case of the shakes that he himself had joked about. She’d seen it in the pub herself a few times. It got to the stage where the barmaid at the Three Crowns would carry his drink over.

  ‘Table service!’

  ‘Just looking out for my carpet, Harry.’

  She felt distinctly nosy opening up his wardrobe and drawers, but unsurprised to find a conservative collection of shirts and trousers, neatly folded and hung. Among the garments, wrapped in transparent plastic, was a police officer’s uniform from the eighties, before he went into plain clothes.

  Making her way back onto the small landing, she opened the door to the remaining bedroom. This one she’d entered before, by accident when looking for the toilet on her first visit, and she remembered it mostly being given to storage, with several cardboard boxes and plastic containers, as well as an old exercise bike. The bike was still there, but the boxes had gone, and a camp-bed was extended across the wall, with bedding made. A towel hung across the radiator too. Someone was staying here for sure. Jo moved the bedding aside carefully with a gloved hand, crouched down, and spotted a single long strand of blond hair beside the pillow. This was someone hastily accommodated, with little thought given to good impressions or comfort.

  The room contained nothing else of interest, but as Jo put her head into the bathroom, she saw a floral washbag that looked completely out of place. Checking its contents, she found a toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush with more blond locks, scrunchies, woman’s deodorant, some foundation and blusher in a separate bag, plus half a dozen loose tampons. Jo’s mind readjusted to the evidence. Not the possessions of an elderly friend, then, and the fact of the sleeping arrangements suggested this wasn’t a romantic connection at all. A much younger woman. Was this the same person who’d wielded that poker so ruthlessly, felling Harry with what looked like a single blow? If she hadn’t known the victim, she might have seen something creepy about the set-up, an old man giving shelter to a young woman, but that picture was so far out of keeping with what she knew of Harry Ferman, she couldn’t countenance it.

  Downstairs, Mel and his team were at work, and the body was uncovered once more while photos were gathered. With his spirit flown, Harry looked more like a mannequin than before, and she found she could inspect him with less painful emotion. Another tech was in the kitchen dusting surfaces.

  ‘Looks like someone was staying here,’ said Jo.

  ‘Yes, a woman,’ said Mel.

  ‘You’ve worked that out?’

  ‘There’s lipstick on one of the glasses in the drying rack,’ said the crime scene examiner. ‘And there are several of these on the sofa.’ He proffered a transparent evidence bag containing three wavy blond hairs, each at least eight inches long, matching the one Jo had found upstairs.

  ‘Anything in his pockets?’ she asked. ‘Phone or wallet?’

  Mel shook his head. ‘You think they were stolen?’

  ‘I’ve not come across anything,’ she said. Don’t let all this be over a few quid, please …

  ‘If you find anything interesting, call me direct,’ she said.

  Mel turned away from her, to look down at the poker. ‘Everything I find is interesting, sergeant, but I take your point.’

  * * *

  On the way back on to the street, Jo asked the constable signing her out of the premises where she could find Mrs Milner, the woman who’d reported the crime, and was given the address of the house two down. She knocked, and the door was opened by a young man of about thirty, dressed in a boiler suit, with a tool belt at his waist, and hands ingrained with some sort of white dust. ‘What do you want?’

  Jo showed her badge. ‘I was hoping to speak with Mrs Milner.’

  ‘Again?’ said the man, making no move to shift his formidable bulk from the doorway. ‘I reckon your lot have squeezed it all out of her already. Mum’s had a shock, you know? She was the one who found the poor bloke.’

  ‘We appreciate that,’ said Jo. ‘I’m the detective leading the investigation, and … well, Mr Ferman was also a good friend of mine.’

  The hardness in the man’s face softened. ‘Mum, there’s another copper,’ he called back. There was no answer, but he stepped back. ‘Go easy on her, all right?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jo. Inside, the house had the same layout as Harry’s, but the décor brightened it up considerably. The cast-iron fireplace was gone, replaced with a wood-burning stove, and the carpets were stripped back to reveal pale oak floorboards. An open-plan arrangement gave Jo a view through to a dining area, with a kitchen built into an extension at the rear of the house. Sitting at the dining table, nursing an oversized glass of white wine, was an elegant, bird-like fifty-something woman with short hair dyed to a reddish brown. Jo introduced herself.

  ‘I know you’ve been through details with my colleagues,’ she added, ‘but I wonder if I could have a word too.’

  The woman looked at her with a startled expression. ‘I don’t think I can help,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see anybody.’

  ‘But you heard a disturbance?’

  The woman took a gulp of wine, holding it in her mouth for a few moments, before audibly swallowing. She nodded.

  ‘Harry and a woman?’

  ‘I think so,’ she said.

  ‘You think so?’

  If there was accusation in her voice, she didn’t intend it, but Mrs Milner’s son bristled. He didn’t understand how memory could degrade. This might be the last opportunity to glean vital information from his mother.

  ‘Well, it was just raised voices for a few seconds as I c
ame back from walking the dog. He had a girl staying with him. I assumed it was a relative.’

  ‘Can you tell me what she looked like?’

  ‘Young. Blonde hair.’

  ‘Anything else? Height?’

  ‘Not tall.’

  Jo glanced at the minimalist clock on the wall. It was almost six. Theo would be getting really grizzly.

  ‘But you didn’t speak to Mr Ferman about her?’

  ‘Why would I? It’s not my business who he has to stay.’

  ‘Shall we finish up here?’ said the son.

  ‘Almost done,’ said Jo firmly. ‘So you heard the raised voices about three? Did you see Harry or the woman after that?’

  Mrs Milner shook her head, took another sip and continued. ‘I went out a bit later – I had a doctor’s appointment in Temple Cowley. That was when I saw Harry through the window. His next-door neighbour has a key, so I …’

  She took a tissue and dabbed her eyes. Her son stepped protectively beside her, laying an arm over her shoulders.

  ‘Happy, detective?’ he said.

  ‘Just a couple more questions,’ said Jo. ‘The woman – have you any idea how long she might have been staying with Mr Ferman?’

  Mrs Milner dried her eyes with a piece of screwed-up tissue. ‘Not exactly,’ she said. ‘But I did hear music coming from his house about a fortnight ago. He normally keeps himself to himself, but I was walking past and I heard one of those dreadful new pop songs, playing very loudly. Not like something a man of his age would listen to.’

  Jo made a note. ‘About a fortnight ago? Can you be more exact?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘I’m not … actually, yes! It was a Sunday morning, so what’s that … eleven days ago?’

  Jo checked the calendar in her notebook. ‘The 6th. Thank you, that’s very helpful. And one last question? Have you heard about any break-ins in the area?’

  Mrs Milner’s son made a scoffing sound. ‘So now you lot give a monkeys about break-ins, do you? I reported it three weeks ago.’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Jo.

  ‘All my tools,’ said the man. ‘Nicked from my van while it was parked up the road. Broad-bloody-daylight.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Nothing was recovered?’

  ‘No one even came out to see me!’ said the man. ‘Just gave me a crime number for the insurance. And you wonder why people don’t have time for the police …’

  Jo didn’t want to get into an argument in his mother’s front room, and she understood his frustrations. She was glad Mel Cropper wasn’t with her – he’d have wasted no time at all spelling out quite how far down their list of priorities petty burglaries sat.

  ‘There were a couple of break-ins over on Chichester Road, too,’ said Mrs Milner. ‘It’s the world we live in now. No one was hurt though. Not like this.’

  Chapter 4

  Thanking Mrs Milner for her time, and leaving her own details in case the witness remembered anything useful, Jo liaised with the officers outside, organising a door-to-door to glean any further information about the woman staying with Harry, the apparent argument, or the music heard by Mrs Milner. Mel’s van was still parked up, and no doubt would be for several hours. The timeline was all too vague to be particularly useful at the moment. But someone must have seen something of this mystery woman’s comings and goings. Each resident’s front room looked directly out on to the street. In days gone by, before everyone had a car parked bumper to bumper on both sides of the road, it was the sort of place neighbours would have all known each other’s business and kids would have kicked a ball up and down, smashing the occasional window but otherwise doing no harm. People like Mrs Milner would have known the name of her local bobby, and probably his kids’ names too.

  By the time she got to Paul and Amelia’s, in the new development on the Abingdon Road, it was getting dark. Her nephew Will opened the door. Now almost nine, he’d shot up again in the last few months, and was looking more like her brother Paul than ever. He had a pair of oversized headphones on his skinny shoulders.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’ she said, readjusting her face to a smile.

  ‘It’s only eight o’clock,’ he replied. There were no hugs any more, and he peeled away, calling out to his mum.

  Amelia came down the stairs, finger to her lips. ‘I told you to keep it down!’ she said to Will, who was putting headphones back on anyway.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ said Jo. ‘Emergency at work.’ She didn’t have the energy to tell them it was actually a friend of hers.

  ‘It’s not a problem,’ said Amelia, warmly. ‘I’ve put him down on a rug in Emma’s bedroom. Forgotten how nice it is to have kids who can’t speak.’

  ‘You don’t mean that!’ said Jo. ‘Will’s a little gentleman!’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Amelia. ‘You want a drink?’

  ‘Actually, I’d better get home,’ said Jo. ‘But thanks. Another busy one tomorrow.’

  Amelia frowned in concern. ‘They’re throwing you back in the deep end?’

  ‘I’m not sure there’s a shallow end in my line of work,’ said Jo. She didn’t really want to talk about what had happened – not until she’d had more time to process it herself. Amelia hadn’t known Harry Ferman at all, so it wouldn’t mean much to her anyway. She would no doubt read about it in the local paper within a few days.

  Her sister-in-law looked like she wanted to say more, but Jo made her way towards the stairs. ‘Do you mind if I get him?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  Amelia followed her up. Jo found Theo looking angelic on an improvised bed in the middle of her niece’s bedroom floor. She wondered if she’d be able to get him to the car without waking him.

  ‘I’ll ask Paul to get the old cot out of the attic,’ whispered Amelia. ‘Just in case.’

  ‘I won’t dump him on you again,’ said Jo. ‘It was just a funny day.’

  ‘Honestly, it’s fine,’ said Amelia.

  Jo knelt at Theo’s side, and for a moment was reminded of earlier that day, crouching on Harry’s floor. At both times, over someone completely helpless. She resisted asking if he’d missed her and kissed his cheek, then eased her hands under his warm body to lift him up. He was a dead weight, arms flopping.

  ‘Emma not in?’ she asked.

  ‘At her boyfriend’s,’ said Amelia. ‘We barely see her unless she wants a lift somewhere. Paul will be back from work soon though. You sure you don’t want to stick around?’

  ‘Better not,’ said Jo. Now that she had Theo in her arms again, her energy drained. She just wanted to curl up and sleep herself.

  With the sunset, the temperature had dipped outside. As she settled Theo into his car seat, he stirred only a little. Amelia followed Jo out, hugging herself against the cooling evening air. ‘You know, Jo, I think it’s amazing what you’re doing. Going back to work so soon, especially as you’re on your own.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Jo. ‘Loads of people do the same.’

  ‘They don’t have jobs like yours,’ said Amelia. ‘Dealing with criminals all day.’

  Jo thought back to the incident with the motorbike earlier. ‘I’m careful.’

  ‘I’m sure you are …’ Amelia wanted to say something else, Jo could see.

  ‘Go on.’

  Her sister-in-law smiled. ‘Lucas was here, yesterday.’

  Jo’s hackles rose. ‘Here? At your house?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure whether I should say anything.’

  ‘He’s got no right. What did he say?’

  ‘He wanted to know how Theo was.’

  ‘And what did you tell him?’

  ‘Paul dealt with it. Sent him on his way. He’d been drinking.’

  ‘Oh, Christ. I’m sorry,’ said Jo. And she really was. Her brother’s family didn’t need her problems on their doorstep.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Amelia. ‘I just thought you should know.’

  ‘Well, thanks,’ said Jo.
‘I’ll speak with the solicitor.’

  ‘If you think that’s best,’ said Amelia. She sounded unsure though.

  ‘He’s got to get the message,’ said Jo. She kissed Amelia on the cheek. ‘And thanks again for stepping in today.’

  They said farewell and Jo headed home. On the way, she called into the station. Reeves answered.

  ‘Anything else on the girl?’

  ‘A couple of the other neighbours thought they remembered her,’ said Reeves. ‘Nothing more concrete that a short blonde-haired girl between sixteen and twenty-five. Big coat. She’d been seen coming and going over the last two weeks, but always on her own.’

  ‘Nationality?’

  ‘No one ever spoke to her.’

  It might be worth getting a composite drawn up, Jo thought, while memories were relatively fresh.

  ‘We’ve managed to get in touch with Jessica Granger,’ Alice Reeves continued. ‘She’s going to head over first thing tomorrow.’