Untouchable (The Blake Harte Mysteries Book 1)

by Robert Innes

  He walked into the kitchen, and was immediately gently head-butted by a small bearded goat that was loitering by the open front door. It bleated indignantly as he kneeled down to his level.

  “I’ll feed you in a bit, Betty.” He said soothingly, scratching the goat underneath the chin. Betty raised her head up to give him access to the spot underneath her beard that she loved having scratched. Harrison had a real fondness for this goat. There were times when he had felt that Betty was his only supportive companion, even if her only displays of affection was when she was hungry.

  He gently led her out of the door and closed it behind her, then walked into the kitchen.

  His mother, Sandra Baxter was standing over the oven, ladling stew into bowls and his father, Seth Baxter was sat at the table, looking out of the window. He took off his cap and threw it onto the chair as Harrison sat down.

  “Bloody hens aren’t laying again.” He said as Sandra brought him a steaming bowl. “They’ll all be in that oven if they don’t buck their ideas up.”

  Sandra sighed as she picked up another bowl and put it in front of Harrison. “Well, Julie’s lot stopped laying when they got broody. Give them a few more days before you start talking about putting them in pies or something.” She got her own bowl off the counter and sat down.

  “Where’s the bread?” Seth grumbled.

  Sandra tutted to herself and put her spoon down again, before retrieving a bread loaf from the cupboard.

  “Did you have a nice time with Daniel, Harrison love?” she asked as she picked a bread knife out of the drawer.

  His side throbbed again. Harrison busied himself with prodding his stew about with his spoon. “Erm, yeah. Yeah, it was nice, thanks.” He looked up at his mother and it was only then he realised that she was sporting a black and blue bruise around her eye, more distinctive than it would be on a lot of other people because of her pale complexion.

  “Mum.” He said, frowning. “What did you do to your eye?”

  Sandra gave him a furtive look then busied herself with cutting the bread loaf into slices. “Oh, I walked into a door, love. I’d be a danger if I had any brain cells.”

  Harrison glanced at his father who merely sniffed and said nothing. He had often wondered what kind of son his father had expected to raise and how far away from those expectations reality lay. Being ex-army, Seth was quite strict, standoffish and blunt. He kept most emotions other than anger and indignation very close to his chest. Deep down, Harrison knew that a gay son was not what his father wanted. He had often heard him regaling army stories to anyone who would listen, and none of them brought to mind an environment that Harrison would exactly flourish in.

  Sandra brought the plate of bread over and her husband reached across and buttered himself a slice before dunking it in the stew. Harrison felt a lot more uncomfortable over this meal than he normally did. He knew all parents argued but his mother and father did it more than most. But while he had never actually witnessed any violence taking place between them, he knew it went on. He had often heard Sandra let out yelps of pain after the sound of a slap or a thump from downstairs while he was in his bedroom. This was the first time He had ever actually seen her with a bruise though. It seemed both Daniel and his father knew how to hide the results of their outbursts.

  A few moments silence followed before Sandra said, “They’ve got a new Detective Sergeant starting at Harmschapel tomorrow. Julie was telling me.”

  “Well she’d know.” Seth muttered. “Woman’s an insatiable gossip.”

  “She can be,” conceded Sandra. “Means well though. She sends her best by the way.”

  Silence fell again, for longer this time. All that could be heard was the sound of clinking spoons and the occasional squawk from a hen outside the window. Harrison was more than used to these quiet meal times – Seth had never seemed to be big on idle conversation and after working on the farm all day, he often just wanted to sit with his own thoughts, despite the fact that he didn’t tend to see a lot of people when he was working.

  “I got that final security camera sorted by the way.” Seth said finally, chasing a stray carrot round the bowl with his spoon. “Bloody thing wouldn’t pick up on the monitor, but I think I’ve got it working now.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” Sandra replied. “Well done.”

  “Hmm.” Seth threw his spoon back into the bowl. “Like to see the little bastards try anything now.”

  For the past few months, Halfmile Farm had been plagued by looters. They suspected it was a group of lads from further up the hill, who would sneak in and take whatever they could find. The most recent incident had resulted in some of Seth’s expensive farming equipment being stolen, so in response he had erected a shed, big enough to hold all of his tools in, the key to which sat on the hook by the living room fire, so that they could keep an eye on it at all times. In addition, security cameras had been placed in strategic areas around the farm so that they could see all angles. Seth had instructed his wife to be as vocal as she pleased about this whenever she was in the village so as to perturb any potential thieves. So far, it seemed to be working. Even so, it was now perfectly normal for him to be in the basement where He had set up the monitors, constantly watching everything that was going on.

  Sandra finished her meal and looked up at Harrison. “Grab me down the big washing up bowl from up there will you love?”

  Harrison nodded and stood up from the table to reach up to one of the top cupboards where the bowl was located. As he did so, he heard Sandra let out a gasp of horror. “Harrison!”

  Harrison froze. In reaching for the bowl, his t-shirt had rode up, displaying the bruises. He quickly pulled it down, but it was too late; Sandra had ran over to him and lifted his top up again. “What in God’s name have you been doing? What’s happened?”

  Harrison glanced at his father who was watching him, eyes wide. His mind whirred, desperately trying to think of a lie. Harrison knew that Seth would do something awful if he found out about Daniel hitting him.

  Sandra looked at him expectantly. “Well?” she snapped.

  “I was in the village the other night. This group of lads jumped me.” Harrison said. Sandra gasped again.

  “What? What lads? How many? What night was this?”

  Harrison took a hold of her hands. “Mum, I’m fine. I didn’t have anything on me, my phone and my wallet were here, so they didn’t have anything to take. They just threw me on the ground and kicked me about a bit.” His mother went to interrupt him, but he firmly gripped her hands and said “I’m fine.”

  He glanced across at Seth who seemed to be having difficulty in maintaining eye contact with him. “Are you going to be alright to work tomorrow?”

  Harrison nodded. “Yeah. Promise. I’ll just go and feed Betty.”

  He passed his mother the washing up bowl, smiled reassuringly and then left the kitchen and walked out the front door. As he closed it behind him, he stopped by the window and listened as he heard Sandra telling his father that she thought she ought to call a doctor.

  “Leave him alone woman.” He heard Seth snap. “He’s said he’s fine. He’s a man, he can look after himself.”

  The words resonated around Harrison’s head. All through his childhood, his father had constantly tried to condition him to be someone who could fight his own battles. He remembered a time when he was about twelve years old and Seth giving him a boxing glove for his birthday. Harrison had half-heartedly punched his father’s hand whenever he had been offered it, but he knew that it wasn’t enough. Seth would have been happier with a son who wouldn’t have any qualms about hitting someone back if they attacked him. Yet, never once had Harrison ever raised a finger to Daniel. He had just closed his eyes and waited for it to be over. Now, he was even protecting him from his own parents. If he had said anything, Sandra would probably have rang the police and Seth would have gone round to Daniel’s house and done God only knows what.

  As if trying to make him real
ise something, the newest bruises throbbed again. Two years of lying back and taking the abuse had got him nowhere. All the times he had just assumed his father wasn’t proud of him…maybe there was something he could do to change that; maybe it was time to stick up for himself.

  He found Betty nuzzling the ground round the side of the house. She bleated at him as he approached.

  “Come on then.” He said, pulling her across the yard to the old barn outside where they kept her food. As he poured it into the tray she ate out of, his brain continued to whirr. Did he even love Daniel anymore? Harrison had accepted anything Daniel had thrown at him, simply because he assumed that it was a temporary lashing out, but it had continued and continued and continued, until it had reached the point where Harrison was lying to those around him about where he had received his injuries.

  He left Betty tucking into her dinner and walked out of the barn back towards the house, his mind made up. Enough was enough. Tomorrow, he was going to end things with Daniel.

  Blake hadn’t slept well. Through a combination of a new bed, the complete silence of the countryside and the worry of starting his new job, when he opened his eyes he felt like he had probably slept for about five minutes.

  He clicked his phone to stop the alarm and sat up, immediately whacking his head on the sloping wall above the headboard. He cursed as he rubbed his head, glaring at the offending piece of wall. He glanced around the room where he had dumped his belongings from the car. Suitcases and boxes were scattered everywhere. Fortunately, he had had the hindsight to take out his clothes for the day before he had gone to bed, which were lying on a chair in the corner, though as he looked closer he realised a rather large spider had taken up residency on the crotch of his trousers.

  “Good luck mate.” He muttered at it, before sloping off into the kitchen.

  Twenty minutes later, Blake was showered and walking back into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. It had taken about five minutes for the shower to be anywhere near the temperature he liked it. His shower back in Sale had a function that remembered what temperature each person living in the house wanted. He had wondered, briefly but bitterly, as the lukewarm water had run weakly down his back what temperature it would have saved for Cassie.

  As he looked around his room for his deodorant, there was a knock at the door. He ran down the stairs, still in his bath towel and opened it to find Jacqueline standing there with a warm smile.

  “Good morning!” Her eyes wandered down Blake’s body, which was still glistening with droplets of water. He moved the door slightly to cover his modesty.

  “Jacqueline. What can I do for you?”

  She held up a carrier bag. “I just thought I’d make sure you were up and ready for the day. Bought you a few supplies for your cupboard!”

  “Oh you didn’t have to do…” Blake tried to say but was cut off by Jacqueline pushing past him.

  “Oh don’t be silly.” She beamed. “You go and get yourself dressed. Can’t start a new job without a good breakfast inside you! I bet you’ve barely eaten looking at this kitchen.”

  She strolled into the kitchen and put the bag on the table and started emptying it. “I know a man and his kitchen. It doesn’t stay this clean after you’ve cooked.”

  Blake hadn’t really felt hungry the night before, in fact he had felt a bit dazed and disorientated by everything. He had been sat in a chair wondering if this was what culture shock felt like.

  Now though, he had to admit, he was ravenous and watching Jacqueline take out bacon and eggs wasn’t helping. A big breakfast probably would make him feel better, although he did wonder if Jacqueline was doing it for her own reasons rather than to actually help him.

  By the time he had come downstairs again, Jacqueline had already buttered him some toast to be getting on with and started frying bacon in a huge frying pan that had been hanging over the cooker.

  She looked up as he re-entered the kitchen. “Oh, very smart!” She said approvingly. “It’s been a while since I’ve cooked for a man.” She smiled, though Blake could detect a hint of sadness in her eyes.

  “And who was that?” he asked, sitting down.

  “My husband.” She replied, filling the kettle up. “He died…five years ago it’ll be now.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh.” She waved a hand in what Blake assumed was an attempt to appear careless. “These things happen. He was a good man. He had the unhealthiest lifestyle though.” She began haphazardly cracking eggs against the side of another pan and dropping them into it. “Never touched fruit or vegetables unless I force fed him them. Mixed in with a thirty a day smoking habit and a dodgy heart, he was a bit of a ticking time bomb. I came downstairs one morning to find him face down in a bowl of cornflakes. Still though,” she turned to him and smiled, a hint of flirtation in her eyes. “Life goes on.”

  Blake gave her a slightly grimaced smile. He didn’t feel that it was quite the right time to mention his sexuality, especially when she had gone to all this effort.

  “Yes.” He said slowly. “Well, you’ll find yourself someone if that’s what you’re looking for. Who can resist a good cook?”

  The compliment seemed to satisfy her for now and she dished up the breakfast she had made for him.

  When he had finished, he glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well Jacqueline, that was amazing. Thank you so much. I really need to be going now though.”

  “Oh absolutely, yes. Mustn’t be late on your first day. ” She stood up from the table and passed him his coat. “Good luck, Detective. I hope it’s an easy first day for you.”

  Blake took his coat off her. “Yeah,” he murmured. “So do I.”

  Blake arrived at the station fifteen minutes early. It was a lot smaller than the one back in the city. Two police cars sat outside it. Other than that, there didn’t appear to be a lot of movement. It was a far cry from the bustling hive of activity he had come from where the sound of sirens constantly filled the air and officers were forever running out of the doors.

  He walked inside it and down the corridor towards the reception desk. To his surprise, there was just one woman sat on her own behind the glass. There was nobody else around and she seemed to be doing what looked like a crossword puzzle.

  Blake cleared his throat as he approached. The woman, portly, mid-fifties with her greying hair tied back, glanced up at him.

  “Yes?” She said dryly.

  Blake eyed the crossword puzzle and where her pen was hovering over it. “Four down is ‘despondent.’”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Four down. The amount of little ink dots that are on it suggest you’ve been trying to work that one out for a while. ‘In low spirits, no hope,’ ten letters. ‘Despondent.”

  She looked down at the page and glared briefly at him before filling in the answer. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “So, have you come in just to give me a hand on my crossword or can I help you with something?”

  “Well, I hope so. Detective Sergeant Blake Harte. I’m starting here today.”

  The crossword quickly vanished.

  “Right, yes.” The woman said, standing up. “I’ll just take you through to the briefing room.”

  “Thank you.” Blake said coolly. “What was your name?”

  “Darnwood. Mandy Darnwood.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Sir.”

  He simply nodded, making a mental note that he was going to have to keep an eye on this particular officer.

  She took him down another corridor where he could begin to hear a group of people talking and laughing. As he entered the room, the noise stopped. The six or so occupants turned to look at him as if he had just entered a western saloon.

  Darnwood cleared her throat and called across the room to the office at the other side. Inside was a man in his late fifties, “Sir, this is D.S Harte.”

  The man looked up from his desk and stood up. He was quite tall but ro
tund with a distinguished and bushy moustache. “Ah, yes!” He exclaimed, standing up and walking towards them. “Hello!”

  Blake guessed by the way that he was dressed that this was to be his new boss. He liked him more than Gresham already.

  “Inspector Royale.” The man said, shaking Blake’s hand. “Welcome aboard. Found the place alright then?”

  “Sir.” Replied Blake. He had never understood why anyone asked that question to people standing right in front of them.

  “Well, let me introduce you to the team.” Royale beamed. “Sergeant Mandy Darnwood, you’ve already met.”

  Darnwood twitched her mouth in what Blake assumed was an attempt at a courteous smile and walked out of the room.

  “Everyone, bit of quiet.” Royale instructed, even though nobody had said a word since Blake had walked in.

  “This is our new Detective Sergeant – Blake…?”

  “Harte.” Blake replied.

  “Yes, yes. Detective Sergeant Harte. Soon to be Inspector from what I’m told.” Royale paused impressively. “D.S Blake is formally from Manchester C.I.D, so a little bit different here from what you’re used to I expect.” He chuckled and then gestured to a man with a neatly trimmed moustache sitting behind one of the desks. “Over there is Sergeant Gardiner.”

  Gardiner glanced up from his computer, an air of distinct moodiness about him. “Hello.”

  Blake was slightly bemused as to why a man who looked to be in his late forties appeared to be quite so surly.

  “This is P.C Patil,” Royale continued, indicating a young Indian woman sat closest to them. “She’s a fairly new recruit herself, so I’m sure you can teach one another a thing or two.”

  Patil stood up and held her hand to shake Blake’s. “Hello, sir.” She said genuinely. “Nice to meet you.” Blake shook the much friendlier hand.

  “Oh and this is our youngest recruit!” Royale chuckled as a man who couldn’t have been any older than about twenty- one entered the room carrying a tray with steaming mugs on.