by Robert Innes
“Because he’s the one –the only one– who could have done it!” Gardiner roared back, a muscle bulging slightly at the side of his head.
“Did you interview him?”
“What does that have to do –“
“Did you interview him?”
“No!”
“Then please, for the love of God tell me how you think you’ve got anything that puts him in the frame!”
“Because it’s the only thing that makes sense Detective! What, you think just because he’s bent that he doesn’t have it in him?” Gardiner spat, slamming a folder from his desk back onto the shelf.
Blake stormed across the room using the journey from the desk to Gardiner to calm himself down enough not to do anything other than shout.
He stopped a few inches away from him and pointed at him, furiously. “Two things. If you ever and I mean ever use that sort of homophobic language in front of me again, in fact even when I’m not here because I’m very good and I will know, then I swear to God I will personally see to it that your policing career goes no further than you putting out the odd traffic cone. And number two!” He shouted over Gardiner’s attempts to interrupt him, “Number two, I am your superior officer and you will talk to me with respect, even if you don’t agree with me. Do I make myself clear?
There was a small cough behind him. “And what is going on here?”
Blake spun round to see Inspector Royale standing in the doorway to his office. Blake hadn’t seen him when he had stormed his way in in such a rage. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond.
“Michael, I think it’s probably home time for you now, don’t you?” Royale said calmly to Gardiner.
Gardiner grabbed his jacket from the chair in front of him and threw one last furious glare at Blake. “Sir.” He snapped before marching out of the room.
“And you Billy. Long day for all of you. Go home and get some sleep.”
Blake hadn’t noticed Mattison even follow them into the station. He was stood awkwardly in the doorway to the conference room, having been shoved aside by Gardiner as he had left.
“Yes, Sir.” Mattison replied politely.
Blake watched as Mattison left the room and walked down the corridor.
“A word, DS Harte?” Royale asked just as calmly. He stood aside so that Blake could enter his office.
Blake closed his eyes in dread as he walked into the room. He couldn’t believe he was in trouble with the new boss on his first day. Gresham would kill himself laughing if he could see this.
“Well, what a first day you’ve had.” Royale said as he closed the door. “Do sit down.”
Blake sat, watching Royale make his way around the desk. “Tricky case. It’s been some time since we’ve even had a murder in Harmschapel, never mind one that sounds so utterly beguiling.”
“I’m sure we’ll make some progress pretty quickly.” Blake reasoned.
“Oh I’m sure.” Royale smiled, sitting down opposite him. “But in the meantime, might I suggest you dispense with the old ‘I’m your superior’ routine?”
Blake sighed. “Sir, Gardiner has an attitude.”
“He’s slightly set in his ways, I grant you.”
“It’s more than that Sir. Gardiner is just a –“
“Yes?” Royale said, eyebrows raised.
Blake swallowed the insult he was about to utter, then briefly paused whilst he thought of something slightly less abusive to say. “An annoyance.” was the politest he could manage.
Royale leaned back in his chair. “In what way?”
“In the way that his attitude absolutely stinks, Sir. He’s rude, he’s arrogant, he’s got no respect, he makes homophobic comments and he -”
“And,” finished Royale. “He thinks that somebody you believe to be innocent is responsible for this murder this morning. If it’s as illogical as it’s been described to me, you can hardly blame the man for having precious few other theories.”
“I understand that Sir, but -”
“I would ask you to give Michael a bit of slack.” Interrupted Royale. “He’s in the process of going through a very bitter and difficult divorce at the moment.”
“I see.”
“As well as that,” Royale continued. “And you may not be aware of this, but he was rather hoping to occupy the position that you filled when you transferred here.”
“That was mentioned to me, yes.” Blake conceded.
“I accepted you instead of him because of the recommendations I was given about you from the Superintendent and that has rather put Michael’s nose out of joint. I would hate to regret that decision because of a lack of, shall we say, adaptability on your part?”
Royale stood up and made his way towards the door. “Blake, I know you to be an excellent detective. I understand that you’ve got a slightly more unorthodox way of doing things and I actively encourage that as I would anything that has been proven to get results, such as your career has. However, I would ask you to remember that you aren’t in the middle of a bustling city squad anymore.” He opened the door and held it open. “This is a quiet, countryside town. I understand what these city boys are like, you need to keep order and control. But that isn’t needed here. I don’t want you to fall foul of any accusations of unprofessionalism or, dare one say it, bullying. Am I clear?”
Blake realised there was very little point in arguing. “Sir.” He conceded quietly.
When he got home, Blake slammed the door behind him and threw himself into the same chair he had occupied last night. He had been planning on doing all of his unpacking when he had arrived back but he was too agitated and annoyed to even think about doing that now.
He leant back, took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. There was a moment of calmness that was immediately shattered by a knock at the door.
Resisting the urge to scream at whoever it was to leave him alone at the top of his lungs, he groaned and reluctantly went to open it.
“Post!” trilled Jacqueline.
“I don’t want any.” Blake replied shortly. But he opened the door further and walked back into the lounge so that she could follow him in.
“Oh dear!” Jacqueline said, closing the door behind him. “How was your first day?”
“Not the best.”
“No.” Jacqueline replied. “I heard about the death at Halfmile farm.”
Blake looked at her, bewildered. “How?”
“Oh.” Jacqueline waved her hand dismissively. “Word gets around in a small village, you know how it is. Especially something like this – Is it true? That he was locked in a shed then somehow shot whilst he was still inside it? It’s like something from one of my crime novels!”
Blake sighed. “It’s only early in the investigations.”
“Well,” Jacqueline said enthusiastically. “Me and the girls were throwing a few ideas around, you know the way you do.”
A feeling of complete exasperation flooded through Blake. “You were doing what?”
He then remembered the group of lads leaning over the far fence at the farm from a distance watching proceedings that he had sent Gardiner to get rid of, which was presumably how word had travelled so fast.
Jacqueline threw down the letter she had been carrying and produced a large sheet of A4 out of her pocket and flattened it out on the table.
“So, if he was in the shed.” she began. “Then there was absolutely no way he could have got out, only here where the door is.” She said, pointing to a small cross that she had already put on the paper.
“Jacqueline, I can’t discuss this with you.” Blake tried to interrupt her, but she continued regardless, pointing at different areas on the diagram enthusiastically.
“Which means that it happened inside the shed, had to have done. So what if there was some sort of remote control device? You know the sort of thing you can get in this day and age, it’s scary – anything is possible. Something that would have shot him when he was in the shed and would have been act
ivated by that wireless thingee. Oh, what’s it called? Wi-Fi! All they have to do is make sure that he’s in the shed and then press a button or activate it, and boom!”
She looked up at Blake wide eyed, waiting for his reaction. Despite how irritated he was by the interruption, Blake was quite touched by how much effort she had put into the diagram which was really rather detailed.
“Thank you,” He said gently. “But, like I say, I cannot discuss this or any case with you. It’s confidential.”
Jacqueline looked extremely disappointed. “Ah well.” She said, folding the diagram up. “Rules are rules I suppose.”
“But, I’ll certainly consider what you’ve said as a form of investigation.” Blake promised, lying through his teeth.
Jacqueline nodded dejectedly and put the diagram back in her pocket.
“I tell you what, leave that. Do you mind? That could really help me actually.” Blake said, holding his hand out for the diagram.
That did the trick. Jacqueline appeared delighted. “Oh! Well, yes of course!” She handed it back to him. “Anything to help! Well, I’ll let you get back to it then. Oh, that letter arrived for you by the way. I got chatting to the postman and he left it with me when you were out, sorry.”
“That’s alright. See you later.”
When he had finally gotten rid of her, he let out another sigh, then glanced at the diagram. How the hell had Donaldson been shot? As much thought as Jacqueline had put into her explanation, Blake could quickly discount it. The idea of a remote control device wasn’t necessarily a bad one, but how could anyone have got into the shed to set up such a device when the Baxters’ were the only one with a key? There was a vague possibility somebody could have stolen it but there had to be easier ways to shoot the man.
He walked across to the table and picked up the letter she had left behind. Expecting it to be junk mail or a bill, he carelessly ripped it open but was surprised when he found what looked like an invitation made of card inside. It was from his ex, Nathan, inviting him to the ‘happy and forever’ wedding of him and ‘the beautiful Cassandra.’
It was the perfect end to the perfect day. He stared at it in furious disbelief for a few moments before tearing it up and throwing the pieces across the room. That did it. He needed a drink.
Harrison walked through the street, his eyes stinging from all the crying he had done that day. That had to have been one of the worst rows he had ever had with his father. He was still trembling.
It had started when Harrison had innocently asked Seth who could have been responsible for shooting Daniel – it did, to him, seem a pretty reasonable question seeing as though it had happened so bizarrely and also in their front yard.
His father had been on edge all evening, understandably after the day’s events, so Harrison hadn’t really reacted when he had had his head bitten off when Seth had snapped, “How the hell should I know?”
Both of his parents had spent most of the day being questioned by the police, although Blake had only spoken to him. In fact Harrison was concerned about the fact that the man in charge had been the one talking to him and not any of the lower ranked officers. Did that mean they thought he did it?
The stress of the day had resulted in the argument going from a simple exchange of words to a full blown row. Seth had screamed at Harrison, criticising his choices, his lifestyle and his general demeanour when it came to standing up for himself, the finale of the vitriol being that if Harrison had just been ‘normal,’ then none of this would ever have happened.
Harrison had shot back that the only thing he had ever wanted was to make his father proud and had been told that that was unlikely to ever happen.
It had gone on and on until two officers that were stationed at the farm had had to intervene to calm the situation. Harrison had stormed out of the house and down the hill into the village, tense and anxious. His father could be terrifying when angry and tonight had been no different.
As he walked through the village, he felt everyone’s eyes on him. He hoped he was only imagining the murmured whisperings around him – did they all think he had done it too?
Harrison wasn’t a huge drinker but before too long he found himself striding towards The Dog’s Tail pub. A few people were stood outside smoking, quickly falling silent as he approached. One of them, a woman he vaguely recognised from the post office, gave him a polite nod of acknowledgment as he pushed past them inside the pub then went into a frenzied whisper with the two friends she was with.
When he walked inside, he was relieved to see that it was fairly empty, apart from a huddled group of people in the corner who glanced up at him as he entered and then resumed their conversation.
“Hello, Harrison.” Robin, the landlord of the pub was standing behind the bar, wiping a glass and looking sternly at him. “What can I do for you?”
“Erm, just a pint please.”
“You sure that’s a good idea, all things considered?”
“I just want one pint.”
A voice rang out from the other side of the room. “Thinking about what you’ve done over a drink?”
Harrison turned to see where the voice had come from and his heart sank. It was Craig Samuels, one of Daniel’s best friends although Harrison had never felt especially welcome to share Daniel’s friendship with him. He was wearing a red tracksuit, a gold chain around his neck that barely covered the tattoo on his neck and a cap that nearly shielded his eyes.
“Craig.”
Craig stood up, kicking his chair aside.
“How did you do it Harrison? Daniel was my friend, one of my best friends – don’t you think I have a right to know how he died?”
Harrison backed away slightly. “Look, I don’t know how it happened – I swear.”
“You’re a liar.” Craig snarled, walking towards Harrison. “He gets shot at your house – who else would it be? Tell me how you did it.”
“I didn’t do it!”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Ok, that’s enough.” Robin the landlord said sharply. “Harrison, I think it would probably be better if you left.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Craig smirked. “Why don’t we all leave together?”
“No, I don’t think much to that idea as it happens.” Harrison turned in surprise at the new voice. Blake Harte was standing right behind him, glaring at Craig.
Craig gave him a disdainful look. “And who are you?”
Blake pulled his wallet out of his pocket and opened it to reveal his identification. “Detective Sergeant Blake Harte. I’m new round here so I don’t think you and me have had the pleasure? Mr…?”
Craig scoffed. “I don’t have to tell you my name.”
“No, not yet you don’t.” Blake replied casually. “But I get the feeling me and you are likely to meet again, under far more professional circumstances. Until then?”
Craig gave a last glare at Harrison then turned to his crew at the table. “Come on.”
They all downed their pints and stood up, aggressively kicking their chairs away as they did so like a cartload of chimpanzees.
“See you soon, Harrison.” Craig said as he walked out of the pub.
Harrison watched them leave and exhaled, realising he had been holding his breath since Blake had walked in.
Blake gave him a supportive squeeze on the shoulder. “It’s alright Harrison. They’re not going to touch you.”
“I don’t encourage trouble like that, officer.” Robin said cautiously. He had been wiping the same glass for the past five minutes and it was starting to develop streaks.
“I’m sure you don’t. Pint please.”
“I’ll get that if you want.” Harrison offered.
Blake shook his head. “No thanks Harrison. Thank you, but no.”
“I only wanted to thank you for getting them off my case.”
“And I appreciate that.”
“And,” Harrison continued imploringly. “You did say that I c
ould get in contact with you.”
“Yes, I know I did,” Blake said, glancing at Robin. “But I meant when I’m on duty. If you want to talk about anything, then come by the station tomorrow. But I can’t talk about anything to do with the case with you other than that.”
Harrison nodded sadly and walked out of the pub. He stood in the doorway as he watched Craig and his friends disappear in the opposite direction.
Maybe he would go to the police station tomorrow. He certainly couldn’t discuss how he was feeling with his parents and Blake just seemed to understand how people felt in these situations, though he now felt incredibly stupid and embarrassed for offering to buy Blake a drink. He put his hands in his pockets and started the long walk back to Halfmile Farm, hoping that by the time he got back his father would have gone to bed.
Blake sighed as he watched Harrison leave. He knew he was doing the right thing but he wanted nothing more at that moment than to run after Harrison and bring him back. He looked absolutely desperate. Sometimes he wished that there weren’t such stringent rules that he had to abide by. But sitting down and having a drink with, whether he agreed with it or not, a main suspect in a murder investigation would lead to not only the case being completely and utterly tarnished but him losing his job. Sometimes he had to have almost robotic emotions.
Robin placed the pint in front of him and Blake handed his money over. “You’re the new guy that started then?”
Blake raised his eyebrows. Was the area really that quiet that the appointment of a new D.S was common knowledge?
“Yeah, that’s right.” He said. “Who was that lad exactly?”
Robin looked towards the door. “Who, Craig?”
“Yeah, the one that was giving Harrison trouble.”
“Craig Samuels.” Robin replied, reaching for another glass to wipe. “He was an old school mate of Daniel Donaldson’s.”
“Ah.” Blake said, sipping his pint.
“They’ve been knocking about together for as long as I’ve worked here.”
“Are you the landlord?”
“Yep.” Robin said proudly, holding the glass up to the light. “Ten years this August.”