When I'm Old and Grey: DI Ted Darling Book III

by L M Krier

  'Would you know if Mrs Tyler had had any visitors on the day she died?' Maurice asked.

  'Her family never came to see her. Well, only once in a blue moon. She did sometimes get a visit from a former neighbour of hers. A woman called Angela. In fact, I'm pretty sure she was in that day.'

  'Can you describe this Angela for me, please?' Maurice asked.

  'Bright, bubbly, curly blonde hair, big glasses with different coloured frames to match her various outfits. Often bright pink. Late thirties, early forties perhaps? Always very friendly and cheerful. Though how she stayed that way talking to our Maggie, I have no idea.'

  'Are you saying Mrs Tyler was not very popular?' Maurice pursued.

  Stacy laughed. 'Well, let me just say that if it turned out that somebody had bumped her off, it would take me all day to list the possible suspects.' Then his hand flew up to his face and he looked horrified as he continued, 'Oh, good gracious. I am so stupid. That's why you're here, isn't it? Two detectives, asking about her death. You think someone may have killed her, is that it?'

  'We're just making initial enquiries at the moment,' Maurice told him. 'But perhaps you could tell us how you felt about her?'

  Stacy looked from one to the other. He clearly saw something more sympathetic or approachable in Ted's face as he concentrated his attention on him as he spoke. 'I know one should never speak ill of the dead, but dear Maggie was a thoroughly disagreeable and unpleasant woman and I'm sure everyone would tell you the same thing.

  'Always complaining and criticising. She never had a kind word for or about anyone. And constantly putting on airs and graces. I can honestly say none of us here will miss her. She was utterly thankless to look after. I'm sorry if I'm speaking out of turn but she really was. It's why her family hardly ever came near. They said she'd been like that all her life, even before the dementia.'

  Ted could not stay quiet. He asked, 'Yet this neighbour, this Angela, chose to come and visit her? How did she put up with her?'

  'She was an absolute saint,' Stacy replied. 'She just used to carry on smiling and ignore all Maggie's vitriolic rantings. I don't know how she did it.'

  'Did she ever bring in cakes or other treats for Mrs Tyler?' Ted asked, ignoring the black looks Maurice was throwing at him.

  'Oh yes, definitely,' Stacy replied. 'She'd always have like a little picnic for her. Cakes, biscuits, a flask of tea. In fact, they were sitting here on this very sofa sharing a picnic just a short time before Maggie took ill and died.'

  Maurice shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the thought. He and Ted exchanged knowing glances, then Ted spoke again.

  'When she's free, could you please inform the manager that we will be treating Mrs Tyler's death as suspicious. Arrangements will be made to carry out a post-mortem examination without delay. Thank you for your time and all your help.'

  As they headed back to the car, Ted pulled out his mobile to make a call. 'Morning, sir, it's DI Darling. We have another suspicious death on our hands and I'd like you to authorise a post-mortem, please,' and he gave the details to the senior coroner.

  Maurice Brown was slightly older than Ted and had known and served with him for some time. He was always the one who pushed the boundaries and took liberties. Occasionally Ted had to jump on him, but generally speaking their relationship was good.

  'Boss,' he said as he pulled out of the driveway into the main road. 'You were supposed to keep it zipped. If you can't stay out of this like you promised, at least until we've eliminated your mum from our enquiries, I'm going to have to report you to Her Royal Highness the Ice Queen.'

  Ted had to laugh. 'Yes, Maurice,' he said meekly.

  Chapter Six

  Ted waited until the end of the day, when everyone was briefly back in the main office, to fill the team in on his visit to the second care home with Maurice. As he spoke, he wrote the name of the latest potential victim, Maggie Tyler, on the white board.

  'I've phoned the coroner to ask for a PM. It is just possible that it's all coincidence and the two deaths are unrelated, but I think that's unlikely. Everything is similar, including the visits from a mysterious woman called Angela,' he told them. 'So, where are we up to with the first death?'

  'Annie Jones has a watertight alibi, which we've checked out, for the time covering the illness and death of her mother, Gwen Jones,' Mike Hallam said, deliberately not referring to them as Ted's mother and grandmother. 'She seems genuinely mystified by the whole thing and she has no idea who this person Angie is. She's certainly not a known relative'

  Ted joined in at this point, not wishing to step on the DS's toes but anxious to make suggestions as they occurred to him.

  'I think what we need to do now, without spreading alarm, is to ask all the homes within our area to report any further unexpected deaths, especially when they're sudden. That's a simple ring-round job, for whenever anyone has a spare moment.

  'Steve, can you be in charge of coordinating the list, make sure all the homes know the information we're looking for,' he said. 'We also need them to look again at their records for any past deaths that they may just have dismissed as natural causes.'

  'Should we ask the hospitals too, boss, on our patch and close to?' Rob O'Connell asked. 'They must get a lot of old people through their doors. Should we be checking if any of them have died suddenly and unexpectedly?'

  'Good thinking, worth a try. Steve …'

  'Printing the list now, sir, I had the same idea,' Steve told him.

  'Next up, we need to get round all the homes, and the hospitals if necessary, to ask about an Angie or an Angela,' Ted continued. 'The two descriptions we have of her are completely different. Is she the same person who changes her appearance? Or two people with similar names? In either case, where is she, or where are they?'

  'That's going to be a lot of leg-work, boss. Any signs of another team member?' Mike asked.

  'I have reminded the Super yet again,' Ted told him. 'She says she's on it. In the meantime, I'll talk to Inspector Turner, see if he can lend us some uniform officers to give us a bit of a hand. Anything else?'

  No one had anything to add, so there was a general gathering of belongings and most of the team began heading for the door. Ted went back to his own office to collect a few things. Mike followed him.

  'Can I have a word, boss?' he asked in a measured tone.

  'Of course. Have a seat, Mike,' Ted replied, sitting down himself.

  'Do you think I'm not up to handling this case?' Mike asked bluntly.

  'Of course I don't,' Ted assured him. 'Is this because I went to the home today instead of waiting for you to finish with my mother?'

  Mike nodded. 'That, and more or less taking over just now. You said you were stepping back from it because of your family involvement and you really need to, if you don't mind me saying so. At least until we know a bit more about what's going on.'

  Ted leaned back in his chair and laughed. 'I've already been thoroughly told off by Maurice and I consider myself duly reprimanded once more. You're right, of course, Mike, and I apologise. I just thought it was important to act quickly, before our second victim was buried or cremated and we lost the chance for detailed analysis.

  'Do you want to tell me how it went with my mother?'

  It was Mike's turn to laugh. 'Sal and I loved all your baby pictures, boss. Or should I call you Teddy?'

  He knew the DI could take a joke, although Ted pretended to be angry. 'If you start calling me that at work, I might just have to remind you that I hold black belts in four martial arts.'

  'Seriously, though, boss, even without the alibi, there's no way I would suspect your mother of any involvement. It's really knocked her for six to hear that she was right and someone seems to have done this to her mother deliberately.'

  'I'd better go and call on her myself tomorrow morning, now she's no longer a suspect,' Ted told him. 'Just to make sure she's all right, see if she needs help with the funeral or whatever. I'll be in a bit later than
usual, so brief the team and get them started, please. Thanks, Mike, and sorry if you thought I was overstepping the mark we agreed on. It won't happen again.'

  * * *

  When Ted stopped his Renault outside his grandmother's house the following morning, he looked nostalgically at the tiny mid-terrace cottage, with its pocket handkerchief-sized front garden. It was smaller than he remembered from boyhood visits, but there was still a climbing rose around the rickety, rustic porch. He didn't know if it was the same one.

  His mother had said she worked afternoons so he hoped to find her at home, as Mike and Sal had done the previous day. He rapped the brass knocker, worn smooth by the touch of many hands over the years. He remembered being too small to reach it, either his mum or his dad having to lift him up to it, as he always wanted to be the one who knocked.

  His mother's expression was of surprised delight when she opened the door to him.

  'Teddy! You came. Come on in. I was just putting the kettle on. Do you want a cup of tea?'

  Ted knew it would be strong tea, like treacle, which he had long since given up in favour of his preferred green tea. He nodded acceptance anyway and followed her in.

  Inside, the cottage was dark and seemed minuscule to his adult eyes. He looked around, noting all the photographs of himself, just as Mike had mentioned. His gaze fell on one of him in a pram which looked far too big for one small baby boy.

  His mother saw him looking at it and smiled fondly. 'You were such a bonny baby, with all that lovely strawberry blond hair. That's why I used to call you my little Teddy Bear.'

  She must have sensed his discomfort as she swiftly changed the subject. 'I'll just make that brew. I know it's early, but would you like a piece of cake? It's only a teisen lap but I remember how much you used to love that, and I still use your gran's recipe.'

  Again, the memories which immediately sprang to Ted's mind were so vivid he could almost taste the moist flat cake, baked on a plate, which his grandmother used to make whenever he visited.

  His mother anxiously fussed around, bringing him tea and cake, offering milk and sugar, having no idea of his tastes as an adult. Ted tried hard to control the feelings of resentment which threatened to overwhelm him. Despite his usual strict self-control, he found that he could not.

  'Why did you walk out on me?' he blurted.

  'Oh, Teddy,' she said, and once again her eyes were full of tears. 'I never walked out on you. I never wanted to lose you. I just couldn't stay with your dad any longer, not the way he was.'

  'It wasn't his fault he broke his back,' Ted said, through gritted teeth, feeling anger rising in him at her words. 'He needed you. I needed you.'

  'Drink your tea,' she told him, taking a mouthful of her own. 'And eat your cake. The officers who came yesterday wouldn't have any of it.'

  In spite of the circumstances, Ted almost laughed. His mother was clearly too naïve to realise that police officers coming to interview a possible murder suspect in a poisoning case were highly unlikely to accept any food from them.

  He took a bite of the cake. It was just as he remembered, fruity and delicious. Its sticky, sweet familiarity helped to calm his mood as he savoured each mouthful.

  'This is very hard for me to talk about,' his mother began. 'But you have a right to know the truth. Your dad was always such a lovely man, kind, thoughtful, intelligent. But after the accident he changed completely. He couldn't … he wasn't …'

  She was struggling to express herself, then said in a rush, 'He wasn't a proper man any more. We couldn't … things weren't like they had been. He wanted me to do things, things I wasn't happy with. And when I refused, he started to hit me.'

  Ted put down his plate of cake, suddenly incapable of eating any more. It was the last thing in the world he had expected to hear.

  She saw his stunned expression and continued, 'We kept it from you, of course. He never left any marks, not where they could be seen, that is. But they were there, all right. Bad ones. He hated himself afterwards, ashamed of what he'd done. So he started to drink. Then things got worse. He just got more and more violent towards me. It was the frustration, you see.'

  'So you left a little boy alone with a violent man? A drinker?' Ted asked, horrified by what he was hearing.

  'Oh, Teddy, I knew he would never harm one hair of your head,' she said. 'He worshipped the ground you walked on, especially as we could never have any more children. He would never, ever have been violent to you, or harmed you in any way.

  'Do you remember when he used to take you fishing? Up at Roman Lakes? You would sit there for hours, freezing to death, never catching anything. Joe used to suck those little menthol sweets he liked.'

  Wordlessly, Ted reached into a pocket and pulled out his own packet of Fisherman's Friend. It brought tears to his mother's eyes again.

  'Couldn't you have got help for him? Or for you?' Ted asked.

  She shook her head. 'Back in them days no one talked about such things. I told my mam, when I asked if I could come back here to live, but that was all.'

  'Didn't you worry that the extra strain of looking after me on his own might just tip him over the edge? There was only him and me after you walked out. Just that carer that used to come during the day to see to him.'

  'Oh, she saw to him, all right,' his mother spat bitterly. 'She saw to his every need, gave him the things I couldn't.

  Ted was staggered by what he was hearing. He felt his world unravelling around him. He had always been told that his mother had left with another man. It was the reason why he had never attempted to trace her.

  'All right, if you had to leave Dad, I can understand that, after what you've just told me. But what about me? Why didn't you keep in touch with me? Send a letter or a card at least, even if you couldn't visit?' Ted asked, hoping he didn't sound too pathetic.

  There were tears running down his mother's face now. She made no attempt to wipe them away. The silence thickened between them as she struggled to find the right words. It was some time before she could speak.

  'When you never replied to any of my letters, I thought you wanted nothing more to do with me. You never even sent a thank you for the presents I sent for your birthdays and for Christmas. And you were always such a good little boy, always had all your thank you letters written and in the post by Boxing Day.'

  It was Ted's turn to find difficulty in speaking. He looked away, fighting a lump in his throat, as the full extent of his father's betrayal hit him. Not only had he lied about her reasons for leaving, it seemed he had also kept her letters from him. He had grown up hating his mother, without knowing the real reasons behind his parents' break-up.

  'I never got them,' he said eventually, in a hollow voice. 'None of them. All these years, I thought you'd gone off with another man and never given me a second thought.'

  Gently, his mother reached out a hand and took hold on one of his. She gave it a little squeeze. After a moment, Ted squeezed hers in return.

  'Never mind,' she said briskly, drying her tears with her other hand. 'We're back in contact now. Tell me a little bit about yourself. I've read everything that's ever been in the paper about your career, but I don't know anything about you, your personal life. Are you married? Do you have children?'

  'I have a partner. No children. We have cats.'

  Ted wasn't sure why he was evasive about Trevor. He was comfortable with his sexuality, proud of his long-standing partnership. For some reason, he felt unable to tell his mother anything personal about himself. Not yet, at least.

  'I'd love to meet her some time, if that would be all right?' she said. 'You always did love cats. Do you remember Snowy, that we had when you were a little boy? And your gran's cat, Puss Fach?'

  Ted looked at the hearth rug, almost expecting to see his grandmother's small tabby stretched out in front of the fire, as it always seemed to be whenever he visited.

  'Look, I have to get to work now, but here's my card. Let me know if I can help you with gran's fun
eral, or with anything else,' he said, standing up and handing her a card with his contact details. 'Have you got a mobile phone?'

  'I have to have one for work. I never remember the number,' she said apologetically.

  'There's a way to get it to show you, but I'm no good at this sort of stuff,' Ted said. 'Give me your phone. I'll ring mine from it, then I'll have the number.'

  Once he had done so, he headed for the door. He was struggling hard with his emotions. He could tell that his mother would like to hug or kiss him before he left, but he could not yet bear the thought of being close to her again, emotionally or physically, after all the lonely, bitter years.

  As he was leaving, he steeled himself and took hold of one of her hands, saying quietly, 'I'll come for the funeral. And if you need anything, anything at all, you just have to call me.'

  Chapter Seven

  Mike Hallam was the only one in the main office when Ted got back from visiting his mother. He looked up from the pile of paperwork on his desk when Ted came in.

  'Just a possibility we may have yet another one, boss,' he said. 'Not recent though, this time. From about three months ago. The team are all out on the knock, trying to find out more about this Angela woman. I'm ringing round and I've just been speaking to a home down near Davenport where they had a death a while ago, which seems to fit the pattern.'

  'Are you on your way there now?' Ted asked and when Mike nodded, he said, 'Mind if I tag along?'

  Mike sighed and gave him what Ted would describe as an old-fashioned look. 'Boss, number one, shouldn't somebody stay at home and mind the shop? Number two, what happened to you backing off and leaving me to it?'

  Ted grinned guiltily. 'Think of me as the Elephant's Child, Mike. I have an insatiable curiosity.'

  Ted was not a great reader himself but his father had been. He remembered fondly long winter evenings by the fire with him, listening as he read aloud the Just So Stories.

  They went in Mike's car. It was a short drive but long enough to catch up a bit and to kick some ideas around. When they parked and before they went into the home, Mike elicited from Ted a promise to observe and say nothing.