“Sorry, I haven’t heard from Inspector Chauvin, I expect they are still interviewing Mrs Greasley. Keys please.” The sergeant looked as though he was starting to lose his patience. He was obviously keen to get back to the excitement that was unfolding in the garden. Cases like this didn’t come along very often in tranquil Northamptonshire and Andy knew from all the crime shows on TV that CID and SOCO would be taking over shortly. The local boys in blue would be off back to the station to write up their notes and move onto the next case, which would be considerably less interesting than this one.
“Look, how about I sit in the car for an hour or so and if there’s no news by then, I’ll give you the keys and I’ll go home. Okay?”
“With respect, sir, we will not be providing you with updates,” and the sergeant walked up the hall, opened the front door and beckoned Andy out. “If you want to wait, that’s fine. Just keep away from the house,” he instructed strictly.
“I’ll be in that blue car, just there.” Andy pointed to Sarah’s Beetle, which was parked behind the police van.
“Okay, sir, but please don’t bother my officers,” and with that he shut the door behind Andy.
Inside Sarah’s car, it was warm and the plastic seating was giving off a nauseating scent; no wonder kids got travel sick. He wound the stiff little handle and the window jolted down. He adjusted the seat so that he could stretch out his legs and looked around in search of something to eat. Andy realised that apart from a jam sandwich and a slice of melon that had doubled as a shark’s fin in the fruit salad, he’d had nothing else to eat. All he found hidden at the back of the glove box was a small bag of jelly sweets, but they would just have to do.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out. It was a text from Kate to say that Amy was fine and asking if there was any news. He texted back “no”, then looked around outside. The street was quiet and the smell of a nearby barbecue wafted through the open window; most likely some happy family was having a normal summer’s evening and how he wished that the happy family barbecue had been him and Sarah and Amy.
Kate was pleased with the quick response from Andy, but not the content. Why didn’t men make the most of the letter count on text messages? Kate thought. They always seemed to waste a text with short answers, which cost them the same to send as a full paragraph. Tim had taken one worry off her, but she was left with a whole other bundle of worries about what was happening with Sarah and why they were digging up her lovely new patio. From what Kate had witnessed, it seemed most likely that Irene was sending them on a wild-goose chase in an attempt to get Sarah into serious trouble. Kate had faith that the police would quickly realise that Sarah was the innocent party in all this, but it had already been a few hours and they couldn’t have realised it yet or they would have let her come home. Perhaps Irene and Shaun were in it together; she wouldn’t put it past them. For some reason they had spent a lot of time and effort trying to make Sarah out to be an unfit mother. Maybe this was another attempt at them gaining custody of Amy.
Thankfully, Amy seemed surprisingly fine. She hadn’t mentioned the police again and hadn’t asked Kate any questions. Her new toys and books had kept her occupied for quite some time and then a game of catch in the garden had occupied another chunk of time. When Amy started to look tired, Kate suggested that she watch just a bit of television and then they would make home-made pizza for tea. It looked more and more likely that it would be just the two of them eating together tonight.
Kate found a suitable children’s channel and settled herself down on the sofa. Amy came and sat on her lap and snuggled her head into Kate’s shoulder. Kate put her arms around her and cuddled her.
“Is my Mummy in trouble for shouting at Nanny Irene?” asked Amy, her eyes still glued to the television.
“No, sweetie, they just want to talk to your mummy, that’s all.”
“Is it about Daddy?”
Kate was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation; she felt that how she answered these questions might stay with Amy for a long time, so she had to be as honest as she could without alarming her.
“Yes it is, because everyone wants to check that Daddy is all right.”
“Daddy has run away, hasn’t he?” Amy still didn’t move her head. She looked as if she was talking to the television rather than to Kate.
“We don’t know what has happened, that’s what the police are trying to find out.”
“I heard him shouting at Mummy. It was dark outside. He said he was in trouble and had to get away before someone killed him.” Kate was a little taken aback by this. Amy seemed to be the one with the most information, all of a sudden, and it seemed that she might know more than Kate and Andy put together. But, in her desire to unearth the details Kate was still careful not to upset Amy.
“Were you meant to be asleep?” Amy nodded, rubbing her head up and down Kate’s shoulder as she did so. “Did you hear Mummy and Daddy talking?” Amy nodded again.
“Daddy wasn’t being very kind to Mummy. He was shouting a lot.” Kate didn’t know if it was wise to make Amy go over this, but she felt it was probably best if she heard it before the police did. “He said he had to get something from inside the house.”
“Did he say what it was?”
“No. Mummy kept asking him, but he wouldn’t tell her. Then he said he was taking me with him, but Mummy said I was asleep.”
“Which you were meant to be,” pointed out Kate.
“The shouting woke me up. Mummy got very cross with Daddy. Daddy called Mummy nasty names. He’s not very nice to Mummy.”
“No, that’s not nice, you’re right. Sometimes grown-ups aren’t very kind to each other. It’s a shame because I know they both love you very much.”
“I love Mummy a bit more than Daddy.”
“I think that’s okay,” said Kate, kissing the top of Amy’s head and hugging her tighter.
“I think Mummy smacked Daddy because I heard him crying. Please can we make it a pepperoni pizza?”
Tim staggered into the dark, narrow hallway, the sickly smell of marijuana smoke giving his senses a jolt. Tim imagined he was on set and prepared himself for a performance; he put on his best street voice, as he had been coached to do, and called down the hallway,
“Dave, is that you, bro’?” There was a flurry of activity and the door at the end of the hallway flew open. A scruffy dreadlocked man, a similar height to Tim, appeared aggressively brandishing a decorative fruit bowl. Tim was delighted it wasn’t a knife, or worse still, a gun.
“Who the fuck are you?” he barked. “Back up, fool!”
Tim was struggling to remember all the lines from the gangster film. Most of his had been fairly ordinary as he was playing the part of the gangland boss. What he needed to remember now was what those in his gang had said and pray that it was authentic. “Ah shit, I don’ want trouble. I ain’t bustin no one. I’m blud man, chill bro’.”
“What crew yar in?”
“I ain’t in no crew or massive man, I’m just a bum after a score. Dave said this was the place, but if I got it wrong, I’m sorry man,” Tim said, putting his hands up in the air to show he wasn’t dangerous.
“Dave who?” The fruit bowl was still raised, but his expression showed some recognition.
“I dunno, I met him in a pub. He wrote it down, see,” and he showed the man the scrap of paper Kate had given him with the details of the flat on it. A voice from inside the room joined in.
“Was he tall?” the disembodied voice asked.
“Yeah, he was a lanky streak of piss,” said Tim. Lots of laughter broke out inside and the man in the doorway lowered the fruit bowl. Tim relaxed a fraction.
“Yeah, that’s Stretch. Come in, man,” and he stood aside so that Tim could go into the small living room. Tim tried to hide his sigh of relief and his satisfaction that his theory, that everyone knew someone called Dave, had paid off. These guys might be occupying Didi’s flat illegally, but they appeared
to be “also rans” as opposed to hardened criminals, which was also good news for Tim.
The windows were closed and the curtains drawn, and Tim’s eyes took a few moments to adjust to the dimly lit smoky room. There was a small, grubby sofa occupied by two other men, both white and younger than the fruit-bowl-wielding man. There was also an armchair strewn with takeaway boxes and packaging. Tim noted the position of the armchair, as it was facing a low television table that was missing its television. A couple of photo frames with colour photos that he couldn’t quite see were lying in its place. On the wall above the sofa there was another photo, this time in black and white and of a man in uniform.
The two men looked Tim up and down and he suddenly wished he’d worked out a better plan than this. He shuffled across the room and stepped over a patterned rug that was now caked in grime and rucked up in a heap. Tim sat down gingerly on the arm of the chair. It was harder than he’d thought to stay in character when you knew nobody was going to shout “cut”.
“Kotch man. S’up?” asked the fatter of the two on the sofa who was wearing a thick hoody and an even thicker coat over the top, despite the oppressive warmth inside the flat. Tim wondered if he had bad circulation or perhaps nothing on underneath. He looked like a giant pupa. He was certainly sweating as the smell of body odour twisted with the marijuana in the stale air. His hair was shaved short, but there was a lightness of colour to what was visible. The other wore a dirty, red t-shirt and similarly shorn dark hair was just visible underneath a navy Yankees beanie hat, but Tim doubted it was genuine and even less likely that it had been purchased in New York.
“Me? I’m off the ’ook.” Tim cringed internally as he said it, but quickly kept talking, “Nice drum, you got it goin’ on here,” Tim said, nodding as he scanned the room again. The fruit-bowl man was near the door, so he didn’t like his chances of an easy exit.
“We jacked it. Ain’t nobody livin’ ’ere, and it’s our yard,” said the pupa. Tim stopped himself from pointing out that clearly somebody had been living here, hence the ornaments and photographs. Despite the mess it was now in, he could see it had once been a cosy home. He needed to get out of here and back to Terry and Didi and he needed a bloody good distraction to make it out in one piece.
“So, can I score some blow, puff, bash, Mary-Jane?” Tim stopped talking as, hopefully, he had made his point and was fast running out of slang names for marijuana. The three of them were staring at him now and he was feeling uneasy. “Don’t vex me,” Tim said, as menacingly as he could. “Don’t do it. Don’t vex me man or I’ll flip out!”
“Chill, we ain’t got stuff to sell till tomorra. I’ll do ya a bomber?” offered Fruit Bowl. Tim thought this was a cigarette, but he wasn’t sure, so he decided it was time to leave by the shortest route possible. He grabbed the two photos off the television table and jumped onto the back of the sofa. A lot of shouting and arm-waving ensued and the pupa made a grab for Tim’s ankles. Tim kicked out hard and caught him square in the ear, which set him off swearing, whilst covering his head for protection. Tim grabbed the black-and-white photo off the wall and jumped off the end of the sofa. Fruit Bowl was waiting for him like a goalie in a penalty shootout. Tim put on his crazy-eye look and screamed in his face like a bee-stung banshee and then whacked him in the nether regions with the fruit bowl.
“Sorry, old chap,” said Tim, in his best posh voice, as Fruit Bowl fell to the floor and Tim made a run for it.
As he ran along the outside corridor he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled Terry. Above his racing heart and heavy breathing, he heard thundering footsteps coming up fast behind him. A glance over his shoulder told him that Beanie was quicker off the mark than he looked. Terry finally answered and Tim shouted fast into the phone,
“Pull the car under the stairs by the double doors. Right under the stairs because I’m coming down, right now!”
“There in ten seconds, boss,” reassured Terry, as he revved the car into life and swung it around. “Trouble?”
“Shitloads!” Tim panted as he reached the stairwell and started down the stairs. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and clutched the photos to his chest with one hand. The small steps meant that he had to step on every stair very quickly and he looked as if he was doing some sort of strange dance or having some sort of fit. His feet were going so fast they were a blur, like a hamster in a wheel. As he made the second flight and reached the fourth floor, he heard the shuddering bang as Beanie jumped down the set of stairs in one go. Tim continued his hamster impression down to the third floor, but Beanie was gaining on him. As he touched down on the second floor so did Beanie, with a loud bang,
“You slaaaaag!” Beanie snarled as he lurched at Tim. With one hand clutching the photos to his chest, Tim used the other as he leap-frogged over the wall of the stairwell and disappeared. Beanie’s eyes nearly popped out of his head and he looked over the edge, expecting to see Tim splatter on the ground. Instead he saw Tim deftly land on the bonnet of a large black car and then dive headfirst into its open sunroof as the driver spun the vehicle backwards.
“What the fu…” Beanie kicked the wall in temper and then wished he hadn’t as that had most likely broken his toe. “Oy! Get the fucker!” he shouted to the youths, who were gawping at the stunt show unfolding in front of them. Two of them responded with graphic hand signals, but the others pitched forward at the same time and started running towards the car, some of them throwing whatever rubbish was to hand. Terry reversed the car at speed, then adroitly did a handbrake turn and the car raced away from the scene as Tim’s legs slid gracefully inside the car.
“Ah, hello there, Didi, terribly sorry about that. Are you okay?” he said, as he scrambled into his seat and relished the sound of the seat belt as he clicked it safely into place.
“Goodness me, it’s like being in the movies,” she said with glee.
“We aim to please, madam,” Tim said, as he handed Didi the trio of photo frames he had gathered on his quest. Didi grasped them and examined each one in turn.
“Thank you,” she said, and Tim gave her a smile.
Terry checked the mirrors a few times before he was happy that no one was following them. “We’re clear, boss,” he said, when he was sure.
“Terry, I’m getting too old for stunts. Nice driving, by the way. Remind me at Christmas when I’m sorting out your bonus.”
“I will, don’t worry,” grinned Terry into the rear-view mirror.
“So what exactly happened back there?” asked Didi. This was a question that, surprisingly, Tim was not ready for. He had only just switched out of life-preservation mode and hadn’t managed to conjure up a suitable story for the drama Didi had just witnessed.
“Oh, uh, there’s a problem with your flat.”
“I’d worked that bit out for myself. What sort of problem?”
“There’s a gas leak,” lied Tim very badly. “You won’t be able to go back there for a while. But that’s okay, I know a nice little hotel in London, so you’ll be fine there whilst they sort it out.”
“A gas leak?” questioned Didi.
“Yes. A bad one, apparently. It’s all been cordoned off. It’s not safe to go in. There’s officials with clip boards and everything…” elaborated Tim, gesturing with his hands.
“That’s astounding, seeing as the whole place has been electric since it was built in 1959.” Didi shook her head in mock amazement. “Astounding,” she said again. Tim threw his head back onto the head rest and gave up.
Chapter 22
Andy was jolted awake by the sound of people shouting. He pulled himself together and tried to get his eyes to open properly. He was in full yawn as he unfolded himself out of the car. The noise and kerfuffle was coming from the back garden and Andy felt compelled to find out what he could. He had expected to see mortuary vans, body bags, forensic experts in blue overalls, the whole performance, but it appeared that Andy had slept through it all.
He ran down the side
of the house and could see that the back gate was ajar. His heart was thumping in his chest and he had an instant headache caused, most likely, by the sudden shot of adrenalin and the increased amount of stress he was experiencing. Andy hadn’t acknowledged how stress-free his life had been of late and was now wishing he had.
He peered around the edge of the gate, knowing that when the officers saw him they would march him off the premises quicker than he could blink, so he had to take in as much as he could in the few seconds he had. As he looked through the gap he could see a pile of rubble on the lawn and the officers all standing around a huge hole where the patio used to be. A couple of wooden markers were pushed into the ground at key points. The sergeant stood nearby, rubbing his forehead with his hand and shaking his head.
As Andy watched, two of the officers started to lift a large black bag out of the hole. They did it quickly, so it didn’t appear to be very heavy. Andy’s stomach lurched, as he realised that it wouldn’t be heavy if Shaun was in pieces. Andy had never thought of himself as a squeamish person, but right now he was having to take in deep breaths for fear of fainting if he saw anything too horrific.
He clutched the gate post as the officers placed the large muddy, black bin bag on the grass, giving Andy a perfect view. Suddenly, Andy realised that the volume from the police officers had increased but it wasn’t shouting that he could hear, it was laughter. His eyes were drawn to them for a moment. This was wholly inappropriate, but perhaps that’s how they dealt with the more traumatic scenes they encountered. He checked his watch; it was just gone half-five. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but he felt as if he’d woken up in a parallel universe.
It Started at Sunset Cottage Page 25