by BILL KITSON
‘Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, not that you need it.’
She recognized Sergeant Binns’ voice. ‘What’s the problem, Jack?’
‘I’ve been trying to reach you for twenty minutes. Your landline’s dead.’ The reproach was mild. ‘What’s matter, wouldn’t the gallant major let you answer your mobile?’
‘The gales brought a whacking great tree down two doors away, so that’s probably knocked out the phones. I had the mobile on silent,’ Clara explained.
‘I’ve had a call from a Dr Johana Grey. She used to work at Netherdale Hospital, but now she’s based in Cornwall. She’s come back north for the weekend, visiting her sister. Or rather, that was the plan. She arrived at the house this evening, late on. The place was in darkness. The back door was open, one of its panes smashed. No sign of her sister − name of Mrs Vanda Dawson. She was on her own, husband in Spain on a golfing holiday. Dr Grey couldn’t find any trace of her, but there was what looked like a large bloodstain on the lounge carpet. I’ve checked with Netherdale General and the ambulance service. No record of Mrs Dawson at the hospital or any call out by an ambulance to Wintersett, which is where she lives. With it being a doctor who phoned it in, and by the sound of her, not the sort to panic, I thought we should treat it as urgent, and you were my last resort, if you get my meaning. What do you reckon?’
Clara thought for a moment. She was aware that Binns had more on his mind than he’d said. ‘It doesn’t sound good,’ she ventured.
‘I agree, it doesn’t sound as if there’s an innocent explanation.’
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’
‘What do you want me to do? Bear in mind I’m not overwhelmed with men waiting for something to do.’
‘Can you spare someone in a patrol car? It might calm Dr Grey a bit until I get there.’
‘I’ve nobody free, but I can leave one man in charge here, and I’ll nip through and keep Dr Grey company until you arrive. Will that do?’
‘That’s brilliant, Jack. Right, let’s have some directions.’
As she was taking the details down, Clara saw movement out of the corner of her eye, David, sleepy-eyed and yawning, was leaning on the bedroom doorpost. She put the phone down and explained.
‘Do you want me to ride out there with you?’ He yawned as he was speaking.
‘No, there’s no point both of us losing sleep. I’m just sorry it’s happened this weekend, right at the start of your leave. If only Mike hadn’t buggered off to France.’
‘You can’t blame him for taking leave. He’s stood in for you lots of times when I’ve been home,’ David pointed out.
‘True, and to be honest, until Daniel came to live with him I can’t remember the last time he took a break. Forget it; I’m just grumpy at being woken up in the middle of the night.’ She sighed. ‘Better get cracking. The problem is I don’t know how long this will take.’
The house was silent. Jo waited, leaning against the kitchen unit. ‘Wait where you are,’ the officer had told her. ‘Don’t go anywhere, try to avoid touching any surfaces, just to be on the safe side. As soon as I’ve contacted someone, I’ll ring you back.’
The call took her by surprise, even though she was expecting it. By now, the combination of tiredness and shock had caused her nerves to be stretched almost beyond endurance. ‘Sorry for the delay,’ he apologized. ‘Detective Sergeant Mironova has asked me to pop out until she gets there. In the meantime, she wants you to go back to your car and be careful what you touch. Leave the house exactly as you found it.’
‘I’ve turned most of the lights on, should I go back and turn them off?’
‘Best not. Sergeant Mironova gave me some instructions for you. Are you ready?’
Jo obeyed Binns’ instructions to the letter. She looked round the kitchen and picked up a tea towel. She draped it round her hand and opened the kitchen door then paused in the porch, delving into her pocket for the Mercedes keys. She could hear the wind-driven rain lashing against the window, could hear the gale howling through the trees. She gave an involuntary shudder. Despite the short time she’d been inside the house, she’d all but forgotten the atrocious weather. She braced herself for what the elements would throw at her and reached for the outer door handle.
Outside, the force of the blast made her stagger. She crouched low and thrust her way towards her car. Once inside, Jo remembered what Binns had told her. She needed little encouragement to switch the ignition on, turn the heater to full blast and tune in the radio. For good measure, she flicked the headlights switch and activated the central locking system.
The combination of light, heat and sound comforted her, much as Binns had hoped it would. The extra degree of security from the locked doors helped. Jo reached across to the back seat and took a pad and biro from her briefcase. Before she started to list her actions within the house, she glanced at the dashboard clock. She stared at the digital display in momentary disbelief. She’d left Cornwall midway through Friday morning. It was now into Saturday morning. During that time, Jo had been without food or rest. Despite this, she didn’t feel the slightest bit hungry, and the weariness that had all but overcome her earlier had vanished. Adrenalin, she supposed. She shook her head and began to write.
She checked her notes, trying to recall if she had left anything out of her account. There was something … something in the kitchen. Then she remembered; she had tried to use the landline but couldn’t get a dialling tone. She added that to her list.
Her task done, she wondered how long it was since she had spoken to the police. She could check her mobile, she supposed. That reminded her. He wanted her to write down the times of her abortive calls to Vanda. She took the details from the mobile phone memory, noting in passing that she had been waiting over an hour. Where was he? Why had no one arrived?
The music and the sound of the presenter’s voice on the radio had soothed her to begin with. Now, they were becoming an irritant. She switched it off. Now, all she could hear above the low hum of the engine was the sound of the wind and rain. She hastily switched the radio back on. As she waited, she got a measure of the strength of the gale, as even the sturdy, low-slung Mercedes rocked slightly on its suspension.
Without warning, her rear view mirror shone with the dazzling, dancing reflection from full beam headlights. Jo suffered a moment’s heart-stopping panic before she saw the accompanying red and blue flashing lights. Almost immediately, the driver appeared by her window, a torch beam pointed upward, displaying his uniform and face.
Binns walked round the front of the car, his shadow elongated by the headlights. He waited as Jo unlocked the doors. ‘Dr Grey?’
She nodded.
‘Very sensible precaution,’ he said approvingly as he slid into the seat alongside her. ‘I’m Sergeant Binns. Although most people call me Jack.’ He flipped open his warrant card for confirmation.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she gasped, the relief echoing in her voice. ‘You’ve no idea how glad I am to see you.’
‘I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get here. We’re short-handed due to the storm. Added to that I’d to take a detour: fallen trees. Helmsdale road’s completely blocked. Heaven knows what time they’ll get it open again. The fire service has any number of emergencies to deal with. Every one of their men and appliances are out.’ He paused and added sourly, ‘They’re lucky they’ve got the manpower to call on. I had to come here via Wintersett.’
‘I’m just glad you got here,’ Jo told him. ‘What do we do now?’
‘My orders are to stay with you until DS Mironova arrives.’ Binns smiled at her. ‘I spoke to her whilst I was on my way, to warn her about the road conditions. She’ll be at least another half an hour. Would you like to fill me in on the details whilst we’re waiting?’
Binns listened to Jo’s story in silence. ‘What do you think?’ she asked when she’d finished.
He hesitated before replying. ‘It isn’t easy to imagine an innocent expl
anation,’ he told her frankly. ‘I’m not the detective though, and any speculation we indulge in might be totally off the mark. We’ll leave the detective work to CID. I can tell you that I checked with Netherdale General and the cottage hospital at Bishopton, just to be on the safe side, and there have been no patients admitted in the last week matching your sister’s description.’ He paused. ‘Not unless she was having a baby,’ he added with a smile. ‘I hadn’t time to widen my enquiries further afield because I thought it was more important to get out here. I can organize that fairly quickly though, if needs be. One thought that did occur to me as I pulled up. There appears to be no sign of another car, apart from yours, I mean. I take it your sister must have one, living out here?’
Jo looked round for a second, perplexed. It was almost as if she expected Vanda’s car to materialise out of the darkness. It was a measure of her state of mind that she hadn’t thought to check. ‘I didn’t look,’ she confessed. ‘They both garage their cars in the old mill. Vanda and her husband, that is.’
‘Is it that building I caught a glimpse of as I came down the drive?’
Jo nodded. ‘It used to be a corn mill, but the building has been disused for years. The doorway where they loaded the flour sacks on to wagons is ideal for cars, just like the entrance to a double garage.’
Binns was about to say something, when the glare from a set of headlights signalled Mironova’s arrival. ‘DS Mironova’s made better time than I thought,’ Binns said.
Chapter Four
Clara swung across the front of the Mercedes and parked at right angles. Her headlights illuminated the back of the house. She waited for a few seconds, her hand hovering by the ignition key as she surveyed the scene, assessing the house and surrounds. Take your time, she thought. Work through it like Nash would do. Pretend you’ve to report back to him. Which, she added mentally, you might have to yet.
‘What’s she doing?’ Jo asked Binns. ‘Why hasn’t she got out of the car?’
‘At a guess, I’d say she was weighing things up, assessing the scene.’ Binns narrowly avoided adding the word ‘crime’.
He might not have said it but Jo didn’t miss the significance.
The first thing Clara noticed was the milk bottles. They were in a small crate with four partitions, two of which contained full pint bottles. Helmsdale and the surrounding district was one of the few remaining areas that boasted a doorstep delivery service. Even the mighty supermarkets hadn’t been able to devise a way of supplying a host of remote properties regularly, so it was left to the traditional milkmen. Assuming that the local supplier delivered daily, those bottles would have been on the doorstep since Friday morning. That meant Dr Grey’s sister had either forgotten to take them in or…. Clara’s lips tightened as she considered the alternative. Which in turn, meant that whatever misfortune had befallen Mrs Dawson had taken place as early as the previous day.
She stared at the gravel on the end of the drive and the approach to the house. The large chippings were more the size of aggregate. Their normally chalk-white colour was stained a muddy shade of brown in places. Clara looked across towards the bank of the stream, partly in shadow, partly lit from the headlights of both cars. The level of the water, she could just about make out, was close to the top of the bank. Although the water was contained now, it was less than twenty-four hours since the River Helm had been in danger of flooding this area. Clara guessed this stream, a tributary to the Helm, must have been far higher. Was this significant? Could it have any bearing on what had happened to Mrs Dawson?
Clara was about to turn the ignition off when her attention was drawn to something moving in the wind. She flicked the headlights to main beam and concentrated her gaze on the back wall of the house. It was a few seconds before she saw the movement again and this time she was able to identify the source. It was a piece of cable, unattached, swinging loosely in the wind. TV aerial? Exterior light? Certainly her arrival hadn’t attracted the attention of a motion-sensitive security light.
Her gaze travelled upwards. She leaned forward in her seat, unbuckling the seat belt so she could get a view of the wall right up to the eaves. Her expression took on a grimmer cast. The cable was neither from a TV aerial or an outside light. It was the telephone line. But what had caused it to split? Most people would have identified the storm as being the prime suspect. But Nash had trained her not to think like most people. She now had two mental notes. One, to check the milkman’s delivery schedule. The second, to check that loose wire; find out whether it had snapped, or whether it had been cut. Clara reached over to the glove compartment and took out a large torch. Only then did she get out of the car.
As soon as she saw Mironova emerge, Jo struggled out of the Mercedes. Binns followed suit. ‘I didn’t know what to do,’ Dr Grey told Clara, shouting over the noise of the wind. Her voice conveyed her fear, her pent-up stress and her concern for her sister.
Clara put a hand on the woman’s arm, comforting as best as she was able. ‘Don’t worry, Dr Grey. It might be a lot of fuss over nothing. Let’s get on with it. Sergeant Binns and I need to go through the house, examine everything in detail. In normal circumstances, I’d insist you wait in the car, but as long as you obey our instructions, I think on this occasion, we can bend the rules a bit.’ She smiled. ‘After all, you’ve already been inside, and you might be able to help.’
Waiting outside, inactive, alone, with only her most morbid thoughts for company was the last thing Jo wanted. With an effort that was almost as much physical as mental, she pulled herself together. ‘Yes, of course, if you think I could be of any use.’
‘You know the house, we don’t,’ Clara told her. ‘I don’t just mean the layout, but you’d know if things were out of place, or if there was something missing. Bring those notes Sergeant Binns asked you to make.’
‘Clara, before I come in,’ Binns said. ‘I’ll go across to the old mill and see if there are any cars parked there. Dr Grey said her sister uses it as a garage.’
‘OK, then come and join us,’ she yelled.
Mironova walked round to the rear of her car. The rain had ceased temporarily, which was a blessing, but the wind was blowing just as hard. She fought to open the boot and delved into her crime-scene bag. She slipped a few evidence bags into her coat pocket then removed three pairs of latex gloves and plastic overshoes. She passed one set of each to Binns before taking Dr Grey’s arm and guiding her towards the house. As they walked across the gravel, she handed Jo the protective clothing.
Jo took them, hating what they represented. ‘I want you to follow what I do and where I go,’ Clara told her. ‘I’m going to attempt to avoid walking where anyone else might have walked, and I want you to do the same. I’m sure you’ve seen the drill on TV; and I’m not trying to insult your intelligence. That way, if a crime has been committed here we stand less chance of contaminating any trace evidence.’
‘It’s all right. I understand.’ Jo had gone from close to hysterical to subdued now, overwhelmed by the horrific insinuations of the detective’s actions and words. The routine donning of protective equipment, the matter-of-fact assumption that they were entering a crime scene was overpowering her already overstretched nerves.
‘I’m not saying this is a crime scene,’ Mironova startled her by saying. It was almost as if she had read Jo’s thoughts. Or, possibly the fact that she was more accustomed to dealing with relatives than professionals in just such situations. ‘All I mean,’ she continued, ‘is that it would be too late once we’re inside.’ Clara paused outside the porch. ‘Did you do anything apart from switch the light on and open the door? Wipe your feet, for instance?’
The question was a simple one, yet Jo couldn’t for the life of her remember. ‘I … I’m not sure,’ she answered slowly. ‘I might have done.’
‘Not easy to remember. A straightforward act like that, it’s a reflex action. The brain hardly registers that it’s happened.’ Mironova opened the outer door with her gloved
hand; the bulb glowed as feebly as earlier. Clara muttered something mildly impolite, which as far as Jo could gather was directed at global-warming activists.
Mironova stepped over the threshold in to the wide porch, paused on the doormat to pull the overshoes on, then took a long stride that carried her beyond the direct route between the doors. Whilst she waited for Jo to follow suit, Clara examined the broken pane in the kitchen door using the strong beam from her torch to supplement the overhead light. She turned her attention downward, playing the beam here and there in an attempt to pick up reflections from broken glass. There were one or two, certainly not a significant amount.
When Jo was alongside her, Mironova reached forward and opened the inner door. The ceiling lights were bright by comparison. ‘That’s better,’ she breathed. Instead of stepping into the kitchen Clara bent down and shone her torch inwards, along the tiled surface of the kitchen floor. The beam picked up a lot more glass fragments, confirming her suspicions.
‘I’m sorry, Sergeant, I’d turned the lights on and didn’t want to go back to turn them off once Sergeant Binns had phoned. The place was in total darkness when I arrived.’
‘Don’t worry about that, as long as we know.’
Mironova took another long stride into the kitchen and waited for Jo to join her. When she did, Clara looked down at the doctor’s feet. Jo always wore trainers when she was driving. Those, the jeans and the denim coat were almost a uniform. ‘You’ve very small feet, even for a woman.’
‘Size five may be small, but my sister Vanda’s feet are even smaller. I don’t know if she still does, but she used to wear children’s shoes. Said she got them a lot cheaper when kids’ clothing didn’t have VAT on. One thing about these trainers, they’ve a very distinctive pattern.’ She pointed across the floor to a series of muddy footprints. ‘See those, with the diamond pattern on the sole. They’re mine.’