by Robert Daws
‘Sheer bloody lunacy, really’ Laytham continued. ’Makes you feel alive, though.’ His eyes lit up momentarily as he said the word. Not one he got to use that often in his line of work, Sullivan supposed. ‘You indulge in the sport yourself?’ Laytham asked.
‘Dabble. I’m more a leisure centre climbing wall sort of girl than an Alps hound.’
‘That’s impressive enough for me,’ the Professor remarked as he handed her a folder from his desk. ‘Nothing new here on re-examination, I’m afraid. Whatever Broderick may be brewing up, they both died from the result of hanging. Self-inflicted, in my opinion.’
‘Right. Well, thank you, Professor.’
‘Look, I hope you don’t think this unprofessional... but as a fellow climber, would you care for dinner sometime this week? We could exchange stories of peaks and troughs.’
Sullivan stayed silent for a few moments, rather taken aback.
‘Well, I, erm...’
‘Tomorrow night’s good for me. I could swing by the nick and pick you up, if you like.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘About eight, then? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a decapitated air conditioning salesman to attend to.’
Sullivan raised an eyebrow.
‘Hey ho,’ he added, before marching off jovially towards his cadaver laiden slab.
* * *
Broderick and Calbot exited Bryant’s flat by way of the kitchen door and surveyed the scene in the communal yard.
‘How did the killer get in?’ Calbot asked. ‘Neither the front or back doors of the apartment were forced. Maybe the killer was known to Bryant.’
Broderick lifted up a couple of small plant pots by the side of the door. The second pot revealed a key beneath it. ‘Heh. Not much of a challenge there for anyone looking to get in. So, if he got in this way, chances are...’
The pair moved across the yard to a gate which led onto a small side street running along the side of the apartment building.
‘He would have got out here, I suppose,’ Broderick observed. ‘Hello... what’s that?’ he added, spotting a small piece of blue cloth caught on a protruding nail on the back gate.
‘Wool,’ Calbot said. ‘Part of a jacket or something.’
‘Indeed. And this looks like dried blood on the gate handle to me.’
‘It’s been over a week, guv.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Weather’s been dry.’ Broderick studied the handle a little closer. ‘Yes, that’s definitely blood. So, our killer thought he had all the time in the world in there, then the fire alarm goes off and Bryant’s landlady comes a-knocking. Had to make a quick getaway, I suppose. Interesting...’ Broderick swung open the gate and the pair entered the narrow street.
‘The killer then gets into his car or motorbike and is away,’ Calbot suggested.
‘Or legs it. Check all the CCTV in the immediate area. See what they throw up.’
Calbot had returned to the gate to look once more at the blood stain.
‘You know, guv, if this is blood, I’m betting it belongs to Martin Tavares.’
‘Only one way to find out, Calbot. Let’s get forensics out here.’
14
The Marina Bar was buzzing that evening as Sullivan recounted her rendezvous with Professor Laytham to her fellow officer.
‘The dirty...’
‘What am I supposed to do, Calbot?’
‘Well, do you fancy him?’ Calbot asked a little too earnestly.
‘What do you think?’ she snapped, almost biting his head off.
‘Well, I think he’s quite well-preserved for a granddad. Maybe you like ‘em posh, eh?’ Calbot quipped. ‘Maybe a silver fox is just to the senorita’s taste, si?’
‘Oh you’re hilarious, aren’t you? For all you know, I might not like men at all.’
Calbot’s face dropped at this.
‘You’re not, are you?’
‘Not what?’ Sullivan asked in wide eyed innocence.
‘Not gay, I mean, and if you were...are...well that’s cool with me. I mean that would be great. Not a problem...your choice etc...’
Sullivan looked at her colleague pityingly.
‘You’re gabbling Calbot.’
‘Sorry, I just didn’t see that one coming’ Calbot stammered.
‘As it happens, I’m not gay, Calbot. But if I were, I’m sure it would be a great comfort for me to know that you’d wholeheartedly approve. Very modern of you’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Calbot exclaimed and took a much needed swig from his bottle of Sol.
‘But as for Laytham.’ Sullivan smiled. ‘I just don’t want to hurt his feelings. He is a sort of work colleague, after all. ’ Sullivan stood and looked down at her young companion.‘And let’s face it, men can get so unreasonable if they feel rejected, can’t they? Good night, Calbot.’
And with that, Sullivan left the table. Calbot watched her as she strode purposefully across the room. If her last comment had in any way been aimed at him, she’d been wrong. This particular man felt neither unreasonable nor rejected. Just a little miffed.
* * *
At the police headquarters, Broderick had decided to stay on and work late. Although he had a lot of work to catch up on, he could feel his eyelids drooping as he fought to stay awake. The ringing of the telephone jolted him back to consciousness. He picked it up.
‘Broderick. Uh-huh. Yeah, put her through.’ Broderick looked at his watch. He had known it it would be his sister. ‘You alright, Cath? Yeah, I’m sorry. Lost track of time completely. Girls all right? Yeah, okay. I’m on my way.’
He’d barely walked half the length of the corridor when Sergeant Aldarino accosted him in the doorway.
‘Sir?’
‘What is it, Aldarino?’
‘Sorry, sir,’ the sergeant started. ‘Could you stop off in South District? There’s been a request for CID. Woman found dead at home. I wouldn’t normally ask, sir, but we’re really overstretched.’
‘And it just so happens to be on my way home?’
The sergeant smiled in mock innocence.
‘Hadn’t crossed my mind, sir.’
Broderick sighed heavily. ‘Right. Where do I go?’
* * *
Broderick’s car came to a halt in the driveway of ‘The Captain’s House’. He had passed the house, with its distinctive statuesque lions upon its walls, many times over the years but this was the first time he had been beyond its gates.
At the front door a police constable directed him into the house. The small crumpled form of an elderly woman lay prostrate in a dislocated heap at the bottom of the central staircase that dominated the main entrance hall. Sergeant Helena D’Angelo moved to greet Broderick.
‘Weren’t expecting you, sir,’ the sergeant said.
‘Apparently we’re overstretched.’
‘That’ll be everyone watching the Man U v Porto match, sir.’
‘Right. That explains things ’ Broderick replied.
Broderick moved across to the body of the elderly woman.
‘Fell down the stairs,’ the sergeant explained.
‘Looks that way, doesn’t it?’
‘Accident, I would have thought.’
‘Well if it’s that bloody obvious, why am I here?’
‘Because we’re overstretched, sir?’
‘Only because most of the force has wangled the night off to watch a stupid football match.’
‘Quite an important game actually, sir,’ The police woman offered. ‘ If Porto win tonight, they go on to...’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Broderick interrupted. ‘You are obviously mistaking me for someone who gives a damn about a lot of overpaid hooligans knocking balls into nets.’
The female sergeant looked momentarily surprised by this response.
‘Not that I’m bitter, you understand.’ Broderick managed a slight smile, realising that he had perhaps been a little too vociferous in his condemnation of the so-called ‘beautiful game’. H
is attention returned to the case in hand.
‘Hang on a sec.’ Broderick kneeled beside the body and examined a thick layer of dust to the side of the corpse. ‘What’s this? There’s something written in the dust.’
Although not immediately obvious, a scrawled message had indeed been left in the dust. It read simply, ‘Help him’.’
‘Didn’t notice that, sir,’ the sergeant offered.
‘Obviously. It would appear that she didn’t die straight away.’
‘Why do that, then?’
‘I’ve no idea. Look, I don’t give a flying bollock who’s playing football tonight – get us some help out here, will you?’
* * *
The Barbary Sports Bar roared with excitement as the referee shook his head vigorously on the large HD screen.
‘Sodding penalty, ref! Any day of the week!’ one of the many cries from the assembled throng rang out.
Through the din, Calbot nearly missed his mobile ringing. He recognised the number immediately. On the screen the referee had begun handing out red cards to protesting footballers. By the time order on the pitch had been restored, Calbot was outside the bar awaiting a lift from an RGP patrol car.
* * *
Calbot attempted to disguise his mild inebriation as he found Inspector Broderick in the main hall of The Captain’s House. Laytham was about his business and preparations to remove the body were underway.
‘Ah, Calbot. You must be thrilled to be here,’Broderick welcomed ironically.
‘DS Sullivan here by any chance,guv?’
‘No, no. Thought I’d let her off this one,’ Broderick replied.
‘She won’t be bothered. She’s a Liverpool supporter.’ Calbot moaned. Broderick continued.
‘The dead woman’s name is Evelyn Brooks. Widow, late seventies and I’m afraid I have absolutely no idea what soccer team she supported.
Calbot looked down at the old woman whose death had caused him to miss his beloved Manchester United’s UEFA Euro Cup challenge. This selfish thought was interrupted by Broderick.
‘Lived here for the best part forty-odd years, apparently.’
‘Not a house I’d be keen to live in, sir,’ Sergeant D’Angelo offered.
‘Not a lover of the colonial style, Sergeant?’ enquired Broderick.
‘No, the style’s great. It’s lovely,’ Helena D’Angelo continued. ‘Worth a fortune. No, I meant because of what happened with the Gregson murder here in the sixties. Place gives me the creeps.’
‘Before my time,’ Calbot explained.
‘Quite famous, actually,’ the sergeant continued. ‘Local solicitor. Murdered his wife, caused a sensation. Old Mrs Brooks here was a relation. After the solicitor topped himself whilst awaiting trial, she inherited the house and moved into it with her husband. Stories were that the murderer’s ghost could be heard at night calling for his wife.’
‘All very interesting, but ghouls apart, did the unfortunate Mrs Brooks here fall from the top of the stairs or was she pushed?’ Broderick speculated. ‘Let’s start by finding out who the ‘he’ in that scrawled message is. And why she considered him to need more help than she did.’ Broderick turned to Calbot. ‘ Let’s start next door.’
‘Sir?’
‘Neighbours, Calbot.’
‘What about them?’
Broderick pointed to the view of the house next door through the hall window.
‘Their lights are on, Calbot. Which is more than can be said about yours. Come on.’
Broderick set off at pace across the hall and out of the front door.
* * *
‘You knew both Mrs Brooks and her late husband well, Mr and Mrs Constantine?’ Broderick asked the elderly couple sitting before him in their sitting room. He had been surprised at how different the inside of the neighbours’ house looked compared to the style and tasteful opulence of The Captain’s House next door. All here was modern and functional. The style was an awkward imposition that worked against the original design and lay-out of the Victorian villa that at its heart, the house still remained.
‘Not really, I’m afraid,’ replied the husband. ‘We’ve lived here for twenty-two years and in all that time I can remember just a handful of conversations.’
‘Usually about the weather,’ Mrs Constantine added. ‘It’s awful, isn’t it?’ she continued. ‘Poor dear. How did she...?’
‘Did her husband’s death three years ago make her any more... accessible?’
‘Less so, if anything. She kept herself very much to herself,’ the woman continued.
‘Fiercely independent, I suppose.’ her husband chipped in.
‘No close relatives or friends that you were aware of?’ Broderick enquired.
‘Well, we would usually have said no...’ Mrs Constantine began.
‘But?’ Broderick pushed.
‘Well, these last few months I noticed that someone seemed to be staying at the house. On and off. A gentleman.’
‘Never saw him myself,’ Mr Constantine added sceptically.
‘Oh, I did, dear,’ she continued. ‘From a distance, you understand. Never saw his face.’
‘Any idea who he might have been?’ asked Broderick.
‘As it happens, I think I do. I met Mrs Brooks in Marks & Spencer’s last week. Quite unexpectedly, actually.’
‘Go on.’
‘I told her that she was looking well and she thanked me and for some reason I mentioned her visitor. She became quite agitated. Then she clammed up. But I have a theory.’
‘I’m afraid my wife is a little too fond of Miss Marple, Inspector.’ Mr Constantine added with raised eyebrows. Mrs Constantine continued unabashed.
‘Just after Mrs Brook’s husband passed away, I had a converstation with her housekeeper. Just outside the house here, actually. Naturally I enquired after her employer and she told me that she seemed to be coping alright, but was concerned to try and make contact with her only living relative. She explained that it was the Gregson boy. You know the story I take it?
Broderick nodded. ‘Please continue.’
‘Well, they had adopted the lad after the unpleasant deaths of the boy’s parents in the 1960’s and had lost track of him over the years. Families are strange aren’t they? Anyway, Mrs Brooks was rather keen to track him down. Understandable, I suppose’
“And?’ Broderick continued.
‘Well that’s who I think her visitor may have been. Just a guess, but you did ask.’
‘News to me!’ Mr Constantine exclaimed.
‘I did tell you, dear. Only you never really listen.’
‘Charming. Isn’t that just charming?’
Mr Constantine folded his arms by way of cutting himself off from further conversation.
‘Poor man,’ his wife continued. ‘What a terrible shock this will be for him.’
15
Their car doors slammed almost in unison as Broderick and Massetti arrived for work in the rear parking yard of the RGP’s headquarters.
‘You look terrible, Broderick,’ his superior observed.
‘Cheers. That’s what being up all night can do for a boy’s complexion.’
‘Your daughter? The youngest one?’
Broderick knew that by ‘youngest one’ Massetti had really meant the ‘Down’s Syndrome one’. It never ceased to amaze Broderick the lengths to which people would go to avoid actually naming the condition. Ignorance and embarrassment still lingered on in these supposedly more enlightened times.
‘Daisy. My youngest daughter is called Daisy, ma’am, and she’s probably been out clubbing all night with a new boyfriend. Not that I’d know, of course, because some of us had to pull an all -nighter. Old lady found dead in suspicious circumstances up on Trafalgar Road.’
‘I would have thought you had enough on your plate, Chief Inspector.’
‘One might have thought that ma’am, but truth is I didn’t quite get out of the building quick enough last night.’
‘A
dedicated officer to the end Broderick. That’s why you are so indispensable.’
The pair continued to the Chief Super’s office in silence. Once there, Massetti continued to question Broderick about the developments in the case that were foremost on her mind..
‘When will full forensics be back on Bryant and Ferra?’
‘When they’re back, ma’am.’ Massetti’s glare told Broderick all he needed to know. ‘The lab’s rushing them through as it is.’
‘Well keep the pressure up, Broderick,’ Massetti insisted. ‘The Commissioner is, to say the very least, concerned that we tie this one up a soon as possible. Which means yesterday. Understood?’
Broderick nodded.
‘Very clear, ma’am.’
Massetti sailed on.
‘The press are having a field day. The story’s even playing in the UK and Spain.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ Broderick replied. Massetti paused for a moment.
‘By the by. How’s Sullivan shaping up?’
‘No complaints,’ Broderick answered.
‘The slightest indication that she’s not up to the mark, I want to know. She’s only supposed to be here on secondment. You’re asking a lot of her. Remember, she’s here because she cocked up on a case over there. I don’t want her doing the same on my piece of rock. Understand?’
‘Crystal, ma’am.’
‘Good.’
Broderick decided to take his chance.
‘Ma’am, I need to request more resources. With both...’
But his plea was cut off in mid-sentence by the ringing of Massetti’s phone.The mobile was at her ear in a moment.
‘Massetti. Yep, okay. Put him through. Ah, good morning, sir. I trust you’re well.’ Massetti waved Broderick away. As he left Massetti’s office, he found Sullivan and Calbot waiting for him.
‘Heard you had a busy night, sir,’ Sullivan remarked somewhat archly.
‘Yes. Thanks for your concern Sullivan,’ Broderick repied. ‘It means so much to me that you care. Calbot brought you up to date I hope?’
‘He did indeed, sir. United 2, Porto 1.’
‘How very amusing, Sullivan, I meant of course Mrs Brooks’ death. Firstly, check out the history of the Gregson murder up at The Captain’s House. I need everything you can find on it and the whereabouts of the Gregson boy, if he’s still alive.’