Outside Looking In

by Michael Wood

  He was just about to reply when he realized he would have been talking to dead air.

  Matilda looked down at her mobile and watched as the display faded before going back into standby mode.

  ‘I think we may have a double murder on our hands.’

  She was in the front passenger seat of a pool car with DC Scott Andrews behind the wheel. They were parked up at the side of the road halfway between the crime scene and Kevin Hardaker’s home.

  ‘Do we know who she is yet?’

  ‘Not a clue.’

  ‘You really think she could be a prostitute?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Scott. It’s too early to say.’

  ‘So … what now?’ he asked after a full minute of contemplative silence.

  ‘There’s not much more we can do tonight. Drive me home then you get off home yourself. We’ll make a proper start of it first thing.’

  Scott turned the key in the ignition and headed the wrong way to Matilda’s house. She quickly informed him of his error and he made an illegal three point turn before heading in the right direction. There was very little traffic around at this time of night; nobody noticed.

  That wasn’t technically true. One person did witness the traffic violation. The driver of a black BMW, several yards back so as to avoid detection, was watching very carefully and had to make the same illegal move in order to keep the pool car in their sights.

  FIVE

  The next morning started very early for Matilda. When she woke her duvet was half off the bed and the fitted sheet was not living up to its name; evidence of a bad night tossing and turning. Her dreams had been unsettling and disturbed; her mind unable to rest. She constantly thought of the dead woman, who she might be and if anyone was missing her; the impending closure of the Murder Room and what that meant for her job and her team. Eventually at five o’clock she decided to get up.

  When she went into the living room her eyes fell on the framed photograph of her and James at their wedding. She could not believe it was almost the first anniversary of his death. How did that happen so quickly?

  Whenever she thought of the death of her husband she immediately thought of the disappearance of Carl Meagan. Even if Carl was eventually found safe and well she would always think of him whenever she grieved for her husband. The two would be forever entwined. Like James, Carl would constantly be in her thoughts; he was engraved on her memory and nothing would erase it.

  It was too early to go to work but Matilda knew one person who would definitely be up and ready to face the world at this time.

  ‘Perfect timing! There’s coffee in the pot and bread waiting to be burnt.’

  As always, Adele Kean was bright and cheerful. How it was possible so early in the morning was way beyond Matilda’s reckoning. Should a pathologist, who spends her days up to the elbows in dead bodies, have such a bubbly personality?

  Adele was neatly dressed in well-fitted clothes. Her hair was tidy with not a split end in sight, and she was wearing just enough make-up to be professional with a glamorous edge. Matilda couldn’t remember the last time she’d applied make-up or when she had her hair professionally styled; probably around the time of James’s funeral.

  ‘So what brings you around here so early?’ Adele asked, feeding bread into the toaster.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’ She slumped on the stool at the breakfast counter and released a loud, wide yawn that would make a Labrador jealous. ‘What time did you get in last night?’

  ‘It was almost two o’clock. An elderly man had jumped from a tower block on London Road.’

  ‘So you’ve only had about two or three hours sleep?’

  ‘About that, yes.’

  ‘You’ve no right to look that good on three hours’ sleep. If you weren’t my best friend I’d be scratching your eyes out.’

  Adele gave a sweet smile. ‘I’m just a naturally beautiful woman. L’Oréal are testing my skin to find out why I’m so youthful and good-looking.’

  Matilda rolled her eyes. Adele’s personality was warm and infectious. She didn’t have an ounce of malice or bitterness in her, despite all she had gone through. It was refreshing. Matilda would love to be more like Adele.

  ‘Any news on your double shooting?’ Adele asked, interrupting Matilda’s thoughts.

  ‘Not yet. We’ve still no idea who the woman is. She certainly isn’t his wife; I delivered the death message to her myself last night. I called the station on the way over here but there have been no reports of a missing person.’

  ‘You’re wondering if she’s a prostitute, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes. God only knows how many of them go missing every year. I find it unbelievable how someone can disappear and not one person misses them. Don’t you find that sad?’

  ‘I do. How is she by the way?’

  ‘I haven’t called the hospital yet. I’ll do it later.’

  Adele poured coffee into a large mug and handed it to Matilda. Conversation over, Matilda’s mind drifted off again. She gave a small sigh and looked into the distance, through the wall, out of the house and into another world.

  ‘What else is on your mind?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Something else is stopping you from sleeping. Is it James’s anniversary? Eight days away isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. 28th March. But no, it’s not that. I called Masterson last night. She told me the Murder Room is closing.’

  ‘What?’ Adele asked, stopping midway through buttering a slice of toast.

  ‘Budget cuts apparently. Last week the police dogs, this week us.’

  ‘What’s going to happen to the team?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I’m working with a reduced team anyway. Faith Easter has transferred back to CID, I’m down a DI, and I’ve got two DCs who still behave like students. Honestly, Adele, it would be funny if people’s lives weren’t at risk.’

  Matilda got up from the breakfast bar. She could feel her legs starting to shudder and she was seconds away from remembering her old anxiety exercises. She walked to the back of the kitchen and leaned against the patio doors. She looked out at the well-kept garden.

  ‘Why can’t my garden look as good as yours?’

  ‘Because I have a son to blackmail. Can I ask you a question?’

  She turned to face Adele. ‘Oh God. Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this? Go on.’

  ‘Are you drinking again?’

  ‘What? Where did that come from? No I’m not drinking again. New Year’s resolution, remember? I don’t have a drop in the house and I haven’t had a drink since New Year’s Eve. What made you ask that?’

  ‘You seem anxious; more than usual. The anniversaries, this case, it’s bound to cause some stress. I don’t want you falling backwards.’

  Adele’s son, Chris, could be heard getting up. His size eleven flat feet slapping on the hardwood floor travelled down the stairs. Matilda lowered her voice and walked back to the breakfast bar, helping herself to a slice of toast.

  ‘Adele, in the past year I think I’ve drunk more than most people do in a lifetime. Just thinking about everything I went through, how I was feeling when I was drinking, makes me feel sick.’

  They looked at each other for a long few seconds. Matilda could tell Adele wasn’t convinced. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, Adele. I’m fine. I’m smiling. I’m happy. You find me a bloke called Larry and I bet you a month’s wages I’ll be happier than he is.’

  Adele smiled. ‘You are a lot brighter than you were a few months ago. I just wish you wouldn’t end your visits to the therapist. At least not until the anniversaries have passed.’

  ‘I don’t need therapy anymore. I’m coping very well without it. Dr Warminster said I would know when the time was right to end the sessions, and I do.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Adele, I’m fine. Look, if I feel like I can’t cope you’ll be the first to know. I promise you.’

  Adele visibly sighed, relieved. ‘Thank you.�
��

  ‘You’re a good friend, Adele.’

  ‘I know I am. The best.’

  Right on cue Chris entered the kitchen. He was gangly; a skinny frame and neck-achingly tall. He had a wild abandon of unruly hair; a rival for Matilda’s back garden.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s Sideshow Bob,’ Adele said, laughing.

  He sat next to Matilda at the breakfast bar and slumped forward, his head in the crook of his arm.

  ‘Why do students make tiredness an art form?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘What are you doing up so early?’

  ‘I kept hearing two crazy women with no volume control.’

  ‘This crazy woman is paying your tuition fees, so mind your manners.’

  ‘And this crazy woman knows where your nude baby photos are kept. If you don’t want them posted on Facebook, you’ll watch your mouth,’ Matilda said, winking at Adele.

  Both women laughed while Chris slammed his head against the table, admitting defeat.

  ‘You can’t win against us two. We’re experts in cunning and manipulation. Isn’t that right DCI Darke?’

  ‘It certainly is Dr Kean. Don’t worry Chris, when you have kids of your own you’ll be able to play mind games with them. Right, I’d better be off. Thanks for the breakfast and chat.’

  ‘Not a problem. Leave your tip at the door.’

  Matilda smiled. She always felt better after just half an hour in Adele’s company. ‘Have a good day, Christopher.’

  A grunt came from under his hair. Matilda left the house a different woman from when she entered. Her head was held high, shoulders back and she felt ready to take on anything, even the ACC. Adele must have healing powers; she was wasted on the dead.

  SIX

  The reduced Murder Investigation Team comprised DSs Sian Mills and Aaron Connolly, DCs Rory Fleming and Scott Andrews, a smattering of uniformed officers and a couple of support staff. It was pathetic. They were originally spread out around the room but Matilda called for them all to group together.

  Matilda stood in front of a wall of whiteboards. Presently, very little information was written down as the case was in its infancy.

  ‘Good morning everyone. We seem to be very few in number but you’re all professional and know your job. Following the events of last night, we’re going to be working long and hard; however, we can do this. I believe in you all and have faith in your abilities.’ She wondered if she sounded convincing enough. She hoped so. ‘Right after this briefing I’m going to the ACC to ask for more support so hopefully we will shortly have a larger team. Now, last night’s double shooting … who did door-to-door?’

  ‘I did ma’am,’ Rory said putting his hand up. Rory Fleming was like a male version of Adele Kean. It didn’t seem to matter how little sleep he had, he always turned up for work looking fresh and clean in a sharp, fitted suit, perfectly ironed shirt, understated tie and a messy hairstyle that probably took hours to perfect. Was it just Matilda who looked like she’d had five minutes’ sleep in a skip?

  Rory continued. ‘There aren’t many houses around there; just a few cottages. I knocked on them all, although I don’t think they were happy to be woken up. I don’t have anything to report I’m afraid. Nobody heard a thing.’

  ‘How can they not have heard anything? Kevin Hardaker was beaten to a pulp. Surely he screamed. And gunshots aren’t exactly quiet.’

  Sian interrupted. ‘Mr Rainsford said his wife has the TV turned up more loudly than is necessary. She refuses to accept she’s losing her hearing.’

  ‘Mrs Foster next door was at a wedding and didn’t get back home until after we were on the scene,’ Rory read from his notebook. ‘Another cottage is home to Mrs Cliff. She’s recently come out of hospital following hip replacement surgery. She’s on sleeping tablets and slept through the whole thing.’

  ‘Maybe the gunman used a silencer?’ Scott Andrews suggested.

  ‘Oh God, I hope not. A silencer suggests a professional job, a hitman. Let’s not go down that road until we have to. What about Clough Lane itself? Where does it lead?’

  Aaron had stuck a map of the area onto one of the whiteboards. He followed the road with his finger. ‘Well it’s quite a long road, passes a few farms then out into the Peak District.’

  ‘So it’s not the type of road you’d go down if you lived in Sheffield?’ Matilda said, thinking aloud.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’

  ‘So why would you pull up on Clough Lane late at night?’

  ‘For a shag,’ Rory said unwrapping a KitKat he’d taken out of Sian’s snack drawer.

  ‘Precisely. Help yourself to a KitKat, Rory,’ the rest of the officers sniggered. ‘So, Kevin Hardaker, cheating on his wife, is with his girlfriend, or whoever she is, and they park up on a quiet lane, for what Rory so romantically calls a shag. What happens next?’

  ‘A bloke comes along and kills them?’ Aaron said.

  ‘No. That’s not what happens. If this was a random killing, a drive-by shooting, then that would have happened, but this is more personal. Our killer comes along, drags Kevin Hardaker out of the car, beats him senseless then shoots him. Then he drags our mystery woman out from the front passenger seat and does the same to her. Thinking she’s dead, he leaves. What does this tell us?’

  Matilda looked out at the sea of blank faces staring back at her. To be more accurate, with a reduced team, it was more like a river of blank faces.

  ‘It wasn’t a random killing,’ said Rory, licking melted chocolate from his fingers.

  ‘Go on,’ prompted Matilda.

  ‘Like you said, if this was a drive-by shooting they would have been shot dead where they sat. They weren’t. They were pulled from the car and subjected to a right beating. This was personal. Someone knew they were going to be there, or maybe followed them there, then attacked.’

  ‘Exactly my thinking, Rory.’

  Rory was still only young and had the fresh-face of a skin-cream commercial actor. He also had a vacant expression that wasn’t always comforting while trying to have an in-depth conversation. However, he was an intelligent young man and would make an excellent detective. He just needed to do a bit of growing up.

  ‘So, in a personal attack such as this,’ Matilda continued, ‘who are our most likely suspects?’

  ‘The man’s wife or the woman’s husband,’ Scott spoke up.

  ‘Thank you, Scott. We need to talk to Kevin Hardaker’s wife and the second we find out who our mystery woman is we need to talk to her husband – if she has one.’

  ‘That reminds me,’ Aaron spoke up. ‘I had a call from forensics first thing. They’ve found a mobile phone at the crime scene. It could belong to the woman.’

  A phone rang. Rory answered it, talking quietly.

  ‘Excellent. Give forensics a call and have them do their usual routine on it. I want a copy of all the contacts and text messages, photos, emails, apps used, and whatever else is on there. Now, Scott, what was the name of the FLO last night?’

  ‘Joseph Glass.’

  ‘Right. Give him a call. Ask him to bring Alice in. She needs to make a statement and I want to know everything about their marriage, any money problems, Kevin’s work – the usual. Also, talk to the neighbours, Kevin’s work colleagues, friends. Aaron, can you sort that out?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Sian, what’s happening with Mr Rainsford?’

  Sian looked up from her notebook where she had been making extensive notes. ‘PC Grabowski stayed with them overnight. I called her first thing and he’s actually feeling a lot better after a good night’s sleep. She’s bringing him in after he’s showered.’

  ‘OK. Sian will you interview him and keep me informed?’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Thanks. Right, I’m going to have a word with the ACC about getting more people in this room to make it look less like a gathering of the Nick Clegg fan club.’

  ‘Boss,’ Rory called out, putting the phone down, ‘that was a
nurse from the hospital I got chatting to last night. The woman is stable, but still critical. There’s evidence she was raped.’

  ACC Valerie Masterson was enjoying breakfast at her desk. Like Matilda, she also had trouble sleeping. Once the phone call had come through about the double shooting the logistics of the case weighed heavily on her mind; this could possibly be the Murder Room’s final investigation.

  Much to the annoyance of her retired husband, Valerie decided to come to work early. She wanted to prepare for the battle with Matilda. Valerie believed her still to be a fragile individual; she had only been back at work four months and in that time she had faced a fight for leadership of the Murder Room, and internal scrutiny of her ability to carry out her duties. There could have been better resumptions to her career.

  The loud knock on the door did not surprise Valerie – she had actually expected it sooner than this. She was tempted to say ‘Come in Matilda,’ but decided against flippancy.

  Matilda burst into the room with all the grace and determination of a charging bull.

  ‘Good morning, Matilda. Coffee?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘I know why you’re here,’ Valerie began, her back to Matilda as she prepared the coffees, ‘I need you to listen to what I have to say first before you erupt.’

  ‘I have no intention of erupting.’ Matilda’s tense white lips told a different story.

  Valerie handed over the cup and saucer remembering that Matilda took her coffee black with no sugar. It was very hot and very strong. Matilda took a sip; it was good coffee. She placed it carefully on the desk.

  The silence in the room was crippling; it was like a Mexican stand-off – who would blink first. Valerie sat behind her large desk, which looked bigger than it was due to her small stature.

  ‘I want you to know that I fought long and hard for the Murder Room to be kept open. You’ve done a brilliant job in building up an impressive reputation, and figures have proven its success.’

  ‘So why is it closing?’ Despite wanting to remain calm, the firmly folded arms across Matilda’s chest suggested otherwise.