Outside Looking In

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Outside Looking In Page 7

by Michael Wood


  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘That’s the next job. Let’s move on to Lois Craven.’

  ‘Lois Craven is forty-one-years-old. She’s married to Martin. They celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary later this year. They’ve got three children; Jack is eighteen, Anna is fifteen, and Thomas is eight. Lois is an office administrator at the Sheffield College and Martin is a medical rep. He frequently works away. Now, according to her colleagues Lois started the affair with Kevin because she was bored. Martin’s always away and two of the kids look after themselves, she only had Thomas to contend with. She was bored with playing the happy housewife and mother and wanted some excitement while she was still able.’

  ‘Well, she sounds like a lovely woman,’ Matilda said with a hint of anger. She immediately thought of James. Matilda would have relished the opportunity to find out what a bored housewife was like. Lois should have been content with what she had. ‘What’s Martin’s alibi for the attacks?’

  ‘He was at home. All three kids can corroborate that. So can a neighbour, a Mrs Blanchford,’ Scott said.

  ‘How does she know?’

  ‘She went round about half past eight to borrow some foil. Apparently her son is making a robot for school and she’d run out. She went next door, stayed for a few minutes then went back home. She said everything was as it always is. Nice robot too.’

  ‘What are the neighbours saying about them as a couple? Are they well liked?’

  Scott flicked a few pages in his notepad. ‘The Hardakers’ neighbours were shocked by Kevin’s death. I didn’t mention the affair but just asked about what they were like as a family. Apparently they were very happy. They often went out together, weekends away, etcetera, and they always invited the neighbours around for the kids’ parties. They seem like the perfect couple.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as the perfect couple,’ Rory said while rummaging through Sian’s snack drawer. As usual, Sian was keeping her eyes firmly glued on the young DC; making sure he didn’t take advantage.

  ‘What about you and Amelia?’

  ‘Like I said, there’s no such thing as a perfect couple.’

  Matilda looked at Rory with a frown.

  ‘OK, what about the Cravens’ neighbours?’ she asked, bringing the conversation back to topic.

  ‘They keep themselves pretty much to themselves,’ said Rory flicking through his notebook. ‘One neighbour said they heard arguing a few times but nothing too serious.’

  ‘When was the last argument?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘Go back and find out. Try and find out as much as you can. How private are we talking here? Do they mingle with their neighbours, exchange Christmas cards, or do they pull up the drawbridge at night? How did you get on with the ANPR?’

  Rory turned on the laptop and asked Aaron to turn off the lights. He then asked Scott to pull down the white screen covering the whiteboards. His laptop now acted as a projector.

  ‘OK, so, the ANPR has picked up eight images of Kevin Hardaker’s car as it travels from his place of work at Heeley to where he ends up on Clough Lane. As you can see, the first picture shows Mr Hardaker sitting behind the wheel of his car. He is alone.’

  Rory flicked through the next three images as they only showed the rear of the car at various junctions and traffic lights. It was impossible to say if he was still alone in the car.

  ‘Here is picture number five; next to him in the passenger seat is Lois Craven.’

  The photograph showed them both smiling, obviously in the middle of a conversation. They looked happy and relaxed. If only they knew what horrors were in store for them.

  ‘Number six is only half the car; he’s blocked by a bus. Number seven shows them on Bents Road, and just as they turn off onto Common Lane they’re snapped once again.’

  The final picture showed a front image of the car. Their smiles had gone. They had finished their conversation and were both looking straight ahead. There was a sense of foreboding about the picture. In the few minutes after it was taken they would both be subjected to a violent attack, which would leave one of them dead and the other fighting for their life.

  ‘Thanks for that Rory. Any other cars picked up in front or behind them that could be of interest?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘No problem. Sian, how’s our Mr Rainsford doing?’

  ‘Poor bloke. He’s in bits. He keeps blaming himself, saying he should have noticed the beeping sooner. I tried to comfort him but it wasn’t helping. His wife seems like a pretty strong woman; she’ll soon bring him round.’

  ‘No chance it’s a guilty conscience is it?’ Matilda asked with a hopeful half-smile.

  ‘I’m afraid not. He’s definitely just a witness. I’ve told him to pop in if he remembers anything else or if he wants to chat but I doubt he will.’

  I bloody hope not. That’s all we need, hysterical witnesses cluttering up the investigation.

  Scott’s desk phone rang. He answered, said a few words then hung up. ‘Ma’am that was the ACC’s secretary. She was wondering if you could pop upstairs for a moment.’

  ‘OK, thanks Scott. Look, wrap up what you’re doing here then we’ll call it a day. Until we can have a word with Lois Craven there’s very little we can go on.’

  ACC Valerie Masterson only ever called down for Matilda when something serious had occurred. She could feel the prickly sensation of tension slowly creeping up her back.

  HIGH-RANKING COP RIDICULES ‘MINOR’ GUN CRIME

  By Alex Winstanley

  A top detective within South Yorkshire Police has ridiculed the spate of gun crimes in Sheffield as ‘minor incidents’.

  Detective Chief Inspector Matilda Darke, head of South Yorkshire’s prestigious Murder Investigation Team, said the people of Sheffield had nothing to worry about despite a double shooting in Clough Lane last night, killing a man and leaving a woman in Intensive Care.

  This comes a week after an 8-year-old boy was found playing with a replica handgun in Rollestone Wood, Gleadless Valley.

  This year alone, there have been a number of burglaries in the city, many of which have involved the use of guns.

  In February, two Co-op stores were held at gunpoint, and earlier this month three young women on a night out in the city centre were mugged by a masked man they believe had a handgun in his pocket.

  DCI Matilda Darke said, ‘These are minor incidents. The public are under no threat from gun crime.’

  Cheryl Glover, 19, one of the three mugged said, ‘If DCI Darke thinks having a gun pointed at you and having your possessions stolen is a minor incident she’s obviously in the wrong job.’

  DCI Darke has recently returned to leading the Murder Investigation Team following her suspension over the Carl Meagan kidnapping. Carl was taken from his home last March and his grandmother killed in a robbery, again involving guns.

  DCI Darke’s comments will come as a blow to the Meagan family, who, next week, will commemorate a year since their son was kidnapped. Sally Meagan, Carl’s mother, has been particularly critical of DCI Darke’s return to work and once again calls for her to be removed from South Yorkshire Police.

  ‘I have no idea why she was allowed back to work,’ Mrs Meagan said in a recent interview. ‘My mother-in-law was murdered and my son kidnapped. She botched the ransom drop, which led to the kidnappers fleeing with him. She’s not fit to work for the police and I sympathize with any family of victims of crime she is involved in.’

  Assistant Chief Constable Valerie Masterson was unavailable for comment.

  TWELVE

  Matilda felt like she was taking the long, slow walk to the gallows as she ascended the stairs to the ACCs office. By the time she reached the top (two floors up) she was breathless. Maybe she should rejoin Adele at her spinning class, get in shape, and back down to a size ten.

  Robert Walpole, Spencer Compton, Henry Pelham, Thomas Pelham-Holles, William Cavendish.

  She knew
the stress was becoming too much when the Prime Ministers turned up. An exercise suggested by Dr Warminster. She had told her to concentrate on naming the British Prime Ministers during times of stress to help her regain control of her breathing and settle her thoughts. It worked. However, Matilda had thought now she could cope with life and its many hurdles without their appearance. It would seem not.

  Through her jacket she could feel her shirt sticking to her back, damp with sweat. She hoped it wasn’t noticeable. She knocked on the door and was called in almost immediately. Masterson had obviously been waiting. This did not look good.

  ‘Matilda, come on it. Have a seat,’ Masterson was all smiles, her voice friendly. A very bad sign.

  As Matilda stepped fully into the room she saw the heavily pregnant Karen Sweetland from Media Support standing beside a seated ACC.

  ‘You wanted to see me?’ Matilda asked once she was as comfortable as she could be while visibly sweating. Her lungs seemed to have shrunken down to the size of a pound coin. Her breathing was laboured and her vision began to blur. She hated not being in control of her own mind. Panic attacks were crippling, and just when she thought she had a handle on them she was floored by another.

  ‘Yes I did. The evening edition of The Star has just been delivered to me.’

  Matilda had a sinking feeling. Her heart practically plummeted through the floor. She was beginning to loathe this paper.

  The newspaper was neatly in front of Val Masterson on the desk. Matilda tilted her head slightly to read the front page, which was upside down from her point of view, but she couldn’t quite make it out.

  ‘I believe they have a new crime correspondent,’ Val continued. ‘You’ve spoken to him.’

  ‘Yes. He called me this morning trying to get something out of me about the shooting last night. I just told him a statement would be released in due course.’ She looked at the grave faces of her boss and the press officer. She quickly went over the very short conversation with Alex Winstanley but could not think of anything controversial she may have said. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘You tell me.’ Val opened the newspaper to page five, folded it back and slapped it down hard in front of Matilda. The headline screamed out at her: ‘HIGH-RANKING COP RIDICULES “MINOR” GUN CRIME’.

  ‘What the hell?’ Matilda snapped up the newspaper.

  ‘My words exactly.’

  Matilda scanned the article. Her hands were shaking, rattling the pages. She stopped reading as soon as she found Carl Meagan’s name. ‘Where did he get this crap from?’

  ‘You.’

  ‘What? I didn’t say gun crime was a minor incident.’

  ‘I think you’ll find you did.’ The ACC turned to Karen Sweetland who was now sitting down uncomfortably to take the weight off her back.

  ‘Alex Winstanley sent me, via email, a recording of the conversation you had. You definitely said minor crime.’

  ‘I honestly don’t remember,’ Matilda said, taken aback. ‘I didn’t mean minor. I’m sure I said isolated. I meant to say isolated. I would never deride gun crime.’

  ‘Isolate and minor do not sound similar. I’m not sure how you could have mixed up those two words, Matilda.’

  Matilda sat forward in her seat. ‘Ma’am, I am truly sorry for this article and I will apologize to anyone you want me to but I honestly, hand on heart, did not mean to call gun crime a minor incident. I wouldn’t.’ She placed her shaking right hand firmly on her erratically beating heart.

  There was a heavy silence before ACC Masterson spoke again. ‘I do believe you Matilda, I really do; however, this is not what we need right now.’

  ‘I know. Look I’ll talk to this Alex Winstanley—’

  ‘No you bloody won’t,’ Val interrupted. ‘I’ll be speaking to him myself. If you look at the bottom it says I was unavailable for comment. I’ve not had a call from anyone at The Star all day. I’ll be having a few words with this Mr Winstanley and Karen here will be putting together a placating statement for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Matilda said to both Karen and Val before looking down at the floor in shame.

  ‘I do not want you speaking to Alex Winstanley or anyone else from the press again. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘If they do happen to call you be polite, but firm, give no comment, then hang up.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Karen, would you leave us alone for a while?’

  Karen agreed and struggled to get up out of her seat. She said she would start work on the statement and would email it through when she had finished. Val Masterson waited until the door closed and Karen was out of earshot before she began.

  ‘What’s going on with you, Mat?’ Her voice was all concern, giving the impression of two friends chatting over coffee. Matilda wouldn’t dare call her Val.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. Understaffed, but fine.’

  ‘Then why do you look like shit?’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that I did.’ She tried to scoff but it wasn’t working.

  ‘I’m not completely heartless you know. I’m aware the anniversary of James’s death is looming, but you need to talk to me, Matilda. You can’t allow things to bottle up.’

  ‘I’m not bottling anything up.’

  Val Masterson rose from behind her desk; five foot nothing tall and wafer thin, she came to the front and sat on the edge of the desk. Matilda had to hide a small smile when her boss had to jump up.

  ‘We’ve known each other for a very long time; let’s forget rank for the next few minutes. We’re just two middle-aged women having a chat. So, what’s on your mind?’

  Has she been taking lessons from Dr Warminster?

  It took a while for Matilda to find the courage to open her mouth to speak without a flood of tears pouring out. The moment the first word came out, the rest followed in an almost incomprehensible tumble. ‘James is on my mind twenty-four hours a day. Carl is constantly vying for attention. I want to look for him. I want to search every inch of this country to try and find him. I’m losing my team. Sian and Aaron are doing their best but I need a DI I can leave in charge when I’m not here. I’m down countless support staff and a DC.’

  The large clock on the far wall ticked loudly. Matilda sniffed hard to try and rein in the tears. She managed it just in time. It was never a good idea to cry in front of your boss.

  Val looked down at her most trusted detective. The silence grew.

  ‘What happened to James was devastating. I cannot begin to imagine what you’re going through and I won’t even try. If you want to take time off, you just have to let me know …’

  ‘I don’t want …’

  Val held up a hand. ‘I know. I was about to say I know that you won’t want to take time off work, but the offer is there for you whenever you need it.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘As for Carl Meagan,’ she shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, I’ve no idea what happened there. The kidnappers knew the money was there to be dropped off. They got spooked and did a runner but they could have contacted the Meagan family again. Why they didn’t is anybody’s guess. There hasn’t been a sighting, a phone call, a letter, nothing. There is nothing we can do about that now.’ She spoke slowly and with determination as if she was drilling every single syllable into Matilda’s head. ‘It’s easy for me to say, I know, but until we receive any more information about Carl Meagan there is nothing else we can do to locate him. You need to keep telling yourself that.’

  ‘I know. I keep thinking of his parents; what they must be going through, not knowing where their son is. It must be torture.’

  ‘The case will be reviewed on a regular basis, you know that. However, you need to move on. Your job is to solve murders. You can’t do that if you’re constantly harking over an unsolved case. As for your team, you’re right and I’m sorry. It’s wrong of me to expect you to solve a murder case with a couple of DSs. I’ll get some drafted over to you from C
ID.’

  Matilda looked up. Val’s face looked softer and there was a genuine sincerity in her voice. It was the first time in a long time Matilda actually believed in what Valerie was saying.

  ‘Now I want you to go home—’

  ‘But—’

  Again, Val held a hand up to silence her. ‘This is not negotiable. I want you to go home.’

  ‘I can’t leave—’

  ‘My grandfather used to always say there’s no such word as “can’t”. It annoyed me when he said that but it’s true. You can leave and you are leaving. I will arrest you if I have to.’ She smiled.

  Matilda was about to thank her boss but, once again, the hand came up. Matilda took this as her cue to leave.

  Matilda should not have driven home. Her mind was a maelstrom of activity. Not only did she have James and Carl battling for attention in her head, she had the Meagan parents judging her, ACC Masterson offering comforting words, which wouldn’t last if she continued with her erratic behaviour, and now, Alex Winstanley was throwing her to the dogs. There was very little room in her mind for anything else.

  The doormat was covered with the usual array of white and brown envelopes, junk mail, and fast-food menus. She stepped over them and made her way to the kitchen. At the back of the drawer she used for items that didn’t have a place to live, she found an emergency supply of the Venlafaxine tablets she used to take. It had been her decision to stop taking them, but she still collected the prescriptions from her GP. With shaking fingers, she took three tablets, two more than prescribed.

  Her head pounded and weighed heavy on her shoulders. As she went into the living room, she picked the post up from the front door and threw it onto the coffee table.

  James was looking down on her from the mantelpiece. His gorgeous smile, his bright blue eyes, his broad shoulders; he wasn’t judging, he had love in his eyes. He cared for Matilda and he wanted her to be happy. The only way she would be happy again would be for James to enter the living room and wrap his strong arms around her.

  Through teary eyes she looked at the post on the coffee table. One envelope stood out among the bills and offers of credit cards; it was a brilliant white and didn’t have a stamp on it. A hand-delivered letter. Matilda ripped open the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper and a cutting from a newspaper. She didn’t notice the tears fall down her face as she saw the scathing article written by Alex Winstanley in today’s edition of The Star. She threw it down and looked at the letter:

 

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