Outside Looking In

by Michael Wood

  ‘So it definitely rules out Lucas Branning?’

  ‘Definitely. Lucas is shorter than me and fat. It’s not him.’

  ‘So maybe these are two separate incidents then.’

  ‘Maybe. Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.’

  ‘No you’ve been very helpful, thank you. Will you keep me informed if there are anymore, or you get a more detailed description?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Thanks Faith. Enjoy the Double Decker.’

  SIXTEEN

  Adele Kean pulled back the white sheet covering a man, face down, on a drawer she had just pulled out of the fridges in her mortuary. ‘Matilda, I’d like you to meet Gerald Beecham.’

  ‘I appreciate you trying to help Adele, but he’s a bit old for me.’

  Adele tried not to smile. She failed. ‘On the night of the shooting, Mr Beecham, who lives in a tower block on London Road, was found dead at the bottom of the block of flats.’

  ‘He jumped?’

  ‘Pushed. Or thrown.’

  ‘OK. I don’t quite understand where you’re going with this …’

  ‘The bruises on his back show that he was attacked before plunging to his death. There is a partial footprint in the small of his back too, if you look closely, which has been photographed and scanned. Anyway,’ she covered him up with the sheet and pushed him back into the fridge, ‘on his clothing there was some blood which doesn’t belong to him.’

  ‘Would you like me to ask who it belongs to?’

  ‘Yes please,’ Adele gave a smug smile.

  ‘Dr Kean, to whom does the blood belong?’

  ‘Lois Craven.’

  ‘What?’ Matilda’s smile dropped. The time for playing was over. ‘Is this my killer?’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘I don’t get it then.’

  ‘Whoever performed the double shooting came across Mr Beecham; they somehow ended up on the roof together, and over he went.’

  ‘This is making no sense whatsoever.’ Matilda walked away shaking her head. She tried to get things into perspective but nothing was fitting. It was like she had all the pieces of the jigsaw but they were from different boxes. ‘For a start why kill a man then throw him off the roof of a tall building? He could have left him up there and he could have remained undetected for weeks, months maybe.’

  ‘According to the police report a scream was heard around the time of death.’

  ‘Bloody hell, he was still alive when he was thrown?’

  ‘It would appear so.’

  ‘Why would anyone throw an old man off the roof of a building?’

  ‘No idea. I don’t really want to think about the kind of person who would gladly hurl another person off a roof.’

  ‘So, Kevin Hardaker and Lois Craven are beaten and shot. About an hour later, Gerald Beecham is beaten and thrown off a roof. The connection in both scenes is that Gerald Beecham has Lois Craven’s blood on him.’

  ‘Also, Lois and Gerald both have black man-made fibres under their fingernails, which are identical. Whoever attacked them, they both managed to get hold of whatever he was wearing in the struggle.’

  ‘Is there any of Gerald’s DNA at the scene on Clough Lane?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Jesus. So this means Kevin and Lois’s attacker also killed Gerald.’

  ‘Your killer certainly had a busy night.’

  ‘Let’s just hope he’s finished,’ Matilda replied, scared by the thought.

  Witness Statement

  In the matter of: GERALD ARTHUR BEECHAM

  Place: SHEFFIELD, SOUTH YORKSHIRE

  Date: MARCH twenty-second, 2015

  Name: REBECCA BEECHAM

  I am Rebecca Beecham, 47, of Meadow Head, Sheffield, South Yorkshire. I am the daughter of Gerald Arthur Beecham, 80, of London Road, Sheffield, South Yorkshire. This statement made by me accurately sets out the evidence that I would be prepared, if necessary, to give in court as a witness. The statement is true to the best of my knowledge and belief and I make it knowing that, if it is tendered in evidence, I will be liable to prosecution if I have wilfully stated in it anything that I know to be false, or do not believe to be true.

  I last spoke to my father on the 18th of March in the morning by telephone. I had to be at Manchester airport by noon and I called him just before I left home. I was travelling to Stockholm on business. I work as a freelance magazine photographer.

  My father seemed to be in good spirits. He had recently suffered a chest infection that took some time to clear up but the tablets were working and he was feeling a lot better. He took medication for a heart condition he had had since he was a child and medication for arthritis. Apart from that he was in good health.

  My mother died in August last year after a long battle with cancer. My parents had been married for more than fifty years and were inseparable. Her death hit my dad very hard. She had been ill for a very long time and we all had time to get used to her not being around anymore. However, when she died my father did become depressed. There was a time I thought he might have taken his own life but we had a long conversation in October of last year and he stated that he would never put me through that. He knew he wasn’t going to be around forever and said that he could wait to be reunited with my mum.

  I did worry about my dad living in a high-rise flat but he and mum had lived there for the best part of twenty years and loved it. The whole block had been renovated in the past five years or so and they really did enjoy living there. It wasn’t ideal when my mum became ill but the lifts always worked and they were happy. They lived a happy and simple life.

  At Christmas I had my dad stay with me for a few days. I live in a bungalow at Meadow Head and asked Dad if he would like to move in with me. At first he said a categorical no. He said he refused to be a burden. However, I managed to win him over and he eventually agreed. I had a lot of work at the beginning of this year but was taking some time off over Easter so we were going to move all his things into my home then. The closer we got to the moving day the more excited he became. I think he was looking forward to having a garden.

  I know 100 per cent that my father did not take his own life. He had no reason to. Somebody did this to him. Somebody lured him up to the roof and killed him.

  SEVENTEEN

  ‘Sian have you eaten yet?’ Matilda spoke into her phone as she left the Autopsy Facility.

  ‘I haven’t moved from my desk all morning. I haven’t had time to pee yet.’

  ‘Fancy discussing a dead body over lunch?’

  ‘Spooky, that was my husband’s opening line when he first asked me out,’ Sian laughed.

  Fifteen minutes later they were sitting opposite each other in the Lloyd’s pub on Division Street looking out onto Charter Square at the war memorial and the City Hall.

  Suddenly, Matilda no longer felt hungry, so she ordered a tuna salad. Sian, who was looking forward to a big meal to celebrate her wedding anniversary, asked for the same.

  ‘What links an 80-year-old widow and a couple in their 40s having an illicit affair?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘That sounds like the beginning of a really bad joke.’

  ‘I think this entire case is a really bad joke.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Rebecca Beecham again since her original statement,’ Sian said. ‘She’s pleased her father’s death is being investigated seriously. I asked her about Kevin Hardaker and Lois Craven but she’s never heard of them and her father never mentioned them either.’

  ‘Is there anything linking them? Do they belong to the same club or gym or library?’

  ‘Gerald Beecham didn’t go out at all without his daughter. She didn’t like the idea of him being out on his own so always took him shopping and wherever else he wanted to go. They were quite close.’

  Matilda did not enjoy hearing this. ‘There’s no way Gerald Beecham could be Kevin’s long lost father. Or maybe he was having a secret affair with Lois?’

  Sian sniggere
d. ‘I’m afraid not. Sorry.’

  ‘Anything from the SOCOs from the roof of the high-rise?’

  ‘There was evidence of a small fire recently but nothing to get excited about. I was looking into something when you called; does the name Nathaniel Glover mean anything to you?’

  ‘It rings a bell.’

  ‘Back in 2000, Nathaniel Glover was sentenced to eleven years for attacking a couple in a car at Endcliffe Park. He robbed them and beat the bloke up pretty bad. He slapped the woman a few times and tried it on with her too. When he couldn’t get an erection, he thumped her in the stomach and fled.’

  ‘Was he armed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why was his sentence so high for a robbery?’

  ‘The woman was about four months pregnant at the time and she lost it. The couple were only in their late teens, both still lived at home, they often went for a drive and parked up somewhere quiet to have some privacy.’

  ‘Poor kids. I’m guessing this Nathaniel Glover is out now?’

  ‘Yes. He only served five years and was let out on good behaviour.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘No idea. I’m going to look him up this afternoon.’

  ‘Good. Bring him in and question him. I want every minute of where he was on the night of the attack accounted for.’

  A young barman literally dropped their meals onto the table and walked away. No smile, no ‘enjoy your meal’, nothing.

  ‘Now there’s a bloke who enjoys his job,’ Matilda smiled.

  ‘He could be Aaron’s younger brother.’

  Matilda picked at her salad. It didn’t look appetizing but she guessed she would have to eat something. In her head she could hear Adele chastising her for missing meals. ‘OK. Ignoring the actual crimes for a second, why would someone commit a double shooting then go to a high-rise block of flats?’

  ‘Maybe he lived there,’ Sian shrugged, shovelling a forkful of lettuce into her mouth.

  ‘You’ve got a point there. I never thought of that. Maybe the killer does live there. OK, say he does, why did he go up to the roof?’

  A thought suddenly came to Sian. Her eyes lit up. ‘To hide something.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe hide the gun he used.’

  ‘And was disturbed by Gerald Beecham,’ Matilda finished the thought. ‘Does that sound credible?’

  ‘So far it’s the most credible thing about this.’

  ‘Good point. Get Rory and Scott to look into it. I want every member of that block of flats identified.’

  Sian laughed. ‘I shall look forward to telling them. They’ll love that job. Not eating?’

  ‘I’m not that hungry anymore. I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘I’ll be using that line tonight.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘It’s mine and Stuart’s thirteenth wedding anniversary today. He seems to think that’s a green light for him getting sex. I love messing with his head.’

  ‘Congratulations.’

  Matilda’s mind wandered. She had only managed five wedding anniversaries with James. They celebrated their fifth with a long weekend in an isolated cottage on one of the islands in the Outer Hebrides. Thursday to Tuesday, just the two of them. They didn’t leave the cottage once. Actually, that wasn’t true. They did leave it once. They went for a long walk with a picnic, found a nice spot overlooking the sea, and forgot all about the picnic.

  ‘I can’t believe we’ve been married for thirteen years. I remember when we first met. My mum told me it wouldn’t last. She thought Stuart was a flake and wouldn’t make anything of himself. Typical Mum, I suppose—’ Sian suddenly stopped when she saw the faraway look on her boss’s face. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s coming up to a year since James … isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes it is.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go spouting off about my wedding anniversary like that.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You can’t stop talking about things because of me.’

  ‘How are you coping?’

  ‘I’m OK. I’ll be better when the anniversary’s been and gone.’

  ‘I saw the story in the newspaper about Carl Meagan. They’re bastards aren’t they? They haven’t got a clue what we have to do on a day-to-day basis. Look, I know it’s easy for me to say but don’t take it to heart. The readers will have completely forgotten it by the time they buy the paper again tomorrow night.’

  ‘I know.’

  Sian smiled. ‘Would you like to come over for dinner tonight; join me and Stuart?’

  Matilda laughed out loud. ‘I don’t think Stuart would be too happy to see me at the dinner table when he’s hoping for some fun.’

  ‘Stuart’s always hoping for fun. He’s used to the rejection. You must come over for dinner at some point though.’

  ‘I will,’ she lied. ‘Look, I have an appointment to go to, would you set Rory and Scott on identifying the high-rise residents and just—’

  ‘Cover for you?’

  ‘Would you mind?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Matilda?’

  She stopped, half-rising from her chair. It was never good when her colleague used her first name. It was obviously going to be a personal comment.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes. I’m fine. Why?’

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘I’m fine. I just want to have a think about this case; get my head around it.’

  Matilda left the pub. She avoided looking up into the window as she passed as she knew Sian would be looking out at her. She wasn’t on the brink of tears yet, which was an improvement, but she was feeling emotional and she had no idea why.

  She stepped up the pace as she entered the multistorey car park where she had left her car. Once behind the wheel, she locked the door and bowed her head. Whenever she thought of James it was never long before the tears started to flow. When Matilda first met James she had, more or less, given up on finding someone to fall in love with. Like the majority of people, she had had her fair share of failed relationships, doomed from the start, dead-end romances, and never came close to ‘the one’. It didn’t bother her if she never married. She had never been maternal and children didn’t feature in her life plan. So she’d be single: who cared?

  Then she met James and her life was turned upside down and inside out. She was shown happiness for seven years and then it had been ripped from her in the cruellest of ways. The symmetry of Carl Meagan’s life was not lost on her. He was seven when he disappeared. His family had seven years of happiness and now, like her, they were living in limbo. They didn’t know what to do without their little boy and she didn’t know what to do without her husband.

  Matilda wiped her eyes and looked up into the darkness of the car park. It was cold and there was a lingering smell of damp. In the parking bay opposite the headlights of a dark-coloured BMW were turned on and lit up Matilda’s face. Her red eyes and tears were visible. She squinted into the brilliant whiteness and waited for the car to pull out. It didn’t move. It didn’t even have its engine on.

  A paranoid fear gripped her. Was there someone watching her? It wasn’t the first time she had noticed a dark BMW lingering. Who would do that? Panic set in as she tried to turn the key in the ignition and stalled the engine a couple of times. She selected the wrong gear and juddered to a halt. She looked up. The car opposite had started its engine.

  ‘Shit,’ Matilda cursed herself. She turned the ignition key again. It took three attempts but the engine eventually came to life. A deep breath and ten Prime Ministers later she exited the car park. Once out in the open she checked her rear-view mirror. There was no sign of the black BMW.

  EIGHTEEN

  The armchair looked comfortable but once Matilda sat down she was squirming, kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, moving from side to side, sitting up, slouching, s
itting up again, and generally wishing she was anywhere but in a converted house on Manchester Road sitting opposite a psychotherapist with split ends and a ladder in her tights.

  It had been at the insistence of South Yorkshire Police that Matilda had sought professional help. Following the death of her husband and the collapse of the Carl Meagan case, it was no secret that Matilda had a breakdown. She rarely left the house and spent her days crying and drinking alcohol. Occasionally she went through stages where she would binge on junk food, but this was followed by periods of vomiting and more alcohol.

  Before she had been allowed to return to work last December, she’d had to be psychologically evaluated, and Dr Sheila Warminster was her appointed therapist. Matilda loathed her. Before they even met Matilda knew she would hate her on sight. As the weeks and months went by Matilda slowly warmed to her. It was difficult to admit, but Sheila Warminster really knew her stuff and her advice and exercises often helped.

  Matilda had intended for this afternoon’s session to be the final one. However, the anonymous note, the current, baffling, case, and the thought of being followed had made her change her mind. She would continue with the sessions.

  As she approached the converted house, Matilda felt different. It was like she was here for the first time. This time, she wasn’t dreading the unknown, but determined to get well. She was prepared to listen.

  ‘Matilda, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t happy you’ve come to this decision. It’s been a few weeks since your boss said you could quit these sessions if you wished and I expected you to do so. The fact you are deciding to continue with your therapy of your own free will really is a huge step in your recovery.’

  Matilda found herself smiling back at her. ‘I thought that once I’d returned to work I’d be able to pick up where I left off and everything would go back to the way it was. I was wrong. That doesn’t happen does it?’

  ‘No it doesn’t. Matilda, I can’t begin to imagine the torment you’ve been through. You are an incredibly strong person. A weaker person would have given in but you haven’t. The fact you’re here is testament to your strength.’