Dead Sweet: A D.I. Turnbull mystery

by Sally O'Brien

  "No, I'm his mother. What's he done?"

  "Is he in?"

  "Yes he's in his bedroom, what has he done?"

  "I'm sorry madam, I'm not at liberty to discuss matters with you unless; how old is Malcolm please?"

  "Forty seven."

  "Yes, sorry, I'm not at liberty to discuss Malcolm's business with you. Could you bring him to the door please, or maybe we could come in?"

  "You can come in." She opened the door wider and motioned for Todd and Candace to follow her.

  "My name is Deirdre by the way," she said flicking at her blue rinsed hair. She was wearing a bright pink velour tracksuit which gathered in folds around her legs and hung bag-like around her skinny backside. "My husband is not home. Trevor."

  "It's just your son we need to see Mrs Chadwell. Can you call him for us please?"

  "Yes, hold on." She walked them through a short hallway into a kitchen which housed a dining table and four chairs. "Just sit here and I'll go and get him for you."

  Todd went to sit at the head of the table. "Not there," she shouted at him, "That's Trevor's chair, he won't like you sitting there. Sit on any other one, but not that one please."

  "Sorry," Todd raised his eyebrows at Candace and they both chose a chair which was not Trevor's.

  "Malcolm," Deirdre shrieked as she walked away from them, stopping at the foot of the stairs. "Malcom, the police want to see you."

  "What?" a muffled shout could be heard from the kitchen.

  "The police, quick, come downstairs, get them out of here before your father comes back."

  A few seconds later and Todd could hear the clump of feet on stairs, a middle aged male came into the kitchen, he was extraordinarily fat and he had to shuffle sideways to get through the kitchen door. Todd was reminded of a Vietnamese pig with the large stubbly chin and eyes hidden by folds of skin. Malcolm's hair was grey and greasy and his tatty t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms were stained with the juices of more than one meal.

  "Hello." He said meekly to Todd.

  "Mr Chadwell is it ok to speak with your mother in the room?" Todd asked, aware that Deirdre had followed her son back to the kitchen.

  "Mum, can you go upstairs, or outside please?" Malcolm asked.

  "There's nothing that can't be said around me," Deirdre insisted, "I'm your mother Malcolm, we don't have any secrets."

  "Please mum, just go upstairs, if there's anything to tell you then I will." Malcolm ushered her out of the kitchen and shut the door to the hallway, then opened it to check his mother was going up the stairs, before closing it again.

  "Take a seat please Mr Chadwell, can I call you Malcolm?"

  "Yes. Am I under arrest?" Malcolm asked, his hands were shaking as he sat down; he had to hold them together to stop the shake.

  "Why? Should I be arresting you?" Todd asked.

  "No," Malcolm shook his head. "I haven't done anything wrong."

  "Exactly; no I just want to ask you some questions please Malcolm."

  "Ok, what about?"

  "About Vixen."

  "Who?"

  "Vixen - the model off the television? I know you know who I'm talking about Malcolm so stop that before it starts." Todd said firmly. "We know you have been messaging her regularly."

  "That's not a crime."

  "No, it's not, but she is starting to get a little bit annoyed about the way you are speaking to her."

  "Annoyed how?" Malcolm asked.

  "It's inappropriate." Todd informed him. "You've been speaking about feeding her and it looks as though you've been following her."

  "I haven't."

  "Well Vixen seems to feel differently; she hasn't made a formal report but she has spoken to me about it and I'm going to give you a warning right now about harassment."

  Malcolm rubbed at his face. "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "I'm just telling you formally that you are not to have any further contact with Vixen; you mustn't message her, go to her home, phone her or try and follow her in any way. Do you understand?"

  "Yes. But she has never said anything to me before; she always answers when I message her. I thought she was my friend."

  "No Malcolm, she is a public figure, but she is entitled to have a private life. She doesn't want you to contact her anymore."

  "Ok."

  "There is one other thing."

  "Yes?"

  "I wonder if you are willing to provide me with a DNA sample."

  "What for?"

  Todd looked to Candace, "Do you want to go ahead?" he asked her.

  "Sure, Malcolm are you aware of the murders that have happened in the Elisworth area lately?"

  "No, what murders?"

  "There have been two women killed, one just around the corner, Penny Baker, does the name ring a bell?"

  "No."

  "Can I ask what you were doing last Wednesday?"

  "He was looking for a job," Deirdre's voice cut through the kitchen door.

  "Mum," Malcolm complained. Deirdre opened the door and walked in.

  "I'm sorry, but you are my son, I can't just sit upstairs while the police are in my house. He was out looking for a job, goes out nearly every day he does in his suit; he's going to be a chef." She said. Malcolm looked at the floor, his hand shaking becoming worse as he sat.

  "Where did you look for a job Malcolm?" Candace asked.

  "Olinsbury." Malcolm muttered.

  "Is there anyone that can confirm that?"

  "No."

  "There must be Malc," Deirdre offered, "What about the places where you went for interview, they must be able to prove you were there. Just give the officers the names of the places you went for interview."

  "Didn't go to any places." Malcolm muttered again.

  "What? You said you were looking for jobs."

  "Yes, looking, didn't actually have an interview. Can't get one."

  "Oh Malcolm, poor you, you're trying so hard." Deirdre went to stand behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders. "Shall I get you some cake love, cheer you up?"

  "Yes please." He nodded.

  "Sorry ma'am, no cake for now," Candace admonished. "I need to ask Malcolm a few more questions."

  "Well I'll cut you some for later," Deirdre winked at Todd, "Would you like some dear?"

  "No thank you Mrs Chadwell, if you wouldn't mind stepping out of the room once more please, we really need to speak to Malcolm alone."

  "It's ok, she may as well stay now." Malcolm grunted.

  "Ok then," Candace began again, "Right Malcolm, you can't tell us where exactly you were on Wednesday, what about Sunday night?"

  "Don't know."

  "Maybe you can try and remember?"

  "Might have been out, could have been on my computer."

  "Ok, well we are trying to investigate the murders of these two young women. There was a sample of DNA found at one of the crime scenes and we are trying to eliminate people from our enquiries. We wondered if you would be willing to give a sample."

  "No." Malcolm snapped, jumping from his chair. "No."

  "Is there any reason why you don't want to?" Todd asked.

  "Do I have to?" Malcolm almost shouted, wringing his hands.

  "No, you're not under arrest, I can't force you to give a sample."

  "Well then no, I don't want to."

  "I can't force you, but you understand it doesn't look very good from where I'm sitting, it makes me think that maybe you've got something to hide." Todd said. "Is there any reason why you don't want to give a sample Malcolm?"

  "Big Brother, bloody police force, I have my rights you know, I'm not giving you a sample so you can plant evidence on me and make me guilty for something I haven't done." He stood up from his chair, "Now if there's nothing else you need from me I would ask you to leave. I haven't done anything wrong, I heard you about Vixen, I won't go there again, but I didn't kill anybody."

  "I think we will leave it there," Todd agreed, "Come on Sergeant Whelan, we can continue our inves
tigations elsewhere."

  Candace got up from her chair and began to follow Todd from the kitchen. Deirdre Chadwell was still standing outside the kitchen door and moved quickly away as it opened.

  "My son's not a murderer, he's a big cuddly bear." She grimaced. "I can't believe you would think my Malcolm would do such things. I read about those girls in the paper, it's sick what happened to them. My Malcolm just couldn't be capable of doing that, he just couldn't."

  "Ma'am, we have to ask questions, it's our job. If you could make sure that Malcolm keeps to his side of the harassment order I would be very grateful, it's in his interest to completely leave Vixen alone."

  "Like he's interested in her," Deirdre guffawed, "He's gone off girls after his last girlfriend broke his heart. He just lives here with us now and is trying to get his life back in order. He's not interested in some slapper on the telly."

  "Even so," Todd patted her on the arm, "If you could just gently remind him not to go near, then there's no problem is there."

  Deirdre walked passed Todd and Candace and held the front door open for them. "I don't need to tell him anything, he hasn't done anything wrong." She said as they went out of the front door.

  "Have a nice day," Todd said as the door was slammed shut behind him. "Candy we need to get an order to do some surveillance on Mr Chadwell."

  "Yes I agree Guv, there's definitely something going on there."

  "No reason at all to not give his DNA if he's got nothing to hide. We need to be able to nick him so we can get the sample. Our best bet is to catch him at it where Vixen is concerned, he's not going to be able to stop himself from following her. I've got a feeling he is behind the murders, how do you live around the corner from a murdered girl and know nothing about it? It's been in all the papers and on the News, it's very hard to miss."

  "Yeah. What's our next move?"

  "We need to speak to the Borough Commander and get authorisation to covertly watch him; I'm convinced we're right, we need to get on this straight away before he gets the opportunity to strike again. Get in the car."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Friday 12th July 2013

  09:00 hours

  Danny 'Zucko' Bradford walked up to a house on Woodlinds Road. The only thing that singled the house out from everybody else's was the gleaming Jaguar XF Portfolio which sat on the driveway carrying a personalised number plate 'BO55' on the plates. Danny's insides were churning, he hadn't been able to eat anything that morning because he felt so sick with nerves; he knew that today could be his final day of freedom if he mucked up the job that he had to do. Danny took a deep breath and knocked on the door then waited for what seemed like an eternity before the dark green door finally opened.

  "Hello Danny boy, how are you?" Boss Man appeared at the door. Danny marvelled at how someone so normal looking could be so cunning; Boss was just an average built, dark haired, middle aged male. He had no outstanding features, didn't dress in anything outlandish; he didn't have gold teeth or tattoos, he was just your average Joe. Danny knew it was what lay beneath that was the key to the man's success. Boss had often told Danny that the Jaguar was the most cunning animal in the forest - tapping its tail on the water to imitate a fly so that the fish it so loved to eat would come to the surface. The Boss had an affinity with Jaguars, hence the car. "Going to speak Dan?" Boss Man cut into Danny's musings.

  "Sorry, yeah, hi."

  "Come in here you mug." Boss let Danny into his home and through to a kitchen at the back. Had Danny had the time to look around he would have seen a modest home, the only show of wealth being a brand new Smart TV which was hung on the wall above a fireplace; other than that the décor was nothing special. Brown leather sofas sat on a laminate floor with a coffee table in the middle of the room. The kitchen was white, shaker style; nothing screamed money. Danny, however, was far too busy trying not to throw up to notice.

  "Right here's the money." Boss Man passed Danny a Big Value carrier bag. Danny looked inside to see three bricks of twenty pound notes.

  "How much is in there?" he asked.

  "Not for you to worry your head about Dan, you're just my carrier, not my business partner."

  "Sorry."

  "Right, go to Redman's park and sit on the bench where the swings are, don't look around you or try to hide the bag, just swing it by your side like it's got shopping in it. For god's sake don't cuddle it." Danny removed the bag from under his arms where he had started to cradle it like a small baby.

  "Sorry."

  "Fucks sake. Right, go to the park sit there and wait. A fellow will come along and sit beside you. Talk to him; not about the gear, just say, 'Alright mate, how's it going?' that kind of thing. He will put his bag on the bench in front of you and you put this bag next to him. Have a little chat, then he will get up and leave with your bag and you will leave with his. Simple." Boss Man grinned. Danny didn't feel so jubilant.

  "Simple." He managed to say. "I'll go now then shall I?"

  "Yes go on; make sure you come straight back here with that bag and don't get any ideas about running off Danny Boy, I know where you live, where your mum and dad live and I've got a lot of eyes around Elisworth; it would not be clever to cross me."

  Danny had to admit that the thought had crossed his mind. "Wouldn't dream of it Boss," he voiced, walking out of the house. "Much," he said to no one in particular.

  Danny walked along the road, heart thumping in his ears. He swung the bag as directed and tried his hardest not to look around him. People walked passed him on the road, women with pushchairs, kids running late for school and others in suits and tie on their way to work. If only they knew what I had in this bag Danny thought as he walked. He watched people's faces as they passed him, feeling sure that someone must know what he had and what he was going to do. A woman smiled at him as she passed, she knows he thought, but the woman never said anything, just continued on with her life.

  Ten minutes later and Danny was sitting on the bench as described by Boss Man. He sat down and placed the carrier bag on the chair beside him. The morning air was already hot and stifling. This was one of the hottest summers Danny could remember; there hadn't been any rain for about ten days and the air was heavy with humidity. Sweat poured from Danny's armpits, back and face, he knew it wasn't just the sun causing it, his nerves were tingling and his arsehole was pulsating in terror. He saw a black male arrive at the gate to the park with a carrier bag in his hand. The man walked towards the bench that Danny was sitting on and smiled at Danny as he came to sit beside him.

  "Alright mate." The male said.

  "Yeah alright," Danny didn't know what to say next.

  "All in there is it?"

  "Yeah."

  "Great, here's yours." The male handed Danny the carrier bag he was holding. Danny didn't look inside. "See ya." The male got up and walked away again, now holding the Big Value carrier bag that Danny had brought with him.

  "Yeah, see ya." Not quite the repartee that Boss man had described, but he had done the job. Danny heaved a sigh of relief; that had been easy. He had been expecting guns, sirens and police at any minute; not the quick exchange, hi and goodbye that had just happened. This was going to be an easy way to pay back the money that he owed the Boss Man, one down, only nineteen more drops to make.

  Danny got up from the bench, carrying the blue and white striped carrier bag in his hand. He walked from the park whistling and swinging the bag, just like he had seen the black male doing. He even managed a little skip in his step as he walked, happy that he had done the job which had been scaring him so much. Suddenly Danny noticed a police car coming in his direction, he immediately panicked at the sight of the car and swung the carrier bag high above his head, hoping to aim it back into the park before the police could see it. The bag's trajectory was completely off, however and it landed smack on the police car's windscreen, causing the car to do an emergency stop in the middle of the road.

  "Oh fuck." Danny whispered as the police officer
got out of his seat to look inside the bag which had landed on his car.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Friday 12th July

  12:00 hours

  "When I was a child my mother's love was everything to me. If I was ever a little sad, bored or I hurt myself, she would give me a piece of cake or a biscuit and the hurt would go away. Did your mum do that to you?"

  The girl's cries were muffled by the funnel sticking out of her mouth; tears ran down her face, mixing mascara and eye liner into a black sludge which crept slowly along the path of tears.

  "I was a happy child, but then came school. Oh I don't mean primary school, where everyone still looks forward to going home. When boys didn't like girls and girls didn't care what they looked like. Fat, thin, ugly or pretty, it just didn't matter; we all got along. Yes there was the odd bit of name calling, but, 'That's just kids being kids,' my mum used to say. Do you know what I mean?"

  The girl nodded frantically and the funnel began to jiggle in her throat before a steady hand pushed it firmly back into place.

  "But then came High School. Oh what an eye opener that was. It was alright at first; I was just ignored. Nobody noticed the quiet fat kid in the corner. We were all still a bit too young to be considering anyone as a prospective partner. Then our old friend puberty comes along and girls like you suddenly exist. You with your perfect hair and straight teeth. You with your nice big tits." A blue, plastic-clad finger poked the girl hard in each breast, causing more muffled screams.

  "Look at that stomach. So flat, it's disgusting, not normal." The hand slapped at the firm flesh.

  "Suddenly I'm not ignored any more. Someone notices that I'm not the same as everyone else. I'm not desirable, I don't have perfect hair or teeth and oh look, if you ridicule me then I cry and everybody else laughs. You the perfect, popular, pouting princess, can get a whole class of children to laugh just by pointing out what a fat fucking freak I am."

  Platinum blond hair flicked from side to side as the girl's head shook in denial.

  "Not you? Oh come on, don't tell me you never joined in when you saw the boy that everyone hated or the girl who wasn't as pretty as everyone else. You know you laughed as they cried. You took pleasure that it wasn't you who was being picked on; thank God for the fat kid right? I hated you all at first, hated everything you stood for. I've seen you all in the magazines and on the television; showing off your perfect bodies, selling your image to the highest bidder. Making the people believe they should all be like you and if they're not, shame on them."