Progress from this point was relatively promising. She was initially stationed in the Bournemouth area and spent time in various departments including Traffic, CID and The Drugs Squad. She even had a short secondment and learnt the basics in the Firearms department. In short, the first three years were exactly as she envisaged them; lots of variety and doing the job she always dreamt of doing.
Then things changed. As it does, life settled into more of a rhythm and her relationship with Dean became more serious. They were married on her twenty fifth birthday; a lavish affair that both sets of parents threw the kitchen sink at. They brought their first house together in the village of Meadowbank and Dean relocated his building business. Karen took a transfer to a slightly smaller department in Dorchester, her rationale being a smaller department could mean more chance of progression.
How wrong could she have been.
She knew, in taking the transfer, that Dorchester was not going to have the same intensity as the Bournemouth area. Just in demographics alone it was a relatively small fish; even if you took in the outlying villages. The crimes were still in the same league; burglaries; assaults; car theft; the odd serious incident. But for some reason - and despite her experience - the chief constable kept her away from these high profile cases. For the last three years she had been used purely as community support. In her mind completely sidelined from the real police work she desired.
She didn't think there was any great sexism in the department; plenty of female officers were involved in serious cases. She also knew she had the skills to deal with the workload, but as the months and then years went by, she found herself being kept more and more out of the loop. Dealing with minor quarrels with villagers. The odd break-in here and the random piece of graffiti there. To her it wasn't police work. To her it was a complete waste of time.
She had approached her Sergeant on numerous occasions about taking on bigger roles, but on each occasion she was brushed off. Your skills are dealing with the average citizen she was told, or there's more to police work than solving crimes. She wasn't quite at the disillusioned stage yet, but she was nearing thirty and had expected to be further up the ranks by now.
To add insult to injury, Dean seemed to quite like the fact she wasn't so much on the front line. If she was the conspiratorial type, she could almost believe that her husband and her Sergeant were in cahoots; keeping her protected from the big bad world.
More recently, her frustration had boiled over into actual arguments, and the previous evening had been the worst fight yet. She knew their life in the village was idyllic. No children yet, but that would be on the cards in the next two or three years. They had enjoyed a nice meal together and she had subtly suggested that maybe if they were to move back to the Bournemouth area, there could be more opportunity for her to progress. Dean had blown his top at this, saying it was her idea to move here and after he had spent so many years rebuilding his business following their relocation, why was she suggesting to throw all this hard work away. He had stormed out and crept back in during the early hours; presumably to sleep on the sofa.
The truth of the matter was it was her idea to move here. She had asked him to relocate his business and she was suggesting to go back, tail between legs; admit it was the wrong move. And why? Because her stupid ambition. Her stupid need to prove herself had got in the way yet again. Was she willing to go back on the idyllic life they had built together? In the cold light of day, as she left the house the following morning, she wasn't so sure.
She did still have a desire to go back to the big cases. The important cases. The ones she used to deal with in Bournemouth. Much like the weird case that had come through on the dispatch two evenings ago. An apparent homicide/missing person combo that would have been right up her street.
She hadn't heard many details as the investigation was still in its infancy, but what she had heard had intrigued her. An elderly couple found lying together in their marital bed. Nothing strange there, apart from the fact the husband was dead from a self inflicted knife wound to the heart. A fatal injury that happened downstairs in the kitchen. The wife - on death's door with terminal cancer - apparently in a coma and oblivious to the whole thing. To really get her juices going, the middle aged son who had been reported missing by his wife some two days before, had left his car on the driveway and his keys in the house. This missing son was naturally a person of interest to the team of investigators.
Karen would have loved to have been involved in a county wide man-hunt. Instead her first port of call was an abandoned car blocking a farmer's field. Not the most dramatic of incidents and one she was sure would come with a heap of abuse from the farmer in question. The field was about two miles south of the village and after navigating the tight Meadowbank lane and subsequent village, she reached the abandoned car in less than five minutes; thankfully minus any sign of a farmer.
What she was expecting to see was a trashed twenty year old three door. Something like a Civic or a Corsa. Stolen by a bunch of kids from Yeovil or Dorchester, driven around for the night and then, when the fun was over, left in pieces in a verge. What she didn't expect to find was a immaculately clean, three year old, silver Toyota Prius. It wasn't trashed. It wasn't even driven into a verge. It was a perfectly respectable car left abandoned next to the gated entrance to the field.
She parked her police Ford just to the rear and flicked on the emergency lights. It was fast approaching rush hour, but even so this stretch of Dorset rarely saw much traffic. She circled the vehicle and saw the side of the car nearest the field was also undamaged. She tried the drivers side door and it opened. The keys were also still in the ignition.
Odd.
She walked back to her cruiser and clicked on the radio.
'Dispatch,' she said, 'this is PC 0478. Can I have an ANPR check on a vehicle please? Over.'
'Morning Karen,' came a female voice at the other end, 'early start?'
Karen gritted her teeth. The voice at the other end belonged to Sheila Parsons. One of a number of dispatch callers in the department who lacked an element of professionalism. Sheila only worked the morning shifts and Sheila was the worst.
'Good morning Sheila,' she said. 'Yes, up and early this morning. I've got an abandoned car blocking a field entrance. Need an ANPR as soon as possible.'
'Let's have a look my dear. The system is being a bit slow this morning.'
Probably because you haven't turned the computer on yet! She thought. 'No problem, I'll hold,' she said.
Protocol was to deactivate the radio when not in use. Sheila was having none of this. Karen could clearly hear a coffee cup being placed followed by the sound of typing on a computer keyboard.
'Right. Here we are,' said Sheila, 'what's the car description.'
'OK, we have a silver-grey Toyota Prius. Registration number BF13 SHL,' there was again the sound of typing and moments later Sheila was back on the radio.
'Right,' she said, 'silver Prius BF13 SHL is registered to an Elizabeth Short of 5 Meadowbank Lane. Ooh, isn't that near where you live?'
Of course! She knew she'd seen the car somewhere. It was their new neighbours. Neighbours that neither she nor Dean had properly met yet.
Sheila was still talking on the radio. 'I'm sorry what?' asked Karen.
'I said that's your street isn't it? Meadowbank lane?'
'Yeah, thanks Sheila. The car belongs to my neighbours. I'll drive back there now.'
'No problem Karen, can you remember to....'
Karen flicked the radio and cut Sheila off mid sentence. She had absolutely no interest in any inane gossip from a well known blabbermouth. She was more interested in why her neighbor's car was left abandoned still with the keys in the ignition and barely two miles from its home.
She went to the Prius, took the keys and locked it. Then, barely ten minutes from leaving her house, she headed back home again.
8
Andrew and George made their way from the mansion's driveway and met th
e police woman at the gate of the Wharfs house; number two. As soon as she exited the car, Andrew recognized her as his neighbour Karen. Up close she was just as stunning; tall; slim; blond and with piercing blue eyes. He had seen her with her hair worn long, but this morning it was all formally curled up under her police hat.
'Good morning,' she said. 'It's Andrew, isn't it?'
Andrew was a little taken aback. He wasn't expecting any questions directed at him. 'Yeah. Andrew Scott. I think I'm your neighbour.'
The side of her mouth curled up with the beginnings of a smile. Then she was all formal again, 'are you the owner of a silver Toyota Prius. Registration number BF13 SHL?'
This line of questioning he wasn't expecting at all. He thought she would be asking him - them - about the missing Wharf woman. Not about his car. His mind started racing. Had something happened to Lizzy? 'Well, yeah,' he said, 'actually, it's my wife's car, but we both use it. Has something happened?'
'I don't believe so,' she said. 'But is there any reason why your car has been abandoned about two miles away. Is your wife here?'
Alarm bells were now ringing in his head. 'No, she left last night for a course. What do you mean “abandoned”? Where?'
'It's blocking a field entrance just outside the village. Was your wife driving to this course?'
'Yeah, she left last night about eight. The course was in Reading. I don't understand.'
Karen shot a look at George and then back to Andrew, 'Would you mind coming with me,' she said, 'maybe we can work out what's going on.'
'Yeah, yeah. Of course. But I don't get it.'
They walked back to the cruiser leaving George outside the Wharfs'. Andrew spun remembering why they had been outside. 'What about Gillian?' he said.
George shook his head. 'You go and get this sorted. I'll deal with that.'
'What about Gillian?' asked Karen.
'She's missing,' Andrew said, 'didn't come home last night. At least that's what Thomas is saying.'
'That doesn't sound like Gillian.'
'I'm hearing a lot of that,' Andrew said.
George put a hand on Andrew's shoulder. 'You two need to go check out your car,' he said, 'I'll call this in.'
'There's no point,' said Karen. 'It'll only be allocated to me. Let Mr Scott and myself go to his wife's car and I'll come back as soon as I can.'
Seeing as there was no other option, George nodded and watched as Karen and Andrew climbed into the cruiser. She performed a tight u-turn and spitting dust, once again disappeared along Meadowbank lane.
Andrew sat in the passenger seat and was silent for a good few minutes with about a hundred different scenarios racing through his head. Karen could sense his apprehension and tried to distract him.
'What's the story with Gillian?' she said.
'Sorry. What?'
'Mrs Wharf,' she said, 'Thomas' mum. You said she's missing?'
'It looks that way,' he said, 'I think someone tried to break into their house. Window was broken.'
She shot him a sideways look, 'What! Why hasn't this been reported?'
'We were about to,' he said, 'but then you, you know, turned up. It's all a bit weird.'
'Weird, how? Tell me what you know.'
Andrew told her about the random knock on the door and what he then found for himself in the Wharfs kitchen and garden. He told her about Gillian not being at either work and how he got George involved.
'That's not a bad call,' she said 'I don't know him that well, but he strikes me as the sort of guy who will have your back in a tight spot. You say these footprints lead up towards the old mansion?'
Andrew nodded. 'And that's pretty much where you came in. Did you hear anything last night?'
'Nothing out of the ordinary, no. But those big feet. Why does that ring a bell?' Before either of them could answer, she was indicating, 'Here we are,' she said.
She pulled in just behind the Prius as she had done before and flicked the hazard lights. In unison they both jumped out. 'Doesn't appear to be any damage. But these were left in the ignition,' she tossed him the keys.
'This doesn't make any sense,' he said, 'where is she?' as if answering his own question, an idea occurred to him. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his iPhone and dialled. Moments later a familiar chiming came from the car, 'shit.'
Much like Karen had earlier, he circled the car. Apart from a smattering of dirt on the mud flaps, the car was immaculate. Peering through the driver's side door he could make out Lizzy's bag on the passenger seat. 'I don't like this at all,' he said, 'why would she leave all her stuff?'
'I don't know,' said Karen, 'but I think you better see this.' Whilst he had been examining the car, Karen had made her way to the field entrance and was kneeling by the gate.
'What is it?' he said.
She pointed to a patch of soft earth beside the gate which had been left slightly ajar. 'Big feet,' she said.
'Shit,' he was no forensic expert, but even he could tell they were the same set of giant prints they'd found leading from the Wharf's place. 'Where does this field come out?'
'Well, it's a bit of a trek, and you have to know the area, but the field next to this backs right onto Meadowbank lane. I think the path comes out next to George's house.'
Andrew straightened and stared wide eyed at her. 'You're joking, right? This leads right back to our street.'
'Yeah,' she said. 'But I don't...' sudden realisation crossed her face. 'Gillian!'
Andrew was nodding furiously. 'We've gotta move,' he said. He turned and unlocked the Prius.
'What are you doing!' she said. 'That car could be a crime scene. We need to run forensics on it.'
Andrew was having none of it. 'Look, Karen?' he said, 'There's some fucking weird shit going on here and I get the feeling if we don't act quick, the trails going to go cold. I understand you have your procedures, but this is all pointing in one direction.'
'Andrew,' she said, 'I can't let you do this,’ she held his arm, but with no great venom.
'Or what, Karen? Are you going to arrest me? This is my wife were talking about here. My fucking wife!'
She released her grip and allowed him to close the car door. He keyed the ignition but paused to lower the window. 'Thank you,' he said, 'You know, this may all be a lot easier with Police assistance.'
'You think I'm going to allow you and that old timer to stomp around unsupervised? Now get going, I'll be right behind you.' She gave another of those half smiles. A smile he wouldn't mind seeing a bit more of and then she was gone. Taking the queue, he gunned the Prius, performed a far uglier u-turn than Karen’s and sped back to the village. Seconds later, the police cruiser followed.
9
In the ten minutes Andrew and Karen had been gone, George had been a busy boy. Firstly he trotted back to his house to check on the boys. Miraculously, they had already polished off the Jaffa Cakes and were both sitting in the lounge. The TV was on, but neither of them were watching it.
'Did you find anything?' Thomas asked.
'Nothing yet,' he said, 'But I'm sure she's fine.'
'Why do you keep saying that?' said Thomas. 'Why do all of you feel I need to be protected? It's my mum that's missing!'
George put an arm around his shoulders and firmly ushered him into the kitchen. 'Look,' he said, 'I know you're a switched on kid, but that little one in there doesn't need to know all the details. Your job is to protect him.'
'Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I have a right to know what's going on?'
George sighed, 'Yes you do, and I apologise. Come help me with something.' He opened the kitchen door and headed into the garden. The early morning sun was still low in the sky, leaving the garden bathed in shade. Thomas followed him to a well built modern shed and watched as George unlocked the padlock keeping the door shut. The air inside was hot and musty with the smell of wood. There was a high wooden work bench running along one side and from underneath George pulled out a much larger version of
the olive green tin he stored under his bed. He unlocked and opened the lid and handed Thomas a worn khaki rucksack.
'Unbuckle it,' he said, 'Load it with what I give you.'
Unquestioningly, Thomas did what he was told. The case appeared to be a treasure trove of military artifacts. There were helmets and gas masks and Thomas noted a very formal red army uniform along with reams of documents. George rummaged below all of this and came up with a pistol. In his younger years, Thomas had been a war freak and, unless he was very much mistaken the gun in George's hand was a German Luger. He handed it to Thomas who, unflinchingly, placed it in the sack. Then followed boxes of what he presumed were shells. The boxes were different sizes and Thomas guessed they were for different weapons.
George then handed him a tough canvas bag that contained six or seven tennis-ball shaped objects that gave dull metallic clunks as they moved in the bag. 'Be careful with them,' he said. He finally handed him two large sheathed hunting knifes and stood straight; his back audibly popping as he did so. 'I think that's everything.'
'Where did you get all this stuff?' Thomas said.
George closed the lid on the case, 'This is just memorabilia I've collected over the years. A lot of it went missing after the war,' he gave him a cheeky wink at this.
'Do we need all of this?'
'I hope not, Thomas,' he said, 'I really do. You want to know what's going on?' Thomas was nodding. 'Ok, you're right. You deserve to know. Andrew and I followed a set of footprints from the back of the house up to the gates of the mansion. It looks like whoever tried to break in went into the old house.'
'And you think my mum’s been taken there?'
George gave a sharp nod, 'We believe so yes,' he said, flatly.
'But why? And who's taken her?' his eyes were wide now.
'Thomas, you know as much as we know. I can't see any reason why your mother should be in any danger, but even you must see things don't really add up.'
Meadowbank: A dark fantasy thriller (The Shael Chronicles Book 2) Page 4