The Third Breath

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  “Don’t work too late!” Cyril instructed before he smiled and waved.

  “Straight home, sir?”

  “I’ve an appointment with a Black Sheep, April, it’s been a long day. In fact, if the truth be known, it’s been a very long week. Fancy a beer?”

  She made a sad face. “Here until eleven, late start this morning. Have one for me.” This would be the second time that she would miss out on an after work drink.

  Within half an hour, Cyril was just turning across The Stray. The Coach and Horses, his destination, was visible in the distance when the wail of sirens burst over the noise of the traffic. A police car approached, blue strobe lights pulsing, a clear warning beacon to pedestrians and road users alike. Moses-like, it magically cleared a path and brought the stream of cars travelling along Otley Road to a standstill. Some mounted the pavement to allow the emergency vehicle a clear route through. It sped down to the roundabout before turning left onto West Park. As if on cue, Cyril’s phone rang.

  “Bennett.” He listened, his eyes following the police car, as it turned right onto Victoria Avenue. “Close it down. No one near until the Forensics Team arrives and I want any witnesses held. Call DC Richmond, tell her to meet me there. No, I don’t need a car…” He watched another blue light come into his peripheral vision; this time a paramedic… “I’m nearly there.”

  His pace had quickened since taking the call and he found himself nearly breaking into a run. Fortunately, the path across the grassland stretched from Beech Grove to Victoria Avenue keeping him well away from the roads. As he approached the scene, two police vehicles blocked either side of the avenue and an officer was rolling out blue and white tape preventing access to pedestrians and inquisitive onlookers.

  Cyril breathed heavily as beads of sweat formed across his forehead. He showed his ID to one of the PCSOs manning the tape.

  “Blue Volvo, sir, parked centrally. The traffic warden who reported it suggests there’s no damage to the car nor signs of a struggle or theft. He’s with the paramedic. I imagine he’s a bit shaken.”

  Cyril nodded his thanks as he moved under the tape and approached the paramedic’s vehicle. The traffic warden was sitting on a red blanket with his back against the side of the estate car, his head in his hands.

  “Hello. DCI Bennett.” He smiled, tilting his head to get a better view of the patient as the medic busied himself unfolding a foil blanket before wrapping it around the man’s shoulders. “Is he in any shape to answer some questions?”

  The medic nodded as he looked down at his patient. “He says he’s okay but to be on the safe side I’ll just keep an eye on him. Shock’s a funny thing. This is Mike. Keeps telling me he’s fine but I need him to sit there quietly until I’ve checked him out properly.”

  Bennett crouched in front of the man. “Mike, I’m DCI Bennett. Can you tell me what happened?”

  There was a pause as Mike focussed on Bennett before protesting that his name was Michael. He stated that he was fine and did not require all the fuss, after all he had seen plenty of bodies in Afghanistan so seeing this one dead and in one piece was no big deal.

  “Sorry, Michael. What regiment?” Cyril asked, a genuine tone of admiration in his voice as he tried to keep him sitting down.

  “Royal Green Jackets.”

  “So you’d have remained calm when spotting the body. Can you describe it?”

  “I told him.” He pointed to the officer standing by the far tape. “He was the first here, came from Craven Lodge just up the road, he told me he’s the beat manager for this area. Said his name but I can’t recall.”

  Craven Lodge was the town’s police office situated on the avenue. The two PCSOs manning the tape areas were from the same office. Cyril did not fail to see the irony of having a potential murder committed right under their noses.

  “So tell me, as I’m likely to be in charge of this and I’d much prefer to hear it first hand,” Cyril insisted. “May I?” Cyril pointed to the piece of pavement next to him.

  Michael said nothing but stretched out the blanket. Cyril sat down next to him and removed his e-cigarette. “Do you mind if I vape and listen?”

  “Make yourself at home.” He chuckled. “Vape away!”

  They both laughed. Cyril listened as Michael described the events again. He was reassured by the detailed response.

  “The car’s a regular, has a permit, as some of the businesses do along here. I see it most days. Met the owner a few times too, nice chap. Can’t recall his name either, did tell me once but he always seemed to remember mine. Looked fit and healthy too but I guess as we used to say, when your number’s up, it’s up!”

  “So you saw nobody else?” Vapour leaked from Cyril’s nostrils as he spoke.

  “Plenty of traffic and a few pedestrians but they were some distance away from the car, too far to really see anything. Once I saw the body I didn’t want a fuss so acted as we are trained to do in circumstances like this, not that there are too many here in Harrogate. Break-ins and vandalism, yes, latest spate is wing mirrors being torn off, bloody mindless. I called it in, and within minutes the officer from Craven Lodge arrived along with those two.” He pointed to the officers who were manning the tape at different positions.

  “Has anyone been to the Volvo since you left it?”

  “The bobby there, first chap on the scene, went over with the paramedic. The car’s open so he checked the guy to see if he had a pulse; he was clearly dead. Strangely, both doors were open, I don’t mean unlocked, they were ajar.”

  “And you were the first there?”

  “I thought I was, unless someone else has reported finding a body in a car.”

  “No. Thanks, Michael. Do we have your details? We’ll need your prints too.”

  “No problem,” he said holding up his hand and waggling his fingers. “And yes, my details were the first thing they asked for. Will I be able to get on with my job?”

  Cyril stood. “When the paramedic says so.”

  He moved away allowing the paramedic a few minutes with Michael who was soon on his feet. The avenue was quiet.

  8

  “What do we have, sir?” April Richmond approached Cyril with her usual enthusiasm.

  “Looks like another heart attack or stroke and of all places bang in the middle of the avenue right under our bloody noses, what with Craven Lodge being so close. Another blue car too. What are we, five minutes’ walk from the location of the other death?” Cyril paused and looked directly at the Volvo. “I sincerely hope that someone’s not leaving their signature at the scene in the form of a catalogue of coincidences, April. Tell me I’m just an ageing, suspicious copper who doesn’t believe in such things.”

  April looked at him and frowned. “Possibly less than five minutes to Tower Street. You’re connecting this with Stephens’s death because of the similarities?”

  “I’m saying nothing at the moment, only thinking out loud. There’s something else too that’s gnawing away at me. David Stephens kept his aircraft at Yeadon Airport. Did you know that the road running past the airport where his hangar’s situated is also called Victoria Avenue and here we are… ” He left the sentence unfinished and waited for April to end it.

  “Victoria Avenue!” She instinctively laughed more from surprise than humour. “You’re joking, sir, surely that’s a coincidence. There’s no connection?”

  “Do I appear to be trying to make you laugh, DC Richmond? A tip, I gave it to Owen when we started working together and I’ll share it with you. Always keep an open mind.”

  April’s facial expression quickly changed along with the immediate atmosphere. Although she was new to this team, she had never seen Cyril seem so immediately perturbed. Two CSI vehicles arrived and Cyril watched as they pulled to a stop in concert. It seemed that it was going to be a long evening.

  Within ten minutes, privacy screens had been erected protecting the vehicle from any observers who might be in the buildings on either side of the road
. The number of curious spectators had quickly swelled; the police tape that blocked the entry points to the avenue seemed to attract them. Cyril could see the local journalists congregating nearby also and already a television crew was positioning a reporter in order to get the best shot of the forensic activity. It was then that Cyril saw Owen.

  “What are you doing here?” Cyril asked, surprised by his attendance.

  “I was round at the Coach and Horses, thought you’d be popping in and then I heard the gossip. After ten minutes the whispers had grown out of all proportion and from all accounts a mass murder had taken place.” He chuckled. “It’s true. So I thought I’d see for myself. Knew where you’d be and now that I am here, what can I do?”

  “Get pictures of all those standing by the tape at every junction and then organise a house to house. I want people knocking on doors along here and there initially.” His pointing finger tracked along either side of the avenue from Station Parade, down towards the West Park. “And Owen, don’t forget the Justice Centre and the library. Find out when the library closed, who was last in and see if you can get a list of people who exchanged books there today… you never know. Does it have CCTV?”

  “Sir.”

  April approached, her hand over her mobile. “We have a name. A William Baines, thirty-eight years old, married with one child.” She returned the phone to her ear. “He was an independent Health and Safety advisor working for Firm Foundation Health and Safety, just down the avenue, number thirty-six.”

  “Do we have a home address?” Cyril kept an eye on the journalists who had congregated along two of the tapes.

  “Tadcaster, commutes. Forty minutes on a good day—” She did not get time to finish. It was as if she had trodden on Cyril’s toes.

  “I know where Tadcaster is. Who’s attending?” His words were short and sharp, his expression leaving April in no doubt that she needed to be more alert.

  “Next of kin have yet to be informed. Officers and Police Family Liaison on their way now, sir.”

  April was relieved to see Dr Julie Pritchett’s car pull up just behind the CSI vans. She was also reassured to see it brought a slight smile to Cyril’s face.

  “Thanks, April. Busy day.” He winked at her and she interpreted it as his way of apologising.

  Turning away, he walked down towards Dr Pritchett’s car.

  “Anything, Julie. If you can get anything at all, no matter how small that says it’s not natural causes, I’d be a happy man. I can’t live with two deaths within a week with so many similarities to be told they’re both coincidences. As far as I’m concerned right now, lightning doesn’t strike twice so close together and it certainly doesn’t strike twice on my watch without a fuss!”

  Hannah Peters, Julie’s assistant, came round the rear of the estate car and pulled on a protective suit. She smiled, lifting her hand as if to wave.

  Julie simply looked at Cyril without saying a word, a look he had seen before. She could see what frame of mind he was in and simply took her leave walking quickly towards Hannah before calling back.

  “Patience, DCI Bennett, patience. We can only find what’s there.”

  Julie’s inspection seemed to take an age. Cyril could have done with a pint but he also needed to wait, even though the potential crime scene was out of his hands. Something was gnawing at his insides. All he wanted was for Julie Pritchett to emerge from behind the screen like a modern-day Neville Chamberlain climbing down the aircraft steps brandishing a piece of paper, holding aloft some kind of incriminating evidence that shouted foul play. Cyril waited. He checked his watch, shook his wrist and looked again.

  After twenty more minutes, his patience was rewarded when Julie emerged from behind the screen. She walked directly towards him, dropped her case and removed the face mask allowing it to dangle at her throat.

  “He’s definitely dead but then you knew that, probably all of Harrogate knows that by now too. What they don’t know is that there appears to be no external trauma, no struggle nor fight, no damage to the car and as you know, his belongings appear to be intact, including his wallet. Sorry, not what you wanted to hear, I know. When I get him back on the table, you can be assured that I’ll be very thorough, Cyril, very thorough indeed. I share your concern.”

  Even with her reassurance and words of support he could not hide his disappointment. “Thanks, I know that. Please phone me when you get home.” Her smile said everything.

  9

  The national as well as the local Harrogate papers’ front-page pictures and the coverage of the two deaths left Cyril in no doubt that the reporting was creative, far from accurate and certainly not at all helpful. The press release he had issued might have been at fault. Even after years in the job it was sometimes difficult to hide one’s inner feelings. He made a note to get Communications to review what had gone out on the North Yorkshire Police social media sites. He needed to find someone who saw or heard something. Maybe someone had opened both car doors, maybe taken something — an opportunist. It had certainly happened before.

  Cyril had organised to meet in an incident room after the general daily briefing. DC Smirthwaite, DC Nixon and Owen were already waiting. Cyril simply followed the splashes of tea that spread across the corridor from the kitchen to the incident room to know Owen was already present.

  “Gentlemen, you’ve already read the newspapers and if, like me, you feel there is more to these cases than meets the eye, I’d like to get at least one step ahead to justify the time and money we’re committing. There’s likely to be an inquest as Baines, according to his latest medical report, showed no evidence of heart trouble or any other ailments that could bring about sudden death. There will be a quick collection of the evidence found to date which, quite frankly, is like the well-known stately home… Bugger all. However, the post-mortem is timetabled for this afternoon, Owen has kindly volunteered.”

  Cyril looked across at his colleague and smiled, watching Owen nearly blow the mouthful of tea he had just sipped onto the table. Owen managed to cough and swallow at the same time sparing those opposite. He looked up at Cyril and returned the sardonic smile.

  “Did I not mention it last night? Sorry. Thank you, Owen.”

  A ripple of laughter followed as a hand slapped Owen’s back.

  “We know you enjoy attending them. Caner has informed us on many an occasion, Right man for the job, constitution of an ox has the lad. So as we say, if the cap fits…”

  Caner’s compliment made Owen sit up and feel a little better about the request.

  It had become common knowledge that he had the stomach and seemed always willing to attend an autopsy. Importantly for Owen, it was good to know that he was better at one thing than his boss.

  “The latest victim is William Baines, works as a private Health and Safety Officer, in partnership with a Colin Strong. According to Strong, before they established the firm together, Baines worked independently from home specialising in health and safety training within the renewable energy field and the brewing industry. You might expect that with his home being in Tadcaster, what with its three breweries. Before this he specialised for a number of years as a Health and Safety Manager working on the construction of offshore wind farms. He gave that up when he married, wanting to spend more time at home. I’ve made notes on the board showing what I perceive to be the coincidences between the two deaths. We have car colour, similar death circumstances and now a tenuous link to the licensed trade. All common sense really and that’s a big worry. What have we found from the house to house?”

  “Nothing apart from Strong’s statement. Nobody saw anything untoward. I’ve spoken to the librarian and we’re checking names of the borrowers from yesterday. There are cameras too and they’ve sent the recordings to our tech people.”

  Smirthwaite was the next to contribute. “I’ve run the photographs of those standing along the barrier tape through facial recognition but nothing.”

  “What about the car?” Cyril
looked at Nixon.

  “With Forensics. Just checking for updates. They’ve retrieved a number of loose items. There’s a couple you might be interested in.” Nixon flicked the switch and the large blue wall screen containing the image of the North Yorkshire Police crest faded away to be replaced by a photograph.

  “Firstly we have a potato.”

  Everyone leaned forward together and a couple chuckled. Before them was a photograph of a very clean new potato. It looked for all intents and purposes like a small egg.

  “Where was that found?” Cyril enquired, turning to look at Nixon.

  “Under the driver’s seat. They’re checking for trace evidence. Secondly we have this. It’s a beer mat, also found under the driver’s seat.”

  The mat looked new and depicted one of those yellow smiley-type faces comprising a circle, two dots and an open mouth. There was no advertising on either surface.

  “Other things found on the floor of the car are…” He flicked through the images. “… An empty energy drink can, two pencils, two paid receipts for parking and a child’s hair slide. All the items retrieved so far have Baines’s fingerprints and DNA along with those of people yet to be identified but we are at the moment assuming they’re family members. We’re holding off on DNA checks until we have firm evidence of the cause of death. Costs I’m told.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “The beer mat?”

  “Yes, sir. Just as the cocktail glass contained David Stephens’s prints, the mat has one clear print. It’s invisible to the naked eye but they’ve given us a positive result. It’s definitely belonging to Baines.”