An Unnecessary Murder

by P. F. Ford

I was a bit taken aback by that, to be honest. I mean, was it supposed to be an insult, or what? If it wasn’t an insult, it was the best back-handed compliment I had ever heard. I mean, I know I’m no James Bond, and I’ve never regarded myself as a sex symbol, but ‘not sexy man’? She was right, of course, but to come out and say it. Go on, love, put that boot in good and hard, why don’t you?

  I genuinely couldn’t think of anything to say, but my expression must have said a lot because for the first time, Jelena’s expression softened.

  ‘Ah!’ she said. ‘No right. No mean “not sexy”. You know my English not good sometime.’

  She concentrated furiously to find the right words. ‘Remember when I here, I think you want have sex, yes?’ she began.

  ‘Yes,’ I said warily. ‘But you were wrong. I was just offering you my spare bed in my spare room.’

  ‘Is right. You not sexy man, you nice man.’

  She looked pleased enough with her explanation, but my ego had been hoping for something much better than that.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but I think you’ve not quite grasped the concept of “sexy”.’

  Now it was Jelena’s turn to look puzzled. I considered trying to explain, but then, realising that it may take far more patience than I actually had at that moment, I decided my ego would just have to make do for now.

  ‘What you mean,’ I said carefully, ‘is that Sophia had a nice time because I didn’t make her feel as though I was expecting her to have sex with me. Is that right?’

  ‘Is right,’ she agreed, happily. ‘You not sexy man. With you, Aunt Sophia relax. Have nice time. When I with you, I relax. Not sexy. Is good.’

  My ego was still screaming for an upgrade, but it looked as though ‘Not sexy. Is good’ was the best I was going to get.

  ‘So Sophia is scared,’ I said, just to make sure I understood what she was saying.

  ‘Yes. Is not good, but that how is. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, I do understand,’ I said, embarrassed.

  I was thinking to myself that I understood only too well what Jelena was saying. Much as I would like to have a girlfriend, I was also terrified of the idea. Should I try to explain that to Jelena? Would she understand?

  ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘I understand much more than you realise. I’m scared too.’

  She gave a theatrical roll of her eyes. ‘What to be scared? Aunt Sophia not force you have sex.’

  Now there was an image to play havoc with my imagination. I could see myself being distracted for the rest of the day with that idea charging around in my head.

  I was beginning to wish I had kept my fear to myself, but at the same time, I couldn’t let Jelena leave my flat thinking I was scared of Sophia forcing me to have sex. Good grief she might even go and tell Sophia.

  ‘No, I don’t mean that.’ And then the words just came pouring out of me. ‘I mean I’m scared of getting involved with someone. I’m scared that I might be a disappointment - as a person, as a lover, as anything.’

  Jelena’s mouth hung open.

  ‘Ever since my marriage broke up and I left my wife, I’ve had all these doubts-’

  ‘Ha!’ she said. ‘You mean poison witch I meet in hospital?’

  I’d forgotten Jelena had had the misfortune to meet Gloria, my ex-wife.

  ‘You do good thing leave her. She big mistake.’

  She shook her head at the idea of me making such a mistake, then she gave me a reassuring smile before adding, ‘No need doubt. Trust me.’

  If only life was so simple.

  ‘But you said it yourself,’ I said. ‘Sophia is a beautiful woman.’ I spread my arms. ‘And look at me. Let’s be honest, I’m not much of a catch, am I? And I’m so scared that I say the wrong things, and I do the wrong things. I’m no use to anyone. I’d be a disappointment.’

  ‘She hear that talk, you not get chance disappoint.’

  She looked at me like I was a three-year-old.

  ‘I spell out, make simple for you. You like Aunt Sophia, Aunt Sophia like you. Is no problem, yes?’

  I must have looked doubtful.

  ‘Trust me, she like you. My opinion she need you, get back trust. And now, think maybe you need her too.’

  I felt more than a little stupid. Being lectured by someone young enough to be my daughter was bad enough, but now she had spelt it out for me I could see what she meant. Of course, whether I had the courage to do anything about it was another matter.

  Jelena decided she had said her piece, now it was time to go.

  ‘What you want say when old?’ She didn’t wait for me to reply. ‘You want say ‘I wish I had’? Or you want say ‘I happy I did’?’

  I opened the door and stood aside to let her out. As she passed me, she stopped to offer another pearl of wisdom.

  ‘Remember, when I need help, you forget fear, be hero for me. Now Aunt Sophia need hero. Is fear stop you? I hope not. Trust me, is right.’

  She stood on her toes and kissed me gently on the cheek, closing the door softly as she left.

  Chapter Four

  I hadn’t been in The Cask for weeks. I used to be a regular, but the landlord Dave Burnham, who had once been a good friend, had become very distant. It was as though I’d done something to offend him and he was holding some sort of grudge against me. The Dave I knew as my mate would have been quick to tell me if I was out of line, but now when I tried to broach the subject, he just made an excuse and avoided me.

  Consequently, my visits had become much less frequent, and so when I’d been invited to come down this evening, I’d been in two minds. I had come anyway as I didn’t want to let Jelena down. I wasn’t even sure why I was here. Her text message had just said to be here because she had someone she wanted me to meet.

  As I pushed through the door into the back bar, I wondered if I was going to get another cold reception from Dave. I was almost pleased to see he wasn’t behind the bar. Then I felt guilty that I was feeling pleased. How had our friendship come to this, and why wouldn’t he tell me what I was supposed to have done? Maybe I would see him later and get the chance to ask.

  The only other people in this quiet back bar were a couple canoodling cosily on a small two-seater settee in the furthest corner of the room. They were lost in each other and didn’t notice my arrival. I hung my coat up, paid for my pint, and settled to wait on another two-seater close to the blazing log fire. I tend to find fire-gazing quite therapeutic so I was quite happy to sit, pint in hand, watching the flames while I waited.

  The noise from the front bar is so loud at the weekends you can hardly hear yourself think. Even here in the back bar you can usually hear how noisy it is, but today was Wednesday so the noise level out front was quite low. All I could hear now was a low background hubbub. It was still early, not quite eight o’clock, but this background murmur, combined with the cosy warmth of the fire, was quite soporific, and I soon began to doze off. As I did, I slouched lower and lower in my seat…

  The light tap on my shoulder made me jump just enough for my backside to slip off the edge of the seat and I only just managed to stop myself sliding down into a crumpled heap on the floor. There was a good half pint in my glass, which could easily have ended up in my lap, but by means of some quite spectacular juggling I managed to save the situation.

  ‘Can I join you?’ asked a familiar voice.

  Only now did I look up to see who had tapped my shoulder, but I already knew who it was. That velvety dark-chocolate voice told me it was Sophia. She looked lovely as always, in blue jeans, huge fur boots, an expensive-looking sweater, and a scarf tied loosely around her neck. She gave me the benefit of one of her beautiful smiles, her nose glowing slightly red from the cold outside.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, shuffling across to make room for her.

  She sat next to me, and there was a brief, awkward silence. I wondered if she, too, had been given the Jelena lecture, but I wasn’t sure it would be right to ask.

  The sile
nce was broken by a squawk from my mobile announcing the arrival of a text message. I winced at the sound. How was that for bad timing? I should have turned the damned thing off but I had forgotten.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, embarrassed. ‘I meant to turn it off.’

  ‘It’s ok,’ she said. ‘Answer it.’

  ‘It’s just a text. It’ll keep.’

  As if on cue, Sophia’s phone beeped. Now it was her turn to look embarrassed. Then we both laughed.

  ‘Just in case it’s important,’ I said, ‘how about you get yours, I’ll get mine, and then we’ll both switch them off?’

  ‘Okay,’ she agreed. ‘Jelena’s not here yet anyway.’

  I fumbled my phone from my pocket and read the message while she did the same.

  ‘It’s from Jelena,’ I said, looking at her.

  ‘Yes, so’s mine.’

  ‘It says “now meet, now talk”,’ I said, reading the message.

  ‘Yes, so does mine.’

  ‘She has a way with words, doesn’t she?’ I said, switching off my phone and placing it on the table to the side of me, well out of the way.

  ‘She gave you a lecture?’ she asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘Me too!’ she said.

  ‘She told me some things about you that I didn’t know,’ I said. ‘I made some assumptions, and I was wrong to do that. I’m sorry.’

  Sophia smiled sadly. ‘No. Don’t be sorry. Maybe if I had been a little more honest with you…’

  We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, both staring into the fire, until finally I said, ‘Jelena’s right, you know.’

  She turned to face me.

  ‘In her abbreviated English, she sums it up very neatly. ‘Now meet, now talk’ says it all really. So how about it, Ms Ingliss?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Bowman.’ She smiled. ‘I think it’s an excellent idea. I would love to sit and talk to you again, but this time I think we need to talk about the things we didn’t mention before, don’t you?’

  Normally, it was barely a five-minute walk back to our flats, but it’s surprising how slowly two people can walk when they’re enjoying themselves and in no hurry for the night to end. Sophia was a perfect fit under my arm, which was draped around her shoulders, and she made sure she kept as close as possible by wrapping an arm around my waist and holding tight.

  We had spent time together before, of course, but before we had both managed to talk about ourselves without ever mentioning how we really felt about what had happened to us. Now that we each had more of an understanding of our individual problems and hang-ups, we had to agree that perhaps Jelena was correct.

  While neither of us was openly prepared to admit that we might actually need each other, we did agree that maybe we could help each other move forward. On that basis, we agreed our relationship was simple friendship. We would spend some time together but as friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

  During the evening, Sophia had told me that Jelena’s surname was Samartesr. On the way home, I had realised it was an anagram for ‘smartarse’ so you could guess what I was going to be calling her in future. Jelena Smartarse it was.

  We thought it might be a good idea to make sure Jelena didn’t get too big for her boots, so we had decided I would walk Sophia home tonight but I wouldn’t go in for coffee. We would keep Miss Smartarse guessing. For the time being, anyway.

  Chapter Five

  Detective Sergeant Dave Slater gripped the phone tightly and groaned.

  ‘A disturbance?’ he repeated. ‘Isn’t that a job for uniforms?’

  ‘Yes,’ came the weary reply. ‘Normally it would be, but you’re all I’ve got spare right now.’

  ‘Oh come on, Rob,’ Slater appealed to the harassed voice. ‘I’ve just collected my dinner from the takeaway.’

  ‘Well you’re bloody lucky you have time to visit the takeaway,’ snapped the voice. ‘We’re supposed to be one big happy team, remember? Now get your arse in gear and be a member of the team. Go do your bloody job.’

  Grumpy sod, thought Slater. Where does his attitude fit into the ‘one big happy team’ thing? Just because his wife had cleared off. There’s no need to take it out on everyone else.

  In his mid-thirties, Slater was a good, if somewhat pissed off, police officer. He was pissed off was because someone, somewhere in the corridors of power had decided he should have two arseholes. He had been quite happy with the usual one, which he had been born with like the rest of us, but then a decision had been taken to lumber him with another one. The second arsehole even came with a name. It was Detective Inspector ‘Nasty’ Nash, Dave Slater’s boss.

  Nash had been more or less the total arsehole package from day one, but the size of his arseholeness – Slater thought this was an excellent new word he’d invented to describe his boss – had been magnified in the wake of recent events. Alfie Bowman had furnished him with the evidence to prove that, thirty years ago, Nash’s father Tommy (a retired detective inspector) had covered up one murder and committed another.

  Nash had been suspended for a few weeks, suspected of corruption, but nothing had been proven. Now he was back, he was making sure he lived up to his nickname. ‘Nasty’ Nash had returned to duty filled with even more venom than before. He was a man on a mission and he had two goals in mind. The first was to make Dave Slater’s life difficult whenever he got the chance. The second was to satisfy his burning need for revenge by nailing Alfie Bowman as soon as an opportunity arose.

  Slater got in his car, swearing and grumbling as he drove up to the roundabout, and drove all the way around it. He then swore and grumbled his way back in the opposite direction towards the scene of the reported disturbance. If his dinner was going to get cold just because of another stupid domestic, he was going to be well fed up.

  But, he reflected, every cloud does have a silver lining. At least being on duty at night meant he got some much-needed relief from Nash. The detective inspector considered night duty beneath his dignity. Tonight, Slater would be accompanied by just the one arsehole, and that was the one he took everywhere with him.

  He crept slowly along the road, squinting at the house numbers in the dark. None of the street lights seemed to be working. It would have made sense to get out and identify at least one number to start with, but it was cold out there and he wasn’t going to leave the warmth of his car until he really had to. But where the hell was number forty-one?

  The road curved around to the right. Up ahead, a figure which had been pacing up and down began frantically waving to him as he approached. He’d found number forty-one. He pulled the handbrake on, switched off his engine, and opened the door. A blast of cold air rushed inside.

  ‘You the police?’ asked the figure, which seemed to be doing its best to remain unrecognised but appeared to be a young woman in a hoodie.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Slater,’ he said, climbing from the car. ‘Did you report the disturbance?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘In there.’ She pointed at the house, which was in darkness.

  ‘Looks quiet to me,’ said Slater, hoping it was going to be a false alarm and that it would only be a minute or two before he could get started on his dinner.

  ‘There was a lot of screaming and shouting earlier and I saw this bloke run away. I just looked through the window and I think there’s a body lying on the kitchen floor.’ She pointed again. ‘That window on the end.’

  ‘You sure they didn’t just have a row and now they’ve gone to bed to make up?’ asked Slater hopefully.

  ‘Nah. The bloke done a runner, and there’s a body. I saw it lying on the floor.’

  ‘Alright, alright. Let’s find a torch and I’ll take look.’

  He rummaged around in the boot of his car and emerged with a torch. He was pleasantly surprised to find it worked. He made his way down the path to the house, stepping onto the wet grass to reach the kitchen window. He aimed his torch and peered inside. It all looked neat and tidy enough.

&nbs
p; Optimistically, he thought to himself that the couple who lived here had probably had a row and were now upstairs, apologising in the time-honoured fashion of so many couples, by giving each other a good seeing-to. He was sure some couples had rows on purpose because the shagging was better after a good argument…

  But hang on a second. What was that? Standing on tiptoes, holding the torch at arm’s reach and pointing it down into the kitchen at a really sharp angle, he could just make out a pair of feet. From their position, he could see that the body they belonged to must be lying face down.

  So they weren’t upstairs shagging then. Bugger! So much for dinner! Then his years of training kicked in and all thoughts of dinner were gone.

  He rang the doorbell and hammered on the door, but there was obviously no one inside. Or at least, no one alive enough to answer the door. How was he going to get in? There was an upturned flower pot close to the door. It was always worth a try.

  Not for the first time, he wondered at the stupidity of people, leaving a spare key in such an obvious place, but in this case, he was grateful too. At least he could get in without having to break any doors down.

  He charged through the door, switching lights on as he went. Tearing into the kitchen, he knelt by the prone figure and felt for a pulse. Nothing. And now he knew there was no need to rush. She wasn’t exactly stone cold, but he knew well enough that she must have been dead for a while. Her head was at a funny angle, too. He was no doctor, but he would have put money on her neck having been broken.

  Automatically, he reached for his mobile phone and started organising the processes that would launch what seemed to him, at this stage, to be a probable murder enquiry.

  Chapter Six

  By seven-thirty next morning, Dave Slater had been on duty for almost twelve hours and he was dog tired. He’d had hardly any sleep yesterday and he was more or less running on empty already, but he knew Nash wasn’t going to be sending him home to catch up on his sleep anytime soon.