by Robert Innes
It was then Blake realised, as he stared out of the window screen, that Harrison and Tom were walking down the road towards him. Blake glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was close to midnight and judging by the way that Harrison was wobbling slightly, the two of them had obviously spent the night in The Dog’s Tail. As much as Blake knew he could hardly be angry with Harrison for having a social life, something he had been wanting for some time, he was in disbelief that he could possibly be drunk again.
Blake threw the cigarette packet back into the glove compartment and got out of the car.
Harrison immediately spotted him. “Blake? Are you alright?”
Blake narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. “I could ask you the same question.”
Tom held his hand out for Blake to shake but retracted it when Blake did not offer him any more than a disdainful look in return. “We were celebrating. I got that job! They rang me this evening to say that I’d been the best applicant they’d had all day. I mean, in fairness it was a transfer from my old position at university, but they’re sort of fussy about who they take on.”
“Well done,” Blake said, without feeling.
“Have you been smoking?” Harrison said, narrowing his eyes at Blake.
“Yes. I need to speak to you both about the car crash. I need to know exactly what you saw.”
Harrison groaned. “What, right now? Nothing’s changed, Blake. I’ve gone over it in detail so many times.”
“Actually, Harrison,” Blake replied sharply. “Everything’s changed. Angela Coopland is dead.” He raised his eyebrows as Harrison and Tom exchanged shocked looks. “Oh, hadn’t heard the latest titbit then?”
“Dead?” exclaimed Tom. “How?”
Blake sighed. “Murdered. Apart from that, I have absolutely no idea. Look, Tom, I will be ‘round to see you in the morning if that’s alright.”
“Sure thing,” Tom said, scratching the back of his head. The motion tightened his t-shirt against his visible abs and Blake was sure he saw Harrison glancing down his body. “I’ll see you then. Harrison, thanks for celebrating with me today. Have a good night.”
“You too,” Harrison said, smiling as they watched Tom disappear into Jacqueline’s house. Once the door had closed behind him, Blake shook his head.
“Hasn’t he got any other mates around this village?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Blake,” Harrison grumbled as he pulled his keys out of his pocket.
Blake followed him into the house, still feeling irritated.
“So, go on,” Harrison said, as he threw his keys onto the table. “What’s happened? I mean I’m guessing there’s more.”
Blake slammed the door behind him. “She was in the coffin. You know the coffin we saw being put into the ground, when we were stood feet away from her?”
Harrison scowled at him. “That’s ridiculous, Blake. How could she have been in the coffin when we were standing right next to her?”
“Well, obviously somebody put her in it after she left the station, through a coffin that was apparently nailed shut. She was hit on the back of the head.”
“When?” Harrison asked, looking clueless. “When could that possibly have happened?”
“I have no idea,” Blake replied, sitting on the sofa and rubbing his eyes. “I just have no idea.”
There was a few moments silence.
“Now I know something’s wrong with you,” Harrison said gently as he came over and sat down beside him. “You’ve got a case here that doesn’t seem possible. One that would completely turn the brains of any normal officer inside out. And yet you’re looking like you don’t know how to do your job anymore.”
Blake glanced up at him. Everything Harrison had said was true – Blake normally thrived in situations like this.
Harrison took a grip of Blake’s hand. “Come on. Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
Blake closed his eyes in dread. “You’re going to hate me.”
“Why?” Harrison said, giving him a small smile. “What have you done?”
“Nothing,” replied Blake quietly. “That’s the problem.”
Harrison frowned. “Blake, what are you talking about?”
Blake looked at him, his eyes full of sorrow. “The day of the car crash, I got a phone call…”
Before Blake could go on any further, there was a loud knock at the door.
“Who the hell is that?” Harrison exclaimed.
As he stood up to walk to the door, Blake grabbed his arm. “Wait, ignore it. I need to you to hear this.”
“I’ll get rid of them,” Harrison said as another loud round of knocking hit the door. As soon as Harrison opened it, Mattison rushed inside.
“Harrison, I’m sorry if I woke you – where’s DS Harte?”
“I’m here, Matti,” Blake said. “What’s wrong?”
Mattison appeared flushed and out of breath. “Sir, there’s been a potential sighting of Patrick Coopland.”
Blake’s heart felt like it had skipped a beat. “Where?”
“By the undertakers. We had a call about five minutes ago from a neighbour, claiming to have seen someone creeping around. I figured you’d probably want to know.”
Blake glanced at Harrison. He knew he had to go and investigate the sighting, whether Harrison approved or not, but the timing could not have been worse. To his relief, Harrison smiled encouragingly.
“Go on,” he told him. “I’ll be here when you get back. I’m not going anywhere.”
Blake sincerely hoped he wasn’t. He picked up his coat from where he had thrown it on the chair. “Okay, Matti. Let’s go catch us a zombie.”
As he started to walk out the door, he heard Harrison chuckle.
“There’s the Blake I know and love.”
Blake stopped then turned around, put his hands on the side of Harrison’s head and kissed him as passionately as his modesty would allow with Mattison present. “I love you, okay? Don’t forget that. Ever.”
Harrison looked flattered but confused as Blake released him and followed Mattison out the door.
By now, everything around Harmschapel was silent. A full moon shone brightly in the sky, the only illumination since the council had ordered the extinguishing of street lamps past a certain time.
“What exactly did this witness say?” Blake whispered to Mattison as they arrived at the undertakers. He stared at the building. The place seemed deserted from the front.
“Just that there was someone creeping around the place,” Mattison replied.
“But they didn’t actually say it was Coopland?”
“Not exactly, Sir,” Patil said from behind Mattison. “But if he is alive, who else would want to be creeping around?”
“That’s not a witness seeing him, that’s pure speculation,” Blake hissed as they made their way around the building to the back entrance. “He’s probably not even…”
A clatter from an upstairs room cut Blake off. For a moment they all stared at the open window where the noise had come from. It was still dark, but there seemed to be a slight light coming from it, as if it was from somebody’s phone.
“Should I call for back up, Sir?” Mattison whispered, looking unnerved.
Blake considered for a moment, then shook his head. “It could be anybody. I’ve got all the back up I need right here.”
His attempt to compliment them had a mixed effect. Patil smiled proudly, but Mattison looked more uncomfortable than ever.
As they arrived at the back entrance, Blake was not in the slightest bit surprised to see it open. He knelt down and examined the lock.
“It’s not been forced, it was either already unlocked or somebody had a key.”
“Patrick Coopland would have had a key,” Patil murmured, glancing again at the window with the small light still emitting from it.
“Right,” Blake said. He held up the torch he had been carrying and indicated that they should follow him. “Keep your wits about you. Be ready.”
> “Ready for what?” Mattison asked, his eyes wide.
Blake shrugged. “Anything.”
The door creaked slightly as they entered the undertakers. At present, the only sound they could hear was the ticking of a grandfather clock, which was situated in the corner of the waiting room. Blake gestured towards the door, which led out into the corridor, holding his torch up as he gently opened it.
As they stepped into the corridor, Patil tapped Blake on the shoulder.
“Sir, that door is open.”
She pointed to a room at the other end of the corridor. Inside, a flickering, eerie white light was visible. Blake led them along the corridor and with his back to the wall gently pushed it open and peered inside.
“Oh, good God,” Matterson whispered. “It’s the morgue.”
“I can see that,” Blake replied. “And it looks like someone was in here.”
The morgue, unlike the rest of the building, was stark and clinical looking, reminding Blake of the type of room post-mortems were performed in. A large silver table was in the centre, with all sorts of ominous looking equipment on the walls.
Blake looked up at the other side of the room. Rows of smaller silver doors were lined up, all closed, except one that was empty.
“How many bodies do you think are in here?” Mattison asked nervously, his eyes darting around as if he was expecting something to jump out at them at any moment.
“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Blake said quietly. “This one isn’t occupied.”
The flickering light was from a bulb above the silver table. As Blake approached the open door on the wall, the light illuminated a white label above it: ‘Patrick Coopland.’
“This is where Coopland was kept,” Blake muttered.
“Kept? What you mean kept?” Mattison hissed.
“What you think he means?” Patil asked him, gently whacking him on the arm. “It’s a funeral home. They’ve got to keep the bodies somewhere.”
“So, where the hell is this one?” Blake wondered.
Then, a clatter from the room above them echoed around the morgue. Mattison stared at the ceiling, horrified. “Up there, possibly?”
Blake weighed up their options. “As much as I’d like to say that there’s no way the body that was meant to be in there is currently roaming around upstairs, I actually can’t be sure of that. Okay, we’re going to go up. Keep your wits about you.”
Patil nodded and Mattison groaned. If the situation had been less serious, Blake would probably have been amused by Mattison’s apparent phobia of the dead, but now was not the time for humour.
They crept down the corridor and to the bottom of the stairs. Taking each step gently, and silently cursing every creak made by any of them, Blake led them to the top and looked around to see where the noise was coming from.
The door to the room where they had found Coopland strangling Angela was ajar and the light was still flickering. Blake pointed to it and together they made their way down the corridor.
The sound of rustling paper could be heard as they approached. At last, they reached the door and Blake peered inside. In the darkness, they could make out the silhouette of somebody rummaging through a filing cabinet.
Blake turned to his two officers and mouthed ‘one, two, three,’ before pushing the door open and turning on the light.
The figure jumped nearly a foot in the air and turned around to face them, the black hood he had been wearing falling down. It was David Penn.
“David,” said Blake, feeling his heart slowly starting to return to its normal rhythm. “Can I ask what you’re doing here at this time of night?”
“Detective,” David replied, clutching his chest. “You gave me quite a fright. I didn’t hear you come in the house.”
“Then we’re clearly doing our jobs right,” Blake replied. “So, why are you here?”
“I might ask you the same question!”
“We asked first!” Mattison said sharply behind Blake. Blake raised an eyebrow at him. Clearly he was feeling slightly braver now he was not going to have to deal with a man who was supposed to be dead.
“I’m looking for evidence,” David replied with a sigh.
“Evidence of what?”
“About Mr Coopland.” David produced a piece of paper from the file and studied it. “I have been working here for a number of years, Detective, and it has not escaped my notice that there is something very odd about the set up.”
“Like what?” Blake asked, his eyes narrowed.
“I’m not exactly sure,” David said, looking annoyed. “But I think I can find you proof that Patrick Coopland did not die in that car crash. I had been working on that body in the days running up to the funeral. And when I went to check it downstairs, it wasn’t in its compartment.”
“Yeah, we noticed,” said Mattison.
“And we all saw Patrick in this very room attacking Angela. I assume she’s still at the station?”
Blake glanced at the other two officers. “No, David. I’m afraid she isn’t.”
“She isn’t? Well, then where is she?”
“David, I’m sorry to have to break it to you like this, but we found Angela’s body a few hours ago.”
David dropped the paperwork he was holding, his mouth falling open.
“I’m very sorry,” Blake said.
“Her body?” whispered David. “No. That can’t be possible. How? How did she die? I need to see her. Where is she?”
Blake decided to spare him the grisly details for now. After all, he still had no idea himself how any of it had occurred. “You won’t be able to see her just yet, David. We’re still looking into it.”
David stumbled to a chair in the corner of the room and lowered himself into it. He appeared to be shaking, showing more emotion than Blake had initially given him credit to be able to do.
“My Angela,” David murmured, tears visible in his eyes. “I can’t believe this.”
Blake frowned as he stepped further into the room. “Your Angela?”
David wiped his eyes. “We were lovers. We had been for some time. I always hoped she would gather enough courage to leave Patrick, but it never came to pass. After that car crash, I thought we could finally be together properly. Maybe we could run this place together, or just leave Harmschapel entirely.”
Blake felt a huge pang of sympathy for the wretched-looking man in front of him. It felt like an age ago that he had considered David a suspect. The logical side of his mind told him that he was still exactly that, but he was almost positive that David’s shocked and devastated reaction to the news was genuine. “She still loved him though? That’s why you were never able to make a proper go of things?”
David shook his head. “It was the way that bastard played with her head. One minute, he would be the sort of husband that even I was jealous to watch. Kind, considerate, gentle. Then, the next he could be a monster. I’m not saying he ever laid a finger on her, not from what I saw, though after what we witnessed in here, I’m not sure of anything anymore. I said to her once, she was in love with Jekyll but terrified of Hyde. I think that stuck with her.”
“She did say something similar to me,” Blake said quietly. “Look, David, I know this has all come as a huge shock to you, but we’re going to need you to come down to the station. Not right now, but tomorrow. How ever Patrick Coopland has survived, he’s clearly dangerous, and we’re going to need all the information we can get to find him.”
David nodded. “Of course. I’ll be over first thing. I’ll tidy up in here before I go home. Angela was always very insistent on a tidy house.” He looked around the room, his snobbish exterior almost completely diminished. “She’d hate the place to be a mess.” He leant down and picked up a photo album that had fallen onto the floor, placing it down on a side table delicately.
Blake turned to Mattison and Patil and gestured them out of the room. He gave David one last look of sympathy and then closed the door behind him. Almost immediately
, he could hear sobbing from inside the room.
When Blake finally returned home, he had every intention of speaking to Harrison, but as he unlocked the door to Juniper Cottage, he quickly realised that Harrison had gone to bed.
As Blake crept into the bedroom, he smiled as he took in his boyfriend, curled up in bed. He always thought Harrison looked adorable when asleep.
With one of the most stressful and confusing days of his life finally at an end, Blake undressed and climbed in beside Harrison, and without a moment’s hesitation, put his arm around him. The past week had felt like a long one, and this level of intimacy between them had begun to feel all too unfamiliar.
8
“I’d like to get this meeting started as soon as I can, please, everybody,” Blake said as the officers all settled down in front of him. “Thank you all for coming.” He glanced across at Mattison who looked bleary-eyed and exhausted. “Are you with us, Matti?”
Mattison yawned deeply. “Yes, Sir, sorry.”
Patil shook her head at him. “He didn’t have the best night’s sleep last night, Sir.” She patted Mattison on the head as if he was a puppy. “All that dead person stuff he had to deal with, I think he might have had a nightmare.”
“No, I didn’t!” Mattison snapped crossly, shaking her hand off. “I just had a bad night’s sleep, that’s all.”
“Can we get on?” drawled Gardiner, from his usual spot at the back of the room. “I didn’t come in this early just to hear about Mattison’s sleep pattern.”
“Yes, alright. Thank you, Michael,” Blake replied. He picked up the file report and pulled out the forensic photographs. “Okay, listen up. I think we better go over everything we know so far, because I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that this one is a bit of a mind bender.” He pinned up the picture of the Coopland’s car wreckage. “Okay. Patrick Coopland. Just over a week ago, he was apparently killed in a car crash that took place in Harmschapel. Witness reports comply with forensics in saying that the car went out of control, flipped over and subsequently set on fire. The resulting fire then resulted in an explosion, though it’s difficult to tell whether it was the car crash or the explosion that killed him.”