by Adam Croft
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you take some time off? We’ll call it sick leave, yeah? Just take a couple of days to get your head straight. Pop down and see your mum if you want.’
‘But the new case...’
‘Forget it. We’ll sort it. Besides which, you’re not much use to me sitting here blubbering away.’
Debbie allowed a slight laugh to break through the tears, recognising that Culverhouse was at least attempting to be sympathetic.
‘I’ll need you to get through today if you can. It’s still early days on the case and we don’t want anyone getting wind of you leaving after you’ve only been here an hour. Tomorrow morning I’ll say you rang in with the shits or something.’
Debbie chuckled again. ‘Thanks, guv. I won’t let you down.’
7
‘Told you this was pointless,’ Frank Vine announced to no-one in particular as he huffed and puffed and sat back in his chair. ‘Bloody Land Registry’s website is down for maintenance and there’s no-one on the phones until eight o’clock.’
Frank had been threatening retirement for a few years now, but had never actually gone through with it. He’d recently started making more noises about it to Culverhouse but the DCI knew that Frank was a creature of habit, and that retiring and moving away was probably just a pipe dream for him. Besides which, the amount of work he actually contributed was more or less akin to him not being there anyway.
‘Nothing on the PNC?’ DS Steve Wing asked. If the address had been linked with any investigations or reports of crimes in the past, the Police National Computer would have records linked to it, which would undoubtedly give some background information on the homeowner’s name and particulars.
‘Nope. We’re gonna have to sit and wait it out. Which makes me wonder why we couldn’t have done that at home,’ Frank replied, directing his comment to Steve and giving a knowing look in the direction of DC Ryan Mackenzie, a relative newcomer to the team who had already gained a reputation for doing things completely by the book. She had joined the team fairly recently, and had made a strong impression from the start — particularly as Culverhouse had only seen her name and expected a new male officer.
‘Don’t look at me,’ Ryan replied. ‘I don’t think any of us are particularly jumping for joy. Especially not me. I’m due to go off call at nine, and I’ve got a date night planned with Mandy.’
‘Here’s a question,’ Steve started. From the other side of the office, Wendy had a feeling she knew what was coming next. ‘What do you lot actually do? I mean, y’know. When you’re getting down to it. I mean, there’s nothing to put in, is there?’
‘“Put in”? My, Steve, you put it so delicately. It’s a wonder you’re still single,’ Ryan jabbed.
‘No, what I actually mean is... Well, the gays, I can sort of see what they do. I get that. But your lot, that doesn’t make sense. I mean, do you just sort of...’ Steve trailed off, making clumsy conjoined scissoring actions with his fingers.
‘Yeah. Something like that,’ Ryan replied, sharing a pitying glance with Wendy.
‘Still no word from the scene?’ Steve asked Frank, aware that he should probably change the topic of conversation.
‘I know as much as you do. Probably still playing with their hoses,’ Frank replied, giving Steve a good minute or so of chuckling at the weak innuendo.
While Steve was chuckling to himself, Debbie Weston left Culverhouse’s office and returned to her desk.
‘Here, what was that all about?’ Steve asked. ‘Not asking for a pay rise, I hope.’
‘No, just a partition wall around my desk so I don’t have to listen to your crap or watch you flick bits of sausage roll off your jumper all day,’ Debbie replied, being met with a chorus of Ooooh!’s from Steve and Frank.
‘Bloody hell. Been saving that one up, have you? Never had you down as joining in with office banter.’
‘When did bullying become “banter”, exactly, Steve?’ Ryan chipped in. ‘I’ve always wondered that.’
‘Bullying? I only said was she asking for a bleedin’ pay rise. That’s bullying now, is it?’
‘I’m talking about all the other times you decide to make snide comments. I know you’re trying to be funny and impress your little mate over there, but maybe you should learn some actual jokes rather than resorting to picking on people.’
‘I’ll have you know I’m a Detective Sergeant and you’re a Detective Constable,’ Steve said.
‘And I’m about to send an email reporting you for workplace bullying,’ Ryan replied. ‘So if I were you I’d get back to your sergeant’s duties. Whatever they are.’
Wendy, Frank and Debbie tried to stifle their laughter as Steve slunk off back to his desk.
Wendy answered the ringing phone on her desk. It was the station duty office, otherwise known to punters as the front desk.
‘We’ve got Mrs Wilson here,’ the caller told her. ‘Something about a vice den being set up in the house across the road. Drugs, prostitutes, the lot apparently. She reckons she’s seen foreign dignitaries and members of the royal family popping in and out, smacked off their tits on heroin.’
Mrs Wilson had something of a reputation at Mildenheath Police Station. She was a rather sweet old lady who lived on the outskirts of town, but she was undoubtedly mad. She’d be in at least once a week, with some outlandish theory of hers which absolutely required a full CID response, as far as she was concerned. She’d been living on her own for years, and clearly relished the drama.
It was usually the case that a CID officer would go downstairs, take a very brief statement, reassure here they’d look into it, then come back upstairs and chuck it in the bin. It was a common misconception that all reported crimes had to be investigated.
‘Steve? Time to earn your dignity back,’ Wendy called out. ‘Mrs Wilson’s in reception for you.’
Wendy watched as Steve’s body language told her everything. He closed his eyes, dropped his shoulders and sullenly left the major incident room, heading towards the station duty office.
Seconds later, Culverhouse’s office door flew open and he came marching out into the middle of the room.
‘Right. Listen up, you lot. I’ve just had Trumpton on the phone. The chopper found nothing, believe it or not. The only heat sources were from the fire itself and the crew attending the scene. Nothing in the surrounding woods at all, apart from the odd badger. They’ve managed to keep the fire down enough to get round the back of the house now, and they’ve found something a bit juicy. A dead body, to be precise. Good job you came in, isn’t it?’
‘What, in the house?’ Wendy asked.
‘Nope. On the back patio. Fallen from height, apparently. Probably to escape the fire. Inches away from the safety of the swimming pool, poor bastard. But here’s the juicy bit. The body was the homeowner and the only person who lived there — one Mr Frederick Galloway. Ring any bells?’
‘Freddie Galloway?’ Frank asked. ‘The Freddie Galloway?’
‘Got it in one, Frank. And it looks like his change of career from armed robbery to bungee jumping didn’t go down too well.’
8
Benjamin Newell fumbled with his mobile phone to try and silence the alarm. He should’ve turned it off earlier: he’d been awake for the past three hours anyway.
He’d had a lot to think about. Today was to be a huge turning point in his life. The day he would finally put his past behind him and be able to focus on his new future as a married man.
Lisa had changed him — there was no doubt about that. She’d been good to him. She’d known about his past and had been forgiving enough to stick with him, to give him the chance to prove that he’d changed. She certainly wasn’t the sort of woman who’d put up with having a husband embroiled in a life of crime. She couldn’t risk that.
As a school teacher, she’d already been required to respond to a government questionnaire on whether she or anyone living in her house had a criminal record. If she’d lie
d, she would’ve been fired on the spot. If she’d answered truthfully, she knew she’d be suspended immediately while they investigated the circumstances. Even if someone living in your house — a parent, partner or friend — had once got into a drunken brawl thirty years earlier, it made no difference if you’d since become a priest or even a monk. You were a danger to the children, according to the Department for Education. The children you’d never meet because you weren’t actually a teacher yourself — you just had the misfortune to live in the same house as one. Because, of course, it’s a well-known fact that you can catch The Criminal Disease by breathing the same air as someone who once got done for having a punch up in a pub.
What had made Benjamin love Lisa even more was that she’d never even considered lying on the questionnaire. She knew she’d be up before the board of governors and would have to answer for herself — whatever the hell that meant — when it was revealed that her husband-to-be had a less than angelic background. But she didn’t care. She was honest, upstanding and did things by the book. He’d just hoped she wouldn’t suffer because of it. As it was, things all blew over very quickly and she was allowed to continue teaching. Probably something to do with the same government’s policies and treatment of teachers resulting in an all-time record low number of new teachers coming through, causing a national shortage. Ironically, it probably wouldn’t be long before they’d have to consider recruiting ex-cons just to get the kids through their school years.
He’d been lying in bed for the past three hours, staring at the ceiling. He knew every crack, every tiny fissure in the plaster. It was as if the spare bedroom was his, even though he’d never set foot in it before he’d come to his best man Cameron Morley’s house last night.
It was now a few minutes past eight. He’d have to get up and get ready, make himself look presentable for his big day. And what a huge day it was.
He’d always wanted to get married, settle down and have kids. Alright, so the latter was unlikely to happen now, but you never knew. Lisa already had Aiden and Caitlin from her previous marriage, and she’d intimated that she wasn’t exactly keen to start again — not now that Caitlin, the youngest, had turned nine only a couple of months earlier. But still, all he’d ever wanted was that stability — the loving family unit he’d never had when he was younger. He didn’t care that the kids weren’t his; he was going to love them all the same.
His parents had never been married. He’d thought that was a shame. It was also a fucking pain the arse, as the other kids at school would use it as a way of getting at him. The bullying had only lasted a couple of years, though, until he’d managed to pick up a set of skills and a reputation at the school which meant he was no longer the target of bullies. After all, if you were the one who was able to pick open the lockers and go through other kids’ stuff whenever you wanted, people tended to be nice to you.
Those early lock-picking days were a revelation to Benjamin. It had given his life a purpose. It had made him someone. He was the guy who picked locks. He’d spend his evenings and weekends trying different techniques to get into a variety of increasingly difficult locks (anything to get away from the noise of his parents arguing and smacking seven shades of shit out of each other) until he was breaking into cars and, eventually, safes.
At that point, this wasn’t just a fun hobby or a harmless prank he’d play. It had become serious criminality. And the saddest thing was he didn’t know where he’d crossed the line. It had sort of blurred, until one day he’d woken up and realised he’d become a major criminal. It was something he’d fallen into without even knowing about it. It was a familiar story — that much he knew from his time inside.
Unlikely many other people he knew at that time, he’d only needed to be caught once. That was the wakeup call that told him he needed to change his ways, needed a new focus. And since meeting Lisa he’d had purpose in his life. He had something to live for. It was no longer a case of following the path of incidental self-destruction. He had ambitions and targets.
If he was true to himself, being caught hadn’t been the wakeup call. That had come only a short while earlier, when the gunshot had rung out and he knew instantly that his life had changed forever, that there was no way back. Because there was never any coming back from that, whether you got caught or not. It was something that would live with you forever.
But, c’est la vie, he’d been caught and he’d done his time. No-one could argue with that. Sure, there were people who believed that a leopard never changes its spots, but one thing Benjamin had learnt was that there was always a gobby cunt with an opinion. Prison was there to reform and rehabilitate, and it had certainly worked as far as he was concerned.
He got up out of bed, looked at himself in the mirror and smiled. Today, he was going to make Lisa proud. He was going to show her just how right she’d been to stick with him after finding out about his past. He was going to repay her faith in spades. She would never have to want for anything again.
Tucking the crisp white shirt into the grey trousers, he did up the top button on his collar and tied the cravat in the way he’d seen done on the YouTube tutorials. Oh yes. A bit of gel in his hair and he’d look just the ticket. The husband. The step-father. The good man.
This was the first day of the rest of his life. And he was going to make it count.
9
The scene at Little Walgrave was much calmer when Jack Culverhouse and Wendy Knight returned later that morning. The sun had started to rise and the scale of the devastation was now starting to become clear.
‘It’s round the back,’ the fire officer said, beckoning them to follow him. ‘We’ve not moved him. Fortunately the fire never properly reached the back of the house, so we were able to leave him in situ.’
‘And it was the fall that did it?’ Wendy asked.
‘You tell me. Not my area of expertise I’m afraid, but it certainly didn’t do him any good judging by the mess he made. Looks to me as if he was trying to jump into the pool. There’s a pair of french windows on one of the upper floors that were open. Some of the other windows had blown out, but those look like they were physically opened. Again, it’s not my place to say, but if you ask me I reckon that’s where he jumped from. It’s two floors up, so missing and hitting the concrete would probably have done the job.’
Wendy shook her head as she imagined the scene. Would she rather burn to death in a fire or die from trying — and failing — to escape it?
The back of the house was even more impressive than the front, being set within sprawling grounds that couldn’t realistically be called a garden. The pool was huge, and the water rippled gently in the rising light, as if oblivious to what had happened here only recently.
‘Bloody hell, you don’t hang about do you?’ Culverhouse called over to Dr Janet Grey, the pathologist, who was talking to a fully white-suited forensics officer outside the huge white tent that had been erected over the body.
‘Always preferable to having your trained chimps trampling all over my evidence, Detective Chief Inspector. And good morning to you too.’
The friendly banter between Culverhouse and Grey had been going on for a number of years. Culverhouse occasionally fancied that he could see himself getting on well with a woman like Grey outside of work, but it wasn’t a possibility he ever seriously entertained.
‘Our evidence, Dr Grey. You’ll have to learn to share. What’ve we got?’
‘You already know what we’ve got, which is why you’re here. Deceased male in his late sixties — identity known to you, I believe — death appears to have been caused by multiple heavy trauma. Probably from jumping out of there,’ she said, pointing to the second-floor balcony. ‘I’m sure the post mortem will find smoke in his lungs, but that’s to be expected.’
‘Any chance he didn’t jump voluntarily?’ Culverhouse asked.
‘Well, if he didn’t his assailant will be a shoe-in for the hammer throw at the Olympics. He’s cleared a fair lateral dis
tance for someone who just fell. Or was pushed. But either way I don’t suppose it matters. If he was jumping because of the fire and the fire was caused by arson, someone else is responsible for his death either way. It’ll be another black mark on his rap sheet when you catch him.’
‘Or her.’
‘Oh no,’ the pathologist replied, smiling sweetly at Culverhouse. ‘Ladies would never do such a thing. We’re all tucked up in bed at that time of night after a long day cleaning and ironing, aren’t we Detective Sergeant Knight?’
‘Perhaps I might be tempted. If I owned an iron,’ Wendy joked.
‘Any other signs of anything?’ Culverhouse asked, ignoring their jibes.
‘Bit early to say just yet, but I can’t see any other signs of trauma. I think we can probably rule out a fight or any sort of altercation. His eyes were open when he hit the deck so he was probably conscious at the time. Again, we’ll be able to confirm all that during the post mortem, as well as checking for any sort of chemical foul play. Why, what other signs are you looking for?’
Jack exchanged a glance with Wendy before he spoke. ‘Well, let’s just say I don’t think anything would surprise me. The bloke you’ve got in there,’ he said, jabbing a finger towards the tent, ‘didn’t exactly spend his life making friends. I can imagine one or two people might’ve wanted to make sure he’d gone to meet his maker — whichever sort of sick bastard would want to make someone like him.’
‘Arson would be a bit risky, though, wouldn’t it?’ Dr Grey said. ‘I mean, if you want someone dead there are much better ways. Especially considering the time of night the fire happened, and the fact it was started at the front door, quite a long way away from the bedroom he jumped out of. Seems like sheer luck that he missed the pool and died.’