What She Saw

by Diane Saxon

  In for the long haul, Jenna slithered herself up onto the edge of the stretcher bed and made herself comfortable. If she’d stayed where she was, her legs would be dead from the knee downward in no time at all. And this was not going to be a short interview.

  She peered out the back of the ambulance a few paces away to catch sight of Mason. Hands plunged deep into his pockets, his head bounced up and down like a nodding dog as Mr Crawford, lit cigarette dangling from his mouth, appeared to be as verbose as his wife.

  As she turned her attention back to Ethel, the old lady was off with barely a spare second to drag in a breath between sentences. The oxygen appeared to have revived her.

  ‘Him and his family, they moved in a few years back. Six, I think. Kids seemed okay, settled in. Wife is nice enough. I don’t remember her from a child. Very beautiful. Poor soul, having to put up with him and his shenanigans day in, day out.’

  Before Ethel could move on, Jenna snatched her opportunity. ‘Shenanigans?’ Was the man having an affair?

  ‘Ugh.’ Ethel shook her head and sucked in her cheeks, so the flaccid skin sank inwards, forming wrinkled craters to make her face skeletal. ‘Shooting. Shooting. All the time, the man was obsessed with shooting.’

  As unobtrusively as possible, Jenna jotted down notes, taking care to keep eye contact with the old lady as much as possible. Gordon Lawrence. Did he have a firearms certificate? Something to check on. ‘What did he shoot, Ethel?’

  Her breath crackled in the back of her throat as she wheezed out a bitter laugh. ‘Anything that damned well moved, I would imagine.’

  ‘Did you ever see him shooting anything?’

  ‘No, but I heard. The sound would carry over to our house when the wind was in our direction. Some days it was as if he was in our own back garden.’

  The man obviously liked his guns. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be an issue in Shropshire. So many farmers and country dwellers had gun licences but they used their firearms for shooting foxes that encroached on their land, or birds that threatened their chickens. What he did sounded like target practice.

  She looked back up at Ethel. ‘How often did he shoot things?’

  ‘Daily.’

  Surprised at the quick comeback, Jenna scratched the side of her nose with the end of her pen. ‘Did you ever report him?’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘Disturbance of the peace.’

  Ethel shrugged. ‘Would there have been any point? Everyone shoots around here, it was more a matter of how much he shot. The frequency, the length of time.’

  ‘Do you know if he was allowed to keep guns?’ It wouldn’t take her very long to establish if he was a registered keeper of firearms, a quick call, but that was for later. The priority now was to find out what had happened to the family. Were they in the house? Had they gone elsewhere for the evening? Until she knew, her hands were tied. They needed cold, hard facts. In the meantime, gathering information on the family didn’t harm. With her police officer’s instinct, Jenna knew that the best knowledge gathered was often when it appeared you were having a casual chat. A little nudge and a myriad of information spilled out.

  ‘Oh, he was allowed. He boasted about his gun collection loud and often, when he wasn’t firing it, that was.’ Ethel jiggled about on the narrow cot bed, getting into her subject matter. ‘Obnoxious man, made those poor children fire the guns too, I believe.’

  This did not sound good. The more she heard, the more uncomfortable Jenna became. It may only be one old lady blowing off steam because she didn’t appreciate the disturbance from her neighbour, but no police officer worth their salt ignored that little itch that told them something wasn’t quite right.

  Jenna tilted her head to one side. She didn’t have the data on the children yet, but she would and it would be another line to follow if the children were under the age of fifteen. Under that, legally they weren’t allowed to handle a firearm, even under supervision, let alone shoot one. Why the hell would anyone allow a child to shoot a gun? ‘Did you see the children firing the guns?’

  ‘No.’

  Damn. She’d come to investigate a fire, a possible arson, not a whole host of firearms offences, but she’d still pick at it. ‘How did you know, Ethel? What made you think the children fired guns too?’

  ‘Because my great-grandchildren, Emma and Joseph told me. They come over for cake and tea every Thursday afternoon.’ Warm pride softened her voice. ‘Emma’s in Rainbows with the twins. Oh, I forget their names, but sweet little ones.’ She tapped her wrinkled forehead as though she could persuade the names from her mind. ‘They sometimes come over to join Emma and Joseph. My Joseph is thirteen, he said the older lad, ooh, he’s a bit older than Joseph, wasn’t keen on shooting and the girls have to watch.’ Her eyes brightened. ‘Talisha and Geraldine. Nice girls.’ She raised the oxygen mask to her face and sucked in a couple of lungfuls before she continued. ‘Joseph said they didn’t like to see the rats’ guts splattered up the stable yard. The squirrels were even worse. Said it gave them earache and made their chests burn from the inside.’ Her eyes turned cool. ‘Joseph seemed to think it would be good to have a go. But there’s no way he’s allowed over there. Irresponsible if you ask me.’

  Discomfort stirred in the pit of Jenna’s stomach. She wasn’t there to investigate the inappropriate use of firearms by a potentially dead man, but her ethics, training and natural curiosity all got the better of her. Nosiness was one of the most important attributes to have as a police officer. It may only be gossip they listened to, but it was often the gossip, if you cared to listen, that had a ring of truth about it.

  ‘Did you see much of the family?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘How old are the twins?’

  ‘Our Emma is…’ she screwed up her face. ‘Oh, my memory isn’t what it used to be.’ Ethel didn’t appear to have anything wrong with her memory. ‘Emma is eight, so the twins would be around that age. They were in the same year at school. Not that they go to the same school. They’re at that posh, private school in Shrewsbury. You know. Ummm. Prestfelde.’

  ‘Isn’t there another child?’

  Ethel frowned. ‘Yes. The eldest girl goes to Shrewsbury Girls’ High. Quiet. Sweet. She comes to collect the twins sometimes. Her mum’ll stay in the car if she brings her, or sometimes on a good day, she walks across the fields. I’ve seen her with some older girls occasionally in Much Wenlock. Nice little group. Sophie and Olivia something or other. They go to the Girls’ school too.’

  Circling around, little connections, Jenna wrote Sophie and Olivia’s names down. She’d definitely be going back to them for some more information.

  ‘You say older girls. How old is the daughter, Poppy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Poppy. That’s right. She must be sixteen. I know Sophie is a bit older, just passed her driving test, so I heard. Parents bought her a brand new little car.’ Ethel’s mouth twisted with disapproval. ‘We used to have to earn anything we had. These days, it seems they’re just given things. It doesn’t give them any respect, these children. No respect for property or value for money, I’m sure.’

  Jenna’s spine creaked as she straightened the curve of it and jotted down a couple more notes. She needed to get Ethel back on track, but before she could draw breath, the old lady rattled on.

  ‘Of course, I expect he…’ she jerked her chin in the direction of the burning house. ‘…will buy his children bigger and better cars. Just to show he can.’

  The picture Jenna was building of Mr Lawrence wasn’t a favourable one. More important was whether the family were alive or not. None of the information Ethel was imparting was of particular relevance currently, but it could be.

  Jenna tapped the nib of her pen on the notebook.

  Ethel wasn’t going anywhere. They knew where she lived. Jenna could always come back to her if the need arose, but right now, she had the basics and she needed to get along, find out more. Ethel was a great source of information, but t
he immediate requirement was to establish if there were any survivors.

  Jenna raised her head and scanned the area, narrowing her eyes against the burnished orange glow that only made the outer edges of the night even darker. Not many onlookers; it was too far out of most people’s way to bother. Despite the radiance in the sky, it was late. People were in bed. Most people. Except…

  Jenna closed her eyes and breathed in deep. When she opened them again, Kim Stafford, local reporter and bane of her life was still there, his back to her, but unmistakable, nonetheless, with his shaggy, dishevelled look. His thin, rounded shoulders gave him the appearance of a much shorter man in his long, loose mac. His thinning hair plastered to his head. If she wanted to stereotype him, she’d classify him as a flasher. Pathetic and snivelling.

  Instead, she chose to ignore him. After all, he was outside the cordon, doing his job. Reporting. Shame it would be thin on facts and heavy on speculation. Just as it had been during her sister’s kidnap ordeal. He’d accused the police of pulling out all the stops simply because Fliss was related to an officer. Never further from the truth, the stops were pulled out because Fliss was a missing person and there was the naked body of a dead woman at the scene of her disappearance.

  Sure the lowlife would kick off the rumours again once Frank Bartwell’s court case began, Jenna’s fingers itched to get a hold of him and give him a good shake.

  Kim hated Jenna, ever since they were in school and she humiliated him in front of everyone by bloodying his nose. He’d never forgiven her. She’d never cared until recently when his problem with her nudged at her work as he tossed lies and exaggerations about cases into the public eye.

  No good would come of him turning up tonight. There’d be something unsavoury reported, some dig at the police. Especially if he knew she was there.

  He glanced over his shoulder, his gaze met hers before it skittered away.

  Oh yes. He knew she was there.

  Jenna didn’t have time for Kim Stafford. She had a job to do. As long as he stayed where he was supposed to and didn’t sidle through the outer cordon, all would be fine.

  Not that Kim Stafford had ever done as he was supposed to. He spent far too much time skimming the legal boundaries to get what he considered a story. Including the careless and ruthless use of a police source who he dropped like a hot coal when the finger of suspicion was pointed.

  She’d have a quick word with Ted Walker before she left. Make sure he was aware of the lurking reporter. Knowing Ted, he already would be, but it didn’t harm to make sure.

  Jenna turned her attention back to the old lady. The cool flutter of night air teased through the ambulance where five minutes before the heat of the blaze had surrounded them. The wind had changed direction to whip away the bonfire smell and smoke.

  Ethel hunched over, shoulders rounded in on herself and a fine tremor in her hands.

  ‘Ethel, you must be cold.’ Jenna reached out and took both of Ethel’s icy hands in her own while she caught Sandy’s astute eye.

  The paramedic turned, all bustle and movement, to slip a light blanket over Ethel’s legs. ‘We’re just going to warm you up, Ethel. Looks as though you trotted out in your nightwear, haven’t you, my darling?’

  Ethel’s straight lips wobbled up into a smile. ‘We wanted to make sure no one was hurt.’ She flashed the house a wary glance. ‘Nobody’s come out.’ Her jaw clenched. ‘It got cold so quickly then.’ She shuddered again as Sandy wrapped a honeycomb blanket around her shoulders and squatted by her side.

  ‘Hold on a minute, my love, we’ll get you seen to.’ Sandy tossed Jenna a quick smile. ‘A touch of shock setting in, I think.’ She took Ethel’s hands in her own and gave them a gentle rub. ‘You were nice and toasty a few minutes ago. It doesn’t take long for hypothermia to set in when you get a shock.’ She gave Ethel’s hand a last quick pat and came to her feet.

  Sandy bounded down the steps out of the ambulance, lowering her voice as she took hold of the other paramedic’s arm and led him away. When she returned, she swung the doors to the ambulance closed behind her and made her way to the electronic panel. She punched a couple of buttons and hot air flowed through to warm the cabin instantaneously.

  Ethel huddled into the blankets and waited while Sandy carried out more checks. Her movements quick and efficient.

  ‘It’s so easy at your age, Ethel, to get cold.’ Ethel’s fingers jerked against Jenna’s hands as Sandy continued. ‘Even in this milder weather, you need to wrap up before you come out at night.’ As Ethel opened her mouth, Sandy added, ‘It only takes a matter of a few minutes when you’re not very mobile for hypothermia to set in.’ The fingers jerked again and then curled into a tight ball of gnarled bones.

  Oblivious, Sandy moved away to rummage through the medical equipment. As she produced the blood pressure cuff, Ethel moved her head close to Jenna’s, her lips almost grazing her ear, so she whispered her annoyance. ‘That woman can’t half talk and she’s repeating herself. Does she think I’m stupid?’

  Jenna rubbed the old lady’s hands. Evidently, she didn’t want to acknowledge her age or any vulnerabilities that accompanied it. Jenna leaned back to allow Sandy to do her job, but she needed a couple more things from Ethel first.

  ‘When was the last time you saw your neighbours, Ethel?’

  With barely a pause before Jenna had finished her question, Ethel was off. ‘I haven’t seen them all winter. Heard them plenty. The acoustics carry sound across from their place to ours. Just like it carried the smoke over tonight.’

  ‘Tell me about that.’

  ‘They had a party. Oh my God, I prayed it would just stop. It seemed to go on forever. Loud banging music. Voices.’

  Jenna resisted the temptation to look at her watch. If she’d gone to a party, they’d probably still be going strong. ‘What time did it finish?’

  ‘I don’t know. About 11:00 p.m., I think. Far too late for those little ones. I lay in bed wide awake, listening to the voices and music. Then it went quiet. There was a long silence.’ Ethel rolled her lips in on themselves, the wrinkles deepening as she did. ‘I thought, thank God for that. I must have drifted off.’ She screwed up her tiny face and her thinning skin covered her eyes in soft folds. ‘And then there were gunshots.’

  Jenna couldn’t stop the fast blinks and only hoped Ethel didn’t pick up on the shock that rippled over her skin. ‘Gunshots? At that time of night?’

  ‘Yes. I said, didn’t I?’

  She’d said he was always shooting. She hadn’t said she’d heard shots earlier that evening. ‘Didn’t you report it?’

  ‘Report it?’ This time Ethel leaned forward to pat Jenna’s hand. ‘Oh, my dear, it never occurred to me. He did it every weekend. Friday, Saturday, for the past five years at least.’

  ‘At night?’

  ‘Especially at night.’ Ethel’s right eyebrow flicked up. ‘That’s when the rats come out.’

  Didn’t she just know it. Rats not only of the animal kingdom, but the human variety too. Darkness was always a friend to the rats of the world. And, like Ethel, Jenna smelled a rat. It may be something. It may be nothing. Accidents happened, fires started, but Jenna wasn’t a coincidence kind of person. She lived by cold, hard facts.

  A party.

  Gunshots.

  A fire.

  Jenna blew out a breath. ‘How long after the gunshots would you estimate it took before you could smell the smoke?’

  ‘I didn’t smell it. Not at first. I haven’t a very good sense of smell these days, not like it used to be. When I was a girl, I could have told you what direction the scent of apple blossom came from, and from what variety of tree. These days, I wouldn’t know if my dog pooped unless I stood in it.’

  Jenna ducked her head so Ethel didn’t see the smile. She didn’t need any more encouragement than a captive audience to rattle on in the wrong direction. In an attempt to pull her back to the subject matter, Jenna placed her hand on Ethel’s knee and felt t
he warmth seeping back into her. ‘Ethel, how did you become aware of the fire?’

  ‘Our fire alarm went off.’

  ‘Okay.’ That verified what the watch manager had said.

  ‘The nice fireman out there said it often happens. That’s how people realise there’s a fire. The wind changed direction and the smoke came through our open window. I always sleep with the window open. I swear I never stopped getting hot flushes since the day I turned fifty-six.’ She drew in a long breath of oxygen before removing the mask again, her lungs remarkable for a woman of her age. ‘I almost peed myself when that thing went off. I was up out of bed with my dressing gown around me and my boots on my feet before Mr Crawford had stopped snoring.’

  This time Jenna allowed herself a laugh. She wouldn’t have put it past Ethel to have left her husband in bed.

  ‘I’d have left him there, if it wasn’t for the dreadful noise from that fire alarm.’ She pulled her little handkerchief from her sleeve and swiped it across her eyes first and then her nose and Jenna felt the woman’s sadness despite her apparent bravado. Ethel’s watery gaze met hers and her voice sank to a hoarse whisper. ‘I didn’t see any of the family. Do you think they’re all still in there?’

  Jenna still hadn’t managed to haul an answer from Ethel to give them a timeline from when the shots were heard to when the fire started. It may be relevant, it may have absolutely no connection. Jenna’s gut instinct convinced her otherwise. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know yet, Ethel. Did you fall asleep after you heard the shots?’

  Ethel sniffed. ‘No. I don’t think I did.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Jenna raised her head and caught Sandy’s concerned gaze. ‘I think Ethel needs to go home to bed now. We can have another chat in the morning, but it’s late and she’s cold and tired.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Sandy nodded her head. ‘Ethel, would you like to get on the bed, I’ll make you nice and comfortable and we’ll take you home.’