by Diane Saxon
Mason shoulder bumped her. ‘Oh great. Of all the uniforms, we have to get the wassock.’
She hesitated to join the officer as he stood alone with his back to them looking out over the messy scattering of vehicles that had pulled up. Hands on hips, he surveyed the scene as though he owned it, but he hadn’t made a move to contain it.
Mason leaned in close and lowered his voice. ‘I didn’t know he was back.’
Jenna let out a disgusted snort. ‘Yeah. I heard he took a couple of weeks’ holiday after his disciplinary hearing and then tagged some sick leave on, citing stress. He only bloody had his wrists slapped. Disciplined.’ She rubbed her hands together to chase the chill away, then slipped one back into the top of her jacket to calm the dog as her panic escalated as soon as Jenna had removed her hand. ‘His insubordination is registered on his record, but back to duty. I don’t think internal enquiries took the incident as seriously as we did. They certainly claimed they couldn’t find any proof that he’d leaked information to our local friendly journalist.’
‘What about the family connection?’
‘No proof he actually contacted his brother-in-law and told him anything.’
‘Wanker.’
She barked out a laugh and, with no other obvious choice in the matter as the other PCs in the vicinity all appeared to be occupied, she headed towards Lee Gardner.
‘PC Gardner.’
The slow turn and flat look he raked over her told her he’d been aware of her presence at least since they arrived back from the Crawfords’ house. She’d not even noticed him.
‘PC Gardner,’ she repeated before he could turn away and pretend not to have heard her. His attitude didn’t bode well for the future, but it wasn’t her concern. He wasn’t one of hers and normally she’d not need to deal with him.
On this occasion, she needed him to carry out his job and for that to happen, she had to not only remain the commanding officer, but also, it appeared, the adult. She summoned up a smile, but from his response, she suspected it looked as tight as it felt. ‘I need to appoint a scene guard.’
‘And…?’ If he could have got away with folding his arms over his chest, she was convinced he would have. For the time being, though, it appeared he was only on the cusp of his next foray into insubordination.
Jenna lowered her chin and gave him her mother’s look. It had always worked for her on Fliss. It was a command. Eyes flat and a superior lift of the left eyebrow. It got Mason every time, not to mention DC Ryan Downey. Whether PC Gardner would be influenced was yet to be seen. ‘You’ll be delighted to hear I’ve elected you, PC Gardner.’ She gave him a chance. Waited a beat. ‘Would you mind complying, or would you prefer me to go via your inspector?’
He cricked his head to one side, a jerky move. ‘You might want to find someone else, I’m only on until 10.00 a.m.’
‘Excellent, that gives us a good few hours.’ With a decisive clap of her hands, Jenna took a step back and then pressed her hand against the top of the dog’s head to stop it leaping out of the top of her jacket in fright. ‘I’ll arrange to have someone take over by then.’ She raised a hand in salute and took another step back, then another as the man continued his hard stare in response to her own.
As she reversed into Mason, he leaned in. ‘Please don’t prostate yourself on the floor, it’s embarrassing enough as it is, Sarge.’
Jenna whipped around to face him but didn’t have the control to shoot him her mother’s look. PC Gardner had managed to rattle her again. Instead, she drew in a breath and sailed past Mason to the police vehicle.
Mason followed. ‘I wish they’d send him to another division. Honest to God, every time I see him, I want to punch him.’
‘You want to punch most people.’ As they approached the car, Jenna shoulder-bumped Mason. ‘You drive, I’m otherwise occupied.’ She stroked the top of the tiny dog’s silky head and peered down into the top of her coat as it quivered in response to her attention. Poor thing.
Still seething, Mason grabbed the door handle and yanked it open harder than necessary. He was in the car, buckled up, before Jenna had rounded the bonnet.
As she slipped inside, she cast him a sideways glance. ‘It’s best to ignore him.’
‘You didn’t. You made a beeline for him.’
‘I’m his senior officer. I needed to make sure I appointed someone as scene guard.’
‘You could have chosen someone else.’
‘No. He was the only one free.’
‘Bollocks.’
He stabbed his index finger onto the start button and the engine roared to life with a little more pressure than necessary on the accelerator.
‘It isn’t bollocks.’
‘You rub each other up the wrong way. End of story.’
‘He’s a cocky…’
‘Twat.’
As Mason broke the tension, Jenna’s laughter hooted out as he steered the car along the single track.
A fine drizzle settled on the windscreen as Mason turned onto the main road back towards Ironbridge and the windscreen wipers took a lazy swipe across the screen to streak it in grease.
Jenna sucked air in through her teeth as the beam of light from the headlights picked out the wet settling on the tarmac road. Hopeful, she cupped her hands around the dog’s face and spoke directly to her, rather than Mason. ‘This could be good. It may help put out the fire.’
‘Unless the roof gives way, then any forensic evidence will be washed away.’
‘Let’s hope that won’t happen. We need SOCO in there as soon as feasible to find out what the hell went on. Was it an accident? Was it deliberate? Where the hell are the family?’
Mason let out a robust yawn and flexed his shoulders against the seatback. ‘Nothing we can do now.’
‘You’re right. We’ll slip into the station, debrief what we have so far.’ She checked the time. Already almost 5:05 a.m. She slipped her fingers under the dog’s chin and gave her a gentle scratch until the dog’s muscles went to liquid and she closed her eyes and fell asleep in the snug nest Jenna had made for her in the front of her coat.
Jenna scanned the horizon as she settled back and relaxed as the miles flew past, no longer a solid black blanket interspersed with tiny pinpricks of white, but a hazy bluish grey curtain, heavy with rain giving a slow lift from the bottom to tease her with the promise of dawn breaking and the sun rising on a day she could only hope would get better.
She checked the time again. ‘Right. With the full shift we worked yesterday and another one almost over, let’s work until midday. That’s twelve hours straight again. I’ll do a handover, then we’ll get ourselves off home, get our heads down and start fresh tomorrow at 6:00 a.m. How does that sound to you?’ She glanced over at Mason, hands relaxed on the steering wheel, gazing straight ahead on the long and winding road, his snit with Lee Gardner already forgotten.
‘It was supposed to be our day off. I promised Fliss Sunday lunch out at The Woodbridge. I booked it for 1:00 p.m. We’d planned to walk Domino beforehand and take him in with us.’
‘Nice. Make sure he doesn’t snatch your beef off your plate.’ Mason was definitely a beef guy.
He tucked his chin down, his bottom lip poking out. ‘I’ll be bloody bad company and too knackered to move.’
‘Change the time. They serve all day, don’t they?’
He tilted his head to squint at her. ‘They do, but they’re popular.’ He turned into Malinsgate police station car park and reversed the car into a space. He killed the engine, flipped open his phone and tapped with some urgency at his screen. He slumped back. ‘They have a 5:30 p.m. slot.’
‘Great, take it. Fliss will understand, she’s used to my schedule constantly changing and you may not get much of a chance once the court case starts.’ The lucky guy, to have a girlfriend already accustomed to police hours.
Jenna considered her own situation and pulled out her phone to make a quick online reservation at Clays of Broseley, su
rprised she’d managed to grab a slot at 7:00 p.m., for what must have been a cancellation. As far as dovetailing was concerned, she’d give it a go.
She shot Adrian a brief invitation.
A fast slide of delight warmed her at his immediate response. She smoothed her fingers over his message. Not sloppy, not romantic. Just thoughtful and welcome.
‘Right then. We have a plan.’ She’d learnt over the last couple of cases how important it was to have a plan. To take care of her own health and well-being to enable her to work her most effective. ‘Take your downtime while you can. There’ll be more than enough to keep us busy once the fire service and SOCO get into that house.’ She let the silence hang for several minutes before she spoke again. ‘This is going to be messy, Mason.’
She raised her gaze to meet his grim one.
14
Sunday 19 April 0525 hours
Mesmerised, he melted into the shadows of the tall pine trees that formed the boundary to Kimble Hall and avoided the swathe of headlights flooding from the vehicle as it passed by his viewpoint.
The corners of his mouth twitched up into a bitter smile as he surveyed the whole scene, lit up before him to highlight every last detail.
Interesting. The house had erupted into an inferno that the fire service had been unable to contain. Wind conditions whipped up to perfection. Luck and good planning were both on his side.
He leaned his shoulder against the nearest tree while he scanned the area below him, noting the position of the police officers, the fire crew, the observers.
When the old couple had turned up, he’d had a moment to wonder if they could ruin things. But it hadn’t made a difference. It was too late, the fire too intense.
He turned his head to watch the taillights of the retreating car disappear around the bend and squinted into the distance as the pale hues lightened the rain filled sky.
Time to go. He shouldn’t have stayed as long, but the temptation had been too much.
Satisfied, he pushed away from the tree, turned his back and walked away.
A successful night’s work.
15
Sunday 19 April 1030 hours
Boom!
Poppy jerked upright, the breath jamming somewhere between her chest and throat as heat flooded her face. She slapped a hand to her ribs as she gasped in air, desperate to breathe as red-hot pokers seared through her. The echo of shotgun reverberated around her head and made her question whether it was real or imagined.
She flopped back onto the straw, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. A nightmare. It was just a nightmare.
She closed her eyes and tried to level off her breathing only it wasn’t just a nightmare, it was her living nightmare.
Fire burned over a side so stiff she thought her skin would split in two if she moved. But she had to move. There was no choice unless she lay there and died. And she wasn’t willing to die.
Pained grunts fluttered from her dried lips as she pushed herself, one-handed, back into a sitting position as beads of sweat popped out across her forehead and upper lip.
Bright sunlight streamed through the narrow gaps between the wooden slatted barn door to cast an eerie light all around as dust bunnies danced on the air. The irony of the beauty of it didn’t escape her. The most romantic setting, soft sunlight and dust bunnies. She gazed around while she tried to shake off the wild spinning of her head.
A shudder wracked her body. The injury wasn’t the only reason she was stiff. The chill of the night air may have worn off, but the barn was a bitterly cold draughty hole.
Her teeth rattled in her head and she scooted to the edge of the bales of straw she’d laid on, not even bothering to pluck strands of it from her hair. Her knees creaked as she edged onto the barn floor and stepped over the abandoned wooden feeding trough, letting out little grunts for each step she took.
Poppy crept stiff-legged to the double barn doors and cracked them open an inch to peep out. The furthest outbuilding from Sunnyside Farm, Poppy was fairly confident no one would stumble on her. Old man Crawford had long since stopped coming out so far. Only when his sons visited did he venture further, his old springer spaniel, Bess, by his side. The twins loved to play in the old ramshackle barn when Mr Crawford’s great-grandchildren came to visit after they’d finished school each Thursday. In the same year as Talisha and Geraldine, they went to the local comprehensive. They all ran wild for a couple of hours, just happy to see each other, until Poppy was sent to collect the twins and bring them back home.
She leaned against a wooden post by the barn doors and screwed her eyes shut to rid herself of a memory that could serve to destroy her if she thought too hard about it.
Ready to move, she bumped the doors wider and stepped out into the early-morning sunshine, absorbing the heat on her face as she sidled around the edge of the barn to squint down at the farmhouse, which looked like an abandoned scrap yard.
The heap of a car that belonged to Mr Crawford was missing and Poppy sighed, relief making her weak. So weak, she could barely put one foot in front of another.
It was Sunday. Without switching on her phone, she had no idea what time, but they were most likely at church. Much Wenlock church every Sunday was their habit. Ethel told her, it was a social affair. Then they’d go to one of their sons’ houses for Sunday lunch. Poppy loved Ethel. She put a stop to that thought mid-flow too. But if they were at church, it meant it was later than she thought. She cast a quick look up at the bright, clear sky with the sun already high, as though that could give her a hint.
Feet dragging, she forced herself onwards, her gaze focused on the khaki green cracked and peeling front door she’d never really noticed before. Compared to the perfection of Kimble Hall’s double opening front door, the Crawfords’ door gave the impression of a house lived in and loved.
It would be unlocked. She’d never known them to lock it. Though why they would believe they were safe just because they lived in the country, she had no idea. No one was safe. No matter where you lived. No matter who you lived with. She’d learnt in the harshest way possible never to trust. Death was only a step away.
16
Sunday 19 April 1045 hours
Ethel’s cupboards overflowed with every kind of food imaginable. Like her husband, she was a hoarder. Used to her great-grandchildren visiting, she made sure there was a plethora of fun food to choose from.
Poppy didn’t want food. Her stomach lurched and her gag reflex leapt in to grab at her throat.
She opened each cupboard to check inside until she came across the one she needed. The one with medical supplies. Too many to contemplate. Poppy stared at the masses of accumulated boxes of plasters, paracetamol, ibuprofen, bandages, sterile wipes, antibacterial wash.
Light-headed, she rolled back on her heels and blinked to focus on the contents of the cupboard. There was so much there and so neat and tidy. Would Ethel notice if she took some?
Poppy’s stomach clenched. Stealing wasn’t something she was familiar with. She’d never taken anything that belonged to someone else before. Never had the compulsion to.
She reached out a hand, then hesitated, her insides turning to jelly as she tried to imagine what Ethel would say if she thought Poppy had stolen from her. Would her face be wreathed with disapproval? Would she understand?
Desperation overrode guilt until Poppy glanced around and snatched a carrier bag from a pile of them stuffed into a box. She raised herself up on her toes so she could reach to the back of the cupboard. If she didn’t dislodge the items at the front, Ethel would never know. A worm of worry wriggled, but she didn’t have any choice.
Into the bag, she threw a box of paracetamol, ibuprofen, a small bottle of neat Dettol – that was going to sting – bandages and cotton wool. As little as she could take so it was less likely to be noticed.
She swiped the back of her hand across her forehead and stared at the sweat coating her skin. The tremble in her fingers ra
ttled the bag she held.
She darted a quick glance out of the window. She could never be too sure if they would come back or not. They’d taken Bess with them, but that didn’t mean to say they couldn’t return.
With one more reach into the cupboard, Poppy drew out a small packet of steristrips and dumped them in the bag before she closed the cupboard door and turned to face the kitchen again.
Her stomach contracted once more. She may not feel up to eating, but if she didn’t, she was just as likely to die of starvation as blood loss. And didn’t Mum always say she needed a cup of hot tea and a biscuit whenever she gave blood? It restored her energy, just as wine restored her good humour.
As Poppy scanned the kitchen, her pulse tripped a beat. Ethel may be old, but her great-grandkids kept her up with the times and the sight of an iPhone charging lead neatly coiled and plugged into the wall beside the kettle gave Poppy’s chest a little squeeze of excitement.
Barely any battery left, Poppy plugged in her own phone and propped it up against the splashback tiles next to the sink. As the screen burst into life, she snatched it up, breath coming in fast gasps. Her fingers shook as she pressed her thumb against the power button desperate for it to switch off before any of her profile downloaded.
Heat seared up her neck and suffused her face as she placed it back with trembling fingers and melted against the counter while her heart rate returned to normal.
She touched the side of the kettle with tentative fingers. Still hot, but not too hot. She looked from the plastic bag to the bench and back again. It would be far more hygienic to tend to her wound here. Her pulse throbbed as her breath quickened. Dare she?