Gardners, Ditchers, and Gravemakers (A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crimes Book 4)

by Oliver Davies

  It took a while for all of that to process, but eventually, it clicked, and I swung myself free from my sheets.

  “A break-in?” I asked for clarification, reaching for a pair of trousers and propped the phone under my chin as I hoisted them on, nearly falling over.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Has Mills been notified?”

  “He’s on his way to pick you up,” Smith told me kindly. I breathed out in relief. Thank God. Good old Mills, I’d make him some coffee.

  “Thank you, Smith,” I said, somewhat truthfully, and hung up the phone.

  Still slightly asleep, I managed to find some clean socks and a shirt, not bothering with a tie as I stuck my head through a jumper and clattered to the kitchen, hitting the kettle and digging through the cupboard for a spare travel mug. Mills was lucky I went on so many walking holidays so that I quite a collection and several to spare. I scooped some coffee into each one and had just emptied the kettle and stirred in some milk when someone knocked on my door. Often Mills just honked at me, but it was now a quarter to three, and my neighbours would not take kindly to it. I carried the mugs over to the door, letting him in and handing him one as I sat down to pull my boots on. He took the coffee, looking like he might cry over it and slumped against my door frame, the cold night’s air wafting in and helping me wake up. We said nothing to each other, no words and frankly, no energy for it. My laces tied, I locked the door and followed Mills to his car, the comforting warmth of it nearly enough to send me back to sleep.

  “I feel like when you go on holiday,” Mills muttered, his headlights filling the street as he pulled away. I rolled my head around to look at him.

  “What?”

  “You know when you go on holiday,” he paused for a yawn, “and you have to get up so early.”

  “For the airport,” I nodded, with him now.

  “Only we’re not going on holiday,” he added sadly.

  “No,” I shook my head, rather wishing we could swing over to the airport and hop on a flight to Prague or somewhere. “We are not.”

  By the time we reached the station, half the lights on, a befuddled collection of officers loitering around, the coffee had started to kick in. And by that, I wasn’t about to fall asleep on Mills” shoulder anytime soon.

  I headed over to Constable Waters, who looked as tired as I felt, with great dark shadows under his eyes. He had a baby, I remembered blearily. Poor bugger.

  “Waters,” I greeted him, slumping down at a desk.

  “Sir.”

  “What have we got?”

  “Toomas Kask made an emergency call at two twenty-three am, asking for help with a suspected burglar in his house. He was advised to stay hidden and await assistance, but he got spooked and made a break for it out the back door. We picked him up just down the lane from the property.”

  “And the burglar?”

  “No sign of anyone, but definitely a sign of a break-in. Apparently, the place is a bit of a shambles. SOCO are there trying to see what they can find.”

  “Kask?” Mills asked, leaning against the wall in a valiant attempt to stay vertical.

  “Smith is bringing him now,” Waters informed me.

  “And what about the boss?” I asked with a nod to Sharp’s dark office.

  “She’s been notified but is leaving us to it. Expects a full report when she gets in, this morning. Or later,” he amended with a shrug.

  Later. The word almost sent me into despair.

  “Who’s on forensics?” I asked, rubbing my face, trying to get some life going.

  “Porters. She’s ready for you if you want to take a look around the scene.”

  I sat back and nodded, downing a large mouthful of strong coffee. “We’ll talk to Kask first. Get him somewhere secure.”

  Waters nodded, drifting away to see his duties, and Mills prodded me in the leg with his foot.

  “You think it’s our guy?” he asked.

  “I think someone might be picking their way through that study team,” I muttered. “I want an extra officer at the hospital,” I told him. “If the killer went after Kask, they might go after Abbie again too.” Mills nodded and strode off to see to it. I leant forward and pushed myself up from the chair and into the bathroom, where I splashed my face with cold water.

  Abbie, Sonia and then Kask. I left the bathroom and sent another uniformed officer to the street where Quaid lives to keep an eye on things, just in case, and then went in search of a fresh coffee, just as Smith walked in with Kask.

  Poor bloke. He was shivering like a wet dog, dressed in his stripey pyjamas with a coat thrown over the top, feet stuffed into a pair of wellies that I assumed he kept by his back door. I pulled another mug down for him as Smith led him over to a chair by a radiator, and Mills joined me in the kitchen.

  “Uniform at the hospital,” he informed me succinctly.

  “I’ve sent one to Dr Quaid’s street as well,” I told him, looking at him properly and marvelling at the clothes he’d managed to find in his sleep-addled state. A pair of trousers, classic Mills, and a turtleneck jumper that, when he moved enough, lifted to reveal a graphic t-shirt underneath and a pair of glasses.

  “No time for contacts?” I asked, passing him a mug of coffee.

  “Sadly not. Didn’t want to put one in wrong or have my eye out.”

  “Certainly not,” I agreed, taking two of the mugs and walking over the Kask. Smith gave us a grim nod and went to take herself home, having worked late anyway, and I sat opposite Kask, handing him the mug.

  “Thank you,” he rasped, taking it in his long, shaky fingers.

  “We’ll wait until a more reasonable hour to take your formal statement,” I told him, “but if you can, give us a quick rundown of what happened?”

  He blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes as Mills sat down beside me, one leg crossed over the others.

  “I was up rather late,” he told us, ‘there was a rather good documentary on that I wanted to see. And then I locked up the house, turned off the lights and headed up to bed. Woke up when something crashed downstairs,” he said with a slight shiver. “I got out of bed, wondering if the neighbour’s cat had got in, horrid thing. Never liked cats,” he added, rambling away. “And when I looked over the railing, I saw someone move downstairs, clattering around.”

  “What did you do then?” Mills asked him patiently.

  “I hid in the toilet,” Kask told us with a sniff. “Called 999. When I heard them come upstairs, I panicked, and I made a run for it. They were in the guest room, so I made it to the stairs and got out through the back door. I ran along the garden and out the side gate until I heard the sirens.”

  “Did you get a look at the intruder?” I asked.

  Kask shook his head, almost spilling his coffee with his trembles. “It was too dark, and they had a hood over their face.”

  “Could you tell us if you thought they were male or female?” Mills tried. “Were they tall, short, broad, lanky, big feet?”

  “Tall-ish, I’d say. Average build,” Kask said, though he didn’t seem to be sure, and he jumped at every sound.

  “We’ll get you somewhere safe tonight, Mr Kask, with uniformed officers outside. You’re safe,” I told him, pressing my hand to his shoulder. Mills and I stood and left him with uniform, strolling over to somewhere we could talk easily.

  “What kind of burglar goes straight upstairs?” I asked him, already knowing the answer. We’d seen Kask’s house. The place was a veritable treasure trove of things a robber would love to get their hands on. Antiques, knick-knacks, the whole lot. But this one went upstairs, bypassed all the stuff below, and went upstairs, where they’d be more likely to get caught.

  “The kind looking for something very specific,” Mills answered.

  “Something or someone?” I asked, watching Kask get gently led away, his coat rustling, wellies squeaking, as he walked.

  Mills looked the other way, nodding over my shoulder. “Porters,” he said. I
turned around as she made her way over, face drawn, but bright.

  “Hello, chaps,” she practically sang. “It’s not often I get to see you boys in the daytime.”

  “It’s three in the morning, Sharon,” I answered dryly.

  “That is my daytime,” she remarked, setting herself on a perch on the desk. Sure enough, her eyes were as bright and perky as a spring day.

  “What have we got?” Mills asked.

  “Clear signs of a break-in,” she told us. “Lock was busted open, a few boot prints, but nothing very clear. Stuff knocked over, rifled through, maybe missing, but I’ll need the victim to ascertain what exactly has gone missing.”

  If anything’s gone missing, I thought darkly.

  “And prints?” I asked, Porter. She tucked a strand of cropped black hair back from her face and shook her head.

  “Only ones we’ve picked up so far have been Kask’s. Clever burglar’s wear gloves,” she stated cheerily.

  “That’s helpful,” I drawled.

  “He’s got a bee in his bonnet, hasn’t he?” She asked Mills, jerking her thumb towards me.

  “It’s three in the morning!” I repeated. Sharon sniggered and slipped down from the desk, patting me on the chest.

  “Then I suggest getting a few hours kip in your office, Inspector. Clever burglars are harder to catch.” She walked away, whistling, her equipment slung over a shoulder like she was the sheriff in a western film. Mills watched her go with a chuckle.

  “A few hours kip might not be a bad idea,” he suggested. “There’s not much we can do right now, anyway.”

  “No, I suppose not,” I said, though, with the amount of coffee I’d drunk, I seriously wondered how much sleep I might get. “I was actually sleeping for once,” I told him as we shuffled into the office. “Relatively peacefully.”

  “Me too. Susanne nearly smacked me in the face when the phone went off, though,” he said, rubbing his shoulder where I assumed her hand landed instead.

  I hoped she thought he was worth all of that, late shifts, early phone calls. Very few people could stick through it, and they were usually a very certain class of people. Lena’s wife was a vet, so she got the odd late call from a farmer in distress, and Sharp’s husband did business with his brother in Sweden, so any hour was working hours. The only person I’d even been with who could stomach it was Jeannie, and maybe Liene, but it was early days. I settled down in my chair, using my arms as a pillow, my face angled towards the photo of my mother as I tried to get whatever semblance of rest I could before the day really started, and we had the possibility of another attempted murder on our hands.

  Twenty-One

  Thatcher

  A few hours of disrupted sleep weren’t ideal, but they put us on better footing when the morning truly rolled in. We had eaten, were properly dressed and on our third cup of coffee, ready to go when Sharp sauntered in. The station was in a bit of a state, but her arrival got everyone moving very swiftly to put things to right. She looked over at Mills and me and wandered over to the kitchen, fetching herself a coffee, still dressed in her coat.

  “So,” she said, flicking the kettle on, “a burglary?”

  “So, it seems to be,” I answered, combing my hair back from my face. “Forensics haven’t much anything of use at the scene, and until we get Kask in there, we won’t know if anything’s been stolen.”

  She looked around at the tone of my voice, and her brows pulled together in a knot. “Thoughts?”

  “I don’t think we’re dealing with a burglary, ma’am. The intruder went upstairs, rather than making the most of all the valuables below. We think,” I said with a nod to Mills, ‘that they were there for Kask.”

  “That’s annoyed you,” she observed, turning her attention back to her coffee.

  “We’ve had two lead suspects in this case, ma’am. The first one ended up dead, and the next gets their house broken into, who potentially could have ended up the same way.”

  Sharp turned around, leaning against the counter, stirring her coffee. “Where is Kask now?”

  “He’s in a hotel around the corner. We offered to take him back to a relative’s house, but he preferred to stay there. If someone is after them, then that’s the safest call anyway,” I added, slurping my drink.

  “And what do you boys have planned for today?” Sharp asked, “it’s not often you two have to deal with a burglary.”

  “We’ll head out to the crime scene, take a quick look around and then we’re bringing Kask in for another chat. Hopefully a proper one this time,” I added. I was hoping that he would open up about the study now, now that it was a threat to him not too. Sharp listened as I spoke and gave a slow, considered nod.

  “Sounds good. Don’t stay here late today,” she told us, leaving the kitchen. “You both look awful.”

  “She’s nice in the morning,” Mills murmured as she vanished into the station, long hair swinging down her back.

  “She’s nice when she didn’t have to get up at half-two,” I countered, finishing the remains of coffee and heading over to our office. It would have to be another early tonight, I thought to myself as I pulled my coat on over my shoulders. I wasn’t sure if I’d really need it today, the sky was blue, and the sun shone down, bright and warm. But when I was this tired, I rather clung to its heavy embrace, bundling up in it so that I could almost be in bed.

  We didn’t faff about leaving, the city still slowly churning awake, café’s opening, shop windows coming to life, students milling about looking like they also would rather be in bed. Mills let me drive his car, more accustomed to the country roads than he was, and I was grateful. Driving out there with Mills was bad enough with a bad night’s sleep and several cups of coffee added to the mix. He still wore his glasses, pushing them up his nose as his legs bounced, staring out the window. Maybe too much coffee for Mills. He was like one of those wind-up toys that went on for hours and crashed suddenly. I’d have to keep an eye on that.

  Smith had been the constable on the scene last night, and she met us outside Kask’s house, a thermos in her hand that she steadily clung to as we pulled up and climbed out of the car.

  “Morning again,” she said through a muffled yawn.

  “Morning,” we replied in unison, strolling over towards her. She passed us the key to the house and followed after us as we walked up to the front door.

  Lock busted indeed, I noticed, bending down to have a proper look. The window in the front door had been smashed, likely so that the intruder only needed to reach through and down to turn the lock. Would have made a loud enough noise to wake Kask up, that was for sure.

  I unlocked the door and pushed it open, my feet crunching over some small shards of glass that had yet to be swept up. The entrance of the house was in a state of muddle. The coats on the rack had been knocked over, the rug shoved up and askew like someone had tripped over or kicked it.

  Mills and I split up, looking around the rooms downstairs that were more or less untouched, save for a few muddy boot prints, that to me looked as if the intruder had walked in, not seen what they were looking for, and turned around again. We met at the stairs, where we headed up to the landing. One of the doors, the guest room that Kask mentioned, was pushed open, swinging on its hinges. Further along, closer to the stairs, was Kask’s room.

  I headed in, and nothing jumped out. No open drawers, no upturned boxes or any of the usual mess left behind someone who rifled through your belongings. I glanced over my shoulder to find Mills surveying the room with a grim expression. Whoever the intruder was, they definitely weren’t here for family jewellery or the rather impressive television on the wall.

  I sighed deeply and turned back around, making my way back to the stairs with Mills on my heels.

  “We need to talk to Kask,” I muttered.

  As I drove back, Smith following along behind us, I had Mills check-in with the uniformed officers with Abbie Whelan and Dr Quaid, before calling to ask them to bring Kask to us.
I kept the radio quiet and watched go by as he made his calls, and after he hung up the last one, turned slightly to give him an expectant look.

  “Nothing unusual around the hospital,” he told me. “And everything’s as normal on Quaid’s street. No sign of any trouble.”

  I nodded contentedly. I didn’t think our intruder would go after more than one person in the night, but after what happened to Sonia, I wasn’t much for taking chances. Not anymore.

  Toomas Kask was already at the station when we arrived, sitting in a chair by constable Waters, cradling a paper cup. Someone had gotten him some clothes, and he looked better for not shuffling around in his pyjamas and wellies. He shot up as we walked in and made our way over.

  “Inspector Thatcher, Sergeant Mills, I cannot thank you enough for last night.”

  “We did nothing last night, Kask, that was all this lot,” I said, nodding to the clustered PC’s that loitered around. They all lifted their chins with pride, and Kask thanked them earnestly.

  “If you’d come with us, Mr Kask,” I said once he’d finished his rounds. “We’d like to have a chat.” He nodded, emptying his cup and placing it in the bin, following us through to an interview room, his hands wrung together. Mills grabbed a folder from Waters and jogged after us, into the small, warm room.

  We settled down, and Mills slid the folder in front of me as I switched the recording device on.

  “This is Detective Inspector Thatcher and Detective Sergeant Mills with Mr Toomas Kask at 10.24 am on July the 29th. Mr Kask,” I folded my hands together and turned my attention to him. “You made an emergency call to us at two twenty-three am on the 29th of July. Can you talk us through what happened for your official statement?”

  He ran through the same thing he told us last night, less jumpy and more coherently, but nothing in his story had changed. He heard the crash, saw the shadow, hid in the bathroom, made the call, made a run and hid in the lane until Smith picked him up.

  With that out of the way, I opened up the folder Mills had given me and showed Kask a few photographs Porters had taken at his house last night.