Dirty Old Town

by L M Krier

  There was an awkward pause as the man turned to look at his solicitor for guidance once again. Ted spotted the look and responded to it.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like another short break with your client, Ms Castle, to take further instruction?’

  Mike Hallam paused the recording once more, then followed Ted out of the room, heading for the stairs and the CID offices.

  ‘Sorry if I was muscling in there, Mike. I wanted to see how he might react to being needled.’

  ‘No worries, boss. That was masterful. He does seem to be on a bit of a short fuse, doesn’t he?’ He was following Ted who was heading for his office, in need of a brew.

  ‘Tea? Coffee?’ Ted offered, putting his kettle on.

  Mike opted for tea. Ted busied himself with mugs and the makings, keeping his back turned towards the DS, while he posed his next question. He didn’t want him to feel awkward.

  ‘Are you all right with this one, Mike?’

  ‘The battered husband defence, you mean?’

  Ted was one of the few people who knew that Mike had been through abuse at the hands of his wife while she was suffering from mental illness. All now sorted, with treatment, but he didn’t want to risk him being affected by the current case.

  He put the drinks on the desk and sat down opposite him.

  ‘It’s fine, thanks for asking. Joan is absolutely back to normal these days, as long as she takes her tablets. For what it’s worth, speaking from personal experience, no matter how bad things got with her, I could never have laid a finger on her. Not even to defend myself.’

  ‘And speaking as someone who teaches self-defence, I’m struggling to see how someone of his size and build couldn’t quite easily hold her at arm’s length without having to grab her by the throat. No matter how violent she might have become. He has the reach, and clearly the strength, to have done that.’

  ‘It will be interesting to see if there are any defensive wounds on him at all.’

  ‘My feeling is he won’t consent to being examined, because he knows full well there aren’t any. So by mentioning the “something which he later relies on in court”, but refusing corroborating evidence for it, he might have effectively shot himself in the foot as regards to using that as his defence.

  ‘When we go back, I’m going to leave you to it once more, Mike, and I’ll watch from the monitors. If he won’t allow himself to be examined, you’re going to need to press him as to why he used that particular method to restrain her. Not to mention how she managed to free herself from his grip round her throat. That’s much harder to do, without training, than people realise.

  ‘At some point can you get back to the pathologist and press him for a precise location of where pressure was applied. Again, speaking from personal experience of various martial arts techniques including choke-holds, I know that it doesn’t require much pressure, nor a lot of time, to render someone unconscious that way.’

  ‘So what’s the history between you and Ms Castle?’

  ‘She was defending on my first ever murder case, as a DS. I was working with your predecessor, Jack Gregson. Nasty case. Her client raped and murdered his young step-daughter.’

  ‘And who won that time?’

  Ted grinned at him.

  ‘Not Ms Castle. Her client was convicted and sentenced to life, with a recommended minimum of twenty-five years.’

  ‘After discussion, my client has decided he does not wish to be examined by a doctor,’ Ms Castle began once Mike had re-entered the room and resumed the interview. ‘This is not in any way to be taken as a retraction of what he has said previously. He simply feels that, given the time lapse, there would be nothing of significance to see on his body as a result of his wife’s attacks on him. He stands by his previous statement, that he took hold of his wife by the neck in order to restrain her and to try to stop her inflicting any serious injuries on him.’

  ‘In which case, I must ask your client how, if he was holding his wife by the throat, presumably still inside the flat, she was somehow able to escape from that hold and run outside onto the landing.’

  ‘She were scratching me and kicking at me and trying to bite me.’

  ‘Despite being held by the throat? Firmly enough to have left marks?’

  Again there was the spark of anger in the man’s eyes as he snapped back, ‘I were trying to protect myself, and to stop her doing herself any harm. It’s what anyone would do.’

  ‘Had she spoken about harming herself? Perhaps about taking her own life? We have, of course, requested her full medical history. Might she have spoken to her GP about wanting to end her life?’

  There was no mistaking his reaction to that news. The knuckles on his right hand whitened as he clenched the fingers.

  ‘She … she wouldn’t say much to anyone. Only to me. She didn’t like going to the doctor.’

  ‘You said she was taking medication, though? For her mood swings, I think you said. So she must have seen the doctor at some point to be given those, surely?’

  He looked uncomfortable now. Mike noticed and pressed on.

  ‘We are talking about prescription medication here, I take it? When you said she was on tablets?’

  He looked to his solicitor for advice on that question. None was forthcoming. Ms Castle clearly realised that, as he had mentioned the pills in the first place, he could hardly refuse to talk about them now.

  ‘Well, no. Like I said, she didn’t like going to the doctor, so I got her summat online.’

  ‘And can you remember what it was called?

  ‘Not really. It seemed to be okay, though, I checked it.’

  ‘Yet so far our search of your property hasn’t revealed any such medication. Can you explain that for me?’

  Ms Castle was quick in her reactions. But not quick enough. Her client blurted out the answer she didn’t want him to give, before she had time to stop him contradicting what he had said earlier.

  ‘She’d run out.’

  Mike left a prolonged pause. Long enough for the man to realise what he’d just said.

  ‘Wind it up there, Mike,’ Ted was telling him through the earpiece. ‘Bail him this time, pre-charge.’

  ‘I think we’ll call it a day there. I understand that you have to get to work. I must tell you now that this time you will be remanded on bail pending possible charges. Your solicitor will explain to you exactly what that means. I should also say that the terms of the warrant to search your home includes all property there, so with any luck, we’ll be able to find out, from your computer, exactly what the medication was which you ordered online for your wife.’

  * * *

  She was curled up underneath the bedclothes. Had been there since he’d finished with her and gone back downstairs to check on the boy’s homework, then gone out for the evening, to the school.

  She’d used the top sheet to keep dabbing at her split lip until it had stopped bleeding. It was now throbbing steadily, shooting up to sharp stabbing pitch any time she moved her mouth at all.

  She would have loved a glass of water. Cold relief for her parched throat and sore mouth. At the moment it was more than she could contemplate to move her battered body.

  She stayed where she was. Arms wrapped round her legs. Trying to hold her world together as it seemed in danger of falling apart around her.

  He was much later getting back than she thought he would be. He must have gone for a drink after going to the school. It might perhaps have made him more mellow, but nothing was ever guaranteed.

  Part of her was willing him to come back. Another part dreading what might happen when he did. But she wanted to know about her son. How he was doing. What his prospects were. Where he might be best to go next for his secondary schooling, to put him well on his chosen career path.

  She’d heard the boy come upstairs. Pause outside her door, then give it a hesitant tap. His voice was full of concern as he asked quietly, ‘Are you all right, mum?’

  She pulled the covers b
ack from her head so she didn’t sound muffled when she replied. Her barely-healed lip split open again the moment she tried to speak. It gave a metallic taste of blood in her mouth.

  ‘Sorry, darling, dad should have told you before he went out. Mum’s got one of her stupid bad heads, so I just need to lie down quietly for a bit. Are you all right? Can you manage? It’s time you were going off to bed now, anyway.’

  ‘Do you want me to bring you something? Shall I make you a cup of tea?’

  It took so little to move her to tears. The kindness in his worried voice did so straight away. She dabbed her eyes now with the sheet. Worked hard to swallow the lump in her throat.

  ‘That’s so kind, love, but you know how sickly these headaches make me feel. I couldn’t manage anything. But thank you, that’s so nice of you. You go off to bed now, like a good boy. Your dad will be cross if he comes home and catches you up past your bedtime.’

  ‘He’s always cross about something. He’s a bully, mum. Why do you stay with him? Why can’t we go and live somewhere else?’

  Tears again. Why did she cry so readily? Why couldn’t she find the courage from somewhere to do something? Her son was right. As young as he was, he was right. She should do something. To protect him, if not herself.

  Yet he always seemed to know. If she so much as thought about leaving him. He always knew.

  ‘Go to bed now, son. Everything will be better in the morning. I’ll be better. I’ll make you a nice breakfast. You’ll see. It will all be better. Night-night, darling. Sleep tight.’

  ‘Night, mum. Mind the bedbugs don’t bite.’

  She listened to the sounds of him getting himself ready for bed. Heard him brush his teeth, without needing to be reminded. He was such a good boy.

  Then he went into his room and she heard him put a CD into the player they’d bought him. She couldn’t stop the tears when she heard the track he’d chosen.

  ‘When you wish upon a star.’

  She must have fallen asleep, listening to the soothing, familiar song. She woke with a start when the man came into the room, peeled off his clothes and slid under the covers next to her. It was later than she’d expected him to get home. She tried to stem the violent trembling his closeness provoked. To lie still and quiet, feigning sleep.

  He gave a snort of contempt.

  ‘Don’t worry, you stupid bitch. Who was it who said why go out for hamburger when you have steak at home? Well, I’ve been out for steak, after the parents’ evening. Nice, juicy, tender rump steak, so I’m not interested in a bit of scrag end. You’re safe enough for now. It’s like fucking a frozen dead pig in an abattoir, anyway.’

  The flood of relief she felt at his words was tempered by a desperate need to know how the evening had gone. What the future had in store for her son.

  As if reading her thoughts, he said, ‘And luckily it seems the boy has definitely inherited his brains from me and he’s not doing too badly. But if he really wants to get on in the career he’s chosen, he’s going to have to up his game. Quite considerably. He’ll be facing stiff competition.

  ‘So every evening, it will need to be head down over his homework for as long as it takes to have it absolutely word perfect. Or he’ll have me to answer to.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‘How’s it going, Ted? What cases have you got on? For god’s sake talk to me about something which doesn’t have to do with bloody stately homes and which monarch might have spent the night in which four-poster bed.’

  It was the voice of Ted’s old boss, former Detective Superintendent Jim Baker, on the phone, and he sounded desperate. Ted couldn’t resist the chance to wind up the man who was also a good friend outside work.

  ‘You must realise, Mr Baker, that I can’t possibly discuss confidential police matters with a mere civilian.’

  ‘Piss off, Ted,’ Big Jim growled. ‘Look, don’t get me wrong, being married to Bella and having time to spend with her is really good ...’

  ‘You can spare me the details.’

  ‘You’re supposed to be my friend. You know, supportive.’

  Ted was trying not to laugh at his tone.

  ‘I’m trying, Jim, honestly. But seriously, you’re retired. None of this concerns you any more. Not unless you get called in to consult on a case, and at the moment, we don’t have anything big enough to warrant that, as far as I know.’

  ‘At least tell me what you’ve got on, in case there’s anything I can wangle my way into running, with a word in the right ear. Seriously, consider it a public service. I’d no idea how tiring and frustrating this retirement lark is or I’d never have considered it.’

  ‘Look, I haven’t time to chat now, but what about later, if you can get away? It’s Trev’s karate night. I’ve already said I doubt I’ll be able to join him, so he’s going for a meal with his mates afterwards. That means I have an excuse for staying out late.

  ‘I’m taking Kev for a pint when he knocks off because he’s trying to blackmail me, so why not come over and join us? Kev won’t stay long, I don’t suppose, so if Dave will let us have the back room we could have a hotpot or something in there and I’ll tell you what we’re working on. I daren’t do it in the bar, having had to kick the backsides of the Ashton lot because I found them in the pub having a long lunch and claiming to be talking shop when I called on them, without telling them what time I was going.’

  ‘They weren’t!’ Big Jim exclaimed. ‘How were they getting away with that with Judy Collier? She’s a stickler for the rules.’

  ‘You’ve not heard, then? She was in a bad car crash and is still in traction. So DS Ramsay is in charge in her absence.’

  Jim made a scornful noise.

  ‘So don’t tell me, Burgess has his hand up the back of his jacket, working his mouth and making his own words come out of it. Right, I’ll definitely be over later. Apart from anything, I want to hear what Kevin’s found about you that he could blackmail you with. I never found anything in all the time we worked together, you jammy bastard.’

  Ted left it to Mike to coordinate an update with the full team present at the end of the day. He perched in the background, as he often did, ready to add anything if necessary.

  ‘The suspect has been sent on his way, not very happily, on pre-charge bail. What we need now is to look at where we’re at collectively in respect of what we can possibly charge him with, to have any remote chance of getting it to stick. He’s gone from denying everything and swearing blind she jumped intentionally to admitting he may have grabbed her but in self-defence because she could be violent towards him.’

  Jo Rodriguez was coordinating all the evidence. He spoke up.

  ‘The picture I’m getting of him, from what I’ve read so far, is of a bully in the workplace. Management by fear. But he works exclusively with men, as I understand it. So we need to know what he’s like with women other than his partner. If he’s been regularly knocking her about, it might indicate some deep-seated issue with women in general. Does he have any interaction with any other women, perhaps socially? What do they think of him?’

  DCs Nick Cross and Andy Green had been interviewing the neighbours in the block of flats where the fatal incident had occurred. Cross spoke up for both of them.

  ‘None of the blokes we’ve spoken to so far had a good word to say for him. Arrogant, overbearing, up himself, not interested in anyone else’s opinion, was the general view. Not someone you’d want to tangle with. The women didn’t like him either. Always polite, but patronising, one of them put it. Liked to mansplain things, put the little woman in her place, if any of them tried to have an opinion. We couldn’t find anyone who chose to mix with either of them socially but they’d sometimes bump into one another in a pub, exchange a few words. That sort of thing. The little lad didn’t mix with any of the other kids in the block, not that we could find out. Everyone said he was like a little mouse. He’d barely speak, except to return a greeting politely enough, if anyone passed him on the stairs
on his way going to and from school.’

  ‘But no one thought about raising concerns for his welfare anywhere?’ Ted queried.

  ‘I can probably answer that, boss,’ Jezza told him. ‘I spoke to his school. They also reported him as very quiet, no friends to speak of, kept to himself. But there were no real trigger warning signs. Nothing in his behaviour to signal he was experiencing abuse. He always looked well-fed, clean and well presented, no physical signs or marks to raise suspicions. He always did his homework well. A model pupil in many respects. Just a quiet one who didn’t mix a lot.

  ‘And Maurice and I have now had our first meeting with him. He is clearly traumatised by what happened and it was hard going. Even Daddy Hen couldn’t immediately work his usual magic,’ Jezza smiled fondly at Maurice as she spoke.

  ‘He actually seemed to focus on me more than Maurice, but it’s early days. It was a very brief visit, to test the water. He didn’t ask about the man, at all. Nothing to indicate he considers him in any way a father figure. Certainly not asking if he could go back to him, which is probably revealing of itself.’

  ‘And yet screaming rows were apparently a common feature in the home. So why did nobody report anything? Suspicions, at least?’ Jo asked.

  Steve spoke up, hesitant as ever with other officers he didn’t know present. Although Mike was running things, with Jo inputting, it was to Ted that Steve’s anxious gaze kept being drawn.

  ‘Sir, perhaps the neighbours were simply afraid to get involved. If the man really does have a bad reputation as a violent bully, it would take a lot of courage, either to go up against him or to risk what his reaction would be if they reported him anonymously. Because he’d probably guess it was the neighbours and it might have got nasty with all of them.’

  ‘That’s a valid point, Steve,’ Jo conceded. ‘I always confess to not being the bravest of people. It’s so sad, though, to think that a woman is dead when perhaps she could have been saved.