by Clare Revell
Her face burned, and she was glad she hadn’t got as far as the sunhat she also had in her bag.
DI Holmes crossed the room, making no attempt to hide his smile.
“Oh, I see…” She pulled out her hat and stuck it on her head. “Too much?”
Zander grinned. “Suits you.” He plucked it off her head and stuck it on his own. “But I think I’d suit it better.” As the laughter increased, he winked at her. “Let’s go. You can drive.”
“I’d rather not if you don’t mind.”
He handed the hat back to her. “I don’t mind in the slightest. I love driving. Let’s log out my service car and introduce you to the delights of Hydrangea Court.”
~*~
The roads were almost as quiet as his new partner. Zander glanced at her. Why was she squashed on the edge of the seat next to the door, as far away from him as she could get? Surely his driving wasn’t that scary. “What’s up? Not upset over the sunscreen thing, are you? It’s just banter, you’ll get used to it.”
She shook her head. “It’s fine. We did the same thing over at Fleet Street. I was wondering why you don’t use your own car.”
He snorted. “That’s a great idea. Let the bad guys do a PNC check and find out where I live. Besides, the insurance on it would be astronomical if I used the car for work purposes. Especially with all the high-speed chases we do.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really?”
He shook his head, trying not to grin. “I wish. Traffic handles those. And before you ask, no we don’t have blue flashing lights either, or the ones that you stick on the roof. They are just on unmarked traffic cars. But using a service vehicle means we won’t get pulled over or fined if we do break the speed limit. Just get yelled at by the DI for all the paperwork we’ll make him. How long were you at Fleet Street?”
“Two years, since I finished training.”
“I know a DS from there—David Painter. We go to the same church.” He caught the sideways look she gave him. “What? Cops can’t go to church?”
“I never said that.” She shifted the seatbelt, rearranging it against her neck. “I go myself sometimes.”
Zander parked outside a block of flats. “Francis McNally lives on the seventh floor.”
“I just hope the lifts are working this morning.” Isabel got out of the car and looked up at the tall building. “Have they done a fire safety check on this place?”
“It’s got a sprinkler system installed.” Zander headed up the steps, wrinkling his nose at the stench. “Mind you, it could probably do with being inspected. Might give the fire boys a call when we get back.”
“The landlord won’t like that.”
Zander held the door open for her. “You want another Grenfell Tower on our hands?”
Isabel shook her head. “No.”
An out-of-order sign was posted on the lift doors. Zander hissed in frustration and anger. This was meant to have been fixed. “Great.” He sighed and set off up the fourteen flights of stairs to the seventh floor. He wasn’t out of breath as they reached the landing, but Isabel was. He shook his head and trotted down the landing to flat 712.
They had a long wait and Zander was about to leave, when the door finally opened on the latch.
The old gentleman peered around the edge. “Yes?”
Zander produced his ID, holding it close enough for him to read. If he’d come under normal circumstances, and alone, it would be different. But he was here on official police business, so warrant cards it was. “Mr. McNally, I’m DC Ellery, this is DC York. How are you doing?”
Isabel showed him her warrant card as well.
“Not so bad.” The old man took the warrant cards and read them, before he opened the door properly. “Thank you. You can’t be too careful these days.” He leaned heavily on both walking sticks. “Thank you for coming.”
Zander smiled. The old man knew him so well and yet loved playing along when Zander was here in the line of duty. “Any time.”
Mr. McNally nodded. “Come on in.” He turned slowly and as they moved past him, closed the door, shooting the latch across again.
“How long’s the lift been out of action this time?” Zander asked.
“A week. I would offer you fine officers a drink, but all I have is water, I’m afraid. I can’t get out to the shops. That’s another reason I had to get you to come here this time.”
Zander’s heart sank. He and Isabel exchanged glances as they followed Mr. McNally’s slow progress to the kitchen. “Hasn’t your neighbour been in to check on you?” Zander asked. He should have come over last night, or at least rung his grandfather, and checked everything was all right. Instead he’d done something else and this was the result. He assumed Gramps was also out of food as well as milk.
“Not recently. She and her husband must be away. My grandson rings every few days, but he’s a busy man and doesn’t have time to come over as much as he’d like. Works long hours.”
As the old gentleman eased into a chair, Zander opened a few cupboards and pulled a face. There was nothing there. His guilt level rose. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Wednesday, I think. Aside from biscuits or cereal. But I don’t like to make a fuss.”
Zander’s stomach twisted. That was way too long without proper food and he knew for a fact the old man was pushing eighty. He pulled out his notebook, scribbling quickly. “Isabel, there’s a supermarket on the corner near where I parked the car. Run down there and get this lot, will you?”
She did a double take. “You serious?”
“Very.” He handed her the list, and then pulled out his wallet. He peeled off a few twenties, grateful he’d had the foresight to stop off at the ATM on his way to work. “This should cover it. I’ll take his statement while you’re gone.”
“You don’t have to,” Mr. McNally began.
“Yes, we do,” Zander insisted. “She won’t be long, and then we can make you some tea when she gets back.”
Isabel took the money and the list and headed out.
Zander turned to Mr. McNally. “Is there anything else I can do while I’m here? Clean? Change the sheets on the bed? Arrange that proper home help that you’ve been refusing?”
“You’re doing enough. And you can drop the official I’m-on-duty act, Zander. It’s just us now. My wallet is on the side, take the money I owe you.”
Zander shook his head. He’d refuse point blank, but the old man was proud. He’d compromise over the money once again. “Not until I get those sheets changed and push the hoover around. Then I’ll take your statement. Isabel will be a while going up and down those stairs.” He heaved a sigh, feeling horrible that things had gone this far, and become this bad without him realising. What kind of a man was he? “Gramps, why didn’t you tell me you needed help? And don’t say it’s because I didn’t ask or I’m busy. I am never too busy for you, you know that. The telephone works both ways. All you have to do is pick it up and ask me to go grab some milk and bread on my way home.”
His grandfather nodded slowly. “Just not easy to ask for help,” he admitted.
“I know, but I’m not my mother. I’ll not try and force you into a home or anything else. Though somewhere on the ground floor might be an idea.” Zander got to his feet. “OK. Sheets, then hoover. And I’ll take them and the rest of your laundry with me. I can bring it back tomorrow and don’t even think about arguing with me.”
Gramps chuckled. “And you reckon you’re not like your mother. She’d use that exact tone of voice with me. The only difference is she’d tap her foot and fold her arms while she was speaking. Fine, you can help on one condition. No telling…”
“Mum,” Zander finished. “I won’t. You’ve got no worries on that score.”
“Are you still not talking to them?” Gramps sounded horrified. “How long’s it been?”
“Too many years. I send Mum cards and letters, but never hear back. Beginning to wonder if she even gets them.” He shoved aside t
he hurt the family rift caused.
“So, get one of your sisters to hand them on,” Gramps said. “There’re enough of them. A smart man like you should have figured that one out a long time ago.”
~*~
It took Isabel three long and exhausting trips to drag all the shopping bags up to the seventh floor. She could have asked Zander to help, after all this was his idea, but she wasn’t about to show weakness in front of her new partner. She had to show she was as capable as any bloke would be. After the second foray up the stairs, she ditched the shoes and did the last trip in stocking feet.
The relief was instantaneous. At least temporarily. She’d never wear high heels on duty again. Stick to the flat lace-ups she’d worn with her uniform. They may not be as fashionable or go as well with her suits, but comfort won hands down. Right now, she’d even wear running shoes if she had them.
Finally, she rang the doorbell.
Zander let her in. “Why didn’t you ask for help to bring it up the stairs? How many trips did it take? Two?”
“Three. And you asked me to get it, so I did.”
“I would have helped carry it up here regardless. Did you get everything?”
She nodded, letting him take four of the bags. “I stopped at the café as well. Got him something to eat.” She held up the take away bag as she shoved her painful feet back into her shoes. “You didn’t get any change, I’m afraid. I subbed it.”
“I wasn’t expecting change. And if Mr. McNally offers payment again, we take a fiver towards it.”
Isabel nodded. She followed Zander to the kitchen with the rest of the bags, trying not to limp. Perhaps she should have left her shoes off for a few minutes more. Mind you, she’d never have wanted to put them on again if she’d done that. Ever. “What have you done with him?”
“He’s in the lounge.”
Isabel plated up his fish and chips. “I know it’s early for lunch, but I figured he could do with a decent meal, and this was the best take away option there was. I’ll start putting this lot away.”
Zander shot her a grateful smile. “Thank you. That meal means more than you could possibly imagine.” He picked up the plate and left the room.
She began emptying the bags and filling the cupboards. As Zander came back into the room, she glanced at him. “I can’t believe no one checked on him. Not even his grandson.”
Zander’s cheeks pinked slightly. “That’s been dealt with. But it happens. Old people fall through the cracks. It shouldn’t happen but it does.”
Isabel studied him. From his reaction, anyone would think he was the errant grandson in question. Or maybe he treated his own grandfather the same way. “Can’t the council help? At least house him on the ground floor somewhere.”
“He’s a proud man, won’t ask for the help he needs. And he won’t let his family ask either.”
“My gran’s the same.” She paused. “Actually, I know someone who might be able to help him around the house. She’s the home help that Gran has. Shall I text her and ask?”
Zander nodded. “Can’t hurt.”
Five texts later, in the time it took the kettle to boil, she’d made arrangements. “All sorted. She can come over later to see what she can do to help.”
“I don’t need charity, girly,” Mr. McNally’s voice came from behind her.
Isabel turned, pretending to misunderstand. “Her name is Lexi, not Charity.”
He scowled.
“It’s not charity either,” Isabel said quickly. “I pay her to do my ironing, because I hate doing it. She also cleans Gran’s house once a week, does any shopping she needs, and so on. She makes great cake and loves a good gossip.” She paused. “Not that you look like the type to gossip, but she knows football and cricket too.”
“I do like cricket,” the old man said. “I used to play once upon a time. How much does she charge?”
“A fiver,” Isabel said. “She’s lovely.” She pointed to the Bible on the table. “And she goes to church. Just see what you think when she gets here. Her name’s Lexi Eke and she’ll be here at half past ten.” She wrote Lexi’s number into her notebook and tore the page out. She laid it on the table. “Let me know what you think of her.”
“I will.”
Zander looked at him. “We’ll go and speak to those kids as well. Find out what’s going on. It’s probably nothing, but a friendly word wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Thank you.”
Zander nodded. “We should go. Otherwise we’ll have the DI yelling at us for being late. And it’s Isabel’s first day so we don’t want that.”
The old man nodded. “Thank you for coming and for all you’ve done. Did you take the money like I said?”
Zander shook his head. “Next time.” He headed to the door and ushered Isabel out quickly before the issue could be pressed. Once the door was closed, he looked at Isabel. “A fiver? We both know it’ll cost way more than that.”
“True. I supplement Gran’s, so he won’t know any different.” She paused. “And technically she isn’t my Gran. Just the old dear across the road, but she’s always looked out for me, and she’s the closest thing I have to a grandma so I kind of adopted her. She thinks it’s sweet.”
“The DI won’t approve of you paying for a home help for someone,” Zander warned as they started back down the stairs.
She laughed. “Would he approve of all the shopping and so on we’ve done already for the same someone? It sounded as if he disapproved of social care. Unless that was just that cop’s attitude towards women. Which I’ve had a gutful of, if I’m honest. My last job was full of blokes who thought they were better than us poor, defenceless females any day of the week.”
Zander’s laugh was deep and sent ripples running through her. “Nope, the Guv doesn’t like men who despise women. Not sure on the social care aspect. So, if we don’t tell him, he’ll be none the wiser.” He paused. “Remind me to take the bag of washing out of the boot when we get back to the nick and put it in my car.”
“You’re doing his washing? Anyone would think you were the wayward grandson he mentioned.” As Zander went bright red, she pushed the issue. “You are, aren’t you?”
He nodded slowly. “I ring every other day and try to visit once a week. He just won’t ask for help, and I hadn’t gotten there since the weekend before last. I feel horrible. What if something had happened?”
“It didn’t. Besides, he’ll have both of us checking up on him now.”
Zander angled his head. “Both of us?”
“Partner equals family is what they told us when we were training. So that makes him a surrogate grandfather.”
He smiled. Maybe she wasn’t so bad. “Thanks, partner.”
“You’re welcome.” She leaned against the wall and pulled off her shoes. She’d bin them as soon as she got home tonight. “So, what’s going on with these kids you mentioned? Was that why he called us out in the first place? Did you get a statement?”
“Yes. They seem to like playing thunder and lightning on the doors every evening.”
“We called that knock down ginger if it’s what I’m thinking.” She massaged her foot, almost able to feel the blisters forming.
“Same thing, all right. Figured we’d swing back here once school gets out. Have a quiet word.” He studied her. “What’s up with your feet?”
“They fell out with my shoes. High heels and myriad flights of stairs don’t mix. It’s a shame we haven’t got time for me to go home and change them. I think I’ll stick to flats from now on. No pun intended.”
He groaned. “That is terrible. And yes, we can make time to change your shoes. It won’t take long, and if we’re late we can blame the traffic. It’s always bad this time of day.”
Isabel shot him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Where do you live?”
“Grey’s Avenue.”
“That’s only five minutes from here. Won’t take long.”
“G
ood. Then, let’s get going, because someone told me the DI really hates people being late. And I don’t want you getting me in trouble on my first day.” She held her shoes tightly and set off down the stairs as fast as she could on her sore feet, laughter and footsteps following her all the way to the bottom.
2
Zander reorganised the top of his desk, lining everything up properly. Everything had its place and there it had to stay. In neat little rows. Or in order by height in the pen pot.
Isabel groaned. “That’s the nth time you’ve done that in the last hour. Does it really matter if the pencil isn’t exactly in line with the pen? What is it with you and being tidy?”
He shrugged. “I don’t like mess. Besides, it’s easier to find things that way.” He looked pointedly at the chaos on her desk, his hands itching to clear the clutter and put things back where they belonged. She hadn’t even been here a full day yet and her desk was piled high with who knew what.
However, despite her untidiness, he owed her. Why hadn’t he thought of buying Gramps lunch? OK, he’d been prepared to make sandwiches before he left, but a hot meal was far better. And it came from Isabel—unprompted.
The phone next to the pile of folders rang, and he snatched it up. “Ellery.” He paused and listened. “OK, we’ll be right down.”
Isabel looked at him. “Now what?”
“Interview room. More statements.”
“Seriously? That’s what, the tenth today?” She tossed her pen to her desk, sending it skittering over the surface and onto the floor. “This is not what I joined CID for.”
“Isn’t it?” DI Holmes leaned against the doorway, studying her.
“No. It’s three in the afternoon. All we’ve done all day is take hundreds of statements, well, maybe not literally hundreds, and do social care.”
The DI’s expression visibly darkened. “Then what were you expecting?” His voice took on the semi-dangerous tone that the whole squad knew meant his temper was simmering. If one was smart, one cut one’s losses, did what he asked and ran. Fast.
“I don’t know. Solving cases perhaps, car chases…”
