Murder-De-Sac

by Jim Bennett

  ‘Listen, I saw the ambulance outside your house the other morning and I just wanted to say… I wanted you to know that if you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m always here'. Afterwards, Julie realised this was the moment when she should have walked away.

  Without placing her hands on the floor, Mrs Sinclair stood up. She ran her hands down the back of her legs once to dislodge any lingering dust. ‘Do you expect that you’re the first gossip that has made themselves known to me, hoping for all the details of my life?’

  Julie tried to protest. Mrs Sinclair didn’t let her. ‘Are you so naive that you think I don’t know how all of you all carry on, talking about my life? Who do you think you are? Not only did I need to deal with some cockney geezer in the early hours because the sink had decided to leak but then I was forced to call the paramedics at half past five. And then of course the idiot plumber was still fumbling his way around the pipes because of his inability to work for more than five minutes without demanding another cup of tea'.

  Julie once again went to speak and was immediately interrupted.

  ‘Can you actually begin to comprehend how stressful it was to have all of those people in my house at once. Not only that but trying to come to terms with the fact that my husband could die any moment?’

  Now Mrs Sinclair gave Julie the opportunity to speak. Struggling to find any words that were adequate, she said ‘he made it through though, didn’t he? Looks like he’s enjoying himself'.

  You know nothing about my life’, she said, with a muted fury. ‘And you are not my friend. So please don’t pretend that you are'.

  Julie started stammering out an apology, but Mrs Sinclair wasn’t interested. The second that she was out of sight, Julie plonked herself down on the hard stone steps. She sat for a few moments trying to convince herself not to cry. Then the events of the past few days suddenly overwhelmed her and she began gushing, her hands clasped over her face. In the past few days, she had experienced such a variety of emotions, and she now felt them pouring out of her. She was in jeopardy of becoming hysterical. It didn’t matter to her. This week had seen a lifetime’s worth of drama crammed into the space of a few days. She decided she was allowed to cry as much as she liked.

  ‘Christ, are you alright?' a voice said. She peaked through her fingers and could just about distinguish the figure of a very tall man with dark hair. ‘I heard someone wailing. Have you been mugged or something?'

  ‘Who’s going to mug me round the back of an old people’s home?' She wiped her eyes on the back of her shoulder and was pleasantly surprised to find Mike standing in front of her. He was essentially wearing the exact same clothes that he wore to work. A pair of cargo shorts and a polo shirt, although this one wasn’t branded with the garden centre’s logo. The only noticeable difference was that his feet were adorned with a pair of sensible sandals, the ones with the strap behind the back of your ankle.

  ‘I dunno. Never really gone in for muggings myself. You’d probably want to do it somewhere quiet though’.

  ‘You’d still need a bit of foot traffic though. Otherwise there wouldn’t be anyone to mug'.

  ‘Well you’re here, aren’t you?'

  She chuckled in spite of herself. ‘Would you mind sitting with me for a bit?’

  Mike rubbed his hand against the back of his head. ‘Yeah alright', he said, lowering himself beside her. The step was so narrow that his left and her right thigh were pushed against one another.

  ‘What was all that about then?' Mike asked. ‘I saw some other women marching off with a face like a slapped arse. Is it something to do with why you haven’t been at work for the last few days?’

  ‘No, it’s nothing to do with that. She’s my neighbour. It’s not her fault. I was prying and she doesn’t have the easiest life at the best of times’. Her eyes were still moist and she could feel that her nose was dangerously close to dripping. She sniffed loudly and Mike handed her a hanky. She took it from him gratefully.

  ‘Who uses a hanky on this day and age. When were you born, 1943?’

  Julie had started wiping her face with it when Mike said ‘it was my dad’s’.

  ‘Bloody hell’, she said without thinking, throwing it back at him. ‘How old is it?'

  ‘He didn’t come back from the war’. Mike looked down at his shoes with a sad look on his face.

  ‘God, Mike, I’m so sorry’. She grabbed it back from him and continued to dab her eyes with it. ‘It’s really kind of you to let me use it. It’s very…', Julie scrambled for a word commonly used to compliment a hanky. ‘Soft. Luxurious even'. She looked out of the corner of her eye and was horrified to see that Mike's shoulders were shaking as he silently wept.

  'Mike, I'm so sorry', she said, putting her arm around his shoulder. 'I didn't mean to upset you. Were you very close?'

  Her colleague turned towards her and revealed that he was in fact laughing.

  'Who inherits a hanky? Honestly woman. I know I'm not exactly flush, but even my family could muster up a China bowl or something to leave to the grandchildren'.

  Trying not to laugh, she threw the hanky back at him and its corner hit him in the eye. He let out an exaggerated breath as if it had really taken him back.

  ‘I don’t care’, Julie said, attempting to look irritated. ‘I’ve already apologised once’.

  He managed to bring his chortling under control. ‘Okay, I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself’.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be with your aunty anyway? What’s her name again, Joan?’

  ‘Jean', Mike said, the expression on his face instantly souring. ‘She’s with that wanker- husband-not-a-husband of hers. We were having a lovely afternoon. I even managed to convince her to go on the helter skelter’.

  ‘They have a helter skelter? Is that a good idea?’

  ‘It’s just a slide really. But they’ve painted the sides. Red and blue it is, same difference to her. Anyway, she was gearing up for her third go when Roy turns up with a bunch of flowers which he’s clearly picked at the bottom of the drive. Those purple ones, you know? With the big hanging head on them?' Julie nodded. ‘She wouldn’t even give me a second look then, would she? Too busy with her fancy boy'.

  ‘So you just decided to have a wander?’

  ‘Well, truth be told, I saw you heading off and I thought it would be nice to come and say hello. Because I haven’t seen you in a few days, with you not being at work. I dunno, it’s silly really, but…you know...'.

  ‘I know what?’

  ‘You cheer me up. At least when you’re not blinding me with a hanky'.

  ‘Oh right’, Julie said, blushing slightly and looking at her feet. They sat in silence for a few moments, both waiting for the other to speak first.

  ‘Listen’, Mike said. ‘I was thinking, maybe it would be nice if we could…',

  ‘I’m sorry if I’m interrupting something', a familiar voice said to their right. Julie looked around and saw DI Morris standing with the policeman that Mrs McGrath had called Jimmy a few paces behind him.

  Mike scrambled to his feet. The presence of these two police officers had momentarily made him forget that he hadn’t in fact done anything wrong.

  ‘Not at all Detective Inspector', Julie said with a perfunctory smile. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘We have a few more questions for you Mrs Giles. Would you be willing to come to the station with us?' Julie tried not to panic, though in her experience, telling yourself not to get agitated is about as useful as trying to swim on land.

  ‘Yes of course’, she said. ‘How did you know where I was?'

  ‘We are aware that you are related to a resident. When you weren’t at your home or your place of work, it felt like the most logical choice'.

  ‘Right', Julie said, feeling slightly insulted that she was so easy to track down,’let me say goodbye to my mother in law and I’ll be right with you'.

  She looked to Mike to say goodbye, but he was standing looking at his shoes in a pose usually reserve
d for naughty school boys waiting to go into the headmaster’s office. When she told Betty she was leaving, she was still holding her cotton wool sheep close to her chest and didn’t appear to have an exact understanding of who Julie was. Then, for the first time in her life, she climbed into the backseat of a police car.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Julie was fairly certain that the room they had put her in wasn’t a formal questioning suite. There was no tape recorder on the table like the ones she had seen on police dramas. The chairs weren’t entirely depleted of cushioning either, although you wouldn’t be able to sit on one comfortably for a prolonged period. There was also some natural light, coming through a very narrow rectangle of glass placed too high on the wall for Julie to look outside. Julie guessed that this was the place that they put people who they weren’t able to formally question, but that there was still something decidedly suspicious about. A person of interest was the phrase that came to mind.

  She expected it was the middle of the three levels of comfort available. A slightly more accomodating room with worn out armchairs and a shallow sofa for grieving widows and the like must exist somewhere else in the building. It wouldn’t do to put the dears in a room as depressing as this. Julie had been left alone while the young police officer had gone to make her a cup of tea. Much like her time at Mrs McGrath’s house, coffee was viewed as a fad only available in the colonies.

  Jimmy entered carrying her tea.

  ‘Where’s DS Winnington?' Julie asked, hoping she wouldn’t be part of today’s proceedings.

  ‘She had to er… go away for a bit'. Jimmy said.

  Julie was intrigued. Before she could ask anymore questions, DI Morris came into the room.

  ‘Thank you for taking the time to speak to us again, Mrs Giles', DI Morris said, taking a seat across from her. He had been carrying a brown folder, which he placed on the table in front of him. ‘I know your time must be very precious’. Julie thought she could detect a note of sarcasm in his tone, which was unsurprising really, given that they had collected from her from a second rate summer fete.

  ‘We were interrupted last time we spoke’. He looked irritated even at the mere memory of Mrs McGrath. ‘If it is alright with you, I would like to take some time establishing the order of events on the night that Mr Harper died'.

  Julie said nothing, rightly resuming that this question was entirely rhetorical.

  ‘It is our understanding that Mr Harper left his place of work at around midnight. Could you please tell us at what time he returned home?'

  Julie could feel herself becoming flustered even at this most basic question. What was it about this nasty little man that filed her with such terror?

  ‘I think… or was it...? No, I’m not sure’.

  The inspector’s top lip twitched. ‘You’re not sure?’

  ‘I went to bed early. It had been a long day’.

  ‘Then why did you start your previous sentence with ‘I think’?’

  ‘I’m sorry?' Julie’s voice cracked.

  ‘You must have been about to say something else. What was it?'

  Julie really didn’t want to go into the further particulars of her sorry relationship with Jack, but it didn’t appear as if she had any choice.

  ‘Jack came into my bedroom at about 3.15. I heard the front door crashing shut just before, so he probably got home around then'.

  ‘Why would your young lodger be coming into your bedroom in the middle of the night?’

  ‘You would have to ask him’, Julie said without thinking.

  ‘Unfortunately we can’t Mrs Giles, because he’s dead. Was there perhaps something more longstanding about your association than you first led us to believe?'

  ‘Oh for goodness sake’. For the first time, Julie let her frustration overtake her panic at being in a police station. ‘We’ve been over this. We slept together once. There was nothing more to it than that'.

  ‘It’s interesting that you say that, because we’ve received reports that you and Mr Harper were arguing shortly before he died'.

  This threw Julie. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Was it because you were angry that the victim had decided to end your affair?' DI Morris asked without answering Julie’s question.

  ‘I’m sorry, but how does that tally with your accusation that he came into my bedroom for a sexual encounter? Surely both can’t be true?'

  DI Morris shifted his weight in his seat. Julie was pleased to see that the reference to the matters of the loin were making him uncomfortable. ‘I’ll be asking the questions, thank you', he said, averting his gaze for a moment. He fixed his spotlight eyes back on her and said ‘Did you ever want to hurt Mr Harper?'

  ‘No of course not', Julie said a beat too quickly.

  ‘And there’s no possibility that the victim returned to your address before 3.15?'

  ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t know. I heard a few things in the night, but nothing that I could be certain about. Oh, except I heard a 24 hour plumber arriving at Mrs Sinclair’s house’.

  DI Morris didn’t break his eye contact with Julie, nor did Jimmy make a note of what she would have expected to be new information. Well Julie thought, at least who explains who told the police about the argument. Paraplegic husband or not, her sympathy for Mrs Sinclair was reaching new lows.

  ‘Could you shed any light on what the victim may have been doing between the time he left his place of work and returning home?'

  ‘I really didn’t know him that well'.

  ‘Do you have any idea as to what he could have been doing between the time he left his place of work and when he came into your bedroom?'

  ‘No, sorry'.

  ‘None at all?'

  ‘Maybe he went out to meet some friends'.

  ‘A possibility', DI Morris said, sounding momentarily conciliatory, ‘except we checked his mobile phone, and there is no evidence of any communication with anyone else.

  Julie was starting to get annoyed, although tried not to let it show. ‘He lived in my house for a few weeks and yes, before you bring it up again, we did have a very brief and incredibly casual relationship. But he remains as much a mystery to me as he does to you'.

  ‘Very well’. The inspector appeared to realise that this branch of questioning wasn’t going to get him anywhere. His hand remained placed on the folder he had brought with him. Julie thought that it was more a prop than anything else. People were more likely to divulge something to you if they thought you already had the information.

  ‘Did you see Mr Harper again after he left your room at 3.15?'

  ‘No, that was the last time'.

  ‘Based on the state of the body then, that would place the time of death at some time between 3.15am and 6.00am', the inspector said more to himself than anyone else. ‘And have you given any further thought to where Mr Harper may have been getting his funds from?'

  Julie shook her head.

  ‘You have no idea where a young man who only had casual employment had been able to acquire…', he looked over to Jimmy.

  ‘£320', Jimmy said without looking in his notebook.

  ‘And when we take into account that Mr Harper had been unable to obtain his final wage from the bar in which he had been working on the night in question as he had planned, it is all the more peculiar'.

  Julie shook her head again. That sounded very low to her. She hadn’t had much experience of handling large sums of money, but that roll of bills that she had seen Jack with definitely looked like more than £320. Or even £320 plus the cost of the drugs that he had been buying. Especially if most of them had been £50 notes, like the one that he had dropped on the floor.

  ‘We have found a set of fingerprints in some wet paint on the windowsill'.

  ‘I told you I’d paid Jack to do a bit of work around the house for me'.

  ‘I remember. Would you be willing to provide us with a copy of yours to eliminate them from our enquiry?

  ‘I don’t really understa
nd what this is all about. Jack took an overdose, didn’t he? No one killed him'.

  The inspector continued to stare at her, although there was something evasive in his look. ‘We are still open to all avenues', he said. Julie thought he would make a good politician. Never really answering the question but making it feel like you should be thanking them for the scraps of information they threw your way. Mrs McGrath might not be as tapped as she looks then. Someone may have murdered Jack. ‘Your fingerprints would be very helpful Mrs Giles’, he repeated.

  ‘Oh yes, sorry. Of course'.

  ‘Very good. DC Rowntree can help you with that once we are done here'.

  ‘Thank you', Julie said and then felt silly.

  ‘Mrs Giles. Is there anything else that you can tell us that will help explain how a young man could come to this town and within a few weeks, end up dead?'

  Julie wanted to be helpful, she really did, but she was so scared of sounding ridiculous in front of these professional people. Surely nothing that she could suggest would be of any consequence.

  'I'm sorry. I just don't know what I could tell you that would be useful'.

  'Did Mr Harper have any other friends that you saw him associating with? Anyone that would have wanted to do him any harm?'

  Before Julie could answer, the door slammed open and Mrs McGrath walked into the room. Julie found that for the first time in her life, she was actually pleased to see her.

  DI Morris, who's back had been to the door, turned to admonish the intruder. His usual resolute persona dropped for a moment and he registered clear unadulterated shock at seeing his adversary.

  ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing here?'

  ‘I’m here to support my neighbour’. She hobbled around the table and sat next to Julie without being invited.

  ‘It’s not Jeremy Kyle. You can’t just come in and hold her hand because you feel like it'.

  ‘I’m her appropriate adult’, Mrs McGrath said, resting her stick against the table and getting comfortable.