Going back out running in the dark wasn’t something I intended to do anytime soon, however. Not until whoever had decided they wanted me dead was safely locked up with their gun confiscated.
I wondered, as I stole one of Samuel’s green tea bags, how they’d even known that I was the one who’d been investigating, but that wasn’t hard to figure out. I’d been going around asking all sorts of people questions about Graham’s death, including the staff at the cafe. News like that was bound to get around Lockdale after a while. Lockdale didn’t have a cinema or a shopping centre like York did, so gossiping made up the majority pastime for those who didn’t want to hike up the drab hills in the rain.
Sipping on a surprisingly pleasant green tea at my desk, I let my head fall back and stared up at the peeling ceiling. In a way, these attacks showed that I was getting something; that there was something to be found after all the digging I’d done in the wrong places, and in the right ones without knowing it.
“Go home, Mitchell,” Hogan said when she’d finished on the phone, by which time I’d finished my tea and was just too tired to heave myself out of my desk chair, which had suddenly become the comfiest piece of furniture I’d ever sat in.
Still, looking at Hogan’s gentle disapproval wasn’t conducive to sleep, so I dragged my aching body up and slumped off home. All the thoughts and problems and worries that were swimming around my head right now would still be there in the morning.
A number of York officers were already at the station by the time I turned up, feeling twice my age. I swore my bones creaked as I sat down in my chair.
“Sir?” I looked up and found Samuel hovering, looking mildly apprehensive.
“Yes?” I rubbed my head, feeling like the hours of sleep I had managed to get hadn’t been half as many as I wanted.
He proffered a piece of paper at me without saying anything, and I took it, flipping it over to see an A4-sized drawing of a distinctly familiar-looking young woman.
“This is?” I said even as I realised. “This is from the teenager from the cafe?”
“Liam, yeah, sir.”
“When did you finish this?” I asked, fixing Samuel with a sharp look.
“Couple days ago--” Samuel started, before breaking off sharply at the scowl on my face.
I now realised that expecting Samuel to deliver the picture as soon as he’d finished it had been a mistake. “So you’ve just been sitting on key evidence for days,” I snapped. “And you didn’t think to come and tell me?”
“You seemed busy, sir,” Samuel muttered, though he looked suitably chastened.
I took a breath, reminding myself that he was just a kid. “Next time I ask you to do something crucial to an investigation,” If I ever do that again, I thought privately, “I want you to give it to me the second you finish, understand? Even if it’s one o’clock in the morning, I would frankly rather you told me than wait, okay?”
Samuel cleared his throat, evidently wanting to slip away. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.”
He skedaddled, and I sighed, finally looking properly at the picture he’d made. It was what I’d asked for at least; detailed but not overly artistic or fanciful. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew who the woman was, but it just wouldn’t quite click into place.
I sensed rather than heard someone stop close behind me and jerked around, tense and on edge. But it was just Kay, who looked rather startled at my sudden movement. She gave me an awkward smile that told me immediately that she’d been informed of what happened last night.
But instead of saying anything, she held out a Tupperware box full of thickly iced chocolate cupcakes, which was honestly better than any words of sympathy.
“Kay, you’re the best partner ever,” I said, readily accepting the box off her before she changed her mind.
“You should thank Anna, not me.”
“And I will do that also when you next invite me over for dinner.”
Kay chuckled before her face sobered. “Are you alright, though?” she said. “The sarge said you were but…” She was frowning at me now.
“I’m fine. They didn’t hit me.” I tried for a smile. “All my running is good for something, after all, hey?”
Kay scoffed. “If you didn’t run, you wouldn’t have been out there in the first place!”
I paused and couldn’t manage to drag a suitable rebuttal out of my foggy brain. “Excellent point.”
I remembered Samuel’s drawing and held it up. “You recognise her?” I asked.
Kay looked steadily down at the picture of the young woman. Samuel had shaded her hair dark and composed her face of almost severe-looking angular cheekbones, furrowed brows, a strong jaw and thin lips.
“She looks really familiar,” Kay said after a minute of her frowning getting increasingly more pronounced. “I swear I just, I’ve seen her somewhere.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I have too. But I can’t place her.”
“What do you want to do with it? It’s from that kid from the cafe, right?”
“Yeah. And I don’t know. Somebody around town will know who she is, but if she hears about it or sees it around, she’ll run for the hills.”
Kay hummed. “On the other hand, this woman might’ve been the one sending Graham threatening emails, considering that she and Graham fought at The Teaspoon, didn’t they?” I nodded in confirmation. “Then we hardly want her able to carry on running around, possibly trying to kill you.”
I frowned. “I don’t think there was a woman on the tor last night.”
“Still,” Kay said, “you didn’t see who was driving the Land Rover, and at least one of the footprints outside Graham’s house belonged to someone with small feet. She may not have shot at you, but she seems to be the key piece holding this puzzle together.”
I grunted. “True, if we’ve put this puzzle together right. Maybe it’s different people.”
Kay pulled a face. “I don’t think so. It’s too convenient.”
“Life is stranger than fiction,” I murmured.
Kay sighed. “Eat your chocolate cupcakes and don’t think about your cholesterol or murder for at least five minutes.” She looked over at the York officers, who were having some kind of team meeting in the corner of the station. “More likely than not, we’re going to get kicked off the case because you’re not a DCI and we’ll just be sitting around twiddling our thumbs, waiting for another pedigree dognapping.”
I nodded. “Unfortunately, you’re probably right. Seems wrong to have to hand the case over now.”
“After you’ve done all the difficult investigating so that they can take the credit, you mean?”
“After we did all the difficult investigating,” I corrected. She cuffed me playfully on the back of the head.
“Oh sure, whatever you say.”
She left me to devour her wife’s incredible baking while wondering whether it would be worth it to become a DCI and move to the city if only so that I didn’t get shafted off the important cases just when they got interesting.
But rather than letting myself wallow, I walked around the station to ask Maha if she recognised the woman in the drawing. She’d finally been given a break from watching Sarah, and she looked tired enough to very much deserve it.
Still, she gave the drawing serious consideration before shaking her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.”
I nodded. “No worries.”
I headed back to my desk, but Hogan waved at me before I could get there and I headed over.
“Yes, ma’am?” I shut the door behind me.
She leaned on her desk, looking more tired than I’d seen her in a while. “Just an update on the officers who went out on the path last night.”
“Did they find them?” I said, too eager.
But she shook her head. “Afraid not. But they found a rifle casing. It’s been taken off to York to be looked at this morning, so we should hear back soon.”
“Good.” That was certain
ly better than nothing, and I was impressed that the officers had managed to find even one casing in the pitch dark.
She gave me a nod, and I took it for my dismissal, beelining back to my desk with my thoughts so wrapped up in the case that I almost walked straight into the man who stepped into my way.
I looked up, surprised, and saw a man about ten years my senior with the ranking of a DCI on his uniform and an affable look on his face.
“Sir?” I said.
“DI Mitchell, isn’t it?” he said, and I nodded. He held out a hand. “DCI John Gaskell. I’ll be taking over this investigation.” Not without some childish reluctance, I shook his hand. He gave me a sympathetic look. “You’ve done some brilliant work, very thorough. It’s impressive.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, though I was sure it’d mostly been persistence that had got us this far.
“I’ll need you to fill me in on what you’ve got so far; open leads, prime suspects, paperwork, the whole kaboodle.”
He had a clean-shaven face with the amount of stubble on it, suggesting that he had to shave twice a day to avoid bristles. His eyebrows, too, were thick and made him look stern when he scowled, either in irritation or thought, I didn’t know him well enough to tell. He looked exactly how I might have imagined a Yorkshire farmer to look, broad-shouldered and strong enough to wrestle sheep but padded around the middle from big Sunday dinners and sitting on a quad bike.
He was trying to be friendly, but I was too sore and irrationally irritated to play along. Still, I was perfectly civil as he pulled up a chair beside my desk and took notes whilst I talked him through the dead ends we’d hit, the most promising leads and the new information about Freddie’s accident. I didn’t skirt around how the York officers’ less-than-optimal work six months ago had caused so many problems down the line. A bitter part of me asked whether, if the accident had been properly investigated and a search put out for whoever had run into Freddie’s bike, maybe Graham would still be alive.
But it was useless to think like that, and DCI Gaskell at least had the sense to look embarrassed by his officers’ negligence.
“There’ll be an inquiry into that,” he assured me solemnly. Frankly, I also thought there should be an inquiry into the sloppy first post-mortem from York, but that wasn’t under Gaskell’s jurisdiction, and I’d have to chase that up separately if Hogan hadn’t already.
I nodded in acknowledgement and carried on. The handing over took a fair portion of the morning, all in all, but I was at least gratified that Gaskell took detailed notes and seemed to be taking me seriously.
“Thank you for that, Mitchell,” he said, moving his hand as if to pat me on the shoulder before he stopped himself.
He looked at the picture on my desk and picked it up. “We’ll get this circulating on the local news, see if we can dig up who she is.”
“Is that wise, sir?” I couldn’t help but say. “She’ll go to ground.”
“Probably,” he agreed. “But in this day and age, once we’ve got her identity, we’ll be able to track her down. Now that it’s a murder investigation, we’ll have the resources for it, don’t you worry.”
I wasn’t convinced. There was a lot of countryside out there with a thousand places to hide. Maybe Gaskell was right in asserting that they’d catch her eventually, but I didn’t want this dragged on for months, I wanted it finished with.
Still, he was the commanding officer in charge of the case now, and so I just nodded and went to make myself a cup of coffee.
“That bad?” Kay said as I dumped another teaspoon of instant coffee granules down on the five others I’d already tipped in. I had another of the buns in my other hand.
I shrugged. “He seems decent,” I said neutrally. “Don’t like it though.”
“‘Course you don’t,” she said. “You’re a control freak.”
I gave her a look. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Have you texted Alice recently? That’d distract you from your pity party.”
“I’m not--” I cut myself off because at this point I was only providing amusement for Kay. “No.”
“You should. The woman’s going to think you’ve forgotten her.”
“I was busy getting shot at.”
“Yeah, and you should tell her that,” Kay advised with a wink. “Women love men with battle scars.”
“How would you know about what women like in men?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “I dated men in my baby years,” she said. “Before I figured out that women are much prettier.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Good decision.”
“I think so too.”
She ambled off to let me drink me toxically strong coffee in peace.
The rest of the day was spent catching up on paperwork, watching the local news piece that went up with Samuel’s drawing, and fielding calls from members of the public who thought they recognised the woman in the picture. I dutifully wrote up the calls we got, even the ones I thought sounded so unlikely as to be laughable.
Bored and aching, and irritated by the sight of Gaskell chasing up the leads Kay and I had found, I decided going to check in with Sarah and Alice wouldn’t be a bad idea.
I texted Alice to ask if she wanted to get coffee and got a prompt affirmative.
I called in to see Sarah first and was glad to find her reasonably well, if sharp with me.
“I had a call from some policeman saying he was taking the case over,” she said accusingly.
“Yes, well, I’m not a DCI,” I tried to explain. “I’m not technically qualified for a murder case.”
She blinked at me. “But you did a damn sight better job than the lot who decided he’d- he’d killed himself,” she spat out.
I paused, weighing my words. “I expect DCI Gaskell will do a thorough job, Sarah. But if he doesn’t, I’ll be having words with him, alright? I’m not letting whoever did this to Graham get away with it, I swear.”
She looked satisfied and nodded. “Good.” She sighed. “I never did think he’d done it, you know. So unlike him.”
I hummed in agreement. “I’m glad the investigation is finally getting the time and money put into it that it deserves,” I offered.
She agreed and offered me another slice of cake before I left. Between Kay and Sarah, I’d been well supplied with cake recently.
Driving our police car without Kay felt strange, but she’d been busy with her own work and hadn’t been surprised by my wanting to go on a drive, waving me off.
It was a bright day, completely in contrast to the way the moors had looked the night before with everything thrown into shadow and dusky quiet. I wondered where the men who’d attacked me were holed up in the bright light of day and if they’d seen the woman’s picture on the news. I selfishly hoped that they were hiding, aware that we were closing in on them and afraid to leave their houses because they’d shot at a policeman. But perhaps they were feeling smug that it wasn’t their pictures on the news because I hadn’t been able to get a good look at them in the dark.
I drove up the lane to Alice with a slight shudder as I passed the gate I’d had to vault. I stubbornly didn’t turn my head to look but carried on driving with my gaze fixed straight ahead. I couldn’t help but repeatedly check the rearview mirror, though, nervous of a green Land Rover coming tearing up behind me even as I knew the thought was illogical.
It was Lyle who opened the door to what was, admittedly, his house.
“You’re here for Alice, then?” he said, looking faintly amused. Then his expression went solemn as he glanced down at my uniform. “Or are you not? Is this work?”
“No, I’m here to talk to Alice,” I reassured him. His tanned and wrinkled face relaxed back into a reserved smile, and he gestured for me to come in. He led the way through the house and opened the large French doors at the back, gesturing towards the annexe at the end of the garden.
“She’s down there studying, she says, but who knows.”
/> “Thanks, Lyle.”
“Darren,” He caught my arm as I was about to step outside and I turned back to him. “Is there any news on my brother? We got the same call Sarah did, about the handover.”
“No news,” I said. “There’s a woman we’re looking for but,” I pulled my phone out of my trouser pocket and showed him Samuel’s drawing, “no luck yet.”
Lyle glanced at it. “Yes, I’ve seen that on the news. I don’t know her, I’m sorry.”
I shrugged and put my phone away. “Someone’ll know her,” I said.
“Do you think she killed Graham?” Lyle pressed. “A woman poisoned him? Over what?”
“Lyle, you know I can’t give you details, I’m sorry. She’s just a person of interest at the moment.”
He glared at me for a brief moment before looking tired and resigned. “Of course,” he said. He gestured for me to go and see Alice. “Please inform me of any developments.” He shut the house door behind me and walked away.
My shoulders slumped, but my mood improved as I walked down to see Alice, especially when I found her at the door of the annexe with a wry smile on her face.
“Did you forget me?” she said.
“Hardly,” I said, running a hand over my rumpled hair. “Things at work have been…” I pulled a face.
“That’s too bad,” she said.
She stepped back to let me into the airy space, and I looked around. It was surprisingly spacious and also blindingly new, with almost every paintable surface as white as blank paper.
“Bit soulless, isn’t it?” Alice said.
It was, but I could tell that Alice had tried to improve it, with some small art prints on the wall of a seaside town, and several colourful cushions on the sofa.
“Will you move your posters down here?” I said.
“Did you like the Winchester one that much?” she teased back as she made us both hot drinks.
I grinned back, glad to think about absolutely anything that wasn’t to do with work. “Definitely. I’d buy it off you.”
“It’s yours for a fiver.”
“Done.”
She reached over to shake my hand whilst giggling quietly, and I stepped forwards to take her small, soft hand in mine. It wasn’t so much of a handshake as just holding hands while we looked at each other.
DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Book 1-3 Page 15
