Finding the right room, he stood outside it whilst glancing behind him every few moments, fearful of a student coming out of one of the other rooms and catching him in the act.
The faster he did this, the less likely he’d be to get caught and so he forced himself into motion, opening up the bag with shaking hands.
Inside laid two dead birds. One was a juvenile male crow and the other an adult female magpie. Rushing though he was, he couldn’t help but gently stroke the feathers, finding them beautiful even with the birds’ bodies stiff, unmoving, and beginning to smell.
Twisting again to look over his shoulder, he lay the birds outside the door like he’d been told to, before remembering his next instructions. He’d even been shown a rough sketch about how the birds ought to be arranged, and so he knelt down and carefully spread the wings out, angling both birds so that they looked to be in flight, just as he was supposed to. He imagined finding a display like this outside his own door, and how shocked but pleased he would be. Obviously, he knew that wasn’t the reaction this room’s student would have. He wasn’t stupid. He knew from his parents’ and brother’s reactions that most people found dead animals disturbing.
But he tried not to think of the horror on his family’s faces and focused instead on getting the arrangement exactly right, turning the birds’ stiff necks. Their bodies had curled up in death, their feet tucked up, and he winced at a couple of small cracks he heard as he pulled the wings into place.
It was done, and he stood up hurriedly, looking down at the birds with a sense of sadness. They’d not be appreciated, but instead viewed with horror and disgust. This had been a job, not something he’d wanted to do, but he would remember the birds.
Grimacing at the loud crackle of plastic as he scrunched up the slightly sticky bags in his hand, he headed quickly downstairs, eager to leave now that he’d done what he had to. He made it outside into the fresh air and gulped it down like water, his skin flushed and tingling.
As he hurried away, a large crow strutted across the college car park, and he froze to look at it. It looked back at him, head cocked with its bright eye locked on him. He felt like it knew, and he swallowed thickly, his legs feeling heavy as he made himself move forwards again. The crow took off, flapping hard to climb into the sky. He put his head down and walked quickly, the skin on the back of his neck crawling uncomfortably.
Two
York was noisier than I’d expected. After a lifetime of small Yorkshire towns, living in the city was going to be a change. I’d been to York countless times over the years and knew the streets, the bridges, the tourist sites and commercial shopping streets well, but it wasn’t the same as living there.
The flat I was renting was five miles or so from the station in Hewford where I’d be working, with the recently promoted Gaskell as my superintendent. He was young to have gotten to such a position, but so was I, and I wondered who I’d be partnered with. My previous partner, Kay, had been more of a friend than anything and I’d miss her, her silly dog, and her wife’s baking.
Setting down my final box of possessions at my new digs, all of which I’d lugged up two flights of stairs, I collapsed down on the old, saggy sofa that’d come with the place, pulling a face at the feeling of a loose spring digging into my tailbone.
But the flat itself was pleasant; bright, relatively new, and a clean canvas for whatever I wanted to do with it. Its main selling point was the view of the city it offered. Pulling myself up off the sofa, I leaned down on the windowsill to look out on the rows of pale yellow brick under a cloudy, grey sky. It reminded me a little of being up on the moors and looking down on Lockdale, where I’d been stationed previously. Though Lockdale had been far smaller, and I couldn’t yet pick out much that was familiar in this view, compared with how well-acquainted I’d been with all Lockdale’s quirks.
Perhaps too well-acquainted. I’d wanted bigger prospects and a new start, and I’d get that here. And it was only a drive over the hills back to Lockdale, if I wanted to see my old partner for coffee.
Thoughts of coffee took me over to the small but neat kitchen, where the first thing I’d done after arriving had been to set up the kettle. After making myself a strong cup, I took my mug on a tour of the flat, wandering from the kitchen, through the central living room and into the bedroom at the back, which had a less pleasant view of the street behind and a number of bins. Rain had started falling, flecking the windows, and I almost smiled to see it. Though it was a big change, I was still in Yorkshire, and it was still raining. The feeling of being out of place lessened, and I began to think about what furniture I would need to make the flat comfortable. I had a look on my phone for the nearest supermarket, too, because my empty stomach was grumbling at the distinctly empty fridge.
I started work on Monday and had until then to get my feet under me before I’d be thrown into the rushed business of city policing. York was hardly a nest of iniquity, but still, crime happened everywhere, and I expected there would be a good deal more here than Lockdale, and even Lockdale had hardly proved to be uneventful for policing.
After spending the day unpacking, list-making, and going food shopping, I put my feet up and watched some nonsense TV. My mind was on work, though, as I wondered what my first case as a DCI would be, and whether the people at Hewford would welcome me, or see my background in countryside policing as something to hold against me.
Despite the weather being surprisingly good on Monday morning, I took the car in. I’d not needed my own car at my previous post, what with being able to share a patrol vehicle with my partner and with Lockdale itself being small enough to walk from end to end in half an hour. Though I planned to run to the station in the mornings in the future, once I’d gotten settled, I hardly wanted to turn up red-faced and sweaty on my first day.
The car was second hand and nothing particularly exciting. I’d always preferred making my way on my own two feet rather than driving, but that probably came from living in small towns.
Parking up outside, I looked up at the blocky, sixties-looking, red brick building and took a steadying breath. It’d be fine. Inside, the station was dated but clean, smelling slightly of coffee and cleaning products. I was a bit early and hovered at reception until I was directed through.
“DCI Mitchell,” a loud voice greeted me later, as I was sitting at my assigned desk after a morning full of introductions, form filling and an extensive tour. I turned around and smiled to see John Gaskell, who I knew from working with him on my last case in Lockdale.
“Superintendent Gaskell,” I said warmly, and he chuckled.
“We’ve both been promoted, lucky us,” he said wryly. “Have you met your new partner yet?”
I raised my brows. “Not as yet, sir.”
“He’ll be at the desk next to yours,” he said, nodding to an empty desk to my right. “I’ll take you to meet him now, he’s just on his break. He’s been working here his whole career, I think, good, solid lad.”
I made a noncommittal noise, finding myself more than a little curious as Gaskell walked me towards the back of the big modern area, full of desks, with conference rooms lining the side walls. Gaskell had his name on an office at the front, with my desk fairly close by.
Gaskell took me through to the break room, where a man was making a cup of tea with his back to us.
“DI Huxley,” Gaskell said, and Huxley turned around. He looked a little older than me, with short, spiky brown hair entirely unlike my curls. His chin was blocky, and he sported a squashed nose, like he’d broken it a few times. He was tall and built like a wrestler, but I had a couple of inches on him in height. Still, he was an intimidating looking bloke. “Huxley, this is your new partner, DCI Mitchell.”
I held my hand out. “It’s Darren. Good to meet you.”
Huxley didn’t look like he wanted to shake my hand, or have much to do with me, but he eventually reached out and gave my hand a brief shake. “Stephen,” he offered grudgingly, before frowning at
me. He held his mug of tea in front of him like a shield. He looked like he wanted to say something, before he glanced at Gaskell and decided not to.
I tried to keep my face neutral even though I felt disappointed that my new partner didn’t seem to like me and we’d only been in the same room for two minutes.
Gaskell cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “You two get acquainted. Huxley, make sure to move to your new desk. And there’ll be a case for you two by tomorrow, I’m sure. There’s always too much going on here.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, and Stephen said the same before we both watched Gaskell walk away. I looked briefly at Stephen, but when he kept his lips pressed tightly together, I sighed and went to make a cup of coffee.
“Where’re you from, then, sir?” Stephen said finally, after the kettle had boiled. If there was a coffee machine in the building, it wasn’t up here, and that meant I could at least make my coffee as lethally strong as I liked it.
The way Stephen had asked made me think he already knew where I was from, and where I’d trained. “Small town called Lockdale,” I said evenly. “Heard of it?”
“No, sir.”
“Drop the ‘sir’, it’s okay,” I said, as I stirred my coffee. “You’ve been here a long time, right?”
He inclined his head. “Came up from a constable here,” he said, sounding a little proud. “It’s a good place, good people.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I said, turning back to face him as I leaned back on the counter. “Were you partnered with another DCI before me?”
He narrowed his eyes at me briefly, as if the mention of my rank annoyed him. “Yes,” he said stiffly. “But she moved down to Devon to retire.”
I made a noise of acknowledgement. “Nice place.”
“What made you move?” Stephen asked almost confrontationally.
I paused before answering. “I loved Lockdale, but I didn’t want to waste the opportunity for something new.”
Stephen grunted. “You’re probably used to stolen sheep and the like,” he said before chuckling.
I didn’t laugh. “Not exactly,” I said. He gave me an unconvinced look, almost mocking, and I barely stopped myself from glaring. “Murder happens anywhere, Huxley,” I said sharply, “not just in the cities. If you can stop looking down y’nose at me for a minute, maybe we’d get along just fine.” My accent thickened when I was annoyed, and I was gratified by the look of surprise on Stephen’s face, even if my dressing down hadn’t been entirely productive towards making friends.
I walked away before Stephen could rile me further with his irritatingly patronising way of talking and plonked myself down at my desk to sip my coffee. I briefly missed my previous partner, Kay, and Lockdale’s cramped, old station with its leaky roof, before I shook my head and told myself to focus. I wasn’t old enough to be getting sentimental yet, I needed to make the most of this job, and preferably prove Stephen wrong in thinking that I was an incompetent country bumpkin only capable of tracking down wellies lost in the mud.
Stephen came over later with a boxful of possessions, presumably from his old desk. We didn’t talk as he unpacked and I got acquainted with Hewford’s more modern and updated computer system, and we went our separate ways when it was time for lunch.
Gaskell walked over in the mid-afternoon, and I looked up from the computer. “Mitchell, Huxley,” Gaskell said, nodding towards his office.
“Are we in trouble already?” I said to Stephen, forgetting for a minute that I was annoyed with him.
Stephen sent me a wry look. “No, he’s not nearly frowning enough, that’s just his everyday scowl.”
I snorted. “Good to know,” I said as we left our desks and headed over to Gaskell’s office, which was a plain affair, though large enough that three people inside didn’t feel cramped.
Gaskell looked serious as we stepped inside. He waved for us to close the door, which Stephen did, before we sat down.
“How’re you settling in?” Gaskell asked me.
“Fine, sir, thank you.”
“Good,” Gaskell said briskly, before folding his arms as he looked between us. “Now, perhaps I’d normally have both of you eased into things more gradually, but I’ve seen Mitchell at work,” Stephen shot me a look, like he hadn’t been aware of that fact, “and I’ve known Huxley for years, so I’m throwing you boys in at the deep end.” It amused me that Gaskell called us ‘boys’, even though I reckoned he and Stephen were similar in age, and me only a few years younger.
“Up at the university, we’ve had a report of dead animals being left outside a room in halls. I want you to go talk to the student today.”
I blinked. That hadn’t quite been the kind of case I thought Gaskell would assign us when he’d said he was throwing us in at the deep end, but this sounded interesting enough. It wasn’t like I could argue, anyway.
“Yes, sir.”
Gaskell nodded. “Good. I’ll send over the details, and you can have a read through. The student will be expecting you both around four.”
That was our cue to leave, and Stephen and I headed back to our desks to read over what Gaskell had sent.
I sat back in my seat a couple of minutes before Stephen did and watched as he finished reading the initial report, his brow furrowed with concentration.
“Thoughts?” I asked once he looked over at me.
He shrugged. “Some sort of nasty joke?” He pulled a face to show what he thought of that idea. “Maybe revenge over something. It’s a little early for a Halloween scare.”
I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, by about a month.” I rubbed my chin, which I’d shaved this morning, but prickles were coming through already. “Best go talk to this… Abby Higson, then.”
Stephen nodded. “Guess so,” he agreed.
We booked out a patrol car and headed over to the uni which wasn’t far. Abby Higson, who’d called in about the incident, was living in Halifax college, which was a short way off-campus and had its own car park.
“This is where I stayed, my first year,” Stephen said as we were pulling up.
I looked at him in surprise. “You studied at York?”
He looked a little bashful about it. “Yeah, didn’t move far away.”
“No,” I agreed with a light laugh. “But Yorkshire’s like that. I couldn’t imagine moving outside of it.”
“Exactly.”
We got out of the car and followed the signs to Abby’s building and then rang the bell. There was some yelling from inside the building, and I could see a number of people inside the communal kitchen through the front window, but it was still a while before someone got the door.
It was a tall bloke who answered, built across the shoulders in the manner of a guy who spent too much time at the gym. He blinked in surprise to see us and took a step back.
“We get a noise complaint or something?” he said.
I hid a smile. “No. Can we come in?”
He awkwardly made space for us to enter and pointed out the kitchen. I stepped in first, and Stephen followed behind.
“We’re looking for Abby, is she in?” I asked the room at large. Four young faces looked at me, all of them curious.
“Yeah,” one of the women said, her dark hair impressively long, “she’s up in her room. Top floor, first on the right.”
“Thank you.” We left the room, the sound of talk swelling up as soon as the door closed behind us. Climbing up to the third floor left Stephen slightly out of breath, but I decided it would be more diplomatic not to mention it.
We headed over towards Abby’s door before I paused, frowning slightly at the floor.
“What is it?” Stephen said.
“Didn’t the report say that the birds were left outside her room?” The birds certainly weren’t there now, and there wasn’t anything left on the dark carpet.
“Yeah. Guess they moved them.”
I grunted, unimpressed. “I suppose they couldn’t leave them.
I hope someone took photographs.” I stepped forwards to knock on Abby’s door.
She answered immediately, looking nervously up at us. She was petite, less than five foot, with big dark eyes and blond hair.
“Hello,” she said quietly, before awkwardly stepping back to let us in. The room was tidy but lived in and brightly lit by a skylight over the desk.
“I’m DCI Mitchell, and this is DI Huxley,” I said, still feeling a tiny thrill to be able to say my new rank. “Can you tell us what happened?”
She took a seat at the desk whilst we stayed standing, keeping a little way back so as not to loom over her. She fidgeted with the bracelets on her slender wrist and couldn’t seem to make eye contact with us.
“It was this morning,” she said, her voice cracking. “I got up and almost stepped on them when I went out.” Her tone was soft and she looked deeply upset. “I don’t know why anyone would do that, why would they do that?”
The sight of her, so disturbed and worried, tugged at my heartstrings, and I fumbled for something to say.
“I’m not sure, Abby, but we intend to find out, okay?” She gave me a small nod. “Can you think of anyone who might want to upset you like this?”
She shook her head. “No, I mean, I didn’t realise anyone disliked me so much as to do this. It’s so mean.”
“Well,” Stephen said, “there’s a possibility it was random, but the likelihood of that is relatively small. Are there any exes who might have done it?”
I shot him a look, wondering if he’d been too direct, but Abby just shook her head.
“Has this happened-”
“Actually,” Abby said, interrupting me with an apologetic look. I waved for her to go on. “I did have a bad break-up with my last boyfriend. But it was over a month ago, before summer break.” She looked between us, like she was waiting for our opinion.
“We’ll look into it,” I said. “Have you got a name and number for him? And an address?”
She had all three and wrote them down for us.
DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Book 1-3 Page 25
