Fiona

by D Attrill

  “Given the assumed girth of the deceased, I’d say the end of the blade only broke the skin, as supposed to reemerged right into the sunlight....well night light if you must.”

  “Need to get this straight to Leyton, whichever effing way it happened.”

  Tucking the picture into a plastic wallet, Garstone grabbed his jacket and gestured Armitage to head out behind.

  On entering the Northern General Hospital’s A&E department, the DCs openly debated who had the greatest gall: Leyton for suddenly disappearing from sight for the morning, having left only the meagrest of texts, or themselves for walking in on Terry Summers uninvited.

  As they were eventually allowed through the curtains of cubicle 14, the victim’s brother, seated at his bedside, supplied a quick answer.

  “You two can f...” John Summers erupted from his chair.

  “Ok, we get the picture.” Garstone backed away from the curtain. “Only two to a bed, so... you know...”

  “Are you two policemen?” a nurse approached to ask them “Its ok - go in.”

  “Not sure if he’s up for seeing us.”

  Seeing the figure lying shut-eyed on the bed, Garstone doubted he’d achieve a load at this moment.

  Mr Summers’ severely bandaged limb was suspended by a surgical frame. There were no tubes visible: his condition had obviously relaxed overnight. Garstone stepped closer as groans from Mr Summers showed signs of conciousnness. Spotting the eyes blinking, he risked it.

  “Mr Summers.”

  “Who is it?” Mr Summers seemed able to register noises but not faces.

  “Just a couple of those coppers who scraped you up yesterday.” his brother explained, using a disapproving tone.

  “Oh, you lot.” Having asked the sister to sit him upright, Mr Summers continued. “Is either of you an Acting Superintendent?”

  “Otherwise engaged, I’m afraid.” declared Garstone. “We were, however, made fully aware of your situation.”

  “If you’re fully aware, you’d have twigged that I don’t need you lot under my feet.”

  “That bloke who ran you over yesterday, sir,” Armitage began “Did you catch what car it were?”

  “Didn’t you hear what he just said?” the brother interrupted.

  “Small and white.” Mr Summers squeezed out the details, before sipping from his cup of fluid. “Don’t even start me with registrations.”

  “Sufficient for now, sir.” Armitage got down all that Mr Summers had grudged him.

  Sadly it’s not, sir.”

  Garstone asked the pad off Armitage and sat down by the bed.

  “Not that you’re too likely aware but another...er small white car, just like it, was seen outside Meadowhall centre a couple of hours earlier following a violent incident inside the premises. Coincidentally, one of the staff that got involved was later found dead off Blackburn Road.”

  “You mean I’m not the only poor sod he’s tried to kill?” Mr Summers croaked.

  “He may have actually managed it last evening.” Garstone turned a fresh piece of paper. He felt his stomach copy the movement, at what was having to come next. “I don’t have any fun in dropping this on you right now, Mr Summers, but this woman was murdered. A massive bowie knife is believed to have been involved.”

  “All fine, just what the bloody hell’s that got to do with some bastard driving over me?”

  “We’ve only a tiny lead to rely on so far, sir. However, with it happening only two minutes’ walk away from the incident you were involved in you might just have seen something.”

  “I thought we told you it was a Corsa.” John’s face looked red with resentment . “Do any of you coppers actually bother reading your notes or summat? Or do you just write them down in the first place in case we end up boring you”

  “I’m not bunging you behind it - just that we suspect the vehicle involved in these incidents could be the same, given the manner in which it was seen being driven.”

  “Did you catch owt of the reg, at all?” Armitage retried “Just a letter, maybe?”

  “W-reg possibly.” John was holding his head in his hand, as if trying to recollect. “Just saw him pull out from behind this Toyota and then slice my brother nearly in two. All them others cars started going all over the place. I were just there trying to stop him being hit instead of chasing after the twat who started it.”

  The curtain behind suddenly rustled wide.

  “Sorry to interrupt…” the sister had stuck her face through. “Did you just say a woman were involved in something?” She sounded enthusiastic to know.

  “Do you know who it was?” Garstone asked.

  “There were that lass I remember, in the paper a couple of year ago. Exactly like I just heard you describe, right then.”

  “What lass?”

  “Some ‘down-and-out , druggie… you know the sort. He and her boyfriend did one of them City Ambassadors over, right bad. Took a knife to her face and all.”

  “Ey up, a minute.” Armitage’s glasses suddenly fell off his nose. “I remember who that were, alright.”

  “Really?” Garstone hoped this wasn’t Leroy Armitage confusing suspects with his sadly doomed dates. “Shall we take this outside a second?”

  Leyton was meanwhile on her way out to Ecclesfield, a largely-redeveloped suburb at the north of town, having booked the morning off at a moment’s notice. As she was still minus her stricken VW, she’d had to get away early to allow for the slippery-slidey South Yorkshire bus system that she was still unused to.

  The rented abode that Becky had adopted for the time was a three-bedroomed brick semi somewhere in the depth of the modern estate.

  Just as she’d got out her mobile and tried to Google the address, she saw a face waving from the window nearest.

  “I’ve heard of quick,” Leyton began as Becky welcomed her to the door. “But that surpasses ‘lightspeed’.”

  “We were writing the advert out right under her nose,” Becky made her remember as she showed her in.

  Leyton didn’t pay as much attention to the exterior as to the surprisingly luxurious space it afforded within. It was as if Becky were expecting not to be living alone in the distant future.

  She stole a look through the patio window at the pleasantly trim back garden outside, but then tried to change the subject as her friend caught her at it.

  Becky sounded out-of-control as she began reciting her tale: the denouement being that that ‘friend in need of a babysitter’ had turned out to be no other than Fiona herself. Finding the story starting to sink in, Leyton kept an enthralled face even as Becky attempted a Scottish accent.

  “Would y-o-o-u like to come doon tomorra-w-w and meet my wee boy? Just like that.”

  “Excellent.” Leyton registered the news a little hesitantly: she still found being without a car to drive her there rather humiliating. “I’ll call for our taxi.”

  “No disrespect but aren’t you in the middle of some big case?”

  “Come on, what are old friends for?”

  She greeted the cab as it came up by the pavement and commanded Becky inside. “Put it this way, dear, I’m personally seeing you get there.”

  Her protective insistence stunned her old pal into silence for most of the eleven minute journey. She eventually broke it as they passed through Blackburn.

  “Is that where it happened?” Becky was staring out of the back window.

  “Just missed it.” Leyton lied.

  “Wasn’t she a clean...”

  “...ing assistant from the shopping centre, yes.” she answered, hoping to escape the subject, “Could you please promise me you won’t talk the poor girl to death when we arrive?”

  “She was quite a talker herself, didn’t you notice?”

  Leyton only nodded as they neared the outskirts of Fifth Park; a suburb she’d heard didn’t have the most peaceful of reputations.

  She recognised the name ‘Primula Drive’ on the corner of a house end ahead. The tax
i took the turn just in time, making round a slow curved road.

  The properties here appeared distinctively down-market compared to the one she’d just collected Becky from. Miserly thirties-built semis stood looking empty, as if ready for a demolition crane to do its bidding. Dustbins and wheelie bins alike addled the length of the pavement, obviously left with few occupants still around to take them in. Numbers painted on houses were never a welcoming sight but they helped when written big and white.

  “Forty six ….” She studied the nearest as the taxi slowed to dodge a parked vehicle.

  “It’ll be about another ten along. Keep going, keep going.” Becky directed the driver.

  “I thought you said this was a short road, you little devil.”

  Leyton scanned the scenery for any number that looked remotely like a ‘28’. Eventually spotting the number on a wheelie, she had the cabbie pull up.

  “By the way,” she agreed, after paying the driver, “I did notice what a chatterbox Fiona was. Still, don’t you even think to let that encourage you.”

  “Heya!” interrupted a voice from the gate above.

  “Ooh.”Leyton laughed “You nearly made me jump. Fiona, wasn’t it?”

  Trying politely not to sound too familiar, she made to shake their new friend’s hand.

  “Joanne. Very nice to meet you again.”

  “Aye… you too.” Fiona seemed unused to formalities. “Sorry about my volume - comes out a wee spot louder than I hear it as, sometime.”

  She was looking round at Leyton’s companion.

  “Not become shy have ye?” she asked.

  “Nope.” Becky copied Leyton’s techniques. “Just trying to look courteous.”

  “So glad anyway you could make it, anyway, this short notice.” Fiona ushered them both in. “You’ll have to excuse the state o’ my kitchen.”

  Leyton couldn’t help but wonder what she was on about. Fiona’s kitchen looked more like that of an upper-middle class couple, as opposed to being council-let to an unemployed young single mother. A continual pine worktop stretched the length of one side. Dishwashers and other appliances sat semi-concealed beneath carved ornate panels, scarcely evident except for the occasional rattling sounds she could hear behind the wood.

  There was a trio of decorated blue and white tins stood alongside a bulky breadbin on the end. A small black and white portable TV, with a digital box duct-taped to the side, sat on a shelf over the worktop, broadcasting seemingly to itself.

  Fiona’s sink, congested with cutlery, plates and cups seemed no worse neglected - steaming soapsuds indicated a serious wash-up in progress.

  “It’s this part you wannae watch yoursef’s over. Wee Calton came o’er a bit dinky this morning.”

  Fiona was scrounging for a couple of free spare chairs, whilst treading her way to avoid a bed of dog biscuits, spilt baby food and something filthy, wet and yellow that disguised part of the lino.

  “Which breed, if you don’t mind me asking?” Leyton asked, dogs being once a passion of hers.

  “Oh, he’s a wee Dobey. Nae dangerous, just excitable. Often he’s bored till is time for walkies - so loves making it known to us, heh heh.”

  “Haven’t you got someone else who can see to it instead?” Becky asked. “You could let me take him.”

  “Nae, love, you’re gonna be way tied up tending to my bairn. Anyways, my boyfriend’s round in a second for him. I’m sorry, it’s his dog, I forgot to mention.”

  “Speaking of which.” Leyton at last addressed the object of their journey. “You might wish to press on with Becky’s responsibilities.”

  “Aye, let’s do, while the kettle’s taking an affy bad time. Come, he’s up the stairs.”

  She invited them up a narrow, clutter-strewn staircase.

  The Leyton confronted made her wonder if the worktop was just a disguise, maybe intended to deter visiting council or social workers from inspecting further.

  Ranging between toys, phone directories and even abandoned pet bowls, it was so bad that she had to take double strides going up. The horrendously eroded carpet beneath seemed dangerous enough.

  Leyton lifted a finger at Becky, warning her to keep her criticisms schtum, though still wondered how long she could contain her own feelings.

  She stopped three-quarters of the way up, quivering at how much worse the top might turn out to be: she was already pondering whether she should have words with Fiona right here. Her affording a nanny whilst jobless was already cleared up and genuinely enough too, but paying anyone to work in these conditions sought some justifying.

  A sudden push nearly sent her stumbling over the top.

  “Oh, sorry, Becks.”

  “Are you ok? You look like you totally switched off for a moment.”

  “Come on through! In here.” called Fiona from the far end of the landing.

  Both followed along, into a small lilac-painted room. Fiona greeted them. She was standing by a cot.

  “This is my wee boy, himself.”

  She pointed, prompting them to gather. A small child with silky dark brown hair, in a blue and red Spiderman onesie, stood up, playing with a Playrail mobile. He was lashing out with one hand at the several shapes hanging below. As he looked up, he suddenly started giggling. He lifted one hand up, as if trying to touch them.

  “My wee little Izzy, himself.” Fiona proudly cradled her child in front of her admiring guests.

  “Izzy McGrogan?” Leyton checked. “Nice swing. Is he named after anyone?”

  “Izzy, aye. A guitarist outa my favourite band, well that used to be.”

  “How old?”

  “Eighteen months and growing, aye. He might no’ look it but he’s already becoming a big boy.”

  “You've set the Playrail a little low haven’t you?”

  Becky saw that it was level with the toddler's chest. “Don't tell me he's trying to learn the limbo already.”

  “Aw, he canna hardly walk. Keep giving him training but it's no use. He can stand but he keeps falling ov....”

  Fiona had stopped as if to listen to something. There was a faint, sonorous refrain, close but hidden. Leyton recognised the vibration inside her jacket again.

  “It sounds like mine.” she pardoned herself from the party. “You carry on, I’ll be back in five.”

  “Sure, go for it. I’m gonna be showin’ Becky round the place.”

  Leyton strode carefully back down the stairs. She concentrated, dodging the hazards successfully this time whilst also hoping the caller wouldn’t hang up.

  “Hello, Greg.”

  “Hi. Taking it you’ve not heard.” reported a rushed-sounding Garstone. “No prints at the footbridge.”

  “I have now. Am I also supposed to gather it might be a bowie knife?” She eyed a text from Jamieson as it appeared along the bottom of her screen. “Nothing else to excite me, then?”

  “Not exactly, ma’am.” DC Garstone was sounding honest. “But urgent.”

  “That’s a contradiction in terms, for starters. Where are you?”

  “Hospital. Mr Summers was up for talking. Well, just so.”

  “Obviously didn’t say much then.”

  “More from his brother but he became a little more agreeable. Leroy managed to cough up a name though.”

  “Anyone we’ve encountered before?”

  “Someone from before our ‘era’ but she fits the look. I’ve had a pic mailed to the hospital - just printing it off.” He could be heard thanking one of the reception staff.

  “Greg, I’m sure that’s not in their job description.”

  “Pandering to a good lookin’ police guy like me seems to be, heh heh.”

  “Ok, Casanova, enough. Have we got a name?”

  “Lorna Jade Millthorpe.”

  “I might have stumbled across her profile.”

  “Leroy’s got the papers on her previous case. She was just some coked-up, homeless sort, if I heard rightly. Used to knock round the city a lot with he
r fella; often in the middle of the day. Begins one morning as always, chilled out; chatting to the usual umpteen thousand passers-by ;out of nowhere, she suddenly spits her dummy; all because this one bloke's walked on by without even saying hi. A City Ambassador bird swoops in to try shutting her up - ends up regretting it... very slightly.

  “How would it single out for this?”

  “Her then partner - one Sean Pollack - was found possessing a brand spanking new Bayswater Bowie knife, at the time they picked him up. It’s gonna be more the victim that concerns you, though.”

  Leyton held on for three long, awkward minutes. A suddenly blip came from her mobile with a media message.

  The photograph, though dated almost three years, showed a badly bruised but just recognisable face; it belonged to the very same woman now lying on Jamieson’s table. The uniform she could see was that of a City Centre Ambassador.

  “Oh, my mother god, save me.”

  Leyton felt her own spine seize up on studying the injuries Paula Radcombe had suffered that first time.

  “Pick me up from the end of Primula Drive, Firth Park, in quarter of an hour’s time could you? We and this Lorna ought to have a li-i-i-tle chat.”

  She cut the conversation and climbed back upstairs.

  “That was a quick talk.” Fiona chuckled as she came back “No’ trouble wis it?”

  “No, of course not. Just an urgent matter at work. My friend Greg’s picking me up in a few minutes. So-o-o-o, where’s the Beck-ster?”

  “Right here.” her friend appeared, with a flushing toilet sound in the background.

  “OK, then...” Leyton looked widely at her old chum. “Are you going to be ok, alone in Fiona’s caring hands?”

  “Sure, yeah.” Becky muttered response.

  “You sound a wee tad doubtful, lovey.” Fiona said, starting to laugh “I’m no’ pushing you too much in the deep end, am I?”

  “Come on Becks, step lively aboard.” Leyton thought a little more alertness wouldn’t have gone amiss; Becky had been begging this opportunity on all fours only hours ago. It could just be her astonishment at suddenly being offered this on a plate. “Yes, of course!” Becky sounded to have perked up her wits.

  “See?” Fiona was gesturing like a professor “Balls of steel, I telt you.”