by D Attrill
“I'm not surprised, with so much crap in the back.” She counted this as the third boxful at least.
“To be honest, we're looking at this as sabotage.” said Thompson “Three bolts had been deliberately loosened, and there were also signs of it having been sawn through. Along with his hubcaps and window, it was likely a targeted attack.”
“His w....?”
“The two right hand side and the rear, all been recently replaced. Just see the slightly discernible difference in tint. Al-so...” Thompson had drawn out a tiny packet. “There’s an extra souvenir from the seats. We can’t speculate too closely but it might very likely be off a dog.”
“Probably is.” She swiped it from him. “I’m to understand his family own a large Doberman.”
She looked deeply at the dark hair, holding it betwixt her fingers. Its colour was a sharp natural black, with a dissolve to lighter brown at one end; it could have come off plenty of species as such.
“You and Greg try Tom Payden for whatever he has left. Will, you come along with me please.”
Leyton led Thompson along to the forensics room. She walked into the lab and laid the hair on the table.
She photographed it, and looked close. Certainly not a dog’s. The darker side was dyed.
As she started helping Thompson search the decaying groceries, someone stepped in quietly behind.
“Miss Leyton?”
She turned round to address the new speaker.
A tall, sharp-suited man was standing was standing in the room.
“Hi, sorry to distract you.” he introduced himself “DCI Abdullah. Is there enough time for a quick talk with you?”
“Right now?”
“It really would be appreciated. I’ll be waiting in room D 182 - when you’re ready.”
Leyton followed slowly after her guest, traipsing up the stairs. She could not see the newcomer anywhere, on reaching D-floor.
The dainty paint job up here, did its trick on her eyes even more than her own department's corridor. She felt lured into this strange parallel world that she’d hardly otherwise set foot in.
“In here, ma’am.” Barnes waved her from a doorway ahead.
She followed until she found herself in a chair, across from three onlooking faces. Barnes, Abdullah and DS Appleforth all sat round the desk, clicking their pens and straightening ties variably.
“I believe I owe you my apologies for missing this morning’s gathering.” She was hoping Abdullah would not hold grudges.
“I believe you had your reasons.” The DCI smiled unexpectedly. “Your two DCs lapped up a lot of the cream themselves… before they shot out of the cat flap.”
“Yes, I understand the tables suddenly turned....well enough to justify the apprehension of our current suspect.”
“I see.”
Abdullah took off his jacket, looking as if he was stopping. He stood up to drape it over his chair then sat back down, looking like a tycoon in some American movie.
Leyton had a few seconds to study his floral sleeveless waistcoat, before he continued.
“What progress have you made with the interrogation, over the last 24 hours?”
"Mr Payden’s testimony suggests he might likely be innocent.”
She could do with a stomach pill as she told him this.
“There is shortage of reliable evidence that can tie him to either main case. Still, a second level of questioning remains an option.”
Leyton saw a curl taking shape on Abdullah’s lip, prompting her into producing something better.
“We’ll just continue to pluck out all profiles relevant, Mr Abdullah. Our team never gives up.”
Cupping his fingers together, Abdullah clicked both thumbs as he came out with the rest.
“Your team have done a brilliant job in bringing Tom Payden to book.” he smiled, very artificially “A person with a serious criminal past should never be ignored. I however believe we’d benefit from a stronger body of intelligence on the inside.”
“I certainly understand.”
She detected that her new friend was her to give proceedings a helpful kick up the backside.
“My guys will be glad to get weaving with things again.”
“You’ve not heard, ma’am?” Barnes sounded astonished, and in a grave tone of it. “DCI Abdullah isn’t down here after Payden himself.”
“Elaine Ruth Craig.” cut in Abdullah. “A twenty five year old single mother of one; known to just about half of Scotland’s police. She absconded from her Cowcaddens tenement, central Glasgow, late this August, shortly after her nanny, 51-year-old English woman June Gullins, suddenly also disappeared into dust. Turns out she may be at large in Sheffield, and not only that.... connected to your friend Mr Payden, possibly they have since become an item.”
“Much as this fascinates me, Mr Abdullah, what has this all to do with us?”
“Turns out, crazy as it sounds, our friend Miss Craig might well be living the life of Riley right here in Sheffield.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well I’m only speculating but we suspect she and your Mr Payden may have since become an item.”
He was showing Leyton a picture, one she could hardly make sense of at first.
Dark and feral, all Leyton could fathom were a couple of faintly visible round blurs that she assumed were faces.
Leyton asked for a wider angle. Only once Abdullah obliged, did she realise she was looking at a close-up of the Corsa’s front window, from the Fife St image.
Abdullah was trying to point out the passenger’s face she could just see - the one she hadn’t even realised until today.
Receiving an additional print - a photo fit of a blond woman in black and white - Leyton looked at both together.
Suddenly, the two connected. The chisel jaw….the peroxide blond fringe, those sinister dark eyelashes.
“Do I not believe this?”
It made her foam at the mouth. There, right in front was their friend from Meadowhall.
“Well, we have our woman…and Tom Payden has some explaining. We’re prepared to pound on with this straight away, if that’s to your liking.” she asked, assuming it would be.
This guy was really beginning to gel. She had the evidence and now they could set sail.
“Well, is it?”
She saw Barnes was shaking his head.
“As already mentioned, we require a more consistent body with this case.” Abdullah stated, sounding frank
“The D-floor department have therefore been placed in charge of it. They will be working in secondment to our own Glasgow unit.”
“Well my team is always eager to meet the challenge.”
“We can’t rely on a three-strong department, in a case of this calibre. The D-team is made up of ten, including five senior officers.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean I can’t help push the paddle does it?”
“I’m aware of your reputation for meticule, Miss Leyton. It’s just that, well like as you and your DCs work as a team... well so do these guys, behind this wall here. Another officer, from another floor walks in, waving her super-sophisticated opinions around... well it is quite likely to stir conflict within the room. I will happily forward your findings though. I mean, every little helps. In the meantime, you can bail Mr Payden, pending enquiries.”
“So what’s he going to face by way of charges.”
“Mr Payden’s in danger himself, and from his own partner. You need to make sure he has your protection. Other than that, this case no longer requires your direct involvement.”
“So what’s he going to face by way of charges.”
“Mr Payden’s in danger himself, and from his own partner. You need to make sure he has your protection. Other than that, this case no longer needs your direct involvement.”
“I don’t know what your game is, mate,” Leyton’s tactful side had seen its end. “...but as Acting Detective Superintendent, I am currently your superior officer - i
.e. you have no say in what cases I work on, from within the comfort of my own building.”
“Sorry if I sound like I’m pissing on your parade, Jo, but unless you already know, your current position as Acting Superintendent is not yet official.”
“Eh?”
“The paperwork hasn’t been completed ma’am.” Barnes translated.
“On top of it, you may be interested to hear that Commissioner Campbell is overseeing our case.” Abdullah sounded set to make it even worse “He has specifically insisted on it being done like this.”
“So it has come from the top then.” That man Abdullah mentioned, had only last year lined her up for a national commendation. “Nice to be dropped like a hot potato, isn’t it.”
“For the last time, Jo, no one, I repeat, no one’s dropping anybody. We just think your resources and time would be best aimed to training your three new graduates, so that they can settle into DC Garstone’s shoes sooner rather than later.”
“Eh?”
It definitely appeared she’d been missing something.
Leyton was in another world as she walked from that office door. She hardly remembered the way downstairs - it became like a blur, as swirling tides of distrust and disdain nobbled her navigation. She wondered out of the bottom stairwell into reception, and almost straight into the back of Garstone.
“You look like you lost a billion and found a fiver.” He seemed to notice what a wreck she was.
“Could say that.” Leyton slurred. She slammed her filofax onto the reception. “Our friend Abdullah wants Tom Payden released without charge. As for the case... it appears we’ve got to wrestle everything off D-floor as from tonight.”
“Didn’t realise that bastard was still in the building.” Garstone shrugged “I tell you what though - I bet he booked another night in that flouncy four-star hotel , just to spy on us.”
“Well if so, he’s now got our own Sergeant Barnes wrapped round his smarmy Scottish finger as well.”
“I can only say him and that jobsworth prick deserve each other.”
“Don’t you think there’s enough going on behind each other’s backs, Greg?” She glowered at him, feeling she knew more than she let on. “Nothing ever normally gets past my nose. Suddenly an entire case slips silently into the mist.”
“Do you want me to let Leroy know?”
“Might be the obvious idea. Ask him to offer both Tommy and Gary a lift back, with our apologies.”
“It’ll just be Tommy, now.” Garstone was pointing to an empty sofa. “Desk got a call. Lady in a grey Renault Clio pulled up outside. Scottish lass, long dark hair. A close friend of his, apparently. Okayed it with us and he was away.”
“What the f….” she’d stomached enough negligence for one Sunday “Ok…fair enough, after all, Gary nor his brother have actually been charged…or look like being. Tell Leroy to wind up, and we have our Sunday back.” Leyton was still no happier to have it this way.
“Fancy a late lunch?” Garstone layered his scarf round his neck till it looked like a tank top.
“You two can, but count me out. I’m still owed four hours’ bed.”
“Not even a McGanlon’s Magic Roast Special?”
“Greg...” Leyton leapt to grab her files “For once in your life, learn to take a no!”
(iii)
Joanne Leyton could have kicked that door down as she got back home. Given the agitation she felt like arresting every item inside her flat. Everything was on its head.
This horrendously corrupt cop comes down from Scotland and steals their fire, her best friend becomes the same old blubbing cry wolf she had been fifteen years before, her own trusted DC up to hell-knows-what behind her back... had the world suddenly forgotten Joanne Leyton existed?
She tried taking it out on her own door to start, elbowing it open before it was properly unlocked. The crash against the shoe rack went right over her head, while her documents and holdall went over different parts of the kitchen.
Water was what Leyton needed, not work.
She dared not use the kettle at risk of ripping it from the socket and slinging it through the window. She turned the sink tap on full and flung a glass underneath, severely spraying herself. Ice cold water could do at least part of the trick. The only thing that could combat her stress at this stage was some lunch.
She laid into the fridge, seeking a solution. It had to be something strong, spicy and hot to help her forget. Drawing out a jar of ‘Sharwoods SuperVindaloo Instant’ that Garstone had left behind last weekend, she discovered the remedy. She yanked some tinned turkey chunks from the cupboard - near enough to chicken - and charged a saucepan. As it began boiling, she turned to the television. She was not too enlightened by the first thing she switched on to.
“’Midsomer Murders’… superb, yes.”
Detective stuff was really something she’d relish sitting down to right now. Without allowing for her usual juvenile drool over John Nettles, she tried BBC1 instead. The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix was on its sixteenth lap.
The timer bleep took her away, back to the cooker. Reading the instructions, she ladled the chunks in carefully, having just recollected her cool. She even found herself humming notes from her favourite Britpop tune of late whilst slowly turning the spoon. After having jabbed a couple of conjoined chunks apart, she set her weapon aside. The sauce wouldn’t take long once it went in. Leyton adjusted it to medium as Lewis Hamilton was heading for an abrupt pit stop from second place.
She finally fired up the kettle for that well-needed Ovaltine, whilst her hands were free.
Once she’d sat down with her lap tray, she tried to focus, but with Nico Rosberg disappearing into the sunset there wasn’t much to excite. She remembered this race as the one starting in daylight and ending in dark which had always fascinated her. Also, the trackside lighting was even more spectacular than the Singapore one.
Lunch had long ended by the time Rugby League appeared on the screen. Leyton felt the talons sink as she fought to keep awake.
She gathered her plate and dumped it in the dishwasher, then sat down to diddle with her mobile.
Feeling limp was little good, amidst a load of housework, although she still had to operate to her usual pattern of sleeping and walking.
Catching sight of her treadmill in the corner, she slowly considered a thought.
Leyton turned on the machine, and gazed at the speed adjustor, waiting for it to speak back to her. Sensing an eventual yes, she set it to a speed of 'barely moving' to begin, and stepped on, one leg at a time.
She counted twenty in even numbers to each alternating step. Pretending the belt was DCI Abdullah’s head, she sped it straight up to 8 kph.
“120...1.22....124.....”
The walk became one she could take, away from everything. She felt her legs loosen up. That curry had dropped through her without even a gurgle.
Turning the dial slightly further clockwise, she got up to 12.
She was more or less singing ‘Follow The Yellow Brick Road’ out loud instead of to herself by now. Once more, she nudged up the knots.
14.
She was almost sprinting.
“GAGGHHHHH.”
A piercing stitch shot right through her rib. She reached at the speed switch but it did not respond. Tugging at parts in a hurry, the whole machine suddenly shot to a stop, everything cut off.
“You fucking bastard.” she dived clear off the mill “Lousy, bloody piece of shit!”
Discovering the circuit isolator had tripped, she dragged it from the socket.
“Cunt! Cunt! Cunt!”
Leyton chucked herself on the nearest chair. She was more appalled at herself using that awful ‘C’ word, than the accident she’d almost had.
Stomach in hand, she prayed that she hadn’t just cocked up that curry recipe. Once she found the comfort to stand upright she wrapped the cable up again, and then reverted to cleaning up the room.
She noticed the papers she’d
showered all over the place earlier, and set about sorting those first.
Jesus. She was clutching case evidence. Evidence she was supposed to have surrendered to DCI Abdullah and his D-floor cronies before signing off for the day.
It was all the more reason why she felt like burning it right away.
Leyton gathered the sheets on the table and tried to sort them into basic date order. As she rustled through them, a small plastic packet dropped out.
The hair from the lab! How did she manage to walk off with that?
She sat back on her chair, wondering why she’d kept it to start with. That didn’t matter much anymore, either.
The room got darker.
She felt the plastic packet tickle on her head as her battle with sleep became lost.
(iv)
Becky had found it very hard not to fall asleep wherever she sat down. The room had become dark by half past one with winter drawing in. With Fiona out for the day, her only disturbance was the incessant wailing from Izzy, fetching her back and forth from the fridge. Yet for all the noise he made, she had to draw the line somewhere - she dare not appear a force-feeder.
She looked over her shoulder at him as he started waving his spoon again.
“No, darling, I think you’ve had enough dinnie-dinnies.”. She laughed, lifting his plate away.
As soon as she placed it by the sink, the bawling started again.
“Come on, love, I’ll take you upstairs in a little while. You can play in your cot. Your Auntie Becky’s
allowed to help you play with the shapes again, now.”
A glowing white assault from outside signalled an arrival. With Izzy still no closer to silence, she didn’t relish the chance of Fiona entering to find his dish empty. Diving hurriedly for the Harricotts, she threw the top off and dumped the rest into Izzy’s dish. She added some Kiddi-Grow Karrot Stix then shot it back to his table. Standing against the worktop, she counted to five to five but only reached three. The Yale switched open and Fiona skipped merrily in.
“Hiya,” she chirped casually, “how’s my team this evening, then?”
“As good as ever,” Becky laughed.
