The Fallen

by Michael Wood

  ‘Aaron, any joy with Craig Matthewman?’ Matilda called through her open door.

  ‘That’s where I’ve just been. Uniform had a sighting of him near Asda in Gleadless Valley. His step-father lives just around the corner but he’s not there.’

  ‘His step-father isn’t hiding him, is he?’

  ‘No. Actually he’s the ex-step-father and, by all accounts, if Craig did turn up on his doorstep he’d drag him down here by his hair. And he’s in a wheelchair.’

  ‘Ma’am,’ Sian said coming into Matilda’s small office, smiling at Aaron on his way out. Matilda didn’t look up at first. It was strange hearing someone call her ma’am, especially Sian, a woman she had known for over a decade. Sian didn’t seem to mind. ‘I’ve had a call from DS Brady. There’s a suspicious death at Hallam Grange.’

  ‘Really? Excellent.’

  ‘What?’ Sian asked, a surprised look on her face.

  ‘We have to pass my house to get there. I can stop off and change these shoes.’

  Chapter Four

  ‘DI Darke, DS Mills,’ Matilda said to the uniformed officer at the entrance to the block of flats on Hallam Grange Close. They both briefly flashed their ID.

  ‘DCI,’ Sian reminded her boss.

  ‘Sorry, yes, DCI Darke. I can’t get used to that at all.’

  Matilda and Sian were handed forensic suits which they struggled into in the cold foyer before heading for the scene of the crime.

  The flat had a small dark hallway which was decorated in dull, lifeless colours. The light brown carpet and grimy cream walls, with old reproduction art work that no serious artist would have painted, were a taster of the rest of the flat. It was depressing, drab, and energy-sapping.

  The living room had been brightened up by the floodlights brought in by the scene of crime officers. Forensics were dusting for finger prints around a broken window. Three people wearing identical paper suits were crouched over the body.

  ‘I’m guessing the one in the middle with the big bum is Dr Adele Kean,’ Matilda said, folding her arms.

  Adele almost jumped up. ‘Cheeky cow. I lost three pounds last week.’

  ‘Really? Hole in your purse?’

  ‘My bum doesn’t look big does it?’

  ‘Adele, in these suits we all look like fat Teletubbies.’

  Adele looked around the room. ‘No wonder kids are weird these days if this is what they’re watching.’

  ‘DCI Darke?’ DS Christian Brady came into the living room. ‘DI Hales has had to go back to Central. He asked me to talk you through the scene.’

  Matilda rolled her eyes. Her main competitor for the DCI job in MIT was DI Ben Hales. When a dedicated murder unit had first been mooted he had thrown himself at the mercy of the ACC and practically begged for the job. However, being married to a former Chief Superintendent’s daughter doesn’t necessarily open doors for you. In Ben’s case many doors were double locked and the key thrown away. Matilda often felt sorry Ben still hadn’t been promoted. He was a good detective and deserved recognition for his hard work. Unfortunately, those higher up felt nepotism might be suspected if Hales was given the head job.

  To say Ben took losing out on the MIT role hard would be an understatement. He had barely said two words to Matilda since she started. Although he was solely in charge of CID, he was bound to resent handing over cases to her when he was qualified to see them through to the end.

  His mood had dropped. He had never been one for socializing with officers at the end of the day and was an incredibly private man, but since the MIT came into force, he had retreated further into himself. It was like he was plotting something, like he was seething inside, and waiting until the time was right to stage a coup.

  ‘Is Ben still in a mood?’ Matilda asked Christian.

  ‘As usual. It doesn’t help that a drug dealer he’s been after for the past three months turned up dead yesterday.’

  ‘Murder?’

  ‘Overdose. It shuts down an angle he’s been working on into dealing on Burngreave. It’s back to square one. There’s no room on the MIT for a DS is there, ma’am?’ Christian asked, looking hopeful.

  ‘We’ve only been going a week! Tell me what’s going on here.’ She said, wanting to get off the subject of Ben Hales. He really did need to grow up.

  ‘Ok. Well, a woman called Andrea Barnes came calling for her colleague, Iain Kilbride, when he failed to show up for work. There was no answer so she looked through the letterbox. She thought she saw him dead. When a neighbour looked through, he didn’t see anyone. He went around the back, noticed the broken window and blood on the windowsill and gave us a ring.’

  ‘And who is Andrea Barnes?’

  ‘She is, or rather was, Iain Kilbride’s boss.’

  ‘Why did she come calling for him?’

  ‘Because he hadn’t turned up for work or called in?’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘Coach driver. Barnes Coaches. You must have seen them; bright green and yellow things.’

  Matilda nodded. ‘Yes, I know them. Where is Andrea Barnes now?’

  ‘She and the neighbour have given brief statements. I’ve said we’ll need to talk to them in more detail. They’re in the flat next door with an old man and a PC.’

  ‘Thanks Christian.’

  Matilda turned and looked at the stricken man on the living room floor. Iain Kilbride was overweight and balding with thin, brittle brown-grey hair, three days’ worth of stubble and stained clothing. His fingers were yellowed with nicotine; his brown cardigan was covered in cigarette burns as were the arms of the battered looking armchair in the centre of the room.

  ‘Iain Kilbride. Why is that name familiar?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘Doesn’t ring any bells with me,’ Adele said. ‘Anyway, if you take a closer look,’ she continued, leaning over the body and turning the head slightly to one side. ‘You will see a very deep and very nasty head wound.’

  ‘Is that what killed him?’

  ‘At a guess I’d say he suffered massive internal bleeding from the blow to the head. But look around you at the empty vodka bottles – he could have been blind drunk and just fallen over.’

  ‘So it might not be murder at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then what the hell are we doing here?’

  ‘There’s a broken window.’

  ‘Scuffle with a burglar maybe?’

  ‘You’re the detective. I’ll try and fit Mr Kilbride in for a post mortem today. I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Thank you. I know it’s not an exact science, but any clue on time of death?’

  Adele gave Matilda a knowing smile. ‘You’re stealing my lines. No more than a couple of hours at the most. I’m sure you’ll let me know if I can improve on that time frame after the PM.’

  ‘You’ve missed your calling, Adele. You should be a stand up.’

  Matilda turned away from the body. Iain Kilbride looked in his late fifties and obviously lived a solitary life. One armchair, one chair at the small dining table in the corner of the room. There were no expensive items, no ornaments, paintings or framed photographs. This was a sad man living out his sad life in a very sad-looking flat. An unhappy end too.

  ‘Well I think we can safely say it is definitely Iain Kilbride,’ Sian said, looking through the passport she had found in a 1970s sideboard.

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ Matilda took it from her. ‘It’s expired. Bloody hell, he’s only forty-four. I’d have added fifteen years at least,’ she said, turning back to the body. ‘Have you found anything else?’

  ‘No. It’s mostly bills, a few receipts, and a copy of the Radio Times from 1983.’

  Matilda looked at the front cover of the slightly dog-eared magazine. It was dated 5-11 March 1983 and showed actors Geraldine Chaplin and Christopher Guard in character for an adaptation of the Daphne du Maurier novel My Cousin Rachel.

  ‘I wonder why he kept this,’ she said, flicking through it.

&nb
sp; ‘I don’t know,’ Sian replied. ‘It was lying at the bottom of the drawer under bank statements and gas bills.’

  ‘I doubt he’s been living here since 1983. He would only have been what? 17? Maybe the magazine came with the sideboard.’ Matilda was about the throw the magazine down when she stopped. ‘Oh my God. It’s him.’

  Matilda showed the article to Sian. There was a half-page photograph to accompany it which showed a teenage Iain Kilbride in a leather jacket and tight dirty jeans sitting on a bale of hay in a barn. His hair was dark, thick and wavy. He skin was healthy and tanned and he stared directly at the camera with a smouldering look. It was a world away from the bloated corpse of a forty-four-year-old man on yellow-brown carpet in a depressing flat in Sheffield.

  ‘That’s where I recognize the name from,’ Matilda said, as she read through the article. ‘He was in Emmerdale. Well, it was called Emmerdale Farm then.’

  ‘Oh. I’m more of a Coronation Street fan myself. Did you see the big tram crash last night? The effects were poor but it was a good stunt. I can’t wait to see who they’ll kill off.’

  Matilda had stopped listening. She was reading the article about a new heartthrob joining the soap. The story described Billy Hodges as a bad lad from Manchester who would arrive in Beckindale and cause trouble with the men and a flutter among the women. Played by new up-and-coming actor, Iain Kilbride. Matilda frowned as she vaguely remembered him.

  She turned to look down at the body on the floor. It couldn’t be the same man, surely. The glossy photograph showed a handsome, tall, muscular young man with a thick head of hair and full red lips. The corpse on the ground didn’t seem tall; he was overweight, his skin was grey and wrinkled, his lips were chapped, his fingers were fat and yellow. This was not a former soap star. It couldn’t be.

  ‘Somebody might want to come and look at this.’ A voice called out from one of the rooms in the hallway.

  Matilda put the magazine down and, with Sian following, made her way to the master bedroom.

  Inside was a double bed and wall of fitted wardrobes. The veneer doors were tar stained. This room was just as dated as everywhere else in the flat.

  The wall of scene of crime officers moved aside when Matilda entered the room to show her what was lying on the bed.

  Matilda looked down at the three laptops. ‘So?’

  ‘Three laptops,’ one of the officers said. He pointed to the bedside table. ‘An expensive mobile phone and iPod. There’s also a wallet on the chest of drawers with over two hundred pounds in twenties and several credit cards inside.’

  ‘So he wasn’t robbed then,’ Matilda pointed out. ‘Which begs the question – why break in to kill a man and not take anything?’

  Chapter Five

  Andrea Barnes was standing outside the block of flats smoking a cigarette. She was shaking under her winter coat, partly from the single-figure temperature and partly from the shock of seeing the dead body of one of her drivers.

  ‘Andrea?’ Matilda asked, shivering as she stepped out of the warmth of the flats. She introduced herself. ‘May I ask you a few questions?’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to someone,’ Andrea said, turning her head to blow away smoke.

  ‘I know. I have a few more questions about Iain Kilbride. How long has he worked for you?’

  She thought. ‘Maybe five years. I’ve got his file back at the office.’

  ‘Was he a good employee?’

  ‘He was. He always turned up on time. Hardly ever had a sick day. He sometimes gave his holiday entitlement to others as he didn’t need it, so he said. Lately, though, he’s been missing shifts or turning up late.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He was a driver. We have a fleet of fifty coaches and we go all over the country.’

  ‘Do the drivers have set routes they travel?’

  ‘Some do. Iain was one of our few drivers who didn’t mind where he went – local or long haul. He wasn’t bothered.’

  ‘Sounds like an ideal employee.’

  Andrea gave a weak smile. ‘He was. We’ve had some crap drivers over the years, some real troublemakers.’

  ‘Did you like him?’

  Andrea looked at Matilda with a frown. ‘I don’t need to like my staff. As long as they do a good job and turn up on time, I’m happy.’

  ‘So that’s a no then?’

  ‘I didn’t know him. He was quiet. I like to think of Barnes Coaches as one big family. That’s how my dad used to run it when he was alive. Iain wouldn’t come on the Christmas parties and he didn’t come for a drink or socialize with anyone. Sometimes he wouldn’t say two words to you – just take his route and his coach and leave.’

  ‘Was there anyone at work who knew him well?’

  ‘I’ve just said, he didn’t mingle. I probably chatted to him more than anyone else.’

  ‘It looks like he lived alone. Was he married? Any children?’

  ‘I don’t think he was married but he did mention a daughter once. It was years ago. I phoned him up asking if he could do a last-minute run and he said he couldn’t because he was looking after his little girl. He never mentioned her after that. I thought it was an excuse, but, you can never tell.’

  ‘Do you know anything about Iain’s life before he came to work for you? Any previous jobs?’

  ‘No. He worked as a cab driver for a couple of years, took his full Driver CPC and applied for the job.’

  ‘So he never mentioned anything about what he did for a living in the eighties and nineties?’

  ‘No. How old do I look? I was at college in the nineties.’

  ‘Can you tell me what you were doing earlier this morning?’

  ‘You think I’d kill one of my employees at the busiest time of year? If you must know I’ve spent the last two hours trying to organize twenty-three drivers with only nineteen coaches. And if you need witnesses it’s all on CCTV in the depot and nearly two dozen hairy-arsed, moaning drivers can vouch for me. Look, can I leave? I’m supposed to be going on holiday in the early hours of tomorrow.’

  ‘Anywhere nice?’

  ‘California,’ she replied without smiling.

  ‘Lovely.’

  ‘Well, it was going to be until I found a dead body. Now I’m not so sure.’ Andrea flicked her dying cigarette onto the grass and headed for her car as quickly as she could without running.

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t given your name.’

  ‘Robert. Robert Blyth,’ said the man in a woollen hat and body warmer. He was in shock and stared dead ahead, straight through Matilda.

  Matilda had spotted Robert slowly walking back to his flat, his legs heavy, his mind obviously elsewhere, and followed. He lived in the apartment directly above Iain’s so the layout was identical. However, where Iain’s home was Spartan and devoid of atmosphere, Robert’s was full of life and personality. Framed paintings adorned the walls. The sofa was new and clean. The decoration was bright and airy and the windows sparkled in the winter sun.

  ‘How old are you Robert?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just asking.’

  ‘I’m twenty four.’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

  ‘Well, I was coming down the stairs and this woman was banging on Iain’s door. She asked if I’d seen him and I told her that I had, last night on my way home. She bent down to look through the letterbox and screamed. She said he was lying on the floor, dead. I looked through the letterbox but all I could see was the closed door to the living room.’ His voice was a dull monotone, clearly shocked by what he’d seen.

  ‘Did you try to open the door?’

  ‘No. I said I’d go around the back and try to see through the living room window.’

  ‘And could you?’

  ‘Once I saw the window was broken I didn’t want to get too close in case there was evidence, you know? I leaned in and tried to see Iain but I couldn’t. I’ve got blood on my sleeve,’ he said, showing Matilda the dried stain.r />
  ‘Where’s that from?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess I must have leaned against the windowsill or something.’

  ‘Ok. How long have you lived here?’

  ‘A couple of years, maybe.’

  ‘And where do you work?’

  ‘In town. I’m a supervisor at Sainsbury’s.’

  ‘Do you know Iain well?’

  ‘No,’ he replied, scratching his head through the woollen hat. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. ‘I say hello when I see him. He took a parcel for me a couple of times and borrowed a sink plunger last month, but that’s about it.’

  ‘So you never went into his flat?’

  He paused to think. ‘No. Well, I might have done to collect a package, but I don’t think I went right in.’

  ‘We will need to take your fingerprints to match against any prints in Iain’s flat. Don’t worry, they will be destroyed afterwards,’ she quickly added when she saw the look of panic on Robert’s face. ‘Have you seen anything odd lately? Anyone hanging around who shouldn’t be?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about your other neighbours? What are they like?’

  ‘I don’t really know them,’ he shrugged.

  ‘Have there been any attempted break-ins before?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Ok. Well, if you can think of anything, please give me a call,’ Matilda said fishing a card out of her top pocket. It was slightly creased so she smoothed it out before handing it over.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Matilda left him to his thoughts and showed herself out.

  It took Eric Chatterton a while to answer his front door. So long that Matilda almost turned away to leave. Opening a door while using a walking frame was not easy but eventually a small enough gap appeared and Eric popped his head around the door.