by Michael Wood
‘Mr Chatterton? I’m DCI Matilda Darke. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your neighbour.’ She could already feel the heat coming from the flat and wished she didn’t have to enter. She wondered where the PC who was sitting with him had got to.
‘Come on in, love,’ he said without asking to see any ID. He shuffled backwards and let Matilda into the dark and cluttered flat.
The layout was the opposite of Iain’s and appeared smaller due to the number of armchairs he seemed to have. Every shelf, every windowsill, every table was chaotic with newspapers, magazines, and miss-matched ornaments. The curtains were drawn, making the flat oppressive.
Eventually, Eric followed Matilda into the living room. He instructed her to take a seat and offered her a cup of tea, which she politely refused.
Matilda waited until Eric slowly sat and made himself comfortable before beginning her questioning. ‘Has a PC been sitting with you?’
‘Yes. Lovely girl. Very chatty. Lovely name too, Faith Easter, very religious. My Nancy would have liked that. I told her to go though. I’m more than capable of looking after myself. I’m ninety-three.’
‘Really?’ Matilda was impressed. He didn’t look his age. She would have guessed early eighties. She wondered what she and James would be like at ninety-three. She couldn’t imagine James using a walking frame.
‘My Nancy would have been ninety-seven if she’d have lived. It’s been eleven years now. She lived with that brain tumour for eight years and then one morning just didn’t wake up,’ he said, his eyes tearing up. ‘It won’t be long until I’m with her again though. I’ve got problems with my knee, back and hip, and there’s something wrong with my liver that I don’t understand. She’s up there waiting for me.’
Matilda wasn’t sure what to say. She was never good around grief. She smiled politely, tucked her hair back and straightened her trousers.
‘Mr Chatterton …’
‘Eric.’
‘Eric. What can you tell me about your neighbour?’
‘Iain? He’s a nice enough chap. He does me some shopping from time to time and he’s taken me to Waitrose too when my daughter’s not been around.’
‘Does he have many visitors?’
‘A few. I’m right opposite the main entrance so I hear that buzzer whenever it rings.’
‘That could have been for your neighbours upstairs though.’
‘Possibly,’ he mused.
‘Did you see them?’
‘No. I keep my curtains closed. There’s a glare on my TV all year round.’
‘When did he get his visitors?’
‘Well in the evenings, obviously. He works in the daytime.’
‘Did he ever talk to you about them?’
‘No.’
‘What do you know about the other neighbours?’
‘Well,’ he said, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position on his armchair. ‘There’s young Robert upstairs. He’s quiet, says hello. Juliet lives next door to him but she hasn’t been here lately. Her mother had a stroke in Hull. She’s been staying there since it happened in August. She rings me occasionally, asks how her flat is. The third flat upstairs is empty. Gladys died in July. I don’t think her kids have even emptied it; I’ve not heard anything. They didn’t bother with her when she was alive though so I’m not surprised. Poor woman. Someone’s just moved into the flat next to Iain, about a week or so ago. I haven’t seen anyone though. You don’t, these days. People are too busy to have a chat with their neighbours. That’s what I miss, a good chat,’ he said with a warm, but sad, smile.
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘Just after my Nancy died. My daughter, Susie, she thought it would be best if I lived on one level. My old house was too big for me on my own anyway.’
‘How long had Iain lived next door?’
‘He moved in earlier this year.’
‘Was he married? Any girlfriends?’
‘No. He never mentioned a wife or anyone. I got the impression he was on his own.’
‘Did he ever discuss what he used to do for a living?’
‘No. Why all the questions? Is he a killer or something?’ he asked, his eyes widening in excitement.
‘No. Nothing like that,’ Matilda found herself smiling. She liked Eric, and, despite the heat, she could have spent the rest of the day chatting to him about ‘his Nancy’ and the local neighbourhood. She thanked him for his time and said she would show herself out. As she reached the doorway, Eric called her back.
‘There was something …’
‘Go on.’
‘About a week ago there was a hell of a row coming from next door.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t the TV?’
‘No it was definitely a row. I could hear Iain. And there was another chap in there with him.’
‘What were they arguing about?’
‘I don’t know, love. I turned my TV up. I like to watch those box sets in the evening. I’m hooked on Breaking Bad. Have you seen it?’
Matilda tried to hide her smile. She hadn’t expected a ninety-three-year-old to be a fan of Breaking Bad. ‘I can’t say I have, no. How long did this row go on for?’
‘A while. Then it all went quiet. I didn’t hear any doors slam though.’
Chapter Six
Matilda hadn’t realized the snow had started to fall while she was interviewing the neighbours. It hadn’t helped that Eric Chatterton kept his curtains closed. Sheffield had been in the grips of a cold snap for the past couple of weeks. At the beginning of December, a record fall of snow had cut off some of the hillier parts of the city from the rest of civilization. The snow still hadn’t fully melted and now here was another arctic blast.
Sitting in the front passenger seat with Sian driving, Matilda mused on Iain Kilbride’s life. It was difficult to picture him as a young man in that old copy of the Radio Times. She had heard of some actors falling on hard times when the work dried up, but it was sad to think that he’d been in one of Britain’s best-loved soap operas for more than a decade, then ended his life in a dingy flat in Sheffield. She hoped never to end up like that – spending her days doing a job she despised and going home to soak herself in a bottle of vodka. She shook the depressing thought from her mind. She hated vodka, anyway.
The new carpet smell seemed to have faded as people brought the outside in with them. There was a whiff of damp as detectives draped jackets and jumpers over radiators. Matilda even saw a pair of soggy socks on one as she made her way to the top of the MIT suite to begin briefing her officers.
‘Iain Kilbride was found dead this morning at his home in Hallam Grange Close. Upon investigation of his flat, we discovered he was a soap star in the eighties and nineties, but recently worked as a coach driver here in Sheffield. Now, what else do we know about him?’
‘Very little. Apart from the fact he hardly spoke to anyone but owned three top of the range computers,’ DS Richard Tanner said from the side of the room. Like Matilda, he had recently been promoted and was relishing the new role. In his late twenties, he was tall and slightly chubby. His mousey hair was cut short to hide the fact it was curly and untamed. He had permanent stubble which was patchy and didn’t suit him.
‘I hope those laptops have been taken to forensics.’
‘Yes they have. Are we sure they’re his though?’ Richard asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, look at the rest of the flat – dated furniture, manky carpet, tatty clothes, not much food in the cupboards. Then you see three really good laptops and a mobile phone I’d kill for …
‘Is that a confession, Richard?’ Sian asked which raised a small chuckle from the rest of the room.
Richard blushed. ‘Damn! Foiled by my own greed.’
Matilda smiled. ‘Ok. So the laptops don’t fit. We’ll have to wait and see what forensics find before we start making assumptions.’
‘I hope it’s not porn,’ DC Rita Morgan s
aid, almost to herself.
‘Sorry?’
‘Well, an old bloke, living on his own …’
‘He’s hardly old, Rita. He was only forty-four,’ Sian chimed in.
‘You know what I mean. What if he’s got kiddie stuff on there?’ she shuddered. ‘If he has, then there’s no wonder he’s been killed. Good riddance too if you ask me.’
Matilda raised her hands. ‘Ok everyone let’s get back to the investigation. Firstly, we have no idea what is on those laptops so until we do let’s not go hanging an innocent man. Secondly, even if he did have child pornography on his computer we still need to investigate his murder in the same way as every other killing. Is that understood DC Morgan?’
‘Yes ma’am,’ she said, bowing her head.
‘Good. Now, let’s move on from the laptops until we know more.’
Matilda turned to the white board behind her and looked at the photographs of the crime scene and the smashed window. ‘The door was locked from the inside and the window smashed from the outside. That is our entry and exit point. So if the motive wasn’t robbery what was it?’
‘Murder. Pure and simple,’ said DC Anna Evans, while chewing on the end of a biro.
‘And what’s the motive if it wasn’t to rob him?’ Matilda hadn’t warmed to Anna Evans as quickly as she had wanted. ACC Valerie Masterson had allowed Matilda to hand pick her team and she had chosen Anna for her hard work and dedication. Anna put in the long hours and never complained. However, she was a difficult woman to get to know. Still only young, in her early twenties, she wasn’t as chatty and fun-loving as the other DCs. Matilda knew this was a serious job, but her staff needed some light relief in order to function in such a demanding environment.
‘There are all kinds of motives for murder: revenge, money, sex, greed, or simple opportunity.’
‘And they all need looking into. Thanks for volunteering, Anna. So, what do we know about Iain Kilbride? Rita, have you looked him up?’
‘I have. There’s plenty about him too. He was in Emmerdale, or Emmerdale Farm, but was killed off when a new producer wanted to make room for fresh characters. Iain played Wesley Tucker, who died when he crashed his motorbike which had been sabotaged. After Emmerdale Farm – I can’t get used to calling it that – he had a few roles in The Bill, London’s Burning, Heartbeat and Casualty, but nothing major. He seemed to fall off the radar. However, I found an article dated 1999 – one of those “Where Are They Now …?” columns – which said he lived in Chester with his wife and daughter and ran his own minicab company.’
‘I wonder how much of that was true,’ Sian said.
‘His boss said he worked as a cab driver before taking his test to drive coaches. She didn’t mention he’d owned the company,’ Matilda added.
‘Maybe he didn’t. After being in a soap for twelve years you wouldn’t want people thinking you were a cabbie now, would you?’ Aaron said. ‘It’s quite a fall from grace.’
‘Andrea Barnes mentioned a daughter,’ Matilda said. ‘We need to find her and the ex-wife too. I also want someone to talk to his colleagues at Barnes Coaches. Tanner, you can sort that out for me. By the end of the day I want to know everything about this man.’
The volume in the MIT increased as everyone went about their tasks. Matilda entered her office and closed the door behind her. She wanted a few minutes alone to reflect and think about Iain Kilbride. She felt sorry for him. In the eighties and nineties, viewing figures for soap operas were through the roof. He would have been in the living rooms of about twelve million people most weekday nights. To go from that to being a bus driver must have taken some getting used to. The large number of vodka bottles around the flat suddenly made sense, as did the absence of a wife and daughter. It appeared that when his working life fell apart, so did his personal life. Was it then that he decided on a clean break, a move to Sheffield where nobody knew him and he could start again? If so, why not change his name? Any huge fan of Emmerdale would recognize the name, even if the man had changed beyond recognition.
Then there was the broken window. Why break in to kill someone and not steal anything? There was nothing of value in the fixtures and fittings but plenty of cash in his wallet. Then there were those three laptops. Was this an argument gone wrong, poorly disguised as a robbery?
And finally, most importantly, whose blood was on the outside windowsill?
Chapter Seven
On her way to the ACC’s office, Matilda almost collided with DI Ben Hales as he turned a corner, head down as usual. She apologized but all she received in reply was a roll of the eyes and a loud tut.
‘Ben,’ she called out to him.
He stopped but didn’t look round. His shoulders dropped as if letting out a huge sigh. Eventually he turned to face Matilda. His smile was false and looked painful.
‘Is everything all right?’ She asked.
‘Yes thank you.’
‘Look, I know you were hoping for the DCI job and to take control of the MIT but we will have to work together at some point. There’s no reason for us to fall out.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Matilda almost scoffed. ‘Ben, come on, I know you’re pissed. I would be too, but we can’t allow this to get in the way of our work.’
‘It’s not going to. You’re MIT. I’m CID. You deal with murders and I’m currently involved in a nasty case of wheelie bin fires on Lowedges. Trust me, it’s cutthroat stuff in my office.’ His reply dripped with sarcasm.
‘Fine,’ Matilda admitted defeat. ‘I’m sorry you feel this way. I’ve tried to repair the animosity between us but you obviously don’t want that so I’ll leave you to it. I will say this though: when my team are working on something big we will need some of your resources, including your officers. We will work together and I will be in charge. You remember that.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’ll remember,’ he said, walking up to Matilda so he was inches from her face. She could feel the pent up rage burning through him. ‘I know exactly where I stand in the scheme of things – I’m the carcass you can pick at whenever you feel like it. I’m the carcass, and you’re the vulture.’
She met his stare which lingered longer than it should have done. Neither wanted to turn away first. It was only when Matilda could felt a bead of sweat forming on her hairline that she decided the standoff was childish. She shook her head at how pathetic Ben was being and walked away. Once her back was to him, she let out a massive sigh of relief. For a moment, she had been genuinely scared of him.
‘Do you know anything about coffee machines?’
‘Not that particular one, no.’
ACC Masterson had brought in a coffee machine from home. Since the bill for the vending machines had been cut they had changed to a different supplier and now the black liquid that came out of the spout tasted nothing like coffee. She stood at the low filing cabinet where her shiny silver coffee machine took pride of place along with a set of very stylish cups and saucers. With the instruction booklet in one hand, fiddling with the foaming knob with the other, she had no idea what she was doing.
‘I don’t even know where to pour in the beans,’ she said. ‘I’ve been looking at this all morning. I just want a sodding cup of coffee. I’ve had to send Liz out to Costa to get me one. Oh forget it.’ She threw the booklet on her desk and went to sit down.
The ACC was a tiny woman who looked even smaller behind her huge crowded desk. Her neat uniform seemed to have come from a child’s dressing up box, but her greying hair and severe expression showed everyone that she meant business.
‘How’s the MIT getting along?’
‘Fine. We’ve settled in nicely.’
‘You’re keeping busy by the look of things too. I’ve heard you have a dead celebrity on your hands.’
‘Well, former celebrity. Are you an Emmerdale fan?’
‘Oh. No. I don’t watch much television. Any leads?’
‘Not so far. Plenty of questi
ons that need answering.’
‘And you know where to look for the answers?’
‘We’re getting there.’
‘Good. Now, Matilda, as you know I’ve been trying to establish an MIT for years now. I’ve worked hard to finally get the budget so I need it to work smoothly and efficiently. I have every faith in your leadership and skills as a detective which is why I gave you the job. However, I will be keeping a close eye on you and the MIT as a whole. I hope you understand why.’
‘I do, ma’am, perfectly.’
‘Good. Now, the press will be all over this once they discover our victim is a dead celebrity so be prepared. I thought you’d have dressed in something a bit smarter.’
Matilda looked down at her clothes. ‘Yes, sorry about that. We’ve moved into temporary accommodation while the house is being renovated.’
‘Oh yes, I remember you saying. Didn’t your husband win an award last month?’
‘It was in the summer, and yes, he did,’ she replied, trying but failing to hide her beaming smile.
‘Good for him. Well, I won’t detain you, but remember what I said. The MIT needs to be efficient, dedicated, and above all a success.’
‘You can rely on me.’
As Matilda left the office she could feel the stress building up again.
Chapter Eight
‘Bloody hell it’s cold out there. Sorry I’m late. Have I missed all the gory details?’
Matilda breezed into the autopsy suite to find it empty apart from Dr Adele Kean and one very pale-looking assistant who was scrubbing a stainless steel table into a shine.
‘You have, but don’t worry about it,’ Adele said, stepping out of her small ante-office. ‘Come on through. It’s warmer in here.’
Matilda followed her into the corner of the tiny office and held her hands above the heater, rubbing them together to get the circulation going. At her eye-line on the wall was a poster of a stab wound close-up.
‘Adele, why do you have a picture of a stab wound on your wall?’
