by M A Comley
“Thanks. I’ll do that. Can I get you one?”
“Not for me. I’ll have a bottle of water in a while. I shouldn’t be long.”
Sam left the suite and went in search of the vending machine that was situated halfway up the corridor. After selecting a white coffee, she placed the cup on a nearby table and rang her partner. It was ten minutes past six. He replied instantly. “Hi, Bob, I’m still here. One down, one to go. How are things there? I take it you’re still at work?”
“Yes, that’s right. I’m going to send the rest of the team home soon, if that’s all right?”
“Of course it is. They’ve all worked exceptionally hard today. What about you?”
“Alex and I have agreed to stay behind, we’re having trouble sourcing some of the medals. We’re determined to trace all of them before we go home.”
“You’re troopers, thanks for putting in the extra effort. What have you come up with so far?”
“They range in value from two hundred quid up to three thousand five hundred.”
Sam groaned. “Are you pulling my leg?”
He chuckled. “I’m not touching you. Why?”
“Idiot! What the hell? I thought we’d be talking about tens of thousands, not a measly few hundred quid.”
“I agree, it does seem to be a high price to pay, to take four people’s lives, if that’s indeed what the murderer was after.”
“Seems bloody ridiculous. What about the money?” Sam paced the hallway while she spoke.
“What about it?”
“Have you counted it yet?”
“I have. There’s just under ten grand there.”
Sam shook her head in disgust. “Fuck. Okay, we’ll delve into this more in the morning. Do your best to obtain valuations for all the medals. There might be a hidden gem in there for all we know that could be worth several thousand.”
“I doubt it. We’ll keep searching, though. I hope Des doesn’t have you hanging around too long over there.”
“Me too. See you in the morning.”
She ended the call and picked up her cup. She paced the area while she sipped her drink, reflecting on what Bob had told her. None of this makes sense. Had the medals been worth a lot of money, then yes, that could be deemed an important motive. What the hell is going on here? Are we barking up the wrong tree?
More questions seeped into her mind until her headache worsened. “Damn, I forgot to take a tablet before I left the office.”
“Talking to yourself, Inspector Cobbs?”
“Sometimes it’s the only way for me to obtain a sensible answer. I have a headache if you must know, it came on back at the station. I stupidly forgot to take a painkiller and now it’s getting progressively worse.”
“If I had a devious mind, which I haven’t, I would take that as you searching for an excuse to get out of attending another PM.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “Then you, dear doctor, would be way off the bloody mark because I’m doing no such thing.”
“Do you want me to get you a tablet?”
“Are you allowed to dish them out like sweeties?”
“No, not really. It’s your call.”
“I’ll struggle on. I have a packet in the car. Are you ready for me yet?”
“Yes, walk this way, into my inner sanctum and we’ll slice up another victim.” He let out a sinister laugh that Christopher Lee would have been proud of.
“Poor taste of humour… just saying.”
He snorted and let out another sinister laugh to rival the first one.
“You’re sick, do you know that?”
“Paula tells me every so often, I presume she does it to keep my feet on the ground.”
She laughed, despite trying to keep a straight face. They entered the examination suite to find Michelle Chatley lying on the table. Sam sighed, her heart sinking a little. The woman had only been doing her mother a favour, travelling all that way to be with Brenda, and had mistakenly got caught up in the violence that had ensued. An innocent victim. They all were, in her opinion.
Michelle’s PM took the same route as her mother’s and resulted in a similar outcome. Both women’s deaths were attributed to the slits they received to their throats. Michelle also encountered several puncture wounds, just like her mother. “You reckon the killer tortured both of them to begin with and then, when they didn’t offer up the information he was after, he killed one in front of the other?”
“That’s my take on it, yes. Maybe the daughter was killed first, if he suspected Brenda knew where the medals and money were kept.”
Sam placed a finger on her cheek. “That would make sense. To kill the daughter in order to obtain the items. It wouldn’t have worked the other way around, if the items were hidden in a secret compartment that possibly the daughter was oblivious to. Either way, we’re dealing with a heartless individual lacking in morals. Bastard.”
“I totally agree with your assumption. Do you want to hang around, have a chat after I’ve sewn her up?”
“Will it be worth it?” Sam glanced at her watch. It was coming up to half past seven, and she had a long drive ahead of her.
“Go, I can see you’re itching to get home.”
“Sorry to run out on you, it’s been a long, arduous day and—”
He raised his hands to stop her mid-flow. “No excuses necessary. I’ll be going home myself soon enough. I’ll be in touch with the reports in the next day or two.”
“Thanks for understanding. Umm… if you can keep hounding the tech guys for the DNA results, that would be a massive help.”
“Of course. Your wish is my command. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Sam.”
“You too, Des.”
She left the suite and went back to the changing room. After disrobing, she walked briskly back to her car. Before she set off, Sam swallowed a couple of paracetamols and washed them down with a swig of water from the bottle she kept in the side pocket of her door. Then she turned on a Celine Dion disc to accompany her back home.
It was still light, the sunset was off to her right, out to sea. The drive home was less mentally exerting than her drive up to Carlisle had been.
At close to half past eight, she pulled into her drive. Exiting the car, she expected to hear the clatter of work taking place on the inside; instead, all was quiet. Too quiet. Enough to put her worry gene on alert. Sam decided to go through the back gate. The same mess was still in situ, cluttering up the path to the back door. She did her best to squeeze past the units that had been ripped out and cursed when she snagged her jacket on a splintered edge jutting out from the path. “Damn, another bloody suit knackered. Chris, are you there?”
There was no response from her husband. Her nerves were on edge by this point.
“Chris,” she called out again.
Still no reply.
The back door was ajar, and she covered her hand with her jacket and pushed it open. There, lying on the floor was Chris; he had an open wound on his forehead.
“Sam, help me.” His plea sounded pitiful.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Tears emerged and trickled down her heated cheeks. “Chris, are you okay?”
“I’ll be all right. I just need a minute. My head is swimming.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened? Did you fall?”
“If only that were true.”
“Then what? Tell me.”
“I was upstairs, you know, going to the loo; when I came down, there was someone in the house.”
She gasped. “Shit! Did you see who it was? Where was Sonny?”
“No. Everything happened so fast. Whoever it was came at me, bashed me over the head with that damn vase we got for a wedding present and ran out of the house. Sonny was in the lounge.”
“Bugger. So you didn’t get a proper look at them?”
“No, I just told you that. Anyway, they were wearing one of those ski masks.”
“Did they take anything?”
; “Help me to my feet. I don’t know. I’ll need to look around before I can answer that.”
She placed a hand under his elbow and eased him to his feet. He swayed and banged his hip against the wall. “Are you okay? Do you need me to call the doctor or take you to the hospital?”
“No, I think I’ll be fine. My head’s clearing a little.” He tried to stand upright, but his legs buckled and he slammed against the wall again.
Sam searched the immediate area, looking for a seat. There weren’t any, they’d all been shifted next door into the dining room. “Stay there. I’ll get a chair.”
“No, don’t leave me. Help me into the other room.”
She flung an arm around his waist and placed his arm over her shoulder. “You’re going to have to help me. You’re a dead weight, I can’t shift you alone, love.”
“I’m doing my best. My head isn’t helping. My vision is blurred.”
“Look, if you lost consciousness, then we need to get you to the hospital, you might have concussion.”
“You know how much I hate those places.”
“No one likes them, but it’s a necessity to get you checked over, Chris. Please don’t fight me on this one.” It was then she smelt alcohol on his breath. “Have you been drinking?”
“One or two. Don’t start, Sam.”
“I’m not starting, I asked a simple question. Do you want to go to hospital or not? If you do, the alcohol you’ve consumed might hinder what they’re prepared to do for you.”
“No. I’m staying here. Get me into the dining room, I’ll be better once I’m sitting down.”
Together they exerted themselves, trying to get him moved around twenty feet. She lowered him into the padded chair and stood back to assess his wound. “I’ll get a bowl of water and some TCP, that should do the trick.”
“Will it hurt?” he called after her, ever the wuss.
“It shouldn’t do, we’ll soon find out. I’m going to have to ring it in if you think it was a burglary. Make the other residences in the area aware of what went on here tonight.”
“Do you have to?”
After looking through several boxes in the kitchen, she finally found a glass bowl, which she filled with tepid water. Then she tore upstairs, searched high and low for the TCP, but couldn’t find it, so used Dettol instead. He wouldn’t know the difference and it had the same healing properties TCP had, so she didn’t see a problem making the switch. Sam went back downstairs and returned to the dining room where she bathed his wound.
“Ouch, that hurts,” Chris whimpered, his bottom lip quivering.
“It’s cotton wool and a diluted mixture, how can it possibly hurt?” she asked, her impatience getting the better of her.
“Can’t you be more gentle?”
“Er, no.” She held the cotton wool out to him. “Do you want to do it yourself?”
He crossed one arm over the other and pulled a face. “Glad you chose to be a copper and not a nurse, your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.”
Sam snorted. “Moaning bloody Minnie. Stop whinging.”
“Hard to do that when you’re jabbing at my wound.”
She’d had enough. The wound was now clean of blood. She took a step back and said, “It’s a minor cut, not sure what the bloody fuss was about, Chris.”
“Who was making a fuss? Not me!”
She shook her head and wagged a finger. “Don’t push it. I’ve had a day from hell.”
“And you think mine has been a bed of roses? I’ve been at it for hours on that damn kitchen and then I got bumped on the bloody head by a no-mark after money.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Like I said, I was in the loo and had just come downstairs, someone must have followed me in, come through the back gate without me noticing them, and they whacked me over the head.”
“Were you out cold?”
“Yes, for a while. I kind of heard what was going on, but I couldn’t raise my head, it was too heavy. I was befuddled, my head didn’t feel like it belonged to me.”
“All right, I get your drift. Did the person say anything? Like what they were after? Speak to you at all?”
“Jesus, stop being a copper for a moment, will you? I just told you I was confused. I’m trying to cast my mind back.”
“I’m going to ring the station. How long ago did it happen?”
“Not long, I suppose about ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Shit! My head’s throbbing, I don’t know, it could have been thirty to forty minutes, I just don’t know for sure.” Chris was starting to get agitated. He was prone to doing that, if things didn’t go his way.
“All right. Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, you know how much that bloody infuriates me.”
Sam turned her back on him and rolled her eyes. If he’d seen her do that, he would have kicked off again. She rang the station and spoke to a constable manning the front desk. “I need you to be aware that my husband was attacked at home, we’re presuming it was a burglary.” Sam gave the constable her address. “He doesn’t wish to make a complaint at this point. I thought it best to call it in, just in case anyone else lodges a complaint tonight.”
“I’ll note it down, ma’am and make sure the desk sergeant is told upon his return.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She ended the call and spun around to face Chris again.
“Is that it?” he screeched.
A frown pulled at her temple. “What?”
“Aren’t they going to do anything about it? You know, get a bunch of cars out here and do a thorough search of the neighbourhood?”
“You said you didn’t want to make a fuss. It was a courtesy call, that’s all.”
He shook his head and gave her a frustrated look for putting him straight. “Oh right, yes, of course. What now?”
“Now I need to get something to eat, I only had a sandwich at lunchtime. I suppose it’s takeaway again on the menu tonight, is it?”
He shrugged. “You know damn well it is, so why bother bloody asking?”
“Why indeed,” she grumbled. “I fancy something light, maybe just a burger, what about you?”
“Yeah, burger and chips will do. Do you want to ring up, get a delivery?”
“No, I’m not prepared to wait. I’ll go to Burger King.”
“Crummy burgers there.”
She tutted and desperately tried to hold on to what patience she possessed, which wasn’t much. “Where then? Bearing in mind I left the bloody house over twelve hours ago.”
“I don’t know. You choose.”
Sighing, she left and closed the front door behind her.
There was a pizza place down the road, maybe they had burgers on the menu as well. She took a chance and decided to hop in the car, in spite of it only being a five-minute walk from the house. There were two customers in front of her. She placed her order and took a seat at a table until the guy behind the counter called her when it was ready.
During her drive back, she went over what Chris had told her and wondered if the attack or burglary was connected to the investigation she was working on. Is that possible? Could the killer know where I live? What could they possibly be after? Was this a warning of some kind? Telling me to back off? Ensuring I know that the killer can hurt Chris if needed?
Too many questions streamed through her head, but she dared not tell Chris what she thought; he’d be panic-stricken and angry and probably accuse her of bringing her work home with her, even though she had nothing to do with the incident. A sudden thought also crossed her mind: she hadn’t secured the back door before leaving home. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What if the intruder is still hanging around? Sam put her foot down and quickly exited the car once she parked.
“Chris, Chris,” she called out, the second she opened the front door.
Her husband appeared in the doorway of the dining room, looking puzzled. “Are you okay?”
“Thank God. I foolishly left the back door open and sudd
enly realised my mistake on the way back.”
Chris waved the problem away. “I locked the door after you left. I’ve got some plates out ready. Where did you go in the end?”
“I’ll tell you where afterwards, just in case it puts you off eating it.”
10
Several nightmares had meant Sam spent most of the night awake and downstairs on the sofa, rather than disturb Chris’s rest. She took him up a cup of coffee at seven-thirty and jumped in the shower. He complained his head was still sore and told her he was going to take the day off work, ring a guy he sometimes used to stand in for him.
As much as Sam hated leaving him alone when he wasn’t feeling well, she also knew they would grate on each other’s nerves if she hung around the house all day to be with him, especially when the kitchen looked like a scene from the blitz.
Nick greeted her with apprehension when she stepped into the reception area. “Morning, ma’am. I got the message about the suspected burglary. I was surprised you didn’t want to register it with us. Everything all right?”
“Yes, hubby took a whack to the head. I tended to his wounds, it didn’t warrant a trip to A&E.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I wanted you guys to be aware, just in case another call came in during the evening from another resident in the area.”
“Nothing came to our attention. I’ll keep a close eye on the calls we receive during the day and let you know if anything comes up.”
“What’s this?” Bob asked, overhearing the end of their conversation.
“I’ll tell you upstairs. Come on, I sense we’ve got a long day ahead of us. Thanks, Nick.”
“No problem, ma’am, always happy to oblige.”
Sam and Bob went through the security door and bounded up the stairs. She filled him in en route.
“Shit! Is Chris all right?”
“He seemed fine last night. I slept on the couch, blame the nightmares I had for that. When I went to check on him this morning, he told me he felt a little groggy, so I left him in bed.”
Bob stopped halfway up the stairs. “What? You left him in that state? With a possible concussion?”
