Grey Ladies

by William Stafford

  “Went over the top, did he, sir?” said Miller.

  “It was a bit elaborate, yes,” said Brough.

  16.

  Wrapped in a blanket and nursing a cup of strong tea, Pamela Fogg made a preliminary statement to the detectives. She told them of Lawson’s underground lair, a disused and neglected dungeon beneath the keep. She told them what she could recall of his wild explanation, his justification for all the murders. She was despatched in an ambulance to be checked out in the hospital. Miller assured her they would be in touch in the morning for something more formal. A call was made to the home for the officers on site to arrest Janet the personal assistant.

  Stevens and Wheeler arrived on the scene and seemed disappointed to have missed all the action and excitement.

  “You’m mental, going up there on your own,” Wheeler scolded Brough. “What have I told you about team work?”

  Before Brough could answer, Stevens spoke up. “Woman’s life was at stake, boss. He done well.”

  “Humph.” Wheeler grunted but her eyes were smiling.

  The team Wheeler was so fond of was securing the scene, taping off all entrances and exits so that by daylight they could give the place a thorough going over. Brough nodded his surprised thanks to Stevens and went to join Miller and Woodcock who were blowing into their own cups of tea.

  “Hello, you two,” he said. He enjoyed watching them blush.

  “Don’t you think you should get out of that clobber now, sir?” Miller raised an eyebrow. “Unless you’re going to keep them?”

  “I think he likes it.” Stevens again. He had sidled over, feeling a little left out.

  “Alright, sir?” Woodcock nodded, embarrassed.

  Stevens gave him a hard stare. Woodcock handed over his tea.

  “Right, you lot,” Wheeler clapped her hands. “Off to bed. Separately, I mean. Want you fresh in the morning when we piece all this together.” She shooed them away.

  The four detectives strolled down the path and through the zoo to the side gate. Around them exotic birds squawked and monkeys chattered, unused to so much coming and going at that time of night.

  Miller was prevailed upon to give them all lifts. Only Brough didn’t get in the car.

  “Going to the station,” he pointed his thumb up the road. “Left my phone there.”

  “Like that?” Stevens gestured at Brough’s outfit.

  “It’s like this or naked,” Brough shrugged. “I’ve got a spare suit up there and everything.” He said his goodnights and waved them away.

  He walked, not as an old woman, but with his chest out and his head held high. Come on then, he dared each empty doorway. Let’s be having you!

  But there was no sign of the woman in grey he had glimpsed so many times before. He began to question he had ever seen her.

  Trick of the mind and all that. Frustration over last year’s big case turning all weird. That was probably it.

  Sure that psychologists would agree with his theory, Brough bounded up the steps outside Dedley police station and through the main entrance.

  The hobby bobby at the front desk barely glanced at him.

  “Hello, Inspector,” he muttered.

  Hmm, thought Brough as he made his way upstairs, perhaps they’re not all as thick as pig shit.

  In the incident room, his first order of business was to locate his phone. It, like Adrian Lawson and his mother, was dead. But unlike those two, it could be revived.

  Wouldn’t you know it? Brough hadn’t got his charger. Damn. Shit, piss and fuck. He was unable to read or play back any of Alastair’s messages. Neither could he access Alastair’s number and call him from the landline. Fuck, piss and shit.

  Brough sat behind his desk. God, he was tired.

  He pulled off his wig and began to peel the latex prosthetics from his face. He could have a shower before he put his suit on. Unless Wheeler had had it ripped out and replaced with a vending machine. It wouldn’t surprise him.

  That was the plan then. Get this rubber shit off. Have a nice shower. Get dressed, go home and get in touch with Alastair. Who knows? Perhaps he was already there?

  Brough smiled, even though he was wincing at the latex stubbornly clinging to his upper lip.

  It was a great plan.

  17.

  The next morning, Miller pulled up outside Brough’s flat to give him a lift to Regional. As she waited in the car, she tapped her hands in time to the music on the radio. She was in a good mood.

  She’d dropped Stevens off first at the end of his street, even though he’d complained his house was down the other end. Do you good, she’d told him and Woodcock had snickered.

  And then she’d taken Woodcock right up to his garden gate. They’d sat in the car for a couple of hours talking about the case, talking about many things that were nothing to do with the case and, best of all, holding hands above the gearstick. Miller had watched, when he eventually got out of the car, as he walked up his path and opened his door. They waved like children until Miller pulled away.

  Miller’s chest rose and fell. She was happy.

  But where the bloody hell was Brough? It wasn’t like him to be late. She raised her hand, ready to sound the horn. She paused; was it too early for that? Would there be complaints from the neighbours? And if anyone deserved a bit of a lie-in, wasn’t it Brough?

  She sat back and waited. The song ended and another one came on. After a couple of annoying advertisements for double glazing and car insurance, a third song started.

  What was taking him so long?

  Miller got out of the car. She didn’t fancy starting the day with a bollocking from Wheeler for turning up late. And it wouldn’t be her fault.

  Her good mood already fading she marched up to the front door - well, the side door that led up to Brough’s flat - ready to give him a piece of her mind. She raised her hand to give the doorbell a good pounding when she realised the door was open.

  “Hello?” she called and went inside.

  She walked up the steps to the flat with a growing sense of disquiet. It wasn’t like Brough to leave the outside door open.

  The door at the top of the steps was also open. Wide open.

  “Inspector?” Miller called. “Are you there? David?”

  She went through the hall to the living room. There was no one there. She glanced into the kitchen. No one there but all the drawers were open.

  She stalked across the hall carpet to the bedroom. This door was closed. Miller’s knuckles rapped softly. “Hello?” she said.

  She pushed the handle down and opened the door slowly. He was probably still asleep, gone to bed exhausted and not locked up properly. That would be it.

  Except it wasn’t.

  Miller’s eyes and mouth opened wide as she took in the horrific scene that greeted her in the bedroom.

  Blood was everywhere. Up the walls and across the ceiling. The carpet beneath Miller’s shoes squelched with it as she took a tentative step towards the bed.

  A decapitated man lay beneath the duvet, a red puddle on the pillow where his head used to be. A cleaver lay on the pillow next to him like a sleeping lover.

  On the floor was a woman, sitting upright against the bed. The grey of her clothes was still visible in patches but most of her sweatpants and hooded jacket was drenched in red. In her hand she clutched the carving knife with which she appeared to have cut her own throat. On her lap was the head she had hacked off in a frenzied attack.

  Miller screamed.

  ***

  Brough felt foolish. He’d fallen asleep at his desk like a proper old woman and had awoken with a stiff neck and a pain in his back. He’d hobbled across the room and across the hall to the shower room. There, hot water had revived him and he felt more like a man in his earl
y thirties again.

  And now, after a brisk walk home, he arrived at his home to find the street full of activity. A couple of squad cars and an ambulance had attracted the attention of his neighbours and some of the workers from the industrial estate opposite.

  What the Hell -?

  And there was Miller running up to greet him with a strange expression on her face. She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tightly saying his name - his first name - over and over. She even kissed his face.

  Brough pulled himself free and, holding Miller’s forearms to keep her at bay, demanded she tell him what the blue fuck was going on.

  Miller cast a pained look to the first floor window and shook her head, unable to give voice to the horrors she had to tell him. The ambulance crew carried a covered stretcher towards the open doors at the back of the ambulance. Brough stopped them. He pulled back the blanket and stepped back in shock.

  “Fuck me!” he exclaimed, staring at the pallid face.

  “You know her?” Miller gasped. Perhaps it was a psychotic neighbour or landlady or someone. She certainly wasn’t expecting Brough’s answer.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “She was my wife.”

  ***

  They sat in Miller’s car and watched the police do their work. Brough explained that the woman - Julia - had been part of his undercover operation back in Southampton. Or rather, she hadn’t been part of it. She hadn’t suspected a thing. And he had gone along with it, allowing a relationship to develop as far as marriage, in order to maintain his cover.

  “But -” Miller frowned and he knew what she was going to say.

  “Oh, there was never any - you know. Didn’t get chance. Everything came to a head on our wedding day. The jig was up. Everyone arrested. A lucky escape, you might say.”

  “Hmm,” said Miller.

  “I knew there was someone stalking me! I bloody knew it! I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I almost feel glad but - the poor girl. She must have forced her way in and topped herself. Unable to live without me, I suppose.”

  Arrogant prick, thought Miller, but kept it to herself. “But, sir,” was what she did say, “there was no sign of forced entry. The door was on the latch.”

  But Brough wasn’t listening. “If she tracked me down, who’s to say that others won’t? Someone more dangerous than Julia might find me here!” He put a hand to his mouth, horrified at the thought of it.

  “I doubt they could be much more dangerous than Julia,” Miller muttered.

  “Well, I need to go up there, fetch a few things. See what kind of mess she’s made. Was thinking of moving out anyway. Did I tell you, Alastair’s offered me - Why are you staring at me, Miller? What’s the matter with you?”

  Miller pressed a button and the car doors locked with a clunk.

  “Don’t go up there, sir,” she said.

  THE END

  Also Available