by L M Krier
He reminded himself yet again how lucky he was when he was welcomed home with a hug and a kiss from Trev, and six purring cats rubbing affectionately round his legs. He returned the kiss and, with a flourish, produced a bottle of good French wine, which he handed to Trev. Ted never drank alcohol but he loved to see his partner enjoy good wine in moderation.
'Oh wow, this is nice. Are we pushing the boat out for a special occasion? It's only a chicken liver risotto, I'm afraid, I didn't know we'd be celebrating anything.'
Ted gave a self-effacing smile and said, 'Believe it or not, you are now looking at a Detective Chief Inspector. Acting, for the moment, of course, but hopefully to be confirmed, if I don't make a total balls-up of my new role.'
Trev's hug this time was a bone-crusher which nearly lifted the much smaller Ted off his feet.
'That is fantastic news! Well done you. I can't wait to tell Shewee, she'll be as made up as I am,' he said. Shewee was his younger sister, Siobhan's, nickname. She'd only recently come into both their lives and had quickly become a fan of both her big brother and of Ted. 'And don't forget to tell your mum, soon. She'll be so proud of you. Look at us, you a DCI, me a business partner. Just like proper grown-ups. Who'd have thought it?'
'It's more money, of course, which will help with the business loan, but there's a downside, inevitably. I'm going to be part of a new mobile unit covering the whole force area, headed by Jim. So that means I'm probably going to have to go away quite a bit, and you know I hate leaving you. I'll be going in as SIO, which is why I needed the promotion. I'll need a bit of clout, muscling in on other teams' patches. I don't imagine it will all be plain sailing.'
'You'll be brilliant,' Trev told him insistently, sounding proud. 'You know how good you are with people. You'll have them eating out of your hand in no time. And if they don't, you can just frighten them into submission with some nifty Krav Maga moves.
'Anyway, you won't be going all that far away. Where's the worst place they can send you? Owdham? Boory?' Trev asked with an exaggerated northern accent for Oldham and Bury.
He and Ted were from completely different social backgrounds. Trev had been educated at good, international schools and had a neutral, well-spoken accent. Ted was from Lancashire but had spent most of his life in Stockport and had a slight, though discernible, accent, with the characteristic flat vowels of the area.
'I just worry about leaving you. You're young, you're drop-dead gorgeous, you should be having more fun than you get, shackled to a boring, middle-aged copper.'
Trev turned away to stir his risotto and lower the heat under it. When he looked back, he asked, 'Is this you fishing for compliments? You know I love you, you know I accept the job because it's a part of you. If you have to go away, I'll miss you, but that's fine. I'll be here waiting, when you get back.' Then his vivid blue eyes took on a mischievous sparkle as he asked, 'Or do I need to prove to you why I don't want or need anyone else?'
Ted's smile was slow and suggestive as he replied, 'I may need a lot of convincing.'
Trev laughed as he turned the heat off under the pan and pulled it aside. 'These chicken livers are going to be as hard as the very devil,' he grumbled, but he followed his partner out of the kitchen without complaint.
Inspector Kevin Turner, Ted's opposite number in uniform, shot to his feet and snapped a parade-ground salute as Ted knocked briefly at his door and walked into his office the following morning, after his own team briefing.
'Morning, sir,' he barked, still standing to attention.
Ted laughed self-consciously and said, 'Shut up and sit down, you idiot,' taking a seat himself. 'Word certainly travels fast in this nick. I've only just told my team.'
As Kevin sat down, grinning, Ted noticed the involuntary wince and the hand that went up to massage his stomach.
'I can see the guts are still giving you a problem. You need to do something about them, and soon.'
'You have the smug, self-satisfied look of a man who got lucky last night,' Kevin said, totally ignoring the remark. 'I take it you and Trev enjoyed a celebration of your promotion?'
'Seriously, Kev, never mind your pip envy, now I've figuratively got three to your two. What are you doing about your stomach troubles?'
Kevin sighed, reaching in his top drawer for a tube of over-the-counter antacids, a couple of which he sucked down greedily.
'As it goes, I've got an appointment at the end of next week for the dreaded gastroscopy. Trouble is, I know I'm going to bottle it. I'm really bricking myself, just at the thought.' He looked hopefully at Ted as he asked, 'I don't suppose there's any chance you could come with me, Ted? I just need someone to hold my hand. Not literally, but someone to wait with me, stop me doing a runner.'
Ted hesitated. 'You know I would, if I could, Kev. It's just that with this new team to sort out…'
'The Ice Queen's already asked me to fix up a pool car, for when you have to go away. You can't rock up on someone else's patch in that Dinky toy of yours. I could just really do with the company, and it needs to be someone I can trust to keep their mouth shut. I'd never live it down.'
'I know just the person, and he's available. You need Maurice Brown. He's still on sick leave.'
'Maurice?' Kevin Turner echoed, sounding horrified at the suggestion.
'Believe me, there's a lot more to Maurice than the overweight skiver most people think he is. He's perfect for anyone who's ill or upset. Seriously, I've seen him in action. I'll ask him for you. He'll do it, and he's the soul of discretion. He knows things about me that no one else in this nick does.
'Now, I didn't just pop in here to see you salute me. I actually need to talk to a couple of your officers, if that's all right with you. Whoever responded first to a sudden death at Sabden House flats at the weekend.'
Kevin was already on the phone, asking for the two PCs to come to his office as soon as possible. He had the paperwork with their report on his desk, which he pushed across to Ted. He'd only just finished his own morning briefing and not all of his officers had yet left the station.
'I didn't think there was anything in it for us. Certainly not for you,' he said. 'From the initial report it looks as if the man was a known alcoholic. A neighbour had noticed his curtains drawn for longer than normal and knocked on. When there was no response, they called us and two of my lads went round.'
'Professor Nelson found something a bit out of the ordinary at the post-mortem,' Ted told him, and quickly filled him in on all the details. He explained about the earlier case in the same small block of flats. 'I just wanted to ask your officers if they'd happened to notice an expensive-looking bottle of Scotch which was a bit out of place. Depending on what they tell me, I may go round and check the place out for myself, just to make sure.'
There was a knock at the door and on Kevin's instruction, two young PCs came into the small office. It quickly started to feel crowded. Ted knew all the officers in the station by name, which earned him the respect of everyone. PCs Stuart Harkness and Ian Cresswell greeted both senior officers and stood looking expectant. Kevin nodded to Ted to go ahead.
'The sudden death at Sabden House at the weekend,' Ted began. 'It may not be all it first seemed to be. I wondered if you could think back to your first impressions and tell me if there was anything, anything at all, which seemed unusual or out of place.'
The two looked at one another. PC Harkness was the elder of the two by a couple of years so by unspoken agreement, he replied for both of them.
'The place was a mess, sir. Looked like it hadn't been cleaned in ages. Didn't smell very nice, either. The neighbours told us the man was a pi...' He caught himself just in time, realising neither senior office would accept him calling the deceased a piss-artist. He corrected himself neatly. 'A persistent drunk, sir. What we saw pretty much confirmed that, from the number of empty bottles about.'
'You didn't happen to notice one particular empty bottle which looked different? Like it might have been expensive?'
> Both men shook their heads. In reply to Ted's further questions, they told him there was a set of keys for the flat being kept, together with the man's other personal effects, until any next of kin had been traced. Ted thanked them and let them go.
'Right, I'd better go and see the Ice Queen for this strategy meeting about the new team,' Ted said, then laughed at himself. 'Words I never imagined myself uttering. I'll phone Maurice for you, as soon as I get a minute. You'll be fine with him. He's a right clucky mother hen, and completely discreet.'
Before they got down to the nitty-gritty of discussing the new team and how it would work, Ted mentioned to the Ice Queen the death at the flats and the reasons Professor Nelson was not satisfied it was simply a case of another alcoholic drinking himself to death.
She listened attentively, as usual, then said, 'That is certainly strange, but I don't see how it can be a matter for your team. Unless there was any evidence that someone physically poured the drink down his throat, I can't at the moment see what actual crime was committed. The heroin case, of course, is different. At least there would be an offence of supplying a Class A drug, if ever you could find out who did so. But again, unless a third party administered the drug, that's the only offence there would be.
'Look into it, certainly, but I wouldn't tie up too many valuable resources on it for now. They're scarce enough as it is. And this other death, the body in the river, with the stab wounds? Is that case under control?'
'Yes, ma'am, the team are fairly sure it's gang-related and they hope to bring in a suspect later today. A juvenile, with previous form for assault.'
'Now that you're a DCI, just one rung of the ladder below me, I don't think there's any need to call me ma'am when no one else is around,' she said, to Ted's surprise, serving up coffee for both of them. 'So, on to the main point on the agenda for this morning. The creation of this new team.
'As I said, you need a second sergeant, giving you one to travel with you, one to stay behind and help run things for your new inspector. I have some feelers out for someone to fill that position and you will, of course, have a say in who is appointed. I think it's a good moment to look at existing members of your team for someone to make up to acting sergeant. Who would be your choice?'
'Rob O'Connell,' Ted said, without hesitation. 'Maurice is the longest-serving but, although he has many qualities, leadership is not the strongest of them. Rob is a good officer. He knows his stuff, he's taken control of crime scenes in the past. He would be ideal.'
'Excellent. There's enough in the budget for a new DC to replace him. Next, young Steve. Has he done his two years as a trainee yet?'
'Not quite…' Ted replied, and stopped himself just before he added the customary 'ma'am'. They'd been on formal terms for so long it was going to be a hard habit to break.
'From what I saw of him while you were away, he seems both intelligent and competent. I would say that all he is lacking is a little confidence in himself. What if we were to take away the T for Trainee in his title and replace it with an A for Acting? Might that give him enough of a boost to help him to blossom forth?'
Ted smiled his pleasure. He agreed with her assessment of Steve and was delighted with the idea of rewarding his diligence and hard work.
'And making the best possible use of skills, I would like to see him develop his abilities in computer work. So much of what we are confronted with these days involves computer skills. I have secured a small budgetary allocation to build this team up. Part of it will go towards a civilian Computer Forensics Investigator, who can work with young Steve on that side of things.'
Ted was impressed. It was clear that this new team was being taken seriously, with money being spent on it when resources were so tightly constrained.
'I would suggest that you move into the office which is still standing vacant since DCI Baker vacated it. Then somehow we can cram the new inspector and one of the sergeants into your old office. This should then free up enough space, with a little lateral thinking, in the main office for the new DC, and the CFI. Part of the team will, of course, not be in the office a lot of the time, when they're mobile, so it shouldn't feel too overcrowded. There may need to be some hot-desking, though.'
Ted was nodding his enthusiasm. It was all starting to sound promising and more than a little exciting.
'So now we come to DC Brown. I understand he has another two weeks to run on his sick leave. The question is, do you see him as a fit for this new, enhanced team? Is there a productive role for him, bearing in mind that what we are aiming for here is a standard of excellence?'
Ted leaned back in his chair to gather his thoughts before speaking. Yes, Maurice was a skiver who would always try to slope off for a pint if he could. He was neither the brightest nor the most efficient copper on the force. But Ted had seen the other side of him often enough to know that it was invaluable. The Maurice who could comfort and support anyone, man or woman, when they were hurt or upset.
It was in no small measure due to his kindness and compassion that Jezza Vine had been able to find her place in the team. Maurice had been the one to pick up the pieces when first Steve and later Jezza had been seriously assaulted. Ted also knew that although he was slow, he was methodical and could plod patiently through witness statements or lists, carefully cross-checking, meticulously collating, often finding things others had missed. The idea of the team without him appalled Ted.
'I hope you're never in a dark enough place to find out, but if ever you are, and you're lucky enough to have Maurice to hand, you'll know exactly why I want to keep him on my team. Whatever the cost.'
She nodded her understanding. 'Very well. I trust your judgement, and it's your team. If you want to keep him, I'm sure I can crunch a few numbers to make it so.' She was interrupted at that point by the phone on her desk. She answered it, then said, 'Yes, he's here.' As she passed the handset to Ted she said, 'It's DS Hallam.'
'Sorry to interrupt your power-talk, boss, but we just got a shout. A body's been found at a hotel, definitely a suspicious death. Multiple stab wounds…'
'The same as your body in the river from the weekend?' Ted interrupted him.
'No, boss, something much more. The first officers attending, who called it in, apologised and said the crime scene is contaminated because everyone so far who saw the body lost their breakfast. It sounds as if you might need more than one bag of your sweeties for this one, boss.'
Chapter Three
They went in Mike's car, Ted glad of the opportunity not to drive, to give his injured hand more recovery time. Both men were apprehensive about what lay in wait for them, from the scant information they had so far. Mike, in particular, was nervous.
'I should warn you, boss, I don't have the strongest of stomachs at the best of times,' he said apologetically. 'I'll try my utmost not to add to any crime scene contamination, but if it's very gruesome I may not have much choice.'
'Let's not go in with any preconceptions. It may not be as bad as we fear. Suck on one of my menthol sweets when we get there. I know you're not keen on them but I find they do help.'
The hotel was part of a low-cost chain and always seemed to be popular. There were certainly plenty of vehicles on its parking area. Mike left his car there and the two men headed inside to the reception desk, warrant cards in their hands. The young woman at the desk was looking shaken.
'DI Darling and DS Hallam,' Ted told her as they held up their ID. 'We're here in connection with the sudden death.'
'Oh yes, it's absolutely dreadful. We've never seen anything like it,' the woman replied, her voice trembling. 'It's on the first floor, room 127, if you want to go straight up.'
Ted nodded his thanks and the two of them instinctively walked over to the stairs. There was a lift, but neither of them was anxious to get there any faster than they had to.
'It's DCI now, boss,' Mike reminded him, more to make conversation than anything else. His nervousness was mounting palpably, the nearer they got to thei
r destination.
'I keep forgetting, and I've not got my new card yet,' Ted told him, also glad of the distraction, as they walked slowly up the staircase.
The corridor was clear apart from two PCs standing outside an open door. Ted noticed that it was once again PCs Harkness and Cresswell and felt sorry for them, having two sudden deaths to deal with in a short space of time. Seeing them approach, both stood up straighter and mumbled a brief, 'Sir, Sarge.'
Cresswell looked shocking, his face white, tinged with green. He also appeared mortified as he said to Ted, 'Sorry, sir, I'm afraid I was one who managed to throw up on the crime scene. I've just never seen anything as bad as that before and I didn't get out fast enough. I'm really sorry.'
'Don't worry about it,' Ted reassured him. 'We've probably all done it at least once in our careers. I know I have. Anyone who tells you otherwise is probably not being very honest.'
Through the doorway, Ted could see that Professor Nelson was there, working on a body next to the bed. All Ted could see of it from where he stood was a pair of bare legs. They looked like a man's legs. Scenes of Crime Officers were also inside, working carefully and methodically.
'Is it all right to come in, Professor?' Ted asked, not wanting to trample any further over a crime scene without permission.
She looked up and saw Ted with his sergeant, so kept things formal. 'Can you both please cover up before you do, gentlemen? There's been enough contamination already, and hotel rooms are always a nightmare, with traces of so many people. Be careful where you step, too. At least three people have already puked in here, adding to our difficulties, including the poor young constable outside. I should warn you, it is a particularly nasty one, so I hope you have plenty of your lozenges.'
The two men put on the protective wear which one of the SOCOs handed to them, put lozenges in their mouths, inhaled the menthol vapours gratefully, then stepped into the room, carefully avoiding splatterings of vomit on the carpet in several places. There was blood everywhere, starting from just inside the door and leading to the bed, alongside which the body lay. Both men steeled themselves to approach, taking more deep breaths to steady themselves.
