Death Call

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Sir?” Holly Abbott appeared next to Ciaran.

  Crane and Anderson both said, “Yes?” never really knowing which man she was talking to.

  “I might just have something. Remember the hit and run case?” Holly leaned against the doorframe.

  “Remind me,” said Anderson.

  “Some creep who deliberately ran into other cars, causing accidents in order to claim the insurance money. He went too far one day and killed a little girl and her mother. It was a couple of years ago. He left the scene of the accident and hasn’t been seen since. Name of Damien Little.”

  “What about him?”

  “I’d put an alert on the file in the system, in case he was ever seen anywhere, or booked on a charge.”

  “Well, if he’s been taken in, the local police will already know that he’s wanted in connection with that case.”

  “He hasn’t been arrested, sir, he’s used his bank card.”

  “You’re kidding me,” said Crane and immediately realised how stupid that sounded. “Of course, you’re not, sorry. What a bloody idiotic thing to do, though.”

  “He probably thought no one would notice, not after all this time,” Holly replied with a small smile that said Little hadn’t bargained for someone as clever as her.

  “Which bank did he use it at?” asked Anderson.

  “The one round the corner from his mother’s house in Farnborough.”

  Crane couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

  “Tell dispatch to send the nearest car round to his mother’s and see if he’s still there. They’ll get there quicker than we can from Aldershot,” ordered Anderson.

  “Will do,” said Holly and walked quickly away, the legs of her cargo pants swishing in time with her steps.

  “That case was well before my time,” said Crane. “What happened?”

  “Damian Little deliberately caused a traffic accident, allegedly to injure himself and get money from the insurance company. It was an on-going scam of his. He was going too fast and he pushed the other vehicle into the path of an oncoming refuse lorry. The woman driver and her daughter never stood a chance and were both pronounced dead at the scene.”

  “And Damien Little scarpered?”

  “Yes. We have CCTV of the whole thing. He got out of the car and when he saw what had happened he ran and has been running ever since. This is one of my back burner files. I got Holly to put flags on her system in case he was ever seen again, when she joined us. She was the one who thought about monitoring his bank account.”

  “It looks like it’s worked.”

  “Hasn’t it just. I felt sorry for the husband, though.”

  “I’ll bet. I couldn’t image what it would be like if I lost Tina and Daniel.”

  “It wasn’t just the loss of his family.”

  “No?”

  “No. He was the 999 operator that took the call. He had to listen to his wife die over the phone.”

  4

  Anderson had decided to do a small detour on his way home. Well, a big detour actually, which is why he had left the office early. He’d felt compelled to share the news with Clive Butler as soon as possible and in person. Knocking on the door of the apartment, Anderson took a breath to fortify himself. His visit wasn’t a ‘death call’ but it was nearly as bad. In one respect, Mr Butler would be pleased that justice would be done at long last, as the man responsible for the death of his family would be spending a long time at Her Majesty’s pleasure. However, it was bound to bring back painful memories of their deaths just over two years ago.

  Anderson heard heavy treads from behind the closed door. Then Clive Butler stood in front of him, dead eyed and sallow of skin.

  “Yes?” he asked. Then recognising Anderson said, “Oh, sorry, it’s you.”

  His expression didn’t change. Butler had a haunted look about him and Anderson’s visit didn’t appear to be helping.

  “Can I come in, Mr Butler?”

  Clive nodded and led the way indoors. Taking a seat in the small, dark sitting room, Anderson declined a drink and after a hesitant start told Clive that they had a lead on Damian Little’s whereabouts and as soon as he was in custody, he would be arrested on every driving offence they could think of, including involuntary manslaughter.

  “What’s that?” Clive asked, taking off his wire-rimmed glasses and running his hand over his face. He reminded Derek of a PTSD sufferer.

  “Involuntary manslaughter is when an unlawful act causes death, or when a death is caused by an act of gross criminal negligence. Manslaughter, which occurs following the commission of an unlawful act, is also known as constructive manslaughter. It’ll be up to the Crown Prosecution Service, but either way he’s going down.”

  Clive took his hand from his face. “That explains it,” he shook his head.

  “Explains what?”

  “Why I got no sleep last night. I kept thinking of Jan and Debbie. They seemed so close, close enough to see, to touch. I wondered what was going on.”

  Anderson wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, talking about the dead wasn’t one of his favourite occupations, but he listened to Clive, understanding that the man needed to verbalise his nightmares, fears, beliefs, whatever it was they were.

  “I’m so relieved that you’ve finally found Damien Little, the man responsible for the car crash. But he wasn’t the only one responsible for the death of my wife and child. No, that was down to the paramedics, police and fire crews who were too slow to respond; who left Jan and Debbie dying in the car. All alone. Forcing me to listen to them dying on the other end of the phone. Unable to do anything at all to save them.”

  As Clive began to cry, he waved Anderson away. Taking the hint that the man preferred to be left alone, he let himself out of the flat, feeling that he’d failed Clive, rather than helped him. What should have been a positive visit had been turned into something else entirely. Talk of ghosts and presences was way beyond his comfort zone and definitely not something covered in the Police Training Manual.

  Patting the pockets of his beige raincoat that went everywhere with him, Anderson located his car keys and with an agonised expression on his face walked over to his car to return to his own wife and two children. Sometimes, when the girls were squabbling and Jean was in a bad mood, he had no idea how lucky he was, and at other times he was acutely aware of it.

  5

  When Crane arrived home, he parked his car on the driveway. It was an automatic vehicle, as he was unable to deal with a clutch, as his left leg was the injured one. As soon as he climbed out of the car, he could hear Daniel crying. The front door muffled the waves of sound, but it was unmistakably his son’s cries. Frowning, he wondered what had started the tantrum, for that’s what it sounded like. Perhaps he was hungry, not hungry, needing his happy changing, feeling ill. The possibilities were endless with toddlers, Crane thought, so it was probably no use in trying to figure it out beforehand.

  The noise intensified as he opened the front door. Crane could hear it was coming from the kitchen at the back of the house and he wondered where Tina was. Why on earth wasn’t she comforting Daniel? It didn’t make any sense. Walking into the kitchen, he saw his child alone in the room, parked in his high chair. As Daniel opened his arms to him, Crane grabbed hold of his boy, plucking him from the chair and comforted him, regardless of the fact that he was still dressed in his dark work suit and white shirt. With the sobs subsiding and Daniel held close against his chest, Crane walked through the house trying to find Tina. There was no answer to his calls, although the thick walls of their Victorian house would muffle most noise if she was in the bathroom. On quickly checking the remainder of the empty rooms downstairs, he realised there must be something dreadfully wrong. Tina wouldn’t leave Daniel crying for more than a few seconds, so why had she abandoned him?

  He daren’t put Daniel down for fear of more crying and screaming and so, still holding the child, he ran up the stairs and pushed open their bedroom door.
Tina was lying on the floor and from the looks of her, she was unconscious. Crane had no alternative but to run to Daniel’s nursery next door and put him in his cot. Ignoring the boy’s distress at being left, he closed the door behind him and ran back to Tina.

  “Tina!” he called, knowing he wouldn’t get a reply, but he couldn’t help himself. Crouching down beside her he felt for a pulse in her neck, which was as ragged and sluggish as her breathing. She was unresponsive to his cries and touch, so he pulled out his mobile and rang 999.

  “999, what’s your emergency?”

  “My wife! She’s ill or something.”

  “What’s the address of your emergency please?”

  “What?”

  “What’s the address of your emergency please?”

  Crane managed to spit out the address of the house in Ash, wondering why the operator wanted that information first. He would have thought a description of the problem would be the first thing the operator asked. Crane felt his temperature rising, as though he were in the middle of a menopausal hot flush and took the opportunity to rip off his suit jacket and tie.

  “Can you tell me what’s happened there?”

  At last, though Crane. “It’s my wife, I’ve just come in, and I’ve found her unconscious on the floor. Her lips are blue and her breathing is ragged, please send someone now!”

  Crane was sitting on the floor with Tina’s head in his lap, stroking her long black hair. He had a feeling he should be doing something else, but the fear that filled his mind was all consuming. He forgot his army training, he forgot the emergency drills, the only thing he could think about was the shock and horror of finding Tina unconscious.

  “Okay, sir, just listen to me. I’m organising help. Now you need to do as I say.”

  “What? Oh, yes, right.” Crane shuffled around and put Tina’s head on the floor. “What do I need to do?”

  “Check again that she is breathing, sir.”

  “Um, I,” Crane put his hand to her mouth. “I can’t feel anything. Her chest isn’t moving, she isn’t moving, oh God, what should I do?” Tears were streaming down Crane’s face. “Please, Tina, please,” he cried.

  “Just stay on the line and I’ll tell you exactly what to do.”

  “Tina! Tina!” Crane was howling like a wounded animal.

  “Okay, sir, listen carefully and I’ll tell you exactly what to do. Lie her flat on her back.”

  “I’ve already done that. I can’t remember what to do next!”

  “Check there’s no food or vomit in her mouth.”

  “What?” Crane bent over Tina’s head and poked his finger in her mouth. “No, no, there isn’t anything.”

  “Is she breathing?”

  “Um, I’m not sure, I don’t know.”

  “Place the phone against her face.”

  “What?”

  “Put the phone to her ear, so I can hear if she’s breathing and from that I can advise you what to do next.”

  Crane frowned, but put the phone to Tina’s head. He’d never heard of anything like that before, but, if it helped, he’d comply. Shouting at the phone he said, “What can you hear? Is she dead?”

  As if listening to Crane, Tina moved her chin up slightly, inhaled, and then exhaled a shuddering breath. She stilled. There was nothing more. No movement. No response. No breathing.

  Crane put the phone back to his ear. “Did you hear that? She’s dead! What do I do? Should I try and resuscitate her?”

  He was talking to himself. The 999 operator had gone. He was alone with his dead wife and screaming son. A situation far more terrifying than any tour of a war zone, or the face of a crazed killer.

  6

  “I tell you there’s something wrong,” Crane said to Anderson.

  Both men were slumped at Crane’s kitchen table, a small tot of brandy before each of them. Crane’s once white shirt was crumpled and grubby, his five o’clock shadow deep and dark splashed across his cheeks and chin, his short dark hair damp and dishevelled. Crane knew he looked a complete mess, but for once, contrary to his army training, he couldn’t care less. Mind you, Anderson didn’t look much better. His normally uncontrollable grey wispy hair stood on end like a halo around his head. His tweed jacket crumpled and abandoned on a chair

  “Crane, it’s just the shock.”

  “No, Derek, it’s not. I talked to an operator. She said she was sending an ambulance, but one never came and then when I rang again, I was told there was no record of my first call. I didn’t imagine it. It’s all their fault that she’s dead.”

  Crane needed Derek to understand. Something had gone badly wrong. He just didn’t know what or why.

  “You don’t know that’s right.”

  “But neither is waiting so long for an ambulance that she couldn’t be resuscitated by the crew when they eventually arrived.”

  “What did they say happened to her?”

  “On first glance a heart attack. But she is… was…” Crane couldn’t continue and stopped speaking to toss back his brandy. The fiery liquid helped, so much so that he was able to speak again. “She was so young; don’t you think? Are heart attacks normal at that age? She was only thirty-eight.”

  Anderson also drank his brandy and placing his glass back on the table said, “Major Martin will tell us.”

  “Pardon?” Crane turned to Anderson. “A post mortem? You’re going to have her cut up? Oh my god!”

  The thought of Tina in the morgue slammed it into him once more that her death was a reality. It felt like a hammer blow to his chest. Crane knew he kept switching off, so he could pretend nothing awful had happened and that he and Derek were just having a friendly drink. However, talk of a post mortem had shattered that illusion.

  “There’ll have to be one. All sudden deaths have to be investigated. You know that, Crane. It’s just procedure.”

  “You mean in case I killed her.”

  Crane grabbed the bottle and sloshed brandy into his glass, his hand trembling so much that he spilled more onto the table than he put into the glass. He ignored the spill and drank the brandy, shuddering as he swallowed it.

  “Crane, I know you didn’t, I’ve already told you, it’s just procedure. Where’s Daniel?” Derek looked around the kitchen as though he would see him curled up in a corner.

  “Tina’s mother’s taken him. I just couldn’t, can’t … Oh fuck it, I couldn’t cope with him. I didn’t know what to do with him. I think I was making his crying worse. I just can’t think straight.”

  “No, of course you can’t. It’s to be expected.” Derek put his hand on Crane’s arm. “If there’s anything I can do…”

  After taking a few deep breaths to steady himself again, Crane said, “I know, Derek. Thanks.”

  “So, what do we do now?”

  “Get drunk? No, get very drunk. I don’t want to have to think anymore.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” and Anderson refilled their glasses.

  “But first, I mean it, you’ll investigate that 999 call won’t you?”

  “Crane, you’re not thinking straight. Let’s see how you feel in the morning.”

  “That’s not good enough. You’re my best friend. I need you to do this for me.” Crane grabbed Anderson’s arm, holding on, needing his friend to understand that it wasn’t his grief talking. “I’m not mad. I made two calls. You can check.”

  “Okay, I’ll check. I promise.”

  “In that case,” Crane stood and raised his glass, “To Tina.”

  “To Tina,” Derek replied standing beside his friend as they clinked glasses and drank.

  7

  Anderson dragged himself into Aldershot Police station the next morning, nursing his grief and hangover. He’d slept over at Crane’s last night. Actually slept over was a big exaggeration. He’d had a few drunken hours sleep after he passed out on the settee. When he’d woken up, the house had been quiet. Tip toeing up the stairs he found Crane asleep on the top of his bed. Deciding to lea
ve well alone, he scribbled a note for Crane, left it in the kitchen and let himself out.

  He walked into the Major Crimes office, which was as quiet as the grave. Gone was the hustle and bustle, ringing phones, clicking of keys. It was as though the whole police station was mourning Crane’s loss.

  As he approached Ciaran and Holly, they looked at him in stunned silence.

  “So it’s true then,” Ciaran said, after two false attempts to find his voice.

  “I’m afraid so,” replied Derek, then wished he hadn’t spoken as the sound of his voice reverberated around his head.

  “How is he?” Holly’s voice cracked and she sniffed loudly.

  “Pretty much how you’d expect. Dazed, in shock, in denial still, I suspect. He’s going on and on about the 999 call he made when he found Tina unconscious on the bedroom floor.”

  “What about it?”

  “He’s convinced he had to make two calls to 999. During the first one, someone helped him but then put the phone down on him after Tina died and no ambulance arrived. Crane then made a second call, but found that no one had a record of the first. They sent an ambulance, but by that time it was too late. They couldn’t resuscitate her.”

  “Christ,” muttered Holly. She was crying, but made no effort to hide her tears.

  “Do you think there was a problem with the calls then, sir?”

  “I don’t know, Ciaran, but we’ll have to ask the question.”

  “Do you want me to do it?”

  “No, I’d like to do this one myself, if you don’t mind,” replied Anderson.

  Holly nodded, grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.

  “Right, Ciaran can you bring me up to date with our hit and run?”

  Ciaran nodded.