Death Call

by Wendy Cartmell

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve a delivery for flat number one and they’re not answering,” he said. “Can you let me in?”

  “Sure,” a bored voice replied and obligingly buzzed open the main door.

  Once inside, Crane and Dudley-Jones stilled, listening for activity, but there was none. On the ground floor were flats to the right and left of them, with a staircase giving access to the upper floor. Crane jerked his head upward and he and Dudley-Jones began their silent ascent. Turning left at the top of the stairs brought them to the door of Flat 3, which looked out onto the street.

  “Amazon delivery,” called Crane knocking loudly on the door. When he got no reply, he tried again. “Amazon delivery!” he shouted and pounded on the wood.

  “Alright,” called a voice, accompanied by much shuffling and fumbling.

  As the door inched open, Crane slammed into it, pushing his way into the apartment, with his credentials open.

  “Police!” he shouted.

  Anyone would have thought he was part of an armed-response unit, with the noise he made and the blatant disregard for the homeowner’s property. The front door swung drunkenly on one hinge, Crane having broken the other.

  “Jesus, there’s no need to shout,” said the young man who had opened the door, as he stumbled backwards and collided with the wall. Crane thought there was every reason to shout, as he pinned their suspect to the wall and drew back his fist to strike the man he had convinced himself was responsible for Tina’s death.

  43

  Sam Callaghan looked the epitome of a broken man. His hair was askew and badly in need of washing. He had an eye half closed from the punch that Crane had managed to get in before Dudley-Jones had pulled him away. His clothes looked like he’d slept in them, which he probably had. He picked at dirty fingers, every now and again shuddering with withdrawal symptoms from either drugs or alcohol. Crane figured it was alcohol; the smell of it permeated the man’s clothes and skin. Something Crane could attest to, after having spent the 30-minute drive from Winchester with Callaghan in the back seat of their car. Crane wondered how his girlfriend had ever found him attractive. Let alone bear his children. Twice.

  Banished to a small side room after the debacle of the arrest, Crane watched the interrogation on a monitor. Holly and Dudley-Jones were crammed in there as well. No doubt, they were Anderson’s insurance that Crane wouldn’t burst out of the office and crash his way into the interview room. They both might be slight of frame, but Crane couldn’t take both of them on at the same time, unless of course he hit them with his walking stick. He hadn’t stooped that low. Yet. Anyway, his bad leg was killing him after launching himself at Sam Callaghan.

  “You still haven’t told me what this is all about,” Callaghan moaned. “Can we hurry up? I could do with a drink.” His voice sounded tinny over the speakers, with a petulant whine that irritated Crane further.

  “You’re welcome to a cup of tea, or a bottle of water,” Ciaran offered, but merely got a sneer in reply.

  Anderson opened the file he’d placed on the table between them and Callaghan. “Could you confirm that you’re Sam Callaghan of 49 Short Street, Winchester.”

  Callaghan nodded. “Yes. But I don’t live there anymore.”

  “Where do you live then?” Anderson didn’t look at their suspect as he picked up a pen to record the answer.

  “Well,” Callaghan stammered. “Nowhere, not really. Staying with mates, you know?”

  “Of no fixed abode then.”

  “Suppose.”

  “You used to work at the Winchester Emergency Response Centre?”

  “So?”

  “And attended Winchester University, obtaining a computer science degree.”

  “Look, what’s this all about?”

  Anderson struck, uncoiling like a Cobra, standing and leaning over the table as he spoke. “It’s about someone impersonating a 999 operator and deliberately causing the deaths of vulnerable patients.”

  Crane grinned. That was precisely the tactic he would have used. Maybe Derek had learned something from Crane during all the years they’d worked together.

  “What? But why?” Sam recoiled from Anderson’s body as well as his words. “You can’t think I’d do that?”

  “Oh but I do. Especially after what happened to your mother.”

  Callaghan reacted like he’d been punched in the head again. He froze. His mouth worked. “Don’t talk about her. Don’t even say her name,” he spat.

  “Tell me what happened, Sam? How did she die?”

  “They said it was a stroke, the ambulance people,” he mumbled. “When they eventually got there, that is.” He visibly deflated and his eyes filled with tears.

  “They were too late, weren’t they? The ambulance arrived too late to save her.”

  Sam sniffed and wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. “They said it was the emergency rule. Too many calls and not enough ambulances. They left her to die. It was all their fault.”

  “So you decided to take your revenge,” said Ciaran.

  “What?” Sam’s head snapped up.

  Anderson nodded for Ciaran to continue.

  Crane leaned into the monitor and pushed the speaker nearer to him.

  “How did you feel when your Mum died? Upset, obviously. I’d say angry too. Very angry. Angry enough to want to take your revenge on the emergency services.”

  “No. I mean yes I was angry. But no, not revenge.”

  “That’s why you qualified in computer science, isn’t it. So you could wreak havoc.”

  “No! What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about hacking into the computer system at the Emergency Response Centre in Winchester.”

  “Hacking? I’m not a hacker. This is mad.”

  “No, you’re the one that’s mad. Mad with grief. Mad enough to let other innocent people die, so they know how you feel.”

  “You’ve no idea how I feel. I lost my Mum and now I can’t even keep my family. I lose everyone. Everything. My job. My self-respect.” Callaghan held up his shaking hands. “I can’t do anything with these. All I can do is drink. So that’s what I do. Drink to blot everything out. Then when I come round, drink again to stave off the hangover. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m a mess. Incapable of doing anything constructive with my life.”

  Crane had heard enough. His anticipation of a quick collar was disappearing fast. He spoke into Anderson’s earpiece. “I think this lad needs a doctor.”

  He pushed his way out of the room, deciding that although on paper Callaghan fitted the profile, in reality he was far from a good fit. It was no good; he gave in to his own addiction. He needed a cigarette.

  44

  By the time Crane had finished his smoke and returned to the office, Callaghan had been left alone and awaiting the police doctor. Holly was on the phone to the local Salvation Army to try and get him a bed for the night. Understandably, Callaghan hadn’t wanted to return to the flat that Crane had caused damage to, feeling his friends would blame him and throw him out. He was probably right.

  Limping into Anderson’s office, Crane said, “So that’s a bust,” and sat down heavily at the table.

  “Yep. By the way, you owe the owner of the flat an apology. He’s been phoned and asked to return to the flat and arrange for a carpenter to make the repairs. The cost of which will be taken from your salary.”

  Crane was too depressed to care.

  Walking to the door, “Come on then,” Anderson called and cajoled everyone back into his office. With much banging and scraping of chairs Holly, Ciaran, and Dudley-Jones joined Crane sat around the conference table. Crane noticed that none of them looked any happier than he must do. He failed to hide a heart-felt sigh.

  Anderson must have heard it as he said, “Come on you lot. We need to get back to it. We have to look elsewhere for suspects now. I know you all must be fed up.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Crane grumbled.


  Anderson carried on as though Crane hadn’t spoken. “Let’s go over the list of employees again. See if we have missed anything.”

  After the groans all round, he said, “Look I don’t care, this is police work, dig, dig and dig again. Go over all the lists again today, and tomorrow we’ll see if anyone has had any bright ideas.”

  Crane followed the others and stamped out of the office. He didn’t feel like chatting to Anderson. Didn’t feel like being cheered up. As he sat at his desk and turned on his computer, his mobile vibrated on his desk. On answering it, a cheery voice said to Crane, “Just ringing to see how you got on, mate? Did you manage to find our fake operator?”

  “Oh, hi, Clive. No, not this time. We had a suspect but it didn’t pan out.” Crane didn’t think he was breaking any rules by telling Clive that. He was careful not to mention any names or places.

  “Bugger.”

  “Exactly, Clive.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I know how much finding this bastard means to you.”

  Crane smiled into his handset. “Thanks, Clive, I knew you’d understand,” and Crane went on to tell the man how he was feeling. It was seemingly easier to talk to Clive about his emotions. Crane thought this was for a couple of reasons. Firstly, they normally talked on the phone, which meant he didn’t actually have to face another human being, who could tell how he was feeling through his body language, or see his tears. Secondly, Clive had lost his wife as well. He was just a nice, friendly man who understood what Crane was going through.

  45

  In the morning, as Billy and Dudley-Jones were absent due to being away on exercise, the remainder of the team congregated in Anderson’s office, over morning coffee and doughnuts that Ciaran had brought in to cheer them up after yesterday’s disappointment.

  Between sugary mouthfuls, they all had very little to report. No one could see they had missed anything after trawling once again through the list of employees, students from Winchester University and known hackers.

  Then Crane noticed that Holly was very quiet. She’d hardly spoken, just sat twiddling with the ends of her hair, which was pulled into two plats. “You OK Hols? What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve just been thinking,” she said. “Just had an idea, that’s all.”

  “Well any ideas would be welcome at this stage.”

  “I hadn’t said anything as I’m not sure if it’s going to pan out.”

  “Let’s hear it anyway,” Crane cajoled. “Brainstorming’s good.”

  “Promise not to laugh?”

  Crane realised she was serious as she looked everyone one of them in the eyes. Daring them.

  “Sure thing.” “Of course.” “Spit it out,” they said.

  After a couple of beats of silence, she said, “I think it could be Clive.”

  “Clive? Why ever would…” Anderson spluttered.

  “No you must be wrong, he’s become a friend,” said Crane. “Why would he be so helpful? Why would he help from the inside of the Emergency Response Centre?”

  Crane’s eyes widened in horror as Anderson said, “I know why. It’s to stay close to the investigation.”

  “But he’s been helping with dropped out calls.” Crane was beginning to feel ill and to wonder what he had actually said to Clive in their telephone conversations. How much information had he divulged without meaning to?

  “Ah, but were they really dropped out calls, or was he just trying to divert our attention and make us go after the wrong people?” Anderson pursued the line of thinking that Holly had created.

  “He doesn’t have the knowledge,” Crane spluttered, desperate to find a reason why it couldn’t be Clive. He looked around the team, but no one seemed to feel the way he did. Their faces open, interested, not closed in consternation.

  Holly spoke. “He’s been doing an Open University course.”

  Crane closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

  “How did you find that out?”

  “Don’t ask, boss. Best not to know.”

  Anderson tipped his head. The whole team were getting good at turning a blind eye to Holly’s searching. As long as what she turned up wasn’t needed as evidence. Anderson knew he was treading a thin line with Holly sometimes, but her input was, at times, invaluable.

  “His wife and child are dead,” said Ciaran.

  “Yes I know it was a car crash. Here,” Holly passed each of them a printed copy of a newspaper article.

  Reading it, Crane stilled. He could feel the blood draining from his face.

  “What is it?” asked Anderson.

  “He heard them die over the phone…”

  It was all too much. Crane banged out of the office to the toilet, where he tried to calm down. He doused his face in cold water. How could he have been so stupid? He looked at his reflection in the mirror. Was Clive really the fake operator, as well as being a real operator? Turning away from the mirror Crane examined why he didn’t want Clive to be the one. It was because he’d thought Clive understood him, because he’d been through the same thing. He had. But it appeared their way of dealing with the loss was very different.

  Crane pulled himself upright balancing himself with his stick. It didn’t matter how much Crane empathised with the man. If it really was Clive, he was dealing with the loss and grief the wrong way by seeking revenge on the emergency services. Was Crane any different? Didn’t he want revenge against the person who allowed Tina to die? Yes, that was true. At least it had been. But what he really wanted, he realised, was justice. And to stop a criminal, a killer, responsible for the deaths of others. People who had nothing to do with the accident that killed Clive’s family. They were innocents. It was unjust. And Crane hated injustice.

  At that moment, he felt very near to Tina. It was as though she knew what he was going through and was there by his side. Just as she had been in life. He was sure she was proud of him. He needed to be strong now and be the hard-nosed investigator she had always admired.

  Returning to the team, he found that whilst he had been taking a moment, Holly had pulled up the work rota for the days of the calls. At least the ones they knew of, Crane had to concede. He wondered how many fake calls Clive had actually made. But stopped himself. That way madness lay.

  “He wasn’t working on the days of the calls, or he was on a late or early shift.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Crane.

  “He could have hacked into the system at the time of all the calls, as he was either on his day off, or they were either before or after his shift.”

  “Right,” Anderson said. “We need to put him under surveillance.”

  46

  This time Crane was in the car with Ciaran. Waiting outside another block of flats. These were modern, a purpose built block, rather than renovated houses turned into apartments. They now knew a lot more about Clive Butler than they had before. Holly had been working overtime to gather as much background as she could. It seemed Clive had moved to the apartment block after the accident. He had put the family home on the market, unable to live with the memories, Crane supposed.

  It was Clive’s day off. His car was in the car park. They weren’t sure if he was home, as there was no indication that Clive was on-line. Holly had done a great job in getting his home telephone number, provider and internet provider, so they knew precisely which of the wireless networks in the block belonged to Clive. And it wasn’t in use. Holly hadn’t been able to detect any traffic on his IP address.

  Crane’s mobile rang, breaking into his thoughts. Crane hoped to God it wasn’t Clive. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to have a normal sounding conversation. Luckily, it was Holly.

  “Boss, I’ve just had a call from Terry at the Emergency Response Centre.”

  “Yeah?”

  “An operator has just received a call from someone who was waiting for an ambulance that has never arrived. Her young daughter had tried to commit suicide. No ambulance had arrived, even though she had been told it had been despatched
. It was the same as the others. The 999 operator had listened to her die.”

  Crane wanted to kill Clive there and then, despite his previous good intentions. He could even feel his hands around the man’s neck.

  “But he’s not on line, boss.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Definitely,” said Ciaran.

  “So it’s not him? That has to be a real possibility, right?”

  Crane didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed. He was pleased it wasn’t the man who had befriended him. But disappointed that they hadn’t got their man yet.

  The whole thing was driving him mad. He dug in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. This would only be the second time he’d smoked during this case, but what the hell. Things couldn’t get much worse than they were at the moment. He pulled out his lighter and had just put it to the tip of the cigarette, when Ciaran said, “Hang on a minute. There’s a mobile hot spot!”

  Crane closed his lighter. “Sorry? What’s that when it’s at home?”

  “A hot spot, probably taken from a mobile phone. It’s an internet connection that a computer can hook up to.”

  Crane didn’t really have a clue what Ciaran was talking about, but he didn’t care. He trusted the lad, who knew a great deal more about modern communication methods than Crane ever would.

  “Where the hell is it?”

  “Somewhere in the building.”

  Crane dropped the cigarette and lighter on the floor. “Come on then, what are we waiting for? Let’s go get him.”

  47

  With Ciaran well ahead of him, they ran up the stairs to Clive’s flat. Or rather Ciaran ran. Crane clumped on behind. By the time he arrived, Ciaran was pounding on the door. There was no reply. That didn’t bother Crane. He motioned for Ciaran to break down the door. Ciaran was young and strong and it didn’t take too much to have the door swinging open on its hinges.