— Two —
The peering faces stepped smartly aside for Roger and Shelby who left Chris’s body to the inevitability of a forensic examination. Roger stopped, cocked his head. He heard running water.
Shelby turned into the bathroom, “Never use the facilities at a bloody scene!”
Firth waited for them at the foot of the stairs. “You okay, Roger?”
Roger pulled his twisted glasses back on, and swung a fist. Firth landed in the heap of noodle pots.
“Hey, hey, come on, Roger, that’s enough! We don’t need any more fucking paperwork.” Shelby grabbed Roger by the shoulders, and then to Firth, said, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Shame. Now call a fucking ambulance.”
“I said I’m okay.”
“Not for you, tit. For him.”
“I don’t want an ambulance,” Roger said. “I’m okay.”
“I don’t care, I’m having you looked at.”
Roger faced Shelby. “When are you going to start listening for a change? I don’t want a bastard ambulance!”
“Okay, okay, have it your own way.”
“Hallelujah.”
“But I’m having the police surgeon look you over back at the nick.”
“Wrong. I’m not going back—”
Their eyes locked. “You want a tenner on that?”
“I’m not a gambling man.”
“Maybe not, but you’re still under arrest until I say otherwise. We have procedures to follow.”
“But he did it. Chris killed Nicky Bridgestock.”
Shelby said, “He also killed Sally Delaney.”
Roger froze.
“Found his prints on a fifty pound note in her diary,” said a voice by the back door.
“Paul?”
“Did I do well, or did I do well?”
“What’re you doing here?” Shelby shouted.
“I think I’ve earned the right.” And then to Roger, “Fuck! Your face...”
“Don’t worry, couple of cuts and bruises, that’s all.”
Blue lights stabbed the lounge window. Police running, shouting into their radios, curtains twitching.
“You wanna do a scene while you’re here?” Firth rubbed his chin. He saw Shelby glare at him and stayed back.
“Why? What do you mean?” No one answered. “Roger, what’s he—”
“Chris’s dead.”
“Roger, you didn’t—”
“No, he didn’t,” Shelby said. “Though who could’ve blamed him.”
Roger looked stunned, didn’t feel Shelby’s grip tighten until it stopped him falling over. He leaned against the kitchen doorframe until the dizziness left him, and after a moment, began laughing.
Shelby looked at him, curiosity in his eyes, and concern too.
“Look over there,” Roger laughed louder. Paul leaned in, peered towards the bin where Shelby’s torchlight settled.
“What are we looking at?” Shelby asked.
“The shoes,” Paul said. “They’re Hush Puppies.”
— Three —
As they walked out to the car, Roger stopped and faced Shelby. “I have to ask you something.”
“I should warn you, I am not in a good mood. I have a feeling Chambermaid will want to do something horrible to me when we get back.”
“Yvonne. I want to go see her.”
Shelby was shaking his head before the request left Roger’s mouth.
“Why?”
“We could bring her to the nick,” Firth offered.
“She ain’t well; you’re not taking her anywhere.”
“Okay, listen to me,” Shelby said, still holding Roger’s arm. “You are still formally under arrest for murder, and listen closer, I don’t mind slapping cuffs on you just to get you back; I will if I have to, Roger. You are, were, an escaped prisoner—”
“My turn, dammit. My wife thinks I killed someone, and if I get out by teatime tomorrow, I’ll be lucky. Please, I’m begging you, Graham, let me see Yvonne. Just for a couple of minutes, to reassure her, to tell her I’m innocent—”
“Alright, alright, I give in. Just a minute or two, mind, that’s all.”
“That’s all I need.”
“I’ll get a patrol car to follow us,” Firth said.
“No need,” Shelby said. “I don’t think you’ll do a runner again, will you Roger?”
“I won’t. It’s sorted now, isn’t it, Graham? I’m in the clear, aren’t I?”
Shelby stared. “We won’t need the cuffs.”
“See you back at the nick, Roger.” Wearily, Paul waved and walked through the small gathering of people to his van.
“Paul?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey, thanks, mate. You did seriously good.”
— Four —
On the journey home, Roger said, “Have you any idea how pissed I am at you?”
“I can imagine,” Shelby said. “But we did nothing wrong, Roger. We followed every lead and we acted on evidence found by a SOCO at a murder scene. That is what we do, that is how we solve crime; the enquiries lead us to the suspect. You follow the evidence and you get what it gives you.”
“And now the evidence points to Chris Hutchinson.”
“Yup, it does. And you know what,” Shelby turned in the passenger seat so he could see Roger. “The Professor made mistakes. For someone with his capability, he made some serious errors.”
“There’s no need to sound so disappointed.”
A noise similar to a laugh fell out of Shelby’s mouth. “Lucky for you he wasn’t as perfect as he thought he was.”
“Lucky for me I had a chance to dig deeper.”
“You took a risk with Paul; could’ve got him into some serious shit.”
“It still could. Depends how Bell’s feeling when he hears.”
“Depends how CPS sees it all in the light of day,” Firth said. “They could sack you for beating Weston up. And you can expect a disciplinary hearing at the very least for breaking out of custody.”
“If I hadn’t broken out of custody, Lenny, you’d still think I was a murderer!”
“Still broke out.”
“I could have you for false imprisonment—”
“No you couldn’t—”
“Alright! Shut up, you two,” Shelby said.
Roger took the t-shirt off, found a clean part of it and dabbed at the blood, which had curtained the right side of his face. Firth stopped at a petrol station, and bought a packet of wet wipes to help clear the worst of the crud off Roger’s face and from his hair.
Shelby checked him over, tutted at the gash in his cheek and the slice across his nose. “You’ll live,” he said. “Hold that wipe over it though, ‘cause it’s pissing blood out everywhere. You need stitches, Roger; it’s a fucking mess.”
A pile of red-stained wet wipes was on the seat beside him. “How’s Weston doing?”
“You’re worried about that tosser?” Shelby said. “He’s earned an over-nighter in Pinderfields. Concussion, that’s all.” And then, “Don’t see what he achieved by letting you go though.”
“He didn’t let me go,” Roger said. “We had a fight and I legged it. He was out cold when I left.”
“No, he told Clements he was conscious the whole time.”
“I hope he gets the sack for this.”
“Don’t think so,” Shelby said. “He’s already mentioned how he relieved Ellis Coldworth, and when he checked on you, you smacked him and escaped.”
“But that’s not true!”
“What goes around comes around,” Firth said.
Roger stared at him, cold. “I’m out to get him. I’m going to catch him red-handed; I’m going to prove that he’s dealing in weapons—”
“I’d steer clear of him,” Firth said. “He’s fucking mad.”
“Steer clear of him because he’ll have you for harassment if you don’t. Understand, Roger?” Shelby warned.
; Roger chose not to answer, there was no sense arguing. He’d sort Weston out once everything returned to normal.
Firth pulled up outside Roger’s house on Wedgwood Grove. Roger and Shelby got out. Yvonne was at the lounge window, staring out at him; her hand over her mouth and mascara streaks down her face.
“Hope you’re going to back me up, here.”
“I will, don’t worry.”
“Hmph, don’t worry.” They walked through the darkness up the drive, and Roger said, “Sally Delaney and then Nicky Bridgestock. I remember him saying that he was motivated, but...”
Shelby tucked his hands into his pockets, and changed the subject. “This promotion, I think it’ll suit you—”
Shelby didn’t get a chance to finish before the shot came. Following it was a flash like lightning and then a fierce crack like a whip. They both turned and ducked at the same time. The bullet whizzed off the brickwork. Roger threw himself to the ground. And then another shot rang out. Shelby tripped and fell against a wooden bench.
A scruffy youth with a skinhead ran across the street aiming a gun at them.
There was a screech of tyres.
Another two shots flashed as Firth ran the CID car into the youth.
Author’s Note
I write crime thrillers, and have done since 1996, the same time I became a CSI here in Yorkshire. All of my books are set in or around our biggest city of Leeds. I don’t write formulaic crime fiction; each one is hand-crafted to give you a flavour of what CSIs encounter in real life. Every book is rich with forensic insight to enhance your enjoyment.
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Get in touch.
For more information, or to sign up for my Reader’s Club, visit AndrewBarrett.co.uk. I’d be delighted to hear your comments on Facebook (and so would Eddie Collins) and Twitter.
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Books by Andrew Barrett
A Long Time Dead – SOCO Roger Conniston Book One
How much trust can you put in forensic evidence?
They discovered her naked body with a puncture wound to her neck and blood everywhere. And brutal though her death was, this was the second such case West Yorkshire Police had running. Both unsolved. Until they found that one elusive piece of evidence.
Get A Long Time Dead here.
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Stealing Elgar – SOCO Roger Conniston Book Two
“Examining crime scenes was never supposed to get personal.”
Roger Conniston has a lot to prove and a lot to protect. He’s up against an ex-bare-knuckle fighter called Hades who is planning the most audacious robbery in England’s history.
Get Stealing Elgar here.
No More Tears – SOCO Roger Conniston Book Three
“It’ll screw you up into a ball of hatred and then spit you out into a cell.”
SOCO Roger Conniston, always believed in the law. Not now though. Now he believes only in himself. He has business with people who have no right being alive, and if success costs him everything they left him with, he’ll happily pay.
Get No More Tears here.
Thanks...
Many thanks to my superb editors Kath Middleton and Alison Birch, without whom this book would not have turned out so well.
This book is dedicated to...
Les Barrett; my dad, my mentor, and my hero.
© Copyright 2009
Andrew Barrett
The rights of Andrew Barrett to be identified as the author of this work have been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright holder.
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All characters and events in this publication are fictitious, and any resemblance is purely coincidental.
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A Long Time Dead
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A Long Time Dead Page 31
