Baby's Got Blue Eyes: Introducing DI Ted Darling

by L M Krier

  'We need to start off with some questions at the bistro, staff and customers,' the DS said. 'I was impressed with Tina, I thought of sending the TDC with her on that, to get him started, if you think that's all right, sir?'

  'Good idea, sound thinking,' Ted said. 'As soon as everyone is in let me know and I'll sit in. Good work, Mike, liking your enthusiasm and commitment.'

  Hallam was surprised at how pleased he felt at the boss’s words. He'd never really given much consideration to this feedback idea before. Now he was starting to understand.

  The DS noticed none of the team was late, they were all in ahead of time and ready for action. Maurice Brown was last through the door but still early, just. This time he came armed with a bag of still-warm croissants, which he handed round before tucking into the first of the remaining three.

  The DI slipped quietly out of his office before Hallam needed to come and find him, and leaned against a desk, interested to see his new DS in action. He was amused when Hallam opened the team briefing with, 'Right, team, settle down.'

  He was also impressed with the way the DS handled things. He used available manpower exactly as Ted would have done himself and showed that he had really done his homework in finding out the strengths and weaknesses of his new team. He'd also done his research on what the team were already working on and factored that in.

  'We now have an ID, as you all know. Vicki Carr, twenty-three. Worked in a bistro, left work there Saturday night, never seen alive again. We need to know who she left work with, who she'd been talking to. It's a busy place, I hear, but had anyone there noticed anyone in particular interacting with her? Tina, you and Steve are on this. Get round there, talk to bar staff, customers, anyone else around.

  'Next we need to find this ex-boyfriend. He sounds a possessive type. Maybe he didn't take the break-up all that well. Maurice, I need someone who knows the local area well to help me find him and ask him a few questions, see if we need to bring him in. You've got a car, have you? Easier for me to get my bearings if I'm not behind the wheel.'

  Ted liked the master-stroke. Putting Maurice at the wheel meant he couldn't turn the outing into a pub crawl with a pint in every place they visited. The DS had quickly got his number. But Ted didn't envy him. Maurice's car was like a badly-kept dog kennel on wheels and stank of cigarette smoke. Maurice had been trying to quit for months, hoping to appease the nicotine craving with the sticky buns, but had just succeeded in having two addictions instead of one.

  'Sal,' the DS asked, ' how's the fraud case going? You on top of it or do you need help?'

  'Losing the will to live, Sarge,' Sal replied cheerfully. 'I wouldn't say no to a hand, but if there's none to spare, I can plod on with it.'

  'Good,' the DS replied, 'because I want Virgil and Rob on this assault from last night. It's a nasty one, I want it mopped up fast.'

  'Anything you want me to do, DS Hallam?' Ted asked quietly from the back. 'I'm one of the team, here to do what needs doing, don't forget.'

  'You could make me some coffee while I get on with sorting these witness statements, sir,' Sal said with a laugh, with which the others joined in, including the DI.

  'Just remember I'm here if anyone needs back-up for anything,' the DI said. 'And I do mean anything.'

  Hallam was gobsmacked. He'd never before worked with a DI as relaxed with his team and they with him. His last one in Stretford had been a Class A bastard, impossible to read and certainly impossible to relax with. It was due in large part to severe haemorrhoids and a wife who nagged.

  'I thought I'd leave you free for now, sir, in case Maurice and I find and pull in the ex-boyfriend and you might want to question him,' the DS quickly recovered his stride. 'But perhaps until we do, Sal would be glad of a hand? I think he takes two sugars, sir.'

  There was more laughter as the team went their separate ways. Hallam felt pleased with himself, he thought he had got it right. The DI smiled and nodded at him. Another hurdle jumped.

  DS Hallam was glad it was not a cold day. He needed the window wide open in Maurice Brown's battered old Ford to get rid of the smell of cigarette smoke. The car was a tip, fag ends and food wrappers everywhere, half an old meat pie in a paper bag on the front dashboard.

  With his new resolution not to be judgemental, Hallam decided to put it down to the recent breakup of Brown's marriage. On the other hand, if he always lived like such a slob, that may have been one thing to help end the marriage in the first place.

  He and Tina had got the ex-boyfriend's contact details from the flatmate before they had left the victim's flat so they started at the address they had for Robert Allen. It turned out to be another flat, this time on the top floor of a house not all that far from where Vicki had lived.

  The house was tall and narrow, Victorian, much shabbier than where Vicki's flat was, in an area that was decidedly scruffy round the edges.

  Hallam and the DC trudged up three flights of stairs to a dark and poky top landing with two doors opening off it. Hallam knocked on the one at which the ex-boyfriend apparently lived.

  When there was no reply, he knocked again, more loudly. There was still no reply from within but the door on the opposite side of the landing opened and a tall, thin young man with tousled curly hair stood in the doorway, yawning expansively. He was wearing pyjamas and something which looked like a kimono over them.

  Both men held up their warrant cards and the DS said, 'Sorry to disturb you, sir, we're looking for Robert Allen. Can you tell us where we might find him?'

  'Oh gosh, I've no idea. The nearest pub, perhaps?' the young man replied. He was well-spoken, his voice well modulated, not a local accent.

  'Do you have any idea what he does?' Hallam asked him.

  'He drinks,' the young man said, as if it were self evident.

  'For a living, I meant, sir,' Hallam replied.

  'So did I,' the young man riposted. 'Honestly, I have no idea how he earns a crust. He's always drunk or getting there. I've never seen him go out to work, he just seems to have a string of girlfriends from comfortably off families who seem happy to sub him. I can't imagine why. He's always behind with the rent, too. Find any pub or bar that's open anywhere round here and you'll find him or someone who's seen him recently.'

  As the men trudged back down the stairs, Maurice said to the DS, 'Sounds a likely contender, Sarge. Vicki Carr's family were comfortable, by all accounts, and she was working. Asked her for more money, then got a shitty on when she refused, do you think?'

  'Let's not put the cart before the horse, Maurice. Find him first then ask him.'

  As the DS had hoped, Maurice Brown knew his patch like the back of his hand. He navigated them effortlessly round the local licensed premises and was greeted on first name terms in all of them. They finally tracked down Robert Allen to a wine bar where he was sitting on a bar stool, slumped over the counter, with half a glass of red wine in front of him.

  The two men slid on to stools on either side of him, warrant cards in hand, and the DS asked, 'Are you Robert Allen?'

  Allen, around mid-twenties, average build, with dark brown hair which flopped forward over his face, partly concealing spaniel-brown eyes, made a bleary effort to bring the man into focus and slurred, 'That, my friend, is a very good question, to which I am not entirely sure I have the answer.'

  The barman came over. 'Good luck with that one, Maurice. Hard to get a straight answer out of him at the best of times, and he's been here since we opened. Usual for you, is it?'

  Maurice threw him a loaded look, then looked at the DS as he said, 'Yes, that's right, Andy, the usual black coffee for me and whatever the DS is having. On my tab.'

  Andy walked away chuckling to himself. He had never known Maurice order coffee in his life and he didn't have a tab, he wouldn't be allowed one. But he stretched a point and brought the two coffees the men had ordered plus another which he put optimistically in front of the extremely drunken Allen.

  The DS asked, 'Mr Allen, we're here abo
ut Vicki Carr. I believe you know her?'

  Allen was struggling to keep his eyes focused on the face speaking to him. 'I know her, in the biblical sense of the word, in every sense of the word. I knew her, I fucked her, she fucked me over.'

  'When did you last see her, Mr Allen?' Maurice Brown asked him.

  Allen swivelled his head owlishly in the direction of the new questioner.

  'Shortly before she dumped me, by text. The bitch. The fucking bitch,' he said, his face contorting in anger.

  'And where were you at the weekend, sir?' Brown asked, 'Say from Saturday night to Tuesday morning?'

  Allen studied him long and hard. 'I don't even know when the weekend was, officer. That's because I have no idea what day it is today. Or tomorrow. I have no knowledge of the concept of time.'

  The two officers exchanged glances. 'We're going to have to take him in, dry him out and question him some more,' the DS said.

  'Er, Sarge, we can't put him in my car, the springs have gone in the back seat,' Brown said apologetically.

  Hallam rolled his eyes. 'Get on the blower, get the station to send a car. And let the Boss know we may have a possible suspect coming in.'

  Chapter Eight

  When the DS and Maurice got back with the ex-boyfriend, they checked him in with the duty sergeant, then had him put in an interview room and plied with strong coffee while they went upstairs in search of the DI.

  Tina and Steve were also just back in with their findings, which didn't amount to a great deal, and were briefing the DI on what they did have. The bistro was always packed at the weekends, no one had noticed anyone paying particular attention to Vicki, nor did they notice if she had left with anyone. Tina had been thorough and asked about the ex-boyfriend.

  Yes, the manager and the staff confirmed, they knew him and had been highly relieved when Vicki had finished with him. He had a habit of turning up outrageously drunk and trying to talk to Vicki while she was working. He'd had to be thrown out on several occasions and on one memorable evening he had been drunk enough to throw up all over a table set out for a hen party. They hadn't seen him since the break-up and almost certainly would have remembered as he was barred and would have been unceremoniously evicted.

  Hallam told them they had just brought the ex-boyfriend in for questioning.

  'He's very drunk, sir,' he told the DI, 'but from what we hear, that's his normal state. He's downstairs, I've got them making him coffee, a lot of it. I thought that at least if we brought him in, he could start drying out. He couldn't offer us any alibi for the weekend and he did get very angry talking about Vicki. He didn't indicate if he knew she was dead but then he didn't seem to be all that much in touch with reality.'

  'Good work, all of you, it's a start and we need a start,' Ted said. 'I'll go and begin interviewing him, at least. See what else you can find out about him. Not you, Steve,' he said as the young TDC headed automatically towards his computer. 'You come and sit in with me on this one.'

  The young man looked panic-stricken but followed the DI down to the interview room. Robert Allen was slumped at the table, making an effort to drink some of the coffee which had been provided for him. He was succeeding in spilling more than he drank each time he lifted the cup with a badly shaking hand.

  There was a PC babysitting him, who left when the DI and TDC came in. Allen smelt like a brewery and also smelt strongly of piss, which was not all that pleasant in the small room. Ted was not yet entirely sure if he was going to be fit to be interviewed. But he began the formalities and explained carefully that Allen was not under arrest, just helping with enquiries.

  Allen's blurred eyes made unsteady contact with the DI's face as he said, 'How marvellous. Helping the police with their enquiries. That always sounds so …' he broke off while he searched for a word. 'So noble.'

  'Mr Allen, are you aware that Vicki Carr is dead?' Ted asked him.

  'Is she?' Allen asked, then, with more emphasis, 'IS she now? Well, that just goes to show. When you wish upon a star, your dreams really do come true. Because, you see, Mr An Inspector Calls, I wished that bitch dead after she dumped me. I really did. I just looked up at the stars and I wished her dead.'

  'Mr Allen, what is your profession?' Ted asked.

  'Ha!' the young man exclaimed. 'My profession? Nothing! I am nothing. I am no one. I was going to be an ac-torrr,' he said, drawing the word out to the maximum. 'I signed on at the Arts School. I was going to tread the boards. But then, you see,' he leaned conspiratorially closer to Ted and said wistfully, 'two small problems got in the way. First, and no one told me this, it seems you have to go to lectures and such things. And second, I didn't have any talent. None at all. Zilch.' He spread his arms expansively wide and blinked rapidly.

  'Mr Allen, where were you at the weekend?'

  'Somewhere,' Allen said enigmatically. 'Somewhere over the rainbow. In the gutter, looking at the stars. I have not the first fucking fig of an idea, actually.'

  'Mr Allen,' Ted said, 'I would like to question you further about the death of Vicki Carr and in particular on your movements at the weekend. However I don't believe you are currently in a fit state to answer such questions. I would therefore like to arrange for you to have a lie down and perhaps a sleep until you feel a little more able to answer my questions and then we can talk again. Are you in agreement with that?'

  'Ah, to sleep, perchance to dream. What a shame, what a waste of talent. I know all the fucking words; I just have no idea how to act them,' Allen said, subsiding back over the table and looking as if he were about to go to sleep there and then.

  Ted turned to the young TDC. 'Come on, I'll ask the PC to put him in a cell for now. We'll go back upstairs and come down when he's had chance to sleep at least some of it off, see if he doesn't make a bit more sense when he's sobered up somewhat. Do you have any initial thoughts?'

  Steve trotted up the stairs in the DI's wake, uncomfortable as ever at being asked to voice an opinion, but he did say, 'I don't see how it can be him, sir.'

  Ted stopped and turned back to look at the young TDC who was standing on the stair lower down.

  'What's your reasoning?'

  'Well, sir,' the young man was positively squirming. 'It's the sex thing.'

  'The sex thing?' Ted asked, intrigued. 'Go on.'

  'Well, sir,' he said again. 'Didn't the pathologist say there had been recent rough sex? And hasn't everyone we've spoken to said he's always that drunk, all the time? Well, sir, I just don't see how he could, you know, could even get it up when he's as drunk as that, sir.'

  Ted suppressed a smile. He wondered if the young man were speaking from personal experience. 'You know what, Steve?' he said. 'I think you may well be onto something there. Come on,' and he continued up the stairs, two at a time.

  Tina, Maurice and the DS were still there when they went in. 'Gather round,' Ted told them. 'Steve has a theory, and I think it's a credible one.'

  Steve threw him a pleading look, going red in the face again. He was clearly not looking forward to discussing alcohol-induced erectile dysfunction in front of Tina but she remained professionally silent while he set out his theory and added, 'I mean, he smells as if he's wet himself, a few times, so if that's his usual state, I can't see how he would be having any sex with Vicki at all, never mind recent rough sex.'

  'It's a good point, sir,' Tina said. 'If she'd dumped him and he was barred from the bistro, what was he going to do? Lie in wait for her outside then take her somewhere and persuade her to have sex with him, which then got a bit rough? It's not sounding very plausible.'

  'We had to bring him in, sir, he has a pretty strong motive,' Hallam said defensively. 'He looked like he really hated her when he was talking about her dumping him.'

  'Of course you did, Mike, you did right, he's the obvious suspect to start with,' Ted reassured him. 'Right, while he's hopefully drying out enough for me to have another go at him, let's sort out a quick search of his place, if he agrees to give us his keys. />
  'We've got no DNA on the body from the killer but let's check his out anyway and let's look for any previous form of any sort, especially with violence or rough stuff involved. And as he doesn't seem to know where he was, you four get back out there and check out an alibi for him.

  'If he's the famous pissing and puking local drunk, people will remember if he was in their bar at the weekend. And check especially for Monday night when the body was dumped. If he was in that state, it's looking less and less likely that he's our man.

  'Find out about a vehicle, too. Does he have one? Could he even have driven one in that condition? I don't see how he could have trotted across town balancing a body on his shoulder so how could he have got it to where it was dumped? Still a lot of work to be done. But good work everyone. Especially you, Steve.'

  The young man looked about ready to die of embarrassment, especially when the DI added, his eyes twinkling, 'Not being a drinker myself, I hadn't considered the correlation between alcohol intake and performance in the sack.'

  Chapter Nine

  Inquests were a part of his job which Ted didn't enjoy too much, largely because he had to make an effort with his appearance and ditch his usual casual look. He always insisted he looked like a schoolboy in a suit and tie, despite Trev telling him it made him look sexy.

  In fact women found him irresistibly attractive at the best of times, even more so when done up for a court appearance. Knowing his sexuality just made him more of a challenge.

  He absolutely drew the line at formal suits, which he claimed made him look ridiculous, compromising instead with warm caramel chinos and matching jacket, which he could buy from a travel and outdoor clothing supplier so they didn't feel too formal. He accessorised with a soft sage green shirt and a loosely done up tie in tones of fern and bracken, just about hiding the open top button. Soft suede desert boots completed the look.

  Some senior police officers found him and his style far too informal. Ted didn't give a stuff. His boss was cool with it, which was good enough for him, as long as he made an effort for court appearances.