by L M Krier
Tyler Bradbury's mother was staying with her sister in Romiley. The house was a small semi-detached, not far off the main road. The sister came to the door to let them in, her arms full of a wriggling small child, another toddler clinging to her leg, peering warily at the strangers.
She led them into the first room off the narrow hallway, a modest-sized sitting room, the floor strewn with toys. Helen Bradbury was sitting on a low, squashy sofa, staring vacantly into space. Dark smudges under her reddened eyes pointed to a lack of sleep. Her fingers clung to a small pyjama top with a Batman logo, occasionally kneading it, lifting it to her face to inhale what Ted and Megan immediately realised must be the last lingering smell of her child.
'Helen, love, the police are here,' her sister told her then, turning to the officers, 'Shall I make some tea or something?'
Ted nodded. The woman they'd come to interview certainly appeared to be in need of a warming drink. She looked frozen and her hands, still absently caressing the fabric, were trembling.
The room was open plan, leading through to a compact kitchen at the rear of the house. The sister went through, the two little ones still clutching on to her. Too small to understand anything, they were still sensitive enough to pick up on the almost palpable sense of tragedy surrounding them.
Ted and Megan had agreed that he would do the questioning while she took notes. His ability to talk to people was one of Ted's greatest strengths. Quietly spoken and mild-mannered, he inspired confidence and appeared to present no threat. People often told him more than they intended to, simply because he seemed so innocuous.
'Ms Bradbury, could you please tell me, in your own words and your own time, exactly what happened yesterday, when Tyler first went missing?'
It seemed to take a long time for Helen Bradbury's eyes to come into focus on Ted's face, as if she had been somewhere far away. Ted had seen the same reaction before, too many times, in those who had lost loved ones.
'Please,' he said quietly, his voice full of sympathy. 'Anything at all you can remember which might help us.'
'We'd finished our breakfast. Tyler had Coco Pops; it's his favourite. Then he wanted to go into the garden to fly his Batman toy. Have you found that yet?' She looked hopefully from Ted to Megan as she asked. 'He'll not settle until he gets it.'
'I have officers looking for it now, Ms Bradbury. What happened next?'
'I said he could play in the garden, but not to go anywhere else. He knows that, he's very good. I work from home and he'll play for hours by himself, with Batman, without getting bored or interrupting me. He's a good little boy.'
Her sister had parked the children in a playpen in the corner of the sitting area while she made the tea. She hadn't asked anyone what they wanted but reappeared with three mugs, each with a teabag in the hot water, which she plonked in front of them, then came back with sugar, spoons, and milk in the bottle.
'What sort of work do you do?' Ted asked, helping himself to milk and sugar.
He looked around for somewhere to put the teabag. Not finding anywhere, he left it in, the tea darkening to a real builders' brew, not how he normally drank it.
Helen Bradbury was absent-mindedly adding sugar to her mug, clearly not keeping track of how many spoonfuls. Without a word, her sister took the spoon away and helped her to lift the mug to her lips. She was still gripping the pyjama top in one hand as she drank.
'I type stuff for people. Transcripts, from a voice recorder, that kind of thing. And a bit of proofreading.'
'And yesterday? After breakfast?' Ted's quiet voice gently guided her back on track.
'I got a phone call. Would I do a short survey. I could win a load of shopping. I know these things are just rubbish. Even if anyone does ever win, it wouldn't be me. But then I thought I'd take a chance. I was thinking of all the Batman stuff I could buy for Tyler, and it would only take five minutes, they said.'
She broke off as her throat tightened and her voice caught. Her sister, who had sat down protectively next to her, carefully guided the mug to her lips once more.
'I looked through the window to check on Tyler. He was playing nicely, flying Batman. He didn't even notice when I waved to him. I think the survey took quite a bit longer than five minutes. I got a bit distracted. When I looked again, he wasn't in the garden. The back gate was open onto the park.
'I ran out to look for him but I couldn't see him anywhere. I ran and I called him but there was no sign of him. There weren't many people about. I asked anyone I saw but no one had seen him. I searched and searched. Then I ran back to the house, in case he'd gone back there and I hadn't seen him.'
Tears were running down her face now, her hands wringing the fabric, which she lifted to bury her face in, drying her tears on the cotton.
Ted hated to press her but he knew that any information he could get from her now would be vital. Her grief appeared to be genuine, and he'd already noticed that her feet were not unusually small. Her hands, although slim, had long fingers, the nails well kept, apart from the left thumb where it was bitten down almost to the quick. He wondered how recently that had happened.
'What can you tell me about Tyler's father? Is he still in contact?'
The sister gave a scornful snort which appeared to indicate what she thought of the man in question. Ted wondered if that opinion was part of the reason the two sisters had fallen out.
Helen Bradbury shook her head, a weary gesture as if she was already tiring of the questions.
'He's never been involved, right from the start. It was a mistake, a one-off. He was married, with kids of his own; he didn't want to know.'
'Did he ever see Tyler?'
'Only the once. He refused to believe Tyler was his, so I showed him his son. Then he couldn't deny it. They had the same hair, the same eyes.'
Ted looked from her to her sister.
'And, forgive me for asking, was that the reason the two of you fell out? Something to do with Tyler's father?'
The sister answered for her.
'I'd no time for him at all, that's true. But no, we fell out a couple of years ago over money. Our mum died and left us the house. I wanted to keep it and let it out, Helen wanted to sell it and split the money.'
'I needed it so I could move away from where I was and make a new start. I don't earn much and I'm renting. I needed money for a deposit.'
'So would the father know where you and Tyler had moved to?' Ted probed.
'I think he could probably find out easily enough. He's in the police.'
They'd been given the name of the father, Lewis Chase, a PC in Tameside Division. Ted had made a phone call and arranged to go straight up to Ashton to talk to him. He was being called in from duty but, at Ted's request, not given any details of what it was about, other than that a DCI from Stockport needed to talk to him about a case on his patch.
An interview room had been made available for them. When Ted and Megan arrived at the station, signed in and got their visitors' passes, they found the constable sitting there, patiently waiting for them. The first thing they both noticed was the hair colour. Tyler's mother had said her son was teased about his carroty hair. PC Chase's was much darker than carrot but still decidedly ginger.
He looked up as the two officers came in but made only a half-hearted attempt, for form's sake, to stand.
Ted waved him to resume his seat, then introduced them both. Again, he would do the talking while Megan took notes. It was not, at this stage, a formal interview. He just wanted to get a feel for what, if anything, PC Chase, knew about his son. Ted had no grounds on which to suspect him at the moment, especially as the man sitting opposite him was tall, large-framed, and had big hands with thick fingers.
'Thanks for agreeing to see us, PC Chase. I'm wondering if you can help with an ongoing enquiry. Does the name Helen Bradbury mean anything to you?'
The man looked genuinely puzzled, his lightly freckled face creasing as he appeared to search his memory for the name.
; 'Bradbury? I don't think so, sir. Can you tell me what it's about?'
'What about a Helen? Do you know anyone called Helen?' Ted persisted, ignoring his question.
The man coloured slightly as he replied, 'I did know a Helen, briefly. Not the proudest moment of my life. Sir, what's this about? Should I have someone with me? A solicitor? Or my Federation rep? I'd prefer not to answer any questions without knowing what it's about, if it's all the same to you.'
'You'll probably have heard that we're investigating a murder which happened yesterday in Stockport. A little boy of four, Tyler Bradbury. Helen Bradbury was his mother. She says you are his father.'
It was brutal, but Ted needed to see the man's reaction at the news. He didn't at all fit the profile they had so far of the killer, but he wanted to know if he was involved somehow. The way the constable's face drained of all colour and the look in his eyes told him all he needed to know.
'That little lad was mine? I heard about the case, of course, but I didn't make any connection. I only saw him the once. Knew he was mine, as soon as I saw the hair. The poor little sod. And his poor mother. What must she be going through.'
'Did you have any other contact with Helen, after you saw your son?'
The man shook his head.
'Like I said, sir, I'm not exactly proud of myself. It was a stupid thing to do. A quick drunken knee-trembler in a ginnel behind a pub. Helen and I were both there for the same party. I can't even remember what it was or who it was for. We'd both had a lot to drink; we were both well up for it. You know how it is, sir.'
Ted had to bite his tongue to stop his response. He didn't know. He'd never been into one-night stands, certainly never drunken ones as he was teetotal. He tried to keep his expression neutral, to allow the other man to continue, without breaking his train of thought.
'I'm a married man, two kids of my own. It meant nothing; it was just a drunken act.'
'How old are your children?'
'They're fourteen and sixteen now, sir, so they were quite young when all this happened. That was one of the reasons I didn't want any of it to come out when she told me. I didn't even give her my phone number, just my first name, and I only ever knew her as Helen. She must have got my details from someone else at the party. She got in touch a few weeks later to tell me she'd fallen pregnant and it was mine.
'I didn't really believe her. I couldn't believe she'd got pregnant just like that. I don't even remember much about it, if I'm honest. But I didn't want the wife finding out, so I offered to pay for a termination. She refused point blank, said she was going to have the nipper and keep it. I said I wanted nothing to do with the kid. I couldn't take the risk to my marriage. Apart from meeting her to see the kid and giving her a bit of money to help, that's the last contact I ever had, I swear.
'Christ, this is awful. The poor kid. And poor Helen. Sir, do you think I should get in touch? Go to the funeral or something? Could you give me the contact details?'
'Honestly, PC Chase? I think I would leave well alone. I strongly suspect you might be the last person she would want to see there.'
'Bloody men!' Megan grumbled as they got back in the car. 'No disrespect, boss, but I get fed up of hearing this sort of a tale. You don't think he had any hand in the murder though, do you?'
'It doesn't seem likely, at this stage, Megan, but we needed to cover all bases. One thing I do think we do need to look into though, tactfully. He has teenage children. Is it possible that they got wind of any of this and would that be enough of a motive for one of them to kill a rival sibling?'
'Christ, boss, I hope not,' Megan said fervently. 'This case gets worse, the further into it we go.'
Trev was looking pleased with himself when Ted got home. He was busying himself in the kitchen, humming happily but totally tunelessly as he worked. Whatever he was cooking smelled appetising and Ted realised that he was ravenous. He kissed his partner then went to the fridge for some apple juice. Trev already had a glass of wine on the go.
'You sound as if you've had a better day than I have.'
'Sorry, has it been dire? Are you hungry? I've made comfort food.'
'I've been interviewing the little boy's parents. Not exactly a barrel of laughs. I'm glad your day was better. What's put you in such a good mood?'
'Apart from playing with bikes all day and drawing a salary to do it?' Trev laughed. He was a partner in a motorbike dealership and loved every minute of his work. 'But I'm extra excited because I've got the chance to go to the south of France for a few days, if you wouldn't mind?'
'Of course I don't mind,' Ted said, trying fervently to mean it. He relied so heavily on Trev to help him through his darkest cases, but he didn't want to be selfish enough to stop him from having fun.
'Willow and Rupe have got a shoot there and they asked me to go along for the ride. It would be for about ten days, but I'm not yet sure of exact dates. Is that ok?'
Willow and Rupert were friends of them both, top models who enjoyed the sort of jet-setting lifestyle Trev adored. Ted moved closer to give him a hug.
'Just promise me you'll phone whenever you can. And be careful, hanging around with the Beautiful People. Don't do any funny stuff, all right?'
Trev laughed and kissed him.
'Oh Ted, honestly. Yes, of course, it's going to be nothing but drink, drugs and debauchery. I can't wait.'
Chapter Five
Even though Ted arrived at work early as usual the next day, Professor Nelson's PM report was already waiting in his email inbox, having been sent an hour before. Ted knew Bizzie was a night owl who often didn't sleep. She was frequently up and about when most mere mortals were still in their beds.
He read the report through carefully himself then made copies to share with all the team members at the morning briefing. It gave him the details of the shoe sizes and those of the hand prints, which was what they were waiting for to help them to advance the enquiry.
'The trainers are a popular brand and a small size. 33 European, Professor Nelson has put. Does that give us any help?'
Océane was clicking away on the keyboard as he spoke.
'That is small, boss, it's a ladies' Size 1, in old currency, or a child size. And those hand measurements – well, those hands couldn't stretch to even an octave on a piano.'
'I don't quite follow you?'
'Sorry, that's irrelevant really. I was just thinking about musicians, after what Jezza said about the other case. It got me pondering on musical instruments. I'll shut up now. Except to say that a lot of the sites I'm looking at here don't do ladies' shoes that small. There's only a few specialist ones that do.'
'Trainers, though, that could easily be a child or a small teen,' Megan pointed out. 'They're a pretty universal item of footwear these days. I suspect most of us have a pair.'
'I'm not a trainers sort of a bloke,' Maurice Brown put in, raising a smile from the rest of the team. Even since he'd started taking better care of himself, in particular with his diet, all of them had a hard time visualising him out jogging, playing sports or even power-walking.
'The other thing we now have from the PM report is a small trace of what appears to be nail varnish in one of the scratch marks on Tyler's hips. According to Professor Nelson, a very dark purple colour, almost black. It's gone off for further testing, just on the off-chance they can get anything more from it for us. It would be a minor miracle if they find a DNA trace and it's one that's on record, but we live in hope.'
'Nail varnish? So the killer's a lass, then? With small feet and painted nails?'
'Maurice Brown, remind me how you can possibly be my best friend when you're such a sexist pig,' Jezza told him, although her tone was good-natured. 'Anyone can wear nail varnish, it doesn't necessarily mean a female killer.'
'Boss, just a thought. Jezza's right, it could be a male or a female. But varnish that dark could possibly be a Goth thing, and Goth lads might wear nail polish, as part of the get-up. They usually wear black but possibly the
dark purple is a new thing,' Megan Jennings suggested. 'Do we have any tame Goths we could ask, in case they know of anyone?'
'Right, Goths, anyone? Not something I know much about. Are they any more likely to kill than anyone else? Who knows where they hang out, and who can go and talk to them? Jezza?'
'Give me time to nip home and change and I can out-Goth any of them, boss. I'll see what I can find out. Though as far as I know there's no sinister child-drowning ritual linked to them. There's no particular link to the occult; they just tend to like the dark side of things.'
With her drama training, Jezza could take on different appearances to suit various circumstances. Ted didn't doubt that, dressed the part, she'd succeed in getting somewhere, if any of them could.
'We also need to be tracing any older children or small adults who may have come into contact with Tyler. Megan, can you look into the father's other children, as discreetly as you can, just in case? What else have we got? Any CCTV anywhere around?'
Ted knew that CCTV footage had been a big help in the Merseyside case involving the murder of a little boy by two ten-year-olds. He didn't think there were any cameras covering the area where Tyler went missing, or where his body was found, but they may just pick something up from the surrounding area.
'Negative on that, boss,' Jo told him. 'This is going to be a shoe leather case – we just need to get out there on our various sized feet and start talking to people.'
Ted's mobile phone rang as Jo was talking. He checked the screen then said, 'I need to take this, it's the Big Boss. Jo, can you allocate tasks and I'll catch up with you shortly.'
'Morning, Super,' Ted began as he went back into his own office. To his surprise, Jim Baker didn't respond with the rest of their usual joke.
'Ted, I want you to get over to South Manchester straight away. There's something strange going on there. An old lady's been run over by a bus and killed. The driver is swearing blind he saw someone deliberately push her into his path. He's clear on the breathalyser and his driving record is clean as a whistle. I need you to assess whether we should open a murder enquiry on this one.'
