Wild Thing (DI Ted Darling Book 6)

by L M Krier

  The forensic team had been all over the site, on Ted's instructions, taking casts of any footprints, collecting soil samples for analysis to allow for cross-checking between sites. There was no need for Ted to cover up; it no longer mattered if he contaminated the scene. He simply ducked under the tape and made his way into the trees. He couldn't resist a glance round the park first, half expecting to see the same nosy man in a cap. It was still early and still drizzling. Only a few hardy souls were out and about. A couple of dog walkers, some younger teenagers on bikes, a solitary jogger.

  Using the photos Gavin had forwarded to him, Ted was easily able to find the exact spot where the toy had stood, in front of an old and partially rotten tree stump. The indentation in the soil and leaf mould was still distinct. He could clearly see what Gavin had been getting at. It was almost as if the tiny clearing had become a shrine to something.

  The most important thing Ted needed to know now was when did Batman reach his final resting place? Was he left there the day of Tyler's death, put there by the killer in some macabre ritual? Or was it more recent than that? The day of the cat's death? And if so, did that point to a connection between the two cases? Was Tyler's killer also the animal torturer?

  The fact that Batman was attached to his launcher when found suggested a direct connection to Tyler. From his own experience of playing around with the toy, Ted found he had kept the launcher in his hand whenever he went after Batman. So had whoever left Batman here taken the launcher out of the boy's hand, and had Tyler been alive or dead at that point?

  It wasn't far to walk from where he was across the park to Shadwell Drive, where the arson incident had occurred. That death had not been treated as a murder. In the absence of evidence indicating intention on the part of whoever had put the firework through the letterbox to harm the person inside, rather than to cause some degree of criminal damage, the inquest jury had returned an open verdict.

  Ted didn't know himself if he suspected a link between the arson and the other cases. It was just one more incident in the same area that he wanted to check out for himself once again. After four years, clearly there were no remaining traces of what had happened at the small mid-terraced house. There were certainly no gnomes gracing the front garden now. Much of it had been covered over with tarmac to provide additional parking, with just a narrow border round the edge.

  There was nothing to see, as he'd expected. All the visit told him was that it was not far across the park to where Tyler had died, to where the cat had been so brutally killed, and to where Batman had been found. He added to his mental list the need to find out who lived in the road and get someone to do some digging into their backgrounds.

  He drove via Heaviley on his way up to South Manchester, for another walk along Hallam's Passage and back. It wouldn't achieve anything, he knew, but at least it made him feel as if he was doing something. They had nothing from forensics, no CCTV, no sightings of a vehicle they could check out. None of their usual informants had heard anything. It was as if the killer had simply been walking past, decided to strike, then gone on their way unconcerned. Their only new lead to date had been Jezza picking up that the bridge was not with the other parts of the smashed violin, and had not been found in the search of the surrounding area. Was that now lying in some other sanctum somewhere? And how could they begin to find out if a gnome had been taken from the garden where the arson took place?

  Ted remained convinced that it had been one person working alone who had killed Luke Martin. From experience, he doubted if, had there been more than one person involved, it could have been kept quiet for two years. Someone would have said something to someone else. A loose tongue was about the only way they were going to make much progress on the case.

  Jo was up at South Manchester. He was in the office with DC Graham Winters when Ted arrived there. Leona was out chasing up leads. The teams in both stations were working longer hours, staggering their days off, if they got one at all. Ted hadn't asked them to. They'd all offered, all of them as stung as he was by the implied criticism in the press that they were not putting equal effort into every case. The Ice Queen was still being supportive over the budget and the extra hours. There was no guarantee that it would last, before the money managers higher up started to make noises.

  'Why haven't we found the purse yet, Jo? Most snatchers just keep the contents then throw the bag or the purse away. Get rid of the evidence. So why hasn't it turned up? Were the litter bins searched?'

  Jo had gone over the case notes so he had the answer to most questions off pat.

  'Not all of them in town, boss, clearly, and not the ones close to. The killer legged it away pretty sharpish, so they weren't going to stop to do that. But Uniform have poked and prodded into every nook and cranny they could in the direction the suspect ran off in. Are you still thinking of Jezza's trophy theory? We could circulate a description of it, see if it turns up? And does that mean you are now thinking of a link between the cases?'

  'I still don't know what I'm thinking at the moment, to be honest. I don't want to make a thing of it yet, in case there is a link and it alerts our killer that we're on to them. Ask Leona and the team to come to the Monday morning expanded briefing and we'll at least float the idea of a link, see if it advances us any. I'm going to go through all the witness statements myself one more time. There must be something we're missing. I'll see you on Monday.'

  If Ted was hoping for a lightning strike of inspiration from studying the files, he was out of luck. All he could do was to compile endless lists of what still needed checking and draw up a plan of action for Monday morning's briefing. Jim Baker was going to be in attendance, just in case there was a link and they could possibly be looking at a serial killer, which would come under his remit.

  He'd warned the cats he might be late and he was, by the time he'd finished. Another rushed takeaway, another evening of nodding off in front of the news. At least this was going to be his last night on his own. Trev would be back tomorrow and, whatever happened, Ted was determined to get back from another trip in to work in good time to make sure the house was clean and welcoming, pick up his mother's culinary contribution, and make a pudding himself. He just prayed there would be nothing to interfere with his plans.

  Trev had clearly enjoyed his party as there was no word from him on Saturday. Ted had hoped for just a brief text, but he heard nothing until mid-morning on the Sunday, when he was at his desk; a quick call to let him know when they would be leaving, and a promise to message him as soon as they landed at Manchester Airport.

  Once he'd done as much as he could at work, Ted called in at a supermarket for the ingredients to make a pudding, plus a single red rose, his special gesture, a nod to his favourite film, Blazing Saddles. Then he made a quick trip to his mother's to pick up their evening meal.

  'Do give Trevor my love, won't you? You're so lucky, Teddy bach, to have found yourself such a lovely young man. The two of you always seem so happy together.'

  Ted thanked her for the meal, gave her a brief peck on the cheek, promised to spend more time with her soon, and drove home to start attacking the cat hair with the vacuum cleaner.

  The cats could sense his barely-concealed anticipation, prowling round, investigating whatever he did. He issued a stern warning when he'd finished.

  'I want it to look nice when Trev gets back, you lot. So no dragging in dead animals, or throwing up fur balls or anything, all right? And be careful where you flick the litter. I don't want that all over the floor, thank you.'

  Once he got the text that they were clear of Manchester airport and on their way, Ted couldn't even sit down with his mounting excitement at seeing his partner again. He felt like a teenager and laughed ironically at himself. He had a ridiculous notion that everything, including his current cases, would be so much better once Trev was home. He knew he relied on him too much, but couldn't help himself.

  Willow and Rupert would be dropping him off and Ted had to fight the urge to
stand at the window, waiting for the sight of Rupert's sleek, low, black sports car purring down the cul-de-sac in which Ted and Trev lived.

  He was in the kitchen, fussing once more over the table setting, when the doorbell rang. He wondered why Trev hadn't simply used his key to let himself in. Perhaps it was at the bottom of his bag and not accessible.

  For a brief moment, his heart jolted painfully in his chest when he opened the front door and saw Willow standing there, alone, Rupert still at the wheel of the car in the road. Then Willow's face broke into a wide smile as she said, 'Special delivery for Ted Darling,' and Trev burst into view from round the corner of the small porch where he had been concealing himself.

  'Hey, you,' he said, as he engulfed Ted in a bear hug which threatened to crack his ribs.

  He looked more stunning than usual, incredibly tanned, still dressed for Mediterranean weather in a collarless linen shirt and cropped trousers, his bare, brown feet in leather sandals.

  As soon as Ted could pull free enough to remember his manners, he invited Willow and Rupert in for a drink, or at least a cup of tea, before they went on their way, but she laughed off the suggestion.

  'Honestly, Ted, it's so sweet of you but we've had to put up with Trev pining and drooling about you all week. You seriously don't want the two of us cramping your style.'

  'I do not drool! I admit to the pining, but that's all.'

  She kissed them both, waved away Trev's effusive thanks, but promised to take him up on his offer of cooking them both a meal before too long.

  Rupert, at the wheel of the black car, had his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses and looked more like a gangster or a drug dealer than a male model. The policeman in Ted couldn't help but wonder what the neighbours would think.

  The car had barely purred its way out of sight before Trev shut the door and grinned provocatively at his partner.

  'I've had the most amazing time. But I can't begin to tell you how much I've missed you. So I guess I'll just have to show you.'

  He was already peeling off his shirt as he started up the stairs, two at a time. His sandals, crops and underpants followed shortly, dropped in a negligent trail as he made his way to the bedroom. Ted followed him without need of persuasion. Even he resisted the urge to stop and tidy up his partner’s clothes on the way.

  'Oh, my God, look at you,' Ted said admiringly, as Trev did a shameless twirl. 'You're bronzed all over, no white bits at all.'

  Trev laughed delightedly.

  'Oh, Ted, stop being a boring old fart. I've been to the south of France, living on a yacht. You know, skinny dipping, nude sunbathing, wild parties. All the things you'd curl up and die if I did when you were with me. So, are you just going to stand there admiring the tan, or are you going to show me how much you've missed me?

  Afterwards, as they lay back, damp with perspiration, breathing and heart rates slowly coming back down to normal, Trev put an arm round Ted and pulled him closer.

  'So tell me how you've been getting on. Have you caught the bad guys yet?'

  'Not yet, but we're still trying,' Ted said evasively. He didn't want to break the mood. He wasn't keen on talking about his work with Trev. He certainly had no intention of telling him about the RSPCA case he'd been called to. He just hoped his partner didn't look on the local news website for any reason and see the story there. 'I can't get over how good you look with an all-over tan. You must have put some of the models to shame.'

  Trev laughed delightedly.

  'Well, Laurence did include me in some of the shots, but only in the background, as scenery,' he said, pronouncing the name with a flawless French accent.

  Ted turned his head and looked at him quizzically.

  'Laurence?'

  'One of the photographers on the shoot. We got on really well. It was one of those “you couldn't make it up” things. We've lived in some of the same cities and it turned out we'd even been to a couple of the same international schools, though not at the same time. We're going to keep in touch.

  'But now, I want to go and take a long shower, after just now, and travelling before it. And we're both going to be in deep trouble with the cats, especially as you shut the bedroom door in their faces and I haven't even said hello to them yet.'

  'I'll go and sort out the supper. My mother made you that chicken in cider you like. It'll be ready when you are. And I've made a pudding. No idea if it's any good, though.'

  Trev stretched like a contented cat.

  'I couldn't have had a nicer homecoming. I'll be down in a minute.'

  Ted picked up his partner's clothes and sandals on his way down the stairs, put the footwear neatly in the hall and collected his travel hold-all. He might as well put a wash on while he waited to eat supper. Despite the all-over suntan, he was still surprised by how few clothes Trev had got through in ten days, knowing how fastidious he was about his appearance.

  As soon as he heard Trev finish in the shower, he had the meal plated up and ready, which earned him another hug.

  'I've had an amazing time, but it really is nice to be back to being spoilt rotten. Yes, hello, you lot, I'll give you all a proper cuddle later but I'm starving now,' he told the cats.

  They were busy swarming round his legs, backs arched, upright tails twitching, purring loudly. Trev was the one who usually fed them and spent time with them. They clearly considered Ted a poor substitute.

  They'd just finished the first course when Trev's mobile rang. He looked at the screen and smiled.

  'It's Laurence. Sorry, do you mind if I take it?'

  When Ted nodded, he picked up the call, his voice warm and affectionate as he began, 'Salut, toi,' which Ted understood, but after that it was just a stream of rapid-fire French which went right over his head.

  He stood up to clear the plates and produce the pudding he had so lovingly prepared. It suddenly seemed inadequate.

  'Oui, oui, toi aussi, gros bisous, bye-bye, ciao,' Trev ended the call with a lot of kissy sounds then looked apologetic. 'So sorry about that. Wow! Is this syllabub? And did you make it? That's so sweet.'

  'I remembered you'd ordered it when we went out for a meal one time, so I thought I'd have a go. I used apple juice instead of wine, so I can have some. It's probably not very good, though.'

  Trev took a big spoonful, savoured, then swallowed it, his eyes rolling in appreciation.

  'Oh yes, that is seriously good. Yes, yes, yes...'

  He threw his head back as he went into an Oscar-winning performance of the famous scene from When Harry Met Sally.

  Ted laughed, in spite of himself. Despite thinking he was sharing the meal, the moment, and his partner with Laurence.

  Chapter Eighteen

  They were using the large ground-floor conference room for the Monday morning briefing. With so many extra officers attending from across the various branches of the enquiry, it was the only room with space enough to accommodate them all.

  Both the Ice Queen and Jim Baker were present, as well as Kevin Turner and some of his officers, but it was Ted's baby. He was in charge. For once, he wasn't perching on a desk but standing in front of the white boards, which displayed all the details they needed for the briefing.

  One of the forensics officers was present. Ted hadn't yet had chance to catch up with the SOCO reports. The lab had been working flat out all weekend on the samples from where the cat was found, and from the clearing in the woods where Batman had ended his days.

  Ted singled him out to begin. Depending on what his team had uncovered, the forensic evidence could alter the way the briefing needed to go.

  'Doug, thanks for coming. What have you got for us?'

  'Well, you already know that the footprints from by the river where the boy was found are a youths' trainer, size 33 European. The prints were not good where the cat was found; it was wet underfoot and they didn't hold their shape well. However, we are confident they were left by the same type of shoe and the same size.

  'We can't tell you if th
e same person was involved, just that the shoe size and type is the same. And that soil analysis indicates that the same shoes were worn at the cat site and where the toy was found. From the shoe size and the depth of the imprints, we believe that the wearer was small and slight, not weighing very much. We can also tell you that they are left-handed and a County supporter.'

  Seeing the looks of disapproval from all the senior officers present, he went on hastily, 'Sorry, that's just dark forensic humour. Totally inappropriate and I apologise.'

  'All right, we all have different ways of dealing with difficult cases, but let's please all remember why we're here. Take a good look at the photo on the board. That is Tyler Bradbury. A little boy who should have been starting school later this year, and no doubt getting up to all the stuff small boys do. He won't now,' Ted reminded them.

  Suitably chastened, the SOCO continued, 'I brought a pair of the exact make of trainers in question, which we used for comparison. We've finished with them now, so I thought they might help. They're marketed as unisex, so I suppose it would depend on the colour whether a lad or a girl would wear them. Just a note which might be useful to the enquiry. They're high end, pricey, and in that size, according to my missus, who knows about these things, you won't find them in your average shop. At best they could order them in for you. We bought online but again, not all the stockists we looked at had them in; they were sometimes a special order.'

  He took a pair of white trainers out of a carrier bag and passed them over to Ted who held them aloft for everyone to see.

  'They definitely look a bit girlie in white, boss. I'd never get Felix to wear those. But in a different colour, red, maybe, I could see him wanting a pair. It is just possible they could be worn by a woman, an adult. I have a friend who takes that size, even though she's quite generously proportioned everywhere else, apart from her feet and hands. She's not tall, either.'