Doing the Best I Can_A Manchester Crime Story featuring DSI Jeff Barton

by David Menon

  ‘So why don’t you?’ asked Rosie. ‘Go back home I mean?’

  Every head turned in Rosie’s direction. She knew that Callum and Nathan would be pissed off with her because of her intervention but she thought what the fuck. She’d been wanting to say this to all this lot for a while now.

  ‘I notice all the evils coming in my direction and yes I’m a little bit pickled but let me just explain what I mean. People run to the United Kingdom from war and the most horrific situations in the world and what do we do with them? We put them in detention camps and demean them with food tokens. But what were you lot running from? Was it the unhealthiest diet in the world with your deep fried Mars bars? Was it the levels of heart disease being the highest in Europe? You see, I’ve done my research. And it sickens me to think that you’ve all been here for decades and yet none of you speak with even a trace of a north west English accent. Whinging bags of piss like you lot take every advantage of our country whilst pining for your homeland at the same time. And you don’t even realise what a bunch of fucking lucky people you are. Lucky that you came from Scotland and not some other place where the colour of your skin and the politics of the day mean you would have to be treated as some kind of second class citizen. And you still won’t even support England in the football. Well shame on you. Shame on you all’.

  It had not been a great day so far for DS Ben Masters. He’d wanted to make a good impression on his new boss, DSI Barton and had taken it upon himself to make enquiries about whether or not the sexual offences unit had ever been suspicious of the activities of Mark Donaldson, father of murder victim Grace. He’d also asked them to look into his own father-in-law Alastair Franklin, father of his wife Kaitlin and her sister Rosie. He thought that if he could give the boss something substantial on which to bring the perverted bastards in then it would not only help him but it would also move the investigation along. But it had all drawn a blank. Nothing was held on either of them. Ben had almost laughed at the ludicrousness of it. The whole force knew that there were questionable activities to be looked into but this is what they were up against. Blank, stone walls everywhere they tried to turn.

  ‘You look great’ said Ben after his sister-in-law Rosie walked up to the table. He’d chosen the Rice Bowl Chinese restaurant on Cross Street in town for them to have some lunch and a bit of a chat because it was one of his favourites and he knew that Rosie liked it too. They kissed and hugged then they sat down.

  ‘You’re a liar’.

  ‘I am not’.

  ‘Ben, I must look like I’ve been dragged though the proverbial hedge backwards’.

  ‘Not from where I’m standing’ said Ben who’d always found his sister-in-law attractive. Damaged beyond belief but attractive and a woman who appealed to his sense of wanting to save her.

  ‘You married the wrong sister’.

  ‘Didn’t I just’ Ben agreed.

  ‘So how is the fist flying witch?’

  ‘Still the same’ said Ben. ‘So I take it you’ve had a busy weekend?’

  ‘I was at a barbecue on Saturday at which I got magnificently wasted and ended up insulting the hosts and all their friends’.

  ‘Maybe they deserved it’.

  ‘Oh they did’ said Rosie. ‘But it made it difficult for my friend Calllum who’d taken me there so I regret that part of it. But he’s still speaking to me though so that’s okay. Then yesterday I spent the best part of the day in bed before I sent out for takeaway and devoured a couple of bottles that I always have in stock’.

  ‘You shouldn’t drink that much, Rosie. Especially not alone’.

  ‘I live alone so what bloody choice do I have?’ snapped Rosie. ‘I’m a bit sick and tired of people who are surrounded by people telling me I have to behave in a certain way just because I’m alone’.

  ‘Point taken’ said Ben. ‘And understood to be honest’.

  ‘I wash my own sheets if I wet the bed when I really have had too much. I don’t shout about that or any other part of my single life. I could do though. I’ve got plenty of material’.

  ‘I’m sure you have’ said Ben.

  She couldn’t tell Ben about her potential new boyfriend either. That really wouldn’t be right.

  The waitress came up and asked if she could take their orders. Ben ordered his usual assortment of dim sum and Rosie went for fried noodles with beef. Ben said he’d be okay with a bottle of sparkling water but Rosie went straight for a bottle of Australian rose wine. She poured herself a glass and Ben noted how she was looking at it as if it was some sort of lifeline.

  ‘Ben, what do you want from me?’

  ‘The truth’ said Ben.

  ‘That’s in short supply in my family’.

  ‘I know’ said Ben. ‘But you know what I’m talking about. I’ve worked out some of it for myself but I need you to tell me everything, Rosie. The whole lot’.

  ‘But why do you need it now?’

  ‘We’re in the middle of a murder investigation. The Polish girl and now Grace Donaldson. Now I know your parents and Grace Donaldson’s parents are thick as thieves. And I know that something happened to you when you were a child that has shaped the woman you’ve become. I’m sorry to put it that bluntly’.

  ‘Don’t be’ said Rosie who was fiddling with the piece of coloured plastic that was wrapped around the top of the bottle. ‘I can handle blunt. But are you really going to be able to take the bastards down? And by that I include my own parents?’

  ‘Let’s say we’re working hard on it’ said Ben. ‘But we need your statement, Rosie. We need it to form part of the hard evidence against them’.

  SEVEN

  Barton looked up from his desk in his office and saw that the squad room was pretty quiet. The only one sitting there diligently tapping her computer keyboard was DC Emily Ng. Everybody else was out checking on leads or, thought Barton, finding whatever reasons they could to stay out of the office. When Chief Constable Ronald Hermitage had stormed into the office at the end of last week and given Barton the bollocking of his life for releasing Scott Delaney it had not been at all pretty. He’d done it in the middle of the squad room and had expressly forbidden anyone to leave. He wanted his humiliation of Barton to have spectators. But Barton had fought back and stood up for himself which had earned him multiple brownie points amongst his team. None of them had any time for Hermitage and their loyalties would always be with Barton. He was that kind of boss. He inspired that level of devotion. And even DS Ben Masters who was new to the team detested Hermitage because of the baggage Masters brought with him that came from his own experiences of Hermitage that had almost cost him his career. But not withstanding all of that none of the team would want to witness another scene like when Hermitage had roared at Barton. At the end of the day it wasn’t what they came into work for.

  ‘Oh? That’s very kind, sir’ said Ng after Barton handed her a cup of coffee.

  ‘I know you like a flat white without sugar’ said Barton. He then sipped on his own americano with cold milk. What a treat it was to have a proper coffee machine in the office. There wasn’t always enough time to go down to the coffee shop on the corner. ‘Have you had any response from our colleagues up in Lytham about the whereabouts of the hidden Donaldson daughter?’

  ‘No, sir, that’s what I’m chasing up now’ Emily answered.

  ‘God, they‘re slow’.

  ‘Unless they have something to do with the circuit too, sir? That may be why they sent her up there’.

  ‘Could be, could be’ said Barton thoughtfully.

  ‘I’ll keep at it’ said Ng. ‘Something will come up’.

  ‘Emily, I know I shouldn’t ask you this but your ethnicity? Is it Chinese?’

  ‘No’ said Emily, smiling. ‘It’s Vietnamese and I don’t mind you asking at all’.

  ‘So your parents came from Vietnam?’

  ‘Yes, sir. They were both teachers and considered intellectuals by the Communists. They were due to go to what they w
ere calling re-education camps once the revolution had been finally won and they knew what that meant. The new communist regime would be turning against all middle-class professionals so many of them ran. A lot of their fellow countrymen and women went to France because that had been the colonial power in Vietnam but my parents just happened to get on a ship that was heading to England. There were several families on that ship and they all settled here and formed their own community. When they got here they did various jobs for a while, then they managed to save some money with which they opened a Vietnamese restaurant in Didsbury which is still going and doing well. They’ve never been able to figure out how they could’ve been a threat to the new Vietnam that the communists were creating. They were just two people who believed in working hard like millions of other Vietnamese’.

  ‘But Vietnam is changing now, right?’

  ‘Oh yes’ Emily confirmed. ‘It’s not quite there yet but it is becoming much more open. My parents are able to travel back there and do so once a year’.

  ‘Would they go back there to live?’

  ‘No’ said Emily. ‘Their life is here now. I mean, my brother is married with two kids and I’m about engaged. In the early years they were homesick and wanted to go back. But then they got down to it and settled. They’re happy to go back just for visits now’.

  ‘My late wife was Chinese’.

  ‘Yes, I heard that’ said Emily. ‘And you have a son who you’ve brought up alone’.

  ‘Well not altogether alone. I’ve had a lot of help from my brother and his husband, from my sister and I now have a live-in manny called Brendan. He looks after Toby and keeps house for me’.

  ‘I’m so sorry that she died so young, sir’.

  ‘Well it’s been almost six years now but some days it hurts as much as it did on the day it happened’ said Barton. He suddenly realised that he was revealing more about himself than perhaps he should. But looking into Emily’s sympathetic eyes made him wish that she wasn’t spoken for.

  His vexation was saved by the bell. Or by the sound of the phone ringing. He picked it up and as he listened to what he was being told his heart sank. He put it down and turned to Emily.

  ‘Okay Emily, you’re coming with me. I’ll brief you on the way’.

  By the time Barton and Emily got down to Scott Delaney’s apartment it was all done and dusted. They were just in time to see Delaney’s body already in a white zip-up bag waiting to be transported for an autopsy to be performed.

  ‘Ah, Detective Superintendent Barton and Detective Constable Ng’ announced Chief Constable Ronald Hermitage to the handful of uniformed officers who were standing around him having to listen to his anecdotes and his jokes which, in some cases Barton thought, and he’d heard them all many times, he really shouldn’t get away with. They were right on the line in terms of sexism, racism, and insulting anybody who voted Labour. But he did get away with it because he was Ronald Hermitage the biggest Teflon coated prick in a uniform. ‘Glad you made it’.

  ‘We came as soon as we were informed, sir’ said Barton who was mightily pissed off at the little cabaret that Hermitage was playing out.

  ‘Okay, Detective Superintendent, okay, no need to get defensive’ Hermitage replied. He smirked and turned his head back to his new fan club members. ‘That’s what you’ll have to watch out for, people. The ego of the plain clothes Detective Superintendent who think they’ve got it right even when they get it all so spectacularly wrong’.

  Not many people inspired violent thoughts in Barton but Hermitage was one of them. He could quite cheerfully put him straight through the fucking wall. ‘Well perhaps your friends here, sir, could learn how to show some respect when they’re in an apartment where there’s a dead body. Now if you’ll excuse me’.

  ‘You won’t be able to make excuses for yourself this time, Barton’ said Hermitage in a quiet yet determined voice. ‘You released an obviously guilty suspect who’s now done himself in before justice had been allowed to take its course. That’s not going to look too good on your CV now, is it?’

  ‘I told you, sir, that I don’t believe he did it’.

  ‘Oh so you haven’t heard of the note he left before putting the rope round his neck and hanging himself from the light fitting?’

  Hermitage held up the hand written note in front of Barton like the British PM Chamberlain had famously done when he returned from seeing Hitler back in 1938. Only this time Hermitage didn’t come in peace.

  ‘Let me read it out to you, Barton’ said Hermitage before putting on his glasses. ‘It says that ‘I, Scott Delaney, murdered Karina Kowalewski and Stacey Donaldson by means of electrocution. I’m not sorry for what I’ve done. Karina was a slut who liked to lead men on until they gave her what she wanted and Stacey would’ve killed me if I hadn’t got there first. I am taking my own life because I cannot live with the pain I’ve caused to Gina and my family and it’s overwhelming me. Tell DCI Barton that he doesn’t need to look for anyone else. I committed both murders’.

  Barton didn’t know what to make of the note. Sure it had been hand written but was it Delaney’s hand writing?

  ‘We’ll need to get that analysed’ said Barton, glancing down at the note in Hermitage’s hand. He couldn’t bring himself to look the bastard in the eye.

  ‘And we will DCI Barton, we will’ said Hermitage. ‘No more reaction than that to the note our friend left behind then?’

  ‘Not until I’ve fully considered it, no, sir’ Barton replied.

  ‘You just can’t let it go, can you? You can’t admit that you were just plain wrong’.

  ‘And I won’t until I’ve investigated matters further, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me’.

  Barton turned on his heels and headed into the main living room of the apartment before Hermitage had the chance to have another poke at him. Emily Ng was busy writing notes.

  ‘Emily, we’ll need something with his hand writing on so that the experts can make a comparison with the note he left’.

  ‘Well that’s easy, sir. There are notes all over the kitchen saying what he’s got to get from the shops’.

  ‘Good’ said Barton. ‘And who discovered him, Emily?’

  ‘His girlfriend Gina Lombardi, sir’ Emily answered. ‘She’s terribly shocked. Her parents came and picked her up about half an hour ago apparently. I’ve got a copy of the statement she made to our uniformed colleagues’.

  ‘And who let her go without further questioning?’

  ‘Hermitage, sir’.

  ‘Okay. Anything interesting in her statement?’

  ‘Not really’ said Emily. ‘She hadn’t heard from him so she came round. That’s when she found him’.

  ‘Yes’ said the pathologist Dr. Rashid Ahmed. ‘It must be a pretty nasty business to find your lover like this. How are you, Jeff?’.

  ‘Oh I’m okay, mate, it’s all the others’ Barton answered. ‘How long would you say he’s been dead, Rashid?’

  ‘I’d say about twelve hours, Jeff’ said Rashid. ‘So between ten o’clock and midnight last night’.

  ‘Any sign of a break-in, Emily?’

  ‘None at all, sir’ Emily answered. ‘Do you think it could be suspicious?’

  ‘I’m not going to rule anything out’ Barton answered before turning back to Rashid. ‘This is going to sound a bit ludicrous but is there any sign that he didn’t act entirely alone in this?’

  ‘Well’ Rashid began. ‘Now you come to mention it … ‘

  ‘… yea?’

  ‘Well it could be nothing at all’ said Rashid. ‘But there are no signs around his neck that he tried to loosen the rope once he was dangling. Now I know that may sound stupid when you consider that someone wanted to commit suicide … ‘

  ‘… so why would they struggle once what they wanted to happen was happening, right?’ said Emily.

  ‘Exactly’ said Rashid. ‘But it’s a natural human reaction to fight when you’re in obvious danger which is one of the reasons why
suicides struggle in those final decisive moments. An intended suicide can also change their mind of course. I would imagine that some do once they realise that they’re about to fall off the mortal coil and there’s really no way back’.

  ‘So what are your conclusions for our friend Delaney then, Rashid?’ asked Barton.

  ‘That he was either one of those rare ones who didn’t fight or have any second thoughts. Or he couldn’t try and loosen the rope because his hands were somehow restrained’.

  ‘Which means that he may not have wanted to go’ said Emily.

  ‘Oh yes he did’ said Chief Constable Hermitage as he came through from the hallway. ‘Thank you for your professional observations Dr. Ahmed but I shall be pleased to announce shortly to the press that the murderer we’ve been looking for is dead and that he died at his own hands. DSI Barton and Detective Constable Ng? You will have details of a new investigation to work on by the end of the working day. It involves a nice little case of fraud involving some of the city’s tradesmen and that’s what you will be working on until it’s concluded. And if I find that you’ve been spending time on this case trying to prove your useless and incorrect theories then there will be consequences for your respective careers and Detective Constable Ng that would be a great pity if your career was curtailed just when you’re on what could be a very promising path if you play your cards right’.

  After Hermitage had gone Rashid shook his head in disbelief. ‘How does he get away with making such transparent threats to your careers? And with witnesses present. He’s unbelievable’.

  ‘Yes’ said Barton. ‘That’s one word to describe him’.

  ‘Well Jeff, I’ll check the victim’s wrists and if there is anything suspicious in terms of the possible use of restraints of some kind, or if there any marks or bruises on his body that might point to the fact that he wasn’t alone when he died and may have therefore struggled then I’ll let you know straight away’.

  Barton treated Emily to lunch at a Malaysian restaurant a couple of blocks south of Piccadilly gardens in the city and one which he’d been to many times. They both opted for the chicken laksa with a bottle of water each. The sauce in the dish was plentiful and it took a lot of care and attention to eat it with dignity and without at least some of the hot red sauce ending up down the front of their clothes. But at least as far as Barton was concerned it was worth it. It was one of his very favourite things to eat. He’d been sold generally on Malaysian food when he’d been served a beef rendang curry in another Malaysian restaurant years ago and it had filled his taste buds with sheer delight. He’d been going out with a girl at the time who made a great play of pushing her food round a plate without actually eating very much at all. She also said that she’d be happy to take a pill for each meal and just hated the very idea of food and eating. Barton had wondered aloud to her if women in places like Mozambique who have to walk two miles with a child or two strapped to their backs just to get a bag of rice that’s been donated by a country like the UK ever got to hate the very idea of food and eating. For that he got a glass of water thrown in his face from the girl who then proceeded to burst into tears and moan about how fat and ugly she was when all Barton could see was a very pretty girl with a fabulous figure who could never believe, however many times she’s told, just how fabulous she looked. The relationship with her didn’t last long but Barton’s relationship with Malaysian food would last a lifetime.