Home Help (DI Falle Book 2)

by Gwyn GB

  Home Help

  Gwyn GB

  Amazon.co.uk reviews for the first in the DI Falle series, Lonely Hearts

  “Unique, addictive, positively gripping, and thoroughly entertaining; 'Lonely Hearts' is a shocking, rollercoaster read which will make you think twice about wearing your heart on your sleeve. “

  “I DEVOURED this in barely a day ... LONELY HEARTS is a cracking little mystery that you *think* you have a handle on, then it WHIPS the rug out from under your feet!”

  “I was really drawn to the author's writing style and would highly recommend this book to crime lovers who want a book that will grip them right to the very end and leave them wanting more!”

  You can sign up for a free novella to accompany this book, as well as book club notes and resources.

  There’s further information at the back of this book .

  Please note: SPELLINGS USED ARE BRITISH ENGLISH.

  There is a short glossary of British English slang and police terminology, at the back of this book.

  Characters in this book are completely fictional and do not represent anyone living or dead

  Hope you enjoy the read.

  Gwyn GB

  Published in 2018 by Chalky Dog Publishing

  Copyright © Gwyn GB 2018

  Gwyn GB has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher and copyright holder.

  All characters and their storylines, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to persons living, or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book will be available from the British Library

  1

  Claire , Saturday 4th November 2017, London

  ‘I can’t believe it’s happened here, it’s a nice neighbourhood.’ Trails of cigarette smoke escaped from the woman’s mouth as she spoke. She paused to take another drag. DI Claire Falle stepped back slightly, finding it hard to take her eyes away from her black tooth and the gash of red lipstick that looked like it had been hastily applied before coming out to share the gossip. No-one ever believed it could happen on their doorstep, but they always wanted to know what went on.

  ‘You didn’t see anything? Hear anything unusual, anyone shouting maybe?’

  The woman shook her head. She’d dyed her hair a vivid pink, all the rage in 2017 Britain. Claire thought it was a nice colour, but it didn’t do a woman in her sixties, with red lipstick and a green lounge suit, many favours.

  ‘Strictly was on. Had it up loud so Felix couldn’t hear the fireworks. Bloody things, scare him witless. That JLS lad, Aston something, got voted off - he was the bookies’ favourite. That caused a right rumpus. Not my favourite though, Anton and Ruth did a great Paso doble. That Craig Revel-Horwood called them a drag act, he can be such a bitch sometimes. I think…’

  They’re both distracted from their conversation by a loud screech as a woman rushed from a side road towards the police cordon. Claire was quick to react. She was across the road and had grabbed both of the woman’s arms before she’d reached the car.

  ‘David!’ the woman screamed at the top of her voice before collapsing onto her knees and nearly pulling Claire down on top of her. ‘My David.’

  In front of them the forensic team was working quickly to cover over the scene inside the parked car but, from this angle, David’s red swollen face was still visible. Contorted. Mouth open. His head hung at a strange angle. Circling his shoulders and the head rests and agitated by the movement outside of the windows, were two black and yellow snakes which had kept the car doors closed and the emergency services outside. It was obvious the paramedics didn’t need to risk a bite.

  The white forensic tent encircled the car just as a specialist team arrived to deal with the reptiles. It was just after 9pm. Right now Claire wasn’t sure if this was an accident or murder, but she did know it was going to be a long night.

  The paramedics seemed relieved to at least be able to help the hyper-ventilating wife of the snake-bitten corpse. It was bad enough discovering your husband is dead but the sight of him had sent her into immediate shock.

  ‘He hates snakes,’ she kept saying over and over. Claire gently tried to coax some information out of her. Where was he going? Was he transporting the snakes for someone? Could this in anyway be an accident?

  It didn’t take long to surmise that two poisonous snakes being carried in the car of a reptile-hating accountant, was highly unlikely. Added to this, the fact that once an attempt was made to open the doors of the car it became clear they’d been sealed shut, and DCI Robert Walsh’s arrival on the scene marked the launch of a murder investigation.

  The whole of Pennyfoot Road became a crime scene. Police swarmed through the neighbourhood knocking on doors, searching for clues. The pink-haired green lounge suit was in her element, telling anyone who would listen, about the gruesome discovery and the grief stricken wife. Her gossip was lapped up by the row of reporters confined behind the crime scene tape and watched over sentry-like by Special Constables.

  Claire escorted the grieving widow, Mrs Alice Lyle, back to her home a couple of roads away leaving forensics, and her boss, to gather as much as they could.

  ‘Why would anyone do that to him?’ Alice asked repeatedly. ‘He’s just an Accountant, why would anyone want to kill him?’

  Claire resisted the urge to quote a few famous cases where accountants, perfectly placed to have their fingers on the money pulse, have either brought down criminal empires or used their knowledge to make themselves rich.

  ‘That’s what we need to find out Mrs Lyle. Would you mind if myself and a couple of colleagues look through your husband’s things? See if we can find any clues? These first few hours are critical.’

  Alice Lyle shook her head and whispered a barely audible, ‘That’s fine.’ She stumbled and Claire caught her elbow to support her.

  ‘Mrs Lyle, can I ask you how you knew your husband had been attacked?’

  'Twitter. I recognised his car. Someone had posted a video. They thought he was drunk or something.'

  Claire discreetly sent a text to DCI Walsh. They'd want to find that video quickly in case it was taken down, as it might show something useful.

  Alice Lyle led Claire along a row of neat brick houses. The neighbourhood wasn't affluent, but it wasn’t working class poor either. One of the London streets that had seen a 'gentrification' as they called it. In other words an influx of city workers that had caused such big hikes in house prices that only the well paid could afford to buy there.

  Half way along, Alice stopped in her tracks and caught her breath.

  Claire followed her stare. In front of them the door to a house was ajar, light shafted from the hallway into the night. Her heart sank for Alice. Hadn't the woman suffered enough tonight without her house being burgled too?

  Alice patted her pockets.

  'I didn't take my keys. I think I just ran out...'

  'Let me go in first. You wait here.' Claire left her leaning against the gate post and gently pushed open the door with her shoe, careful not to contaminate any potential evidence.

  The hallway was empty, but she could hear a TV on in the sitting room. Men's voices shouted. She recognised the last episode in the Gunpowder Plot on BBC 1. She'd got it on record at home. It was difficult to hear anything else with the TV on so she edged into the house, muscles tensed for action, scanning with her eyes and keeping her back to the wall where possible.

  She relaxed sligh
tly when she got into the sitting room. Alice's handbag was in plain sight, her mobile phone on the sofa and a quick check found her purse still inside the bag. If a burglar had entered they would have gone for the easy pickings first.

  Still, she was cautious. After a quick check through the window to see if Alice was still OK, Claire carried on through the rest of the house, all senses on high alert. In the hallway, the movement of her reflection in a mirror startled her. She gulped and then gave the auburn haired woman staring back at her a hard, "man-up" glare.

  It's hard to know what instinct tells you something is wrong, despite what you see and what your head reasons. The kitchen was also seemingly untouched, but something still didn't feel right. Perhaps it was the shift in the air, or a disturbance in the balance of the energy of the house, but when Claire opened the study door and found its contents tossed and scattered, she wasn't surprised.

  2

  Unknown, Saturday 4th November 2017, Jersey

  The diamond was another beauty, she absolutely loved it. Flawless, ageless and priceless. How ironic. Today's event was regrettable, but necessary. The perfect rock in her hand made it all worthwhile. She almost purred as she looked at it. The only sound seeping through the large double glazed windows was the whisper of waves crashing on rocks. Outside it was almost dark, but she hadn't bothered pulling the curtains – there was no chance of prying neighbours in this room.

  Her mind wandered back to the phone call she'd received just a few minutes earlier. The Cobras had been an extra expense, the guy who she'd employed hadn't been keen on her methodology, but thanks to the rapid rise in her bitcoin values, he'd been persuaded without her feeling out of pocket. Everything had gone to plan. If only he knew just how clever she had been.

  The accountant had been foolish, greedy. Pity, she'd quite liked him. His death would be sure to make all the headlines and that was the intention. The others would be quaking in their beds tonight and she should have no more trouble.

  The gem shone in the lamplight as she held it, caressing its smooth surface. From somewhere down below, a front door banged. Her knuckles turned white and she took one last look at the diamond before putting it safely away, ready to add to her growing collection.

  She knew that it wouldn’t be much longer now. The accountant's action had triggered her final hand. It was a shame, she'd been enjoying the power trip and the deception. Still, the best was yet to come.

  3

  Claire, Saturday 4th November 2017, London

  DCI Robert Walsh's holiday skin looked out of place in the cold, dark London street. The light from work lamps set up by the Crime Scene Investigators showed new freckles on his nose and made the scar on his cheek glisten white. Claire felt a tinge of jealousy at the thought of two weeks lying on a beach at an all-inclusive resort in Dubai - but then she brought herself up for it. DCI Walsh worked hard, if anyone deserved a break it was him.

  He was already firmly in control of the investigation, intermittently barking commands into his phone, or at various officers in the street. She'd phoned in what she'd found at the victim's home and before she'd left, forensics had cordoned off the household and uniformed officers were leading the shaking Alice Lyle away.

  Claire caught up with Bob Walsh, stood at the entrance to the forensics’ tent. Inside, David Lyle's car sat hidden from prying eyes.

  'Can't stand the things,' he curled his lips and nodded at the car where a man in protective suiting was carefully extricating a large black and yellow snake. Now Claire understood why Bob was only in the doorway.

  'King Cobras apparently. Venom's enough to kill an elephant,' he continued. The unfortunate David Lyle was more than enough evidence of that fact.

  'You heading back?' she asked, mindful that the team at the station would be forming and she hadn't had a hot drink in hours.

  'Yup, let's get to it. Someone wanted to create a stir, and they've achieved it. I haven't seen this many hacks in one place since Diana died. That Twitter video has already been sold to Sky and I've had five phone calls from Media Liaison already.'

  Claire looked up the street at the waiting journalists and photographers. Bob was right, this one would make some juicy headlines. The pressure was on.

  It felt good to be back working with Bob. The last year had not only been a frustrating one, it also hadn't been easy. She'd questioned everything she'd done and thought throughout the Neil Parsons' murder investigation and the resulting enquiry into the SoulMates dating agency. She'd also had lots of questions asked of her. The force has a tight budget at the best of times and she knew that Bob had been put under pressure to explain why he'd sanctioned the extra investigation.

  Tying up the loose ends of the Neil Parsons' murder case hadn't been too taxing, but after several months of fruitless investigative work, Crown Prosecution said there simply wasn't anywhere near enough evidence to make a case with regard to the SoulMates deaths. In fact, there wasn't a shred of evidence to say they were suspicious deaths at all. Their one and only accuser, Bethan Jones, had been forced to go back into rehab and her dossier on Rachel Hill read like the ramblings of the obsessive stalker they'd initially thought she was. The only result was several sets of grieving families annoyed at the fact the deaths of their loved ones had been re-investigated, probing questions asked, old wounds re-opened, only for it all to be shut down again and told it was a false alarm. Publicly they were able to say that it was their duty to investigate every credible claim that a crime had been committed, but it hadn't made for a successful police enquiry and it had knocked her confidence. Maybe her dad was right, maybe she hasn’t got what it takes.

  Claire walked back to her car, managing to avoid the waiting journalists, who were instead pre-occupied with catching the attention of her boss. DCI Bob Walsh is practiced at ignoring media questions and she could see his grey head en route to his car as he stonewalled the bunch of them. He also knew full well that a statement was being carefully prepared back at the station ready to counter some of the wildest gossip that might otherwise appear in the morning papers.

  Claire's mind was racing; it's not often your murder weapon was a venomous snake. A more pleasant image popped into her head of Mark Rodgers, the forensic pathologist she would no doubt be seeing within the next twenty-four hours. The last time she'd seen him, just two days ago, had been somewhat more pleasant circumstances. There'd been candles between them, not a dead body. The memory of their dinner at Carluccio's brought a smile to the corners of her mouth.

  She couldn’t hold that image in her head for long, David Lyle's upturned office forced its way back in and she wondered if the killer had found what they'd been looking for. She also briefly wondered what kind of a greeting she and Alice would have got if they'd reached the house before the intruder or intruders had left. Then she pushed that thought out of her head. It doesn't do to dwell on thoughts like that in her business.

  The snakes had to be some kind of symbolic message, otherwise a simple knife or bullet would have been far cleaner. Most pre-meditated killers would go for a quick execution and easy exit, not ensure they drew attention to the event.

  Claire had just reached her car and was about to turn the engine on, when her mobile rang. Bob's name appeared on the screen.

  'Looks like we may have found where the snakes are from,' he said, without even bothering to introduce himself. 'There was a break-in a week ago at a specialist dealer in North London. Get yourself up there quick. Report says there's CCTV and we need whatever we can get.'

  Claire typed the address he gave her into her sat nav and with a big sigh, turned her car round, northward. There'd be a McDonalds en-route, that would have to do for dinner and a caffeine hit.

  By the time she’d arrived at the address, her car was full of the aroma of re-circulated fries and burger, but at least her mind had stopped being distracted by the gnaw in her stomach. A thin wire of a man with a receding hairline appeared at the door of the retail unit before she'd even turned the
headlights out. He made her think of that old adage about people resembling their pets. He offered her a drink, but the McDonald's pitstop had scratched that itch and besides, she wasn’t sure she wanted to drink from a mug that had been washed in the same sink as reptile equipment.

  'About time someone took this seriously. You need to have a licence to handle these things for a reason,' he told her as he showed her a glass pen where a large King Cobra was sleeping. 'They're intelligent, they're quick and they're deadly.'

  'You say they were taken a week ago?'

  'Yup, two pairs.'

  'Two pairs? Four?'

  He nodded.

  'You are going to give them back aren't you? I mean they're valuable. I had a buyer.'

  'I'm sure you can retrieve them as soon as the initial investigation is concluded and we've confirmed they're yours.'

  'Where were they found?'

  She wasn’t going to share that just yet. He'd obviously not seen the news and she couldn't be sure if he was a limelight seeker or not.

  'At a crime scene.'

  'I've got photos of them, each one is different you know. An expert will be able to easily identify them as mine. They can be sensitive, I should have them back as soon as possible.'

  'We need to find out where they've been kept this last week,' Claire followed him into the back room. 'What kind of equipment would someone need to keep them?'

  'Warmth and humidity they like. They'd be ok without eating for a bit.'

  He logged into an old computer, Claire could tell it was going to take a few minutes before it would be ready to give forth any information. She looked around. There were bars on all the windows.