“No. Don’t think so.” Gloria followed the detective’s gaze. “Buddy, leave her alone. She’s not come to see you.”
“What about your…” She sneezed again. “Excuse me. Sorry. Husband?”
Gloria grinned at the young woman in front of her. “He had to go back to bed. He’s ill. He hasn’t said anything to me.”
Aware of the ungodly hour, she relented. “Okay. Thank you, Mrs Goode.” Quickly scribbling her name and number on a blank sheet of notepaper before tearing it off and holding it out, she said, “We may have to talk to your husband at some point, but if you think of anything else, please give me a call.”
Gloria pocketed the piece of paper without even looking at it.
“I’ll let you get back to bed.” She made her way to the front door, happy to escape the persistent smell assaulting her sinuses.
“Not much chance of that with all this going on,” Gloria said, taking hold of the door as the detective passed through it.
“Good job you’re not in a terrace,” she said, looking on the bright side, then realising that it was exactly the situation she lived in.
“I guess,” Gloria said.
She felt eyes on her as she walked down the path until she was back along the road. The front of the damaged house was dark in contrast to the neighbours’. The front door was intact, but the large window had broken at some point, and dark, sooty stains covered the edges of the jagged glass. The upper floor had fared worse. Windows were blackened, although they were not broken. But the roof had a gaping hole, and the black smoke was escaping, intermittently lit by the blue lights.
As she approached the scene, she noticed a path to one side. It looked as if it led off into fields at the back of the row of houses. Turning on her phone torch, she could see a tall fence enclosing the garden. It seemed odd, considering there was little chance of being overlooked from nearby houses. This type of fence was expected in a cramped city, but surely out here you’d want to see the views of the countryside. Maybe the darkness hid an ugly view yet to be seen.
The large gate at the side of the building was wide open. From her position on the path, she could see the relatively small outside space at the back of the house, no doubt referred to as a “spacious, established garden” by an unscrupulous estate agent. Edging along the path, she could see a gaping black hole in the back of the building. The back door had been smashed in at some point. Graham Brown’s words came back to her: the door was already open; vandalism was a possibility.
Flashlights began moving around inside as three firefighters made their way outside, carrying axes and large metal rods.
She took her phone out of her pocket and pretended to check on something as they made their way to the front of the house. Securing the scene was one of the most important aspects of police work; compromised evidence was no good to anyone. Taking her chance, she hurried through the gate, hesitating for a second as she approached the sooty doorway, almost overcome by the smoky, acrid smell that filled her lungs. She pulled the sleeve of her jacket to cover her nose and mouth before carefully making her way inside. The sound of dripping water in the dank room set her mind on edge; it felt like being underground.
She tapped the flashlight on her phone and began moving around what looked like a relatively small room. In one corner, she could see a doorway leading to the front of the house. She leant to one side and aimed her phone at the floor to prevent being seen. The flashing blue lights of a fire engine shone through a smoke-tinted broken window. The voices of the firefighters drifted through as the lights glared off the dripping walls.
Speed was of the essence if she didn’t want to be seen; they could be back at any minute. Flicking on the camera option, she began videoing the scene around her. Once-decorated walls were now obscured with smoke damage. Partially visible, flowery wallpaper appeared along one wall as the flashlight danced along the surface. Panning around the room, she could see it was almost empty and moved to the internal wall separating the two main rooms downstairs. A number of boxes were stacked along the length. They looked damaged, but not extensively; partial words were still visible. It was the only place the body could be. She moved the light to the floor to avoid stepping on any debris or evidence; the last thing she needed was to trash the scene. Swallowing hard, she moved closer to the boxes, not knowing what she was going to find behind them. Dead bodies were something she’d seen before, but not charred remains. She prayed her stomach could take it.
Focusing on the screen, she hoped it would put some distance between her and whatever was there. Tilting the phone, the top of a dirty skirting board came into view, followed by a dark shape. It took a second for the image to come into focus. Sweeping the camera down helped put the form into context. Coal-covered legs filled the small screen. It wasn’t clear how charred the legs were until patches of patterned material became visible below what looked like the knees. The legs were bent as if the figure were lying on its side. Further down, several layers of coloured thick socks were visible, as was a large boot on one foot; the other foot was covered by only a dark-green sock. She scanned around. The other boot wasn’t in the immediate area.
Edging along the row of boxes, moving the camera along the body, she let the torso slip into view. It too was partially charred, the large dark coat still visible on one side, flapping open to the floor. One arm, the right, was trailing behind the torso; the other one looked like it was tucked under the body itself. The thick coat gave the figure a bulky look. She swallowed hard as she got close to the head and the shoulder came into view. She was expecting the worst but released a breath when she realised the hood was up, covering most of the head, saving her from that particular horror. What was visible was partially featureless as it faced the wall.
The images of smoke inhalation victims that she’d seen had not prepared her for this. They’d looked asleep for the most part.
She was just about to pan around the room once more to check the area around the body when she heard footsteps coming towards her.
“What the fuck! What are you doing in here? It hasn’t been secured yet.”
The gruff voice made her jump. Turning, she saw a large fireman with a metal prop in his gloved hand. It took her a moment to realise it was Officer Brown from earlier. His coloured safety hat gave him away in the darkened room.
She resisted asking him what he was doing in there too, if it was that dangerous. “I’m documenting the scene in case it deteriorates. It’s evidence!” Her frustration was apparent in her voice, even to her.
“I don’t give a shit about that. Out now!” Brown replied with just as much vigour.
Glaring at him didn’t seem to be getting her anywhere, though curiously, his eyes seemed to get further apart the angrier he got. “Just one minute,” she spat in his direction.
“No! Now!”
He rushed across the room towards her, pushing her towards the door. He must have slipped as his full weight slammed against her, pushing her against the back wall of the room. For a moment, she thought the roof was caving in as debris began falling around them. The rod that he had been carrying smashed against her hip as he fell on top of her, sending a shockwave of pain along her hip bone. He seemed to be up on his feet in a split second as he pulled her out the back door with him.
“Are you fucking stupid or something? I said it wasn’t cleared yet.” He almost screamed in her face.
“Hey, it wasn’t me that smashed up the place,” she replied with equal venom.
Two other fire officers arrived on the scene, no doubt drawn by the noise and angry voices. Outnumbered, she backed away, not wanting to escalate the situation any more. Walking away triggered a shooting pain in her hip as she moved. Negotiating her way through the firefighters and their equipment, she felt their attention on her. Looking down at her clothes, she quickly tried to brush away the evidence of being found in a fire-damaged house.
Realising she wouldn’t be able to enter the scene anytime soon, she hobbled back to her car. She was going to get the bollocking of her life for damaging the scene, whether it was her fault or not. The DCI wouldn’t care. Great first day, I’ll probably get kicked off the case, sent back to London. Maybe not so bad after all. She could quite happily get in her car and leave this place far behind her.
She arrived at her car, realising she didn’t even know where the station was from here. As she let out a long breath and relaxed back against the headrest, a car passing by made her look up. Another patrol car. Relief for Davies? She watched as the officer got out of the car and chatted with Davies for a few minutes before handing him the keys to the patrol car.
Lowering her window, she waited for the police car to get closer before sticking her hand out to get the officer’s attention, waiting until the patrol car stopped parallel with her own. “Are you going back to the station?”
He nodded with a smile.
Great. “I’ll follow you.”
Warner Police Station turned out to be a spacious, old-fashioned manor house set back from the main street as if it had once been surrounded by open land until the addition of modern roads had cut across the estate. Approaching the front of the building, she gingerly walked up stone steps through an ornate, carved archway. The inside was a little disappointing, crudely modernised to keep up with current policing requirements. Florescent strip lights replaced ornamental chandeliers, exposing every mismatched moulding or clumsily installed partition wall. After she had introduced herself to him, the desk sergeant furnished her with a swipe card that allowed her to access various parts of the building. She figured he was the one that had had the pleasure of calling her earlier, pulling her from her warm bed. Formalities over, he placed a call for someone to take her up to the offices.
PC Davies had apparently drawn the short straw once again, since he appeared through the security door. He rattled off a quick tour of the station before depositing her at a desk in a large open-plan office. She took in her surroundings: the office was empty of workers but full of desks, filing cabinets, and overstuffed folders. This would be her home-away-from-home, at least for the next six months. She saw a small office on one side of the room. She could just about read the name on the plaque: DCI Helen Taylor. With a bit of luck, she’d have a few hours to prepare for that confrontation.
Switching on the computer, she started work on her report.
Chapter 2
DCI Helen Taylor entered the large room housing her small team of officers. A hushed silence greeted her; not surprising after this morning’s events. She briskly pushed open her office door and, a few moments later, the sound of the metal blind clattering in complaint broke the awkward silence.
Throwing her coat on the nearest chair, Helen fished out her mobile which had been silently ringing for the last ten minutes. She scanned the caller ID—Graham Brown again—then rummaged through the stacks of files on her desk, looking for DC Kate Wolfe’s personnel file. It had been Mike’s last job to provide her with the details of his replacement. She continued to sift through files. What do they call it—baby brain or something equally derogatory—when pregnant women get forgetful? No doubt Mike would say he had it by proxy. She immediately felt guilty when the file appeared in front of her.
Figuring she’d made Brown wait long enough, she finally accepted the call.
“Taylor. What’s up, Graham?” she asked as she scanned Wolfe’s file.
“You need to pull your new officer in line!”
Helen immediately took umbrage with his attitude and emphasis on officer.
“You mean my acting DS?” she asked loudly as she looked out through the blind at the large office beyond hers. A head bobbed up at her words. A head that belonged to a figure she vaguely recognised from Kate Wolfe’s file was hunched over Mike’s desk. Helen slumped back into her chair, looking up at the grubby tiles that made up the suspended ceiling of her tiny office.
“She’s fucking crazy; running into a fire-damaged building before it’s cleared…”
Graham’s voice was full of bluster; maybe she should have taken the call sooner. She took a deep breath. It was going to be a very long six months.
Mike Richards had probably been the best DS she had ever worked with, reliable, and trustworthy. It had taken years to mould him just to the right shape; now he was a new father taking six months leave. Why couldn’t she get another Mike instead of some crazy hothead?
“I don’t know what to tell you. She’s new…from London.” She hoped that might go some way to explaining her actions. She closed her eyes to block out his whining voice, waiting for him to take a breath so she could respond, “Well, they breed them thick-skinned down there. Must be all the knife crime. Save money on stab vests or something.”
From her seated position, she could only see the top half of DC Wolfe’s profile; the rest was hidden by a filing cabinet. There was still a smudge of soot on her forehead. Nobody had bothered to tell her. She needs a nickname. Helen thumbed through Kate Wolfe’s file again while she listened to Graham droning on in her ear. She’d already had a blow-by-blow account of the events at the scene via the desk sergeant on her way in.
She responded quickly to his silence, hoping he had finally run out of steam or maybe had a coronary, which he was surely heading for sooner or later.
“I know, I know. She’s a bit wild…I’ll reign her in, okay? Send me a copy of your report as soon as it’s ready. And say hello to your lovely wife for me.” Helen grinned at her own words, not waiting for a response as she ended the call. From her desk, she could see heads immediately bobbing down, pretending to be knee-deep in work. The veil of tiredness engulfed her again. The last few days had taken their toll on her energy levels. She struggled to understand how someone else’s sickness could make her so tired.
Pushing away from her desk, she got to her feet and walked into the main office. She stopped at Mike’s desk, resisting the urge to lean on it, to crowd her new officer. Instead she stood back, keeping her voice just loud enough for everyone to get the gist of her disappointment. “Well, Virginia, you’ve already made quite an impression with the Fire Department.”
She watched as the young woman looked around the room in confusion before looking up to meet her gaze.
“Sorry.”
The attractiveness of her new detective surprised Helen; the photograph on her file didn’t do her justice. She felt the weight of Wolfe’s stare as large brown eyes focused on her. They looked like perfectly formed chocolate drops, the same shade as her ponytailed hair. Her oval face looked flush with embarrassment, with more sooty smudges on her left cheek, like a child that had wiped at a snotty nose. The sight warmed her heart, and she resisted holding up a hand to clean off the dirty marks. Just.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got your back. Brown’s had a bug up his rear end since his wife left him three months ago.”
Helen moved closer. She rested a hand on Mike’s desk, remembering she needed to establish some authority over this rogue officer.
“Everyone gets one free pass…” she said, and lowered her voice as she locked eyes with Kate. “Next time I’ll cut you off at the knees. Clear?”
Kate’s throat twitched as she swallowed hard, like she was trying to swallow unwanted chewing gum. “Yes, DCI Taylor. Sorry.”
Bollocking over for now, Helen made a start on the task at hand. “So, there was no ID found on the body, right?”
“That’s right…”
Helen looked back at Kate, expecting an end to the sentence she’d started so confidently.
“Ma’am.”
Helen gave her a second look to make sure she wasn’t taking the piss before continuing. “Well, let’s see this film you risked your life to shoot at the scene, as it’s a little more inaccessible right now.”
Helen watched w
ith a little too much pleasure as Kate fumbled to plug her phone into the cable dangling from her computer. Her new detective obviously wasn’t a stranger to technology as she quickly pulled up the video. Two uniformed officers made up a small group gathering behind her to view the footage.
The image was a little shaky as it panned around a dark, charred, and smoke-damaged room. The spotlight bounced off puddles of water gathered at the bottom of the wall. Remains of a once-domesticated environment were just visible beyond the smoke damage; remnants of partially charred furniture littered the floor on one side.
She tried not to grin as the sound of Kate swearing rumbled from the small speakers next to the computer. The image jolted as she had obviously stumbled over some debris while moving around the fire-ravaged room. The shaky image moved towards a smoky wall. In front was a series of what looked like tea chests creating a dwarf wall. The camera moved closer, peering inside an empty chest before peeking over the top. The figure on the floor was swathed in dark clothing as if hunkered down for a cold night. As the camera travelled down the lower half of the figure, a pair of legs blackened from the knee caps protruded to one side. The image came into focus; partial scraps of clothing became pin-sharp on the screen. The green- and red-checked material passed through the video, followed by one booted foot and then the other, with a thick green sock. Pyjamas maybe, Helen thought, although there was something familiar about it.
The image moved back down the body, darkening with every centimetre. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kate look away as a twisted, charred arm came into focus. Helen was glad to see she wasn’t comfortable yet with the image of death right in front of her. In her time, she’d attended a number of fire deaths; thank God Smell-O-Vision never really took off.
“Wait, go back a bit,” Helen said, moving closer. “There…pause it.”
Helen reached out, almost touching the screen. She recognised the pattern. Only a week ago, she’d commented on his particular style to the wearer.
Payback Page 2
