Tightrope

by Andrea Frazer

  Being of a curious disposition, while the computer was booting up, she had a quick look out of the back window, moving aside the lace curtains as she did so. The latter were the only tasteless things in here, and she wondered why the occupier felt she needed to protect her property from view, then she remembered that there was a Neighbourhood Watch sticker in the porch window. That might explain it. If she didn’t give burglars the chance to case her interior, they may just leave the house alone.

  Noticing that the garden was beautifully kept and planted, she realised that there was only one sour note, and that was where the end of a flower bed had been raked up, small plants and a few remnants of soil showing on the patio flagstones. What a pity. Probably cats, she thought, before returning to the task in hand.

  What a sweet child, was her first thought, as the file opened. There had obviously been more than one visit to this new granddaughter, and as Penny sent the pictures off into the blue yonder, she hoped the child would soon be found. She was a very motherly figure who adored her children and she pondered that, if she won the lottery, she would leave the force – although she enjoyed her job – and just spend her time with them.

  It was very soon time to lock up and return the key to the neighbour, where she had to fend off yet another offer of a hot beverage, this time a cup of coffee.

  DC Desai, meanwhile, had gone off to the mini-mart to speak to Mr Shah again. As expected, he had to park round the corner again because of the double-yellow restrictions, but it wasn’t far to walk.

  Mr Shah went into a tizzy as soon as he saw Desai again. ‘They were in here,’ he claimed, using his arms for emphasis. ‘They’ve been in here a couple of times, but I never thought anything about it. They were just a couple of immigrants who didn’t speak English and needed a bit of help, but there was a red-headed gentleman with them, so I didn’t have to come out from behind the counter. Just as well, as it was just before closing time and very late. I’m always very careful with customers when it’s very late.’

  Desai already had out his notebook and began to ask questions about the man who was with them, and what they bought. It probably wouldn’t be of any use to the investigation, but he thought he needed to go back to the DCI with something concrete. And that was the second mention of a red-haired man in connection with this couple.

  ‘Would you recognise this man again, the one who was with the two whose photos were shown on television?’

  ‘He had one of those, what do you call them, hoodies, on, but when he looked up to see some prices, it fell backward a little bit. That’s how I know the colour of his hair. And he had spots on his face.’

  ‘Acne?’

  ‘What is this? No, I think you call them “freckles”.’ He smiled proudly at his production of the word.

  ‘Would you be willing to look at some photographs from our records, Mr Shah, to see if you could identify this man?’

  ‘Ah, indubitably.’

  There wasn’t a lot to be learnt here, and Desai was soon on his way back to his car, slightly disappointed, but also rather pleased that he had got an agreement for Mr Shah to come in and look at faces. The daughter from number five Gooding Avenue had already popped in, but had not been able to make an identification due, she thought, to the low light conditions in which she had seen him.

  As Desai got back to his car, he heard a knocking noise. Looking around him to see where it had come from, he saw an elderly lady knuckling a front window pane and beckoning at him with her other hand. What could she possibly want with him? How could she even know who he was?

  He walked up the path, and noticed her figure disappear, presumably to let him in. There was a shuffling noise from the other side of the wood, and the door opened slowly to reveal a woman well advanced in years, her back bent with arthritis, her slippers misshapen at the big-toe joint, her hand not concealed by the door showing knuckles that were more like nuts than joints, so swollen were they.

  ‘Young man,’ she said, having to angle her head upwards to look at him although he wasn’t tall – osteoporosis was a cruel condition – ‘are you that policeman who came to speak to that girl in the shop?’

  ‘How did you know that?’ he enquired. He would surely have recognised her if she had been out and about in the street.

  ‘Oh, I have a network of neighbours that keep me informed about everything. As you can see, I’m not very mobile, and I get most of my entertainment from looking at the people who park along the street. Speculating about them is much more interesting than the television – mindless trash, I call it.’

  ‘Can I have your name, madam, and what can I do for you?’ Desai was intrigued as he got out his notebook.

  ‘I’m Ada Belcher, and you can come in, for a start, and make us a cup of tea. I have something to tell you.’ Respect for elders was something that had been imparted to him by his family, so he went past her down the hall to put the kettle on.

  When they were seated in her mothball-scented front room and she had told him that she was ninety-five years old, she finally got down to business. ‘I wasn’t in my viewing seat when that young woman arrived – you know, the one that said her baby had been taken from her car? Well, I’m sitting here telling you that there was no child taken from that car. It was a lie.’

  ‘How do you know if you weren’t at the window?’ The DC began to wonder if the old lady suffered from hallucinations.

  She speared him with a fierce and knowing eye and said, ‘When I got back and settled myself down again the car was parked there, but the back seat was empty. When that young girl got back, she didn’t even look inside properly before she started yelling.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’ He had to ask. ‘How is your eyesight?’

  ‘I need glasses for reading the newspaper, but I can see perfectly at a distance, and I’m telling you that that back seat had no child in it.’

  ‘Would you be willing to make a statement to that effect?’

  ‘Young man, I’d be willing to stand up in court under oath and testify that the back seat of that car was empty.’

  While Lauren took a quick trip to the Ladies, Olivia’s phone rang and she found a representative of the hospital at the other end. Of course, she should have transferred them straight away to Buller’s extension, but she was eager for information on a case she had now been locked out of.

  What she was told made her eyes and mouth open in surprise. The woman, Lena, was dead. They weren’t sure, yet, what had killed her, but they’d get back as soon as possible with any new information. The death had been discovered about ten minutes ago, and the body had been sent straight for post-mortem so that cause of death could be established.

  Of course, with injuries as severe as hers had been and the physical and mental shock of losing her eyes, it could have been that her constitution just wasn’t strong enough to carry on, but there was a feeling that something fishy was in the air.

  ‘Why didn’t you call as soon as she died?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘Sorry. We were rather hoping to have a cause of death for you as well, but the results won’t be back for a while yet, and we didn’t want to wait any longer, but we have got back the results of a preliminary blood test. Let me explain what we found …’

  ‘Let us know as soon as you’ve got something,’ she barked, somehow forgetting to tell the medico on the line that they should contact DCI Buller when they called later. How very remiss of her. She smiled as she ended the call.

  Lauren had left her desk after hearing the noise that let her know that she had received a text. She took a quick look and saw that it was from Daz Westbrook, and Olivia didn’t seem to have noticed what she was doing. Without reading it, she excused herself, saying that she had left something in the Ladies, and rushed as fast as she could to lock herself in a cubicle. Whether this message was positive or negative, she knew it would show on her face, and she didn’t want anybody around to see her when she read it.

  Once s
afely behind a locked door, she pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and read the message. ‘Same time 2nite?’

  Sending back a reply that said ‘Same place 2’, she quickly phoned Mrs Moth, her fingers crossed that neither of them got held up, and told her childminder that she would be late again.

  As she put her phone back into her pocket, she could feel her cheeks redden. Was she really going to do this again? It seemed her body had taken precedence to the logical and sensible part of her brain. It was a really bad idea to have a relationship with a work colleague, apart from the fact that he was so much younger than her and probably was only using her as a convenience while he was between girlfriends. She just hoped that he could keep his mouth shut, and didn’t want to brag about this senior – in more ways than one – conquest.

  After throwing cold water round her face to cool it down, she refreshed her make-up before heading back to the office hoping that she wasn’t giving out any detectable signals about what she planned to do after work, and with whom. Before she’d left, however, another text came through: ‘Str8 2 mine.’ As she went out of the door, her mind taunted her with the thought that he didn’t even want to spend the money for one drink before getting down to business. Wasn’t that enough proof that he was just using her body?

  With her chin thrust out, she walked down the corridor and towards the CID office. She didn’t care. She was using him as much as he was using her, and that was a relationship, of sorts, between equals who sought no more than physical satisfaction. At the last moment, she changed her mind and changed direction to the canteen for a cup of coffee before having to face Daz Westbrook in person. Texting she could do, but for looking straight into his face she might need to compose herself a little.

  When she did return to her desk, chickening out and sitting down without looking across the office, Olivia was on her phone, her face wreathed in a mixture of excitement and triumph. As she sat down, Olivia called Buller over. Lauren had caught her last words, mentioning the DCI’s name, and she wondered what was going on.

  Buller swaggered over to the desk, a challenging expression on his face and asked her abruptly, ‘What?’

  ‘That was the hospital, sir. They contacted me, not having been given your details.’

  ‘Well, why didn’t you have the call transferred?’

  ‘The person on the other end had some bad news, and I didn’t want to interrupt them once they had started.’

  ‘What was the news?’

  ‘Lena, our woman from Gooding Avenue, is dead.’

  ‘How? When?’

  ‘They’ve not had time to do a post-mortem yet, but an initial blood test showed very high levels of insulin, and the only way that could have got into her bloodstream was through her drip tubes via the bag.’

  ‘How the hell did anyone get past the nurses’ station? I told them not to let anyone not in the force’ – he hadn’t managed to swallow the fact that they were now a service – ‘in to see her.’

  ‘The person who spoke to me on the phone said that they didn’t. But they did mention that a doctor popped into the room briefly while Shuttleworth went to get a sandwich and to relieve himself.’

  ‘Did we send anyone to relieve him for these activities?’

  ‘No, actually we didn’t. We just trusted to his common sense to bring something to eat with him and to get a nurse to sit in if he needed to go to the Gents. Thing is, none of the nurses could put a name to the doctor.’

  His face was perfect thunder. ‘Jenner!’ he roared, ‘I want you over to the hospital immediately, ‘and you, Leo. Someone’s got on to the ward impersonating a doctor and has killed our victim. Now we’ll never get a statement from her.’

  ‘But I’m crime scene manager,’ Jenner protested.

  ‘And we’ve got another crime scene and they’re very closely connected. Get over there right away and see how this gigantic cock-up could have happened.’

  Leo made straight for Jenner’s work station without a word of instruction. He knew better than not to react instantly to the DCI. He didn’t need chewing out. Jenner rose from his seat without another word of protest. He’d worked with Buller before, and he was well aware of the consequences of not reacting with alacrity.

  ‘And I hope you put them right on who was SIO on this case, Hardy.’

  ‘I did, sir. I said I’d been passed over for someone of higher rank and that they should speak to you in the future.’

  ‘What time did she die?’

  ‘I didn’t write it down, sir. Sorry.’

  ‘Who phoned?’

  ‘Again, not sure. There were two calls from different people.’

  ‘And you didn’t speak to me after the first?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. I didn’t think.’

  ‘More likely trying to undermine my authority. I shall be having words about you with your superiors. Leo, you stay here. I’ll go with Jenner.’

  Leo headed back towards his desk again while Buller hurried over to Jenner’s side. ‘Come along, Sergeant. We’ve got a bollocking to deliver. No, hang on a minute, I’m not going to waste us on this sort of thing. Jenner, get on to Immigration and see if they’ve got any intel on someone of the description we’ve already got. I’m going to contact Europol again for some mug shots that might fit our member of the Red-Headed League. In fact, I’ll send you, Franklin, and you, Westbrook. May to September might just do the trick.’

  Olivia was fuming, realising that she’d revealed more than she wanted to about the telephone calls, but he’d gone off on the hunt for foreign fugitives, and she thought he’d be considerably calmer when he came back, and might finally content himself with giving Shuttleworth a dressing down when he got back. He’d enjoy that.

  She was distracted by the return to the office of Ali Desai. He looked excited and headed straight for her desk. ‘Any joy with the shopkeeper?’

  ‘He said he’d come in to look at some faces, but my real bit of luck was out of the blue. I was just about to get into my car to head back here and this old lady tapped on her front window and gestured me to come inside.’

  ‘You dirty little pervert,’ hissed Lenny Franklin as he walked past with a wink.

  ‘Carry on, Ali. Don’t mind Franklin. He’s just being facetious.’

  ‘She usually sits at her front window,’ he continued. ‘She likes to watch the world go by. Anyway, she didn’t see Shillington’s car arrive because she was visiting the bathroom, but she did see it when it was parked. She’s absolutely convinced that there was no baby in it, and that when the mother came back, she barely glanced into the car and just started yelling.’

  ‘How’s her eyesight, if she’s not young?’

  ‘It’s excellent. She only wears glasses for reading, and she’s all there; her marbles are definitely still rolling.’

  ‘Is she willing to come in to make a statement?’

  ‘I’m picking her up this afternoon after her nap.’

  ‘Good work, Desai, but bring her in before she even has a sniff of her lunch. This is a crucial piece of information and changes everything. Leo, don’t go away. I want you and O’Brien to get out and find – what was his name? – Baz, Barry, Bartholomew, whatever, Bailey and bring him in for interview. There’s a distinct smell of fish in this case now, and I want to see if we’ve got anything in our net. I know you’re not supposed to be working for me, but you can tell Buller that you were out checking with users and dealers if he asks, later.

  ‘I’ll deal with questioning him when you bring him in, but right now, what I want most of all is that young mother back in here to answer a few questions about what this witness has claimed. It doesn’t quite fit with what we think are the facts and could make a big difference to what we are really dealing with.’

  Lauren looked steadily down at her computer keyboard as Franklin and Westbrook left the office, but didn’t give off any weird vibes when Leo and O’Brien went out a few seconds later. Olivia noticed this difference in reaction and g
ave her a quizzical look. There was definitely something going on here that she didn’t know about.

  For now, though she had a possible new suspect to pick up who was either lying about her baby being snatched, or a batty old lady to sort out. Only time would tell which of these options was the truth.

  CHAPTER TEN

  In the car en route to the hospital, Lenny Franklin was in quite a talkative mood. He spent a lot of time in his own company when not at work these days, and he liked the chance to chat with colleagues, but Westbrook was reluctant to engage in conversation today. He seemed distracted, his mind miles away, and it was only by raising his voice that the elder DC could get through to him. ‘Where’s your head at, Daz? You’re on another planet.’

  Westbrook slowly swivelled his head until he was looking straight at Lenny and replied, ‘Sorry. Something I’ve got to think out.’ It was lucky he wasn’t behind the wheel, because he couldn’t really have given the road ahead sufficient attention to drive safely.

  ‘What’s bothering you? Whatever it is really seems to be eating away at you.’

  ‘Nothing. I can’t talk about it.’

  ‘Surely your Uncle Lenny can help with any girlfriend trouble. I used to be quite a lad, you know.’

  ‘It’s not girlfriend trouble.’

  ‘Well, what else could there be that’s more distracting than that. It’s not money, is it? You haven’t started gambling? Or taking drugs?’ Memories of Colin Redwood flooded back.

  ‘Look, would you leave it, Lenny. When I said I couldn’t talk about it, I meant it. It’s private and I don’t wish to discuss the matter.’ This was said in a very testy voice.

  Lenny shrank away slightly from his partner and apologised for his intrusion. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what the problem is, Daz, but when you’re ready to confide, you know that nothing you tell me will go any further.’

  ‘I know, Lenny. I’m sorry, but it’s just something that I’ve got to work out for myself.’