THEN SHE RAN an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist

by Charlie Gallagher

  Best Kebabs was already looking to be a bold claim before George and Emily stepped in. It was part of a drab, concrete square that sat between a launderette and a betting shop and boasted two-for-one pizzas on a handwritten cardboard star. The front of the shop was empty. George guessed they hadn’t been open long. The displays were largely empty too. A man appeared carrying a tray in each hand, both were loaded with long metal skewers through clumps of sandy coloured meat.

  ‘Hello!’ The man was immediately cheerful. ‘One moment.’ A thick accent, maybe Middle Eastern. George scanned the counter. Sure enough, he could see a stack of the same menus that had been posted through the addresses either side of Adrian. The man positioned the trays under the counter and they were visible behind glass. A fly had settled already. The man straightened up.

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Who does your leafleting?’

  ‘Leaflet?’ the man scowled, his smile dropping away in an instant.

  ‘You have a stack of menus there, who takes them out and drops them through the doors? Do you do it?’

  ‘Ah. You want job?’ The man still looked confused as he looked George up and down. He probably didn’t look like their average candidate.

  ‘No, not exactly.’ George showed his badge. ‘I’m investigating a serious incident. I need to know who’s been out delivering your menus and where they go. No one’s in any trouble, I’m sure. We’re trying to piece together what happened and you guys might be able to help.’

  ‘I’ll . . . you wait. I go see the boss.’

  The man left in a hurry. George had already noted the darkness of the back room had suddenly been flooded with daylight in the last minute. He reckoned they had lost at least one employee out the back. George didn’t need to be reacting to that: more than likely he would end up chasing someone down on foot who would turn out to be an over-stayer. Immigration certainly wouldn’t thank him for that.

  An older man with a shirt tucked into heavy-looking brown trousers emerged from the back. He was overweight, his shirt was open enough to reveal a tight-fitting white vest underneath and his sleeves were rolled up. He was chewing on something. He finished it before he spoke.

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m just here asking a few questions. I’m trying to piece together a serious incident some distance from here.’

  ‘We don’t get involved in things like that here. This is a good place.’

  ‘Things like what?’

  ‘Like what you investigate. We don’t have police come here. We have no trouble. This is a good place.’

  ‘Someone who did have some trouble had your menu delivered. We just wanted to speak to the person who delivers your menus. Maybe he saw something.’

  ‘Our menus? No, we do not deliver these. Not for a long time. No one is reliable, yes?’

  ‘You don’t put them out through people’s doors?’

  ‘No. But people, sometimes they take. A lot at once maybe?’ The man shrugged.

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘I not know, but maybe another of our men. Maybe somebody knows. I will talk tonight, okay?’

  ‘Do you have CCTV?’ George looked up at the ceiling. He could see a plastic dome that looked like it had a camera inside.

  ‘This? This does not work. Not now. It is broken.’

  ‘That is a shame.’ In George’s experience, takeaway shops rarely had working CCTV if they were asked by the police. George scribbled out his details. The man thanked him for them and pocketed the piece of paper without looking at it. George took his name, he was hesitant at first but he gave it. George thanked him and they left.

  ‘We’re not expecting any assistance from in there, are we?’ Emily asked.

  ‘No. It’s a tentative enquiry anyway. Not that it’s my problem. I’ll update Whittaker on the way back and then I’m going to see my victim.’

  ‘You want me to come with you?’

  ‘If you don’t mind. It’s on the way. I only want to drop in and see him for a few minutes for an update. I want him to know that I’m still about.’

  ‘Do you have an update to give him?’

  ‘No. But I’ll think of something.’ They made it back to the car. Emily seemed to be studying him with an air of suspicion. She was right to. There was nothing new to tell Stanley Wingmore about who had murdered his wife. But he wanted Emily to see him for herself, maybe then she would lean a little harder on her source handlers, dig a little deeper. He reckoned she knew exactly what he was doing.

  Chapter 12

  The rain was now heavier. Jenny was still under the cover of the tree but now the moisture was simply gathering on the leaves and falling in bigger drops. Her whole body shivered as she pulled the hood of the gilet in tighter and peered around for better shelter. The cemetery was vast, the size of twenty football pitches or more. She couldn’t see any buildings in the grounds, despite her elevated view. She presumed there must be a church or chapel somewhere at least. She gradually became aware of the distant whir of an engine. The sound was intermittent and somewhere in front of her, but the breeze rolling down the slope towards the town made it difficult for her to identify it specifically or to pinpoint where it was coming from. She stood up; her legs were stiff with the lack of movement, her back and hips the same. There was a line of trees to the west that looked like a good source of cover. Once she reached it and dropped down the slope a little, the tree line curved away sharply to reveal a sheltered clearing. In the middle of the clearing stood a cabin. She moved closer to investigate. The curvature of the woodland meant it couldn’t be seen by anyone looking up the slope. The cabin was made largely of wood and was shaped like a miniature house or some small-scale model. It had clearly been there a while; the wood was weathered and the grass around it well trampled. It had a solid-looking chimneystack of different coloured, flat stones, pushing up to the edge of the roof on the side closest to her.

  The door was made of thick wooden slats that likewise differed slightly in shade. A porch hung over it, held up by four wooden poles. There were no signs of life. She walked around it once, careful not to stand on any of the thin sticks or crunchy brown leaves that littered the ground. It had a wooden lean-to on the far side. Its double doors hung open to reveal a sit-on lawn mower. It smelled strongly of freshly cut grass and, when Jenny felt its flat nose, it was still warm. She started to move away.

  ‘Can I help you, love?’

  She grimaced. She was going to have to interact with someone — and he had called her ‘love.’ Visions of Anne flashed through her mind — that last look she had given her: Run, love!

  Jenny stopped and turned. A man stood out on the wooden porch, the door behind him open. She saw a puff of white smoke from the chimney and its movement drew her eye. She was pretty certain it hadn’t been smoking just a few seconds ago. The man was tall, despite an apparent stoop. His right palm rested on his hip as if he might have a back complaint. He had dark trousers tucked into welly boots and a lumberjack-style jacket. His grey hair and beard were topped by a wax hat with a rim to keep the rain off his face.

  ‘No. Sorry, I was just trying to find somewhere dry.’

  ‘You found somewhere then. Do you want to rest up? This rain will pass. It even stopped my mowing.’

  ‘No. Thank you.’ But she didn’t step away. She didn’t know where else she was going to go. If she got thoroughly wet, she didn’t know where she might get dry again.

  ‘I’ve just lit the stove. I can do a cup of tea. By the time we’ve drunk it, I reckon you might have a window.’ The man leaned forward a little and stuck his hand out from under the porch roof. ‘No point soaking you to your skin, love. It’s up to you, mind.’ He moved back into the cabin. Jenny looked around her. She couldn’t see anyone else moving. Everyone else was out of the rain, comfortable in their warm homes, drinking tea. She walked to the door.

  The smell dominated her senses as she walked in. It was wonderful, a combination of split timb
er, smoke from the burner and cut grass. It was bigger inside than she had imagined. To the right side of the door was a camp bed along the wall faced by two chairs. To the left was the wood burner with a wooden bench that held a tall flask and some pots. The man sat on a chair at the bench. A black, iron kettle was balanced on top of the burner. It was already fizzing steam from its nozzle. She could hear the rain bouncing off the tiles.

  ‘You decided you’d like a tea after all, then! A good choice. You can pull up one of those chairs over there if you want, sit closer to the heat. You look a little cold, love.’

  Jenny did as she was told. Gladly. She sat down. She stretched her hands out towards the flames — the fire was already roaring. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘No bother. I’m Mike. I do the upkeep around here. This is kind of my work place, I suppose.’

  Jenny peered around again. ‘You could do worse.’

  ‘I could at that.’

  ‘Did you build it?’

  ‘No, love. I added to it a bit. I put the burner in, see? But this has been up here a long time in some form or another. How do you take your tea?’

  ‘Just white, please. Thanks again, I could really do with a cup of tea.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  Jenny was suddenly conscious again of her appearance and of her injuries. She knew she was drawing attention to herself. There wasn’t much she could do about it. Mike put a tin cup down in front of her. He topped it up with milk from the flask. ‘So, you up here with a loved one?’ Jenny was puzzled; he must have picked up on it. ‘Do you have a relative buried up here?’

  ‘Oh, no. I just needed the peace and quiet. That is okay, isn’t it?’ She was suddenly a little panicked, like she had broken some law.

  Mike chuckled. ‘That’s just fine. There’s nothing like the peace and quiet you get in a place for the dead. They tend to keep themselves to themselves.’

  ‘I guess they do. I’m a little jealous. You ever have the feeling that the world is just chaos everywhere and you just need to get away from it all?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Now you are preaching to the converted, love. I used to chase chaos for a living but it was always one step ahead of me. I was a medic for over thirty years. I worked the wards and the ambulances — always accident and emergency work. This is the perfect job for me, now. That was all noise and chaos. This is making sure the lawn is neat for the eternal rest. I’ve never been happier to come to work.’

  ‘A retired medic. Sounds like you earned your retirement.’

  ‘Well, everyone does, really. The thing with being a medic for so long is that you get good at spotting people that need help. Even those who are trying to hide it.’ He lingered on her, holding his smile.

  ‘I reckon this tea is giving me all the help I need.’

  ‘You’d be surprised just how often I prescribed it. A good cup of tea. You really can’t go wrong.’

  ‘You really can’t.’ Jenny took a sip. It was hot as hell.

  ‘You sure there’s nothing more I can do to help? I got a car just down the hill if you want driving somewhere through the rain? After we’ve finished our tea, of course.’

  Jenny was back to thinking about where she could go next. It was still too soon to go back into the town. She would surely be better off waiting until it got dark.

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve got nowhere I can go.’

  ‘Really? A bright young thing like you? Not got friends or family nearby? I don’t mind a bit further afield or a train station? You shouldn’t be sat out here in the rain.’

  ‘No, my family are a long way from here. I was just looking to find somewhere to wait for an hour or a little more. In the dry. Can you help with that?’

  ‘Oh. Well, I don’t know about that — I mean, the wife’s at home. I don’t know if I could make her underst—’

  ‘Mike, I don’t need you to take me home with you! I meant here. I can’t think of anywhere I would rather be right now. You really do have a beautiful place to while away the hours. I was hoping to be able to watch the sunset maybe. Then I’ll be gone.’

  Mike peered around now. He settled back on Jenny. ‘Sure, I guess you can stay in here for a couple of hours. My shift’s just about done. I just fired up the stove for the last tea of the day. You can stick around. I’ll leave the flask and there’s some milk in there if you want some more tea. Just push the door shut when you’re done, okay? There’s a padlock.’

  ‘Sure. Thanks so much, Mike. I can’t tell you how much it means.’

  Mike waved her away. ‘We gotta help each other out. You take that from a thirty-year paramedic. The main thing I learnt in all that time is that we all need someone sometimes.’

  ‘I think you’re right.’

  Jenny made small talk for another fifteen minutes or so. Maybe it was the sudden rush of warmth, the soothing crackling of the burning logs and the knowledge that there was a camp bed directly behind, but she suddenly realised just how tired she was. Mike was true to his word. He finished his tea, tidied a few bits and locked up his mower before saying his goodbyes. Jenny promised to drop back in for a cup of tea on another day. He stoked the burner for her and plied it with two fresh logs before he went. Jenny moved the chairs out of the way and dragged the camp bed over the uneven stone floor. She positioned it so it was close enough to the fire. She lay on her left side. Her head was still tender to lie on but it didn’t seem to matter. She forgot her pain quickly and was overcome by sleep.

  * * *

  ‘Hey, Paul. Good to see you.’ Paul Bearn stepped out of the grand front door of Wingmore Farm to greet George and Emily as they pulled up in the car. George hadn’t called ahead. Paul must have been in the front room. George could picture Stan sat in the same place he had left him. Paul would have heard his approach on the gravel drive.

  ‘Good to see you too, George.’

  ‘How’s it been? Hard going I bet?’

  ‘It’s been okay. We know he’s taken it hard, but I’m struggling to get through to him. There’s certainly no sign of improvement yet.’

  ‘It’s still early. And, trust me Paul, you will be making a massive difference just by being here with him.’

  ‘I know that. It’s like he’s missed out a step though. We’ve seen enough people a few hours after something like this and they always seem to be a bit numb, you know? But you can spend the day talking with them and they start to make sense and you can get things done. Then you’ll come back the next day and you might get nothing. Like they’ve realised just what has happened and you can’t even get two words. It feels like that’s where Stan is right now.’

  ‘Is he talking to you at all?’

  ‘Yeah, he is. He’s a nice old fella. He told me about Janice, about how they met and where they’ve been. They’re quite the travelled couple. We’ve talked a bit about what needs to happen, about funeral arrangements and getting people here, but he’s struggled with that. I can’t really get him to engage.’

  ‘Have you spoken to the daughter? He wouldn’t let me call her.’

  ‘No. But I’m told a neighbour has. I can’t get any details to confirm that either way.’

  ‘So we don’t know what she knows?’

  ‘I can’t be sure she knows anything. He’s a wily old bastard, George. I get the impression he wouldn’t hesitate to pull the wool if he wanted to.’

  ‘Where are we with CSI? I see Ali’s van is still here.’

  ‘She’s still here too. She’ll be back tomorrow for certain. It might roll into day three if they can’t get any help for her. But the body is leaving today. Another hour or so.’

  ‘Oh, that’s good.’

  ‘It is for Stan. I think he needs her to go now. He’s been preparing himself for that. It needs to happen.’

  ‘It does. Let’s go talk to him.’ George moved to the front door, Emily and Paul followed just behind him. Sure enough Stan was in the same armchair he had been in earlier in the day. He looked even smaller and his head was still
slumped forward. He did look up and managed a weak smile.

  ‘George.’

  ‘How’s it going, Stan?’

  ‘How do you think?’

  ‘You’re right — one of my stupider questions. I hear Janice is going to be leaving shortly. Did you know that?’

  ‘I did. Paul told me they would be taking her away. She’s got another ordeal in front of her, George — they need to do an autopsy. I don’t see why. She was shot in the stomach, she lost a lot of blood and she died. Surely they don’t need to go chopping her up to tell that?’

  George knelt back down in front of Stan. ‘Janice is gone, Stan, there’s nothing of her left now. The autopsy, that’s the bit where we get our evidence. That’s the bit where we get a report from an expert that says your wife was fatally injured by a gunshot. That’s the bit where I can be sure that no sleazy barrister further down the line can’t argue that your wife was murdered in cold blood so he can try and get his bastard client off the hook. You understand me? You and I both know what happened and the court will know what happened because we will be there to tell them. But I don’t want a single thing left to chance. When I present a case, especially one like this, I want to be sure that there’s nothing anyone can do but send them down for life. I know what you mean — I know it’s not a nice thought, Stan — but that’s not Janice anymore. Okay?’

  ‘Okay, George, if you say so. Do you know how long? Until they take her away?’

  ‘I don’t. Not for sure. Let me ask.’

  George swapped out with Paul who moved forward to sit with Stan. Emily stayed in the background. George moved through to the kitchen. Ali was still in there, still in her forensic suit. She was on her hands and knees in the middle of the kitchen.

  ‘Ali!’ George called out.

  ‘I thought I told you not to go into any other rooms!’

  ‘Sorry. I’m not technically in.’

  ‘You’re not technically out either, are you?’

  ‘Well, no.’

  He could hear Ali chuckling from behind her mask. ‘I’m pretty much done with this room. I’ve not even started with the hall where the gun cabinet is yet, or anywhere else in the house. I haven’t done much outside either.’