No One's Safe: DI Max Byrd & DI Orion Tanzy book 3

by C. J. Grayson

  Byrd had been in touch with Harry Law again, asking for any further findings from a fire investigator’s point of view. He confirmed what they already knew: the fire had been started at the base of the stairs and had been fuelled by petrol. Tanzy nor Byrd could decipher that smell but Harry was adamant it was petrol. He also told Byrd he expected the forensics to confirm there was a flammable substance that had been used to clean the carpets, and to keep him up to date with what it was.

  Byrd slowed the car and angled around to the right, following the slight bend, then dabbed the brakes, pulling up onto the kerb. He was shattered. It was only nine o’clock. The smell rising from the passenger seat was divine, and he couldn’t wait to get inside and eat it.

  Once he was through the door, he took off his shoes and made his way into the kitchen. Claire was sitting at the kitchen table reading her Kindle. Byrd placed the bagged food on the worktop to the right and went over to her, bent down, and kissed her forehead.

  ‘How’re my favourite people?’ Byrd asked.

  Tiredly, she smiled and lowered her Kindle to the table. ‘He’s wearing me out,’ she said, rubbing her pregnant belly with both her hands.

  Byrd placed a hand over hers.

  ‘What’s in the bag?’ She looked past him to the contents on the worktop.

  ‘Your favourite. I didn’t know if you’d had something to eat but I got it anyway.’

  ‘I have already eaten, but I’m eating for two now, so…’

  Byrd kissed her again. At the counter, he pulled a plate from the cupboard and plated her some food up. Since she fell pregnant, Claire had developed a desire for chicken parmesan, which was strange, as she hadn’t thought much of it beforehand. Women often got like that while they were pregnant; developed strange, unexplainable cravings that made no sense at all. When she told Byrd about her new hunger about the food she’d usually turned her nose up at, she explained that her mother had told her when she was pregnant with her, she had been obsessed with mint imperials. And when she couldn’t get them, she’d chew on chalk. They both laughed at that one.

  Byrd poured a dollop of sauce on the side of her plate, made her a drink, and carried them both over to the table. She tucked into the food as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

  ‘What are you reading?’

  She chewed her mouthful of food, and said, ‘Recursion. Blake Crouch.’

  ‘Crouch?’ Byrd asked, standing at the worktop, filling his own plate. ‘Like the footballer?’

  Claire frowned. ‘No… American guy. Sci-fi. One of the best reads this year, apparently.’

  Byrd took a seat opposite her. ‘Is that so?’

  She smiled and forked a load of food into her mouth. They ate in silence for a few moments. ‘You had a good day?’ she said.

  Byrd wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. ‘No, not really.’

  Claire, in hindsight, didn’t have to ask. She’d been with Byrd for two years now, and each time he walked through the door after his shift, the look on his face alone would tell her if his day had been good or not.

  ‘Wanna talk about it?’ she said.

  ‘Not really.’ He smiled. ‘Thanks though.’

  She nodded and continued eating.

  Byrd glanced up at the clock to his left; the time was approaching ten p.m.. He told Claire he was getting a quick shower then he was going to watch the news. She said she’d wash up and be waiting for him in the living room.

  By the time he walked in wearing his dressing gown, he noticed she’d paused it for him. He’d been longer than a few minutes, which was usually the case. Through the window, the sun had almost dipped behind the houses opposite leaving the street in the falling dusk.

  As he sat down next to her and relaxed on the comfy sofa, she pressed play.

  ‘Good evening,’ the news reporter in the blue suit started. She was late thirties with straight, blonde hair that sat nicely on her small, round shoulders. Her almost perfect, flawless skin reflected the lights on the studio around her, and her smile showed her well-looked after white teeth. ‘Our first story takes us to Darlington where we’ve learned the devastating news that a family of four have tragically lost their lives in a house fire in a terraced street in the centre of town. During the early stages of this investigation, the police and fire service had found evidence that suggests the fire to be an act of purposeful malice. We have been notified that forensics have been at the scene to aid the police in their investigation. We have confirmation that the victims are forty-one-year-old Danny Walters, his wife, Jessica Walters, aged forty. And their two sons, Mark and Peter, sadly only aged eleven and six. This news comes as a massive shock to the town and police have sent us a photo taken from a camera at the property which shows an individual at the house on three separate occasions. Police believe he is the man responsible.’

  The enlarged photo which Tanzy had sent to the media team filled the screen. The still shot had captured the man walking back towards the rear gate, his long mop of dark hair and ridiculous looking moustache plain to see.

  ‘If anyone recognises this man, please get in touch with Durham Constabulary with any further information. They believe this individual goes by the name of Roger Carlton.’

  The screen minimised, returning to the blonde haired reporter in the studio, who after giving a sad smile directly towards the camera, moved on to the next story.

  Claire used the remote to mute the sound and looked at Byrd, who was focused on the screen. She now knew why he hadn’t had a good day. Usually, he’d phone her several times during the day, but today he hadn’t. And when he didn’t, Claire knew he was busy with something very important.

  ‘Wanna talk about it?’ she asked softly, placing a palm on his shoulder.

  He looked down at the carpet under the television. ‘It was awful.’

  She rubbed his shoulder but didn’t say anymore, knowing him well enough that if he wanted to talk about it, he would.

  Byrd leaned in, kissed her, stood up, and went upstairs to bed. For the first time in nearly six years, he’d fallen asleep within a minute.

  Then he woke at half past two when he heard something. He shuffled up, his heart beating quickly, looking around the dark room. A slither of light was creeping in through the curtains from the streetlight outside. To his right, Claire was sleeping peacefully on her side.

  For a moment, he thought he’d been dreaming and had woken, imagining it had been something to worry about. But the longer the silence continued, he was convinced it was nothing. He lowered his head to the pillow, closed his eyes, hoping he’d fall back to sleep.

  Then he heard it again. There was no denying it was the sound of someone downstairs.

  14

  Tuesday Night

  Newton Aycliffe

  When Tanzy walked through the front door, Eric and Jasmine both hugged him as if they hadn’t seen him in weeks. Tanzy put his bag down near the door, lowered to his knees, and put his arms around them. Eric excitedly told him he’d been sewing at school, then grabbed the square of fabric from the unit near the stairs to show him. It was a flower made from four different colours. Tanzy didn’t have a clue how to sew, so even though Eric was ten, he was very impressed.

  ‘That looks brilliant, mate,’ he said, kissing his warm cheek. ‘Have you showed mum?’

  He nodded, smiling widely.

  Tanzy turned to Jasmine, who told him about a game she played with her friends at dinnertime. Similar to stuck in the mud but they had to crawl under their legs instead of their outstretched arms.

  ‘Mum has a surprise for you,’ Eric said, laughing, nodding his head back and forth, his blonde hair rocking on the top of his head.

  ‘She does, does she?’

  Eric and Jasmine both nodded shyly.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’

  Jasmine turned her head quickly, her long dark hair whipping the air, and pointed to the kitchen. Tanzy found his feet and smiled, wondering what it could be. In the ki
tchen, Pip finished washing the last plate and placed it on the draining board. She was wearing her grey tight-fitting jogging pants and a short-sleeved purple t-shirt.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, happy to see her.

  Jasmine and Eric followed him in.

  She turned and smiled. ‘Hey, yourself. How was your day?’

  ‘Well, we’ll talk about it later.’ He glanced behind him, spotted the kids looking up at him with mischievous eyes. ‘What’s going on?’

  Pip moved across the kitchen floor, her bare feet silent on the tiles, and hugged him tightly. ‘I have a surprise for you,’ she whispered in his ear. Her emerald eyes glistened against the modern lighting under the cupboards to his left. Her dark, shiny hair rested on her shoulders.

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Well, it’s from me and the kids.’

  ‘It isn’t my birthday until next month.’ He smiled and rubbed his perfectly trimmed goatee.

  ‘Kids, go and get it for daddy.’

  They left and returned a few moments later with a rectangular box covered in Toy Story wrapping paper.

  Eric handed it to him. ‘Open it, Daddy.’

  Tanzy lowered to his knees and placed the box on the floor. He ripped the paper off and was surprised to see a Makita cordless drill.

  ‘A drill?’ he said, unsure why they’d bought him a drill.

  ‘Well, you did mention that you couldn’t finish the project in Eric’s room because your drill broke,’ Pip explained. ‘So, I ordered one from Amazon for you. Hope it’s the right one.’

  Tanzy stood up, looking at the picture on the case. It was pretty much the same one as he had. And she was right, he did need a new one. After seeing something in one of her fancy magazines, Pip decided it would be good to build Eric a den in his room. Roughly head height, nestled in the corner with a ladder he could climb to access, a place for him to go to read or watch films on his iPad. Tanzy had been building it for a while now, mainly when he had a day off, but it seemed to be taking forever.

  ‘Now you can finish his den,’ Pip said, smiling.

  Tanzy grinned and looked behind him, noticed Eric clapping his hands excitedly. ‘Yeah, that’s great,’ he said to him, although his words weren’t filled with as much enthusiasm as they could have been.

  ‘Daddy will soon have it done for you, Eric,’ Pip said to him.

  Eric hugged Tanzy and ran off upstairs, thrilled. Jasmine left too, returning to the dining room where she’d been watching the television before Tanzy arrived home.

  Tanzy and Pip talked about their day, leaving out the descriptive details. What they’d witnessed at the house fire was beyond words. He told her how Max had punched the wall in the office.

  ‘That’s not like him,’ she said.

  ‘I know. I think the stress of the baby is catching up with him.’

  ‘What did Fuller say about it?’

  ‘He said he’d have to pay for the damage.’

  Pip made a fair-enough face and flicked the kettle on. She made coffees and they both sat down. Tanzy looked at her and said, ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m good.’

  ‘No, I mean, how are you doing?’ he said seriously.

  She frowned at him, unsure what he meant. In the cupboard behind them, Tanzy had noticed a bottle of vodka at the back. It was a bottle that had turned up no later than last week. When Pip started back at AA, Tanzy had made sure that they had no alcohol in the house so nothing could tempt her. He knew all too well how easy it was to have a bad day and turn to drink. The months of hard work and effort gone in a single moment. But he’d noticed this bottle four days ago, and three days ago, he noticed there was less vodka in it than the day before. Then yesterday, there was even less. He knew this because he’d made a thin pen mark on the side of the glass, just thick enough for him to see it.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she said, but her body language told a different story.

  He nodded slowly, stood up, went to the cupboard, and opened it. After moving some tins and jars aside, he pulled out the bottle of vodka, returned to the table, and placed it down in front of her.

  He watched her throat bulge and her eyes widen as he took a seat on the chair. It didn’t take long for the silence to become uncomfortable.

  ‘I er…’ she muttered.

  ‘What?’

  She fell silent, looked away from him.

  ‘Six months, Pip.’ He stood up, went over to the cupboard, and pulled out an empty glass, then placed it next to the bottle. ‘You really want to go back to this? Go ahead. We’ll move the kids out, send them to your mums. I’ll stop at Max’s, and you can drink all of it, Pip.’

  She frowned at him.

  ‘You’ve been doing so well. Don’t fuck this up now. But if this is what you want, go ahead.’ He pushed the glass towards her.

  She stared at him, then at the bottle.

  ‘I’ll leave it up to you.’ He stood up, leaned over to kiss her forehead, left the kitchen, and went upstairs for a shower. After he got out, he checked on the kids, then returned to an empty kitchen. He checked the living room and dining room. She wasn’t there either.

  ‘Pip?’ he shouted.

  He opened the front door and looked out. Her car was still there. Back inside the house, he went down the hall, through the living room, and opened the back door. At the recycling bin, there Pip stood, gazing out on the garden.

  Tanzy slowly approached.

  Near her feet, he noticed the paving stones were soaked. He silently reached past her, opened the bin lid, and inside, found the empty vodka bottle. He closed the lid and held her close.

  ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

  They went inside, sorted the kids, and settled on the sofa to watch a film. Before midnight, they were in bed and went to sleep.

  At half-past two in the morning, Tanzy’s phone beeped, waking them both. The text message was from Byrd.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Pip said, groggily.

  ‘A text from Max. He says there’s someone in his house, and if I don’t hear from him in five minutes, I need to ring the police and head over.’

  15

  Tuesday Night

  Low Coniscliffe, Darlington

  Without waking up Claire, Byrd silently got out of bed, grabbed the dressing gown from the back of the bedroom door, and put it on. He took a few steps towards the bed, leaned over, and opened his bedside drawer, the sliding mechanism moaning in the darkness, but it wasn’t enough to wake Claire. He had never used the truncheon he’d put there all those years ago or the torch either. After he grabbed his phone and placed it in the large pocket of his gown, he gently opened the bedroom door and stepped out onto the landing, the truncheon nestled firmly in his right hand, the torch, turned on, in his left.

  He leaned over the banister to look downstairs. It sat in darkness. The sounds that woke him up were louder now, he was sure, but couldn’t work out where it was coming from or what it was.

  The past couple of weeks Low Coniscliffe had been subject to a few break ins. It wasn’t a congested, busy place. Everyone knew each other. So when people had knocked on Byrd’s door asking what was going on or who was responsible, he didn’t have an answer. He’d lived there long enough to know the majority of the folk who lived here and surmised it wasn’t anyone in their little community that was responsible but went around knocking. It must be people outside of town, seeing an opportunity. One of the neighbour's cars had been taken, and other people had had jewellery and laptops stolen. Whoever it was had worn gloves and overshoes, leaving no prints at all.

  Several people had bought cameras to protect their property, while others had fixed their broken burglar alarms. The small village hadn’t seen its share of crime so people were now wary of this once very quiet place.

  Byrd stopped at the top of the stairs and listened hard. The noise was coming from the kitchen. A thumping sound? He directed the light down into the hallway, illuminating the darkness as he took the first step, then the secon
d, followed by the third. The sound, if anything, was getting louder. His truncheon was extended to its capacity, raised slightly, in case he needed to swing it. Once he reached the wooden floor he peeked around the post at the bottom of the stairs, looking down the hall towards the kitchen, seeing the moonlight cast a haze of dull grey light through the closed blinds, giving the table and kitchen appliances a look of mystery about them.

  With the noise still present, he tiptoed along the hall, his torch shooting its beam of brilliant light into the space.

  The noise stopped dead.

  ‘If anyone is in here, make yourself known,’ Byrd said. ‘You are on the property of a police officer who is not afraid to use the weapon in his hand.’

  He stopped a few feet from the kitchen door. The light at the end of the torch didn’t show anything unusual in the narrow section of the kitchen he could see. He stepped in, hitting the switch on the left, the space lighting up under the six bright spotlights above.

  It was empty. He looked to his left towards the back door. It was closed. He could see the slither of the lock in place, knowing it hadn’t been breached.

  He frowned in confusion, looking around.

  ‘Hello?’ he said again.

  He quickly turned around, shining the torch back into the hallway, feeling there was something behind him, but apart from the coats hanging on the hook and the shoes on the low-level rack next to the door, it was empty.

  Moving closer, light on his bare feet to the centre of the kitchen, his eyes flitted left and right as he tried to remember the sound; he was sure it was a thumping sound. Everything was in its place. Nothing had moved.

  He was about to relax and go back upstairs when he heard it again and froze. It was coming from the garage. With a sudden wave of anger, he dashed to the garage door, flicked the lock open, and barged it open with his truncheon held high.

  An array of tools and garden furniture were under the torchlight, but the thumping sound was coming from the left. He aimed the light towards the sound and suddenly stopped, his heart beating hard and fast.