by Graham Smith
Eleven
Sunday morning is a special time in most households. It’s the time for a relaxing roll-together without the furtive weekday looks at the alarm clock, or the pressing knowledge of Saturday chores. It’s the day of the week when a full fried breakfast happens at a leisurely pace rather than a bowl of cereal being gulped down or a slice of toast being carried out the front door between hastily brushed teeth. Sundays are about relaxation, kicking back and enjoying the company and full attention of loved ones.
Sunday mornings used to be sacrosanct to Beth. From her childhood memories, through her teens and right up until she’d joined the police, those first hours of the Sabbath were about recharging her batteries and preparing for a day spent with family or friends.
Yet here she was, metaphorical sledgehammer in hand, ready to smash and destroy that time for an entire family. O’Dowd would be taking the lead and would be the one to give voice to the unthinkable words, but Beth felt as if she was complicit just by her presence.
When time healed the raw wounds of loss, there would be a recollection of there being two coppers who tore apart the life of a mother and her children. The short, officious boss and the tall sidekick with the scars.
O’Dowd’s knock on the door of the farm cottage was firm but respectful. Through a window, Beth could see two pyjama-clad children sitting on a couch eating toast.
The door eased open with the merest hint of a squeak from the hinges and a tousled head appeared.
‘Hello.’
‘Mrs Keane?’ O’Dowd lifted her warrant card. ‘We’re here about your husband, Angus.’
‘About bloody time. He buggered off last Saturday and it’s taken you days to get here.’
Mrs Keane’s words piqued Beth’s interest and she caught the stiffening of O’Dowd’s shoulders.
O’Dowd gestured at the open door. ‘May we come in?’
It took a moment for her request to register, but Mrs Keane stepped to one side and waved them into the house. The place was a mess without being dirty. Rather it was the type of mess a parent had to deal with ten times a day when there were young children in the house.
As she stepped between the small wellies and dropped crayons, Beth saw a domesticity that was missing from the police house she called home. She could easily have stayed with her parents, as they still lived in the family home on the other side of Penrith, but she’d wanted to have her independence. Plus, by leaving home, she didn’t have to put on a brave face to her parents every time she had a bad day. Her mother was a worrier, and she knew her father had had his reservations about her joining the police. Nor had she wanted to share a house with any of her friends. As much as she enjoyed their company, she needed her own space.
Mrs Keane tried to lead them into the lounge, but when O’Dowd saw the children she gave her head a tiny shake and let herself be directed into the kitchen.
‘Mrs Keane. May I call you Suzy?’
‘Yes.’ Suzy caught something in either O’Dowd’s face or her tone as she pulled her dressing gown tighter over the cerise pyjama top. To Beth the gesture was a defensive one, a mental putting on of armour. ‘You’re not here about him buggering off, are you?’
‘Not exactly. I’m sorry, Mrs Keane – Suzy. But there was a body found yesterday; we ran its fingerprints and found them to match those we had on record from the time your husband was arrested for affray.’
‘Body? You mean he’s dead?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Suzy’s back collided with the wall and she used it to keep her more or less upright as her legs folded. Her mouth was stretched wide as grief took hold of her.
O’Dowd bent to comfort Suzy. With nothing more useful to do, Beth put the kettle on. It was hardly in the manual of things to do at a time like this, but it gave her something to do and there was a restorative familiarity to a cuppa.
Suzy’s wails pierced the air and prompted the thudding of tiny feet on laminate as two pre-school girls came running into the kitchen.
With two bundles of blonde curls wrapped around her, Suzy’s inner strength returned and she parked her sorrow until she’d told her daughters that she was okay, and that she was only crying because she’d stubbed her toe.
The smaller of the children bent over and kissed each of Suzy’s toes with a lip-smacking sound accompanying the movements of her head.
So far as Beth could tell, the girls knew they were being lied to as the looks they gave Suzy were dubious, whereas the ones she and O’Dowd got were downright suspicious. She didn’t know whether to offer a smile or pull a funny face, which is what she normally did to amuse or entertain young children.
Both seemed inappropriate when those two innocent little girls had had their world destroyed; she didn’t want them to have memories of a copper who’d smiled and joked with them before swinging the axe of destruction.
The taller of the two girls took her sister’s hand and led her back towards the sounds of a cartoon.
‘How?’
Beth looked to O’Dowd who pulled an empathetic face behind Suzy’s back.
‘How what, Suzy?’
‘How did he die? How am I going to tell my girls their daddy’s dead? How will we keep up the mortgage without Angus’s wage? How has it taken you so long to find him? How am I going to tell the girls? Why him? Where was he found?’
Neither Beth nor O’Dowd tried to answer any of the questions. Instead they did what was so obviously needed and comforted Suzy. O’Dowd helped her onto a chair at the table, and Beth put a mug of hot sweet tea in front of her.
After a few minutes of contemplative silence, O’Dowd removed her arm from Suzy’s shoulders and took a seat opposite her.
‘You are bound to have a lot of questions, Suzy, and while I’ll try and answer them honestly, some of the ones you’ve asked are beyond my scope as a human being, let alone a police officer. However, I have requested that a Family Liaison Officer join you this morning. They are experts at helping people in your terrible situation. They have subtlety and tact, whereas I’m more of a blunt instrument. My talents, and the talents of my team lie in another direction. Basically, we’re the ones who get all the tough cases.’
Suzy knuckled her eyes and looked at O’Dowd with a shrewd expression. ‘You say you get all the tough cases. Does that mean Angus was murdered?’
‘I’m afraid it does.’
Beth saw a different side to the new widow once Suzy had digested the news her husband had been murdered, rather than an accident or suicide. It was there in the setting of the jaw, the pushing back of the shoulders and the minute lifting of her chin. Beth knew that Suzy Keane had realised that she’d never see her husband again. He might have walked out a few days ago, but whether he’d planned to return or not, there was no longer a chance of that happening. True to form, like all those who have been wronged, bewilderment was soon replaced by anger.
For the first time since they’d entered her home, Suzy looked into O’Dowd’s eyes.
‘Who killed him? Have you caught the bastard? Why was he killed?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t know who killed him yet.’ Beth gave an apologetic shrug. ‘We’ll need to ask you a few questions shortly. Hopefully the answers you give us will help us identify his killer.’
‘Promise me that you’ll catch him, that you’ll get the fucker who killed my Angus and nail his bollocks to the nearest wall.’ Her arm pointed towards the lounge. ‘My girls are in there; very soon I’m going to have to tell them their daddy’s dead. If not for me or him, please, I beg you, catch the person who killed their daddy.’
As she listened to Suzy’s plea, Beth felt her own conscience answering the call to arms. Those little girls would have a tough enough life growing up without a father. The only support she could offer them was the knowledge that the bad man who’d taken away their father had been caught and punished.
Regardless of the long hours or frustrations the case would put upon her; the two girls and their
mother, as much as Angus himself, would be the ones she’d be fighting for.
Beth couldn’t begin to comprehend the horror of losing a parent, let alone at such a young age. Her parents were still alive and she expected to have them in her life for at least another twenty or thirty years. For those little girls there would always be an empty seat at the table, no father to walk them down the aisle and a fight to understand why the killer chose to murder their daddy.
Twelve
The showroom he entered was full of gleaming cars. Each polished to within an inch of its life. To one side a family were ooing and ahhing at the salesman’s patter as he showed off a car to them.
None of this mattered to him. He wasn’t there to look at cars; he was there for another reason.
He was hunting. Searching for angels.
Off to another side he saw a middle-aged woman looking with doe-eyes at a smooth-looking salesman half her age. That was a sale which was sure to be made. He judged the salesman only wanted to put his hand in her purse, while the woman might let him put his hands wherever he wanted.
Towards the back of the showroom were a number of desks, two had customers busy signing their lives away for a prestigious badge, and over the partition of a third, he could see a young woman talking into a telephone.
He watched as she hung up and turned to scan the showroom. When her face came into full view he gasped with pleasure. She was beyond gorgeous. As he looked at her he knew she was an automatic candidate to become one of his angels.
The smile she gave him showed immaculate teeth, a pair of cavernous dimples and a beautiful face that was framed by auburn hair that tumbled onto her shoulders.
She stood and walked towards him.
When she rounded the desk he saw her figure, took in the lithe frame enclosed in a calf-length grey dress with white flecks. It clung to every part of her body and showed her supple flesh as she strode towards him, heels clacking as she proffered a hand.
Her perfume was delicate, with hints of a citrus fruit.
‘Hello there. Are you looking for anything in particular? We have a lovely 5 Series that’s very popular.’
‘Do you?’ He was relieved he didn’t stammer. The girl’s beauty had thrown him so far off kilter he didn’t trust himself to say a full sentence without sounding like an imbecile. Or worse, a pervert.
The girl smiled and pointed to a shiny red car. ‘This model is one of our bestsellers; would you like to take a look at it?’
‘Please.’ He tried a smile and hoped it didn’t come across as a leer.
‘Cool. May I ask what your budget is?’
At a loss as to what to answer, he looked at the car for a moment and spied the price on the stand beside the vehicle.
‘Thirty-five thousand.’
‘That’s good. Do you have a car to trade in?’
He couldn’t tell her about the old van he drove. ‘No, it would be a straight sale.’
‘Excellent. Well, the price on the stand there is for the base model rather than this one.’ She gestured to the driver’s side. ‘Why don’t you climb in, see what it feels like to sit in the seat of such a lovely car?’
He did as she suggested. When she climbed in beside him he pictured himself driving away with her. As mental images went, it was a work of art that could only be described as priceless.
A small part of his brain functioned enough to nod and coo when she pointed out the car’s many features. It wasn’t just her beauty that captivated him, it was the melodic tone to her voice. She had a cut-glass accent that made it sound like the bluest of blood flowed through her veins, and when he compared it to the harsher more guttural tones common to East Cumbrians, it gave him a glow warmer than the finest cognac ever had.
Meeting her was the highlight of his year. She would be one of his prize angels, if not the greatest prize of all.
He’d met her today through pure chance. He’d been on his way to Windermere, to a restaurant where the waitresses all wore flouncy skirts, when on an impulse, he’d parked up and then walked back a hundred yards to the dealership on one of the streets that wound their way into Kendal.
He always did his best to avoid the centre of Kendal; the one-way system baffled him, and he couldn’t recall a time when he’d visited the town and managed to leave by the same road as he’d arrived.
For the man, car showrooms were always fertile hunting ground for angels. Dress codes were imposed in many of them, and there was always a level of flirtiness that accompanied the saleswomen’s spiel. He would tour the ones round Carlisle and Penrith on infrequent occasions; too often and his prey would be scared off, yet for some reason, he’d never thought to explore the ones in Kendal.
It was all he could do not to agree to buy the car just to please her. Somehow he managed to resist the instant purchase, although he did agree to a test drive in the future. The allure of exclusive time in her company was too much to bear.
He said his goodbyes and took the card she handed him.
Sarah Hardy was her name and he had the sense not to make any jokes about resting on laurels or fine messes. Stan Laurel was a Cumbrian and had been born in Ulverston, a scant twenty miles from where he stood.
He’d only spent maybe ten or fifteen minutes with her, but she was already too important, too special, for him to mock, or even tease.
When he returned to his van he sniffed the business card, hoping to catch a hint of her perfume before he kissed it and placed it into his breast pocket. Next to his heart.
The test drive he’d let her arrange was a deception, but it would mean he could see her again.
Thirteen
Beth made yet another pot of tea and placed it on the table in front of Suzy’s brother and sister. They’d come over after a frantic call from Suzy. Both were ashen-faced and the brother stank of stale alcohol. He’d driven here, but Beth had chosen to overlook that fact: cautioning him for drink-driving wouldn’t help anyone. Most people had no idea of just how long it took for the body to break down alcohol. She’d been amazed when during her training she’d learned that the human body takes ten hours to fully rid itself of the alcohol in a bottle of wine.
Tears had been shed and fierce, supportive hugs exchanged with Suzy. The sister was an older, plumper version of Suzy, whereas the brother was a slight man with a stooped posture and lank hair.
Beth had been given no more than passing glances while she waited for the FLO to arrive. O’Dowd had scarpered at the first opportunity after questioning Suzy about her husband’s possible enemies. At least the DI had promised to send Unthank over to collect her once the FLO was in situ.
Despite feeling as useful as a cardboard cut-out, Beth knew she had a job to do.
‘I know this is a terrible time for you all, but I am afraid I do have a few questions.’
The sister buried her head in her arms and let out sobs of grief that heaved at her rounded shoulders. It was obvious the grief wasn’t just for herself but also for her sister and her nieces, as Suzy had gone to tell her daughters the terrible news.
A nod from the brother gave Beth permission to start. He was doing his best at being manful and strong, but whether it was last night’s alcohol, or his natural empathy, he was struggling to maintain his composure and provide support for his sisters.
‘Angus wasn’t reported missing until two days ago, yet Suzy mentioned he left home on Saturday. Do you know why your sister didn’t contact us sooner?’
The brother gave a sigh, looked at the kitchen units and the floor before speaking. ‘They have a tempestuous relationship. They’ll be fine for a year or so and then there will be a big fall out and Angus will… would go back to his mother’s for a week or two before they patched things up.’ A shrug. ‘That was their norm and it’s the way they’ve always been. The only reason she wouldn’t have reported him missing sooner would have been her anger at him. It was when he hadn’t called to speak to the girls that Suzy started worrying. Whatever happened between the t
wo of them, he always called his girls.’
Beth wondered if the fact that Angus had left before would help or hurt his children. The last time they’d seen their father would have been a heated situation where harsh words were spoken. Would that be his daughters’ last memories of him, shouting and swearing as he left with a suitcase? And there were Suzy’s feelings to consider; whether she’d been the aggressor or victim in their latest argument would be immaterial. She’d appoint the blame squarely on her own shoulders for him not being safe at home with her and the kids. Every word from her mouth would be analysed and criticised as she wondered if she’d been too brutal in throwing him out, or too accepting of his decision to leave.
Yet, the tumultuous relationship was a red flag to a police officer, and Beth had a duty to pursue this line of enquiry. Official statistics proved that most people who were killed died at the hands of someone they knew, and in a lot of those cases, the murders were committed by the victim’s nearest and dearest. As horrific as it was to think of a wife killing her husband in the way Angus had been found, the investigation’s first focus would have to be on eliminating the victim’s family members and closest friends as suspects.
‘Do you know why they split this time?’
As soon as the brother’s scornful gaze landed on her, Beth realised she should have picked her words with more care.
An exasperated hand pointed towards the lounge. ‘What does it matter what they fell out over this time? My sister is in there telling two precious little girls why their daddy isn’t ever coming home.’
Beth held her tongue as it began to dawn on the brother why she was asking.
His top lip curled into a snarl. ‘You think she did it? Are you crazy? My sister wouldn’t harm a fly. She’s terrified of spiders, but she still made us remove them from her bedroom on a sheet of toilet paper and release them outside. Whatever you’re thinking is wrong, very wrong.’
