Race to the Kill, page 9
‘Families,’ she sighed. ‘Who’d have them?’
Sean let himself into Jack’s flat. He felt like an intruder. Glancing into his father’s room, he saw Jack’s bed was made. Since Chloe had moved in, the rooms had been decorated and, although she’d had no money for new carpets, she’d done her best to clean up the old ones. He’d helped her one weekend, during one of Jack’s earlier hospital stays. They’d hired a steam cleaner from the DIY superstore on the ring road, to give him a surprise when he came home.
Before Chloe became part of Jack’s life, Sean had tried to clean the flat on his own. It was a time when Jack was trying to prove he could stay sober and Sean had a notion of rebuilding bridges between them. This was when Khan involved him in the case on the Chasebridge estate that led him right back to his own doorstep, and put Jack back on the booze. After that, he never felt comfortable when his father was in residence. Even now Jack was sober, he still didn’t trust him. Sean had been fooled by him too many times before.
Chloe’s room had been his childhood bedroom, until he was twelve and moved to his nan’s. She’d given it a coat of paint, a pinkish off-white that made it seem lighter than he remembered. After he left, it had become a dumping ground. Jack was forever picking up a bargain TV, or an old piece of furniture he was convinced was a genuine antique. There’d been a whole crate of mismatched fire irons and horse brasses that he said he was going to sell one day. Sean assumed they were stolen. Chloe put them all on eBay and got a few hundred pounds from vintage collectors. Jack was delighted, said it proved he’d had an eye for antiques all along.
Sean opened the chest of drawers in Jack’s room. The clothes were neatly folded and he found the pyjamas in the third drawer down. He took three pairs and put them in a holdall that was in the bottom of Jack’s wardrobe. He threw the bag over his shoulder, locked the flat and went back down to where he’d parked his moped.
As he kicked it off the stand, he had an idea. Instead of turning right, back onto the dual carriageway into town, he turned left along Darwin Road and cut through a narrow side street in the direction of Chasebridge Community High School. He wasn’t sure why, or what he was looking for, but it wouldn’t hurt just to have a look.
A fresh lock had been fixed to the loose fencing, securing it to its neighbouring panel, and police tape stretched across the whole length of the fence. Maybe the building had given up everything it was going to, and the answers lay outside. There was a man walking towards him from the direction of Springfield Gardens. Although he didn’t have the dog this time, Sean recognised him as the concerned resident of Friday night. Davies, Sean recalled, John Davies. The other man broke into a jog and raised his arm in a wave. Under his helmet, Sean couldn’t hear his voice, but his mouth shaped a clear: ‘Oi!’
Sean turned the engine off and took his helmet off.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ Davies said, coming to a standstill a few feet away. ‘What’s going on here, then? We’ve had no end of your lot coming and going.’
‘I’m not at liberty to say, sir,’ Sean said. He felt like pointing out that he wasn’t on duty.
‘You know the other night?’ Davies said.
‘Friday?’
‘Yeah, there was someone else, I forgot to mention it because I didn’t connect it at first.’
‘Go on,’ Sean said.
‘When I was coming home – I work late on a Friday – I nearly drove over a guy, running across the end of Springfield Gardens. I had to swerve to miss him. I parked the car, went indoors to get the dog – she’d not been out all day, so I couldn’t hang about – and it was when I came round the corner with her, that I saw all those people milling about.’
‘And they weren’t milling about when you saw the person crossing the road?’
He shook his head. ‘Don’t think so, but on the other hand, I was too busy trying not to run that one down. He’s a flipping nutter.’
‘You’ve seen him before?’
‘Yes,’ Davies said. ‘You must know him. Tall guy. Stars tattooed on both cheeks and crescent moon on his bald head. He wears a shell suit like it’s 1985 and runs about the place as if he’s on something.’
Sean suppressed a smile. The man he was describing usually was on something. He was known as Longfeller, on account of him being six foot seven and stick-thin. He was a drug user, well known to the police for a string of offences, from burglary to possession with intent to supply.
‘Didn’t you give this information to the officers doing house-to-house?’
Davies shook his head. ‘Haven’t seen anyone. They might have tried the doorbell, but I disconnect it when I need to sleep in.’
‘Can you do me a favour, Mr Davies?’ Sean said. ‘And ring 101? Ask to be put through to someone in CID at Doncaster Central, and tell them what you’ve just told me.’
‘Can’t you tell them?’ he said.
‘It would be better coming from you, sir, direct to the detective on duty.’
Sean hoped the ‘sir’ would be enough to flatter Davies into taking action himself. Sean didn’t want to have to explain to anyone why he was snooping round the crime scene on his day off, but he would need to check tomorrow if a call had been logged. He doubted that Longfeller would have any more to do with the murder than Mary, they were two of a kind, more harm to themselves than anyone else, but it was worth logging, just in case he’d seen something.
‘Right, then, I’ll do that,’ Davies said. ‘It’s a damn shame they don’t pull the place down, it’s just a bloody magnet—’
‘Much appreciated,’ Sean cut him off.
He put his helmet back on, before John Davies could launch into another diatribe about refugees and junkies, and set off, past Springfield Gardens and back to the dual carriageway.
Jack was sitting up in bed when he arrived at the hospital. Chloe slipped out and left them together.
‘She’s ironed them lovely,’ Jack said, stroking the striped cotton pyjamas with his thumb. ‘She’s a hard worker, that lass. Gets it from her old man. When I was her age, I was down the pit.’
Sean had heard it several times before and didn’t correct his dad by pointing out that both Chloe and he were now older than Jack had been when he stopped work, his injury on the picket line putting paid to manual labour, and his alcohol addiction putting paid to any other kind of work.
He wanted to tell him about passing his interview for CID, but he couldn’t find the words. Jack would never be comfortable with his son as a police officer. It used to make Sean ashamed, but he’d come to terms with it. The world had changed and the old industries had gone, taking the options for men like his father with them. The policeman who’d shattered his father’s hand probably retired years ago on a full pension, and even if things were different now, Jack would never get justice and he would never be happy about Sean’s job. There was no point in wishing it were different. A silence grew between them, and after a while, Sean was relieved to see Chloe come back onto the ward, a packet of Jack’s favourite biscuits in her hand. He said his goodbyes and went back home to Regent Square.
When Sean arrived at the flat, there was no sign of Lizzie. He checked his watch. Shit. It was much later than he realised. The Morrisons would be sitting down to Sunday dinner, candles lit, wine poured and the undercurrent of a row ready to bubble up through the polished surface of their lives. He walked into the bedroom. Lizzie had made the bed, smoothing the white linen duvet cover as if it was new out of the packet. Their flat was a world away from his dad’s place – and his nan’s, come to think of it. All the work he’d done on her house seemed a bit tacky in comparison to Lizzie’s way of doing things. Everything here was white, or muted tones of beige or grey. There was no lime green statement wall or huge red poppies, embossed with gold on the wallpaper. He and Nan had thought it was cheerful when he put it up in the front room at Clement Grove. He wasn’t so sure now.
He flopped back on the bed, feeling the thick down duvet fluff up around him, like a nest. He’d ring Lizzie, to see if it was still worth setting out. He’d need to fill up with petrol to get as far as the village where Mr and Mrs Morrison lived. Maybe he was too late already. Perhaps, he thought, if he left it a little longer, then he could avoid going altogether. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander. Longfeller’s distinctive face came to mind, with the two blue stars on his cheeks. Sean had arrested him twice in the last eighteen months, but neither time had resulted in a custodial sentence. He was a lost soul, strung out on a lifestyle choice that had begun more than twenty years ago, when the rave scene was still big. It was a wonder he was still alive.
He rolled over and selected Lizzie’s number on his phone.
‘Sorry, love, I got held up,’ he said, but she cut him off.
‘Don’t be, it’s my fault … well, not entirely. My dad phoned, said it was urgent. Mum was shut in her bedroom crying, saying Tim’s ruined her life. Tim stormed down to the pub, calling my mother a Nazi. Dad was left sitting on his own with Pakpao, who doesn’t speak much English, and who was also crying by this time. He was completely at a loss as to what he should do. I thought I’d better just come.’
‘Jeez. What a welcome for Pakpao. Shall I jump on the ped and join you?’
‘Don’t worry. Have a quiet night in. You want to be on form for your meeting with Khan tomorrow. Like I say, I’m sorry, we should be celebrating.’
‘I’ll treat myself to a takeaway,’ he said, trying hard to disguise the relief he felt.
The chippy round the corner was shut on Sundays, so he walked further towards the centre of town, heading for a takeaway that did great kebabs. He took note of the characters hanging around the quiet streets, but saw nobody he recognised. He remembered Gav saying he’d spoken to a couple with a supermarket trolley, but he couldn’t see anybody pushing one around now. The door-to-door teams were going to have their work cut out with a bunch of witnesses who had no front door to call their own.
He got his kebab and jogged back to the flat, making sure it would still be hot. He was a bit short of breath when he got to the top of the stairs. That would have to change. More time in the gym was called for, if he was going to keep his fitness levels up in CID. He knew a lad who’d done so much surveillance, sitting, waiting, and eating, that he’d gained three stone and given himself a blood clot.
Sean flopped his meal out of the greasy paper and onto a plate. Fewer takeaways too, he thought, but not now. This could be the last kebab, he smiled to himself. Tomorrow my body becomes a temple. Tomorrow. A wave of anxiety threatened to spoil his appetite. What would Khan say in their meeting? How soon would there be a vacancy for him to start as a trainee detective? And where? He hadn’t really thought about that, but he realised it was possible he might have to move to another area.
Just get some food down you, he thought to himself, get some kip, and worry about all this in the morning.
He took his plate over to the settee and turned on the TV.
‘Here’s to the last kebab!’ he said, and took a big bite of bread, meat and salad. The chilli sauce set his mouth alight.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Monday morning
Sarah presses herself into the tiny shower cubicle, the moulded plastic squeaking under her feet, and lets the lukewarm water trickle over her. She picks the scab on her arm where she tested the kitchen knife and lets the blood dilute in a pinkish trickle. The dog’s whining outside the door. It needs taking out. It’s her day off, so she has nothing better to do. At least it will get her out of this stifling caravan.
She pulls on her T-shirt and shorts. Perhaps she’ll sunbathe a little out on the track.
She holds the lead tightly coiled in her hand and Wolf trots by her side sniffing the air. He’s not been out much since he arrived, just to do his business in the undergrowth at the edge of the yard. She’s never had a dog, she’s not even sure she likes them, but she has to admit he is handsome. His short black coat shimmers in the sunlight and he turns to look up at her, as if he knows he’s being admired. He pulls across the car park, towards the new kennels and she lets him lead her, loosening the leash to give him more freedom.
The earth is still uneven and waiting for turf where the trench ran in front of the kennel block. Wolf sniffs at the earth and she pulls him up with the lead. She can hear something inside the building. Wolf hears it too. A high-pitched whine, repeated over and over. Then she hears a male voice, speaking softly. Joe or Tommy, she can’t tell which. Keeping Wolf close, she pushes open the door. Inside it’s cool. There is a smell of fresh concrete and freshly planed wood. Each kennel is like a small stable, opening off a whitewashed passage. She walks towards the sound, Wolf’s paws clicking lightly on the concrete floor.
At the last kennel, the top half of the door is open and she looks in. A fawn-coloured greyhound is lying on a dog bed, padded out with blankets. The dog’s foreleg is wrapped in a splint and bandage. He wears a plastic cone. It’s the dog that got hurt on Saturday night. Beside it, on the ground, Joe Heron is stroking his back. He doesn’t look round and she’s sure he doesn’t know she’s there.
She watches as Joe opens the cone and takes it off. The dog nudges the splint and whines louder. Joe strokes its head. He has something in his other hand. It looks like a small electric drill. He brings it up and presses it between the dog’s eyes. She realises too late and can’t turn away in time. He pulls the trigger and the dog spasms. There is blood pouring from a hole in its forehead.
Joe turns round.
‘Enjoyed that, did you?’ he says. He has tears in his eyes.
She pulls Wolf close and walks away down the passage and back out into the light.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Monday morning
The sun poured through the window behind DI Khan’s desk and Sean had to tilt his head to avoid being dazzled.
‘Each year plenty of constables apply,’ Khan said, ‘but very few are selected. Normally, even with a successful application, there can be a wait before the candidate is placed.’
Sean tried to stay focused. He didn’t want to miss anything, but Khan’s voice washed over him, leaving certain words and phrases behind in the shallows. The DI was smiling at him, or at least Sean thought he was, it was hard to tell with the sun in his eyes.
‘But,’ Khan said, pausing to take a mouthful of coffee.
Sean dreaded what lay behind the word ‘but’. Maybe he’d misread the letter, or it had been a mistake and was meant for someone else instead of him.
Khan smiled and continued speaking: ‘I’m pleased to say that you shone at interview and your record, especially on secondment to Major Crimes last year, demonstrates that you’re more than ready.’ There it was, the words in the letter were confirmed. ‘You’ll be assigned to an experienced detective, who will be your tutor. Someone for you to shadow, as you build your portfolio of key competencies. And then, of course, there will be the courses you need to attend, and the exams.’
Sean’s stomach tightened at the word ‘exams’. He was prepared to work as hard as he could, but nothing filled him with as much fear as the thought of sitting in an exam room, the words in his head stubbornly refusing to arrange themselves in any sensible order on the paper. His face must have given him away.
‘Don’t worry,’ Khan said, ‘you’ll be fine. I passed them, so that means anyone can.’ He smiled, but Sean didn’t think it was funny. DI Sam Nasir Khan had a brain the size of a planet. ‘Now, do you have any questions?’
‘What about location, sir? Will I need to move away?’
‘The thing is,’ Khan picked something out of his fingernail with a paper clip as he spoke. ‘With all the cutbacks we’ve been experiencing, we’re short in Major Crimes here, especially with a murder case open. I’ve checked with the divisional commander and he’s given me the go-ahead. If it wouldn’t be too unadventurous for you, I’d like to keep you here.’
‘Yes,’ Sean stammered. ‘I’d like that.’
‘And it’s an investigation that is not getting any less complicated, so I’m proposing that you start as soon as possible. I’ll give your sergeant the rest of today to make sure you don’t leave any loose ends on the response team, but I’d like you to come to the briefing at ten, then I can introduce you to the person I’ve lined up for you to work with.’
Sean suddenly thought about Gav, and how he would manage with a new partner. They worked well together, and Gav had taken Sean under his wing from the beginning, guiding him on the journey from PCSO to constable.
Khan cleared his throat, waiting for an answer.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Someone from HR will be in touch to sort out the necessaries.’
Khan was distracted by an incoming message on his phone and Sean took that as a sign that the interview was over. He stood up.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he said, and offered his hand for Khan’s crushing handshake.
Sean’s dry mouth was unable to make any sensible sound, so he turned on his heel and left the room. He almost ran down the stairs, gravity and speed threatening to throw him off his feet, but he didn’t care. He flicked the exit switch and pushed open the glass doors into the car park. The fresh air hit his throat like a gulp of cool water and he wanted to shout out to the four walls of the police yard: I’m a detective!
He couldn’t wait to tell Lizzie that Khan wanted him on his team. He decided to go and buy her a bunch of flowers, then he’d come back to the station and check whether the dog-walker, John Davies, had phoned in his sighting of Longfeller crossing Springfield Gardens on Friday night.
He came round the corner of the building, wondering if he should get Lizzie delphiniums, the flowers Chloe had said she resembled. He wasn’t sure he knew what delphiniums looked like, but he could always ask. He nearly collided with a woman coming towards him.
‘Sorry,’ she said, grabbing his elbow to steady herself.
