Force Of Habit v5 (3 page)

North felt conscious of his appearance again.

‘When he bumped into you, did you notice anything?’ North didn’t want to put the idea of him being drunk in her head but he was running out of prompts. ‘And did he stumble into you, or –’

‘Oh, he pushed me, Inspector. He went straight through me like a dose of salts.’

‘And that was just after five?’

She nodded. It was now just past six. North had to get a move on.

‘You said you didn’t hear anything. Where were you before five?’

‘Ooh, am I a suspect Detective? Can I call you Detective? It’s just like Murder She Wrote,’ she turned to her dogs, ‘We like Murder She Wrote, don’t we boys.’ The dogs barked.

Bloody Hell, he was interviewing Miss Marple.

‘Do you have a motive?’ he humoured her.

‘She attacked me that night the brute was arrested, Detective. I had to have stitches. She started in on them and then did for me while the police were wrestling with that brute. There’s a motive, right there.’

He returned her smile.

‘This morning I took the boys for walkies at seven and we came back at eight,’ she went on, ‘then we went out again at three and came back at four. I like to be indoors before it gets too dark, Detective. We had just watched Countdown and I was putting rubbish in the shoot when he barged into me. He must have come up during one of our walks because we usually see anyone that goes by the window and I didn’t see or hear anything out of the ordinary all day. It’s been very quiet since he’s been gone. Occasionally she plays music too loud when she’s drunk but only rarely. She still gives out the vilest abuse when you complain.’

North hoped he had her zest and stamina if he made it to her age.

‘What about yesterday? Last night? Did you hear or see anything then?’

She shook her head and looked at him with a puzzled look, trying to work out his train of thought like she did watching ‘Murder She Wrote’.

‘Just the usual loutish behaviour outside from kids swearing like troopers,’ she pulled back the curtain revealing a security grille inside the window. ‘I had to fortify my own home after the second burglary. They broke in when I was at my Charlie’s funeral, Detective. His funeral! They knew I was out, see. That’s all they saw, an opportunity, not the tragedy. Not the empathy for a fellow human being, just an opportunity to feed their habits. They even took my Gemma.’

‘Gemma?’ North feared the worst.

‘My dog. A boxer. I used to let her out for a run, she’d play downstairs with the little ‘uns until I’d whistle and then she’d come running right back. Good as gold she was. Then one day she didn’t come back. I hope she found a good home. It does worry me. I shouldn’t have left her on her own. She was a big softy and would have gone to anyone. That’s why I got the boys.’

The boys growled on cue. North thought that anyone would have to be real desperate to tackle the pair of them.

‘Why do you stay?’

‘All my memories are of here, with my Charlie and raising our Jeffrey. All my friends were here. They’re all dead or moved away now and our boy is in Australia. He has wanted me to move there since Charlie died, but I only have this council house and a state pension. I don’t want to be a burden on him. And I couldn’t be flying all that way, Inspector, not at my age, and what about that deep vein thrombosis?’ she shook her head. ‘After school our Jeffrey went travelling and never came back. He’s a good boy, he calls twice a week, every week and comes back at least once a year. He keeps on at me to join them out there but I don’t think they can have much spare cash with two kids and her having to stay at home to look after the youngest. Me and Charlie struggled with just the one.’

Times have changed though, thought North. Her son was probably doing fine, maybe even better than fine if he could afford to fly back and forward regularly, but the old dear was proud. Too proud.

‘Who can blame him for wanting to get as far away from here as is humanly possible?’ she asked.

Not me.

‘Exactly,’ she read his thoughts.

‘You wouldn’t happen to know which pub was his local?’ asked North. ‘Rawlins’?’

‘All the likes of him ended up down the Pond House when the Black Horse shut down.’

He said his ‘thank-yous’, wrote his name and number on the newspaper and the dogs escorted him out.

‘They like you, Detective. I can tell,’ she smiled, sweetly, negotiating the locks. He couldn’t work out if she was genuine or yanking his chain. He wouldn’t put it past her. She opened the door. ‘You best start taking more care of yourself Inspector. In order to help others, first we must take care of ourselves.’

Their eyes met and he knew she wasn’t messing.

‘You know, what you’ve seen would be valuable to the papers, not just the locals, but the nationals too,’ said North. They may even run her as a human interest story. It wouldn’t be a fortune but it would be a lot to her. She would be able to afford the dignity of paying for her own flight and keeping the grand kids in occasional treats for the rest of her days. He gave her a name and number, nodded and left.

Deacon was outside.

‘You’ve got company,’ she indicated Lumsden’s place.

‘Where’s the Pond House?’

‘Bottom of the High Street. It’s a bit of an old mans pub, though, you’d be better off down the quayside.’

North went back into Lumsden’s.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t come in here, this is a crime scene and the constable shouldn’t have let you through,’ said a muffled voice.

A short, slender figure, white suited from head to toe, masked-up and holding a latex palm out towards him, advanced down the staircase like a big white jelly baby. She shouted for the PCW. North offered his badge and she checked it twice, with a long look at him in between. She took her mask off. Coppers looked so young these days. She opened her mouth to speak then thought better of it, simply looking at her sanitised outfit then at him, as if to say, ‘are you sure?’

‘You’re not DCI Mason, sir. I was expecting DCI Mason.’

He was already being replaced. He had to move.

‘DI North,’ he introduced himself.

‘DC R-’ she paused. ‘James, sir.’

He looked at her offered hand and shook it. When he looked up she looked away a moment too late. He'd seen the look in her eyes. What had it been, contempt or disgust? He figured it was probably a bit of both.

‘Pleased to meet you DC R James.’

‘Just James, sir.’

‘How do you come to be here, Just James? I've been rattling around the station like a spare pr-’, he caught himself, ‘like a lost lemon, for weeks on end, annoying everyone in it. I've never seen you.’

‘It’s my first day.’

‘At the station? Or as a DC?’

‘Both. I transferred after completing my two years as a trainee DC.’

‘HPD?’

She nodded. The High Potential Development Scheme had recruited the future brass and fast-tracked them through the ranks. ‘I guess I stick out like a spare prick at a wedding too?’

North smiled, partly out of politeness, partly at the humour of it. The crude remark sounded funny in the poshest accent he’d heard since the Queens Christmas broadcast. She was brand new and wanted to fit in.

‘Good to meet you, Just James. I’d like you to climb out of that suit and accompany me. I have a suspect who may still be in the vicinity.’

Her face lifted.

‘Who?’

‘The deceased’s partner.’

It fell back.

‘I was told to report to DCI Mason, sir. He is on his way.’

‘I am the senior officer on the scene and I need you to accompany me, Detective Constable James. Now.’

‘You’re the guy who got stabbed.’

Good news may well travel fast, thought North, but bad news travels much, much faster.

‘Sir,’ she added. ‘You’ve been rattling, as you call it, round the station because you’ve been on light duties,’ her voice reflected the dawning realisation within her. ‘They must have despatched you, realised the gravity of the situation and then put DCI Mason on it.’

She was quick. Intelligent. Unfazed by confrontation with a superior, even if she considered the superiority to be strictly confined to name of rank. She clearly thought him unfit for purpose. He was starting to like her. She was inclined to think that they were taking the piss out of the new girl again. It happened as regular as clockwork at each new station: being new, being a woman, being part of the fast-track programme and her accent didn’t help her any. But there had clearly been a mistake that was being rectified.

She looked him square in the eye. ‘This is a murder investigation with no immediate suspects. PCW Deacon briefed me on the victim’s history and on today’s events, and Terry Rawlins could not have done this. I’m waiting for DCI Mason as already ordered, sir.’

‘So you noticed she’d been dead longer than Rawlins has been out.’

She stared at him, clearly surprised at what he’d just said. North had seen enough bodies to tell that Denise Lumsden had been dead longer than a few hours. Rigidity was too complete. It had been difficult with the extensive wounding and all the blood that was on and around her, but he had managed to see slight traces of the skin darkening where it met the floor, a sign of the internal blood pooling beneath the body, gravity having taken over where the heart had left off. He was impressed that someone as wet behind the ears as James had still been alert and professional enough to notice under such extreme circumstances.

‘So why are you chasing after Rawlins if you know he’s innocent?’ she said. ‘Sir.’

‘There’s nothing innocent about shitehawks like Terry Rawlins and right now he’s all we’ve got. You have to keep the case moving.’ And he had to get moving. ‘Forensics can take care of this. I’m going after him and you’re coming with me, Just James. I am instructing you to accompany me.’

‘And I have been instructed to wait for a more senior officer. You are being replaced. Maybe they left it to DCI Mason to relay to you in person. Maybe he will utilise you on the case but you will be based back at the station, you will not be in the field on this one, sir.’

She took another look at him. There was definitely something wrong with him. Maybe he had PTSD. There was no way they would let him near something like this in his current condition, it had high profile written all over it. The place was clearly being used to package drugs and the murder was like ritualistic, sadistic, gangland or something. It wasn’t normal. And he wanted to go on a wild goose chase searching for a man who had the perfect alibi while the sicko that did this roamed free.

‘The message can be clearly communicated to Terry Rawlins through the media, if he doesn’t show up back here before then. We’ll get to talk to him soon enough. You’re clearly desperate to get back on the job but this isn’t the way to do it. And you really don’t look ready, sir.’

She ended with such pity in her voice he almost laughed out loud.

‘I admire your optimism, Just James, but we don’t know jack and there’s nothing else we can do here. Right now he’s all we’ve got and there’s a chance he’s still close by. It’s worth looking into if only to ask him why he had it on his toes.’

‘But he wouldn't have realised that she was already dead before he was released.’ Now she sounded exasperated. ‘He just panicked and ran because he thought he’d be the prime suspect.’

‘Then let’s go put his mind at ease.’

She looked at him like he was an obstinate five year old. She thought that maybe he had had some kind of breakdown or something.

‘I already have my orders, sir. And the name is Detective Constable James.’

He was really starting to like her.

‘Forensics are here,’ Deacon poked her head in.

‘Fancy a drink?’ asked North.

FOUR

The Pond House was a run down mid terrace, squeezed in between a cafe and a 7-11. The cafe was closed. North bought a paper and held up the Rawlins piece. The kid working the 7-11 hadn’t seen the bloke in the picture. North took a peep through the pub window. All he could see on the other side of the grimy pane were yellowing nets that would strangle any light that attempted to make its way through during daylight hours. He went in.

The decor was aging badly, like the clientele. Bleary eyes looked out from red faces of saggy skin and dirty stubble. Deacon had said it was an old mans pub but North reckoned the clientele weren’t nearly as old as they looked. A pissheads pub is what it was. Only those jettisoned from the rest of their community washed up in places like this. The local pond life.

Their conversation ceased when he entered and they all gazed over from their usual places. He stared back. None of them resembled the guy in the newspaper. Rawlins wasn’t amongst them.

From what he had been told of Rawlins, North had really fancied his chances of finding him in here. He had installed Deacon round the back and had expected Rawlins to try and leg it out that way as soon as he realised North was making a beeline for him. Alcoholics like him spent all the time in the pub that the little money they had would allow. His only peers were here. He would have run straight to them to exercise his bragging rights about having just done a year inside. North had figured that the only reason Rawlins had gone home first and not straight to the pub was to get some of the folding stuff from his missus. Maybe add a slap for time served into the bargain.

He’d been held in Stanegate and walked free from a courtroom there early that afternoon. Depending on his circumstances he would have got on a bus or train and daydreamed of his moment to come all the way back. Scum like Terry Rawlins didn’t get many opportunities to be the centre of attention. He would have found Denise Lumsden dead and in his panic the Pond House is where he would have continued on to. Chances that he had other options were slim.

Rain dropped from North onto grimy lino that pulled at the soles of his shoes as he approached the bar.

‘Two pints of Workie Ticket.’

Rawlins wasn’t in sight but he was sure that the bloke behind the jump had worn a look of anticipation when looking towards the door as North had entered. Like he was expecting somebody. Now he looked like he wanted to tell North to fuck off but he wasn’t going to mess with the unknown. Not when it looked like North. North took a look around.