The Electrician's Code (2 page)

Chapter Two

T
he sound of hoovering caused Sophia Evans to look away from her monitor. What time was it? The clock on the wall read 2:10. Where did the time go? She pressed the power button on her screen then leaned back in her chair. Her shoulders ached and she rolled her head from side to side.

She glanced around the office. Six other co-workers still sat at their stations. Three had noise-cancelling headphones over their ears. Maybe Liam Foxton was right; perhaps they had no lives. Liam would never work this late. She wondered when he had left. It was rare for him to leave without at least saying good-bye. From her bag, she pulled her mobile phone—no one had rang.

When she looked up, she saw Liam approaching her desk. “Speak of the devil,” she said.

“What’s this?” Liam asked and shook papers in front of her face. She rose and snatched them from him. He had recently followed her to the ICT unit at
MI5
in a role he termed liaison—between the Intelligence Officers and ICT Specialists.

“You know, it’s after two in the morning.” She flipped through the sheets—at least he hadn’t marked them in any way. She didn’t want to have to reprint the thirty-four pages.

“I intercepted this,” he yelled over the vacuum. He jabbed at the papers.

She let out a laugh. “You didn’t intercept it; you stole it off the post cart. It’s for my boss to review.” She slammed the document down on her desk. “And you’re not my boss. It’s my speech—waiting for approval.”

“In what language?”

“Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t mean it’s not English. It’s my demonstration of the Huffman Compression Function and Linguistic Stenography.”

Three or four times a year she gave a lecture at the university on various Mathematics subjects to various groups. It impressed her that students as young as eight took an interest in maths. In a way, it reminded her of herself at that age.

“Would you like me to bore you with the details?” she asked him.

“No.”

“Is this what you’ve been discussing with your superiors all afternoon?”

“What are you on about?”

“I saw you this afternoon and I know you were talking about me. I saw you looking at me. Is this what it’s about?” She held up the pages.

When he didn’t reply, she continued, “Never mind. What are you doing here so late?”

“I-I thought we could grab a coffee.”

“I don’t need more coffee, Liam. I need a bed.” She picked up her bag, umbrella, and coat from under her desk.

“It’s only that we haven’t had much time to talk . . . to discuss what happened on—”

“What? Just spit it out.” The words came out louder than she had planned. She looked round the room, but none of the other analysts had stopped typing to watch. There was enough noise in the room even to drown out the occasional game of Halo some of the analysts played. Liam attempted to drag her to his office but she stopped him.

“Well,” he whispered, “I want to make sure you’re okay. You seem really angry. Well, towards me anyways.”

“I’m all right, all right?” After a soft pat on his arm, she headed for the lift.

“Wait. Just wait for me.” He ran to his office and retrieved his coat and briefcase. She stopped and turned to him.

“The reason we haven’t discussed it,” she said when he returned, “is because I haven’t wanted to discuss it with you. I’ve already been through months of counselling. Now, I just want to put it behind me. All right?” She pressed the button. And then three more times.

Liam pulled her hand back.

“But you still seem angry—” he started.

“Of course I’m angry. I shot him. I shot a man I cared about . . . for you.” She jabbed him in the chest. When the lift doors opened, they entered. He pressed the button for the ground floor.

“He died in my arms,” she continued, “and you never apologized, did you know that? Are you even sorry for putting me on the case, a case I was in no way prepared for? Are you sorry for risking my life and the lives of your officers?”

He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him. “It’s too late now, Liam.”

“I know I can’t say anything to make you forgive me, but can we at least be able to have a civilized conversation?”

She leaned her head against the lift wall.

“We were talking about you in the office earlier.” He lifted his hand in front of her face to stop her from speaking. “But before you jump to conclusions, let me explain.”

He pulled a small slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

“What is it?”

“It’s an address. I want you to meet me there first thing tomorrow morning. Nine. On the dot.”

Her shoulders sank. “I thought you said you would explain. What is it about? And you say we don’t have civilized conversations? You never tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ll explain in the morning.”

She sighed. “Do I have a choice? Did my boss approve this?”

“Yes, you’re required to go.” The lift doors opened and he walked out. “Nine, Evans. On the dot.”

Chapter Three

T
heo Blackwell stood in aisle sixteen at Tesco, running his eyes up and down the rows of greeting cards. He knew the supermarket wasn’t the ideal place to find an anniversary card for his wife, but he was pressed for time and not many other places were open at eight in the morning. When he reached the section he was looking for, he pulled three different cards from the rack. They all pictured happy couples, kissing couples, and messages that didn’t apply to his situation. One had six different pictures of a couple from the moment they started dating to an older couple holding hands walking through the park. That wasn’t his life.

Where was the one that said,
I know you don’t remember who I am and don’t love me anymore, but when I look at you, I remember. I remember how happy we were together and I know I still love you.
Where was that card?

For their six year anniversary, his wife had been unconscious and hanging on for dear-life after getting in a car accident. He had got her a card and laid it by her side in the hospital but in the end, it went in the box with all the other cards she had received. She never read it. For their seventh, he bought her a card but ended up stuffing it in his sock drawer. Though she was making a fine physical recovery, she still couldn’t remember anything about her past and they were as good as strangers.

He actually considered not getting her a card this year. Although they were talking now, and she had begun to display the same sweet personality she had when he fell in love, he just wasn’t sure she would appreciate the gesture.

He took all three and stuffed them behind a random card.

His mobile rang and he reached for it on his belt. It was his boss, Detective Chief Superintendent Deveau. “Good morning, sir.”

“You sound chipper this morning, Blackwell.”

“Thank you, sir.” He wasn’t chipper but he didn’t feel like correcting his boss so he let the matter drop. “I’m optimistic your call will take me from the last few days of doldrums to an exciting new case?”

“You solve one really high-profile case and now you’re never satisfied. Yes, you will be happy to know that a man died for your enjoyment this morning.”

“Wonderful,” he said ignoring his boss’s sarcasm and pulled a Biro from his coat pocket. It was true, a lot had changed since he solved his first homicide. And really, he had Sophia Evans to thank for it, even though she wanted no recognition.

He hadn’t seen Sophia since the week after they arrested the man they were after, and although he knew where she lived and had her mobile number, he made no attempts to contact her. And to his knowledge, she hadn’t made any attempts either.

One day she was in his life, the next, she disappeared. And he had to respect her wishes.

“Would you like the address?” his boss asked, interrupting his thoughts.

When Theo couldn’t find a piece of paper, he walked an aisle over and picked up a small notebook. “Can you repeat that, sir?”

As he began to write down some instructions, an extra loud announcement blared over the speaker above his head. He heard nothing.

“Where are you, Blackwell, the Underground?”

“Actually, at a Tesco. Sorry, come again, what was the address?”

“You’re shopping at eight in the morning? Doesn’t your mother do that for you?”

“Looking for something, is all. I’ll be at the scene ASAP. Have they got the scene under control?”

“Everyone has been dispatched. You’ll find this case interesting.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Chapter Four

O
n the path leading from a small house on Connell Road in Ealing, Queen of the Suburbs, laid a man in his bathrobe. The victim had his eyes opened and might have been mistaken for cloud watching if it wasn’t for the pool of blood beneath him. A gray steel walking frame and a neatly folded newspaper were at his feet. No, foot. The man only had one leg.

The brick house that belonged to the deceased was two-story with large windows. It had a small yard out front. The lawn and hedges neatly trimmed. The white wooden fence, recently painted.

Theo looked up and down the street. The crime scene was loud and hectic. A crowd had gathered behind the crime scene tape. Only a handful of uniform officers were there to keep control. Amateur photographers pushed the tape boundaries hoping to snap the best shot.

Children ran to the first floor of their neighbor’s homes where they could get a view of the dead body, while mothers were doing all they could to keep their children away from the tape. A group of older men were huddled together debating whether this was the first of many attacks to come on the old men in the neighborhood and what was the world coming to. Old women were huddled debating who had seen the most from their planter-covered windows and discussing the theories they had in which to enlighten the police.

“Are you the SIO?”

Theo turned around to face a short, pudgy uniformed officer whose blond hair was cropped short. “I am.”

He took out his warrant card and displayed his credentials. The young officer just stood there.

“And who are you?” asked Theo.

“I’m PC Barry Borders. I was the first to arrive on scene, but I didn’t touch the body, and I made sure no one else touched the body. To make sure there were no other victims, I entered the house, but I didn’t touch anything there either—except the door handle, I had to touch the door handle, but I used gloves. No one was inside. The deceased is Maddock Tipring, sixty-two. I don’t really know how he died. Perhaps he had a heart attack while fetching the newspaper. But, I didn’t touch the body.”

“That’s perfect, Borders. Good job.”

Just then, a small child of around eight years brushed past Theo’s leg. With a swift grab of the school bag attached to the boy’s shoulders, Theo yanked him back.

“Sorry, sir,” said another officer who was running after the boy.

Bending down to meet the boy at eye level, Theo asked, “Where is your mum, lad?”

The wide-eyed boy pointed in the direction of a woman intently capturing the scene on her mobile phone camera. Theo dragged the boy to his mother and confiscated the phone out of her hand. “Are you the crime scene photographer?”

“No—”

“Then I suggest you do your job which is taking care of your son. He is yours, I presume?”

“Yes. I’m sorry,” she replied roughly, drawing her son near to her. Theo handed her phone back.

“Are you trying to traumatize your son? You understand your son almost saw a dead body? Do you know what happens then?” Theo continued as the woman shook her head, “They grow up to be teenagers with emotional problems, and when life doesn’t turn out for them like they think is fair, they blame their mothers, who they guilt into spending lots of money to support them for the rest of their miserable lives. Can you afford that? If not, try taking more care of you son. Thank you.” He returned to the dead man.

“Were there any witnesses, Borders?” asked Theo.

“Ah, no sir, but we’re questioning the neighbors and bystanders now. So far no one has heard or seen anything. No one even heard him scream. Maybe he couldn’t, I don’t know. Apparently, though, his neighbors say it was his habit to pick up the newspaper every morning. According to the nurse, it was something he wanted to do for himself. Made him feel useful, I suppose. As you can see, he is . . . was disabled.”

“Yes, I think I can see,” Theo said, ignoring his comment. “Who found the body?”

Looking down at his pad, the officer replied, “A Mr. Carlin Dowridge. He was walking past the house on the way to work, saw the body, and called the police from his mobile. He says he only touched the body to check for a pulse.”

“Where is Mr. Dowridge?”

“He had to be at work by eight because he works at a local school, but I made him stay in case you wanted to talk with him, and I wrote down all his information.” He held his notebook in Theo’s face.

Theo pushed the notebook aside. “What time did the witness notice the deceased?”

“About a quarter to eight. He said he almost didn’t notice him because the bushes hid him. When he walked past the fence, he noticed the Zimmer frame. I guess that was when he saw the body. Thought the man had a heart attack or something.”

“Does he live nearby?”

“He lives on this road by but two streets down.” Borders pointed in the direction. “He gave us his address.”

“Did he enter the house?”

“No, I don’t think so. He said the man looked dead—with all the blood—and so after he rang the police, he just waited and that was all.”

Theo nodded.

“The victim’s nurse arrived only a few minutes ago. She’s pretty distraught.” Borders pointed to a woman in a nurse’s uniform that was standing with an officer a few feet away. “The liaison officer hasn’t arrived yet.”

“All right,” said Theo. “When you checked the house, did you speak to the people who let the upstairs flat?”

“I knocked on the door of the flat upstairs. No one answered. I suppose the nurse will know if that upstairs flat is let or not.”

“Listen, you have done an excellent job so far. Don’t let any officers in the house or around the property until Scene of Crime Officers arrive. If this is a murder and the killer went into the house, I don’t want any of the evidence destroyed. SOCO will be furious if we disturb the crime scene any more than we need to.” The officer nodded and left, Theo turned around searching the crowd.

Finally, the Scene of Crime Unit arrived. Men jumped out of the vans, donned suits, and stormed the house and body, taking pictures and picking up evidence. He took his mobile from his pocket and dialed his partner, Detective Inspector Dorland’s number. Straight to voicemail. Dorland better be on his way.