DEAD GONE. Luca Veste

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      2

       Sunday 27th January 2013 – Day One

      ‘This is Eddie Bishop,’ Rossi said as she led the dog walker towards Murphy. He was a grey-haired man with a stooped posture, a little Jack Russell padding alongside him. Yellow, stained teeth grimaced back at Murphy, the man’s wrinkled hands gripping the lead tighter, as he kept the dog close by.

      ‘Just a couple of questions, Mr Bishop.’

      ‘Eddie is fine.’

      ‘Okay, Eddie,’ Murphy replied, noting the softness of the infamous Scouse accent. Softness which you only really heard from the older inhabitants of the city nowadays. ‘Do you walk this way often?’ he continued.

      ‘Twice a day, first thing in the morning, again in the evening.’

      Murphy watched as Rossi wrote down the conversation in her notepad. ‘And the dog found the victim.’

      Eddie’s face grew serious as he explained how he’d found the dog standing over the young woman. ‘Terrible shame. Will take me a long time to get over this, I’ll tell you that for nothing.’

      ‘And you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary this morning. Anything at all?’ Murphy asked.

      Eddie shook his head. ‘Same as always, just me and Floyd.’ he replied, gesturing at the dog.

      Murphy finished up with Eddie, explaining the need for a formal statement and promising to keep him informed, knowing that would be highly unlikely.

      ‘Anything else?’ Murphy asked Rossi, as she finished writing the conversation down in her notepad.

      ‘There’s someone who keeps telling uniforms at the gate that he heard something. Might be an idea to check that out.’

      ‘Okay. We’ll do that now.’

      Murphy stopped to take in the place. The park was big enough to get lost in, vast areas of green and small wooded areas surrounding it.

      ‘In the dark, you could become invisible in a place like this,’ Murphy said to Rossi as they neared the gates.

      ‘True. Perfect places for this type of thing. In and out, probably without being seen in the early hours,’ Rossi replied, stepping underneath the crime scene tape. ‘I’ll be coming to interview this witness with you, yeah? I mean, I guess I’m getting to partner up with you on this one?’

      Murphy paused. ‘Let me see. We’ve worked together on and off for about two years, right?’

      Rossi nodded her head up and down slowly.

      ‘Ever known me to choose to work with Brannon?’

      She smiled and mocked a salute. ‘I’ll just go and get a new notepad from the car.’

      Murphy watched as she walked towards her car parked over the road, her posture straight and assured. The trouser suit looked new.

      ‘Sir. Sir!’

      Murphy stopped and turned. Sighed for effect. ‘What do you want, Brannon?’

      DS Brannon stopped jogging and bent down with his hands on his knees, panting. ‘I … sorry …’ He brought himself up again. ‘I just wondered if there was anything I can do?’

      ‘Haven’t you already got something to do?’

      ‘I just thought you might have something more interesting. I’m being wasted walking around looking through the mud.’

      ‘Rossi is with me on this one, Brannon. Maybe next time. For now, I want witness statements from everyone who lives in these houses which face the park entrance. Start organising it.’

      ‘But …’

      Murphy smiled inwardly and turned back towards the road outside the park. Brannon wasn’t all that bad really. He was annoying rather than incompetent. He wasn’t even all that fat, but first impressions stick.

      The uniforms were already being harassed by local residents eager to discover what was occurring near their homes. Murphy pushed through, ignoring the questions being directed towards him from a wild-haired older man, adorned only in a dressing gown and slippers.

      Murphy took the uniformed constable who’d been trying to placate the man to one side. ‘Which one says he heard something?’

      ‘The loud-mouthed one.’

      Typical, Murphy thought. ‘Okay, where does he live?’ The constable pointed to his house, which was exactly opposite the entrance. ‘Take him back in. We’ll be there in a minute.’

      The first thought that struck Murphy as they approached the house, was that it seemed a little big for just one man.

      As he entered, the second thought was that it wasn’t big enough for one man and the amount of stuff he seemed to own.

      Newspapers were stacked up along the hallway in bundles, at least four feet in height, held together with what looked like old twine. A staircase with no carpet ran up the other side was similarly stacked with paper, but magazines instead of newspapers. As Murphy walked towards the first door which led off the hallway, he became aware of a sour milk smell assailing his nostrils, making him thankful for the lack of breakfast that morning. Rossi was a few steps behind him. Murphy turned to see if it had reached her yet. From the look on her face, he knew it had.

      ‘In and out?’

      ‘Definitely, or I’m going now,’ Rossi replied, covering her mouth with her hand.

      They turned into a large living room, Rossi almost bumping into Murphy as he stopped in his tracks.

      ‘Jesus.’

      The room was full. The only visible space to stand was that in which Murphy was occupying. Small portable televisions teetered precariously on top of microwaves with missing doors. Stacks of crockery were piled onto an old mantelpiece, a door missing its glass leaning against it.

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