No Smoke Without Fire. Paul Gitsham

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      Nevertheless, those pulling the night shift had been busy and a glut of new reports sat in Warren’s in-tray and his computer’s inbox. It was an encouraging start to the day, he decided, gauging the thickness of the pile, but he doubted there was anything too exciting in there otherwise he’d have been called at home. By a quarter to eight he had a couple of pages of notes and had planned out the next few hours’ worth of activities for him and his team.

      First order of the day was to revisit Darren Blackheath and question him about Kim Bradshaw. After Bill Evans’ outburst the previous evening he had requested details of the incident. The report sat in his tray, waiting to be read fully.

      The results of more tests from Sally Evans’ PM were expected soon and he was going to ask that they be run through HOLMES. Ideally, they’d pick up some matches later in the day.

      In the meantime, different teams of officers would be trying to catch up with witnesses to try and pinpoint Darren Blackheath’s whereabouts on the night of the murder. Warren still felt that the young man was innocent, but there was work to be done before he could be discounted entirely.

      Similarly, Bill Evans also needed his alibi corroborated and specialists in Welwyn would be trying to track down his mistress. Warren’s gut was giving him conflicting signals about the man. On the one hand, the man’s distress seemed genuine; on the other hand he seemed shifty. Whether that was just a result of Warren’s personal distaste towards the man’s private life he couldn’t be sure. He was only human after all; try as he might, his feelings could be influenced by his personal prejudices as much as anybody’s.

Chapter 13

      As soon as the morning briefing concluded, Warren snared Tony Sutton and Karen Hardwick and the three officers drove to the flat where Sally Evans and Darren Blackheath had lived. Tony Sutton had yet to meet Blackheath and, if he was in the frame, Warren wanted his second-in-charge to get a good look; on the other hand, DC Hardwick had been with Warren for the initial interview. If there was any change in the man’s demeanour he hoped that the insightful young officer would pick it up.

      After ringing the doorbell twice and receiving no reply, Warren knocked on the neighbour’s door. After a few moments, it opened slowly and a gnarled, weather-beaten face appeared.

      “Whatcha want?”

      The voice was so gravelly and the face so wrinkled that only the pink dressing gown hinted at the occupant’s gender. A cloud of stale cigarette smoke drifted out.

      Warren held his warrant card open. “DCI Warren Jones, madam. I wonder if you could tell me the whereabouts of your next-door neighbour, Mr Blackheath.”

      “I already spoke to the police. I was at me club on the night the poor girl was murdered, God bless ’er soul. I didn’t see nothing and have no idea if that young fella of hers and his silly car were around.”

      The old lady either hadn’t heard or had misunderstood Warren’s question. He raised his voice and enunciated his words more clearly. “No ma’am. I wondered if you knew where he is this morning. We’ve knocked on the door and there was no reply.”

      “Well, he’s gone to work, in’t he? When you towed that car of his away, I’d hoped that’d be the end of all the noise first thing in the morning. The bloody thing makes such a racket, especially the way he revs the engine. But the lad who picked him up made even more noise. I reckon he must have loosened that exhaust pipe ’specially, just to annoy folks like me in bed.”

      “So you’re saying he’s returned to work?”

      “Yeah, he went in yesterday. I spoke to him last night, just to pass on my condolences, like, and he said he needed the company.” For the first time, the fierce visage softened slightly. “Poor lad. He might be a bit noisy and he won’t be gettin’ a Nobel prize any time soon but he was nice enough and he helped me no end when I was burgled last autumn. Now he’s all alone. I remember what that’s like from when my Stan died… Maybe I’ll take him round something to eat. He’s hardly had a single visitor ’cept the police and you don’t count. No offence.”

      Warren was getting the feeling that the elderly lady didn’t get too many visitors herself and might just welcome a bit of a gossip. She might not have been here the night that Sally Evans disappeared — which explained why she hadn’t been flagged as ‘of interest’ by the door knockers — but with the right questions, she might provide insights into the couple’s private life. Time for a little charm, he decided.

      “Please forgive my bad manners — I haven’t asked your name. This is Detective Inspector Tony Sutton and Detective Constable Karen Hardwick and you must be getting chilled with this door open.”

      “Maeve Cunningham.” She stepped back as Warren had hoped she would. “Why don’t you come in out of the cold?”

      The three officers stepped over the threshold into the house, the stale fug of tobacco hitting them hard. At least it was warm. Up close, the woman was even older than Warren had first guessed. She was bending over a metal walking stick with a bird-like frame, and her hands were twisted, the knuckles swollen with arthritis. The fingertips on her right hand were stained the dark yellow that only a truly dedicated smoker could achieve. Her teeth and even the fringe of her thinning white hair were similarly affected, almost as if she had started to dye her hair blonde, before giving up.

      After slowly leading the three officers into her living room, she carefully sat down on what was clearly her favourite chair. A bag of knitting lay next to an open newspaper and a TV remote control. A packet of Marlboro Red cigarettes and a lighter sat next to an overflowing ashtray, although much to Warren’s relief she made no move to light one.

      After clearing her throat a few times, a wet, wheezy sound that made Warren wince inwardly, she was settled.

      “So you were saying that Darren has had very few visitors since Sally’s disappearance? What about his parents? Or her parents?”

      The old lady shook her head. “I don’t like to gossip, you understand, but I heard that he doesn’t get on very well with his parents any more. Not since the incident with that Kim Bradshaw. He thinks that they betrayed him.”

      There was clearly much to this story, Warren was beginning to realise, and it seemed to be common local knowledge. Unfortunately, Mrs Cunningham knew, or was willing to admit to knowing, few details and so he dropped the discussion.

      “Tell me, how well did they get on as a couple, do you think?”

      “They always seemed happy, whenever I saw them. Dead close. But then I suppose that you have to be, when both of you have been practically disowned by your parents. I suppose it’s romantic in a way — bit like Romeo ’n’ Juliet.”

      “So you were aware that Ms Evans’ parents didn’t like Darren Blackheath?”

      The old woman cackled, her eyes suddenly dancing with amusement. “I’ll bloody say I did. A few weeks after they started living here, her dad turned up, didn’t he? He was drunk and he started shouting at Darren to come out. It was late at night, so I got up to see what was going on. Anyway, he starts banging on the flat door. Well, the original doors in these flats are cheap and flimsy and it popped open. I had mine replaced after I was broken into but they haven’t yet.

      “I СКАЧАТЬ