to the noise from upstairs. He heard the sound of feet padding lightly along the hallway, a toilet flushed and then more footsteps. One of the children going to the toilet. He sighed and returned to the living room.
When the children, Warren aged ten and Milly aged seven, came down for breakfast, they looked with heavy frowns at the gangly detective. Who was this man and why had he spent the night on their recliner?
Alice had no idea what to say to them and stumbled her way through a statement of silences, um’s and ah’s. In the end, Joseph stepped forward and took over. Surprisingly, Alice allowed it.
Joseph bent down in front of the two frightened children who looked vulnerable and innocent in their pyjamas and dressing gowns. He lowered his voice and tried to sound soothing and calm. ‘At the moment, we don’t know what’s happening but we think your dad has been involved in some kind of accident. The reason why I’m here is to look after you all while the main police officers find out what’s going on. If there’s anything you need or anything you want to know, come and ask me and I’ll do what I can to help. Is that OK?’
The children nodded in unison. They looked to their mother who nodded and gave a painful smile, doing all she could to stop the tears from falling.
‘Right then Warren, your mum tells me you’re a very good boy and always help at mealtimes. I bet you know where all the breakfast things are don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he nodded.
‘OK. Now, you look like a Coco Pops man to me. Am I right?’ He knew one of them would like Coco Pops having seen two boxes of them in the cupboard while looking around during the hours of darkness.
‘Milly likes Coco Pops. I prefer Frosties.’
‘Cool. I like those too. Have you ever mixed them together?’
He ushered the kids into the kitchen and Alice mouthed her thanks as her emotions took over. She turned her back so nobody would see her cry.
As Alice made her way towards the hallway the front doorbell rang. She quickly wiped her eyes and turned round to look at Joseph in the doorway to the kitchen.
‘Would you like me to answer it?’
‘No, it’s OK,’ she sniffled. She looked through the spyhole. ‘It’s my sister.’ She had barely opened the solid front door before her younger sister burst into the house and grabbed Alice in a bear hug.
‘Oh my God, Alice,’ Jenny was younger, shorter, fatter, and plainer than her sister.
Alice had called Jenny last night, before she had fallen asleep, and told her the tragic news. Jenny, who was away at a wedding in Skegness, had come straight back to Sheffield.
‘I didn’t think you were coming straight back,’ said Alice. ‘What about Geraldine’s wedding?’
‘She’s got another three bridesmaids; I won’t be missed. Alice, what happened?’
Alice put her arm around her sister and led her into the living room where they could talk in private.
Joseph was torn. He wanted to listen in on the conversation. Would Alice say something to her sister she wouldn’t say to him? However, there were two children in the room behind him and it sounded like they were making a mess.
As Alice closed the door to the living room, Joseph heard her say ‘you’ll never believe what’s happened’. Joseph had started the conversation with his sister the same way a few hours earlier. But he’d just been gossiping then. He never would have said that had he been talking about the brutal murder of a close relative.
Matilda’s office was a small cubicle in the corner of the Murder Room. She liked to keep her door open so her team knew they could step in at any time to talk to her, and also so she could keep an eye on them. Usually at the start of a major investigation the Murder Room would be a hive of activity – unfortunately, being able to hear the clock ticking was not a good sign.
Through the open doorway, Matilda looked out at her team. Aaron looked strained and brooding like he had the entire world’s worries on his shoulders. She had heard Sian refer to him as John Luther but without the cool coat. This was an accurate description of Aaron Connolly. If he won the lottery he’d still have the dour face of a basset hound. Scott was on the phone, held in the crook of his shoulder while tapping away at the computer. He was a quiet man, almost monosyllabic. She wondered what it would take to bring him out of his shell. Despite him being an excellent DC he was the hardest of the team to try and get to know. Rory Fleming was his polar opposite; confident, brash, smiling, bounding around like a puppy. Matilda was surprised that Rory and Scott liked each other, yet they often went to the gym together after work. She wondered what they found to talk about, if anything.
Sian popped her head around the door. ‘Have you got a few minutes?’
‘Sure. Come on in.’
‘You looked lost for a moment there.’
‘Just thinking. What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve had forensics on the phone. They’ve not been able to get anything from the partial footprint on Kevin Hardaker’s chest.’
‘Adele said as much last night.’
‘The bullet from his chest is from a semi-automatic handgun, similar to the kind our armed officers use.’
‘A Heckler & Koch?’ Sian nodded. ‘Do we have any reports of guns being stolen or missing?’
‘None at all. I’ve run through the list of local gun owners and we’ve contacted the majority of them. They all know where their guns are.’
‘So an illegal weapon bought on the black market then?’
‘It would appear so.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes. Uniform were called out to an RTC in the small hours of this morning off Psalter Lane. A nurse going home from the late shift was driving her Nissan and was run off the road by a man driving a black BMW. She crashed into a tree.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘Yes, she’s fine. The car was being driven way over the speed limit and the driver didn’t stop. She said it all happened rather quickly but she was sure the car didn’t have a registration plate. I’ve been in with traffic for the last hour; I’ve looked at the cameras close to Psalter Lane and a black BMW is seen speeding at the roundabout at Hunter’s Bar. It didn’t have any plates.’
‘Can the ANPR track it back?’
‘I’ve got someone working on that for me.’
‘Could you make out the driver?’
‘No. It was dark.’
‘Have any BMW’s been reported stolen?’
‘No.’ Sian shook her head. ‘What do you think – same guy?’
‘Could be.’
Sian whistled. ‘So a black market semi-automatic handgun and potentially stolen BMW. This guy means business.’
‘He certainly does.’ Matilda’s expression darkened. ‘Excellent work, Sian. Well done.’
‘You’re welcome. I’ll keep you up to date.’
Matilda’s mobile phone burst into life as Sian was leaving the office.’
‘DCI Darke,’ she answered. There was no reply but she could definitely hear breathing. ‘Hello,’ she waited, listening to the background noise. ‘Hello, is anyone there? I can hear you, you know.’ The line went dead. She was just about to pull away when the phone rang a second time. Once more, no