Close to Home (A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller Book 4) Read online

  Stephen looked as unexcited about that as I’d expected him to. Having a family to go home to in the evenings, he was never keen on staying here a minute past the end of the day. When I was younger, I might have frowned on him for it, thinking that he wasn’t as committed to the job as he ought to have been, but I understood it completely now. If I had a partner or family of my own, no doubt I’d be the same, but my flat, though pleasant, was normally a lonely place and I found it easy to work later than I had to.

  “I could go alone?” I offered. “I don’t mind.”

  “No,” Stephen sighed, as I’d expected him to. He may not like staying late, but he was fiercely loyal, regardless. “Gaskell would have a fit if I let you go off on your lonesome again.” I could hear a wry smile in his voice. “Better if you have backup.”

  “You make ‘backup’ sound awfully like ‘babysitter’,” I grumbled. “But, sure, Steph, I’d love to have you there so you can mercilessly take the mick out of me.”

  He grinned. “Always a pleasure.”

  We occupied the remainder of the day with research on Isabel Davies, with me paying particular attention to the domestic abuse charge she’d levelled against him, but there wasn’t a great wealth of information on the system for us to draw on.

  Stephen pointedly checked his watch around half-four and then, when that didn’t cause me to respond, elbowed me in the ribs.

  “What?” I said, half-way down a research hole and having lost track of time.

  “Look at the clock, Mitchell.”

  I did so. “She most likely won’t be back from work until past five,” I protested. “We don’t need to go just yet.”

  “Let’s see if she’s there, okay?” Stephen huffed, already stood up and with his coat on. “Maybe she’s a doctor, working odd hours at the hospital. Or a primary school teacher, they finish early, don’t they?”

  I sighed. “Alright. I swear, anyone would think you were the DCI around here.”

  He raised his eyebrow at me. “I’d make a fabulous DCI,” he said, a touch of seriousness behind his light tone.

  “Aye,” I agreed, shoving my hands into the arms of my coat. “You would.”

  Stephen pushed me lightly. “Aw, don’t strain yourself, Darren. Wouldn’t want to raise your blood pressure.”

  “My blood pressure is better than a teenager’s,” I said as we made our way over to the lift.

  “With how much coffee you drink, I really doubt that,” Stephen laughed. “Unless it was a teenager who drinks Monster for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

  I snorted. “Nothing wrong with a bit of caffeine.”

  “In moderation!” Stephen protested loudly, fully aware that I was winding him up. “Not when it’s strong enough to give a mammoth heart palpitations.”

  I laughed at that as we walked out of the building and over towards the car.

  “Yeah, you win,” I said, shaking my head. “I drink too much coffee. It’s my only flaw.”

  “I don’t know about it being your only flaw, mate,” Stephen tossed back as we climbed inside. He got in behind the wheel, and I clipped my belt buckle.

  “At least I don’t drive like I’m The Stig.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Stephen said, grinning. He put his foot down on the accelerator and took us out of the car park and onto the road, heading towards Clifton Moor at a good clip.

  We arrived at close to five o’clock and went to knock on Isabel Davies’s door. Her house was an attractive period property, impressive for a single-person income, especially in the high-demand market of York. Her neat front garden suggested that a gardener maintained it regularly, or Isabel was a budding horticulturist.

  There were no lights on inside the house, and it had an empty feeling, so that I wasn’t especially surprised when our knocks went unanswered.

  “Dammit,” Stephen said quietly.

  I glanced around the street which was still well lit by the lingering light. The winter nights had started to shorten as autumn settled in to stay, getting progressively smaller, much like a cat curling up to go to sleep.

  “We could try the neighbours, since we’re here,” I suggested. It seemed a touch unfair to disrupt the neighbours’ evening, and possibly damage Isabel’s reputation with the police asking after her, but we had to consider what was best for the case. Any information we could gather that might be of help was worth it.

  “Sure,” Stephen sighed, sounding entirely unenthusiastic.

  “It’ll kill time before she gets home, if she is out at work,” I added.

  There wasn’t much point in splitting up since we weren’t trying to be as efficient as possible. The first two we spoke to didn’t seem to have any clue who their neighbour was and didn’t even recognise a picture of Isabel that I pulled up on my phone from her social media.

  Isabel’s house had remained dark, her drive empty, so we tried across the street, heading over to a small bungalow with several gnomes in the garden. The little painted figurines seemed to watch us as we walked up to knock on the door.

  “Hello?” an elderly man answered after a long couple of minutes, a pair of glasses resting haphazardly on the thin bridge of his liver-spotted nose. His voice was deeper than I might have expected considering his height.

  “Evening, sir,” I said, before introducing myself and Stephen. “We were hoping you’d have a moment to speak to us. We’re enquiring about one of your neighbours.”

  “Oh,” he said, sounding surprised. “Nothing wrong with the grandkids, then?” He gestured for us to step into the warmth inside as he spoke, already turning away as if he knew we’d follow him.

  “No, nothing like that,” I assured him, as Stephen and I trailed behind him.

  In the brighter light of the small, neat house, I saw that the older man was bent over by age, the years curving his spine into a question mark, and that he’d probably been as tall as Stephen when he was younger.

  “Cup of tea?” he offered, stepping through into a dated but tidy living room that smelled strongly like mint.

  I glanced at Stephen, who gave a shrug. “That’d be great, Mr…?” I said. The elderly gentleman had never introduced himself.

  “Oh,” he said, before extending a thin hand. “Alan Smith, pleasure.”

  I shook his hand, as did Stephen. “Good to meet you.”

  Alan left the room to make the tea, and Stephen and I took a seat. There were pictures of various kids on the mantelpiece, ranging from toddlers to teenagers. Alan’s grandkids, I assumed. He seemed to be living alone, though, unless his partner was just out of the house, and I wondered sadly whether he was a widower.

  He came slowly back into the room, carrying a tray of drinks. “Here we are, good ol’ Yorkshire Tea.”

  I began to stand to relieve him of the tray, but he shook his head at me and managed fine.

  “Thanks for this,” Stephen said, stirring in a splash of milk and taking a sip. “We appreciate it.”

  Alan waved it away. “It’s nothing.” We exchanged polite small talk as the tea was drunk, Alan and Stephen bonding over the joys and trials of having small kids running about the place.

  “Now,” Alan said, setting his cup down. “What did you boys want to ask me?”

  I downed the last swallow of my tea and set it aside, pulling out my notebook and my phone.

  “We’re looking into a neighbour of yours,” Stephen said, while I was sorting myself out and pulling up Isabel Davies’s picture on my phone. “She lives across the road, dark hair, about forty?”

  Alan hummed, fumbling to swap his glasses over when I passed him my phone.

  “Oh yes, I know her,” he said. “Busy lady.”

  “Aye?” I said. Just the fact of Alan recognising her was better than the other neighbours we’d spoken to so far. “Have you talked with her?”

  Alan grunted and shook his head. “‘Fraid not, lad. Tried a couple of times, but she didn’t seem much interested in a chat.”


  “She ignored you?” I said, feeling vaguely affronted on Alan’s behalf. He seemed like such a decent bloke I couldn’t imagine being so rude as to snub him. He pulled a face, handing me my phone back.

  “Aye, that’s about the sum of it. Moved here, oh it must have been two years by now, maybe more.”

  I nodded, taking notes. “Do you know what she works as?”

  Alan hesitated now, looking at me for a moment. “Is she in trouble for something?”

  I sat back with a small sigh. “We don’t believe so,” I told him honestly, “but she might be involved with a guy who’s bad news. Stephen, you got Alec’s picture on you?”

  Stephen patted his pockets and pulled out a crumpled but still usable photograph of Alec.

  “Do you recognise him?” I asked Alan.

  He considered it, before pulling back with a shake of his head. “My memory these days isn’t what it used to be,” he said apologetically. “He looks a wee bit familiar, but that’s about it.”

  “Darren,” Stephen said, and I looked up from my notebook. Stephen nodded towards Alan’s front window, which was covered only by a translucent net curtain and had a good view of the rest of the street. The lights had just turned on in Isabel’s house; she was home.

  Alan started to his feet, and I turned back to him, surprised. “You’ll be wanting to talk to the lass,” he said, giving me a genial smile.

  Stephen and I stood up, and I tucked my notepad and pen away.

  “Thanks for your help, Alan,” I said warmly. “And for the tea.”

  “Yeah, you make a damn good cuppa,” Stephen added.

  Alan laughed quietly, making his way slowly but steadily towards the hallway. “Good luck with the young’uns,” he told Stephen, before chuckling to himself. “You’ll need it, lad. Heaven knows it’s easier to herd cats than a wee tot.”

  Stephen laughed too, putting a friendly hand on Alan’s shoulder. “We’ll do our best,” he promised. “Have a good evening.”

  We left the warmth of the house and walked back down the path, past the assortment of gnomes.

  “Nice guy,” Stephen mused.

  My attention was on the partially lit-up house across the street. “How do we approach this?” I thought aloud. “Do we go at it directly, hoping that she strongly dislikes Alec, or something more subtle?”

  Stephen looked at his watch before we crossed the road. “I don’t know, mate,” he said, “but can we make it quick? I’m late.”

  I knew it was getting on for half five but shot Stephen an irritated look. “Stephen, focus,” I snapped. “This is important. She could have some seriously important information for us, and if she clams up like Eloise did, we’re screwed, aren’t we?”

  “She might not know anything.”

  I exhaled heavily, shaking my head at him.

  “If you’re gonna be a pain in the neck, go and sit in the car,” I said tightly, walking over to Isabel Davies’s front door by myself, the gravel drive crunching under my feet. I rapped neatly on the door and took a steadying breath. Stephen’s heavy footsteps came up behind me, and he joined me at my side.

  “Sorry,” he said quietly.

  I didn’t get the chance to reply, because the door was pulled sharply open, revealing a dark-haired I recognised immediately as Alec’s wife. She smelled strongly of both floral perfume and wine, a glass of which she was holding in her right hand.

  She frowned upon seeing us there. “What do you want?” I heard the hostility in her tone and resisted the urge to sigh.

  “Ms Davies?” I said, using her maiden name rather than Alec’s surname. “I’m DCI Mitchell, and this is DI Huxley. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Alec Banks, if you have a moment to help us?”

  I opted for the more direct line of questioning, tentatively putting my hopes on Isabel’s dislike of her abusive husband. She tensed, her narrow shoulders going tight.

  “What?” she said, sharp as the snap of an elastic band.

  “Perhaps we could step inside and explain the situation to you?” Stephen offered.

  Isabel’s expression closed off like the falling of a tsunami wave. “No, you may not,” she said curtly. “Get the hell off my drive. I don’t have anything to do with him.”

  “That’s understandable,” I said, trying to rescue the discussion. “I’m sure you’re right angry with him. We were hoping you could-”

  “No,” she hissed, her long, manicured nails digging into the paint of her front door with how hard she was holding it. “I have nothing to say about him, nothing to say to you, leave me the hell alone.”

  She slammed the door in our faces, the brass door knocker rattling with the force of it. If I’d been standing too close to the door, I reckon she could have broken my nose.

  I swore quietly, taking a step back. I’d been really hoping that Isabel would be willing to help.

  “She’s probably dealing with a lot,” Stephen said hesitantly, on the way to the car.

  I exhaled heavily. “Aye, I know. I don’t really blame her.” I climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted it to the right height.

  “But you wish she would’ve talked to us all the same.”

  “Yeah, o’course I do.” I shook my head, starting up the car and pressing my foot down. “But nevermind. Let’s get you home to your missus.”

  I dropped Stephen off at his house, leaving me to a quiet car and my own loud thoughts. After what Alec must have put Isabel through, I couldn’t blame her for not wanting anything to do with him, not even talking about him. I only hoped we’d have enough evidence from elsewhere to wrap this case up tight. As it was, there were a couple of loose threads, small in the scheme of things but threatening to unravel the entirety of the fabric at any moment.

  Nine

  Sam and I both arrived ten minutes early to our date at Gatehouse Coffee. The tiny café was a haven of coffee and sweet treats tucked away inside the warm, weathered stones of the medieval gatehouse.

  I’d expected to turn up before Sam and pick out a table but turned up to find instead her already seated at one of the knee-height wooden tables, close to the crackling fire.

  “Good to know we’re both early birds,” I said by way of greeting.

  She gave me a warm grin and bounced to her feet to hug me lightly, her lavender-scented hair brushing my cheek.

  “Have you already ordered?” I asked.

  “Nope, I was waiting for the feeling to return to my toes.” She glanced down at her trainers as she spoke, and I laughed quietly.

  “You chose a good spot by the fire.”

  She smiled, her blond hair taking on a flickering sheen in the orange firelight. “Nothing like a fire when autumn’s coming,” she said. “Only thing that makes it better is hot chocolate.”

  “Yeah?” I said, before offering out my hand. “That could be arranged, m’lady.”

  Her eyes crinkled up in pleasure as she played along, dipping into a clumsy curtsey. “I’d be honoured, Sir Knight.”

  A couple of the other café customers were smiling as they watched us, but Sam and I were too wrapped up in each other to give them much mind. I bought a mocha topped with marshmallows, and Sam got the hot chocolate she’d wanted, with about every added syrup and extra that Gatehouse Coffee offered.

  “Sweet tooth?” I teased.

  “I haven’t picked a cake yet,” she said with a gleeful expression.

  Taking our food haul back upstairs to our seats, Sam pulled her chair close to the fire and took a sip of her chocolate.

  “Good?” I asked, smiling at her. She was younger than me, that I knew, and her playful energy seemed especially pronounced just then, as she licked the chocolate off her lip before reaching over to pilfer a melting marshmallow from the top of my mocha. Her easy happiness was infectious, and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

  “I don’t know where you put it all,” I said, half-admiring, as Sam polished off her white chocolate cake and leaned back, patting her stomach. S
he wasn’t thin like a model or a runner, but she was lean, with an obvious strength lent to her by her boxing.

  She smiled, a smudge of chocolate still on the side of her mouth. “Boxing is good for giving you an appetite.”

  “You went this morning?” I asked.

  I was badly missing my running, beginning to feel both stiff and sluggish without the exercise kicking me into the gear. I despaired to think how I’d pull myself back to fitness in time for the marathon after this, but I really couldn’t risk a permanent injury and my shins still complained when I climbed the stairs to my apartment.

  “Sure did,” she did. “It’s fairly busy on a Saturday, but I wanted to burn off some energy, y’know?”

  Conversation flowed easily between us as I savoured my mocha, Sam’s relaxed company making my shoulders relax for what felt like the first time since the case had started.

  I didn’t want the date to end after I’d finished my drink, but the café was filling up, and I felt bad for staying when people were trying to find seats. So, Sam and I stepped out of the bubbled warmth of the cosy little gatehouse and went for a ramble along the city walls.

  York’s scenic walls were a particular favourite of locals and tourists alike, especially at this time of year, where the city’s impressive spread of trees began their steady transformation to fox-fur reds and lemony yellows. Beautiful from the streets, they were best appreciated from the elevated city walls or, better, the top of Clifford’s tower.

  My shins started to flare up from the walking and, though I tried to ignore the pain, Sam caught my frown as we descended a set of steps leading back to the pavement.

  “You should have said if you were in pain,” she chided me gently.

  We’d not been able to hold hands up on the walls, which frequently narrowed to single file, but she tucked herself close to my side now. She was only a little shorter than I was, so she fit nicely beneath my arm.

  “It’s not so bad.”

  She poked me in the side. “Don’t be a stoic. Come on, walk me home, Sir Knight.”

  I smiled. “As you wish, m’lady.”