Close to Home (A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller Book 4) Page 16

  “You’re buzzing, mate,” Stephen said, amused. I wasn’t one to watch the clock during work, but I was today. “Is it the running or Sam that’s making you glow like a ruddy lightbulb?”

  “Can’t it be both?” I sent back, taking a sip of my coffee.

  Stephen nodded at my mug. “How many of those have you had today?”

  “A normal amount.”

  Stephen snorted. “So, what’s that then, a gallon?”

  I gave him a grin. “About that.”

  The end of the day rolled around eventually, and Stephen and I headed out, me to the changing rooms downstairs and him out to the car park. He wished me luck for my meet-up with Sam, which I gladly accepted, considering how impressively athletic she was.

  Putting on my running kit was a familiar and much-missed feeling, and I was all but bouncing on the balls of my feet as I made myself carefully and thoroughly warm up. Impatiently rushing back into things and giving myself a different injury was the very opposite of what I needed.

  Finally, I set out on a careful jog, delighting at the feeling of the wind whistling past, buffeting me, and the lack of pain in my shins. I became winded much faster than usual, but still had to force myself to slow down several times so that my enthusiasm didn’t drive me into going too fast.

  I was buzzing like I’d stuck my finger in a plug when I turned up at the gym, putting my hands to my knees to catch my breath. My thighs were thrumming with the rush of blood and, from the heavy feeling in them, I thought I’d no doubt be feeling this tomorrow. I wasn’t far over the thirty years mark and yet I could already feel that it took me longer to recover from exercise these days, and quicker to lose my fitness. But I didn’t let the thoughts sour my joy at being able to run again with pain, however short the distance had been, and the fact that Sam was here to meet me.

  Her face split into a bright, easy smile when she saw me walk in. She stopped the stretching she’d been doing and came over, pulling me into a hug despite my protests.

  “I’m smelly and damp,” I told her, but she just held me tight.

  “I don’t care. You’re grinning like a Cheshire cat,” she said when she pulled back. “It went well, then?”

  I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. “Aye, it went just fine.”

  She laughed quietly. “Now you’re warmed up, you feeling up to some more?”

  I pretended at a groan. “My abs didn’t stop aching for days after last time.”

  Her smile widened. “It’s good for you.”

  I laughed. “You enjoy torturing me far too much.”

  We set to it, by which I mean I tried to keep up with the fierce pace Sam set. Like last time, she ran me through exercises that avoided using my legs much, instead of focusing on callisthenics and floor exercises.

  I kept an eye out for Isabel, and had a nosy down the corridor to the room where I’d seen her teaching last time, but I didn’t see her tonight.

  Sam called an end to our session an hour and a half later, by which time I was feeling more than ready for a large glass of wine and a long sleep. We split up to change and met up again at the entrance. I smiled as I walked back towards her, feeling honoured that someone so full of life, so smart and beautiful seemed as interested in me as I was in her. I leaned in to kiss her and, initially surprised, she leaned into it to kiss me back.

  “What was that for?” she asked, smiling, her hand resting on my shoulder.

  “I was feeling lucky. Spending time with you makes me want the day to be longer,” I told her, taking her hand in mine as we headed out to the car park.

  She shot me a bright, pleased smile. “You’re a smooth talker, Darren,” she teased.

  “I try my best.”

  She’d offered to give me a lift home and, after our gym session, I was more than happy to take her up on it. I could’ve walked home, but it would’ve taken a while, since I didn’t feel ready to do any more running.

  I leaned over the gearbox to give her a quick kiss of thanks when she pulled up outside my apartment block.

  “See you soon,” I said hopefully.

  “I’ll look forward to it,” she said, her fair hair glowing in the yellow light from the car. “Goodnight, Darren.”

  “Night, Sam.”

  I made my way up the stairs to my apartment, and not even my aches and pains dulled my mood as I let myself into my flat. I hummed cheerfully to myself as I fixed myself that glass of wine I’d wanted and then set to making myself some dinner.

  I was running low on fresh vegetables, though, and my milk was a day past it’s best. Loathe as I was to go out again, I put on some trainers and a warm coat and headed out to the shops a short way down the road.

  Worn out from the day’s stresses and the exercise I’d done, I moved through the motions of picking up the food I needed on autopilot. My mind drifted, and I was thinking mostly of dinner and the book I was reading at home when my gaze happened to catch on something above the shop, just as I was about to leave. I stopped dead, looking up at the black eye of the camera, my tired brain working too slowly.

  “Sir?” the cashier called. I turned round to look at him and realised that I was blocking the doorway.

  “Sorry,” I said to the lady who’d been trying to get past and moved out of the way. I waited until the cashier finished up with the customer he was serving, who looked to be a university student out getting some late-night beer and snacks.

  “Can I help you?” the cashier asked, cocking his head slightly as he looked at me.

  I patted my pocket for my wallet, switching my shopping back to my other hand, and pulled out my police badge. The cashier’s eyes widened slightly, and I tried to give him a reassuring smile.

  “I’m DCI Darren Mitchell, down at Hewford station. I live locally, just down the way. That camera up there,” I gestured to the one above the door, “is that the only one you have on the property?”

  The cashier looked at me, clearly startled. This wasn’t on the usual script he followed with customers. No doubt, at this time in the evening, he’d been looking forward to the end of his shift, not expecting nosy questions from a police officer.

  “I don’t know,” he said after a minute. “The manager’s not on shift right now. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow?” He looked at me hopefully as he spoke.

  But I couldn’t quite leave it be just yet, and I nodded to the front of the shop. “There’s not a camera outside?”

  “I don’t know, sorry,” he repeated.

  “Alright, I’ll have a look outside and see if I can see one.” I sent the cashier an apologetic smile. “I know this is a bit strange. It’d just be a big help to the case I’m working on if there was a camera looking onto the pavement here.”

  The cashier’s eyebrows lifted, and he seemed more interested, and less concerned, now that I’d given him a rough idea of why I was asking. I headed out of the shop’s front door and had a look around. It wasn’t the easiest to spot in the dark, with the glare from inside the shop making it hard to see into the dark corners above the shop front, but I finally picked it out of the shadows.

  I came back into the warmth of the shop and waited impatiently while the cashier, whose name tag read ‘George’, finished serving the customer at the till.

  “Did you find one?” he asked, once the shop was quiet again.

  “Sure did,” I said, pleased. “Do you know where the security footage could be viewed?”

  George looked alarmed again at this, before he gave a tentative nod. “I mean, I can have a look,” he told me. “I’ve never had to look at it myself, like.”

  “I understand,” I assured him.

  The shop was currently empty of customers, so George turned the sign on the door over to closed and took me through to the ‘staff only’ area at the back of the shop.

  The space was cramped and cluttered, with a small seating area and a tiny back office crammed in and made even harder to navigate by the various bits and pieces scattered around
; a mop and bucket, spare plastic crates, a labelling machine. George weaved his way through the mess and led me into the back office, which was tight enough that I had to squeeze close to the wall in order to close the door behind me.

  There was an old computer on the desk and, as we waited for it to load up, George sent me a curious look.

  “What kind of thing are you looking for?” he asked.

  I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling tired and hungry now that the brief excitement of my new idea was over. “I’d like to look at the footage for a particular night, almost two weeks ago now.”

  It both felt like far longer than that, and like it’d been no time at all since I’d stumbled on poor Maddie, crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. I pulled my thoughts away and told George the exact date, once the computer had booted itself up.

  “You’re lucky it hasn’t been deleted,” George said absently as he started searching the camera’s saved files. “It gets overwritten every two weeks or so.”

  “I’m glad it’s still there, then,” I said.

  I leaned in closer when the outside CCTV came up on the screen, and George scooted his chair back to let me look.

  “What’re you trying to find?” George queried.

  “I was hoping,” I said, my gaze on the fast-forwarded CCTV showing people walking down the pavement, “that someone relevant to my case might have walked past here.”

  George gave a soft grunt of surprise, and we fell to silence as we watched the footage. It ran on, and I didn’t spot anyone I recognised and, when it reached the ten o’clock mark, I sighed and stopped the video.

  “It was a long shot,” I said, straightening up. “Do you think you could send this over to me, anyway? Just in case I’ve missed something. It’d be a big help.”

  “Uh, yeah, sure.”

  I found a business card in my wallet and handed it over to him, pointing out the email he could send it to.

  “I really appreciate the help,” I told him.

  He seemed a touch disappointed that we’d not found anything, but he was amiable enough as he promised to send it over. I saw myself out, the handles of my shopping bag cutting into my palm. Tomorrow, if George managed to email it over by then, I would pour over the CCTV again and hope that I did miss something. But, for tonight, I could think of nothing but getting something to eat and collapsing into bed.

  The day’s exercise made me sleep like a log, so that I turned up at the station feeling lethargic and barely awake. I went to the break room for a mug of coffee even before I went to my desk, tipping a good measure of coffee granules into the cup in the hope that it’d kick my brain into action.

  Stephen turned up as I was checking my emails, a little disappointed to find that the CCTV footage from the shop hadn’t come in yet. I hoped the lad, George, wouldn’t forget to do it.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Stephen huffed as he collapsed down into his chair with a sigh. “My kids were playing up something awful and driving Annie up the wall.”

  I made a sympathetic face. “What was it this time? Refusing to put socks and shoes on, or a tantrum ending up with Shreddies all up the wall?”

  Stephen snorted a laugh. “That was one time!” he protested. “No, it was a ‘throwing their toothbrushes in the toilet bowl’ kind of morning.”

  I grimaced. “Oh god, I think that’s worse.”

  He sent me a grin. “Bet you’re relishing the child-free life right now, huh?”

  I chuckled. “It did occur to me.” Focusing back on the tasks of the day, I checked the clock on my computer and clicked over to my calendar. “We’re due at Full Sutton for eleven, right?”

  Stephen hummed in agreement. “The prison is expecting us, yeah.”

  “Shouldn’t take us more than a half-hour to get there.”

  “So we don’t need to leave for a bit yet,” Stephen agreed.

  “Alright. We’d better have a think about what we’re going to ask him.” I broke off as I saw Gaskell walk past, heading for his office. “You get started on that,” I said as I stood up, “I’m going to give Gaskell an update. He wanted to know how we’re getting on.”

  Stephen gave me a playful salute. “Will do, boss.”

  I shook my head at him and headed over to knock on Gaskell’s door. Filling in Gaskell on the events of the last few days didn’t take too long, and I soon returned to help Stephen brainstorm what we’d be asking Alec.

  “Is Gaskell happy with us?” Stephen asked.

  I shrugged. “Reasonably. He wants something more concrete, like we do, but he didn’t fault what we’ve been up to.”

  “Good. Never fun being in the supe’s bad books.”

  I chuckled at that. “I wouldn’t know.”

  He elbowed me in feigned annoyance. “Yeah, ‘cus you’re an angel, of course.”

  “Of course,” I laughed.

  We carried on the work of preparing for the interview at the prison until it was time to pack up and get moving. Stephen volunteered to drive us there, and I sat back, thinking, as he started up the car and got us on the road.

  “I ruddy hope he’ll actually talk to us this time,” I said as we approached Full Sutton prison from the main road.

  Stephen grimaced. “So do I. We can only hope, can’t we. Maybe this time spent stewing will have softened him up a bit, and he’ll be wanting to get us on his side.”

  I made a noise of acknowledgement. “That’d be the best-case scenario,” I agreed. “I don’t want this to be a wasted trip.”

  “We can only hope for the best,” Stephen said with a shrug. “He seemed like a stubborn sort of bloke.”

  “Aye, and he’s got reason to hate cops, too,” I added, with a touch of bitterness.

  Stephen glanced at me. “He got what he deserved.”

  “Isabel thought he got off too lightly.”

  Stephen hummed. “She may be right.”

  We fell to quiet for the remainder of the short trip, showing our badges at the entrance to the prison when we arrived there. We went through the compulsory searches and metal detectors before we were escorted into an interview room. Alec wasn’t there yet, and I used the few minutes of waiting to get my notebook out, along with the file we’d brought. It held the pictures of various people, as well as print-outs of some of the evidence we’d gathered so far, in case we needed to show them to Banks.

  “What we really need to know,” I said quietly to Stephen, “is who this other woman was, who left out the back door.”

  Stephen nodded, because of course he already knew this, I was just speaking my thoughts aloud. “That would be a big help,” he agreed.

  Alec Banks was shown not long later, and Stephen and I both sat up slightly as the guard brought him over to the table, sitting him opposite us. He was wearing the drab prison gear, and his face appeared hollow and tired, though there was still a cold fire in his blue eyes. Looking at him, I resigned myself to the fact that he might be just as unhelpful as the last time we tried to interview him, since he looked no less defiant or angry now than he had then.

  “Mr Banks, I’m DCI Mitchell, and this is DI Huxley,” I said. “We talked to you at Hewford station.”

  Alec looked at us silently, his brows pulled down into a frown.

  “We want to discuss the events that led to Ms Packham being injured,” Stephen said, his voice steady and serious. At the station and when he was interacting with me, he could be a playful goofball, but here he was focused and professional. “We want to know the truth, and you can tell us that.”

  When Alec still didn’t speak, I said, “What did you and Maddie argue about? Your apartment was left in something of a state.”

  But Alec only glared at the pair of us, before looking away, his jaw clenched. Stephen and I tried another few of the questions we’d asked last time, trying to get Alec to open up.

  When he continued to stay silent, I sighed and asked the question that we really wanted to know the answer to, “We know that someone else was there
that evening,” I said.

  Alec’s head jerked up at that, his eyes wide, even as he clearly tried to smooth his expression back into cold neutrality. That was all the confirmation that Stephen and I needed, if we’d been in doubt, that those footprints did belong to someone who’d been there that very evening that Maddie was hurt.

  “We know it was a woman,” Stephen said evenly.

  I leaned forwards, focused on Alec’s face. “Who was there, Mr Banks?” Alec’s jaw clenched, but he still didn’t say a word. I pulled back and sighed. “If you won’t talk to us, you’re going to go down for attempted murder,” I told him firmly.

  Alec’s expression twitched, and he angled his face away. “Are you willing to give up the next ten years or more of your life?” Stephen pressed, his low voice hard. “Talk to us.”

  Alec scoffed, tossing his head in evident disbelief and Stephen and I glanced at each other.

  “You don’t believe it’ll help you?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest as I sat back in my chair. “You’re right that the evidence is stacked against you,” I acknowledged, “but, if it wasn’t you, Alec, we’re not interested in framing you. We want the truth. Are you willing to spend the next decade in prison for whoever did do it?” Alec met my eyes, and I looked back evenly as I added, “And if it was you, well, things can’t get worse for you, can they? If you don’t talk, you’ll definitely be sentenced for murder.”

  Alec grimaced, looking down at the table. He’d mimicked my movements, folding his arms across his chest. The guard hadn’t left him cuffed, though they stayed standing in the corner of the room regardless, so he’d not been making a nuisance of himself here.

  Alec opened his mouth and shut it again. Stephen and I waited, giving him time to figure out what he wanted to say.

  “She tripped,” was what he finally came out with, lifting his chin in apparent defiance.

  I blinked at that. It was the first time he’d tried to claim his own innocence. “Really,” I said, unconvinced. I remembered what the hospital nurse had said, about how people who tripped tended to at least try to catch themselves, but Maddie hadn’t had the chance. “How did that happen?” I asked.