Don't Turn Around (3 page)

‘
N
ice to see
you on time for once,’ Steph said, shaking the rain from her umbrella. She plodded over to her desk, the vertical stripes of her shirt wobbling in zigzag lines as gaping buttons fought to close over her expansive chest.

‘I’ve been here for ages,’ Jennifer lied. Lately her cleaning obsession was driving her mad, and she had only got away from home on time today because she had started an hour early. She used to be able to leave the house after it had been dusted and polished, but now she couldn’t settle unless the floors had been mopped too. Her home was like a showroom, but still the need for order itched. OCD tendencies her doctor called it, not as bad as full-blown obsessive compulsive disorder, but enough to make her anxious if things weren’t just right.

Detective Inspector James Allison strolled out of his office, looking crisp and clean in his tailored navy suit. His silver-grey hair offset his light blue eyes, and regular workouts in the gym helped battle the paunch developing around his mid-section.

‘Morning,’ Susie chimed brightly, blonde waves bouncing as she walked. Nicknamed ‘Slack lips Sue’, the buxom young DC was everyone’s friend, but Jennifer had had bitter experience of her gossip-mongering.

‘My car wouldn’t start, I had to get a lift in with the custody sergeant,’ she said breathily.

‘Come in together, did we? People will talk,’ Steph said, with a hint of sarcasm in her voice.

‘Oh goodness no, I don’t go after married men, Sarge.’

A blush reddened Steph’s face as she turned to DI Allison, who was now standing beside her. ‘It’s good to have you with us, gov. I know how busy Westlea keeps you.’

DI Allison nodded a smile. ‘Thank you Stephanie, I like to pop in when I can, see how you’re all doing.’

Will nudged the door open, his tray rattling from the array of teas and coffees for morning briefing. Intelligence was swapped and jobs dished out. The usual tale of burglaries, domestics, and drug-related crimes were more than enough to keep the small team of detectives on their toes. Known as the poor relations to the dynamic Westlea CID, Haven’s resources were severely limited; not enough to combat the crime wave engulfing their town.

Jennifer retreated to her desk. She had hoped to spend some time investigating the Johnny Mallet case. Their interview the day before had earned her a restless night’s sleep; her intuition told her it was just the beginning. Reluctantly she read through the domestic incident they had been delegated to deal with. It had been labelled as ‘high risk’, which Jennifer thought was questionable, but she knew better than to argue with her sergeant, who seemed to be in a permanent bad mood. ‘We’ve been given a quality domestic,’ Jennifer said to Will as she flicked through the paperwork. ‘An argument over the remote control. He wanted to watch the footie on TV so she lumped him with an ashtray, giving him a black eye.’

Will was not listening. He’d just got off the phone to the custody sergeant. ‘You won’t believe this. Johnny Mallet was taken to “The Rivers” mental health unit yesterday and given a full assessment.’

‘I should think so,’ Jennifer mumbled, her head bowed over her paperwork.

‘Yeah, but get this. Psychiatrists assessed him as having a personality disorder and released him a few hours later. He’s been bailed with conditions to sign on while we progress enquiries.’

‘Jesus. Well on their heads be it. I’ll put a sixty-one on the system.’ An intelligence alert would at least warn any unsuspecting police officers knocking on his door.

T
he domestic incident
in custody was dealt with relatively quickly. After meticulously cleaning her desk, Jennifer used the spare time to do some digging on Johnny Mallet. ‘It states on intel he has a girlfriend. Fancy paying her a visit?’ She lifted an eyebrow at Will, averting her eyes from the coffee stains that had returned to his desk by magic.

‘Only if you promise to help me with my paperwork later on. It’s all right for you, starting here with a fresh slate. Some of my files are so old they’re growing mould.’

Jennifer grinned, her dimples breaking out. ‘Will, you’ve been behind on your paperwork for as long as I’ve known you.’

‘Best I stay and get on with it then.’

Jennifer rolled her eyes. ‘OK, I’ll help you. Johnny’s due to sign on at the nick, so if we go now he won’t be with her.’

‘Well, just call it up and make control aware where we’re going. The last thing I want is a showdown with one of Mike Stone’s cronies if he decides to pay a visit.’

‘Yes, boss.’ Jennifer saluted Will as she took her radio to attach their callsigns to the address. It meant that if they ran into trouble, control would know exactly where they were.

A
brisk winter
wind whirled from the thickening clouds as they walked to the flat. ‘I don’t know why we couldn’t have taken the car,’ Will said, dragging his feet over the foot-worn pavement.

‘Stop moaning, we’re nearly there. Besides, you could do with the exercise.’

‘Bloody cheek, I’ll have you know I’m in very good shape.’

‘Yeah,’ Jennifer giggled, ‘round is a shape.’ Will opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by a gang of kids sitting on the wall outside the dingy block of flats where they were heading.

Leers of ‘I smell bacon’ came from a boy with dirty blond hair sitting next to a skinny girl in emo clothing. Jennifer had dealt with him for drug offences in the past and he had not forgotten her face.

Jennifer leaned over him. ‘And I smell dope. So if you’re still here when I come out, I’ll be stop-searching you both for drugs.’

The boy drew his breath and stubbed out the roll up with his shoe. ‘All right babe, chill out. We’re going.’

‘Yeah? And pull your pants up while you’re at it!’ Jennifer shouted as they swaggered up the street.

Will grinned and swept his hand forward to allow Jennifer through the front door of the building. ‘After you madam, the trade buzzer appears to be working.’

‘It’s a long time since a tradesman has graced this dive,’ Jennifer mumbled.

Will took the lead, climbing up the cement steps to the tune of rap music blaring obscenities from a neighbouring flat. Jennifer hovered her hand over the sticky metal banisters, only daring to touch them if absolutely necessary.

The door of number fourteen displayed the telltale indentations of a police enforcer, the battering ram also known as ‘the big red key.' She knocked hard on the door and it creaked open.

‘Hello,’ she said, poking her head through the door. ‘Anyone home?’

A skinny woman with wiry blonde hair shuffled towards them, her long painted toenails poking out of the holes in her mismatched socks. Jennifer thought it strange that it was the first thing she noticed, when she should have been looking for concealed weapons or drugs. She guessed from the intel picture it was Shelly. Her low-cut top displayed her prominent chest bones and was decorated with several brassy necklaces that disappeared in the gap between her breasts.

‘If you’ve come looking for money, I ain’t got none,’ she cawed.

Will took a step forward and flashed his warrant card. ‘Police. We just want to ask you some questions.’

The woman waved them into the gloomy room. Will and Jennifer silently followed behind her. Without a warrant, Shelly was perfectly entitled to make them leave. Jennifer chose her steps carefully to avoid the empty beer cans and used hypodermic needles littering the floor. Chinks of light spiked through tears in the yellowed curtains, and Jennifer grimaced at the sticky fly tape hanging from a single bulb, littered with its victims. The room reeked of cigarette smoke and judging by the overspill of the dirty ashtray on the sofa, Shelly was a chain smoker.

‘We just want to talk to you about Johnny,’ Will said, eyeing the open bedroom door that revealed a hefty looking black man lying face down on a dingy single bed.

Shelly spoke through the open door, not bothering to lower her voice. ‘It’s the filth.’ The man moaned into his pillow in response.

‘Have you seen Johnny lately?’ Jennifer said.

‘I ain't seen him.’ The thin black elastic of a G-string was slung over Shelly’s hipbone and she hooked her thumbs through her belt buckle to hitch up her jeans.

‘Are you aware he’s been involved with the police recently?’ Jennifer said, unable to give too much away.

Shelly sucked a cigarette and her words peppered with smoke as they left her mouth. ‘Everyone knows about that. Mike’s cronies showed up here looking for the money he owes.’

Jennifer found it difficult to muster sympathy. ‘How’s Johnny seemed to you? Has he been himself?’

Shelly snorted a laugh. ‘Ain’t that something? The filth wants to know how he’s feeling. He’s acting all weird, that’s what. Even tried to take a bite out of me.’ Shelly offered up her bony arm for inspection. A faint round bruise dappled her paper-thin skin.

Another moan emanated from the bedroom. ‘What’s he on?’ Will asked, trying to ignore the bite mark. He didn’t really care what cocktail of drugs the man had shot into his veins, and the last thing he wanted was an assault job to deal with. A mobile phone chimed from the bedroom.

Shelly retrieved the phone from the dresser and jabbed her guest in the side. ‘Hop it. I’m busy.’

Jennifer guessed what busy meant, as she peeped in through the open bedroom door to see various sex toys strewn around the grimy room.

Shelly spoke into the phone in her most alluring voice. ‘Hello Wilfred. Just give me five minutes, dear.’

Will whispered to Jennifer, ‘As much as I’d love to stay and watch, we really should be going.’

Jennifer nodded vehemently.

Shelly nodded towards the door. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I’d like you to sling your hook.’

‘Just a minute,’ Jennifer said. ‘Do you want to make a complaint about that bite?’

‘Don’t you think I’ve seen enough of your lot today? Nothing happened, now leave me alone,’ she said, bustling them towards the door.

Jennifer sighed in exasperation as she left the flat. ‘Just one more question. Did Johnny ever recite poetry?’

Shelly responded in a shrill cackle, ‘Poetry? Don’t be fucking stupid.’ Her laughter rang through the door as she shut it behind them.

Will raised his eyebrows, ’Now can we go? I’m famished.'

‘You should have asked Shelly, I’m sure she could have made you something nice,’ Jennifer giggled mischievously.

Clack … clack … clack; the noise of a walking stick echoed in the stairwell. An old man, steadily making his way up towards Shelly’s flat, passed Jennifer on the landing. A slight smile crossed his lips in a look of anticipation.

‘Must be Wilfred,’ Jennifer whispered, ‘I hope she gets rid of her guest first, can you imagine that for a threesome?’

‘Yuk. I hope I’m never that desperate.’

‘You can’t be too fussy now you’re single, Will’.

‘
I
can’t be fussy?’ Will huffed, failing to see the funny side. ‘When’s the last time
you
had a shag?’

Jennifer snorted a laugh as she made her way downstairs. ‘Oh, touchy. At least I make an effort with my appearance. You’re the one that’s gone all Robinson Crusoe, with your shaggy beard and baggy suit.’

Will stomped down to the car.

‘Are you annoyed?’ Jennifer giggled, opening the car door. ‘I was only joking, mate. I like your … beard.’

‘Like I said, I’m hungry.’ Will slammed the car door and clicked his seatbelt into place.

J
ennifer helped Will finish
one of his files in the hope that he would stop sulking. It wasn’t her fault he had let himself go since his wife left him. Sensitivity wasn’t her forte and if he wasn’t up for a piss-take then he was in the wrong job.

Five o’clock came, and she grabbed her coat from the rack and slid it on. It was rare to escape work on time, and she didn’t feel like staying late. ‘See you then,’ she said. A chorus of goodbyes rang from her colleagues, all except Will, his eyes fixed on his computer screen.

‘Bye then, grumpy drawers,’ Jennifer shouted over. A two-fingered salute flew up as a response and Jennifer grinned. All was forgiven.

T
esco metro was
Jennifer’s usual haunt when it came to picking up chocolate for her nephew, Joshua. The very thought of seeing him warmed her, and a few minutes with Josh could chase away the stresses of the day. She aimlessly wandered around the small supermarket, throwing bottles of cleaning fluids and random food items into her basket. Avocado, chicken slices, rice, and pasta. Cooking for one was boring, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat a ‘ping’ meal every night of the week. She picked up a bag of apples from the shelf. The days when she had scraped around for leftovers to feed her and her little sister while her father disappeared on one of his three-day benders were long gone. While most ten-year-old girls played with make-up and secret diaries, Jennifer had spent her time concealing her neglected home life from children’s social care. Displaying enough food in the cupboards in case they came around was one of the methods she employed, and on the nights when Amy cried for more food, she would ration out bowls of cornflakes, shaking the box as she wondered if she could spare a few more. If they hadn’t been taken in by their Aunt Laura ... it did not bear thinking about.

Not that her sister remembered any of that now. Jennifer scanned her food at the self-service till. It was doubtful she would be asked to stay for dinner – Amy had a thirty-minute tolerance, after that she began checking the clock on the kitchen wall.

Jennifer drove into the small housing estate just as the street lamps flickered on.

The blue glow of the television shone through the nets of the front bay window of her sister’s house. She knocked loudly to overcome the sound of a crying baby inside. A very harassed-looking Amy opened the door. Splodges of food painted her sweatshirt and something sticky matted her hair.

‘Come in,’ Amy said in a flat tone.

Jennifer followed her in, observing the sag in her sister’s shoulders. She had offered to babysit numerous times to give her some respite, but Amy seemed determined to go it alone.