Victim of Innocence: A DCI Matilda Darke short story

‘Hello?’ She called. Her voice slurred, but she had been sober since New Year. ‘Are you still there? Can you help me? I think …’

Steadying herself on the mantelpiece, Caitlyn turned around to face the living room door. It seemed to blur in and out of focus. Was someone about to come in? That wasn’t possible. She made a point of locking and double-locking the front door as soon as she came home from work. Her mother was the only other person with a spare key, and she wouldn’t turn up unannounced, not since the discussion they had about privacy over Christmas.

Caitlyn felt sick and dizzy. She needed to sit down before she fell. She needed a drink. She needed her mother.

Flopping into the armchair, Caitlyn reached over to the telephone and lifted the handset out of its cradle. She stared but couldn’t focus on the buttons. They wobbled in front of her eyes.

She scrolled through the phone’s built-in contacts and pressed the green call button when she saw what looked like the three-letter word ‘mum’. She held the phone to her ear and listened to the echoing ring. It sounded odd, as if it was the only noise in a large empty room.

‘Hello?’ A voice Caitlyn didn’t recognize answered. It sounded slow and deep.

‘Mum? Is that you?’ Caitlyn asked, concern in her slurred speech.

‘Yes. Caitlyn? Are you all right?’

‘I don’t know.’ She ran her hand through her hair. It came away wet. ‘I think there’s someone in my flat.’

‘What? What are you talking about?’

‘Mum? Is that really you?’ Caitlyn’s voice wobbled. It sounded slow in her head.

‘Oh God, Caitlyn, have you been drinking? You promised you’d quit. You’ve been doing so well, too.’

‘Mum, I haven’t been drinking.’

‘Then why do you sound like your dad when he comes home after United have won?’

‘Mum, I haven’t had a drink in months.’ That was a lie, but there was no reason to tell her mother the truth. She would only worry more than she already did.

‘Caitlyn, I’m not stupid. I know drunk when I hear it. Look, you’re going through hell right now, but drinking won’t help. And what will Mr Jowett say tomorrow when you turn up for work hungover? He’s been very good to you lately, Caitlyn.’

‘Someone’s in my flat,’ Caitlyn said, her eyes still fixed on the doorway.

‘Yes, of course. And Tom Selleck is waiting for me in bed upstairs. Look, sleep it off and I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘But—’

‘Goodnight.’

The line went dead.

‘Shit,’ she said to herself. ‘I’ve phoned the police,’ she called out towards the doorway she could barely see.

There was no reply. Caitlyn remained in the armchair staring at the door, wondering if someone was going to enter. The walls seemed to be moving; the door to the hallway was getting further and further away. Eventually, she lifted herself up and used the wall to steady herself. It was closed and the Yale was locked. Maybe she hadn’t heard the door closing.

What did she remember? She was sat having a drink of wine—

‘Don’t tell mum. Mustn’t tell mum.’

—watching a repeat of Blue Planet on Sky when the doorbell rang. After that, nothing but a massive headache. She placed a hand on her forehead. It felt warm and clammy.

Caitlyn stumbled into her bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Her dizziness increased. She wanted to sleep. She began to remove her clothes; floppy fingers fumbled with her shirt buttons; tired legs kicked out of her trousers. She couldn’t be bothered to change into her pyjamas; she couldn’t find them anyway.

When she stood up, she caught her tired reflection in the wardrobe mirror. She looked a mess: pale, skinny, bad skin and crazy hair.

Caitlyn threw back the duvet and fell into bed. She started to relax straight away as her warm body was engulfed in the cool crisp sheets. She turned over to cocoon herself in the duvet and didn’t notice the blood dripping from her head onto the pillow; didn’t notice as a red stain grew like a flower across the sheets.

Chapter Two (#uea50fca9-7cb2-5bc3-80ec-fe4e6eee6748)

Monday March 7, 2011

‘Table for two. Name of Darke.’

Matilda held her husband’s hand firmly while they waited for their table. His large fingers wrapped around hers. His were calloused, weather beaten, the hands of a manual worker, strong and rugged. She felt safe with this tall handsome man gripping her hand. She had no idea why she was suddenly so fixated on James’s hand, but as she looked down, she wanted to memorize every single line and cut, as if she was seeing it for the last time. She also wanted to lick it, take off his jacket and shirt, kiss his firm masculine body, run her tongue …

‘Mr Darke, your table is ready.’

‘Thank goodness. I’m starving,’ Matilda said, her face flushed with embarrassment.

It had been a while since they had dressed up and gone out somewhere posh to eat. Since the renovations on the house, they were living in a glorified caravan at the bottom of the garden. Meals consisted of takeaways, sandwiches, and things that could be cooked in one pan. Tonight was a chance to indulge in expensive food and drink over several courses.

They were shown to their table by the window and given the menus.

‘Are you all right?’ James asked.

‘I’m fine. Why?’

‘You look a bit flushed.’

Matilda smiled and felt herself blushing. ‘I’m fine. Honestly. I’ve been looking forward to this evening all day. I haven’t had lunch.’

‘I have,’ James said as he perused the menu. ‘But only a jacket potato, a bit of salad, tuna mayo, packet of crisps.’

‘Is that all? You’ll be wasting away,’ she mocked.

‘Are we having a starter?’

‘Of course.’ Matilda was almost salivating as she looked at the menu.

Her phone started to ring. They made eye contact. They both knew what this meant.

‘Luckily I hadn’t chosen yet,’ James said.

Matilda mouthed ‘sorry’ before taking her phone out of her inside pocket. She listened to the voice on the other end. All the while her bright face was falling to one of sadness and disappointment. She ended the call and didn’t dare look up at her husband.

‘You have to go,’ James said.

‘I’m afraid so. A body has been found in Heeley.’