The Fallen: A DCI Matilda Darke short story

‘I’m not looking through there. He’s dead. I’m telling you.’

The young man held up his hands to silence them before the exchange became too heated. ‘I’ll go around the back and have a look through the living room window. You stay here.’

Andrea watched wide-eyed as the young man left the building. She smiled at the older man, a sympathetic I’m-not-crazy kind of smile. He returned the awkward gesture but started to shuffle away. He couldn’t get back into his flat fast enough. The door slammed closed and Andrea heard the rattling of the security chain being fastened. She was alone in the hallway.

There was an underlying smell of cold and damp. The bile-green floor tiles were scuffed and in need of a good scrub, or replacing completely. The walls had once been cream but over time had turned to nicotine yellow. The lighting was poor and headache-inducing. Why did Iain live here? It was depressing.

The front door to Iain’s flat burst open making Andrea jump. She turned around, half expecting to see Iain in his dressing gown making an excuse for not turning up to work. She was shocked to see the young man in the woolly hat whose name she didn’t know.

‘I think you’d better call the police.’

Chapter Two (#u728fa58c-c1df-5c65-823f-6316746b50e5)

Matilda Darke opened her eyes and for a brief moment had no idea where she was. Then it dawned on her. She was no longer in her room in a king-size bed with fitted wardrobes and an en suite wet room. She was in a cramped caravan sleeping on a converted sofa where the only privacy was a beige curtain. Suddenly, this did not seem like such a good idea.

The curtain was pulled back and she sat up. The man at the foot of her ‘bed’ was holding two mugs of tea on a tin tray. There was a tiny vase with a single red rose in it.

‘Did you sleep well?’ He asked with a hopeful smile.

‘No. I had springs sticking in me where springs should not be sticking.’

‘Oh. It won’t be for long.’

‘Really? We’ll be back in our house before Christmas, will we?’

‘Hardly,’ he scoffed. ‘Christmas is only three weeks away.’

Matilda rolled her eyes.

‘Look on the bright side, we’ll have the house of our dreams when it’s finished. A gorgeous sunken bath tub, dressing room just for you. No more nasty wardrobes. A walk-in pantry in the kitchen. A real log burner in the sitting room. This time next Christmas will be bliss.’

Matilda smiled. It was difficult to be angry with James Darke for too long. All he had to do was smile that perfect smile, twinkle those ice-blue eyes and she’d agree to anything.

‘Will you buy me diamonds next Christmas?’

‘I’ll buy you diamonds every Christmas.’ He placed the tray on the only available floor space and crawled into bed with his wife. He leaned in and kissed her passionately on the lips.

‘Morning breath,’ she said, turning away.

‘I don’t mind.’

‘I do. Besides, I’ve got to get to work.’

‘Call in sick. Let’s pretend we’re children of the earth and we’re travelling the country in a horse-drawn caravan, making love at every stop.’

‘Nice idea stud,’ she smiled. ‘First of all, I can’t call in sick as I’ve only had the job a week. Secondly, nice to see you finally admit this is a caravan. What happened to the Winnebago I was promised?’

‘I’ve had to order one from Norway. It should be here next week.’

‘We do have motorhomes in this country you know.’

‘Have you tried to find a company that will lift one over our house into the back garden without charging an arm and a leg for insurance?’

‘They’re going to drop it on the house, aren’t they?’

‘The British probably would. The Norwegians wouldn’t.’

‘Please tell me you know what you’re doing.’

‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘Now say it like you mean it.’

Matilda struggled to wash herself in a shower the size of an airing cupboard. As she towelled herself dry she knocked over her coffee cup and banged her head three times on the ceiling. This was definitely not going to work.

‘James, where’s the red suitcase?’ She called out to him in the next room. Was it really a different room when the ‘wall’ was so thin you could put your fist through it?

‘What red suitcase?’

‘The red suitcase on our bed that I asked you to bring down because it was too heavy.’

There was no reply, though she might have heard a mumbled ‘shit.’

‘Late for work. Got to go. Love you, bye,’ James called, slamming the door behind him.

‘James Darke, get back here right now!’ Matilda called out after him. ‘That had all my work clothes in it.’

Chapter Three (#u728fa58c-c1df-5c65-823f-6316746b50e5)

The new Murder Investigation Team (MIT) at South Yorkshire Police had a brand new open plan office with ergonomic desks, state of the art computers, soothing decoration and potted plants to increase productivity and maintain a calm and healthy atmosphere. The one failing was the heating system which looked and sounded like it had been salvaged from the wreck of the Titanic.

Detective Chief Inspector Matilda Darke was in charge of the MIT and all the officers working there. It took six months of interviews, shadowing, presentations and training courses before the job was finally offered to her. When ACC Masterson gave her the news she tried to remain professional. The plan had been to nod, give a brief smile and thank the ACC for having faith in her. Unfortunately, she briefly lost control, punched the air and almost grabbed her boss in a bear hug, until she remembered where she was. She tried to cover up her emotional outburst but it was too late. Never mind.

She pulled open the glass door to the MIT suite and was hit in the face by the smell of new carpet.

‘Bloody hell, Sian, open a window will you? It took me all night to get rid of the headache from the smell of this carpet.’

‘Open a window? It’s freezing,’ DS Sian Mills said. ‘Besides, it’s not that bad over here. Aaron dropped his Bolognese yesterday which has taken the newness off it.’

‘Oh. Well when he gets in ask him to drop his breakfast in my office, will you?’

Sian smiled. ‘Coffee?’

‘I’d love one. What are you doing with that lot?’ Matilda asked, pointing at a plastic bag full of chocolate bars.

‘It was an idea of Stuart’s last night. A woman in his office has a snack drawer. You help yourself to whatever you fancy but you have to replace it with something similar.’

‘I like that idea. I often need a chocolate rush in the afternoons.’