The Fallen: A DCI Matilda Darke short story

‘Well as you’re the boss you can have a Twirl on the house,’ she said, tossing one to her.

‘Thanks. So, have we settled in now?’ Matilda asked, looking at the white boards which held details of the cases they were currently working on.

‘I think so. I know the desks were strategically placed for karma or whatever it’s called but I prefer the straight lines, don’t you?’

‘Definitely. What’s the matter?’ Matilda noticed Sian was looking down at her feet.

‘Nothing. I just wondered if you knew you were wearing odd shoes.’

‘What?’ She looked down. They were both black, they were both plain, only one was matt while the other was shiny. ‘Shit!’

‘Get dressed in the dark this morning?’

‘No. I got home yesterday to find James had started knocking the house to pieces a month early. I had less than half an hour to pack everything I wanted into a small caravan at the bottom of the back garden. I could have killed him.’

Sian stifled a laugh. ‘Oh. That would account for the toothpaste stain on your shirt then.’

‘What?’ She looked down. ‘Oh bloody hell. I’m not putting up with this for the next eight months. I was perfectly happy with our house. Yes, it was a tad dated but it just needed decorating. You should see the plans he’s drawn up.’

‘He is an architect.’

‘I know but can’t he demolish someone else’s home and not mine?’

The MIT had been in operation for less than a week yet they already had three murders to deal with. One was a domestic: Jennifer Skinner, thirty-three, had hit her lover with a frying pan in the kitchen following an argument. The victim fell, hit her head on the marble worktop and was dead before she hit the floor. Jennifer had appeared at Sheffield Magistrate’s Court where she pleaded guilty to manslaughter. She was on bail pending sentencing at Crown Court.

Alec Thwaites, forty, stabbed his ex-wife to death on the eve of her wedding to his former best friend. He admitted murder and was currently on remand in HMP Doncaster.

There was an arrest warrant out for Craig Matthewman who was on the run in connection with the death of a Sheffield Wednesday fan last weekend. Craig, a lifelong Sheffield United fan, was caught on CCTV fleeing an alleyway where Shaun McMurray was found with three stab wounds in his stomach. Despite several reports of Craig Matthewman hiding at various friends’ houses throughout the steel city, he still eluded Matilda and her team.

Matilda was going through her emails when DC Aaron Connolly entered the MIT suite. He had only been back at work two weeks following his honeymoon in Barcelona with Katrina and already the defeated look of a man under the thumb was showing on his face. Matilda and James had been married for less than a year, did they look like that too? She didn’t think so. James definitely wasn’t under the thumb. However, if he continued to knock their home to pieces, he’d be buried under the extended kitchen.

‘Aaron, any joy with Craig Matthewman?’ Matilda called through her open door.

‘That’s where I’ve just been. Uniform had a sighting of him near Asda in Gleadless Valley. His step-father lives just around the corner but he’s not there.’

‘His step-father isn’t hiding him, is he?’

‘No. Actually he’s the ex-step-father and, by all accounts, if Craig did turn up on his doorstep he’d drag him down here by his hair. And he’s in a wheelchair.’

‘Ma’am,’ Sian said coming into Matilda’s small office, smiling at Aaron on his way out. Matilda didn’t look up at first. It was strange hearing someone call her ma’am, especially Sian, a woman she had known for over a decade. Sian didn’t seem to mind. ‘I’ve had a call from DS Brady. There’s a suspicious death at Hallam Grange.’

‘Really? Excellent.’

‘What?’ Sian asked, a surprised look on her face.

‘We have to pass my house to get there. I can stop off and change these shoes.’

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

‘DI Darke, DS Mills,’ Matilda said to the uniformed officer at the entrance to the block of flats on Hallam Grange Close. They both briefly flashed their ID.

‘DCI,’ Sian reminded her boss.

‘Sorry, yes, DCI Darke. I can’t get used to that at all.’

Matilda and Sian were handed forensic suits which they struggled into in the cold foyer before heading for the scene of the crime.

The flat had a small dark hallway which was decorated in dull, lifeless colours. The light brown carpet and grimy cream walls, with old reproduction art work that no serious artist would have painted, were a taster of the rest of the flat. It was depressing, drab, and energy-sapping.

The living room had been brightened up by the floodlights brought in by the scene of crime officers. Forensics were dusting for finger prints around a broken window. Three people wearing identical paper suits were crouched over the body.

‘I’m guessing the one in the middle with the big bum is Dr Adele Kean,’ Matilda said, folding her arms.

Adele almost jumped up. ‘Cheeky cow. I lost three pounds last week.’

‘Really? Hole in your purse?’

‘My bum doesn’t look big does it?’

‘Adele, in these suits we all look like fat Teletubbies.’

Adele looked around the room. ‘No wonder kids are weird these days if this is what they’re watching.’

‘DCI Darke?’ DS Christian Brady came into the living room. ‘DI Hales has had to go back to Central. He asked me to talk you through the scene.’

Matilda rolled her eyes. Her main competitor for the DCI job in MIT was DI Ben Hales. When a dedicated murder unit had first been mooted he had thrown himself at the mercy of the ACC and practically begged for the job. However, being married to a former Chief Superintendent’s daughter doesn’t necessarily open doors for you. In Ben’s case many doors were double locked and the key thrown away. Matilda often felt sorry Ben still hadn’t been promoted. He was a good detective and deserved recognition for his hard work. Unfortunately, those higher up felt nepotism might be suspected if Hales was given the head job.

To say Ben took losing out on the MIT role hard would be an understatement. He had barely said two words to Matilda since she started. Although he was solely in charge of CID, he was bound to resent handing over cases to her when he was qualified to see them through to the end.

His mood had dropped. He had never been one for socializing with officers at the end of the day and was an incredibly private man, but since the MIT came into force, he had retreated further into himself. It was like he was plotting something, like he was seething inside, and waiting until the time was right to stage a coup.

‘Is Ben still in a mood?’ Matilda asked Christian.

‘As usual. It doesn’t help that a drug dealer he’s been after for the past three months turned up dead yesterday.’

‘Murder?’

‘Overdose. It shuts down an angle he’s been working on into dealing on Burngreave. It’s back to square one. There’s no room on the MIT for a DS is there, ma’am?’ Christian asked, looking hopeful.

‘We’ve only been going a week! Tell me what’s going on here.’ She said, wanting to get off the subject of Ben Hales. He really did need to grow up.

‘Ok. Well, a woman called Andrea Barnes came calling for her colleague, Iain Kilbride, when he failed to show up for work. There was no answer so she looked through the letterbox. She thought she saw him dead. When a neighbour looked through, he didn’t see anyone. He went around the back, noticed the broken window and blood on the windowsill and gave us a ring.’

‘And who is Andrea Barnes?’

‘She is, or rather was, Iain Kilbride’s boss.’

‘Why did she come calling for him?’