Lynda La Plante: Clean Cut

‘You must be DI Travis?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’m the SIO on this one: DCI Sheldon.’

Sheldon had a soft Northern accent, blond hair thinning and swept back from a pleasant, pinkish face. He was wearing a cheap suit, white shirt and neat, unobtrusive tie. Anna gave a small smile and went to shake his hand but he turned away, gesturing to a big, square-shouldered officer.

‘This is DI Frank Brandon. Frank!’

Brandon turned and walked over to be introduced. ‘Hi, how’s old Langton doing?’

Anna flushed. ‘He’s got a long way to go, but he’s doing well.’

‘That’s good. I’ve heard he’ll more than likely be invalided out, but knowing him — well, not personally, but he’s got a hell of a reputation — he won’t like it.’

Before Anna could reply, DS Harry Blunt called out from the kitchen; they all turned to look down the hallway.

Blunt was short and stocky, with a reddish crew cut and flushed cheeks.

‘Getting a lot of prints; looks like the bastard washed up in here and made himself a sandwich. The knife found by her body may come from a set on the kitchen counter.’

‘This is Anna Travis,’ Sheldon said, indicating Anna.

She got a cool nod from Blunt, as he turned his attention back towards the kitchen and the forensic team working dusting for prints.

Sheldon pursed his lips and then looked at his wristwatch. ‘Right, may as well get back to the station. Did you come in your own car?’ he asked Anna.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Okay, see you back there then.’ He walked down the hall to the open front door.

‘Would it be all right if I just stayed on for a while, to get the layout?’ Anna asked Blunt.

The DS shrugged his shoulders and edged past her. He obviously suited his name: she felt as if he had little or no time to waste on small talk.

‘You know where the station is?’ This was Brandon; Anna said that she had checked it out before she arrived.

‘Good — and mind if I give you a word of advice? The Gov is a stickler for time, so if he’s going to give a briefing, I wouldn’t be too long. We’ve all been here since early this morning.’

‘Who’s looking after her daughter?’ Anna asked.

Brandon said she was with grandparents; then, like Sheldon, he walked off, leaving her standing by the kitchen door.

The incident room was silent. Anna was directed over to the Detective Inspectors’ desks, which were in a small corner; due to the limited size of the station, they did not have their own offices. The incident board had already been set up; the victim’s name and address were printed up, with little else. Anna could see Sheldon talking to Brandon in his office through the open blinds. There were three female and two male officers standing by a tea urn. None made any reaction to Anna or bothered to introduce themselves, but all parted as Sheldon came out of his office and crossed to the board. He didn’t even need to ask for attention; everyone immediately returned to their desks and sat waiting.

‘Okay, victim’s name is Irene Phelps, works at the public library. She got divorced five years ago; ex-husband lives in Devon and is an estate agent. He’s been contacted and will be travelling up to see his daughter. She’s only twelve; very traumatized and staying with her grandparents. They live three streets away from the victim’s flat. Okay, Frank, over to you.’

Sheldon nodded to Brandon, who flipped open his notebook. Brandon spoke rather loudly, unlike Sheldon. ‘Right, Gov. We’ve so far gathered that Irene always left work at three; this was to make sure she was home by the time her daughter returned from school. The route to her home was by tube from Brixton, one stop; from there, she could walk home. On this particular day, she left work as usual, but her daughter Natalie went to see her grandmother after school; she arrived at four-thirty, then left to walk home at about five forty-five. She would have reached home at just after six, found the front door open and discovered the body of her mother. We therefore only have a short timeframe. Irene Phelps could have met her killer on the tube and walked with him to her flat; he killed her between the hours of four to five-thirty. That’s it from me, Gov.’

Sheldon ran his fingers through his thinning hair, then continued in his soft Northern accent, hardly raising his voice, ‘We need to ascertain whether she knew her killer or disturbed him inside her flat. The place looks ransacked, but she had little of value and very rarely kept any money there; the place had been turned over and the lady put up one hell of a fight. We found no visible signs of forced entry but we’ll know for sure when the forensic teams give us their report. If she did know her killer and let him in, then we need to spread the net to question anyone that knew her, any ongoing relationships; so far, we’ve not had time to gather much evidence of who she knew, so that will be our first priority.’

Sheldon then gave a list to the duty manager of what he wanted the team to work on. He checked his watch and gave a strange low whistle. No one spoke. He sucked in his breath, gesturing at the photographs up on the incident board.

‘She took a terrible beating. It was a vicious attack and we need to get this bastard fast, because there is carelessness about the murder scene. Eating a fucking sandwich, drinking a cup of tea — unless the victim made them for him, but I doubt it; there was too much blood in the kitchen. Whoever killed her would have heavily bloodstained clothes, so question neighbours, anyone around her flat: someone must have seen this son of a bitch, so let’s not waste time. Get out there! Meanwhile, we wait for the PM and the forensic reports. That’s it, everyone. Let’s get moving, unless anyone has got anything to say?’

No one did; the briefing broke up as everyone got their marching orders. Frank Brandon came to Anna’s desk.

‘You and me, we’ve got the neighbours and workplace. You want to split it or work together?’

‘Whatever suits,’ Anna said.

‘Okay, I’ll do the neighbours, you get over to the library. May I call you Anna?’

She smiled. ‘Yes, of course. I was just wondering, who is questioning her daughter?’

‘That’ll be Harry; he’s good with kids, got a brood himself. She was in a right state, so maybe they’ll delay talking to her until she’s had some counselling.’

‘Did she call the police?’

‘Yeah — well, she ran to a neighbour and they called us for her.’

‘And she’s twelve?’

‘Yeah, just a kid. Her dad’s coming to see her; she’ll be staying at the grandparents’. Why you interested in her?’

‘Well, she found the body, and with the short time period, she might have even seen the killer — maybe she even knew him.’

‘Yeah, well — leave that to Harry, okay?’

‘Fine. I’ll get over to the library.’

Brandon had a chiselled face, high cheekbones and, with his square shoulders, it was obvious he worked out. Although he had everything going for him in the looks department, there was something unattractive about him — at least, there was to Anna. He used a very heavy cologne, which she thought was Aramis; in any case, it was certainly very pungent, and he had this manner, as if he was an object of desire. Perhaps he was — in his own mirror.

The library had not been closed, but there were numerous bouquets of flowers left by the doors. They looked rather sad and bedraggled; a couple had cards written by children.

Anna was introduced to a pleasant-faced woman, who shook her hand firmly.

‘I’m Deidre Lane; poor Irene worked alongside me in the children’s department. I suppose you’ve seen a few of them have left flowers. I’ve more in my office and I’m not quite sure what to do with them. It’s just so dreadful, none of us can believe it.’