Helen Fields - Perfect Death

Ava stepped forward, conscious that the ground beneath her feet had softened. Flicking the light downwards she saw that the floor was strewn with bedding. A mattress was overturned in the corner, and clothes that had once inhabited an upturned chest of drawers were everywhere. Straightening up, she noticed a large cage in the corner containing two parrots. They were staring, making her feel oddly self-conscious.

‘What sort of person keeps caged birds in this day and age?’ Ava muttered. The response was further screeching as she neared the parrots. There was a huge pile of bird seed on the floor of the cage and an empty packet on the floor. ‘Someone knew they weren’t coming back for a while, didn’t they?’ she asked the birds.

Jones had obviously been living in the back rooms. A toilet and shower were situated in a side room, separated from the bedroom by a plastic curtain. In the corner, a microwave, toaster and kettle provided cooking facilities. Ava cursed quietly as she realised she would have to arrange for the SPCA to collect the birds. Making her way back through to the front office, Ava read the scrawled handwritten notes scattered across the floor. No wonder Louis Jones was reduced to living on a mattress on the floor, if that was how he did business. She picked up the landline, plugged it back in and dialled recall for the last number that had phoned in, scribbling it down before leaving. The scene would have to be secured, by which time the driver of the crashed vehicle might have been located unharmed. Unless it really had been Louis Jones, Ava thought, in which case maybe a broken limb or two wouldn’t be such a tragedy.

She went back out to the car and climbed in next to DC Tripp.

‘Pair of parrots need taking care of,’ she said. ‘Ask the SPCA to come out in the morning. They’ve got plenty of food to keep them going until then. Have some uniforms come and secure the premises until we’ve located the owner.’

‘Is it a crime scene, ma’am?’ Tripp asked.

‘Looks like it, unless the owner decided to redecorate in a rather unconventional manner. At the moment, though, we have no burglary complainant and no grounds for doing much. I don’t know what’s going on yet and I’m not kicking off an investigation until I do.’ She dialled DS Lively’s number.

‘Haven’t found the driver yet,’ he said. ‘Do we know anything more from Jones’ file?’

‘Nothing I can share,’ Ava said. ‘Who’s in charge at the scene?’

‘Chief Inspector Dimitri. He’s getting it all packed up now, having the car towed. The dogs have been recalled.’

Ava considered the name. ‘I’ve met him. He was the officer in charge at the Chief’s suicide; he seemed very kind. Begbie would have liked him,’ Ava commented. ‘Take a note of this phone number, would you?’ She read out the last number that had called in to Jones’ landline. ‘Check it out for me. Details for my eyes only at this stage. Jones’ file is still confidential. Whatever’s happened to Louis Jones, given the way he lived, I very much doubt there’s an innocent explanation.’

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