‘Sorry?’
‘The black eye.’ It was the first time Matilda had looked up at her neighbour. Usually she wasn’t one for chatting with a neighbour but while this awkward exchange was going on she’d rather the attention be on Jill than herself.
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ she giggled. ‘I’m having a few problems shaking off these last few pregnancy pounds so I’ve started kick-boxing again. I think I’m a bit rusty to tell the truth.’
‘I think I’d stick with the extra few pounds.’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘Jill!’ An angry shout called out to her from inside the house.
‘That’ll be Sebastian wondering where his takeaway is. I’ll chat to you some other time.’ With that, Jill kicked the car door closed and hurried into the house, struggling under the weight of the shopping, baby, and takeaway.
‘That your neighbour?’ Scott asked as they climbed into the car.
‘Spot on as ever, Scott. Yes, that’s my neighbour. Look, she’s going into the house next door to mine,’ she smiled.
‘I never got a black eye when I tried kick-boxing.’
‘I’m sure it wasn’t for lack of trying on your opponent’s part.’ Scott’s frown told Matilda he didn’t understand her little dig. Her smile widened.
Matilda wished all she had to contend with was a few extra pounds. She looked down at the ripples in her shirt caused by the rolls of fat underneath. Adele had tried to coax her into joining a spinning class. Matilda went along once. She sweated to the point of serious dehydration and felt the effects on her bum for more than a week afterwards every time she tried to sit down. Never again. In the end she just went out and bought bigger clothes. She was content with being a size twelve on a good day (fourteen on a bad one), but still yearned for the gorgeous size ten Armani suit in her wardrobe. Maybe one day.
As Scott pulled away Matilda looked back at her house, which was now in complete darkness. Next door Jill Carmichael and her husband would be sitting down to a nice takeaway, a newborn baby fast asleep: a happy couple curled up together on the sofa watching television. She envied them so much. She hoped they appreciated the happiness they had.
To get to Clough Lane, Scott had to traverse Quiet Lane – a long, meandering road that belonged in the middle of the countryside. With tall trees on both sides and inadequate lighting you took the perilous corners and bends with caution. Scott slowed down to thirty miles per hour, and even then he felt like he was speeding.
The scene laid out before them was like a location set for a sci-fi film. Looking down Matilda could see the intense brilliance of white spotlights and a cast of white-suited police and forensic officers going about their work.
Scott pulled up at the roadblock, a sensible distance away from the crime scene.
Matilda hated this part: entering a crime scene for the first time. Scott had filled her in on the basics during the journey but it was nothing compared to experiencing it for herself. She was stepping into the unknown and had no idea how it would make her feel.
She opened the door and stepped out. The stiff breeze in the built-up area of Sheffield had been upgraded to a strong wind on the border of the Peak District National Park.
From the outset, the scene didn’t give anything away. The white tent was covering the main stage. Inside, a brilliant light was glowing, casting shadows of forensic officers going about their grisly business.
‘Ma’am.’
She jumped and turned to see DS Aaron Connolly standing beside her. He proffered a white forensic suit for her to try and squeeze into. She looked for Scott but he had disappeared. How long had she zoned out for?
Aaron was a tall, well-built man in his mid-thirties. Unfortunately for him, forensic suits weren’t designed as a fashion item, nor did they come in an array of sizes. It was first come, first served, and judging by the difficulty Aaron was having breathing in his, he was obviously late to the scene.
‘Sorry we had to call you out, ma’am. Any news on a new DI yet?’
‘Not yet. The one who was joining us from Middlesbrough changed his mind.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘No idea. He probably saw the Park Hill flats from the train station and decided to head back north. What’s happening here then?’ she asked, quickly wanting to get off the subject of a new DI. Her involvement with the last one was still a very sore subject.
Aaron dug around in his pocket for a notebook. ‘George Rainsford, an old bloke who lives in one of the cottages, hears a car beeping just after going to bed. It carries on and he realizes there’s a pattern to the beeping. He listens and he says it’s rhythmic; the beeps are SOS in Morse code. He decides to investigate and discovers a woman, barely conscious, sounding the horn, and a dead man at the side of the road. They’ve both been badly beaten and shot several times. The woman’s gone to the Northern General Hospital and the man was already dead when we arrived.’
Matilda was sure that was the most she had ever heard Aaron say in one go. ‘I’d better take a look then. Who’s here?’
‘We’ve got a full forensic team. They’ve not been here long and it looks like they’ll be here all night. Dr Kean and her assistant have arrived and the Crime Scene Manager is knocking around somewhere.’
Matilda stopped. She had a heavy frown on her face, thinking about what steps to take next. ‘I want a full statement from the man who found her. What did you say he was called again?’
‘George Rainsford,’ he replied, checking his notebook. ‘Sian’s taken him back to the station. He was in a right state. I doubt she’ll get anything out of him tonight.’
‘OK. Give Sian a ring, ask how he’s doing. If he’s not capable of giving a statement tonight get her to send him home with a uniformed officer to stay with him and we’ll interview tomorrow morning. Any other witnesses?’
‘No.’
‘I see I’m here before the gawkers; didn’t anyone hear the gunshots, screams?’
‘It doesn’t look like it. It’s pretty isolated around here.’
‘Door-to-door?’
‘There aren’t many houses around here as you can see but I’ve got a small team together and they’re going to knock on a couple of doors.’
Matilda was beginning to feel surplus to requirements. ‘Do we know who our victims are?’
Aaron checked his notebook again. ‘I’ve run the car through the ANPR. I’m still waiting to get information on where it’s been in the run-up to it arriving here. However, the PNC says it’s registered to Kevin Hardaker at Broad Elms Lane in Bents Green.’
‘Not far away.’
‘No.’
‘And the woman?’
‘I’ve no idea. There’s nothing in the car to identify her; no bag, purse, nothing. I’m guessing she’s his wife.’
‘Are you thinking robbery then?’
‘I’m not sure. Mr Hardaker is wearing a very expensive-looking watch, his wallet is in the glove compartment with cash and cards, and Mrs Hardaker still has a ring on