Outside Looking In: A darkly compelling crime novel with a shocking twist

‘So an illegal weapon bought on the black market then?’

‘It would appear so.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes. Uniform were called out to an RTC in the small hours of this morning off Psalter Lane. A nurse going home from the late shift was driving her Nissan and was run off the road by a man driving a black BMW. She crashed into a tree.’

‘Is she OK?’

‘Yes, she’s fine. The car was being driven way over the speed limit and the driver didn’t stop. She said it all happened rather quickly but she was sure the car didn’t have a registration plate. I’ve been in with traffic for the last hour; I’ve looked at the cameras close to Psalter Lane and a black BMW is seen speeding at the roundabout at Hunter’s Bar. It didn’t have any plates.’

‘Can the ANPR track it back?’

‘I’ve got someone working on that for me.’

‘Could you make out the driver?’

‘No. It was dark.’

‘Have any BMW’s been reported stolen?’

‘No.’ Sian shook her head. ‘What do you think – same guy?’

‘Could be.’

Sian whistled. ‘So a black market semi-automatic handgun and potentially stolen BMW. This guy means business.’

‘He certainly does.’ Matilda’s expression darkened. ‘Excellent work, Sian. Well done.’

‘You’re welcome. I’ll keep you up to date.’

Matilda’s mobile phone burst into life as Sian was leaving the office.’

‘DCI Darke,’ she answered. There was no reply but she could definitely hear breathing. ‘Hello,’ she waited, listening to the background noise. ‘Hello, is anyone there? I can hear you, you know.’ The line went dead. She was just about to pull away when the phone rang a second time. Once more, no number was displayed.

‘Yes!’ she snapped.

‘DCI Darke?’

‘Yes!’

‘Hello, I’m Alex Winstanley, the new crime reporter on the Sheffield Star. I was wondering if I could have a word.’

Matilda visibly relaxed. ‘How did you get my number?’

‘From my predecessor. Is this a good time to talk to you about the murder on Clough Lane last night?’

‘How do you know about that?’

‘Pure chance I’m afraid,’ his accent wasn’t local so Matilda guessed he’d moved to Sheffield purely for the job. That meant he would be ambitious and ruthless about getting his hands on the juiciest story, and the Clough Lane murder was certainly juicy. She had an eerie feeling they would not get on. ‘I was in A&E last night and happened to see all the commotion. Is it true you have no idea who the victims are yet?’

‘A statement will be released in good time.’ She gave the standard reply.

‘I heard several shots were fired. Adding to this the recent spate of aggravated burglaries, in which a gun was used in at least one incident, should the people of Sheffield be worried about the rise in gun crime in the city?’

‘There is no rise in gun crime Mr Winstanley.’

‘Really? Official figures seem to show otherwise. Are you aware of an eight-year-old boy found waving a replica gun in Gleadless Valley last weekend?’

Matilda had not heard of this, not that she could let Winstanley know that. Maybe having a dedicated MIT was isolating them from the rest of CID; bringing the two back together would mean information would be passed around more freely. Bloody hell, I’m justifying the scrapping of my own department.

‘Mr Winstanley, allow me to be frank: South Yorkshire Police work very hard to keep the people of Sheffield safe. These minor incidents are being investigated by the best detectives we have. The public are under no threat from gun crime. As for the incident last night, like I said, a statement will be released in due course. Good day Mr Winstanley.’

Matilda didn’t realize it, but that statement would return to haunt her when the local paper hit the shops that evening. Before she had time to think, however, Rory burst into her office.

‘I think we may have found our mystery woman.’

TEN

Martin Craven, a short man with rapidly receding brown hair, fingernails bitten down to the quick and displaying all the tension of a bomb disposal expert on his first day on the job, paced anxiously inside interview room one. The door opening made him jump.

‘What’s going on? Why have I been left in here like this?’

Matilda and Rory entered and sat down.

‘Mr Craven, I’m DCI Matilda Darke—’

‘DCI? That’s a high rank, what’s happened? What’s happened to my wife?’

‘Mr Craven, please, sit down.’

If it was possible his face looked graver. Reluctantly he pulled out the hard plastic chair, scraping it on the floor, and sat down, straight backed and uncomfortable.

‘Would you like a tea or coffee?’

‘I don’t want a bloody drink.’ He almost exploded but managed to hold himself back. ‘I just want to know what the hell is going on.’

‘Sir, your missing person report has coincided with an anonymous woman being admitted to the Northern General last night.’

‘The Northern? Oh my God. Is she OK? What happened?’

‘I can’t tell you how she is as I don’t know yet. However, I would like to ask you a few questions. When was the last time you saw your wife?’

‘I’ve been through all this once already,’ he said, deflating in his seat. ‘Yesterday morning. I had to leave for work early so I left about 7.30. She didn’t need to be in work until later so she was still in her dressing gown at the table with the kids. I said goodbye to her and the kids and that was it.’

‘Did she arrive at work?’

‘Of course she did. I’ve already checked on that. She arrived on time, had lunch at the same time, and left at the same time. It was just an ordinary day.’

‘Was she going anywhere after work?’

Martin Craven sighed at having to repeat himself. ‘Yes. She plays tennis. She was going straight to the club from work. I was expecting her home at about 8 p.m.’

At the mention of tennis Matilda and Rory exchanged a quick glance with each other. Martin didn’t appear to notice.

‘But she didn’t come home?’

‘Well obviously not.’

‘Did you call her?’

‘Many times.’

‘No reply?’

‘None.’

‘When did you suspect she might be missing?’

‘This morning. I waited up for her. I must have nodded off in the chair. Our youngest came down at six and woke me up. Lois hadn’t come home so that’s when I realized something must have happened.’ He looked at the blank expressions on the officer’s faces in front of him, hoping to find anything there that might explain the disappearance of his wife. ‘Something has happened hasn’t it?’

‘Mr Craven, is there any reason why your wife might have been on Clough Lane last night?’

‘Clough Lane? No,’ he frowned. ‘There’s no reason at all for her to go that way. Hang on; there was something on the radio this morning about a shooting at Ringinglow. It’s her isn’t it? She’s been shot.’ Tears started to fall from his eyes.

‘Do you have a photograph of your wife?’

‘Shit,’ he said. ‘I should have brought one with me, sorry.’

‘That’s OK. Mr Craven, a woman, who we have not yet been able to identify, was attacked and shot last night on Clough Lane. She’s currently in Intensive Care. It could – and I stress could – be your wife.’

He fell forward onto the desk, buried his head into the crook of his arm and gave out a loud sob. He looked up at Matilda. ‘I want to see her.’

‘Of course. If you’ll wait here I’ll make a call to the hospital.’

‘Thank you. Look, would it be possible for me to have a drink of water or something.’

‘Certainly.’

Matilda and Rory left the room. They waited until they were out of hearing range before they began talking.

‘What do you think?’ Rory asked looking across at his perplexed boss.

‘It’s possible. We need to get him to ID her. Get a car sorted. What did you think of him?’

‘He genuinely seems concerned for his wife. He obviously cares for her.’

‘So what was she doing in a car with a married man?’

‘I hate these domestic cases. We always end up in the middle of some kind of marital dispute.’

With the amount of work she had to do Matilda should have sent Rory to the hospital alone with Martin but she wanted to go herself. Rory was right, this was a domestic case and if the mystery woman was Lois Craven then the question of what she was doing with a married man would arise. If she was having an affair, who knew about it? Did Martin know? Did he commit the attack? His reaction to seeing his wife unconscious in a hospital bed could be pivotal. She needed to see this for herself.

On the drive to the Northern General Hospital, Matilda allowed Rory to take the wheel while she sat in the front passenger seat and Martin Craven in the back. She had angled the rear-view and side mirrors so she could glance at his expressions. He sat poised in the centre of the back seat, his hands firmly clasped in his lap, fingers twitching. He looked worried; his eyes were wide and staring and he was biting down on his bottom lip. It was clear he was nervous about what he was going to find.

The doctors in Intensive Care were not happy about the intrusion from the police. Their main duty was to the well-being of their patient. A nurse with a frosty attitude led them to the private room but would not allow them to enter.

‘She is unconscious and in a critical condition. She’s lost a great deal of blood and is at a high risk of infection. Until she is assessed later by a consultant I cannot allow anyone unauthorized to enter. I’m sorry,’ she added as an afterthought when she saw the tears in Martin’s eyes.

The woman in the bed was hooked up to all kinds of machines. Wires and tubes were coming out of her nose, mouth and hands. Her head was heavily bandaged and there was thick padding to the left side of her neck. Matilda looked through the window at her without emotion. She looked as if she was sleeping and Matilda guessed she was not feeling any pain. At this stage it would be best if she remained in this condition.

Martin Craven banged on the window with fists squeezed so tight together they were almost blue. He let out an unnatural sound like a wild animal caught in a trap. Rory caught him just in time as he fell to the floor while several nurses ran to attend to him. Matilda stepped back. On the night she returned home from the hospital after her husband died she had made exactly the same noise. Almost one year ago to the day.

ELEVEN

By the time of the evening briefing at 6.30 the backgrounds of Kevin Hardaker and Lois Craven had been established. Matilda stood at the top of the room in front of the whiteboards and looked at the half dozen officers assembled.

Matilda opened the briefing and quickly handed over to Aaron while she sat back and took it all in. She needed to know what everyone had been working on.

‘Kevin Hardaker is forty-three-years-old, married to Alice who is forty,’ Aaron began, pointing to their respective photographs on the boards. ‘They’ve been married for thirteen years and have two kids, Warren is ten and Milly is seven. Kevin worked for Currys as a sales manager. Supposedly, he’s been playing tennis several times a week after work for many years. However, according to his tennis partner, Jeremy somebody, can’t remember his surname, they stopped about six months ago. Kevin has been having an affair with Lois Craven, also a member of the same tennis club, for a little over a year. Six months ago is when it started getting serious and the tennis stopped.’

‘Did Alice know about the affair?’ Matilda asked.

‘No.’

‘Are we sure?’

‘DC Glass is pretty convinced and I thought the same when I spoke to her,’ Scott said, looking up from his pad.

‘Is DC Glass still there?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘If Alice Hardaker doesn’t need him, get him back here. We need all the help we can muster.’ Scott nodded. ‘What about this Jeremy somebody? Did he know about the affair?’

‘Yes he did. He didn’t know Alice very well, he only met her a couple of times, but he felt guilty about keeping Kevin’s secret.’

‘Not guilty enough though,’ Matilda said to herself. ‘What’s his alibi for the attack?’

‘He was in a restaurant with his wife. I’ve seen the receipt,’ Aaron said. ‘Two hundred quid on one meal.’

‘Blimey, they had more than a Big Mac then,’ Rory said.

‘OK. Has anyone spoken to Kevin’s colleagues at Currys?’

‘Not yet.’

‘That’s the next job. Let’s move on to Lois Craven.’

‘Lois Craven is forty-one-years-old. She’s married to Martin. They celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary later this year. They’ve got three children; Jack is eighteen, Anna is fifteen, and Thomas is eight. Lois is an office administrator at the Sheffield College and Martin is a medical rep. He frequently works away. Now, according to her colleagues Lois started the affair with Kevin because she was bored. Martin’s always away and two of the kids look after themselves, she only had Thomas to contend with. She was bored with playing the happy housewife and mother and wanted some excitement while she was still able.’

‘Well, she sounds like a lovely woman,’ Matilda said with a hint of anger. She immediately thought of James. Matilda would have relished the opportunity to find out what a bored housewife was like. Lois should have been content with what she had. ‘What’s Martin’s alibi for the attacks?’

‘He was at home. All three kids can corroborate that. So can a neighbour, a Mrs Blanchford,’ Scott said.

‘How does she know?’

‘She went round about half past eight to borrow some foil. Apparently her son is making a robot for school and she’d run out. She went next door, stayed for a few minutes then went back home. She said everything was as it always is. Nice robot too.’

‘What are the neighbours saying about them as a couple? Are they well liked?’

Scott flicked a few pages in his notepad. ‘The Hardakers’ neighbours were shocked by Kevin’s death. I didn’t mention the affair but just asked about what they were like as a family. Apparently they were very happy. They often went out together, weekends away, etcetera, and they always invited the neighbours around for the kids’ parties. They seem like the perfect couple.’

‘There’s no such thing as the perfect couple,’ Rory said while rummaging through Sian’s snack drawer. As usual, Sian was keeping her eyes firmly glued on the young DC; making sure he didn’t take advantage.

‘What about you and Amelia?’

‘Like I said, there’s no such thing as a perfect couple.’

Matilda looked at Rory with a frown.

‘OK, what about the Cravens’ neighbours?’ she asked, bringing the conversation back to topic.

‘They keep themselves pretty much to themselves,’ said Rory flicking through his notebook. ‘One neighbour said they heard arguing a few times but nothing too serious.’

‘When was the last argument?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘Go back and find out. Try and find out as much as you can. How private are we talking here? Do they mingle with their neighbours, exchange Christmas cards, or do they pull up the drawbridge at night? How did you get on with the ANPR?’

Rory turned on the laptop and asked Aaron to turn off the lights. He then asked Scott to pull down the white screen covering the whiteboards. His laptop now acted as a projector.

‘OK, so, the ANPR has picked up eight images of Kevin Hardaker’s car as it travels from his place of work at Heeley to where he ends up on Clough Lane. As you can see, the first picture shows Mr Hardaker sitting behind the wheel of his car. He is alone.’

Rory flicked through the next three images as they only showed the rear of the car at various junctions and traffic lights. It was impossible to say if he was still alone in the car.

‘Here is picture number five; next to him in the passenger seat is Lois Craven.’

The photograph showed them both smiling, obviously in the middle of a conversation. They looked happy and relaxed. If only they knew what horrors were in store for them.

‘Number six is only half the car; he’s blocked by a bus. Number seven shows them on Bents Road, and just as they turn off onto Common Lane they’re snapped once again.’

The final picture showed a front image of the car. Their smiles had gone. They had finished their conversation and were both looking straight ahead. There was a sense of foreboding about the picture. In the few minutes after it was taken they would both be subjected to a violent attack, which would leave one of them dead and the other fighting for their life.

‘Thanks for that Rory. Any other cars picked up in front or behind them that could be of interest?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘No problem. Sian, how’s our Mr Rainsford doing?’

‘Poor bloke. He’s in bits. He keeps blaming himself, saying he should have noticed the beeping sooner. I tried to comfort him but it wasn’t helping. His wife seems like a pretty strong woman; she’ll soon bring him round.’

‘No chance it’s a guilty conscience is it?’ Matilda asked with a hopeful half-smile.

‘I’m afraid not. He’s definitely just a witness. I’ve told him to pop in if he remembers anything else or if he wants to chat but I doubt he will.’

I bloody hope not. That’s all we need, hysterical witnesses cluttering up the investigation.

Scott’s desk phone rang. He answered, said a few words then hung up. ‘Ma’am that was the ACC’s secretary. She was wondering if you could pop upstairs for a moment.’

‘OK, thanks Scott. Look, wrap up what you’re doing here then we’ll call it a day. Until we can have a word with Lois Craven there’s very little we can go on.’

ACC Valerie Masterson only ever called down for Matilda when something serious had occurred. She could feel the prickly sensation of tension slowly creeping up her back.

HIGH-RANKING COP RIDICULES ‘MINOR’ GUN CRIME

By Alex Winstanley

A top detective within South Yorkshire Police has ridiculed the spate of gun crimes in Sheffield as ‘minor incidents’.

Detective Chief Inspector Matilda Darke, head of South Yorkshire’s prestigious Murder Investigation Team, said the people of Sheffield had nothing to worry about despite a double shooting in Clough Lane last night, killing a man and leaving a woman in Intensive Care.

This comes a week after an 8-year-old boy was found playing with a replica handgun in Rollestone Wood, Gleadless Valley.

This year alone, there have been a number of burglaries in the city, many of which have involved the use of guns.

In February, two Co-op stores were held at gunpoint, and earlier this month three young women on a night out in the city centre were mugged by a masked man they believe had a handgun in his pocket.

DCI Matilda Darke said, ‘These are minor incidents. The public are under no threat from gun crime.’

Cheryl Glover, 19, one of the three mugged said, ‘If DCI Darke thinks having a gun pointed at you and having your possessions stolen is a minor incident she’s obviously in the wrong job.’

DCI Darke has recently returned to leading the Murder Investigation Team following her suspension over the Carl Meagan kidnapping. Carl was taken from his home last March and his grandmother killed in a robbery, again involving guns.

DCI Darke’s comments will come as a blow to the Meagan family, who, next week, will commemorate a year since their son was kidnapped. Sally Meagan, Carl’s mother, has been particularly critical of DCI Darke’s return to work and once again calls for her to be removed from South Yorkshire Police.

‘I have no idea why she was allowed back to work,’ Mrs Meagan said in a recent interview. ‘My mother-in-law was murdered and my son kidnapped. She botched the ransom drop, which led to the kidnappers fleeing with him. She’s not fit to work for the police and I sympathize with any family of victims of crime she is involved in.’

Assistant Chief Constable Valerie Masterson was unavailable for comment.

TWELVE

Matilda felt like she was taking the long, slow walk to the gallows as she ascended the stairs to the ACCs office. By the time she reached the top (two floors up) she was breathless. Maybe she should rejoin Adele at her spinning class, get in shape, and back down to a size ten.

Robert Walpole, Spencer Compton, Henry Pelham, Thomas Pelham-Holles, William Cavendish.

She knew the stress was becoming too much when the Prime Ministers turned up. An exercise suggested by Dr Warminster. She had told her to concentrate on naming the British Prime Ministers during times of stress to help her regain control of her breathing and settle her thoughts. It worked. However, Matilda had thought now she could cope with life and its many hurdles without their appearance. It would seem not.

Through her jacket she could feel her shirt sticking to her back, damp with sweat. She hoped it wasn’t noticeable. She knocked on the door and was called in almost immediately. Masterson had obviously been waiting. This did not look good.

‘Matilda, come on it. Have a seat,’ Masterson was all smiles, her voice friendly. A very bad sign.

As Matilda stepped fully into the room she saw the heavily pregnant Karen Sweetland from Media Support standing beside a seated ACC.

‘You wanted to see me?’ Matilda asked once she was as comfortable as she could be while visibly sweating. Her lungs seemed to have shrunken down to the size of a pound coin. Her breathing was laboured and her vision began to blur. She hated not being in control of her own mind. Panic attacks were crippling, and just when she thought she had a handle on them she was floored by another.

‘Yes I did. The evening edition of The Star has just been delivered to me.’

Matilda had a sinking feeling. Her heart practically plummeted through the floor. She was beginning to loathe this paper.

The newspaper was neatly in front of Val Masterson on the desk. Matilda tilted her head slightly to read the front page, which was upside down from her point of view, but she couldn’t quite make it out.

‘I believe they have a new crime correspondent,’ Val continued. ‘You’ve spoken to him.’

‘Yes. He called me this morning trying to get something out of me about the shooting last night. I just told him a statement would be released in due course.’ She looked at the grave faces of her boss and the press officer. She quickly went over the very short conversation with Alex Winstanley but could not think of anything controversial she may have said. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘You tell me.’ Val opened the newspaper to page five, folded it back and slapped it down hard in front of Matilda. The headline screamed out at her: ‘HIGH-RANKING COP RIDICULES “MINOR” GUN CRIME’.

‘What the hell?’ Matilda snapped up the newspaper.

‘My words exactly.’

Matilda scanned the article. Her hands were shaking, rattling the pages. She stopped reading as soon as she found Carl Meagan’s name. ‘Where did he get this crap from?’

‘You.’

‘What? I didn’t say gun crime was a minor incident.’

‘I think you’ll find you did.’ The ACC turned to Karen Sweetland who was now sitting down uncomfortably to take the weight off her back.

‘Alex Winstanley sent me, via email, a recording of the conversation you had. You definitely said minor crime.’

‘I honestly don’t remember,’ Matilda said, taken aback. ‘I didn’t mean minor. I’m sure I said isolated. I meant to say isolated. I would never deride gun crime.’

‘Isolate and minor do not sound similar. I’m not sure how you could have mixed up those two words, Matilda.’

Matilda sat forward in her seat. ‘Ma’am, I am truly sorry for this article and I will apologize to anyone you want me to but I honestly, hand on heart, did not mean to call gun crime a minor incident. I wouldn’t.’ She placed her shaking right hand firmly on her erratically beating heart.