Departures (part 6 of 7)

Part 6 - Friday

It was late but DS Sawyer didn't even bother to look at the clock on the office wall, time didn't dictate his working hours. DC Bryan uncrossed her legs and leaned forward from her chair on the opposite side of the desk, tapping the open file between them.

"It would help if we knew for definite that the blow was deliberate but this..." she frowned at the report of the postmortem. "It could easily have been an accident." DS Sawyer nodded and said, "but that begs the question, what was an old lady doing rummaging around in the attic? Her cleaner couldn't recall her being up there before, nor had she ever been asked to take or fetch anything from the attic and I'm sure she was telling the truth." DC Bryan sighed and rubbed her forehead distractedly. "It would be a relief to prove an accident, after all, the blood and hair on the corner of the table...she could have wandered up there, confused or possibly deliberately looking for something, tripped or stumbled, falling forward and hitting her temple on the corner as she went and breaking her hip when she landed." DS Sawyer watched her thinking aloud and wondered if she would hit the same stumbling block to her theory as he had. "Why didn't she ask her cleaner to find whatever it was she was looking for? Why go up there in the dark, at night?And how did she bruise her left arm and break her right hip? The head wound was on the right too." DS Sawyer grunted in agreement and approval. "That's what bothers me, and she didn't put any lights on. Even if she was familiar with the attic layout I can't see her wandering around in the dark up there," he added. They sat silently at an impasse. Both felt deep down that there was more to this death but it was like grasping at a curl of smoke. No greedy relatives impatient at the wait for their inheritance. No robbery. No clues.

Robin Neeson at City Lettings was closing the office. He'd finally found the old file on 103 Orchard Way and once he'd got through to that detective, he was off home to a takeaway dinner and a DVD. It was another filthy night of pouring rain so he'd decided not to meet his mates at the pub. Couldn't afford it anyway. He cleared his throat nervously. He didn't like speaking to the police much; when he was a teenager he was often in trouble for petty things and got to know the inside of the police station rather too well. Thankfully his boss at City Lettings wasn't bothered by his history of cautions and besides, it was ages ago. He was twenty five now. DC Bryan's voice came over the line and Robin ran a nervous hand through his lank, dartk hair as he spoke.

"I've found the information you wanted. Mrs Bradley had no close next of kin, as you know," he gabbled "there is a name for contact in an emergency, a Mr Peter Collins." Robin gave the address and contact phone numbers, accepted her thanks and put the phone down as if it was boiling hot. He eased the collar of his shirt as though he could feel a heavy hand on it and headed out of the door. Beef in black bean sauce and special fried rice should take the taste of the law out of his throat he thought, as he made a dash for his car.

Gloria was settling down for the night with a milky drink and an Agatha Christie film on the telly. If only Miss Marple could be at Orchard Way, she thought. These modern policemen were always too busy to really concentrate properly. If it was true that poor Mrs Bradley had been killed then Gloria wanted the killer caught and punished immediately. She couldn't for the life of her see why anyone would want to do such a thing. her lady wasn't very wealthy and she didn't have any enemies. Even more worrying was the thought that as Gloria herself had been in and out of the flat for years, would the killer want to silence her...what if she knew something she didn't know she knew? Was the killer creeping up the stairs outside her flat right now? She switched the telly over to a nature programme. Agatha Christie was just too disturbing tonight.

Ness was at the theatre trying to avoid some of the other players who were taking a ghoulish interest in the goings on at her lodgings. Sam and Gemma had barely spoken to her after their enforced stay at the police station even though she had tried to explain that she knew nothing of Mike's extra source of income as a drug dealer. She sat miserably contemplating the future and thinking of the hand delivered letter sitting at the flat. The letting agency had found out about her illegal sub letting arrangement with Catherine and they had both been served notice to quit the property. She heard the call for the first act and stood up, smoothing her costume. With a sigh she went to stand ready to begin the play.

Stephen Rowland was packing. He had some leave due so was taking advantage of an invitation to visit a new dig in Peru. On the way he was looking forward to visiting a dealer friend of his in Tokyo to persue his interest in a certain piece of Japanese porcelain. He checked his fridge, emptying the last of the milk down the sink and throwing two tomatoes and a dessicated piece of cheese into the bin. The apple he bit into on the way down to the wheelie bins, adding the core to the malodorous heap within. Upstairs again, he checked his luggage. One suitcase full of clothes and sundries, one rucksack packed with equipment for a dig, including tools, billy can, enamel cup; basic camping gear needed for a desert dig. He was ready.

Kelly was curled up watching Casualty now the kids were finally settled. Kieran had been called out on an emergency again so she was alone. It still made her uneasy but her initial panic at being in a house where there had been a death was subsiding; still, she wished Kieran was home. Gloria had phoned her earlier and asked her to accompany her up to the flat in the morning to put it straight. Kelly was wishing she hadn't said yes.