“Friday Fiction” Series: Mrs. Blake, Chapter One…
[Note from Steve: In the collection Sleuthing, British-Style, I introduce DI Clarke and DS Blake in three short stories as a homage to British-style mysteries. While the following is another story that didn’t make the self-imposed editorial deadline for that collection (as a test case for Draft2Digital), you might also find the following short story equally entertaining. By the way, the title is explained in subsequent chapters.]
Mrs. Blake
Copyright 2021, Steven M. Moore
Chapter One
DI Patricia Clarke joined DS Logan Blake in the alleyway. Her sergeant was watching the pathologist and SOCOs go through their routines. Old Doc Olbers blocked her view, so she asked Blake what he knew.
“Young woman, maybe early twenties or even late teens. Tarty layers of makeup, frilly blouse, miniskirt, and boots.”
“Dressed for a night out,” said Clarke with a nod. “Or she could be a student out to make some extra cash as a waitperson.” She pointed at the scruffy fellow sitting on the meat truck’s tailgate. “Who’s the wrinklie?”
“He was tip-dipping and found the victim. A bit shaken, I dare say. I’m letting him recover with a cuppa, and then I’ll interview him.”
“Good plan. Meanwhile, let’s say hello to our esteemed pathologist.”
“Good morning, detectives,” Frank Olbers said, still performing his Russian Cossack dance to find another position from which he could examine the body. “Nothing obvious as to what killed this poor young thing, and the cold air makes TOD hard to determine. I’d guess between when the party ended and when that gentleman over there found her. Come to my own party tomorrow to find out more.”
“Will do.” Clarke decided to ask the important question for any female victim at a crime scene. “Any sign of forced intercourse?”
“None, forced or otherwise. Nothing recent, at any rate. Not a virgin, but that’s not surprising these days. DNA from her assailant might be available elsewhere. Maybe the bins?”
***
The detectives got more from Arthur Payton, the old homeless man who’d found the victim—not so old really; he just looked old.
“People throw away good food and liquor, officers, so I usually can get by with scraps and drinks people toss into the rubbish bins. Or on the streets if I’m lucky; there are always litterers.” He smiled at them. Blake noted the man badly needed to visit a dentist. “Not terribly good hygiene, I’ll admit, but what can I do? Anyway, I stopped in my tracks when I saw her arm hanging out of that particular bin. I managed to haul her out and checked for signs of life.”
“Did you check inside the bin? For a purse, mobile, whatever?”
Clarke nodded. Her new sergeant could hold his own now. She felt a bit superfluous.
“I just sat and stared at her for a while, thinking she must be someone’s daughter or girlfriend, and that someone will be missing her.”
“I’ll tell Sally,” Blake said to his DI. “They’ll need to search all these bins.”
“Her team will just love you for that.” Clarke winked at her sergeant.
After Blake returned, Clarke decide to leave Payton in Blake’s able hands and go back to the station to start organizing yet another murder investigation. Blake had thought there’d be more peaceful policing in Riversford than in London. The town snuggled in the Thames River Valley in that rural area between Oxford and the Cotswolds, but this would be his fifth murder case in as few months.
She nodded to Sally leaving the alley. At least Blake had a solid relationship with the SOCO as compensation. The two seemed to form a good team, for policing and otherwise.
***
“Mr. Payton, you said you checked for signs of life,” Blake continued. “Do you have medical training?”
Payton laughed. “You think I left a good job at NHS or sumpin’? I learned to check for life signs in the army. You want everyone to get home, marra, the wounded or the dead, but you help the wounded first. Battlefield triage’s their name for it. I call it looking out for your brothers who’re still alive first. The dead don’t rightly care.”
Blake nodded. His father had probably practiced the same thing. “Did you see anyone else around, or hear voices?”
Payton smiled and tapped his head. “I always hear voices, lad. Some call it PTSD. But there weren’t anyone else around.” He held up his paper cup. “If we be done now, is there any chance I can get another cuppa?”
“I’ll be finished here in a bit. I just need to talk to the pathologist and SOCOs some more, and then I’ll take you to get some real food. I’m a bit peckish myself, to be honest.”
Later Blake eyed the scruffy man across the wooden table that had seen better days. “My father was in the army, you know,” Blake said.
They were at a small dive not far from the murder scene. They both had their tea, Blake had ordered a bacon roll, and Payton was busy devouring a full plate of bangers and mash.
“He didn’t come home.”
Payton stopped mid-forkful and eyed Blake. “Sorry about that, lad. Must have been difficult. Did your mum have to raise you alone?”
“Pretty much. Always busy as hell, she was. She became a chef and now owns a few restaurants, but it was hard going at first. I’d hear her crying at night.”
“Those who die have it easy; those they leave behind not so much. She must be proud of you.”
“This job can be dangerous too.” He saw that Payton had finished except for a bit of tea. “Finish that up and then I’m going to introduce you to a friend.”
“I’m sorted, sergeant. Tea’s cold anyway. Want the rest of your snack?” Blake shook his head no, so Payton wrapped it in two paper napkins and put his repast in a coat pocket.
“We need to know where to find you if we have any more questions,” Blake said, “which is why we’re visiting my friend.”
Payton frowned. “More questions? I’m not a suspect, am I?”
“Heavens no. But let’s say you remember something you forgot to tell us.”
Payton looked at the tin ceiling. “That happens, lad, more lately than before.” He eyed the rest of the tea. “Okay, lead on, DS Blake.”
Greg Bowden was in his usual spot selling newspapers and magazines. He was there from 4 a.m. until the afternoon edition of the local rag arrived. At that time and after selling those papers, he and his son went to work in a homeless shelter where they also resided.
“Logan, Logan, good to see ye, lad. What’s going down amongst the rozzers?”
Blake introduced Payton. “Think you can help this gentleman? He’s another veteran who needs a place to sleep.”
“Sure thing. In fact, I’ll take him there now. My son can close up when the papers are sold and do an errand for me. No problem at all.”
Payton smiled at Blake. “I guess I can trust this man if he’s your friend.”
“You can, Mr. Payton. Greg’s an old friend.” He patted the bearded giant on the shoulder. “I’ve known him since I came to Riversford.”
“All of half a year maybe,” Greg said. “Need the morning press, lad?”
Blake forked over the money. “My girlfriend’s always interested in the royals’ latest scandals. You two can chat it up on the way.”
“Maybe they’re just on the society page today.”
***
Comments are always welcome.
“Detectives Chen and Castilblanco” Series. While binge-reading British-style short mystery stories like the one you’re reading represent my recent survival mechanism to preserve my sanity during the COVID pandemic, readers might want to binge-read one of my own series with NYC, national, and international plots featuring the NYC homicide detectives Dao-Ming Chen and Rolando Castilblanco. Like many mysteries, the books begin with a murder most foul, and the series starts with The Midas Bomb, where manipulating the stock exchange and terrorism combine, and it ends with Gaia and the Goliaths, where a US energy conglomerate teams up with a Russian oligarch to ensure that the reign of fossil fuels continues. Five other mystery/thriller novels complete this series of evergreen books, stories that are as fresh and current as the day I wrote them. You can find these ebooks at Amazon and Smashwords and all the latter’s affiliated retailers (iBooks, B&N, Kobo, etc.) and library and lending services (Overdrive, Scribd, Gardners, etc.). This series is perfect for binge-reading–many hours of reading entertainment here!
Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!
