Shallow Ground (Detective Ford) by Andy Maslen (to read list txt) 📕

Her muscles twitched as they loaded up with adrenaline, ready to defend her with reasonable force at the slightest suggestion he wasn’t going to play nice.

As she closed her eyes, she detected, or rather heard for the first time, the wheedling song of skylarks. Then the fluting trills of a blackbird, which imitated a mobile phone ringing at one point. And something else, a distant keening she couldn’t place.

She opened her eyes and looked to her right.

Matty was looking straight at her. Still smiling.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘Lovely. What’s the high-pitched one?’

‘The long cries?’

‘Yeah, that.’

‘Buzzard. Look,’ he said, shielding his eyes with his left hand and pointing up with his right.

High above a field of ripe wheat, she picked out a broad-winged bird describing lazy circles.

‘People think they’re predators,’ he said, looking back at her. ‘But they’re just as happy scavenging. You know, foxes’ leavings.’ He paused. ‘Or roadkill. Something nobody else wants. Something worthless.’

His final sentence sent a cold shiver through her. She wished she’d brought an extendible baton or a can of PAVA spray.

She turned through ninety degrees so she was facing him, taking the opportunity to plant one foot on the tarmac and add a further six inches to the distance between them.

‘So, Matty,’ she began, ‘we’ve been investigating the murders, as I said upstairs, and—’

He put his hand to his chest, palm inwards, fingers splayed. ‘Oh, my God! You don’t think I had something to do with them, do you?’

‘Did you?’

It was a simple counter-question, but she’d found that asking a suspect straight out if they’d done it did, occasionally, work. If they denied it, she got the chance to assess the shape of their denial. Bluster, flat-out lies, aggression, sudden elective muteness: she’d seen them all.

‘Did I what?’

‘Have something to do with the murders?’

‘Did I have something to do with the murders?’ he repeated, staring at her.

‘Yes.’

He paused, then looked out, over the fields.

‘No. I did not. How could you even say that?’ he asked, his voice taking on a whiny tone. ‘I love people. Ask anyone. Ask my ladies. They’ll tell you. They love me.’

Bloody hell, Matty! Even if you’re not our man, you’ve definitely got something going on behind that pretty face of yours.

‘Sorry, Matty,’ she said, modulating her own voice so that it took on a soothing quality. ‘Cop humour. We’re terrible, worse than medics.’

His shoulders, which had been jacked up under his ears, dropped. He smiled, the outrage passing like a summer storm.

‘I know what you mean about doctors. The way they talk about blood. I overheard Mr Abbott talking with another consultant the other day,’ he said. ‘He had just come from theatre and, oh my God, it was so hilarious. He said, “There was so much ketchup spraying around, I nearly ordered some chips!” That’s what they call blood, you know. Ketchup.’ He dropped his voice and leaned towards her. ‘What do you call it? Cops, I mean?’

‘Claret, sometimes,’ she answered, mechanically.

‘Claret. Funny.’

‘Are you interested in blood, then?’ she asked, striving to keep her voice light.

He shrugged. ‘Kind of, I suppose. There’s a lot of stuff goes on in the hospital. Operations, amputations, abortions,’ he said, then giggled. ‘Blood everywhere.’

Jools was listening with all her attention, but a checklist in neon floated between them. And one after another, boxes were being checked.

Appearance. Tick.

Interest in blood. Tick.

Hospital worker. Tick.

Makes my flesh crawl. Tick.

‘There was an accident the other day, wasn’t there?’ she asked.

‘Accident?’ he echoed.

‘Yes. Mr Abbott said one of the junior doctors dropped a blood bag.’

Matty rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, yes. But it wasn’t her, it was him. I saw. He dropped it on purpose, to humiliate her. Probably because she’s Indian.’

‘And poor old you got the mucky job of mopping it up.’

‘I don’t mind them treating me like shit,’ he said, then flushed. ‘Sorry, I mean like dirt. But I’m the lowest of the low, aren’t I?’

‘Is that why you drew in it, Matty? Were you angry with them?’

His eyes flash-bulbed. ‘What? I didn’t!’

‘No? I heard that the ward sister saw you.’

He grinned, but it looked lopsided, forced. ‘She was mistaken. I shouldn’t say this, but Sister McLaughlin’s half-blind. I wasn’t drawing. Why would I?’

Jools smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it, Matty. I’m sure it was an honest mistake.’

She consulted her checklist.

Liar. Tick.

Suddenly, she wanted, very badly, to have him in an interview room. And at least one more officer beside her. With a taser.

‘We’re having a chat with a few people who might have known the victims,’ she said, still doing her best to keep her tone breezy, unthreatening. ‘You know, through work. Would you be happy to come into the station for a chat at some point?’

His eyes flicked away from hers, across to the fields and miles of countryside beyond.

‘Happy? Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’

Jools agreed a time the following day and walked with Matty back up to the ward. As she was leaving, an older lady caught her eye and beckoned her over. She was sitting up in bed, wrapped in a knitted shawl in soft-looking, medicine-pink wool.

‘Are you police, dear?’

‘Yes.’

‘What were you talking to Matty about?’ she asked, fixing Jools with a stare from watery blue eyes, their rims inflamed and crusty.

‘Just asking him a few questions. We’re looking for help catching this’ – she paused, looking for appropriate phrasing –‘dreadful man who’s killed people in Salisbury.’

‘I hope they lock him up and throw away the key when they catch him,’ the lady said, feelingly.

Jools smiled. ‘Well, there’d have to be a trial first.’

The lady snorted. ‘Huh! It’s a shame they did away with hanging, that’s what my Bert used to say.’

‘Mmm,’ Jools said, checking her watch. ‘Was there something you wanted to tell me?’

‘Me, dear?’

‘You called me over?’

She tutted. ‘Of course, silly me! I’ll be forgetting my own name next. Which is Ivy, by the way. Ivy S. Johnson. The S stands for Sheila, if you want to make a note.’

Jools sensed that the old lady was looking for a