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

it? Was he just going to admit to being their killer? ‘Go on.’

‘I just, it must’ve slipped my mind,’ he said. ‘You see, I’m watching telly with Jen that night. But she’s pregnant, you see, and she gets this craving for gherkins. Well, I hate them, so we never have them in the house and I says’ – he turned to Jen – ‘didn’t I, babes? I says, “I’ll pop out to get some and you tell me what happens while I’m gone.”’

Ford turned to Jen, all smiles. ‘Congratulations! You must be thrilled.’

‘Yeah. It’s like, the dream, isn’t it?’

‘How far along are you?’

Her eyes flicked to Matty then back at Ford. ‘Two months. Give or take.’

‘I remember when my wife was pregnant. She had to have frankfurters. And strawberry ice cream. Together. But you crave gherkins.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So, just to be clear, for my notes, you were watching telly, then you, Jen, got the old cravings . . .’ She nodded. ‘And you, Matty, took the Polo and went out to get some gherkins?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time would that have been?’

‘I don’t know, about eight twenty? Maybe a bit earlier? Look, I’m so sorry I forgot. Will I get into trouble? It was an honest mistake and I did not, one hundred per cent, mean to mislead the police. Obviously. I mean, you’re trying to catch a serial killer, aren’t you?’

Ford smiled again, though the effort was beginning to cost him. His cheek muscles felt as if cramp was just one more smile away.

‘These things happen, Matty,’ he said. ‘You’d be surprised how often members of the public forget where they were or what they were doing when a crime was committed. Half the time they can’t even describe the face of the person who attacked them, even if it was in their own homes, in broad daylight.’

Matty smiled back. ‘Must make your job difficult.’

Ford cleared his throat. Rubbed his neck and winced. ‘I don’t suppose we could have a cup of tea, could we, Matty? I’ve been in meetings all day, and I’m parched.’

‘Of course,’ he said, his posture softening. ‘Put the kettle on, Jen.’

Hannah waited for one minute and thirty seconds, timing her exit by the sweep hand of the wall clock. As the thin red wand passed the six, she got to her feet.

‘I’ll go and give Jen a hand with the tea,’ she said, smiling.

The kitchen was cluttered. Every surface held a gadget of some kind: a blender, a food processor, a coffee machine, a toasted-sandwich maker – all in matching shades of red.

‘You a detective, too?’ Jen asked her, spooning tea into a large dark-brown teapot.

‘I’m a crime scene investigator.’

‘What, like off the telly? The ones with the white onesies on?’

Hannah smiled. She couldn’t tell if the woman was mocking her nor not. ‘They’re Tyvek.’

‘Tie-what?’

‘Vek. It’s a breathable fabric.’

‘Right.’

‘What can I do to help?’ Hannah asked.

Jen jerked her chin at a row of eye-level cabinets. ‘You could get four mugs down.’

Hannah smiled and reached for the first pair of doors and opened them wide.

‘Not that one, that one!’ Jen said crossly, pointing to the neighbouring pair.

Hannah was about to close the doors when something caught her eye. On its own, the packet of Tesco penne didn’t signify anything. After all, lots of people bought pasta from Tesco. But then she looked at the other packets. Every single tub, tin, box, jar and bag she could see bore a Sainsbury’s logo.

Her heart thumped in her chest. Mechanically, she closed the doors and moved along to the next cupboard. She retrieved four mugs and set them down on the countertop by Jen’s left elbow. As she did so, she noticed a polished stainless-steel cylinder pushed back into a corner.

A layperson might have assumed it was a high-end professional pressure cooker. The black plastic handle and gleaming finish contributed to that impression. But the presence of a large gauge set into the lid and six heavy-duty wing nuts to clamp it shut as the pressure built revealed its true purpose.

Why did the Kytes have an autoclave in their kitchen? They were used for sterilising hospital equipment.

She looked at Jen.

Jen was staring back at her. That over-lipsticked mouth set in a grim line.

‘Let’s take the boys their tea,’ she said, picking up two mugs.

Hannah followed her back into the sitting room. Ford turned round as she came into the room, and she strove for a signal she could give him without alerting Matty. Nicknames! He knows I like to get them right.

‘Here’s your tea, Fiesta.’

Matty grinned. ‘Fiesta, did you call him?’

‘It’s his nickname,’ she said, sitting with her own mug of tea. ‘You know, like Ford Fiesta.’

‘Sounds more like a jazz mag to me,’ Matty said.

‘Unfortunately, I had no say in the matter,’ Ford said, smiling at Hannah and nodding, just slightly.

Arrest him! Hannah wanted to shriek. And her! They’ve got an autoclave! And a trophy!

She looked at Jen, who was scowling. She looked at the wall opposite and its black shelving unit. One shelf held a number of glittery gold and silver statues of men throwing darts, mounted on wooden plinths.

‘Look at those, Fiesta,’ she said, pointing. ‘He’s got a collection of trophies.’

She kept her gaze locked on to Ford’s, hoping, praying that the penny would drop. Ford smiled. He shifted to the front edge of the sofa cushion so that his heels were under his knees and his torso was tilted forwards.

‘Very impressive,’ Ford said, standing and reaching under the back of his jacket for the Quik-Cuffs.

‘What’s going on?’ Matty said, starting to rise.

Ford began reciting the formal arrest script, ready to put Kyte on the ground if he showed even a flicker of an intention to run or fight.

‘Matthew Kyte, I am arresting you on suspicion of—’

‘You can’t!’ Jen shouted, standing. ‘Don’t you touch him!’

As Matty opened his mouth to speak Hannah saw Jen dive to her left. When she straightened, her right fist was gripping the polished wooden haft of the ornamental tomahawk.

Shrieking, she swung the vicious-looking weapon at