Post by Steve on Feb 10, 2013 4:34:23 GMT -5
Here is the opening chapter of my novel Future Imperfect. It will be finished by March 15th or my life won't be worth living. Those of you who like English police procedurals will be right at home, everyone else may need to learn the language.
Thank you in advance for reading. I hope you enjoy it.
CHAPTER ONE
In the absence of a Chinatown or Italian quarter, the city of Lockford attracted tourists, custom and controversy with a Clairvoyant Corner. Uniform had tried and failed to move the protesters on, so Detective Sergeant Chikara Weissman left them to wave their placards, sing their hyms and make a pious nuisance of themselves.
Weissman ducked under the crime scene tape, straightened to her full five foot nine and stepped through the Psychic Circle's doors. The store, an emporium of the exotic and esoteric, gave Clairvoyant Corner its nerve centre. One shelf boasted an impressive variety of herbs, essences, aromatic oils and scented candles. Another held horoscope charts for each of the twelve zodiac signs and an array of colourful stickers to remind punters that 'magic happens'. On the rear wall hung a giant diagram of the human hand, its palm highlighted with lines and planetary symbols. All that didn't fit was the body slumped across the counter.
It belonged to a girl in her late teens. A mess of blood and matted black hair obscured her face, but the arm that drooped over the benchtop showed olive skin, a fondness for lavender nail polish and cheap taste in jewellery.
The sergeant was not the first to observe these details. Around her, a forensics team patrolled their territory like ants at a picnic. Coveralls rustled as they collected samples and a photographer took pictures from every angle. Across the room, Weissman spotted one of her new colleagues trading theories with a man she presumed to be the pathologist. She caught their attention and went over to introduce herself.
The younger man, an obvious newcomer to plainclothes, looked as if he'd raided an elderly uncle's wardrobe and had yet to grow into what he found. 'I'm DC Somers and this is Dr Northcote. Did the holy rollers give you any grief?'
'Nothing a few years of choir practice won't fix. What's occurring?'
'The victim is one Beth Richmond, aged seventeen.'
'Any CCTV?'
'Bit hard without a camera.'
'Who called it in?'
'The owner, Alys Noble. She lives in a flat on the next floor. The DI's on his way up there now.'
'I'll go and see if he needs some help.'
The constable shrugged. 'Rather you than me, Sarge.'
*
Detective Inspector Tom Howarth grimaced at the sound of footsteps. The job had long since taught him not to expect a Saturday morning lie-in and he had even come to think of his half empty marital bed, three weeks and counting, as collateral damage. The thought of Second Guess Somers tramping up here to ask for advice on some lowly chore a probationer could manage in a trance grated on his last nerve, and he didn't bother to check who had come to disturb him.
The trespasser's voice, when he heard it, proved unfamiliar and female. 'DI Howarth?'
The inspector turned with guard and hackles up. 'Who wants to know?'
'DS Weissman, guv. I thought I could lend a hand.'
The name rang a familiar, if distant, bell. Howarth recalled a glimpse of it in a memo, but he hadn't set eyes on its owner before. She looked mid-twenties but dressed older, in an attempt to appear professional. He gave her an A for effort, though her charcoal suit and cream blouse seemed more like something out of a costume basket than her own clothes. 'How considerate. You can start by not calling me “guv”.'
'Sorry, boss.'
'Forget it. Just stay out of the way and let me do the talking, right?'
'Sure. Pretend I'm not here.'
'I'm trying to.'
They walked along a narrow passage with a single door at the far end. Howarth knocked and squinted through the peephole until a woman answered. Dishevelled and a year or two shy of forty, she wore a dressing with a scarf around her head, from which a few damp tresses hung loose. 'Alys Noble?'
'Yes.'
'DI Howarth and DS Weissman from Lockford CID. Do you feel up to answering a few questions?'
'You'd better come in.'
She unfastened the security chain to reveal the kind of living room a polite home makeover guru might call bohemian. The smell of cheap incense made Howarth think he ought to send a canary in first and the eclectic approach to furniture and décor would have helped keep many a local thrift shop in business.
Startled by the presence of strangers, a tortoise shell cat sprang from its wicker basket and darted under the sofa. Its mistress gave an apologetic smile. 'Oracle doesn't like company.'
Howarth cut to the quick. 'I know this won't be easy for you, Ms Noble-'
'Alys, please.'
'-but I need to tell me as much as you can about what happened here earlier.'
Alys flopped into a threadbare recliner and gestured for her guests to sit wherever they liked. Howarth trusted none of the chairs to take his weight and opted to stand. Weissman did the same.
Alys cleared her throat. ‘I had a migraine last night and thought I'd go to bed early, but I don't sleep very well nowadays.' She jerked a thumb towards the window. 'The Lord's dearly beloved out there make a righteous bloody racket every hour their God sends.'
At this the demonstrators' singing grew louder, as if to remind every Lockford resident and a fair portion of those in nearby counties that their heavenly father had the whole world in His hands.
Howarth raised his voice over the din. ‘Have they ever made any kind of threat against you?’
'No. They’re annoying but harmless. All they’ve done until now is keep me up at night and try to scare off my customers.’
‘You said “until now”. Might one of them have picked on Beth for some reason?'
‘I can't think why.’
‘If you couldn't sleep, you would have heard what happened.’
Alys cast her eyes to the floor. ‘I took a pill that put me out like a light. Beth must have come down and started work before it wore off.'
'What time did you find her?'
'Just after eight. I woke up, started making breakfast and noticed I'd run out of teabags, so I went to borrow a packet and there she was.'
'Can you think of anyone who may have wanted to harm her?'
Alys shook her head. 'Beth wouldn't hurt a fly. She didn't deserve this. Nobody does.'
'What about a boyfriend? Somebody she could have argued with?'
'I don't know.' Alys sniffled, took a ragged handkerchief from her dressing gown pocket and dabbed at her eyes. 'Sorry.'
'It's okay. Take all the time you need.'
While Howarth waited for his witness to compose herself, Weissman brought her a glass of water. Alys accepted the drink with trembling hands and downed it as though it were something much stronger. 'Thanks.'
'No trouble.' Weissman ignored the scowl Howarth sent in her direction. 'It sounds like you and Beth were pretty close. How long had you known her?'
'Three years. She used to help mind my market stall in Chiswick after school and at weekends. When I found this place and set up shop, I gave her a job and somewhere to stay.'
'That's very generous. Can you show us where she slept?'
'Follow me.' Alys stood and showed her visitors to a room about the size of a holding cell, furnished with a single bed, a small wardrobe and a dressing table. It looked tidier than most teenage bedrooms, because there wasn't much space to make a mess.
Howarth took back the reins. 'How did Beth's parents feel when she moved in here with you?'
'She never said much about them. I got the feeling we were the only family Beth had or wanted.'
'We?'
'All the girls on the Corner. Beth was one of us and we look after our own, or at least we try. You find the bastard who killed her and you put him away.'
Weissman handed Alys a business card. 'We'll do all we can. Give me a call if you think of anything else.'
'I've told you as much as I know.'
'And you've been very helpful. This is just in case you want to talk again.'
*
'Those Jesus freaks must have sent you deaf,' said Howarth as he and Weissman made their way downstairs. 'I could have sworn I asked you to leave the talking to me.'
'You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, boss.'
'And if all else fails, try bullshit. You're a copper, not a social worker. Mystic Meg's hippie friends can give her all the sympathy she needs.'
Weissman held her tongue. To argue any more would only put Howarth even further offside.
Silence hung between the detectives until they returned to the Psychic Circle, where Somers greeted them with an evidence bag that held a bloodied crystal ball. 'Not the best way to go, especially if she saw it coming.'
Dr Northcote peeled off a glove and gave his beard a pensive scratch. 'I'd advise your DC neither to give up his day job nor to get ahead of himself. That could well be the murder weapon, but we won't know for certain until the lab have run some tests.'
'Do what you have to,' said Howarth. 'Any preliminaries for us to go on with?'
'The damage to her skull's consistent with blunt force trauma to the parietal lobe. Other than that, you'll have to wait until after the PM.'
'Right. While you give the late Ms Richmond a tour of your parlour, Somers and I will stay here and see if we can round up any more witnesses.'
Weissman struggled to make herself heard above the campaigners' chorus of Amazing Grace. 'Anything you'd like me to take care of?'
Howarth considered her offer. 'You can go back to the factory to do some digging, if you make it past that lot in one piece.'
Thank you in advance for reading. I hope you enjoy it.
CHAPTER ONE
In the absence of a Chinatown or Italian quarter, the city of Lockford attracted tourists, custom and controversy with a Clairvoyant Corner. Uniform had tried and failed to move the protesters on, so Detective Sergeant Chikara Weissman left them to wave their placards, sing their hyms and make a pious nuisance of themselves.
Weissman ducked under the crime scene tape, straightened to her full five foot nine and stepped through the Psychic Circle's doors. The store, an emporium of the exotic and esoteric, gave Clairvoyant Corner its nerve centre. One shelf boasted an impressive variety of herbs, essences, aromatic oils and scented candles. Another held horoscope charts for each of the twelve zodiac signs and an array of colourful stickers to remind punters that 'magic happens'. On the rear wall hung a giant diagram of the human hand, its palm highlighted with lines and planetary symbols. All that didn't fit was the body slumped across the counter.
It belonged to a girl in her late teens. A mess of blood and matted black hair obscured her face, but the arm that drooped over the benchtop showed olive skin, a fondness for lavender nail polish and cheap taste in jewellery.
The sergeant was not the first to observe these details. Around her, a forensics team patrolled their territory like ants at a picnic. Coveralls rustled as they collected samples and a photographer took pictures from every angle. Across the room, Weissman spotted one of her new colleagues trading theories with a man she presumed to be the pathologist. She caught their attention and went over to introduce herself.
The younger man, an obvious newcomer to plainclothes, looked as if he'd raided an elderly uncle's wardrobe and had yet to grow into what he found. 'I'm DC Somers and this is Dr Northcote. Did the holy rollers give you any grief?'
'Nothing a few years of choir practice won't fix. What's occurring?'
'The victim is one Beth Richmond, aged seventeen.'
'Any CCTV?'
'Bit hard without a camera.'
'Who called it in?'
'The owner, Alys Noble. She lives in a flat on the next floor. The DI's on his way up there now.'
'I'll go and see if he needs some help.'
The constable shrugged. 'Rather you than me, Sarge.'
*
Detective Inspector Tom Howarth grimaced at the sound of footsteps. The job had long since taught him not to expect a Saturday morning lie-in and he had even come to think of his half empty marital bed, three weeks and counting, as collateral damage. The thought of Second Guess Somers tramping up here to ask for advice on some lowly chore a probationer could manage in a trance grated on his last nerve, and he didn't bother to check who had come to disturb him.
The trespasser's voice, when he heard it, proved unfamiliar and female. 'DI Howarth?'
The inspector turned with guard and hackles up. 'Who wants to know?'
'DS Weissman, guv. I thought I could lend a hand.'
The name rang a familiar, if distant, bell. Howarth recalled a glimpse of it in a memo, but he hadn't set eyes on its owner before. She looked mid-twenties but dressed older, in an attempt to appear professional. He gave her an A for effort, though her charcoal suit and cream blouse seemed more like something out of a costume basket than her own clothes. 'How considerate. You can start by not calling me “guv”.'
'Sorry, boss.'
'Forget it. Just stay out of the way and let me do the talking, right?'
'Sure. Pretend I'm not here.'
'I'm trying to.'
They walked along a narrow passage with a single door at the far end. Howarth knocked and squinted through the peephole until a woman answered. Dishevelled and a year or two shy of forty, she wore a dressing with a scarf around her head, from which a few damp tresses hung loose. 'Alys Noble?'
'Yes.'
'DI Howarth and DS Weissman from Lockford CID. Do you feel up to answering a few questions?'
'You'd better come in.'
She unfastened the security chain to reveal the kind of living room a polite home makeover guru might call bohemian. The smell of cheap incense made Howarth think he ought to send a canary in first and the eclectic approach to furniture and décor would have helped keep many a local thrift shop in business.
Startled by the presence of strangers, a tortoise shell cat sprang from its wicker basket and darted under the sofa. Its mistress gave an apologetic smile. 'Oracle doesn't like company.'
Howarth cut to the quick. 'I know this won't be easy for you, Ms Noble-'
'Alys, please.'
'-but I need to tell me as much as you can about what happened here earlier.'
Alys flopped into a threadbare recliner and gestured for her guests to sit wherever they liked. Howarth trusted none of the chairs to take his weight and opted to stand. Weissman did the same.
Alys cleared her throat. ‘I had a migraine last night and thought I'd go to bed early, but I don't sleep very well nowadays.' She jerked a thumb towards the window. 'The Lord's dearly beloved out there make a righteous bloody racket every hour their God sends.'
At this the demonstrators' singing grew louder, as if to remind every Lockford resident and a fair portion of those in nearby counties that their heavenly father had the whole world in His hands.
Howarth raised his voice over the din. ‘Have they ever made any kind of threat against you?’
'No. They’re annoying but harmless. All they’ve done until now is keep me up at night and try to scare off my customers.’
‘You said “until now”. Might one of them have picked on Beth for some reason?'
‘I can't think why.’
‘If you couldn't sleep, you would have heard what happened.’
Alys cast her eyes to the floor. ‘I took a pill that put me out like a light. Beth must have come down and started work before it wore off.'
'What time did you find her?'
'Just after eight. I woke up, started making breakfast and noticed I'd run out of teabags, so I went to borrow a packet and there she was.'
'Can you think of anyone who may have wanted to harm her?'
Alys shook her head. 'Beth wouldn't hurt a fly. She didn't deserve this. Nobody does.'
'What about a boyfriend? Somebody she could have argued with?'
'I don't know.' Alys sniffled, took a ragged handkerchief from her dressing gown pocket and dabbed at her eyes. 'Sorry.'
'It's okay. Take all the time you need.'
While Howarth waited for his witness to compose herself, Weissman brought her a glass of water. Alys accepted the drink with trembling hands and downed it as though it were something much stronger. 'Thanks.'
'No trouble.' Weissman ignored the scowl Howarth sent in her direction. 'It sounds like you and Beth were pretty close. How long had you known her?'
'Three years. She used to help mind my market stall in Chiswick after school and at weekends. When I found this place and set up shop, I gave her a job and somewhere to stay.'
'That's very generous. Can you show us where she slept?'
'Follow me.' Alys stood and showed her visitors to a room about the size of a holding cell, furnished with a single bed, a small wardrobe and a dressing table. It looked tidier than most teenage bedrooms, because there wasn't much space to make a mess.
Howarth took back the reins. 'How did Beth's parents feel when she moved in here with you?'
'She never said much about them. I got the feeling we were the only family Beth had or wanted.'
'We?'
'All the girls on the Corner. Beth was one of us and we look after our own, or at least we try. You find the bastard who killed her and you put him away.'
Weissman handed Alys a business card. 'We'll do all we can. Give me a call if you think of anything else.'
'I've told you as much as I know.'
'And you've been very helpful. This is just in case you want to talk again.'
*
'Those Jesus freaks must have sent you deaf,' said Howarth as he and Weissman made their way downstairs. 'I could have sworn I asked you to leave the talking to me.'
'You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, boss.'
'And if all else fails, try bullshit. You're a copper, not a social worker. Mystic Meg's hippie friends can give her all the sympathy she needs.'
Weissman held her tongue. To argue any more would only put Howarth even further offside.
Silence hung between the detectives until they returned to the Psychic Circle, where Somers greeted them with an evidence bag that held a bloodied crystal ball. 'Not the best way to go, especially if she saw it coming.'
Dr Northcote peeled off a glove and gave his beard a pensive scratch. 'I'd advise your DC neither to give up his day job nor to get ahead of himself. That could well be the murder weapon, but we won't know for certain until the lab have run some tests.'
'Do what you have to,' said Howarth. 'Any preliminaries for us to go on with?'
'The damage to her skull's consistent with blunt force trauma to the parietal lobe. Other than that, you'll have to wait until after the PM.'
'Right. While you give the late Ms Richmond a tour of your parlour, Somers and I will stay here and see if we can round up any more witnesses.'
Weissman struggled to make herself heard above the campaigners' chorus of Amazing Grace. 'Anything you'd like me to take care of?'
Howarth considered her offer. 'You can go back to the factory to do some digging, if you make it past that lot in one piece.'
.