WOTR C3

       CHAPTER THREE

      “How come you left the CID for this?” Hazel sat in a police patrol car with PC Jonathan Stanger. They were parked outside Gloria Kelsey’s home in Keys Court. The Keys was as smart and upmarket as Hazel remembered.

      “Less stress.” Stanger said. “Better hours.”

      Hazel nodded, as if she believed that. Stanger didn’t look like the sort to let stress get to him. He was, at twenty eight, six years younger than Hazel. A couple of centimeters taller. He looked fit and capable. Stanger was one of the few black officers on the force. Though to be fair there were not that many Afro-Caribbean people in town. Asians, however, Temple Caneston had a massive Asian community.

      Stanger had a valid point about better hours in uniform, CID shifts tended to last absurd hours. So perhaps he had made the better choice.

      “What happened with Gloria Kelsey?” Hazel said.

      Stanger shrugged. “You might want to talk to the CID about that.”

      Hazel would have to do that but she certainly didn’t want to. “You were the first on the scene.” She said, sidestepping the point, “What happened?”

      “Well,” Stanger looked out of the car, “I was working the night shift and I happened to be nearby. Just up near the abbey. That’s when I got the call to come here.”

      “The call? Just a general call to come here or was it specific?”

      “You mean did it mention someone had been killed? No, not it didn’t then. Just that there was a suspicious character in the area. The security guard called it in, I think.”

      Hazel nodded, “You remember the time?”

      “Five, six minutes after two.” Stanger said. “I did write out a report.”

      “Yes, just clearing up some details.” Hazel said. Such as what actually happened and why the report was so empty.

      “You mean because she got away with it? I don’t understand that.” Stanger said. “Must have had a good lawyer.”

      “Yes.” Hazel said, “I imagine that’s what it was.”

      “They can really twist things.”

      Hazel nodded, “How long did it take you to get here?”

      “A couple of minutes.” Stanger said. “I was just round the corner and up the road.”

      “You went blues and twos?” Hazel said, referring to lights and siren.

      “At two in the morning, sergeant?” Stanger shook his head. “It was a couple of minutes to get here and you know what people are like if they get their sleep disturbed by lights and sirens.”

      “Yes, I do.” said Hazel.

      “At two in the morning the street was empty. It’s not like I had to tell anyone I was coming.”

      “OK. So you arrive. Then what?”

      “The security guard was here.” Stanger said.

      “Where here?”

      “Outside the house.”

      “In the yard you mean?” Each house, there were sixteen of them, eight on each side, sat back from the road. They all had neat metre high walls and dark wrought iron gates. A small patch of garden and a short driveway made of tarmac. Apart from the numbers the houses all looked very similar. Cream coloured with dark roofs and exposed brick detail here and there.

      “No, he was in the street.” Stanger said. “I thought all this was in my report.”

      None of this was in his report. “You know how it is when someone is acquitted. We have to go over the details.”

      “Oh, yes, of course.”

      “Do you know the guard?” Hazel said.

      “Personally you mean?”

      “In any way.” Hazel said. “The Keys is part of your patch, I just wondered how well you knew the guard here.”

      “Oh. I don’t know them on a personal basis but I do know they have three guards. They rotate shifts. A week on, two weeks off. I expect they go somewhere else those other two weeks.”

      “The security guard was Andrew Simpson.” Hazel said. Do you know him?”

      “No, not really. No more than the other two.”

      “OK so he was standing in the street, waiting for you?”

      “Yes, under the street light.”

      “I see.” The street lighting in the Keys was about the best anywhere in the city. There were a dozen of the Brite-White lamps which were a lot brighter than the old sodium lamps. These also had reflectors sitting on top of them to maximise the light and cut down on light pollution. “Had he been inside the house?”

      “No.” Stanger said.

      “You’re sure?”

      “That’s what he told me.”

      Hazel wrote this down. “What else did he tell you?”

      “He said he’d seen Hannah McShane running from the house.”

      “He mentioned her by name?”

      “Yes.” Stanger sounded vaguely surprised at Hazel’s question.

      “So he knew her?”

      Stanger shrugged, “I expect so. I understand she was a regular visitor.”

      “Did you know her?”

      He shook his head.

      “Who told you she was a regular visitor?” Hazel said.

      “Well, I don’t know. Someone did.”

      “Simpson?” Hazel said.

      “He might, I don’t know.”

      Hazel nodded as if she were satisfied with the answer. “You went into the house, of course.”

      “I did. The door was open.”

      “Wide open?”

      “No, it was open, but it had been pushed back. It hadn’t latched or anything.”

      Stanger said. “She must have pushed it closed when she ran out.”

      “Yes.” Hazel said, “That would explain it.”

      “She was in a hurry.” Stanger said.

      Once more Hazel nodded, “Yes.” She said. Hannah McShane went to a house five hours before, at least, then committed a murder around two in the morning and hurried out. No doubt it made perfect sense. To someone.

      “I found her dead.” Stanger said, “Ms Kelsey. She was downstairs in the living room.”

      “Fully clothed?”