Black Daffodil (Trevor Joseph Detective series) by Katherine John

pavements.
    ‘What floor we on?’ Chris asked Sarah as he looked for, and found, the name of their ‘home’ block.
    ‘Third. Inspector Evans …’
    ‘Dan,’ Chris said sharply. ‘We might be alone in a clean van but, from this moment on, we have to remain in character at all times.’
    ‘… Dan said the lift often doesn’t work. There are empty ground-floor flats, but they’ve all been vandalised.’
    ‘There’s plenty of parking space.’ Chris slowed the van at the entrance to a low-walled area marked with faded numbered parking bays. ‘All carpeted with broken glass.’
    ‘So we park on the street?’ Sarah suggested.
    ‘Little option.’ He stopped the van, walked around to the back and let out the dog.
    ‘Good boy, Tiger. We’ll get you some water in a minute.’ Sarah clipped on the lead. The dog sat patiently at her feet while Chris lifted out the sports bags.
    ‘Let’s see what the housing association has given us. It’s supposed to be clean and furnished. And from now on …’
    ‘We talk for the audience.’ Sarah led the way into the block. The hall and stairwell reeked of faeces and urine; the walls were smeared with graffiti – and worse. She hit the lift button. Nothing happened.
    ‘I’d feel safer on the stairs than in a metal box,’ Chris said. ‘You have the keys?’
    She took a key-ring from her denim bag.
    ‘Three floors isn’t so bad,’ Chris commented unconvincingly as he trailed behind her with the bags. The dog bounded up but both of them were breathless when they reached the third floor. Sarah opened the door to the flat and they walked into a large, light living room.
    There was a strong chemical smell, and Sarah rushed to open the windows, but she was prevented from opening them more than a couple of inches by safety locks. The dining table and chairs were cheap veneer, still wrapped in plastic sheeting, as was the beige vinyl three-piece suite. There was a television and a DVD player.
    Chris dropped the cases onto the nylon carpet and they walked through to a tiny inner hall that had four doors. Two led to double bedrooms, identically furnished with new double beds, like the furniture in the living room, swathed in plastic. There were chests of drawers and built-in wardrobes. The bathroom walls were covered with six-inch white tiles. The basic three-piece suite still bore the brown paper strip that had been glued around the edges to protect it in transit. The tiny kitchen had two cupboards, a fridge, with small freezer compartment, bottom of the range cooker and microwave, all new. Sarah opened a cupboard that held three saucepans, a frying pan, and four-piece crockery and cutlery sets.
    Chris opened the fridge. It yawned back at him, empty. ‘I’m starving. Let’s find a shop. The dog could do with a walk anyway.’
    ‘We can introduce ourselves to our neighbours,’ Sarah returned to the living room.
    Chris took a bowl from the cupboard and filled it with water. He put it on the floor. ‘Here, Tiger, this will do until we can get the dog bowls out of the car.’ The dog dived on the bowl and lapped up the water. Chris buried his fingers in his fur. Shouts and screams echoed down from the floors above them.
    Sarah picked up the dog lead. ‘I have a feeling we are going to be grateful for the presence of our four-legged friend while we’re here.’

Chapter Four
    Peter opened his eyes to see the sun sinking slowly into the sea and the bay bathed in a soft golden light. He left the bed and stood in front of the balcony doors for a moment admiring the view. After showering and making liberal use of the complimentary toiletries in his bathroom, he slung a towel around his waist and joined Trevor in his lounge.
    Trevor hung up the telephone. ‘I heard you moving. I’ve ordered steak, salad and potato salad twice.’
    ‘I would have preferred chips.’ Peter helped himself to a beer.
    ‘Your waistline wouldn’t. Salad is better for you.’
    ‘So is porridge.