bucolic-sounding names, Oak Bank, Brierley,
Applegarth, trying to make the place sound like paradise, as if they were
fooling anyone. But she found her destination without too much difficulty and
parked outside, a malicious impulse keeping her in the car. Like its
surroundings, the house displayed no sign of life. She tooted the horn.
Presumably Larissa had been told to expect her, and would be out soon enough.
After
a minute nothing had happened. Blank, shut windows stared back at her. Sighing,
she unclipped her seatbelt and got out, in her baggy black cardigan and long black
skirt looking like a demented rook scurrying up the path.
She’d
got halfway when she heard a wooden clatter, and Larissa appeared from the side
of the house, pushing a gate to behind her. She’d changed since the morning,
and now wore a plain white sweatshirt, stonewashed blue jeans, desert boots and
a grey fleece.
‘Hiya,’
she said.
‘I
was just going to knock,’ Nina said.
‘Yeah,
I heard you beeping.’ Larissa had stepped onto the lawn and was peering up at
the house. Nina felt annoyed.
‘Nina
Tyminski,’ she said.
The
Mediterranean beauty turned to look at her. ‘Larissa Stephenson,’ she said,
shaking hands. ‘Most people call me - ’
‘Lucky.’
Nina grinned in spite of herself. ‘I heard.’
‘News
gets around, yeah?’ Lucky crossed to the front door and pushed. Satisfied, she
turned to Nina and said, ‘OK. Let’s go.’
Furious at her own
irrationality, Nina was still smarting at that five minutes later as they
headed towards Shirley. What right did she have to give orders? Lucky was the new girl,
she should sit tight and absorb the wisdom. Of course, Nina fumed, stealing a
glance in the mirror, that’s what she seemed to be doing, now . The cinnamon-coloured face
was open and attentive but the eyes were cold, bleak and lost. She wondered why
she’d ever thought of the kid as ingenuous; it had certainly worn off fast.
Welcome to Special Crime.
Being
fair, she was hardly in the best frame of mind to judge. With a twinge of shame
she concentrated on the task at hand. ‘D’you know De Montfort Court?’
‘Old
people’s home, yeah?’
‘We’re
on a follow-up visit to Violet McMinn, age ninety, assaulted and robbed in the
early hours of yesterday morning. The intruder got in by forcing the bedroom
window.’
‘Not
burglar-proof?’
Nina
shook her head. ‘He beat her severely about the arms and torso, then swiped
several items of jewellery and ornaments including a pair of brass
candlesticks, one of which he sexually violated her with.’ She looked in the
mirror again to see if this was having any effect, but Lucky’s expression was
impassive. ‘The result of all this, she was so traumatised we couldn’t get
anything out of her when we saw her yesterday.’
‘Was
she hurt badly?’
‘Bad
enough. However, she’s wheelchair-bound and very frail. The doctor thought it
was best for her not to be moved, so they’re looking after her at the home.
Which is why we’re going there and not the hospital.’
Lucky
hesitated. ‘You said “he”.’
‘Good
point.’ Nina caught herself being impressed. ‘Inconclusive. No semen deposits,
just the candlestick, which we know about from swabs of verdigris the FME got
from the vagina. CSI lifted some size twelve footprints off the carpet. Faint
denim imprints on the sill, looks like he parked his bum on there and swung his
legs over.’
‘What’s
outside?’
‘Concrete
path.’
‘Course.’
‘Which
at the moment leaves us with just Mrs McMinn. Apparently she’s now lucid enough
to talk to us...’
The
heavy sigh that escaped Lucky caused Nina to take her attention off the road
for a second. But again the dark eyes gave nothing away. Strange girl. Give her
credit, though: keen as mustard. She’d picked up on every point of what Nina
had abstracted from the report. She was beginning to understand why Sophia
(rumour had it) had headhunted
Applegarth, trying to make the place sound like paradise, as if they were
fooling anyone. But she found her destination without too much difficulty and
parked outside, a malicious impulse keeping her in the car. Like its
surroundings, the house displayed no sign of life. She tooted the horn.
Presumably Larissa had been told to expect her, and would be out soon enough.
After
a minute nothing had happened. Blank, shut windows stared back at her. Sighing,
she unclipped her seatbelt and got out, in her baggy black cardigan and long black
skirt looking like a demented rook scurrying up the path.
She’d
got halfway when she heard a wooden clatter, and Larissa appeared from the side
of the house, pushing a gate to behind her. She’d changed since the morning,
and now wore a plain white sweatshirt, stonewashed blue jeans, desert boots and
a grey fleece.
‘Hiya,’
she said.
‘I
was just going to knock,’ Nina said.
‘Yeah,
I heard you beeping.’ Larissa had stepped onto the lawn and was peering up at
the house. Nina felt annoyed.
‘Nina
Tyminski,’ she said.
The
Mediterranean beauty turned to look at her. ‘Larissa Stephenson,’ she said,
shaking hands. ‘Most people call me - ’
‘Lucky.’
Nina grinned in spite of herself. ‘I heard.’
‘News
gets around, yeah?’ Lucky crossed to the front door and pushed. Satisfied, she
turned to Nina and said, ‘OK. Let’s go.’
Furious at her own
irrationality, Nina was still smarting at that five minutes later as they
headed towards Shirley. What right did she have to give orders? Lucky was the new girl,
she should sit tight and absorb the wisdom. Of course, Nina fumed, stealing a
glance in the mirror, that’s what she seemed to be doing, now . The cinnamon-coloured face
was open and attentive but the eyes were cold, bleak and lost. She wondered why
she’d ever thought of the kid as ingenuous; it had certainly worn off fast.
Welcome to Special Crime.
Being
fair, she was hardly in the best frame of mind to judge. With a twinge of shame
she concentrated on the task at hand. ‘D’you know De Montfort Court?’
‘Old
people’s home, yeah?’
‘We’re
on a follow-up visit to Violet McMinn, age ninety, assaulted and robbed in the
early hours of yesterday morning. The intruder got in by forcing the bedroom
window.’
‘Not
burglar-proof?’
Nina
shook her head. ‘He beat her severely about the arms and torso, then swiped
several items of jewellery and ornaments including a pair of brass
candlesticks, one of which he sexually violated her with.’ She looked in the
mirror again to see if this was having any effect, but Lucky’s expression was
impassive. ‘The result of all this, she was so traumatised we couldn’t get
anything out of her when we saw her yesterday.’
‘Was
she hurt badly?’
‘Bad
enough. However, she’s wheelchair-bound and very frail. The doctor thought it
was best for her not to be moved, so they’re looking after her at the home.
Which is why we’re going there and not the hospital.’
Lucky
hesitated. ‘You said “he”.’
‘Good
point.’ Nina caught herself being impressed. ‘Inconclusive. No semen deposits,
just the candlestick, which we know about from swabs of verdigris the FME got
from the vagina. CSI lifted some size twelve footprints off the carpet. Faint
denim imprints on the sill, looks like he parked his bum on there and swung his
legs over.’
‘What’s
outside?’
‘Concrete
path.’
‘Course.’
‘Which
at the moment leaves us with just Mrs McMinn. Apparently she’s now lucid enough
to talk to us...’
The
heavy sigh that escaped Lucky caused Nina to take her attention off the road
for a second. But again the dark eyes gave nothing away. Strange girl. Give her
credit, though: keen as mustard. She’d picked up on every point of what Nina
had abstracted from the report. She was beginning to understand why Sophia
(rumour had it) had headhunted
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