had not heard of this, not that she could let Winstanley know that. Maybe having a dedicated MIT was isolating them from the rest of CID; bringing the two back together would mean information would be passed around more freely. Bloody hell, I’m justifying the scrapping of my own department.
‘Mr Winstanley, allow me to be frank: South Yorkshire Police work very hard to keep the people of Sheffield safe. These minor incidents are being investigated by the best detectives we have. The public are under no threat from gun crime. As for the incident last night, like I said, a statement will be released in due course. Good day Mr Winstanley.’
Matilda didn’t realize it, but that statement would return to haunt her when the local paper hit the shops that evening. Before she had time to think, however, Rory burst into her office.
‘I think we may have found our mystery woman.’
Martin Craven, a short man with rapidly receding brown hair, fingernails bitten down to the quick and displaying all the tension of a bomb disposal expert on his first day on the job, paced anxiously inside interview room one. The door opening made him jump.
‘What’s going on? Why have I been left in here like this?’
Matilda and Rory entered and sat down.
‘Mr Craven, I’m DCI Matilda Darke—’
‘DCI? That’s a high rank, what’s happened? What’s happened to my wife?’
‘Mr Craven, please, sit down.’
If it was possible his face looked graver. Reluctantly he pulled out the hard plastic chair, scraping it on the floor, and sat down, straight backed and uncomfortable.
‘Would you like a tea or coffee?’
‘I don’t want a bloody drink.’ He almost exploded but managed to hold himself back. ‘I just want to know what the hell is going on.’
‘Sir, your missing person report has coincided with an anonymous woman being admitted to the Northern General last night.’
‘The Northern? Oh my God. Is she OK? What happened?’
‘I can’t tell you how she is as I don’t know yet. However, I would like to ask you a few questions. When was the last time you saw your wife?’
‘I’ve been through all this once already,’ he said, deflating in his seat. ‘Yesterday morning. I had to leave for work early so I left about 7.30. She didn’t need to be in work until later so she was still in her dressing gown at the table with the kids. I said goodbye to her and the kids and that was it.’
‘Did she arrive at work?’
‘Of course she did. I’ve already checked on that. She arrived on time, had lunch at the same time, and left at the same time. It was just an ordinary day.’
‘Was she going anywhere after work?’
Martin Craven sighed at having to repeat himself. ‘Yes. She plays tennis. She was going straight to the club from work. I was expecting her home at about 8 p.m.’
At the mention of tennis Matilda and Rory exchanged a quick glance with each other. Martin didn’t appear to notice.
‘But she didn’t come home?’
‘Well obviously not.’
‘Did you call her?’
‘Many times.’
‘No reply?’
‘None.’
‘When did you suspect she might be missing?’
‘This morning. I waited up for her. I must have nodded off in the chair. Our youngest came down at six and woke me up. Lois hadn’t come home so that’s when I realized something must have happened.’ He looked at the blank expressions on the officer’s faces in front of him, hoping to find anything there that might explain the disappearance of his wife. ‘Something has happened hasn’t it?’
‘Mr Craven, is there any reason why your wife might have been on Clough Lane last night?’
‘Clough Lane? No,’ he frowned. ‘There’s no reason at all for her to go that way. Hang on; there was something on the radio this morning about a shooting at Ringinglow. It’s her isn’t it? She’s been shot.’ Tears started to fall from his eyes.
‘Do you have a photograph of your wife?’
‘Shit,’ he said. ‘I should have brought one with me, sorry.’
‘That’s OK. Mr Craven, a woman, who we have not yet been able to identify, was attacked and shot last night on Clough Lane. She’s currently in Intensive Care. It could – and I stress could – be your wife.’
He fell forward onto the desk, buried his head into the crook of his arm and gave out a loud sob. He looked up at Matilda. ‘I want to see her.’
‘Of course. If you’ll wait here I’ll make a call to the hospital.’
‘Thank you. Look, would it be possible for me to have a drink of water or something.’
‘Certainly.’
Matilda and Rory left the room. They waited until they were out of hearing range before they began talking.
‘What do you think?’ Rory asked looking across at his perplexed boss.
‘It’s possible. We need to get him to ID her. Get a car sorted. What did you think of him?’
‘He genuinely seems concerned for his wife. He obviously cares for her.’
‘So what was she doing in a car with a married man?’
‘I hate these domestic cases. We always end up in the middle of some kind of marital dispute.’
With the amount of work she had to do Matilda should have sent Rory to the hospital alone with Martin but she wanted to go herself. Rory was right, this was a domestic case and if the mystery woman was Lois Craven then the question of what she was doing with a married man would arise. If she was having an affair, who knew about it? Did Martin know? Did he commit the attack? His reaction to seeing his wife unconscious in a hospital bed could be pivotal. She needed to see this for herself.
On the drive to the Northern General Hospital, Matilda allowed Rory to take the wheel while she sat in the front passenger seat and Martin Craven in the back. She had angled the rear-view and side mirrors so she could glance at his expressions. He sat poised in the centre of the back seat, his hands firmly clasped in his lap, fingers twitching. He looked worried; his eyes were wide and staring and he was biting down on his bottom lip. It was clear he was nervous about what he was going to find.
The doctors in Intensive Care were not happy about the intrusion from the police.
