and inclusive approach. Even though he’d been young and inexperienced, she had treated him like a man who’d had something to contribute. And to his surprise Calvin had contributed! He’d exceeded both their expectations, and she’d told him she felt he had a real future in plainclothes. And then, when it was all over, he’d proved her wrong by immediately requesting a return to uniform. She’d never said so, but Calvin knew he’d disappointed her.
But luckily the detective wasn’t King. It was an officer he didn’t know – a young bloke with neat hair and a corduroy jacket with leather elbow patches. He looked like a scientist.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘What’s going on?’
As he walked up the stairs, Calvin brought him up to speed. ‘PC Bridge, sir. Responded to a call about two possible intruders. Male and female. No sign of forced entry. The tip said two suspects went in the front door. Back door was unlocked. And we’ve got a body in this room and a male resident in the front bedroom.’
‘What?’ said the detective, glancing over his shoulder towards the front room.
‘Old man, sir. Very confused. Says he should be dead. I think he’s a bit . . . you know . . .’ Calvin’s finger circled his temple to officially diagnose the old man as nuts.
Still the detective stared at him blankly.
‘A body?’ he said. ‘Whose body?’ The young man’s eyes darted past Calvin to the bed and he said, ‘Dad?’
Oh shit.
Calvin realized his mistake with a mixture of horror and defensive irritation. Why hadn’t plainclothes got here sooner? What was taking them so long? Now he’d screwed up big time and it was all their fault!
Right on cue, he heard the front door open and DCI Kirsty King call, Hello.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Calvin told the panicky boffin. ‘Would you mind coming downstairs with me?’
‘But I have to . . . Can I just?’
He tried to peer around Calvin, who spread his arms. ‘Just for a minute, please, sir.’
The man hesitated, then turned, and Calvin followed him.
Not a Crime
Reggie Cann wasn’t a detective or a scientist. He turned out to be something in computers. Calvin guessed that made the leather elbow patches ironic. Now he sat on the sofa, with a cup of tea Calvin had made, shaking a little. ‘I can’t get my head round it,’ he kept saying. ‘I only came home for lunch.’
Kirsty King nodded, her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward sympathetically in the easy chair. DC Pete Shapland perched a little more awkwardly in a less-easy chair and took notes. Calvin watched from the hallway while overhead were the creaking floor and muffled voice of his partner, Jackie Braddick, keeping the old man calm. He’d kept trying to get out of bed, but although she was young, Jackie had the cheerful smile and iron will of an NHS nurse, and so far the old chap had been compliant with her, and her alone.
‘Where do you work, Reggie?’
‘CompuWiz. In Bideford.’
‘I know it,’ said King. ‘Up in Old Town, right?’
He nodded.
‘What time did you leave this morning?’
Reggie shrugged. ‘About eight fifteen. It’s not far.’
DCI King started. ‘OK, we had a call mid-morning saying there were intruders in your house.’
‘Intruders?’
‘A man and a woman.’
He frowned. ‘I don’t know who that could be.’
‘No? Does anyone else have a key to the house?’
‘No. Just me and Albert.’
‘Your father?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Reggie. ‘But he doesn’t go out much. And Skipper hasn’t been outdoors for months.’
‘That’s your granddad? Charles?’
‘Yeah, Charles. Skipper, we call him.’
‘He tells us he has cancer?’
‘Yeah. Lung. Late stages, the doctor says.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Kirsty King.
‘Yeah,’ nodded Reggie, but he wasn’t thinking of that, Calvin could tell. ‘Who called you?’
‘A woman. She wouldn’t give her name.’
King took her phone from her coat pocket and fiddled about with it for a moment, then held it up for Reggie to hear the recording.
It was muffled, but obviously a woman, and with a strong local accent.
There’s people in the house opposite. The bay who lives there went to work and these people have gone in and—
Do you know the people, ma’am?
No, they’re strangers. An old man and a girl. And they looks a bit dodgy.
How did they get in?
In the front door, but they didn’t knock or ring the bell and I don’t know them—
What’s your name, ma’am?
I’m not saying. I don’t want some nutter after me, you know? But I think you should send someone over here because I never seen ’em round here before and I don’t think they should be in that house . . .
She turned off the recorder. ‘Do you recognize the caller?’
Reggie Cann shook his head. ‘No, but it is quite crackly.’
‘It is,’ said King. ‘But from the information given I’m assuming it’s one of your neighbours . . . ?’
‘Could be Jean across the way, I suppose. She’s super-nosey.’
‘What number is that?’
Reggie looked blank for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I don’t know. The house with the gnomes.’
He sat back in his chair and rubbed his face.
‘Sorry to put you through this right now, Reggie,’ said King kindly, ‘but obviously we need to gather as much information as possible as quickly as we can in this situation.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, of course. I get it.’
‘Thank you,’ King said, and went on, ‘From the call, it sounds like whoever came in had a key, doesn’t it?’
‘There’s a broken window, ma’am,’ said Pete Shapland helpfully, and Calvin winced
