Take Two (A psychological thriller)

‘She’s probably still in shock,’ said Biddulph. They were sitting in their car outside the house. It was in Queen’s Park, a run-down area that had once been middle-class but was now occupied mainly by families on benefits and drug dealers. A group of young hoodies stood watching them on the other side of the road, making no effort to conceal the hand-rolled cigarette they were passing around. The sweet smell of marijuana wafted across the street. Biddulph gave them a long stare with the unspoken message that they should move on. They stared back with blank looks that said they didn’t care and would move on when they felt like it.  ‘How old is she?’ asked Biddulph.

Marriott flicked through her notebook. ‘Sixty three,’ she said. ‘Four years older than her husband.’

‘Probably not a suspect,’ said Biddulph. ‘Which is a pity.’

‘A pity?’

‘It’s always so much easier when the spouse does it.  Or a neighbour.’

‘He was shot three hundred miles away, so doubtful that it was a neighbour.’

‘That’s the thing, isn’t it?’ said Biddulph. ‘That far away, has to be random, right? Wrong time, wrong place.’

‘The Scottish cops say his wallet and his watch were taken,’ said Marriott. ‘But what sort of mugger shoots a guy for a wallet and a watch? That’s the sort of thing that happens in the States, not here.  I don’t know, maybe he had something on him we don’t know about? Drugs? Or a lot of cash?’

Biddulph nodded thoughtfully. ‘It’s possible,’ he said. He nodded at the house. ‘But it doesn’t look as if he was living beyond his means, does it?’

‘We could check his bank accounts?’

‘If it’s drugs money, it’ll likely be cash. What do you think, Kim? Think he was moving drugs around the country?’

‘It’d be a good cover.’

‘Except he works for a company that decides where he goes, usually at short notice.  I don’t see how that would help with drug distribution.’

‘Unless the trucking company is behind it.’

Biddulph laughed. ‘You’re working up a whole conspiracy here, aren’t you?’

‘What’s the alternative?’ she asked. ‘A totally random killing? Because if it was, without any forensic evidence we’ll never solve it.’

‘We don’t have to solve it,’ said Biddulph. ‘It’s not our case. We’re just doing a favour for the Jocks, save them the hassle of coming down here themselves. All we need to do is ask her the usual questions and send the notes up to Glasgow.’

They got out of the car. ‘We’re not going to play good cop, bad cop, are we?’ asked Marriott.

‘Best not,’ said Biddulph.  ‘Let’s go for good cop, stupid cop.’

‘Which one am I?’

Biddulph grinned. ‘If you have to ask, sergeant,..’ He locked the car and headed towards the house. ‘I want you to do the talking,’ said Biddulph.

‘Because I’m a woman?’

‘Because you’re better at empathising with people than I am and because she’s a sixty-three-year old woman who’s just lost her husband.’

Marriott pressed the doorbell and stood back. They heard shuffling steps coming down the hallway, then the front door opened on a security chain. Marriott already had her warrant card out and she held it up so the woman could see it. ‘I’m Sergeant Kimberley Marriott,’ she said. ‘This is my colleague Inspector Biddulph. We’re so sorry about your loss, Mrs McKenzie. Could we have a wee chat with you about your husband.’

Mrs McKenzie was grey haired and overweight with flabby forearms and rolls of fat around her waist that strained at a flowered dress that ended above a pair of chunky knees. Her eyes were red and bleary and there were dark patches under them. She had no make-up on and her face had a washed-out look as if all the life had been drained from it. She frowned as if she’d been asked to solve a complicated equation. ‘My husband?’ she said.

‘Just a wee chat,’ said Marriott. ‘We won’t take up too much of your time.’

Mrs McKenzie nodded and walked back down the hall.

The two detectives looked at each other. ‘A wee chat?’ mouthed Biddulph.

Marriott shrugged. ‘I was empathizing.’

‘You’re not Scottish,’ whispered Biddulph. ‘And by the sound of it, she isn’t either.’

‘Next time I’ll tell her we want a quick word, would that be better?’

Biddulph waved for Marriott to follow Mrs McKenzie, then closed the door behind them.  They found her sitting on a sofa, another flower pattern but this one made up of roses,  pink and red.  Mrs McKenzie was staring into the middle distance, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

Marriott realised that Mrs McKenzie was playing with her wedding ring, twisting it around and around.

‘Mrs McKenzie, we are so very sorry about what happened to your husband. Do you mind if I sit down?’

Mrs McKenzie looked up in surprise as if seeing her for the first time. ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

‘We’re the police, Mrs McKenzie. ‘I’m Sergeant Kimberley Marriott and this is my colleague Inspector Biddulph. Can we sit down?’