would be great. Not a problem...your choice etc...’
Sullivan looked at her colleague pityingly.
‘You’re gabbling Calbot.’
‘Sorry, I just didn’t see that one coming’ Calbot stammered.
‘As it happens, I’m not gay, Calbot. But if I were, I’m sure it would be a great comfort for me to know that you’d wholeheartedly approve. Very modern of you’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Calbot exclaimed and took a much needed swig from his bottle of Sol.
‘But as for Laytham.’ Sullivan smiled. ‘I just don’t want to hurt his feelings. He is a sort of work colleague, after all. ’ Sullivan stood and looked down at her young companion.‘And let’s face it, men can get so unreasonable if they feel rejected, can’t they? Good night, Calbot.’
And with that, Sullivan left the table. Calbot watched her as she strode purposefully across the room. If her last comment had in any way been aimed at him, she’d been wrong. This particular man felt neither unreasonable nor rejected. Just a little miffed.
At the police headquarters, Broderick had decided to stay on and work late. Although he had a lot of work to catch up on, he could feel his eyelids drooping as he fought to stay awake. The ringing of the telephone jolted him back to consciousness. He picked it up.
‘Broderick. Uh-huh. Yeah, put her through.’ Broderick looked at his watch. He had known it it would be his sister. ‘You alright, Cath? Yeah, I’m sorry. Lost track of time completely. Girls all right? Yeah, okay. I’m on my way.’
He’d barely walked half the length of the corridor when Sergeant Aldarino accosted him in the doorway.
‘Sir?’
‘What is it, Aldarino?’
‘Sorry, sir,’ the sergeant started. ‘Could you stop off in South District? There’s been a request for CID. Woman found dead at home. I wouldn’t normally ask, sir, but we’re really overstretched.’
‘And it just so happens to be on my way home?’
The sergeant smiled in mock innocence.
‘Hadn’t crossed my mind, sir.’
Broderick sighed heavily. ‘Right. Where do I go?’
Broderick’s car came to a halt in the driveway of ‘The Captain’s House’. He had passed the house, with its distinctive statuesque lions upon its walls, many times over the years but this was the first time he had been beyond its gates.
At the front door a police constable directed him into the house. The small crumpled form of an elderly woman lay prostrate in a dislocated heap at the bottom of the central staircase that dominated the main entrance hall. Sergeant Helena D’Angelo moved to greet Broderick.
‘Weren’t expecting
‘Apparently we’re overstretched.’
‘That’ll be everyone watching the Man U v Porto match, sir.’
‘Right. That explains things ’ Broderick replied.
Broderick moved across to the body of the elderly woman.
‘Fell down the stairs,’ the sergeant explained.
‘Looks that way, doesn’t it?’
‘Accident, I would have thought.’
‘Well if it’s that bloody obvious, why am I here?’
‘Because we’re overstretched, sir?’
‘Only because most of the force has wangled the night off to watch a stupid football match.’
‘Quite an important game actually, sir,’ The police woman offered. ‘ If Porto win tonight, they go on to...’
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Broderick interrupted. ‘You are obviously mistaking me for someone who gives a damn about a lot of overpaid hooligans knocking balls into nets.’
The female sergeant looked momentarily surprised by this response.
‘Not that I’m bitter, you understand.’ Broderick managed a slight smile, realising that he had perhaps been a little too vociferous in his condemnation of the so-called ‘beautiful game’. His attention returned to the case in hand.
‘Hang on a sec.’ Broderick kneeled beside the body and examined a thick layer of dust to the side of the corpse. ‘What’s this? There’s something written in the dust.’
Although not immediately obvious, a scrawled message had indeed been left in the dust. It read simply, ‘Help him’.’
‘Didn’t notice that, sir,’ the sergeant offered.
‘Obviously. It would appear that she didn’t die straight away.’
‘Why do that, then?’
‘I’ve no idea. Look, I don’t give a flying bollock who’s playing football tonight – get us some help out here, will you?’
The Barbary Sports Bar roared with excitement as the referee shook his head vigorously on the large HD screen.
‘Sodding penalty, ref! Any day of the week!’ one of the many cries from the assembled throng rang out.
Through the din, Calbot nearly missed his mobile ringing. He recognised the number immediately. On the screen the referee had begun handing out red cards to protesting footballers. By the time order on the pitch had been restored, Calbot was outside the bar awaiting a lift from an RGP patrol car.
Calbot attempted to disguise his mild inebriation as he found Inspector Broderick in the main hall of The Captain’s House. Laytham was about his business and preparations to remove the body were underway.
‘Ah, Calbot. You must be thrilled to be here,’Broderick welcomed ironically.
‘DS Sullivan here by any chance,guv?’
‘No, no. Thought I’d let her off this one,’ Broderick replied.
‘She won’t be bothered. She’s a Liverpool supporter.’ Calbot moaned. Broderick continued.
‘The dead woman’s name is Evelyn Brooks. Widow, late seventies and I’m afraid I have absolutely no idea what soccer team she supported.
Calbot looked down at the old woman whose death had caused him to miss his beloved Manchester United’s UEFA Euro Cup challenge. This selfish thought was interrupted by Broderick.
‘Lived here for the best part forty-odd years, apparently.’
‘Not a house I’d be keen to live in, sir,’ Sergeant D’Angelo offered.
‘Not a lover of the colonial style, Sergeant?’ enquired Broderick.
‘No, the style’s great. It’s lovely,’ Helena D’Angelo continued. ‘Worth a fortune. No, I meant because of what happened with the Gregson murder here in the sixties. Place gives me the creeps.’
‘Before my time,’ Calbot explained.
‘Quite famous, actually,’ the sergeant continued. ‘Local solicitor. Murdered his wife, caused a sensation. Old Mrs Brooks here was a relation. After the solicitor topped himself whilst awaiting trial, she inherited the house and moved into it with her husband. Stories were that the murderer’s ghost could be heard at night calling for his wife.’
‘All very interesting, but ghouls apart, did the unfortunate Mrs Brooks here fall from the top of the stairs or was she pushed?’ Broderick speculated. ‘Let’s start by finding out who the ‘
‘Sir?’
‘Neighbours, Calbot.’
‘What about them?’
