The house was as common as the grass. It was red brick with white windows. The windows facing the street were those of the master bedroom, a study and the dining room down stairs. The backyard was visible from the children's rooms and the steps were hidden in the middle. The kitchen and a small living room opened to the garden from the ground floor.
Kyle came down the stairs wondering how he had managed to pass such a quiet morning. Neither of his girls seemed to be awake. He came down and asked his wife about that. He pondered over whether the two had left for school early to help setting up the sports day.
Cate could not give Kyle any helpful answers as she was working on conjecture as well. Kyle checked the rooms. Both were dark, suggesting that the girls did not wake up. He checked on Annie, the younger one. There was a body on the bed, thus he called a wake up. He decided to have coffee and then check again, to make sure that the girls woke up.
Kyle headed up after hearing eerie silence: there was no bickering over the bathroom or arguing about school. He checked on his children once more. Neither had stirred. They did not even budge. He tugged Annie's blanket off slightly and revealed a ghastly sight. There was a pool of blood on the mattress and a thin red slit on the throat. Her chest was not stirring. "Cate!" He called out, pinching himself out of this nightmare. He stumbled into Jane's room to find the same sight.
Why did the killer not kill all four? What was the plan? Was this even real? Cate rushed up and saw the sights. Kyle was in a state of denial. It was a dream, a call to the police would make it evident. Thus he called the police. A dispatch was to arrive in two minutes; the case warranted this much care. The parents were told not to leave the scene and not to enter either room. They waited downstairs, Kyle put off his hot coffee.
"What now?" Came a detached voice, barely audible over silence. Cate had finished sobbing and slunk down the stairs. She was still in tears and barely able to stand. Kyle led her to the couch and offered his shoulder, joining in soon after.
DI Alec Hardy wondered why such a sleepy town had the need for a DI. Detective Inspectors had one purpose: to solve complex cases. There were no complex cases in Sandbrook. The town was literally too sleepy for a murder. Anybody out after seven would be a criminal. Yet, this was the department where he met his wife, Detective Sergeant Alice (now) Hardy. The useless team had one more useless member: DS Jamie Cripps. Cripps was a local and that was the only reason he had his job. They needed a local who would recognize the people and be a good face for them to see.
This morning, unfortunately, altered the comfortable sleepiness of Hardy's office. He received the call a few minutes after Kyle contacted the authorities. There was a reported murder, finally.
The dispatch then called for a crime scene team. Hardy was left with the task of dealing with the annoying human element: the Mortimer survivors. It was not that people were annoying, but that talking to a sad person while he felt a strong sense of purpose was annoying. Still, it was a part of his job.
The couple were outside their house, waiting for him. "Mister and Misses Mortimer?" He asked, inwardly sighing – random tautologies like these were the only good way to begin a conversation so awkward and difficult.
They nodded in response.
"I am terribly sorry that you have to see me." Tautology two. "There are few details concerning the crime and we need to thoroughly search your house." This marked the uncomfortable shift the detective had had to make – from the hard facts to the harder demands. "Seeing as it is the scene of the crimes, we will have to ask you to vacate. A residence at a local hotel will be provided."
"Can we pack?" The husband quietly asked.
"Only from your room and everything will be searched first, I'm afraid."
"Is this the best way?"
"Yes." The husband looked dismayed and the wife was clearly not a part of the conversation, lost somewhere in memory, travelling back in time. "For the sake of your daughters, for the sake of resolution and for the sake of your closure, your utmost cooperation is recommended." This was a tautology to him, but none of the witnesses or victims believed him. The husband quietly nodded, but Hardy knew that in the required week, that nod would not last. "I will do everything in my power to find the killer and I will not rest until I see justice served." Hardy swore.
"Thank you." The husband turned to his wife and with a kiss said: "We'll start packing."
With the most difficult part of the day over, Hardy followed the civilians into their house. The team had begun to swab every square inch of the rooms, cordoning most of the upper floor. Men coated in white with only transparent plastic masks revealing human faces combed the region, quietly conversing and placing evidence in correctly sized bags.
Hardy stopped to speak with them quietly, hoping that the couple did not hear what they had to say. "Well?" He asked.
"There is evidence of a break in and the murder weapon was a blade of some sort."
"Time of death?"
"Around 1pm."
"Anything else?"
"The break in device was a crude crowbar and will be chipped in a particular manner and the blade will have evidence of this as well."
"You have suspects?"
"Well, 95% of murders are committed by somebody fairly close."
"So one of them?"
"Maybe, the killing was crude enough and the break in could be just to fool us."
"We'll have to see."
"Yes, I would quite like to search the entire premises."
"You will be able to."
"Great." With that Hardy left. He had one more task: setting up the true list of suspects. The board he used operated under one rule: guilty until proven innocent. Every face on the board had to convince him beyond all conceivable doubt that they did not belong on that board.
To start the board he did two things: he placed everybody who was near enough the girls to know them on the board. Then he began to look for other evidence. CCTV, the system of cameras dotting the British Isles for little reason, would help him find suspects.
Quickly the board filled: the father, Kyle Mortimer; the mother, Cate Mortimer; the bartender, Jack Daniels; the newsagent owner, Frank Simpson; the reverend, Harvey Hayes; the carpenter, Jim Mason and the local car dealer, Robert Cripps.
He recognized, unfortunately, all the suspects. He had interacted with them in some noncommittal way in the past. It was the greatest perk and the biggest danger of working in a familiar district. Hardy wondered how he did not recognize the victims. His daughter was the age of Annie, the younger nine year old.
"You're going to ask Jenna about her, aren't you?" Alice asked.
"I must work through every angle." Detective Inspector Hardy looked up and grinned cheekily at Detective Sergeant Hardy.
"Can I interview her?"
"I think Cripps should."
"Policy crap, right?"
"Yes." Alice Hardy sighed at her husband's annoying pedantic predictability.
"Whatever, boss."
"Thank you, Sergeant."
Hardy sighed, rewinding the tapes and wondering how exactly he would arrange to speak to every one of the seven suspects.
The parents were the easiest to contact but the hardest to talk to. The bartender would probably be busy. The carpenter could be anywhere in the region servicing homes. The reverend would be difficult to talk to. The car dealer was the brother of Sergeant Jamie Cripps – who would be interviewing his daughter.
Hardy immediately decided to save the parent's for last, hoping that some evidence would clear their names. The car dealer – Rob Cripps – could also be saved on similar grounds. That left a lack of good options. He assigned himself the reverend, giving his wife the bartender and Jamie the carpenter.
Thus the detectives got their jobs assigned. Hardy announced everything as eloquently as he could: there was a small division the Superintendent allocated to the murder investigation and none of the members would be allowed to give anything to the media. There would be an official statement to the media at six the upcoming evening.
With that the detectives went their separate ways. Alice had, as she came to rely on, the easiest task: interviewing the bartender.
Jack Daniels' story was quite simple on the surface: he ran a local volunteering set up which helped local events, such as the school's sports day, and he owned the bar. There was nothing else in the files the department could compile. Yet the board said he was guilty and he would have to fight for his innocence.
The bar was closed. It was a normal building – the stone sided house with small indented windows. Fake ivy covered the wooden sign reading "Home Brand" – the tender's acknowledgement of his name. There was a board outside with "CLOSED" drawn in a red and white mimicry of a hairdresser's sign. Alice sighed, her easy task turning a small amount more difficult. The amount was, fortunately, infinitesimal: the back of the board suggested that Jack was attending sports day.
Alice had wished she could have gone to sports day but much to Jenna's dismay, she could not come. Now, ironically, she would be there on business. A chat with the other mums and teachers would not hurt either.
Alice pulled up, thanking her profession for the unmarked vehicle it let her use. She parked and exited, noting that the festivities of the day had begun a few minutes ago and now they were in the midst of a seemingly entertaining egg and spoon race. She scanned the area for the bartender for future reference. She met Jenna's class – the children, the parents and the teacher. Their French teacher – Susan Werner - was running the events, making sure that the teams were ready and motivating the friendly competition.
Alice began to talk to the bored or busy housewives who spared time for this event. Most of the fathers were away at their jobs in nearing Newcastle or at some other work. Few parents divided their time between siblings. They all had a ton of gossip. Alice was generally occupied by her work and did not have the time for the other's teatime chatter. Instead, she got these hyper-concentrated bombardments of discussion.
There was not much new at all – everybody's lives were merrily, listlessly chugging along in time. The French teacher got a new car that very morning. Mr. Mason was making record amounts – his wife attested. The newsagent's was doing quite well since they put a board up on the highway which bypassed the town, Mrs. Simpson claimed.
Jenna, having come fourth in egg and spoon race, was thrilled to find her mother. However, after a brief hug and a quick conversation, Alice had to get back to work. The bartender had disappeared.
Alice turned in a slow circle, looking out for Mr. Daniels. She waited before asking around quickly. She walked over to the stall he was manning – a stall funding his volunteering scheme. The stall sold water, fruit juices and a few small salads – all healthy, he advertised. He was not there. The small sign indicated that he was off to restock. Alice sighed. She would have to wait and Alec would not be happy. She texted him on her progress.
"Just wait. Be quick." She got as a reply. She would have to wait.
Jamie had to track down the carpenter. The man – Jim Mason – would be hard to find because he could be anywhere on business. A quick search through a local phonebook gave Mason's number. Jamie sighed, calling it, having to terrify a potentially innocent person. "Hello?" Jamie said, believing that there was a human on the other end.
"Hello. May I know who's speaking?"
"Is this Mr. Jim Mason I am addressing?"
"Yes. How may I be of help?"
"Can you please come into the police office?"
"Can you give me an hour?" The voice on the other end, as experience and common sense dictated, was shaken and nervous and above all, scared to dead. "What seems to be the matter?"
"We will discuss it when you get here. You can take the hour, but if you're not here we'll have to find you." This was not national policy, but the leniency of a small town's sinecure police department.
"Thank you. I hope it's not trouble."
"It may not be. See you in an hour."
"See you sir." Jim quickly read the number, comparing it to the local office's number and unfortunately finding a match.
Jamie was relieved. The conversation was not bad and there was no indication that the man was guilty or capable of murder.
Hardy decided to physically visit the Reverend. The church was a small affair in the middle of the town, a very short walk from the office. It marked the end of the high street after which the town faded into houses and then ceased in a mile with the first few fields. The cemetery's size reflected that of the town: it was tiny. Some of the yard was family owned since the town's Victorian conception. The reverend was, in fact, the newest part of the church.
The reverend was fifty. He was greying and wrinkled and stooped within his erudite air. The dark priestly robe added to this effect giving him the air that spoke priest even to an alien. "Reverend?" Hardy called to the idle man.
"Yes, how may I help you?" Hayes said, looking up from his work.
"I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."
"What do they concern?" The air of this parishioner suggested that he did not need the priest in a priestly way.
"A case I have the misfortune of having to work on."
"Am I a suspect?" The priest could not suspect how.
"Unfortunately."
"I see."
"Because of this, I must ask you a few questions and record your responses."
The reverend shuffled uncomfortably. "I will see."
"I'm afraid now would be the best time."
"Alright, then." The reverend sighed, wondering how he was a suspect.
Hardy took the recorder out. "Speaking to reverend Harvey Hayes, initially alibi and checking, one pm on Friday February the sixth." He turned to the reverend. "Reverend, I would like to start by asking where you were on the last night."
Hayes shrugged. "I was here, preparing a short sermons. This is the very one I'm still working on."
"A sermons for what occasion?"
"This Sunday."
"I see. Did you do anything after that?"
"No. I merely went to sleep."
"Unfortunately, I know you are lying as we have you walking around outside on CCTV." This was unsettling – Hardy did not like liars and he already had to deal with one. He did not believe in omens, but if he had, early liars would be quite ominous.
"I went out to walk to get inspired."
"To get inspired?"
"Yes. The night air refreshes my mind."
"Despite the chill?"
"Yes, despite the chill."
"Is there anybody who can verify this?"
The reverend shuffled. "Frank Simpson – the newsagent saw me."
"I see."
"Is that all?"
"So far. I will ask further questions if any of my doubts are unsatisfied."
"I see."
"Thank you for your cooperation."
"My pleasure to help. Please tell me if there are any more ways I can help."
"I will be sure to. Thank you." Hardy turned to the recorder. "End interview. One ten pm." Hardy thanked the priest once more before leaving the church.
Buffeted by the cold air, Hardy wondered how the reverend was capable of any thought in the numbing wind. He did manage to ponder the case a little more, seeing that the store owner climbed on his list. He would get his interview the next day.
Jamie was, as Hardy expected, still waiting for Mason to turn up. Jamie was that type of slacker. Hardy sighed and sat in his office, preparing to add the new data to his computer and then pin the newfound connection onto the main board.
Hardy's phone buzzed. There was a message from the forensics team. Out of habit, Hardy opened it, expecting a complete lack of interesting news. "Knife found. Was in the house."