A/N: This fic is a bit longer than the previous ones and it was slow coming, but finally I finished. Total of three chapters awaits you. It deals with a few sensitive subject matters, so please head the warnings if you need to. Hope you enjoy. Thanks to everyone who reviewed my previous fics, I really appreciate it 3
TW: mentions of possible disability, ptsd, war
There was a body on the floor of the living room. Charlie could see that through the window if he put his face against it. Under different circumstances, he would have been calling an ambulance and breaking down the door right away. But the person on the floor was clearly dead. Charlie couldn't see any signs of movement. Crimson covered the head of the man but what was the most telling were the wide open, unblinking eyes.
With a sigh, Charlie turned towards the junior constable that accompanied him.
"Stay here and keep the neighbours away. Doctor Blake should be here shortly. I'll check the back to see if there's any way to get inside the house without breaking the door."
Kevin nodded and positioned himself on the front porch, trying to look threatening, even though he looked more like a kid playing dress up. He was fresh out of the academy and Charlie made a note to keep the kid out of the house, or at least as far away from the dead body as possible. He really didn't fancy the idea of Kevin puking all over a possible crime scene.
Charlie made a quick sweep around the small house, noting that none of the windows were open or broken. The back door was locked as well so Charlie returned to the front. He looked around, wondering if maybe one of the neighbours might have a key to the house, but quickly waved off the idea. The nearest neighbour was several hundred meters away and they weren't exactly coming to check on the commotion. If anything, Charlie could've sworn he saw a mother call in her children the minute their car parked in front of Marty Hanson's house.
"Looks like we'll have to do this the old fashioned way," Charlie muttered and kicked the door. It made a creaky sound, but the door was more sturdy than it looked. Charlie frowned and gave it a few more kicks until finally the wood gave up.
Charlie entered the house, his gun drawn. Despite assuming the house was empty, he called out.
"Police! If anyone's here, come out!"
There was no noise and no movement. Of course there wasn't. What hit him in the nose though was the dusty smell of an unkempt house and that rank and pungent smell mixed with a tinge of sickening sweetness of a rotting body. Charlie grimaced and heard Kevin behind him make a gagging sound.
"Go outside if you gonna puke," Charlie warned, while doing a quick sweep of the ground floor. Everything seemed normal. No sign of a break in... no real sign of a struggle. Except for the living room of course, which had Marty Hanson lying next to a table, head split open like a watermelon.
Charlie squatted down next to the body, putting his gun away. His face scrunched up at the strong smell of blood and what he assumed was a body in decay. Kevin uttered a curse and Charlie heard his retreating footsteps. He didn't even roll his eyes, thinking that he might've reacted similarly to his first dead body. Maybe he should send Kevin to the morgue later in the day, to get the autopsy report. He was sure one frown from Alice would fix Kevin's queasy stomach and harden the kid a bit.
Charlie pushed away his wayward thoughts and focused on the body and the room itself. He was taking in the dust on the furniture, the greasy empty plate that lay broken on the floor just a few feet from the body. No furniture was overturned and the mess in the room looked somehow... organic. On par with how the hallway and the other rooms on the ground floor looked.
"What do we have here, Charlie?" Lucien Blake stepped into the room, barely even acknowledging the smell. He was quite used to death by now and Charlie didn't know if he should be jealous of that or not.
"Hey, Doc. You got here quickly," Charlie said and stood up, giving Blake a friendly smile. He spotted Kevin standing by the door, still a bit green around the edges.
"Why don't you wait outside for the van?"
Kevin gave a thankful nod and left. Charlie noted the amused look on Blake's face and rolled his eyes.
"I don't want him to make a mess in here," he explained, rather unnecessarily. Blake looked around.
"I think it would hardly matter," he noted, then the smile left his face as he leaned down and started checking out the body. "So... what happened?"
"We got a call from the postman. He was here about an hour ago delivering a package for Marty. He knocked on the door several times but got no response, so he looked in through the window. It took him about twenty minutes to get over the shock and find a phone," Charlie explained and watched as Blake carefully touched the body, checking the head wound, then the temperature.
"The head wound is nasty... but I'm not sure that's what killed him," Blake noted, deep in thought. Charlie frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"Any signs of forced entry?" Blake asked instead. Charlie shook his head.
"No. Everything looks fine down here. I still need to check upstairs though. Why do you think it wasn't the head wound?"
"I'm not sure yet, Charlie. There's nothing here he could topple over and the body is in a position that suggests he collapsed on the spot, instead of tripping. See his hands? No sign that he put them out to brace himself from the fall. He was most likely unconscious when he fell and hit his head."
"But his eyes are open," Charlie pointed out.
"He might've regained consciousness shortly... or it might've just been a muscle spasm."
Charlie looked doubtful, but it wasn't like he had any real medical knowledge so he let it go.
"Do you have any idea about the time of death?"
"Based on the smell and the fact rigor mortis has passed, I'd say more than 24 hours ago."
Charlie nodded, making a note in his notepad.
"I'll go and check the rest of the house. You'll be okay in here?"
"Of course, Charlie," Blake said, already focused back on the body. Charlie walked upstairs and gave it a quick check, noting the lack of mess there. Especially the main bedroom looked like it wasn't lived in for quite a while. But except for a thick layer of dust... the room seemed clean. No dirty clothes on the floor or empty dishes, not even an old newspaper. A photograph of a happy couple above the bed let Charlie know the reason. This was most probably a shrine to Hanson's wife... whether she left him or died Charlie didn't know.
After making sure there was no one hiding upstairs and no signs of entry either, Charlie headed downstairs. He was about to check in with Blake again when he heard a car pull up, followed by another one. He peered out of the door, seeing the van that would take the body parking on the front lawn. Hobart with Simmons stepped out of the second car and Charlie nodded at them. He gave them a quick rundown of the situation and Bill in turn let him know the postman was already at the police station giving his statement.
After a short discussion, it was decided that Hobart would stay at the house and Charlie with Kevin would go and talk with the neighbours. Probably the best idea seeing as Hobart suffered from a distinct lack of human skills. It took them over half an hour to talk with two of the neighbours. The third one who lived farthest from the house didn't seem to be home. Charlie and Kevin returned to the house just as two orderlies were carrying out the gurney with the dead body, Blake not far behind.
"Anything new, Doc?" Charlie asked, watching the black body bag with mixed feelings. It seemed like no one really knew Marty Hanson. The guy spent many years away in the war while his wife raised his two sons alone in this house. While the neighbours said he was an odd egg, they loved his wife and were sad when the woman had died of a lung disease. Her sons were adults by then and settling down with their own families. Hanson didn't take his wife's death well it seemed. He barely ever left the house afterwards, opting for a biweekly grocery run and nothing else. He could've been dead for several months for all the neighbours interacted with him.
"I'm more and more inclined to the theory that he suffered from some malady and the fall was just the consequence of that," Blake spoke and Charlie nodded. It was the best case scenario.
"It's almost a year since his wife's death. That might've helped it."
Blake grimaced, knowing all too well how hard loss of a loved one could get on people.
"Did you learn anything useful from the neighbours?"
"They didn't see any strangers around and Hanson wasn't the most social person. I think we'll have to wait for the autopsy right now. Did Bill find anything interesting?" Charlie asked with a half grin as he saw Hobart leaning over the car radio. Kevin was trying to keep away from the body and was pretending to check the windows and the door for any signs of an entry. Charlie couldn't see the other constable, but he would just bet Hobart sent him off to canvas the dilapidated garden and shed behind the house that Charlie saw from an upstairs window.
"Bill found an interest in several photo albums and a bunch of newspaper clippings. Hanson seemed to collect photos and articles about his war buddies." Blake gave Charlie a pointed look and Charlie barely contained a sigh. That meant that Bill was probably checking up on Hanson and his records. Maybe even being suspicious about the possibility of espionage. At least Munro wasn't in play anymore. Charlie was happy that Lawson took over. Whatever crazy idea Hobart gets in his head, Lawson will put him straight.
"I'll go talk to him. You all done here, Doc?"
"Yes. I'll be at the morgue, helping Alice with the autopsy then I'll stop by at the station. Jean is making her famous meatloaf, so you better make sure you get home in time for dinner," Blake said with a smile and gave Charlie a pat on the shoulder.
"Oh, I'll definitely be there," he said with a smile of his own. Just the mention of Jean's cooking was enough to put more energy into his steps. He stopped next to Hobart who had just finished speaking with Lawson on the radio and looked as grumpy as ever.
"Any info from the neighbours?" Hobart asked and Charlie told him what he learned, which wasn't much. Hobart listened, clearly not happy about the lack of evidence or suspicious behaviour. Charlie knew he would've been much happier if they had something to go on, like for example a middle of the night visit witnessed by one of the neighbours. But there was nothing and frankly everything, along with Blake's comments, was pointing at the fact this was a natural or accidental death, without anyone else's involvement. Charlie would've wondered why Bill wasn't happy about that, but he knew the last few weeks were rather dull, especially for Ballarat. Hobart and some other people were getting just a bit bored, lacking the hunt and the mystery. Charlie knew that well... he himself felt that jittery anticipation. Something was coming. Or well... something should be coming, before they start imagining new cases out of pure boredom.
He should've known better than to even think something like that.
"So are we all wrapped up here?" Charlie asked, looking back at the house. Hobart shrugged.
"If Simmons doesn't find another body or a bloody axe somewhere, yeah. Where the hell is the kid anyway?" Hobart muttered, then cursed.
"Damn, I forgot my hat in the house."
"Go find Simmons, I'll get the hat," Charlie offered. He had no inclination of diving through the knee high grass behind the garden looking for wayward coppers. With his luck he would get bitten by a snake. Not to mention he wanted to take one last look inside the house before they all packed up and left back to the police station. He had a feeling he missed something.
Hobart didn't question his offer, just nodded and headed to the garden, already bellowing Simmons' name. Charlie rolled his eyes and waved at Blake who was heading back to his own car.
Charlie stepped back into the house, grimacing at the smell. He totally forgot about it. Well, that explained why Hobart preferred to brave the jungle of the garden to returning inside the house. With a sigh Charlie covered his nose with one hand and went looking for Hobart's hat. He found it pretty quickly, sitting on top of a desk in what looked like an office. Charlie grabbed the hat and was about to leave the room, when he paused. The room was dusty and full of junk like the rest of the house... except for this one place. Not a speck of dust. In the house like this it was more than just a bit suspicious. Charlie frowned and stepped closer to the book case that was covering a good third of the wall.
There was just something that didn't add up. A hunch or a feeling. Charlie didn't often get those, he knew it was more of Blake's specialty, but he just knew there was something different about this room.
Charlie had spent long enough in the doctor's company to learn about secret passages and hidden rooms. He even tried to imagine the outline of the house... to put together a map and see if there was a chance something was hidden behind this book case. But he would need a pen and a paper for that and check the next room and the hall. That felt just a bit too slow. Maybe he could try and figure this out right here and then. Charlie looked at the books, running his fingers over the spines, looking at the titles. It ranged from Agatha Christie novels to encyclopaedias. There was no rhyme or sense in the arrangement at all. Not alphabetical, not by size or author. Nothing. It was a hot mess, just like the rest of the house.
Charlie nodded. Well, nothing risked nothing gained. He felt like an idiot, but he started pushing and pulling at the books randomly. He was at it for several minutes, too caught up to notice another car pulling up. He noted the subtle click as he pulled at the War and peace however. Charlie paused, then pulled the book out all the way. The book case moved and Charlie noted the small pressure switch that was hidden behind the book before the book case just slid open, almost knocking him off his feet.
"Bloody hell!"
Charlie stepped back, startled. It took him a moment to overcome the awe over the fact he found a real hidden door, before even Blake could. Then he pulled out his torch and shone it into the darkness.
oOo
The engine in Blake's car was already running and he was about to drive off of the dead man's lawn, when he saw a car speeding towards the house. Blake paused. Whomever was in that car looked to be in a hurry. and as it was coming closer. As soon as the car parked only few meters from Blake's own car, a haggard looking middle aged man stepped out. Blake was of half mind to just leave, after all he had other work to do, patients to see. But he got a good look at the man's face as he paused, seemingly unsure of whether he should approach Blake or head straight towards the house. The face bore a striking resemblance to the man Blake had examined just a half an hour prior.
With a sigh, Blake killed the engine and stepped out of the car.
He wouldn't leave and let Charlie deal with a distracted relative alone if he could help it.
"Who are you?" the man asked as he finally decided that Blake might be of some importance.
"I'm the police surgeon, doctor Lucien Blake. Pleasure to meet you, mister?" Blake reached out offering his hand, but the man just stared at it, dumbfounded.
"Police surgeon?" he repeated and it was obvious he heard something, just couldn't believe it. Blake nodded and retracted the hand. Niceties weren't that important when there was death involved, he knew.
"Are you a relative to Mr. Hanson?"
"I'm his son," the man replied, his voice choked. "Peter Hanson. Is... is my father dead?"
Blake looked Peter in the eyes and simply nodded. There was no way to soften the blow and the man was already anticipating the answer.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hanson. Your father was found dead earlier today by a postman."
As if hearing those words, Peter sagged back against his car, knees going weak. Blake instinctively grabbed for his arm, saving him from a fall.
"Here here, just sit down," he said as he opened the car door and pushed the man down on the seat. Peter took in several ragged breaths, running shaky hands through his hair and over his face.
"May I ask how did you know?" Blake doubted anyone from the station notified the man this soon.
"The neighbour called," Peter said, his eyes scanning the ground with interest. "She called because she'd seen the police cars and then the police started asking around. I... I work only a few miles away in the shop... I thought this was a mistake... Oh God."
Peter looked sick to his stomach and Blake put a calming hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in silent support. He looked around, hoping to see Hobart or Charlie pop out and come talk to Peter. Blake had questions, so many questions, but he was quite aware that none of the police officers would be happy about him getting to talk with Peter first without them present.
"How... how did he die?" Peter asked and there was something like detachment in his eyes. Blake grimaced.
"We are not sure yet. We'll have to wait for the autopsy."
Peter frowned.
"But... how can you not know? Was... was it violent? Or did he get sick?"
Blake paused.
"Why would you ask if it was violent?" he asked slowly, aware that he was maybe overstepping but also knowing that Peter's emotions were too raw right now and he might let something slip.
"Was it?" Peter blinked, then shook his head. "I don't know. Ever since coming back from war, my father always talked about someone coming after him and finishing the job. He is... he could be very paranoid at times. I wonder... just... what if he was right?"
Blake stored that information in his mind, then focused back on what Peter said.
"Did he have any enemies?"
Peter shook his head.
"No one in town. Dad was a recluse, ever since mom died. He just... he just seemed scared half the time. He was doing alright while mom was alive... she had a way with him. But afterwards... he went overboard. Didn't leave the house. Kept collecting all the guns and set up booby traps... my brother Mickey once opened a cabinet in the kitchen and a grenade rolled out. I mean... who does that?"
Blake froze. He looked around the house and he saw the war memorabilia, the photos, a helmet lying haphazardly on a chair. He knew Charlie had looked through some of the cabinets and closets as did Hobart. There were no signs of weapons however. No ammunition either. Might be there was really a break in and someone stole them?
"How many guns did your father have?"
Peter shrugged.
"I don't know. He never really let me go near them. After the incident with the grenade both Mickey and I swore not to visit him until he put it all somewhere safe. So he hid the stuff inside the bunker."
"Bunker?" Blake frowned. "What do you mean?"
"It's... not a real bunker. It was actually a bomb shelter, sort of. The house is built right on top of it. We always just used it as a cellar, but then dad went all crazy and hid the entrance behind a book case." Peter waved it off, obviously frustrated with the memories. Blake noticed movement around the house and waved at Bill and the constable to come over. There was a cold feeling in his stomach he couldn't explain.
He knew how much war and loss of a loved one could change a person. How strong the paranoia could get. He also knew that Charlie and the other officer were somewhere inside the house and didn't know there could be live ammunition lying around.
"Bill, this is Peter, son of Mr. Marty Hanson. You might want to talk to him," Blake said as soon as Hobart approached. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I need to talk to Charlie."
Without waiting for a reply, Blake pushed past a surprised and annoyed looking Hobart and headed inside the house.
"Charlie?" he called out in the hall, unsure where the man had gone. Surely, finding Hobart's hat couldn't be taking up so much time. "Charlie!" Blake repeated his call, only to get a curious look from Kevin who peered in through a window.
"Have you seen constable Davis?" Blake asked but only got a shake of a head in reply and a finger pointed somewhere inside the house. With a sigh and a growing feeling of unease, Blake started looking through the rooms one by one. Until he reached the office and noted what looked to be an open door with a book case and the dark space behind.
"Charlie!" he called out once again and felt relief when he saw the light of a torch appear somewhere down below, followed by a familiar: "Doc?"
"Can you come out, please?" Blake asked, uncomfortable with the thought of entering the cellar. He never did well in small closed spaces and the stairway seemed narrow enough for one person, not to mention two.
"Yeah. You won't believe what I found in here, Doc-" Charlie was saying excitedly and Blake saw his silhouette at the bottom of the stairs, moving up.
"Just be careful, Charlie-" he started to say but before he could finish he saw Charlie stumble over something right at the bottom stair. There was a sound of a click and Charlie turned, the light of his torch catching on a little round thing rolling across the floor. Blake heard an uncharacteristic curse coming from Charlie's lips as the torch fell out of his hand.
"Charlie?"
"Cover!" Charlie managed to shout as he ran up the stairs. Blake's eyes widened and he reached out, trying to grab Charlie's arm and pull him into safety as his brain connected the dots... but he was too late.
There was a blast of light so loud it felt like the world was coming down. Blake felt the pressure wave hit him straight in the chest as he was thrown backwards several meters. He rolled on the floor, stopping at the wall, dazed. His ears were ringing from the blast and for a moment the house vanished. He was looking up at the ceiling, but all he saw instead was a dark night sky filled with stars and the sounds of bombardiers flying through. The sound of falling bombs and people screaming in fear and pain... the smell of gunpowder, dirt and something else. Death.