Death in the Black Wood, Oliver Davies [short story to read TXT] 📗

opened it, and I could smell the sweaty odour coming off her from several feet away. She was dressed in a pair of filthy jeans and an equally grubby sweatshirt. Her long brown hair clearly hadn’t been brushed, let alone washed, for quite some time, and her sallow face and unhealthy complexion told their own story. I wondered what her drug of choice was. Decent food was clearly not a top priority for this girl when it came to deciding how to spend her income.

“Debbie,” Phil McAvoy greeted her with a twitch of a smile, as she scratched idly at an eczema covered wrist. “How are you today then, hon?”

“No so bad thanks, Phil. What brings you here?”

“These police officers want to talk to you and Sharon about Dominic. It seems we were wrong about him after all. He’s turned up dead and they’re saying he was murdered.”

Her eyes widened slightly in vague interest.

“Oh, aye? Get into a fight, did he? I wouldnae be surprised. I always said he could turn violent, didn’t I? That quiet act of his didn’t fool us. Gave me the creeps alright he did.” She edged backwards so we could all get in and I found myself standing on a grubby, sticky piece of old carpet in the hallway as Caitlin closed the door behind us.

“Is Sharon in?” Phil asked as he shepherded Debbie along the hallway which could have used a good cleaning. A fresh coat of paint was long overdue too, by the looks of the yellowing walls.

“Aye, but she’s still sleeping. I’ll go and give her a shout, shall I?”

Sleeping? But I’d distinctly heard two voices while we were waiting outside.

“Aye, you do that hon. I’ll just show these two Dominic’s room while we’re waiting.”

Debbie nodded and headed off up the stairs at the back of the hallway and McAvoy pulled out a bunch of keys and opened up the door on our right.

“Like I said, the room’s already been packed up ready for the next tenant,” he told us and pushed the door open.

The room we walked into was quite spacious, for a bedsit. There was a single bed and a wardrobe in the far right corner, and a couch, coffee table and TV taking up the middle space, all old and worn. A kitchenette area on the right was equipped with a microwave, a kettle and a small, under the counter fridge.

The place looked a lot cleaner than the hallway had and smelled better too. I noticed a little plug in air freshener in a socket down by the skirting board next to the wardrobe. It looked like someone had recently given the carpet a good cleaning too and I doubted that was Phil McAvoy’s doing. Slum properties like this one got minimum investment from their owners.

“It looks like Dominic bought himself a couple of appliances and things,” I commented as I opened up the microwave. “This looks almost brand new. So does that lightshade.” I gestured at the ceiling. “Bare bulb before, was it?”

“Aye, he kept the place nicely, I’ll give him that, and I doubt he’d have wanted to use the kitchen more than he had to. The girls can be a messy pair at the best of times.” I could imagine! I opened up some cupboards, all empty. Caitlin was doing the same with the TV unit and the wardrobe.

“Where did you put Dominic’s things?” I asked, and McAvoy gestured at a couple of bulging bin bags in the corner.

“He didn’t leave anything but some clothes and bits and bats. He didn’t have much.” Caitlin and I pulled on gloves and went to examine the bags. As we’d been told, there was nothing in them but clothing, footwear and a couple of books. Nothing valuable. A search of various pockets produced a couple of receipts.

“Looks like he bought himself a nice little laptop in December,” I said, looking up from where I was crouching. “I don’t suppose you found that here, Mr McAvoy?”

He just shook his head. “Maybe he took it with him, or sold or pawned it.” He shrugged and I let it pass.

“What happened to his kitchen things? I imagine he’d also have some basics in here. Plates, bowls, mugs, cutlery?”

He scowled down at me. “Aye. I moved all those to the kitchen when we packed the room up. He could have got them back if he’d come looking for them.” I nodded.

“And you can produce a copy of the rental agreement? And records of his deposit and rent payments? Were those monthly or weekly?”

The scowl deepened.

“Monthly, in advance.”

“So he was paid up until the end of January? I’m afraid I must be missing something here Mr McAvoy. Why has this room been packed up?”

For an answer, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages before handing it to me. A message had been sent from Dominic Chuol’s phone on Saturday the twelfth. ‘Phil, I’ve been offered a better job in Glasgow and have to leave. Please take this as my two weeks’ notice. You can refund the deposit to my account. Thanks.’

I took my own phone out and snapped a picture of it.

“But he left these clothes and other possessions behind,” Caitlin commented. “Didn’t that strike you as at all unusual, Mr McAvoy?” He just shrugged again.

“Not really. He wouldn’t be the first tenant I’ve ever had who left a pile of unwanted junk behind for me to deal with.” We had everything neatly folded away again by then. The bags would be coming with us, of course. There was a slight chance that forensics might be able to find something useful among those belongings.

When I looked, the pedal bin by the kitchenette had been emptied, so we wouldn’t get anything from there. We moved over to the couch and lifted the cushions off to feel down the back but didn’t find anything. I walked around to the back of it and tipped it backwards so Caitlin could check underneath.

“Nothing but what