Shallow Ground (Detective Ford), Andy Maslen [ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt] 📗

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.

‘That’s the plan. I’m a PCSO at the moment. I’m on the waiting list for a proper job to come up.’

‘Right. We’ll get you looked over by Dr Perry and then we’ll go along to the incident room. And I’ll have a word later with my guv’nor. See if we can’t fast-track you in the system.’

‘Wow! Thank you. You’d do that for me?’

‘What can I say? I’m a sucker for women who fight back.’

Dr Perry was fifty years old, a small-boned woman known for her collection of rainbow-hued Dr. Marten’s boots.

‘Did he hit you, Lisa?’ she asked, shining a pen torch into Lisa’s eyes and moving the beam from side to side.

‘Back of the head. A glancing blow. I heard him coming for me and was already turning into it.’

‘Most commendable. Any other strikes?’

‘He pushed me back into the wall. I caught the back of my head on a doorjamb.’

‘Let’s have a little look, shall we?’ Perry said, manoeuvring Lisa’s head round and peering at the back of it. ‘No lacerations.’

She probed a little with her fingertips, and Lisa yelped.

‘You’ll have a nice goose egg there for a few days, but other than that, you’re fine. If it hurts, just take the normal dose of paracetamol, and you can double up with ibuprofen if you need to,’ Perry said, switching off her torch. ‘When you’re back at home, if you feel at all woozy, or sleepy, get yourself to A&E. Say I sent you – it may help you get triaged faster.’

The examination over, Ford took Lisa to Forensics office.

‘Tell me, Lisa, do you have any links to the hospital?’ he asked her as they walked.

She shook her head. ‘Never been up there.’

Then he asked her the question that might unlock the case. He knew it could embarrass her, but he needed to know.

‘How about the food bank?’

She winced. ‘Money’s a bit tight, so . . .’

He smiled. ‘Listen, I’m not here to judge you.’

‘Thanks. People do, you know,’ she said, feelingly. ‘In fact, the bastard said he was from there. Can you believe it?’

Oh, Ford could believe it.

He pushed through the doors into Forensics. Hannah was nowhere in sight, but Alec was peering at a colleague’s screen.

‘Alec, got a minute?’ Ford said.

‘Of course, dear boy,’ Alec said, smiling. ‘Hello, who do we have here?’

‘Lisa Moore. Pleased to meet you.’

‘Lisa just fought off an attacker who I’m ninety-nine per cent sure is our boy,’ Ford said.

Alec glanced down at Lisa’s hands. His smile widened and his eyes twinkled. ‘And you preserved the evidence, smart girl. Come with me, Lisa.’

Alec sat Lisa at a desk, then hurried away and returned with debris pots and a fingernail scraper. He widened the elastic bands and placed them in a pencil pot.

‘Waste not, want not,’ he said, with a wink for Lisa.

He removed the bags and took her right hand in his own.

‘Be gentle with me,’ she said, grinning.

Ford marvelled at her resilience. Having just fought off a murderous assailant, she was bantering with the chief CSI. Yes, you’d make a great copper.

Exercising his usual care and keeping up a muttered commentary, Alec ran the slim tip of the scraper under each of Lisa’s fingernails. When he’d finished, he held the lidded pot up to the light.

‘Lots to be going on with,’ he pronounced. ‘We’ll fast-track these.’

‘What does that mean these days?’ Ford asked.

‘It all depends on their workload. Anywhere from twenty-four to forty-eight hours. At the moment, “fast” means forty-eight. Which is fast, by the way, Henry, before you unleash a tirade.’ He turned back to Lisa. ‘Now, let’s get your face cleaned up as well.’

He swabbed a sample stick across the blood smear on her forehead, bagged and labelled it and then fetched a bowl of water and a cloth. With infinite care, he dabbed, wiped and blotted until, with a flourish of the now pink washcloth, he said, ‘Much better! You don’t look like an extra from a horror film any more.’

With Lisa patched up, Ford took her back to Major Crimes and a seat in his office.

‘Can I get you anything?’ he asked. ‘Tea, coffee, a medicinal brandy? A bar of chocolate?’

‘I’ll pass on the choccy, but a tea would be lovely. Milk, no sugar, please.’

When two mugs of tea were placed on the circular table between them, Ford opened his notebook.

‘First of all,’ he said, ‘how on earth did you come off best in a fight with a possible serial killer?’

By way of answer, Lisa twisted round in her chair and pulled the straps of her top to one side, revealing a tattoo of a bugle suspended from a crown with the word RIFLES beneath it.

‘Regimental judo champion,’ she said. ‘I left the army two years ago. I kept up my training, plus a ton of cross-fit. I heard him coming and all my instincts kicked in.’

‘Impressive stuff. And now for the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. Could you describe him?’

She took a quick sip of tea. ‘I’m really not sure. It all happened so fast.’

Ford nodded. ‘Let’s start with an easy one, to get you going. How old would you say he was?’

She shrugged. ‘Late thirties? It was hard to tell. He had one of those young faces.’

‘That’s good. What else can you remember?’

‘OK, he was a white male, about six foot . . .’

‘Good, keep going,’ Ford said encouragingly. ‘Build?’

‘Quite muscular. Not a bodybuilder but, you know, in good shape.’

‘How about his face?’

Lisa started to speak, but then her face crumpled; tears welled over her lower lids and ran down her cheeks. She swiped at them angrily. ‘Bastard!’

‘It’s OK,’ Ford said. ‘You’re in shock. It does funny things to the memory. Let’s start with something simple. Do you remember anything about his eyes?’

‘He was wearing glasses. Thick frames.’

‘What about eye colour?’

‘Brown? Maybe? I’m sorry, I can’t remember.’

‘That’s fine. Don’t worry. You’re doing really well.’

In this way, Ford prompting without leading, Lisa answering, he built a description of her assailant.

Male

IC1

35–45

5’11”–6’0”

Medium/ athletic build/ broad-shouldered

Eyes: unknown/ thick-framed glasses

Black moustache

Clean-shaven

Dress: dark jacket, jeans

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