A Season For Everything - Matthew Fairman (pocket ebook reader .TXT) 📗

their beat, the streets were quiet. The drop in temperature meant that most people were staying in doors for the night. The houses, strung with fairy lights, the windows dressed with trees, doorways decorated with festive wreaths. It created a disarming atmosphere, there was something childishly nostalgic behind it.

‘God, I can’t wait for this one to be over. Every year I want less and less to do with christmas.’

‘Did you hear yesterday. There was a fight over at that new Tesco’s in town. Two grown adults fighting over a turkey. Guy punched the girl in the belly, she was six months pregnant and what the hell for. A dead bird.’

‘Good will to all mankind eh!’

It had been snowing hard for full day now and it was really beginning to pile up. It was a good four inches deep.

‘The schools will probably be closed tomorrow.’

‘Everything will be closed tomorrow, this country can’t handle a bit of snow.’

There was a call over the radio.

‘We have a disturbance over at 23 Glovers Lane, possible break in reported by a neighbour at number 21. Suspect is still believed to be at the scene.’

‘Roger that, we’re on our way’.

‘Well, that’ll be us then I guess. So much for a quite one.’

‘Hollis lifted her cuff and checked her watch. I reckon it’ll take us five minutes to get there if we trudge. We’ll probably even arrive before the panda can plough through all this white stuff.’

 

They passed through a small housing estate and crossed a sports field. There was some kids on mopeds grouped near the swings. One of them through a snowball. It smashed into a tree trunk, leaving a white powdery blister on the bark.

‘Oi you, get those bikes out of here.’ Hollis picked up her pace.

‘C’mon Steve we got slightly bigger fish to fry, lets not get distracted’

‘Little bastards’ Steve dragged his hand along the seat of a bench and formed a loosely packed snowball. He threw it but it crumbled in the air and scattered.

‘Ha ha, fuck you pig’. The kids curses faded in the air behind them.

They exited the park near the local library and took a small path that was hemmed in by flats on one side and the railway lines on the other. A footbridge crossed the tracks and passed by some garages that backed on to Glovers Lane. It was a quite suburban street. Small red bricked terraced houses, to up two downs, mainly owned by young middle class families. They rang the doorbell to number 21. An old lady answered the door at a crack. ‘Good evening, we had a report of a burglary next door, I wondered if we could come in.’ The woman undid the chain and opened the door walking away down the hall leaving them standing on the doorstep. Steve looked at Hollis and smiled. The old lady beckoned them to follow from over her shoulder. She was squat and round. Her hair, which was grey and straight trimmed short and severe like a schoolboys haircut.

‘Come in, come in won’t you. I’ll show you. He’s still in there. I’ve been watching ever since I rang.’

My name’s PC Bergan and this is PC Lusie. Did you actually see the suspect Miss ...’ ‘It’s Mrs Gream and yes. I saw him. Come through to the kitchen.’ They followed her down a short flight of stairs and into a small dark galley kitchen that backed on to the garden.

‘Look there see.’ She pointed past the net curtains out the window to next doors back garden.

‘Thats where I saw him, I was scared half to death. I had the lights turned off and I watched him. Just caught his back legs disappearing in through the back window.’

‘Is your neighbour home Mrs Gream?’ asked Steve, jotting notes into a tiny book.

‘I wouldn’t knows, I don’t never see him. Keeps to himself mostly, a quiet little man. I think he’s one of those depressed types. Never smiles. You don’t think his still in their now do you? Can you imagine, and he could of come in here and me all alone. It don’t bare any thinking about.’

Hollis walked to the back door and tried the handle, it was locked and there was no key. She peered out the window into the garden.

‘Well you did the right thing Mrs Gream. You sit tight. We’ll have a little look around. That gate at the end of your garden, is it locked?’

‘Oh yes, I always keep it locked. I’ll get you the keys.’ Mrs Gream pulled a small set of folding steps from beside the fridge and set them down in front of the back door. Climbing up on tip toes she reached on top of a cabinet and brought down a small bunch of keys. Stepping down and with her foot she folded up the steps and tucked them back beside the fridge. It was all very painfully slow to watch.

‘Here you are. These two are for the back door and this little one does the padlock. I don’t ever open the gate.’

Steve undid the shot bolts and unlocked the back door. There was a clean white line of snow dividing the threshold. It was a small square garden, more like an exercise yard than a garden. Steve cleared the snow from a low wall and climbed onto the flower bed. He peered over into next door. He climbed back down.

‘Theres a gate next door too. it looks like it just has a latch and no locks. We could give it a try.’ Hollis squeezed through the doorway past Mrs Gream and took the keys from be upturned palm.

‘You get inside out of the cold now, we’ll call back in a minute and let you know whats what.’

She shut the door and heard the shot bolts slide back into place. The padlock was stiff but after a bit of pulling and jiggling of the key the hook sprang open. The hinges of the gate had collapsed and Hollis had to lift it up to open it.

‘I guess there’s no Mr Gream around anymore.’ said Steve.

There was an overgrown passage that backed onto the garages that now seemed to serve as a graveyard for the remains of DIY projects long since forgotten. Steve pointed at some deep footprints that ran along the alley towards them and ended just in front of next doors back gate.

‘I guess this is the way our friend came too.’

Steve gingerly lifted the latch and opened the gate with ease. The foot prints continued across a small patch of lawn up to the back wall of the house. Here they danced and crisscrossed about in a confused pattern.

‘Looks like he was trying to work out the best way in.’

There was a small potting shed, its door was ajar. Hollis poked her head inside. It smelt of creosote and contained nothing particularly unusual.

‘Here, Hollis,’ whispered Steve. ‘Looks like we found our friends way in’

Neatly stacked in a depression in the snow was a stack of rectangular panes of glass. They had been removed from a louvre window next to the back door.

‘He’s very tidy for a burglar isn’t he’.

In front of the window was a large green water butt, There were drag marks around its base and the snow had been wiped clean from the lid.

‘Here take my hand.’ Hollis held out her hand and with Steve supporting her she climbed up and knelt on the barrel. With her other hand she gripped the drain pipe to steady herself.

‘Well theres no sign that he cut himself trying to get in, there goes your DNA.’

She poked her head inside. There was light coming from the hallway but it was still quite dark in the kitchen. Hollis waved her hand in the air in front of Steve’s face.

‘Pass me your torch’ she whispered.

Below the window was the sink. Inside the sink were some ice cubes and and ice cube tray. On the counter top was a quarter bottle of old grouse, the lid had been removed and was standing next to it. Puddles of brown water led across the kitchen floor to a pair of muddy hiking boots. There was the sound of a studio audience laughing and clapping on a TV set from somewhere inside the house. Hollis pulled her head back out from the window and slid down off the butt laughing.

‘Well’ said Steve

‘Well, I guess that either this burglar likes breaking into his own house for practice or he’s decided to stop for dinner. I say we go back round and have a knock on the door and introduce ourselves properly.’

Beaton kicked his boots off onto the kitchen floor and stuffed his gloves into the open tops. He took out a tray of ice from the freezer. He dumped it in the sink upside down and let the tap run over it. The cubes cracked and popped as they fell from the tray into the metal sink. He put some ice in a glass with a triple shot of whisky. He knocked it back and poured himself another. He went into the living room and switched on the TV, turning up the volume to drown out his thoughts. The whisky was making him light headed. He was warm he unbuttoned his coat and put his hat in his pocket. He sat low in the chair with his legs stretched out, staring at the TV screen. The glass of whisky was resting on the arm, every now and then he would swirl it round and take a few small sips. There was a ring at the doorbell. He switched off the TV and put the empty glass on the floor. Stepping in to the hallway he closed the living room door to cut out the light. The front door had three small frosted panes of glass, like slices of a pie, that formed a semi circular shape. Below the window was a peep hole. In the distorted lens, like the reflection in a christmas bauble, he saw two police officers standing on his front door step.

‘What have you done, Oh Beaton what have you gone and done now?’

He crouched low against the wall. The doorbell rang again and was shortly followed by the knocker. He heard the letterbox open.

‘Hello, it’s the police. Could you open up?’

It was a young woman’s voice. He heard the letter box fall and then the door bell began to ring again.

Beaton edged along the hall and backed away into the kitchen. He replaced the cap to whisky bottle and put it his pocket along with his gloves. He stepped into his boots but didn’t bother to tie them. He opened the back door and ran across the garden and out into the alleyway. He retraced his steps exactly. Making sure not to make any knew tracks in he snow. His footsteps took him along the front of the garages. Some of them were abandoned, some kids had forced open several of the doors to light fires inside. He lay down and squeezed himself under one of the opened doors. Once inside he reached outside and tried his best to wipe away his tracks in the snow. He crept over to the back wall and sat down on a pallet behind a pile of empty tea chests. He wasn’t tired so he decided to drink the whiskey instead, it was going to be a long cold night.

From out in the street you could see the light from the living room shining through the curtains of the bay window. ‘Lights are on but no ones home.’ Hollis pressed the doorbell again. She heard it ringing behind the door. Crouching down she rapped on the knocker and called through the letter box ‘Hello, it’s the police. Could you open up.’ Steve rang the bell again

‘Look Hollis, he ain’t going to answer so whats the point.’

There was the sound of a door chain and locks turning. Mrs Gream had opened her door and was leaning over her fence