Heatwave by Oliver Davies (the red fox clan txt) 📗

the room had been. I stared around in grim disgust at how cruel people could be. The elderly couple who lived here must have been terrified, I thought.

“Will the victims be alright?” I asked as the officer led us past the debris, picking through the glass.

“I don’t know, to be frank. The husband is in a stable condition, last I heard, and his wife is staying with him.”

I gave a nod of acknowledgement and gestured for the younger officer to go on. He took us through the back door to the small, slightly wild back garden, and I glanced around, initially not sure why he’d led us out here. Then I noticed the scattering of beer cans and spirits bottles in amongst the long grass. I glanced back at the broken back doors and realised that the glass had been smashed from outside, so the teenagers must have broken in from the garden.

“The teens were out here?”

The officer gestured to the fence which was looking worse for wear, now that I was directed to look at it. There were scuff marks on the top, and the wood was bowed.

“The bloke who lives over the road said the group came over here,” the officer explained. “Vaulted the fence and set up a party in the poor folks’ back garden, if you can believe it.”

“Then what?” I said, frowning as I looked around, trying to picture the scene.

“There was a cut-off 999 call from the house phone, so we know that they were going to call us to report it, but they didn’t complete the call.” He shook his head, looking older than his years. “The next we hear, there’s an old man having heart problems because some yobs have broken in, scared the hell out of him, and stolen or broken anything they could get their hands on.”

Stephen muttered a curse under his breath, and I rubbed a hand through my tacky hair, which the heat and humidity made cling to my forehead.

“Who called it in the second time?” I asked, stepping away to look over the garden for anything I might’ve missed; dropped jewellery or a lost wallet.

“That we don’t know, actually. The voice sounds young, and they were the one to say that the old bloke needed an ambulance. Might’ve saved his life.”

“A young person? Could it have been one of the teenagers themselves, after they’d seen what’d happened?” I guessed.

“Could have been.” The officer gave a nod.

“Can you make sure the audio for that call gets sent over to us? I’d like to listen to that.”

“Will do,” the officer promised.

“And can we speak to that witness of yours from over the street?”

“He said that he had to go out,” the officer apologised, “but we’ve got his contact details.” He dug a piece of paper from his pocket, and I copied down the witness’s name and phone number.

“Alright, thanks for that. Keep us updated, and we’ll look into it.”

After another careful scout around the house for anything that might be significant, Stephen and I headed back to the car and flopped down inside, flipping on the air con.

“You know what we’re doing next?” Stephen said from where he’d gone limp in the passenger seat, his head dropped back on the headrest.

“Going back to the station-”

“Nope. We’re off to Costa, Darren. I need something with a lot of ice, proto.”

“Understood.” I laughed, putting the car into gear and setting off. “I wouldn’t say no to an iced coffee either. This heatwave is killing me.”

“Tell me about it.”

Stephen took a cat nap on the way to Costa, only perking up to order a peach iced tea and fruit cooler. He drank the former while pressing the latter to his neck as I drove us back to Hewford, and I grinned at him.

“I thought you were the one who didn’t mind the heat,” I teased.

“Dry heat,” he protested. “Right now, York feels like a ruddy rainforest.”

He’d finished off both drinks by the time we pulled up in the station car park while I took my time sipping my coffee as we went up to our desks.

“Okay, what’s the plan?”

I was checking my emails and took a moment to reply.

“The 999 phone call audio has come through, so we’ll listen to that first.”

I didn’t carry headphones with me, preferring to run without music, but Stephen had a pair in the bottom of his rucksack. We shared them to listen to the emergency call that had been placed no more than a couple of hours ago.

“I need an ambulance,” a young voice gasped out, sounding fearful. “There’s a- a man, he’s- his heart! You’ve gotta send an ambulance. I think he’s dying-”

The operator started trying to get an address and a name out of the caller, but I’d heard enough, and I pulled out the earphone.

“I know that voice.”

Still listening to the call, Stephen put a finger for me to hold on, so I was quiet as I waited, my mind turning over.

“How can you know him?” he asked, once the audio had ended, and he’d taken the earphone out. “He doesn’t tell the operator his name.”

“You didn’t recognise it?”

“No?” Stephen frowned. “He definitely sounded young, but-”

“It’s Mickey, Stephen. I wasn’t sure until he said ‘ambulance’, and his accent was exactly the same. It’s very distinctive. Do you recognise it now?”

Stephen was looking uncertain, but the frown faded from his face when he played the audio again with Mickey in mind.

“Yeah, you’re right, it is him. What the hell.”

“So this could be the same group that set the barn fire, right? The group with Jules in, too.”

“Crikey.”

“And Mickey was clearly the one with a conscience, who decided that it’d gone too far and he needed to help that pensioner they terrorised.”

“Bit of too little too late, isn’t it?” Stephen muttered.

“No,” I protested with a frown. “It’s not ideal he was involved at all, true, but he could’ve saved someone’s life. There’s a big difference between causing property damage and refusing to help when someone’s