Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

L udbrook Grove estate was one of those places people avoided unless they had the bad luck of living there. Even though Beth knew of its reputation, the state of the place always surprised her. Why they stuck social housing estates close to small middle-class villages was a mystery to her. It just emphasised the class distinction and caused trouble all around, especially for the police, who were forever being called out about house egging or car flouring.

‘Never been here at night?' Matt smiled, taking in Beth's expression at the girls hanging out on the corner of the street in their short skirts and laddered tights, touting for punters.

‘Can't say a night visit to Ludbrook Grove was on my bucket list.' She grinned.

‘It's on my patch, so I've had the pleasure. Can't see it in all its best points in the dark.' Matt smiled, climbing from the car.

‘When you say you've had the pleasure. I'm presuming you don't mean literally,' she said, nodding at the girls.

‘Do I look that desperate?' he asked, affronted.

‘I bet they egg you on, though, a good-looking lad like you.'

‘I feel sorry for them. It's a rough start in life, and no one bothers to help them or highlight the problem. They have their banter with me. I don't mind. Let me show you Ludbrook Grove in all its glory.'

‘I can see enough,' said Beth, taking in the piles of rubbish.

‘You're not nicking us tonight, are you, sweetie?' called one of the girls.

‘More important things to do,' replied Matt.

‘Aw, more important than us?' The girl pouted.

‘I'm afraid so.'

‘Let's stroll around and see if we can spot a trail bike,' Beth said, tripping over something on the ground and wobbling slightly. Matt's hand steadied her. She realised that any other time, he wouldn't have needed to do that. I've got to stop drinking , she thought. Could Matt smell the alcohol on her breath?

‘What the hell was that?' she said, shining her torch onto the ground. She'd tripped over an empty beer can. Beside it were cigarette butts and used hypodermic needles.

‘Not again,' exclaimed Matt.

Beth sighed. ‘We need to contact social services.'

Matt shrugged. ‘I've already done it. You know how it is. Cutbacks everywhere.'

‘I don't give a shit about cutbacks. Get onto them first thing.'

‘Right,' he said, looking at her oddly.

Beth let her shoulders sag and felt the tension ease slightly. ‘Sorry,' she said quietly. ‘Not a good day.'

‘I know,' he replied softly. Matt shone his torch on a garage that read ‘Benson's Repairs.'

‘No sign of a trail bike here,' he said. ‘It could be inside, of course.'

A cat scurried from behind a bin, making Beth jump.

‘Be grateful it wasn't a rat.' Matt smiled.

Beth shuddered. ‘You're really cheering me up tonight, aren't you?'

From across the street, loud music blared out from an open window. Beth crossed the road and entered the garden, carefully stepping around a broken satellite dish. The doorbell didn't seem to work, or she didn't hear it over the sound of Harry Styles.

Matt looked at her and then hammered on the door. Through the door's glass panels, they saw the light go on in the hallway, and then the door was opened just enough for Beth to glimpse through the crack into a cluttered hallway.

‘Who is it?' a woman asked.

‘Police,' said Beth, pushing her ID through the gap.

‘What's the problem?'

‘The music, Mrs…' began Matt.

‘Skinner,' said the woman. ‘I 'ave told him. Just ignores me. Freddie!' the woman yelled, and Beth thought her thumping head would burst.

The door opened wider, and a diminutive figure in a flannelette nightgown appeared. ‘I keep telling him to turn it down,' she said. ‘He never does what I tell him.'

‘Can you call him, please?' asked Matt, who struggled not to inhale the atrocious smell of stale sweat, food grease and urine.

‘No, it's fine,' broke in Beth, who didn't think her head would survive another yell. The music continued, pulsating through her brain like an African war dance. ‘Can we come in?'

Matt took a deep breath as the door opened wider. Beth reeled back at the stench before dodging past several cat litter trays that looked like they hadn't been cleaned in months and made her way upstairs. The stench of cat piss mixed with stale tobacco and fried food almost made Matt gag.

‘Don't you dare,' Beth warned him.

‘I'm not,' he said determinedly.

Beth banged on the door, where the music was deafening. ‘Freddie, it's Detective Sergeant Harper. Open the door, please.'

The music continued.

‘Bugger this,' she said and turned the door handle. The door was locked.

‘Freddie,' she shouted, ‘open the door, now!'

The music stopped, and after some minutes, the door opened. In the sudden silence that followed, Beth heard the faint sound of a dog whining somewhere in the house. Freddie stared at her, and Beth saw something she could only define as evil in his eyes. His close-cropped hair revealed a skin rash on his scalp.

‘So, what's up?' he said, chewing noisily on some gum.

‘I'm DS Harper, and this is DC Wilkins. The music,' she said. ‘Let's keep it off until a more sociable time, shall we?'

‘Whatever you say,' he said cockily. ‘It's only my house, ain't it?'

‘You have neighbours that don't appreciate your taste in music.'

‘Someone complained?'

‘I'm complaining,' said Beth, fighting back the impulse to whack the little sod around the head. The dog's continual whining was annoying her.

‘Do you own a trail bike?' asked Matt.

Freddie Skinner grinned. ‘Where would I keep a trail bike? Have you seen the crap my mum keeps in this dump?'

‘Polite, aren't you?' commented Matt.

‘It's my strong point.' Skinner smirked.

‘Maybe you've got a garage you keep it in?' suggested Matt.

‘I ain't got no trail bike, all right?'

‘Did you hear a trail bike tonight?'

‘In case you hadn't noticed, I had me music on.'

‘Do you know anyone who owns one?' asked Beth.

Skinner shrugged. ‘Am I my brother's keeper?'

Beth stared into the dark depths of his eyes. ‘Don't make me come back because I might not be so pleasant next time,' she said quietly, but the threat in her voice was deadly.

Skinner, feeling more confident now, pretended to shudder. ‘Oh, I'm so scared,' he said mockingly.

Maybe it was the hangover, the anniversary, or just the headache, but before Matt could react, she had Skinner pushed up against the wall of his room with his arm twisted behind his back.

‘Beth–' began Matt, shocked.

‘DS Harper,' she corrected before returning her attention to Skinner. ‘Now, listen carefully, you little turd. I've got a bloody awful headache, and you're not helping it. You start showing some respect to your mum and the police, or next time I'll break your arm, and if I hear any more complaints about your music, I'll confiscate all the equipment you own, and that's not a threat. It's a promise.'

She released him, and Skinner fell, shaking, onto his bed.

‘This is fucking harassment; that's what this is,' he snarled. ‘I could do you for assault.'

‘Yeah, make my day,' said Beth.

Matt followed Beth downstairs to where Mrs Skinner stood wringing her hands nervously. ‘I tried to tell him,' she said.

‘We'll be in touch with the RSPCA,' said Beth. ‘These animals are being mistreated, and if either of you should suddenly remember who owns a trail bike, call the station.'

‘Bloody hell!' exclaimed Matt as the door closed behind them. ‘That was a bit OTT, wasn't it?'

‘No discipline anymore,' she said, yanking open the car door.

‘Ah,' said Matt, like that explained everything.