[Keplaz]

Synopsis: A grieving Police Inspector is puzzled by a seemingly accidental death. A take on the English Detective story.


Driven to Death

Detective Chief Inspector Jack Harris crashed the telephone receiver back into its cradle. A breeze from the eternally open window, caressing his tanned face, its frosty touch doing nothing to cool his already blazing temperament. How dare they! The offending article lay on his outrageously tidy desk, the crumpled newspaper spread across the brown mahogany background. Jack didn't know whether to be furious, annoyed or really pissed off. The ire was emanating off him in almost tangible waves but in the deepest part of his heart, what he really felt was hurt. Most of the people in his office had been colleagues, workmates and in some cases, friends, for over fifteen years. This felt more like an act of betrayal than anything else.

Detective Sergeant Tom Dawson rapped crisply, twice, on the panel of stained glass on the door. He didn't wait for a response and surged through the doorway confidently. He shivered slightly as a blast from the window caught him squarely in the face. The DCI had suffered from bouts of asthma as a child and preferred his air to be fresh rather than stale and recycled through the air-con system. There was a running joke about a coat stand being placed outside DCI Harris' office. Going in there always felt like a forage into some Arctic maelstrom instead of simply stepping into an office in Friedlands, Kent.

“You called for me, sir?” Tom Dawson said, a grin present on his jig-saw puzzle face.

“Damn right I did!” Harris bellowed, the temperature increasing drastically at his fiery outburst, “What's the meaning of this Tom?” he said, thrusting the open newspaper in the Sergeant's face.

Tom Dawson squinted as he read the indicated article, the headlines screaming at him:

Local Man Dies in Car Crash

Dawson didn't even read the whole thing, he knew what it said. He was the one who had done the interview with the Friedlands Gazette. He felt rivulets of sweat trickling down the sides of his torso, he had felt guilty about not telling the Inspector about it and had only just managed to talk the guilt out of his body, he felt it returning with the strength of a flood.

“I thought they would have told you, sir. I was told I no longer reported to you anymore,” he averted his gaze from the Inspector's deep blue eyes as he said this, staring shamefacedly out the open window. He felt like a naughty school boy.

Inspector Harris' face seemed to drain of all colour. There was a dull ache in the pit of his belly and he looked dazed. He wouldn't have looked any different if Sergeant Dawson had slapped him across the face. All the anger seemed to evaporate into a cloud of confusion. He hadn't expected such honesty. His glance involuntarily shifted to the bottom drawer of his desk but he looked up again quickly, controlling his right hand which had twitched towards the drawer handle.

“I'm sorry Jack,” Tom Dawson began, planting himself in the chair opposite Detective Inspector Harris, “I know I should have told you but I couldn't. I didn't expect you to find out like this.”

He waited for DCI Harris' response, the shroud of silence creating a degree of distance that didn't truly reflect the level of respect both men had for each other. Tom Dawson was heartbroken to see his friend look so wounded. Jack Harris had only just returned from a holiday in Australia, an enforced holiday the Superintendent had made him take after the death of his wife. Dawson hated himself for adding to his friend's grief but there was nothing he could have done.

“It was DCI Richards, Jack. She took over the case and said we were not to bother you. Besides, she thinks it was an open and shut case, the guy drove into Hover's Gorge. It was just an accident.”

Jack Harris remained silent, running a huge hand through his salt and pepper hair, his wrinkled face contorted into a frown.

Tom Dawson felt another chill go through his body. How he wished he could shut that damned window! Dawson's face seemed as if it had been put together in the dark. It wasn't an unpleasant face, just haphazard with the different parts scattered about in a grotesquely artistic way. His scraggly blonde hair made him seem more like a cartoon rather than a middle-aged father of three.

“Okay, Sergeant, tell me what happened. I'm not too fond of open and shut cases. Next time please ensure that ALL cases come through me first. DCI Richards isn't your direct superior Sergeant Dawson, I am.” Harris growled, his voice perfectly measured and his words calmly delivered.

Tom Dawson flinched. Their friendship had long passed the barriers between first names and official titles, any reversion to Sergeant Dawson meant that DCI Harris was not a happy man.

“The man, one Simon Robinson, drove into Hovers Gorge at approximately 9:30 am yesterday. The crash was witnessed by two teenagers playing truant and smoking cigarettes nearby. A few items were recovered from the car wreck.” Dawson read from a black notebook that had magically appeared in his hand.

“Wasn't the road to the gorge closed up a few weeks ago?”

“It was, sir. The sign had been removed. It is always getting removed by naughty teenagers, it just hadn't been replaced yet. And since the gorge just happens to be pretty much in the middle of the road, just after a bend, it was always an accident waiting to happen.”

Inspector Harris nodded. Hovers Gorge definitely always had been an accident waiting to happen. It wasn't so much a natural gorge as a man made one. It had been used as an unconventional refuse dumping site for a number of years. And slowly edged its way into the road from it's original positioning a few metres away. Admittedly it did look like a simple accident but Harris was not easy to convince.

“How long had the man lived in Friedlands? Surely everyone in this town knows not to drive into that, was he suicidal?”

“He'd lived here all his life, sir. His wife came to identify the body. She was devastated and broke down at the sight of the car. The neighbours confirmed that he had been arguing with his wife and one even hinted that he was on the verge of leaving her for his secretary. I saw the secretary, sir and I think it's unlikely. Robinson was not the best looking man in the world and well, she could have been a model. It was a simple accident, he really was hopeless with directions.”

“What did Mrs Robinson do for a living, Sergeant?”

“She was a software engineer but she resigned recently, sir,” he obliged.

“No access to drugs? Did they do a toxic-scan on the body? Any chance he was drugged?”

“Nothing, sir. Toxicology found nothing. He seems to have just wandered onto the road.”

Harris nodded again, clearly immersed in thought. Dawson was used to these deep silences, Harris was always like this when he was thinking. The Inspector didn't look as if he was ready to be at work again, just as yet. He still looked unwell and had bags under his eyes. His skin, though tanned, looked distinctly unhealthy. He had suffered a recurrence of the childhood asthma problems after his wife's death. DCI Richards had been brought in as a stand in during Harris' vacation and she had shown no signs of wanting to leave, now that he had returned. It was no secret that she was gunning for the job permanently.

“Okay Tom...” Harris began, “Tom,” he repeated to himself and then he smiled and scribbled something on a notepad then tore the leaf out. “Tom take this piece of paper and show it to Jennifer in Forensics.”

Sergeant Dawson got up to leave and just he had placed his hand on the door knob, Inspector Harris added,“And have Mrs Robinson arrested for murder. She killed her husband.”

Dawson froze in the doorway and took a quick breath, then he turned rapidly.

“Are you sure Jack?” he said, his eyes pleading with Harris not to do this.

Harris may have been the best Detective, Friedlands had ever known, whose phobia for change had been the only thing that had limited his ascent up the food chain, but he couldn't afford to be making mistakes at a crucial time like this. DCI Richards was looking for any way possible to take over his job.

“I'm certain, Tom.” Harris said dismissively.

Dawson shook his head slowly as his trudged out of the room, Harris had better be right, his job depended on it. Dawson glanced at the paper, trying to make sense of it, it only had one word on it in capitals. His name, Tom.

As soon as the door shut, Harris reached for the bottom drawer again, this time opening it and extracting a silver framed photograph. He stared at the photograph, lost in a time warp. The picture was of a stunning woman with Auburn hair in her early forties. Michelle. His Michelle. The only woman he had ever loved, snatched mercilessly away by breast cancer, after a topsy turvy two year struggle. She would have wanted to know about this case. The Inspector wrestled with tears and forcefully returned the photo back to its refuge, a small bottle of Vodka emerging this time. Harris took a long swig, relishing the warmth in his chest as the liquid made it's way down his gullet. He wiped his mouth and took yet another sip, and then with a sudden motion, wrenched the Vodka from his lips. He couldn't get drunk, not yet. The liquor was returned to it's hiding place, there would be plenty of time for that later.

The conference sounded like the hive of a cluster of restless bees. It was buzzing with sound, the whole Friedlands' Police Force seemed to have assembled there. Everyone was standing, perhaps by accident or design, in a circle, a tenacious looking woman with silky black hair standing at the heart of group. She had a cruel smile upon her thin lips and was preening pink, manicured fingernails. It wasn't hard to tell who was in charge there. Another woman, her skin pallid and leathery, with a mask of make up that had been smudged by a torrent of tears and an unruly forest of unkempt hair, sat on a plush chair not far from the middle. She was not handcuffed but it was obvious that she was a prisoner there.

There was sudden a commotion as a man strode through the hordes. Regal and tall with sun baked skin and an air of authority, and stood next to the woman. There was a hush as the hive subsided, DCI Harris had arrived and the meeting was about to begin.

“Shouldn't this be done in an interview room?” a jittery Sergeant Dawson asked the formidable woman with the silky hair.

DCI Richards smiled.

“No, Dawson, I want this in public if you don't mind.”

Everyone knew what her intention was. She wanted to humiliate Harris, give him no option but to leave in disgrace, a confused and nearly senile old man. She had told the Superintendent, several times, that Harris was finished. Broken by the cold hands of sorrow, that retirement was the best thing for him, he was a shadow of the man he had once been.

“Thank you for coming everybody,” he began, after clearing his throat, “I'm not sure who I can thank for this audience but it's best to get this matter settled.

“Are you Rita Robinson?” he said, approaching the woman in the chair.

She nodded feebly.

“You have been made aware of your rights? You do know you can, and probably should have a solicitor present?”

The frail creature burst into life, her voice surprisingly confident, her tone refined and upper class.

“I will not need one. Not until I sue this police department. MY husband is dead, an obvious victim of tragedy and I'm the one who gets persecuted. I assure you, Inspector, you will regret this.”

DCI Richards somehow felt the need to intervene, “You do understand I was against this whole thing Mrs Robinson, I felt you had suffered enough already and didn't need this spectacle.” she said sweetly, honey dripping off her tongue as she placed an arm on Rita Robinson's shoulder. It was sickening.

There was a murmur of disapproval in the assembled hoard. They all knew what she was doing. Everyone generally hated DCI Richards, they admired Harris' elegance and fair way of doing things. He had clearly messed up though, they were resigned to his departure. He would be greatly missed.

“Rita Robinson, I see that you an attractive woman, not one without much pride, I have spoken to your neighbours and it seems as if your husband was on the verge of leaving you...”

“I have never denied that Inspector. I still don't see any point of me being here. You have no motive, means or opportunity. You have nothing.” She interrupted, spitting the last nothing as if it were venom.

The crowd could sense defeat hanging over DCI Harris' head. He was finished.

“I spoke to your neighbours,” the corpse continued, refusing to die, “I also spoke to your boss. Mrs Robinson, I understand your husband was dire with directions, so the question is why didn't he drive into that road before?”

“The answer came to me as I was thinking about my Sergeant's name in my head and then I could see the picture perfectly.” Harris' manner was calm, his words soft and his delivery eloquent.

“Your husband was never good looking. You used to torment him about this daily, knowing he could never find anyone else. I have information from your neighbours that you belittled him constantly. He was what we could call “hen pecked”. Then one day, you found out he wanted to leave you and not only that, but that he had found someone who loved him as he was and was also better looking than you. His mistake was not in cheating, Mrs Robinson, it's in cheating with a, for lack of a better word, goddess. Someone better looking than you could have ever hoped to be”

The room was now a cemetery, no one even dared to breathe. Rita Robinson's already pale face seemed to grow even whiter. She was losing composure. DCI Richards was still the picture of serenity, she was already rearranging Harris' office in her head.

“Simon Robinson sealed his fate when he announced he was leaving. The reason he had never driven into that gorge before despite his ineptitude with directions was because of technology. He used a GPS system or as they are commonly called, TOMTOM. The motive was jealousy and the method was the TOMTOM,” he finished with a flourish.

Rita Robinson was shattered but she wasn't out.

“You can't prove any of that Inspector.”

“Oh but I can,” he said, flashing a smile.

“Your fingerprints were all over your husband's GPS and with your knowledge of computers, it became obvious to me how it was done. Your other mistake was found dumped in the gorge itself. The road block. It had been there for over a year now but suddenly it starts getting stolen every few weeks and then a man dies not long after.”

“It was teenagers,” she interjected, her voice barely a whisper.

“No madam. There were no teenagers. You finger prints were found on a knob on the sign. I'm sure you wore gloves but there is a screw on the sign that locks into the ground, you can't undo it with gloves on. We found your prints on the sign. Did you know most murders are committed by someone known to the victim?” Harris said as he turned to face her, his intense blue eyes staring into her soul.

Rita Robinson was now weeping freely and DCI Richards was shuffling uncomfortably on her feet, her eyes roving manically.

There was an unexpected round of applause from the crowd watching the proceedings.

It was over.

Dawson made a movement as if to hug his old friend and was pushed coldly away.

“Sergeant Dawson, take her away.” Harris said as he turned towards the doorway and strutted out.

The boss was back.

Nice concept. I could sort of see the twist coming but it was kind of funny and clever. Are you going to turn this into a series?

[cubjamaican]

i love the story, i hope there will be more to come

[Kitzwa]

I loved this story. It was very suspenseful. I didn't see the ending coming. I did find one small spelling error, but I got into the story so much that I forgot where it was. Great job. Hope to read many more like it.

[xtremelady]

I have to agree with the other comments --- i want mooore - hope you do decide to continue with it. A great read!

[brutusshh]

Interesting story you have here.
I found a few mistakes you should correct. In the next sentence I believe you should also change "man" into "guy", since his name is Mann.

A man called Simon Mann. He was on his was

Hovers Gorge wasn't in one of those roads one could suddenly

Very classic. However, I can't understand how he could have driven into the gorge. Wasn't he watching the road? You can have a GPS, but that doesn't mean you don't have to watch the road, right? If you can clarify that for me, I would be very grateful.

[Keplaz]

Thanks for the comments. The gorge is unexpected. The reason the road should have been closed of is because when you realise the gorge is there, it's already too late. It occurs soon after taking a turn in the road, just a few yards after. No local would be expected to make that mistake as they would know about the gorge and it should have come up had the GPS not been fiddled with. Not water-tight but hope that helps.

['Ginnis]

Clever, I liked it a lot. The characters were developed enough so as that you could understand enough about them in what little time there was to learn. Harris is complex enough that this would make a great series.

[Peppy]

Ha, that was an entertaining read. This is pretty much a short and straightforward mystery. You pretty much ignored all the technicality of an investigation, but it would be too technical if you did so; but since you ignored the technicality, you also left your in an estranged state. For example, I’ll give you my estranged state, how long did it take to collect the evidence, you didn’t clearly state that, it makes me wonder whether it was a day or more. I wonder.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed reading along. This felt like a real mystery. Your character, Inspector Harris, was likeable due to his smarts and less on his ego. He’s awesome, so was Tom Dawson. Tom seemed to play a small but big part in the story, acting as a sort of Watson. I think this story-line can be expanded due to Inspector Richards because her grudge against Harris is unresolved. Maybe she set him up?

Hmmmmmmmmmm…, did I leave anything out?

Oh yeah, you have comma issues I found them missing in various places especially when a name was directed to a person. This might be an old thread story, you might have improved in time, but I’m saying it just in case.

Other stuff:

“I spoke to your neighbours,” the corpse continued, refusing to die, “I also spoke to your boss. Mrs Robinson, I understand your husband was dire with directions, so the question is why didn't he drive into that road before?”<---you don’t need this quotation mark because he continues to talk to the next paragraph.

“The answer came to me as I was thinking about my Sergeant's name in my head and then I could see the picture perfectly.” Harris' manner was calm, his words soft and his delivery eloquent.

“Your husband was never good looking. You used to torment him about this daily, knowing he could never find anyone else. I have information from your neighbours that you belittled him constantly. He was what we could call “hen pecked”. Then one day, you found out he wanted to leave you and not only that, but that he had found someone who loved him as he was and was also better looking than you. His mistake was not in cheating, Mrs Robinson, it's in cheating with a, for lack of a better word, goddess. Someone better looking than you could have ever hoped to be”

Using quotation mark within quotation marks is a no-no and grammatically wrong. You have to use ‘LOOPY‘.

(P.S., it late, I'm sorry if I mispelt anything.)