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“I’d like both of you round to number two Swansea Court right now. Ambulance is on its way: woman either dying or possibly dead. Her name is Jane Carter. The husband’s here at the station. The house has been burgled. Suspect may still be on the premises and very possibly further life at risk. Proceed with caution and I’ll get some more backup out to you.”
“On our way.”
Out in the lobby the sound of a mobile phone broke through, which was followed by a scream so spine-tingling that Maurice Cragg dropped the handset and raced back to the front desk.
Robbie Carter was still on the floor, staring at his phone with an expression dark enough to curdle milk.
“What’s wrong, Mr Carter?”
Robbie Carter’s eyes were wide: spittle had formed at the corners of his mouth. He showed Maurice Cragg his phone.
“He’s still there,” Carter hissed.
Chapter Four
Two squad cars pulled up at the house within seconds of each other, blue lights flashing but no sirens.
The four officers jumped out in unison and Constable Mike Atherton took charge. His partner, Emma Longstaff had only been with the team for three months. She was twenty years old and a direct replacement for the late PC Gary Close.
Atherton recognised the other two officers from Pickering as Dave Reynolds and Steve Smart. He issued orders. “Steve, Dave, can you go round the back? Emma, you come with me.”
Swansea Court was a small cul-de-sac with four houses, each one detached: two stood opposite each other on the way in. The other two were located at the bottom behind the small island used as a turning circle. Number two was the only one with a light on in the bedroom. Everyone else was obviously still in bed, unaware of the drama.
Atherton pushed open the gate and raced up the pathway. He had a very uneasy feeling about the whole thing. Cragg had said the woman was either dying or dead, with a possible suspect on the premises. He doubted very much the man would still be there now.
The front door was locked. “Emma, can you wait here? Keep your eyes and ears open and please be careful.”
A shout from the back informed Atherton that the officers had found an open window. On both counts, “life at risk”, and “suspect on the premises”, the scene had to be treated as a co-ordinated fast approach. Fresh in his mind were the five building block principles, of which the first was preservation of life.
Dispensing with formalities he barged straight inside.
The other two were close behind and one of them instantly located a light switch.
His immediate view of the kitchen was a mess. Even pigs wouldn’t live in such a sty, which backed up the burglary theory.
Atherton jumped over a variety of items on the floor and pushed his way into the front hall. Switching on another light, he cast a quick glance at the musical gear in front of the main d
oor.
“Check the living room, Steve.”
Emma Longstaff followed Mike Atherton as he bolted up the stairs two at a time. Atherton had one hand on his truncheon and the other on the banister, calling out as he did so.
The bedroom with the light on was the obvious choice. Once in, he saw a white female, laid on the floor on her left side, with her right arm outstretched, as if she was trying to reach out for something. She was slim with long black hair, and hazel eyes. She was wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown that had come open at the front, revealing a see-through black negligee underneath and a pair of white panties; no bra.
He immediately knelt down and called out her name. “Jane, can you hear me, love?”
Longstaff had checked the rest of the upstairs rooms, in which all lights were now blazing, before she joined Atherton. “All clear.”
Atherton leaned over the woman on the floor. “Jane?”
There was no response. He felt for a pulse, lowered his head to her chest. Nothing. He glanced at Longstaff and shook his head.
“Has she gone?”
“Definitely.”
During the initial response it was sometimes difficult to determine if a death was the result of natural causes, an accident, suicide or homicide. Atherton couldn’t clearly put it into any of those categories.
