CHAPTER ONE
PC Sanderson and PC Montgomery arrived at 92 Old Road, Skellingthorpe, just after nine a.m. The woman who had called the emergency services for help stood at the front of the house, waving at them as they exited their police vehicle.
‘Thank goodness,’ she said, pressing one hand against her chest and flapping the other one at them to try to hurry them along.
‘Are you the neighbour who called the police? Mrs Maud Kennedy?’ PC Sanderson asked.
The woman replied in short, staccato sentences, each word punctuated by a gasping breath. ‘Yes. I knew something was wrong. We hadn’t seen him on his bike this morning, you see. And he always cycles to the shop for his paper. I should have checked on him before now.’
She quickly walked along the garden path towards the front door, and the officers followed her.
‘Are you sure he hasn’t gone away?’ PC Montgomery asked. ‘Perhaps he’s gone to visit relatives.’
The woman turned on him scornfully. ‘I’ve lived opposite him for twenty years, and I have never known him to visit family since his wife died. Or, for that matter, family to visit him. Besides, I thought I heard him groaning.’
PC Sanderson looked at the dilapidated exterior of the house. The old wooden window frames were half rotted away. The front door was also wooden, with thin cracks criss-crossing the weather-damaged blue paint.
‘It’s all right, Mrs Kennedy,’ Sanderson said. ‘We’ll check up on him and make sure he’s all right.’
Mrs Kennedy shook her head. ‘But he’s not all right. I told you, I can hear moaning. If you put your ear against the door, you should be able to hear it.’
Sanderson gave his colleague a nod, and PC Montgomery pressed his ear against the front door before peering through the letterbox. ‘I can hear something. But I can’t see him.’
He continued staring through the letterbox, and after a short pause, he let out a yelp and fell on to his backside.
Sanderson rushed to his side, grabbing his elbow and pulling him to his feet. ‘What was it?’
PC Montgomery shook his head, looking abashed. ‘Nothing. It was just a cat. It gave me a fright.’
Sanderson resisted making a sarcastic comment. He turned to Mrs Kennedy, who was looking at both of them, no doubt wondering at the state of the police these days.
Sanderson tried to exert a little control over the situation. ‘Let’s go round to the back, shall we? We may be able to gain entry a little easier there.’
Mrs Kennedy nodded. ‘The back door is old and has glass panels. You should be able to break one of those.’
They walked around the side of the house and saw Mrs Kennedy was right. An old-fashioned door with glass panels and a brass handle stood before them like a burglar’s dream. Sanderson didn’t bother returning to the car to get any tools or request backup. Instead, he picked up a large decorative stone, one of many that lined the flowerbed, and broke the small pane of glass beside the handle.
In the distance, they heard the wail of a siren.
‘That’ll be the ambulance,’ PC Montgomery said to Mrs Kennedy with a confident smile.
If his aim was to reassure her, it didn’t work. She turned her back on him, clasping the small gold cross that hung from her neck, and watched PC Sanderson slip his hand carefully through the broken pane of glass to grasp the door handle from the inside. When the door didn’t open, he felt down a little lower, locating the bolt, and a moment later he gave a satisfied grin as he slid the bolt across and opened the back door.
As they heard the ambulance pull up outside the house, PC Montgomery turned to Mrs Kennedy and asked her to remain outside.
She looked most put out. ‘He won’t like it,’ she warned. ‘Bert doesn’t like strangers, and he doesn’t like anybody in his house.’
PC Sanderson thought she was exaggerating. ‘If he needs help, we need to go inside. If you could stand back a little, please.’ He pointed to the spot where he wanted Mrs Kennedy to stand, but she just took one tiny step backwards. She was beginning to irritate him. It was one thing to be concerned about her neighbour, but she seemed almost to be revelling in the excitement.
‘What’s his name?’
‘It’s Bert. Albert Johnson. He’s in his eighties and a little bit doddery on his feet these days. I’ve offered him help time and time again, but he’s too proud to accept it.’
PC Sanderson left his colleague outside to greet the paramedics and keep an eye on Mrs Kennedy and stepped inside the property.
He called out, ‘Police! We’re here to help, Bert. Where are you?’
There was no answer.
The air smelled damp and old. The kitchen was dirty. It wasn’t that there were unwashed pots and pans lying around, but the counters were filthy. A thick layer of dust covered the windowsills. Sanderson looked around at the neglected, rundown kitchen and felt a pang of sympathy for the poor old bloke who lived here. Maybe he didn’t notice the state of the place. Maybe his old eyes couldn’t see the dust and grime properly anymore. Sanderson sighed. Maybe the man’s old body was too tired for cleaning.
The decor hadn’t been updated since the seventies, he noticed as he left the kitchen and headed along the hallway.
He called out again. ‘Bert? We’re the police, we’ve come to help you. Where are you?’
But PC Sanderson didn’t have to wait for an answer. As soon as he turned the corner he saw a pair of legs at the bottom of the stairs. One of them was folded at an awkward angle.
‘Bert, my name is PC Sanderson of the Lincolnshire Police. We have an ambulance outside, and we’re going to get you to the hospital and fixed up. Okay?’
He approached the elderly man and knelt down beside him, reaching out to take his hand. That wasn’t protocol, but it felt like the right thing to do. He wanted to offer the old man some comfort.
The man turned to him, but as Sanderson looked down into his rheumy eyes, he didn’t see gratitude or relief, he saw fear.
That was understandable, he supposed. The poor man must be terrified. Goodness knows how long he’d been crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, injured and unable to move. The dark patch on the front of his trousers made Sanderson suspect it had been quite some time.
‘You’re going to be all right, Bert. Everything’s going to be just fine.’
The staircase was steep and each step was narrow. It wasn’t surprising the old man had taken a tumble.
Bert’s fingers tightened around his hand just as PC Montgomery entered the house with the paramedics.
Before Sanderson could say anything to the paramedics and explain the circumstances, the old man’s face twisted in anger as he rasped, ‘I never let you in.’
Sanderson hadn’t chosen this job for the compliments. He’d come across plenty of people who didn’t appreciate his help or assistance, but the man’s reaction surprised him. From the state of him, he guessed Bert had been flat on his back for hours, in agony and unable to get up. Now that the emergency services had turned up to help, Sanderson had expected a little more gratitude. Maybe the poor old boy was delirious.
As the female paramedic knelt down beside Bert and leaned over to examine his injuries, he batted her hands away. ‘Go away. I don’t need your help.’