A Mersey Maiden E-Book

Brian L. Porter

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A peaceful cricket match turns to mystery, when star player Aaron Decker is found dead. Somehow, the case is connected to the disappearance of a German U-Boat in 1945.

With events in Britain, Germany, U.S and Canada all connected, D.I. Andy Ross and his team must work together with international law enforcement and a respected German historian.

But can they solve the murder of Aaron Decker, and the strange case of U3000's last voyage?

Leseprobe

A Mersey Maiden

Mersey Murder Mysteries Book III

Brian L. Porter

Copyright (C) 2016 Brian L. Porter

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2019 by Next Chapter

Published 2019 by Next Chapter

Cover Design byhttp://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Acknowledgements

A Mersey Maiden owes its existence primarily to the people of the city of Liverpool. Without them, and their influence on my younger life and without the family members, many of whom I have respectfully used as templates for many of the characters in my Mersey Mysteries I could never have begun the series. My thanks also go to my Beta reader, the indefatigable Debbie Poole in Liverpool, who painstakingly read every page of the book, correcting, suggesting and most of all; I'm pleased to say, enjoying this latest addition to the series. I send her my heartfelt gratitude.

I have to say thank you to Miika Hannila at Next Chapter Publishing for his encouragement and continued belief in the Mersey Mysteries and for helping in selecting the great cover designs for the books

My wife, Juliet is always there for me with words of support and earns my undying thanks for her faith in me and my writing.

I have to say a very BIG thank you to my friend and fellow author Mary Deal from the sunny Hawaiian Islands for giving me permission to use her name for the trawler of that name featured in the book.

Finally, my thanks go to all my readers who continue to support my work by purchasing and reading my books. You are the most important people in the worldwide chain that links authors and readers and make the publishing world go round.

Introduction

Welcome to A Mersey Maiden, the third book in the Mersey Mystery series, following on from the success of A Mersey Killing and All Saints, Murder on the Mersey.

Once again Detective Inspector Andy Ross, Sergeant Izzie Drake and the rest of the Merseyside Police's Murder investigation team find themselves enmeshed in a complex and at times perplexing mystery.

When an American post-graduate student at Liverpool University is found murdered with his girlfriend sleeping by his side, it begins a case that takes Ross and his team back in time to the dark days of World War Two. A British Corvette and a German U-Boat are somehow inexplicably related to the murder of young Aaron Decker, who has quickly established himself as a star cricketer for the university team.

What links the talented young sportsman to the shipwrecks that lie deep beneath the waves of the English Channel? Very soon, Ross and Drake find themselves travelling to Falmouth in Cornwall where they link up with Detective Inspector Brian Jones and Detective Sergeant Carole St. Clair of the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary to investigate the sprawling international conglomerate, the Aegis Institute and its offshoot, Aegis Oceanographic.

Secrets abound and when a dead frogman is discovered, shackled to an undersea wreck, the case soon escalates to an international level. The Royal Navy becomes involved in investigating the wreckage and the web of secrets and intrigue takes the investigators back in time to the German submarine base at Kiel, in 1945, during the final days of Hitler's Third Reich. Aided by a respected German military historian, Ross begins to piece together an intricate jigsaw puzzle of fact and rumour, slowly unravelling the mystery that has brought the past very much into the present.

Unfortunately for Ross and Drake, the body count begins to mount as more facts from the past come to light. With their new Detective Chief Inspector, Oscar Agostini behind them, they formulate a daring plan to bring the perpetrators to justice. The plan revolves around a 'bent' detective and a hired killer.

Please read on to see how things pan out in this, the most thrilling yet in the Mersey Mystery series.

Author's note: For those not familiar with the very British game of cricket, it may be worth noting that an 'over' is a passage of play consisting of six 'balls' bowled by the bowler to the batsman. If the bowler succeeds in completing an over without the batsman scoring a single run, this is known as a 'maiden over' and may give you a hint to the play on words in the title of A Mersey Maiden.

A short glossary

Scouser/Scouse – A native of Liverpool (Scouse is also a local dish, a kind of stew made to an old Liverpudlian recipe)

Scally – a shortened version of the word 'scallywag' used extensively in Liverpool to describe a ne'er-do-well, a jack-the-lad, something of a wastrel

Made up – Another common Liverpudlian term, an expression of happiness, excitement or description of a pleasurable experience. e.g. “He'll be made up with the result of the game.”

Uni – university

W.I. – The Women's Institute, a voluntary organisation that encourages women to take part in various activities within the community, originally formed in 1915 to encourage women to help in food production during World War One.

Chips - fries

Tom/prossie – a prostitute

Guvnor – short for governor, used extensively in the British police forces to describe one's boss or immediate superior.

Bent – 'A bent copper' is a term used to describe a corrupt police officer.

Dedicated to the memory of Leslie and Enid Porter And to Juliet, my strength and number one fan

Chapter 1

Quintessentially British

“Oh, I say. Well hit sir!”

The time honoured cliché burst forth from the lips of an ageing, bespectacled gentleman, dressed in tweed jacket with leather reinforcements on the cuffs, white shirt and club tie and beige flannel trousers. Sitting in his deck chair, basking in the warmth of a sunny June afternoon, the old man could have been a contemporary of the great W.G. Grace himself, with his long, flowing beard adding to the appearance of a cricketing great from the past.

As applause rippled around the ground, the ball sailed gracefully over the boundary, the umpire duly raising both arms to signal another six runs to the university team. Nothing gave Andrew Montfort greater pleasure than spending an afternoon watching his beloved cricket; the sound of willow on cork as the batsmen amassed the best score they could being almost like music to his ears.

This particular Sunday afternoon was a little special for Montfort, as the team from The University of Liverpool was engaged in the annual Montfort Trophy match against their fierce rivals from the University of Manchester, the trophy being named for his grandfather, Sir Michael Montfort who had instituted the annual match soon after the end of the Great War in 1918.

Sir Michael had studied at the university before going on to become one of the leading industrialists of the early twentieth century. His business interests stretched from the city of Liverpool to Manchester and beyond, and the trophy was his way of encouraging the post-war youth to enjoy his favourite sport whilst studying for their futures.

Having played cricket for the university he'd also later played for the local amateur club, Liverpool Cricket Club, an old established amateur club formed in 1807 and playing at the Aigburth Cricket Ground. The ground holds a singular claim to fame in that it possesses the oldest pavilion in the country at a first class cricket ground.

Now, the bowler completed his run up and another ball sped down the wicket towards the batsman who again made a solid contact, the thwack as bat connected with ball being greeted by yet more applause. This time, the ball was successfully fielded and the batsmen completed a single run.

A tall, mustached figure dressed in cricket whites walked up and stood beside Andrew Montfort's deck chair.

“He's quite a find, young Decker, don't you think, Mr. Montfort?” asked team captain, Simon Dewar.

“Indeed he is, Simon,” Montfort replied. “Who'd have thought a Yank would become one of your best batsmen in years, eh?”

“Obviously, his experience playing baseball back home in the States gave him a good grounding, and don't forget his bowling prowess too,” said Dewar, a tall, rangy student of accountancy and finance.

“Yes, I heard he was something of a star for his college team.”

“It was our good luck when his father was transferred to the UK, and Aaron came over with his parents. Even more so that he chose us for his post-grad studies.”

“A student of modern history, I believe, Simon?”

The team captain nodded as Montfort returned the conversation to his first love.

“How many centuries did he score last season, Simon? Was it seven, or eight?”

“Eight, sir, and got out in the nineties twice.”

“It's a wonder the professional county cricket clubs haven't tried to tempt him.”

“Oh, but they have, sir. Lancashire tried to coax him into joining them last summer, and Durham and Worcestershire made approaches, but he was adamant he wants to remain an amateur, free to play or not play as he chooses, and, as he rightly told them all, if his father has to relocate again, he may have to leave the country at short notice.”

“Well then Simon. We must make the most of young Aaron Decker while we have him, eh?”

“Definitely, sir, I couldn't agree more.”

“Oh, yes, good shot, young Decker,” Montfort suddenly exclaimed, applauding as he did so.

“I'd better go, sir. Soon be time to break for tea.”

“Right you are, Simon. How many more do the university need to win? My damned eyes aren't what they were, even with the specs. Can't make out the scoreboard from here.”

Simon Dewar glanced across at the scoreboard.

“We need fifty five to win, sir. If Aaron can stay at the wicket, we should cruise it after tea.”

“Jolly good, Simon. Be nice to see the trophy stay at the old alma mater for another year. Been a while since you chaps won it two years running.”

“Ten years since we achieved that honour, sir. I wouldn't have thought it mattered to you. You have as much influence in Manchester as you do here, don't you, as your grandfather did?”

“True, Simon, but I must admit, keep it under your hat mind; I always have a slight bias for you chaps. Probably because my wife hails from the area.”

“Thanks a lot, Mr. Montfort. I shan't breathe a word,” Simon smiled at the old man, and then wandered off towards the pavilion as another over ended. Simon Dewar retained a quiet air of confidence that the day would end with another triumph, thanks to Aaron Decker and his uncanny eye, which seemed to guide his bat to make contact at the precise moment required to achieve maximum contact with the ball. American or not, he was a damn fine cricketer.

Following another single from Decker, and with Darren Oates now at the receiving end, the rest of the over played out without the addition of further runs, Darren being content to block the last two balls, after which the umpires signalled the tea interval and the players trooped off the field of play and into the pavilion, where refreshments awaited.

“It's going well, Aaron,” Simon Dewar said as he handed Aaron Decker a refreshing glass of iced lemonade.

“Sure is, skipper,” Decker replied. “Got to watch their fast bowlers though. They're not bad at all. The red-haired guy almost got me a couple of overs ago.”

“Speaking of bowling, old Andrew Montfort has been watching you closely today. He was well impressed with your bowling figures earlier today. Six maiden overs from ten overs bowled is damn fine going.”

“Hell, it was just good luck and poor batting,” Aaron said, making light of his impressive bowling statistics. “Still, if it's giving the old guy a good afternoon, I'm real pleased.”

Andrew Montfort chose that moment to walk up behind the two young men, and spent five minutes chatting to the pair, finally departing to speak to one of the lecturers he was friendly with, who'd just entered the pavilion.

“I thought he'd never leave you alone,” said the beautiful long-haired blonde who walked up to the two men as Montfort walked away, wrapping her arms around Aaron's waist from behind, and reaching up to kiss the back of his neck. Dressed in a plain white, short-sleeved blouse with a fairly low cut v-neck and pale blue pleated mini skirt, her long legs bare, and with a pair of low-heeled white pumps on her feet, Sally Metcalfe exuded confidence, and Aaron spun round to take her in his arms and promptly kissed her on the lips before standing back to admire his girlfriend, who'd only just arrived at the ground, having spent the majority of the day at a family barbecue at her parents' home in Lancaster, some sixty miles north of Liverpool. Sally could have attended the university in her own town, but had chosen Liverpool in order to gain a degree of independence from her father, who she described as believing they still lived in the Victorian era.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Aaron responded. “I was thinking you weren't gonna make it to see us lift that trophy again.”

“I wouldn't have missed it for the world, Aaron. It's just, well you know how it is at home. I couldn't not go to the stupid barbecue; even if it was populated mostly by old farts and Daddy's cronies from the stupid transportation and pharmaceutical industries with their boring trophy wives, or worse still, their hired tarts.”

“Ah, so young and yet so cynical,” Aaron laughed. “I'm sure they were all perfectly charming as you English folks like to say.”

“As charming as a nest of vipers, perhaps, and old man Roper, the local undertaker tried to grope my bottom too, the weasel-faced little pervert.” Sally smiled back at him. “So, anyway, are we winning, darling?”

“Well, we need less than fifty to win after the interval. Roper the groper eh? Want me to go up there and challenge him to a duel?”

Sally giggled.

“You really would, I think, wouldn't you?”

“Sure thing,” said Aaron. “A lady's honour and all that, eh?”

His attempt at an upper-crust British accent gave Sally another fit of the giggles. She then returned to the game.

“You're still batting?”

He grinned in the affirmative.

“Oh well, in that case they might as well start engraving Liverpool's name on the trophy now then. You're bound to win.”

“Hey, this is sport, honey. Anything can happen out there, you know. I'm not invincible, not by a long chalk.”

“No, but you're the very best player we have, my darling and I'm sure Simon has every faith in you to see out the game, don't you Simon?” Sally grabbed hold of Dewar's arm and pulled him close, so close he could actually see down the front of her blouse to her cleavage. Embarrassed, Simon Dewar politely extricated himself from Sally's grip as he replied, “Let's say I very much hope Aaron will do the job for us, Sally.”

“Oh, I say,” Sally giggled. “I've got faith, Simon's got hope, but I hope you won't show their bowlers any charity when you get started again, Aaron, darling. Get it? Faith, hope and charity?”

“Very clever, darling, and very witty. Did you also know that during the German's siege of Malta during World War Two, the RAF used three old Gloster Gladiator biplanes to defend the island against massed attacks by the Luftwaffe and they named those airplanes Faith, Hope and Charity too?”

“Oh, really, how interesting,” said Sally, who despite caring deeply for Aaron, couldn't care less about his other great passion, history. Aaron thought the world of Sally, but sometimes wished she'd realise that a working knowledge of history is, as he thought, our passport to building a better future. Still, she was great in almost every other aspect, even turning up regularly to watch him play cricket, a game he knew she barely understood, a fact that applied to most people outside the game. Trying to explain the intricacies of being 'in' or 'out' or the various fielding positions, including the odd sounding 'silly mid-on' or 'off,' square leg, long leg and so on, could be a baffling task, not to mention attempting to instruct someone in the difference between 'the wicket' and 'wickets' and just what the heck L.B.W. stood for, or what 'leg before wicket' actually meant was hard enough for a native, but when Aaron had tried to get the rules across to his father, Jerome Decker the third, it had turned into a session of much mirth as the elder Decker felt he was suddenly in the presence of an alien being, speaking an unknown language, rather than listening to his own son. All he said, having become totally lost as Aaron had tried to explain what the meaning of a 'maiden over' was, “Heck, son, don't tell me any more, just you go out there and enjoy yourself and show these Brits how to play their own game.”

Aaron himself had known little about the game himself upon his arrival in Liverpool just over a year ago, but when team captain, Simon Dewar heard that the new American student had been something of a college star at baseball back home, he'd persuaded Aaron to try his hand at the quintessentially British game, with startling results. Aaron was a natural at both batting and bowling, and once he'd received a crash course in the rules of the game, he'd become an instant hit with players and spectators alike.

* * *

With the tea interval over, the match was resumed and with able support from Darren Oates, who was caught out with twelve to his name, and Miles Perry, Aaron was still there at the end, striking the ball cleanly for another boundary, a 'four' this time to take Liverpool past the Manchester total. Miles had added eight runs and Aaron ended with a total of fifty-five, out of the team's total of 211 for the loss of seven wickets, the last boundary taking them two runs past the opposition's quite respectable 209 all out.

The Montfort Trophy was duly presented to the winning captain by guest of honour, Andrew Montfort, and in his victory speech, Simon Dewar paid high praise to the team's star player, their superbly talented 'American cousin,' Aaron Decker, who received the man of the match award, a small silver salver, engraved with his name and the year of the award, and decorated with two crossed cricket bats overlaying a set of wickets.

As the applause died down and the crowd slowly departed, some by car, others on foot or bicycle, the two teams enjoyed a half hour of socialising in the pavilion before the coach carrying the Manchester team departed and at last, Aaron Decker relaxed as Sally sat on his knee, her crossed legs showing them off to perfection.

“Thank God that's over,” Aaron whispered into her ear.

“I thought you loved it, Aaron,” Sally said in quiet surprise at his comment.

“I do, honey, I do,” he replied, “but I had some bad news earlier this morning and it's been on my mind all day.”

“Oh, no, sweetie, what is it? Can I help?”

“Heck, no, Sally. It's just some news I'd rather not have heard. I don't really want to talk about it, if you don't mind.”

“Sure, okay Aaron. Whatever you want. Listen, why don't we go to the pub, have a couple of drinks and then go back to my place?”

Aaron seemed to be deep in thought for a few seconds and then snapped out of it and replied, “Yes, why not? Sounds good to me.”

“You can stay the night if you like? If we're quiet, no one will know.” Sally whispered, tantalisingly. She was lucky in that her father's money had paid for her to jointly rent a house in the city with a friend and was currently considering buying her an apartment in one of the new building complexes along Liverpool's renovated waterfront. Aaron, despite his father's position at the U.S Embassy in London, had preferred to throw himself into university life in every way and currently shared a house in Wavertree with two other students. He and Sally often spent the night together, usually at his place, though he preferred the privacy of staying at her place where they couldn't be heard enjoying themselves through the walls. This was despite her landlord, prudishly in Aaron's opinion, frowning on overnight visitors of the opposite sex.

“You're on,” Aaron smiled as he spoke, his earlier depression seeming to have lifted. Sally hopped from his lap and he grasped her hand firmly and led her from the pavilion, to a chorus of congratulations and 'cheerio' and 'lucky bastard' from the other remaining team members.

“Hey, don't forget this,” shouted wicket-keeper Alex Dobson, as he tossed Aaron's man-of-the-match plaque across the room towards him, confident that Aaron would make the catch. He did, mouthed a thank you to Dobson as he and Sally disappeared through the pavilion door, a few drinks and a night of passion ahead of them.

Chapter 2

Wedding Day

Pedestrians passing by St. George's Hall in Liverpool's city centre might have been forgiven for thinking the police were attending a bomb threat or some other crime within the building. The presence of three police patrol cars, two rather obvious unmarked police vehicles and a dozen uniformed officers seemingly guarding the entrance to the building certainly backed up the wholly erroneous theory.

Within the famous old building, in the Sefton Room, Detective Sergeant Clarissa (Izzie) Drake and Senior Mortuary Receptionist Peter Foster gazed lovingly into each others eyes as the registrar pronounced them man and wife. Standing beside the groom, Doctor William Nugent, the city's senior pathologist and medical examiner was actually smiling for once, having been surprised but delighted when invited by Foster to be the best man at his wedding. Peter had told the rotund, overweight physician that he considered it a great honour to have him as his best man, not just as a mark of respect for the doctor, but because he was a genuinely nice man to work for.

In addition to Izzie's parents and younger sister, Astrid, also in attendance were the groom's parents, and most of the members of the city's specialist Murder Investigation team, including Detective Inspector Andy Ross and his wife, Maria, a local General Practitioner, and Detective Constables Samantha Gable, who was proud to be Izzie's maid of honour, Paul Ferris, with his wife Kareen and young son, Aaron, looking healthier than he'd ever done since a successful kidney transplant, Derek McLennan and Tony Curtis, who'd all done their sergeant proud by turning out in their best suits for the occasion. Back at police headquarters, the squad room was being manned in their absence by Detective Constable Nick Dodds, who, having worked with the squad on an ad hoc basis over the last two years, had now been assigned permanently to the team, together with their new boss, Detective Chief Inspector Oscar Agostini, who had recently replaced the outgoing and retiring D.C.I. Harry Porteous, who was present in the Sefton Room with his wife as special guests of the bride and groom. Also there from Peter's workplace was Francis Lees; Doctor Nugent's slim, pale and cadaverous but totally efficient assistant, looking cheerful for the first time in Ross's memory.

Agostini, an old friend and colleague of Ross's prior to his promotion, had offered to man the squad room with Dodds for a couple of hours, with Ross and his colleagues promising to return after the ceremony concluded. Ross had excluded Ferris from that promise, believing his senior D.C and family should represent the team at the small reception the happy couple's parents had clubbed together to pay for at the nearby Marriott Hotel. The ceremony over, the couple signed the register and left the room to the strains of the old romantic song, No Arms Can Ever Hold You, by the Bachelors. Izzie had fallen in love with the music of the 1960s while working on the case involving Brendan Kane and the Planets, and a missing young woman, Brendan's girlfriend Marie Doyle some four years previously. She could think of no song more romantic than this one to accompany her wedding service.

As they walked out of the building, the dozen uniformed officers who'd waited patiently outside formed a guard of honour with truncheons raised to form an arch and a beaming Izzie Drake looked towards her boss and mouthed a 'thank you' to Andy Ross for she knew it had to have been Ross who had arranged this final touch to make the ceremony complete and memorable for her.

A wedding photographer, a friend of Francis Lees, himself an expert with a camera in his hands, quickly arranged the wedding group and a series of photographs were taken in the morning sunshine, a perfect reminder of the happy day, after which he would follow the couple and guests to the reception.

Photographs over, everyone began to make a move towards transferring the celebrations to the hotel, and Ross quickly made his way to have a quiet word with his sergeant before taking his leave of the wedding party.

Pulling her to one side, Ross hugged Izzie fondly and placed a fatherly kiss on her cheek.

“Congratulations, Sergeant Drake,” he said, with mock formality.

“Thanks for everything,” Izzie replied. “You arranged the guard of honour didn't you?”

“But of course. No way was the best sergeant in the city getting away without a proper send off. Seriously, Izzie, I hope you and Peter have a long and happy future ahead of you.”

“Thanks, sir. I appreciate that. At least, Peter's under no illusions about what I do for a living or the extra hours I have to spend at work on occasions.”

“That's true,” said Ross. “And you see him quite a lot when we have to visit the morgue too.”

“Yes, well, we try to keep that contact to a professional level, as you well know, sir.”

“I know you do. I meant to ask, are you going to continue to be D.S Drake from now on, or are you changing it to Foster?”

“Peter and I agreed it's best if I carry on as Drake at work, sir. I'll get plenty of time to be Mrs. Foster in my off duty hours.”

“Right, that's good to know, Izzie. At least the rest of the force won't think I've got a new sergeant working for me.”

“Right, well, I'm glad we've sorted that out, sir. Oh, look, sorry, but I'm wanted.”

Peter was waving to Izzie. It was time they left for the reception.

“Off you go then,” said Ross, “and enjoy the honeymoon,” he continued, referring to the long weekend she and her new husband had booked in London. Ross had urged them to take at least a week off work, but Izzie had insisted four days was long enough for him to survive without her and Peter had actually agreed with her, knowing just how much she loved her job and the buzz she got from working with Ross.

As the happy couple were whisked away in a gleaming silver Bentley for the short journey to the Marriott, Ross rejoined his wife and the other guests, his own detectives amongst them, who'd remained to see them off, others having already made their way to the hotel to greet them as they arrived for the reception.

Ross said goodbye to Maria, who, like him, was heading back to work at her surgery, and suddenly, standing there outside the magnificent old building on St. George's Place, he felt really alone. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Izzie wasn't there to drive him back to headquarters, or to the next case. He and his sergeant had worked together for so long they almost thought as a single entity, being able on occasions to virtually read each other's thoughts, anticipate the other's next move in a case and so on.

“Sir?” came a voice from behind him. He turned to find D.C. Sam Gable standing there, having somehow changed from her wedding finery into her usual work outfit of plain white blouse, short black jacket and matching trousers.

“Hello, Sam. Been a good day so far, eh?”

“Yes, it has sir. Sergeant Drake looked beautiful didn't she?”

“She was positively radiant, Sam, definitely. What can I do for you?”

“More the other way round, sir. Sergeant Drake said I was to look out for you while she's away, so I thought I'd get changed in the ladies room back in the hall and then come down and give you a ride to headquarters. Izzie said your wife would probably take your car to her surgery and you'd end up stranded and having to cadge a lift with the uniform lads.”

Ross couldn't help himself. He laughed out loud as he said, “Well, bloody hell, talk about a mother hen. Doesn't she think I can cope without her for a few days?”

Sam Gable cocked her head on one side, smiled a lop-sided grin at her boss and replied, “Sergeant Drake said you'd say something like that, sir, and, with all due respect, she told me to say, 'Do you really want me to answer that?'”

Andy Ross laughed again, said, “Women, can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em,” and in reply to the odd look on Gable's face, said, “Just ignore me Sam. I'm getting old, I think.”

“You sir? No, not a chance,” Gable replied. “Much too soon for you to be pushing up daisies or maybe retiring with pipe and slippers and a nice line in gardening tools.”

“My God, Samantha, you're almost as bad as my bloody sergeant. Go and fetch my chariot, wench, before I change my mind and walk all the way back to headquarters.”

Sam laughed with her boss as she almost ran round to the car park and soon had D.I. Ross seated next to her in the passenger seat of her car as she drove the short distance back to police headquarters.

Detective Chief Inspector Agostini was waiting expectantly for the team to return and was pleased to hear the wedding had gone off without a hitch. A couple of the Detective Constables had taken photos using their mobile phones and were quick to show them to Agostini and Nick Dodds.

As he sat at his desk in his office, Ross allowed himself to relax a little and take advantage of the fact that the last few days had been relatively peaceful and crime free, allowing him to catch up on the mountain of paperwork that seemed to grow exponentially with each case the squad handled. Even his team had welcomed a little peace and quiet as they also sat typing reports or preparing for forthcoming court appearances at various trials and so on.

As with all such times in the lives of the officers of law enforcement, this short lull would prove to be nothing more than the calm before a storm, and when the next storm hit, it would prove to be a damn big one!

Chapter 3

The Storm Clouds Gather

A hearty breakfast with Maria, followed by a smooth drive to headquarters through unusually quiet streets during his short commute from Prescot put Andy Ross in a good mood and the early morning sunshine gave the city a hint of the long hot summer that lay in wait for the inhabitants of the great sea port.

Ross made his way to the fourth floor, using the stairs as a means of exercise, and walked across the squad room, receiving morning greetings from Ferris, Gable and Dodds, already at their desks awaiting the day's developments. Placing his hand on the handle to open his office door, Ross sensed rather than saw D.C.I. Oscar Agostini enter the squad room, making his way through the mini-maze of desks to reach Ross before he'd made it into his office.

“I'm guessing you're not here to simply wish me a good morning, sir.” Ross declared as he saw the look on Agostini's face, his furrowed brow a sure sign of a major problem looming for Ross and his team.

“Let's talk inside, Andy,” Agostini responded, as he followed Ross in to the small office.

Ross sat at his desk as Agostini seated himself in the visitor's chair.

“I take it we have a new case?” Ross surmised.

“We do, Andy, and it might prove to be something of a hot potato.”

“Come on, Oscar, it's not like you to beat about the bush. Let's have it,” said Ross. Having worked together years earlier and being good friends outside of work, the two men would invariably revert to first names in private, Ross acknowledging the D.C.I.'s seniority in front of the team or in public.

“How much do you know about the United States Department of State, Andy?”

“Only that it's usually referred to as the State Department for short, and it has something to do with the USA's international political machinery.”

“Right, well, we have a death on our hands that could get messy. The body of a young man was found in his bedroom in a shared house in Wavertree, yesterday. Because of his age and lack of external means of determining cause of death, pressure was apparently applied by his father for an immediate autopsy to be carried out.”

“Hold on,” said Ross. “Back-pedal a bit. Who is the father?”

“His name is Jerome Decker the third, and he works for the U.S Department of State, based at the U.S Embassy in London. His son Aaron was studying at the University of Liverpool and was also a bloody top class cricketer, apparently. He is reported to have gone to bed some time after ten on the night before his death, with his girlfriend and was found dead by his house-mates, the girlfriend asleep next to him when he failed to appear for breakfast yesterday morning.”

“Ah,” said Ross. “This sounds a bit messy. I'm presuming we're certain it's murder?”

“We are now, Andy. The friends woke the girlfriend, Sally, and she reportedly went into fits of hysterics when she realised she'd been sleeping next to her dead boyfriend without realising anything was wrong. The lads from Wavertree were on the ball, thankfully. It didn't add up to them, so they asked the paramedics to leave the body in place while they got the forensics people and medical examiner in to take a look. Doctor Strauss attended, together with Booker's team and it didn't take long for the doc to ascertain that young Decker had been suffocated. Obviously the boys from Wavertree thought right away of the girlfriend, but, seeing the state of disorientation of the girl, Vicky Strauss examined her on the spot and she's convinced the girl was drugged, probably to make sure she was well out of it while Aaron Decker was murdered.”

“And we've been called in because the case looks like being high profile and the Chief Super wants his favourite sacrificial lambs on the job, just in case it all goes pear-shaped.”

Ross's words were more a statement than a question, and Agostini had to agree with him.

“You're right, of course, Andy. If the U.S. embassy can exert pressure on the Chief Constable and he shovels the pressure down the chain of command, then sooner or later it has to reach a point where' the buck stops here,” and that, unfortunately will probably be right here, Andy. You're the best we have at this sort of case and the Chief knows it, but heaven help us if we screw up.”

Andy Ross fell silent for a few seconds, apparently lost in thought.

“Everything okay, Andy?” Agostini asked.

“Mmm, yes,” said Ross, thoughtfully. “Just a thought, but I have a contact at the American embassy. I might be able to find out something about this Decker character. He must carry some diplomatic weight if he's got the chief jumping through hoops already.”

“Really? Tell all, Andy. It's not like you spend much of your life down South in the capital is it? Who's this contact of yours?”

“Name's Ethan Tiffen, works in Immigration. He was helpful in a case four years ago, and we've remained in sporadic contact ever since, exchanging Christmas and birthday cards and so on and Maria and I spent a weekend in London as his guests two years ago. I owe him a return of the favour to be honest. You might remember the case? We had a body found in an old disused dock and it led to a murder investigation and the case of woman missing for over thirty years.”

“Brendan Kane, and Marie Doyle, right?”

“Good memory, Oscar. Yes, that was the case. I had to contact the U.S. Immigration service in the course of the investigation. Ethan Tiffen was the guy who did his best to help us out, and even came up here for the eventual joint funeral of the couple.”

“That was one great piece of police work,” said Agostini. “You managed to solve a thirty something year old murder and the disappearance of the woman in one felled swoop, if I remember.”

“Yes, we did, so I'm thinking maybe Ethan Tiffen can fill me in on this Decker character.”

“Okay, good idea, talk to him, Andy. First though, we have to take over the case. Detective Sergeant Meadows at Wavertree is waiting in my office. I asked him to come over and bring their file with him. You need to get moving on this as fast as you can, Andy.”

“Right, let's go talk to Meadows,” said Ross and he and Agostini quickly made their way to the D.C.I's office. As they walked through the squad room, Ross called to his team as they sat at their desks or at the coffee machine, “No one leaves the office, people. I'll be back shortly. We've got a new case, and it could be a big one.”

Leaving the small team of detectives to gossip and conjecture between themselves, Ross and Agostini were soon being fully briefed by D.S. Ray Meadows on the strange case that was about to be dropped in their laps.

“As far as we can ascertain, the young guy was something of a local hero,” Meadows informed them. “Went from being a star college baseball player back home to becoming a star varsity cricketer over here. Seems he almost single-handedly won the Montfort Trophy, whatever that is, for the University of Liverpool in a match with Manchester last week.”

“So why would someone want to kill him?” Agostini mused.

“And why do it in such a haphazard fashion?” Ross added, “leaving the girlfriend as an obvious suspect, yet leaving her in such a state she'd be immediately eliminated from our inquiries?”

“Already asked myself that one, sir,” said Meadows. “And I can't say as I'm not happy to hand the case over to you, that's for sure. Once my gaffer got the whiff of the politicos being involved, he couldn't offload it fast enough.”

“Wow, thanks, Sergeant,” Ross said, wryly.

“You're only too welcome,” Meadows continued as he passed the thick folder containing the notes made on the case so far to D.C.I Agostini who in turn handed the file to Andy Ross.

After the sergeant had departed, Agostini said very little. Ross had read through the file and given it back to the boss to glance at. There was nothing in it that might help them in formulating a theory for the murder of Aaron Decker.

“Would someone mind telling me, just where the hell I'm supposed to start with a case that's already over twenty four hours old?” Ross asked of nobody in particular.

Chapter 4

Autopsy Room Two

The drive to the city mortuary building had been a strange one for Andy Ross. It had been ages since he'd driven himself there, with Izzie Drake normally doing the driving, and visiting the place without his trusted assistant felt somehow wrong, out of place, especially as he knew her husband, Peter Foster, a familiar face on entering the mortuary building, would also be absent, and another, unknown receptionist would be on duty, ready to admit him to the antiseptic and formaldehyde-scented inner sanctum of the world of the pathologists.

Ross parked the car and waited for D.C. Paul Ferris to arrive in his own vehicle which he did a couple of minutes later. Ross's resident computer 'genius' and team collator Ferris had an incisive mind and Ross wanted him to view the body of Aaron Decker to get his 'feel' on the case. It was unusual for the team to be called into a case after the body had been removed from the murder site, so Ross felt they were playing catch-up. The old theory that the first twenty four hours of a murder investigation were the most important had definitely gone out the window on this one.

“Bet it feels strange without Sergeant Drake, sir?” said Ferris.

“I admit it does, Paul,” he replied. “Still, only another couple of days and she'll be back on the job.”

“Meant to ask you, is she still Sergeant Drake or Sergeant Foster now, sir?”

“Drake at work, Foster at home,” Ross replied.

“Makes sense, I suppose,” Ferris said as Ross pressed the buzzer beside the door that allowed entry to the mortuary building. A female voice answered, asking who required entry to the premises. After identifying himself and Ferris a click sounded and Ross pushed the door open. At the reception area usually manned by newly-wed Peter Foster, Ross was greeted by a petite brunette whose name badge gave her name as Michelle Hill.

“Inspector Ross, nice to meet you,” Michelle said, after the two men had produced their warrant cards. “Peter speaks of you often.”

“He does?”

“Of course. As his wife's boss your name comes up quite often in conversation.”

“Hmm, I see,” said Ross, wondering what Peter Foster really thought of him, but that was for another time.

“You're here to see Doctor Strauss, I presume?”

“Yes, please,” Ross replied.

“Autopsy Room Two,” said Michelle, “Doctor Nugent is with her I think.”

“Oh, that should be fun,” Ross smiled, as he thought of Doctor William Nugent, the overweight but brilliant Scottish Chief Medical Officer, not a man renowned for his sense of humour. Two minutes later, Ross and Ferris were to receive their first view of the mortal remains of Aaron Decker, just twenty two years old at the time of his death.

“Come in, Inspector Ross, come in,” Nugent said in a hale and hearty voice as he and Ferris entered the autopsy room after a brief knock and wait. William Nugent stood beside Doctor Vicky Strauss, who Ross had not dealt with since her brief involvement in the horrific graveyard murders of the previous year. Ross noticed that the petite pathologist had had her brunette hair cut in a fashionable bob since the last time he'd seen her. He thought it added to her look of vulnerability, though he knew she was quite superb at her job. Anything less and she wouldn't have lasted a day working under William Nugent.

“Hello, Doctor Nugent, Doctor Strauss,” Ross said as the two detectives walked slowly across the room towards the stainless steel autopsy table where the remains of Aaron Decker were already laid out, his chest cavity opened up and the majority of the internal organs already removed and weighed.

“Ah, D.C. Ferris,” Nugent observed on seeing Paul Ferris at Ross's side. “I see the inspector has let you out of the office for a breath of fresh air in the absence of the newly-wed Sergeant Drake.”

“Hello, Doctor,” said Ferris. “Not that I'd necessarily class a visit to the mortuary as a breath of fresh air, but yes, it's good to see you again, you too, Doctor Strauss.”

“Detectives,” said Strauss by way of greeting. “Sorry to have to meet like this. Such a shame, tragic when we see them this young on the table,” she added as the body on the table loomed larger in the view of Ross and Ferris, as they arrived at Vicky Strauss's side.

“No Lees this morning?” Ross asked, referring to Nugent's erstwhile assistant. Seeing Nugent without Lees was akin to how Ross probably appeared to those used to seeing him with Izzie Drake.

“Ah, poor Francis,” Nugent replied. “Had such a good time at the wedding the other day, seems he was a little worse for the drink, and slipped on the stairs when he got home. Spent three hours at A & E, only to be diagnosed with a severely sprained wrist. He's nae good to me in that state, all wrapped up and fingers useless with the strapping, so I've told him to stay at home until he can work his hand again.”

“The dangers of the demon drink, eh Doc?” Ross grinned.

“In Francis's case, aye. Silly wee boy isn't used to all that hard liquor. Seems the punch at the reception was a wee tad over-imbued with vodka, and Francis was literally bundled into a taxi by a couple of guests when he was found slumped on a staircase singing I belong to Glasgow.”

“But he's from Fazakerley, isn't he?” Ferris observed.

“Aye, that he is,” Nugent laughed. “Must have spent too much time working with me. Ma Glaswegian roots seem to have rubbed off on him and tainted the man's perception after a couple of drinks.”

“Right, well, can we get to work, please Doctors? Seems this young man's father is on his way up from London. He's something to do with the U.S. State Department so the case could have political implications. The Chief Constable has apparently already been applying pressure to the Chief Super who in turn put the squeeze on D.C.I Agostini…”

“Who in turn, is putting pressure on you, I presume,” Strauss observed, logically.

“Quite right Doctor Strauss. As I wasn't involved in the case until this morning, I have little to go on so far except the report from the Detective Sergeant who responded to the original emergency call, and the crime scene photos that were taken by Miles Booker's forensic team.”

“Right, well, Inspector Ross, I can tell you that Sergeant Meadows was very thorough and carried out a very professional examination of the scene,” said Strauss.

“I'm glad to hear it,” Ross replied. “I have his report here,” he added, holding up the file he'd brought from headquarters.

“Yes, in fact it was Sergeant Meadows who first suggested to me that something might be wrong with Sally Metcalfe.”

“That's the girlfriend, right?”

“Yes, I was examining Mr. Decker of course, and then the sergeant asked if I'd take a look at the young lady. He thought she might be on something at first, but from her state of disorientation, he suspected she'd been deliberately drugged. I broke off from my examination of the body for a few minutes and it was clear to me that Miss Metcalfe had been drugged in some way. Her reactions didn't suggest she'd deliberately taken any kind of recreational drug, and the symptoms she displayed made me believe she'd been given something to anaesthetize her for a period of time. On close examination, I found a small needle mark on her arm that could be the site of an injection having been administered. I took blood samples at the scene, and sent them for a tox screen. We should get the results later today.”

“That was good thinking, Doctor Strauss. Now, what can you tell me about this poor fellow?” Ross said as he looked at the body of Aaron Decker. Sadness showed on Ross's face, the sadness he felt at the lost life of a young man who, it appeared, had everything to live for before being cut down by the hand of a killer.

“This is where things get interesting,” Strauss said, and Ross could almost swear she said it in exactly the same tone of voice that her boss, Doctor Nugent had used with him over the years. “Of course, the first thing I did was look for signs of a natural death. Even young men of Aaron's age have been known to keel over from heart failure, for example, but then, I noticed a few scraps of lint-like fibres in the nasal passages, petechial haemorrhaging around the eyes and signs of cyanosis in the face. I compared the lint fibres with the pillow cases on the bed and they provided me with a visual match. Tests are ongoing to confirm my thoughts. I made a quick examination of the body as it lay on the bed and lo and behold, I found a similar pin prick on Aaron's upper left arm. I had enough to warrant a determination of a suspicious death, and that's why we're here today.”

“Seems to me you've got it all worked out, Doctor,” said Ross. “I'm surprised you're going through the whole business of the autopsy if you think you've already determined cause of death.”

“Ah, procedures, rules and regulations, Inspector,” Nugent chimed in. “As ye well know, in cases of suspicious death we have tae carry out a full post-mortem examination, and so that's what we're about today.”

“Yes, of course. I know that Doc, just seems a waste of time sometimes.”

“Aye, well, I'll not disagree with you on that one, Inspector, but anyway, we were just finishing up anyway, when you and D.C. Ferris arrived.”

“Okay, so, what's your verdict, Doctor Strauss?”

Ross directed the question to the younger pathologist as, strictly speaking, it was her case, despite Nugent being her supervisor.

“Death was caused by asphyxia, Inspector. But, it's possible the victim was drugged first in order to render him unconscious and therefore eliminate any chances of him struggling while he was being suffocated. It looks very much as if his girlfriend was also drugged to pacify her while the murder was being carried out.”

“There is another option that you may have missed here, Doctor, if you don't mind me saying so,” said the quick thinking Paul Ferris.

“Go on, please, D.C. Ferris,” Strauss replied.

Ross smiled, thinking he already knew what Ferris was about to add, and as the young detective spoke he confirmed Ross's own thoughts.

“Well, what if the murderer was actually intending to kill both Aaron and Sally? He successfully knocks them both out somehow with a drug of some description, manages to complete the murder of Decker, and then before he can kill the young woman, something disturbs him, a knock on the door, a noise at the window, I don't know. It could have been anything, I'm just theorising here, but it's surely possible. The girl could still be a target.”

“You're quite right, Paul,” Ross agreed.

“Yes, I suppose you are,” said Strauss.

After a moment's hesitation, Ross added another option to Ferris's initial supposition.

“Your theory is good, Paul, but it also opens up another possible scenario.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, it's equally possible the girlfriend is a very clever and devious killer. She could have injected Decker, suffocated him while he was unconscious and then injected herself with enough of whatever the knockout drug was, just enough to make sure she was still out of it when someone came to find them in the morning. She was bound to know the housemates would come looking for Aaron when he didn't show up at breakfast time.”

“I see what you mean, sir. So, Sally Metcalfe could be a potential victim or she could be the murderer. Looks like we either have to protect her, or investigate her in detail.”

“Exactly,” said Ross.

Having listened to the two detectives thinking 'on the hoof' Doctor William Nugent turned to his female colleague and observed,

“Aye well, that's why they're the police and we're just the old sawbones, Vicky,” Nugent concluded. “It's their job to look one step beyond our findings, in order to catch the criminals. Am I correct, Inspector?”

“I suppose you are, Doctor. Yes, we rely heavily on what you can discover from the dead, but we have to take what you give us and try to build a case around the simple facts of what actually caused a person's death.”

“Well, I wish you luck with this one. Such a shame, and him so young,” said Nugent. “I'll have our full report on your desk as soon as humanly possible.”

“Thanks to you both,” said Ross, at which time the doors to the autopsy room flew open and a well-dressed figure of a man burst into the room closely followed by a red-faced and flustered-looking Michelle Hill.

Chapter 5

Jerome Decker III

No one in Autopsy Room 2 needed to look further than the face of the tall man who blustered into the room to know he was the father of the young man who lay on the stainless steel autopsy table in front of them. The facial resemblance was clear for all to see. With swift presence of mind, Paul Ferris stepped quickly towards the advancing man and despite being considerably shorter and of a lesser physique, stood his ground directly in front of him, his arms spread out to form a physical barrier.

“Sir, you really don't want to some any closer. Please, just wait here a minute.”

“That's my son,” the man shouted, the anguish clear in his voice. “I want to see my son.”

Ross quickly joined Ferris and the two of them managed to force Jerome Decker to back-pedal until he was standing with his back against the wall beside the double doors.

“Mr. Decker, I'm Detective Inspector Ross, and this is Detective Constable Ferris. You do not want to see your son at this moment, I assure you. Please allow the doctors to complete their work and then I'm sure Doctor Nugent will arrange for you to see your son.”

“Aye, of course I will, Mr. Decker,” said Nugent, “but the inspector is quite right about not seeing him just now. The inspector will talk to you while we finish here. Inspector Ross, you can use my office if you like. You know the way, of course.”

“Yes, thank you, Doctor,” Ross replied, gratefully. “Please, sir, come with me. I know you're upset and grieving, but we really do need to talk to you.”

Somehow, Ross and Ferris managed to shepherd Decker senior from the room and along the corridor. Ferris opened the door to Nugent's office and Ross guided the father into the room, Ferris closing the door as he followed them inside. As soon as the door closed, without invitation, Jerome Decker slumped into one of the visitors' chairs in the office and held his head in his hands, his grief palpable as his shoulders shook and tears began to fall from his red-rimmed eyes.

“Take your time, Mr. Decker,” said Ross, passing a box of tissues across the desk, obviously kept there by Nugent for just such occasions, which Ferris handed to the distraught man. Decker looked up, saw the box and took out a single tissue which he used to dab at his eyes.

“Thank you. I'm real sorry for bursting in like that. I was just … hell, I don't know what I was doing.”

“You're upset, you want to lash out, and you want answers, am I correct, Mr. Decker?”

“Well, yes, you're right, Inspector. This news has devastated my wife and me, I can tell you.”

“Where is your wife, sir?”

“She's still in London. I didn't want her to come here just yet, not until things are clearer. Do you have any idea exactly what happened to my son, Inspector…?”

“Ross, sir. Andrew Ross is my name.”

Ross turned to Ferris and asked him to organise tea and coffee for them all. “Maybe young Michelle can help,” he said as Ferris rose to leave,

With Ferris gone, Ross leaned forward and looked into the eyes of the grieving father. He decided the out and out truth was his best option in dealing with the American.

“Mr. Decker, I won't hide anything from you. All the evidence we have so far points to the fact that your son was murdered.”

“Murdered? My God, we were told he'd been found dead, but nobody at the embassy said anything about murder. Please, tell me what happened. Aaron was so popular; I just can't believe anyone hated him enough to murder him.”

“Your son was found dead in his bed by one of the young men who shared the house in Wavertree with him. His girlfriend, Sally Metcalfe, was still asleep beside him apparently, and when woken up, she became hysterical on finding Aaron had died in the night. We've since discovered that both Aaron and Sally were given some sort of drug intravenously to knock then both out, after which Aaron was asphyxiated with his own pillow. Toxicology tests are being carried out as we speak to determine the drug that was used to knock them out. That's about it, so far, Mr. Decker. My team were only called into this investigation this morning, though we have the file from the officers who first responded to the emergency call.”

Decker looked stunned. Maybe he thought his son had died from an accident or natural causes. To be told your child has been murdered must be a terribly traumatic experience, Ross thought, glad at that moment that he and Maria had no children of their own,

“You have no suspects?” Decker asked.

“Not as yet, no sir. It's early days, yet. Tell me, do you know of anyone who might have wished Aaron harm?”

“Not a soul, Inspector Ross. Like I said, Aaron was popular, gregarious and easy to get along with. This is a nightmare, a real nightmare. What the hell am I going to tell his mother?”

“I'm sorry. I know this isn't easy for you, for we have to know as much as we can about your son if we're to find his killer.”

“I understand. Ask away, Inspector Ross.”

“Do you have any enemies, Mr. Decker? Could someone have tried to get at you through your son? Could killing Aaron have been meant to send you some kind of message? I understand you're something in the U.S. State Department?”

“I'm nothing special, Inspector, just a simple Cultural Attaché.”

“And what exactly does that entail, Mr. Decker?”

“Nothing sensitive, I assure you,” said Decker. “My job simply involves furthering positive relations between my country and yours, and any others who happen to come into contact with our embassy in London.”

“So you don't have any kind of political agenda that might have made someone think that hurting Aaron could influence you in some way?”

“No, Inspector Ross, definitely not. You need to look elsewhere. What about the guys he was rooming with, or house sharing or whatever you call it over here?”

“You never met them?”