• A Serious Case Of Ferret

• Copyright Gary Weston 2012

• Smashwords Edition

Chapter 1

'There should be a law against one o'clock in the morning,' said Detective Senior Sergeant Stanley Morris.

Detective Sergeant Vincent Crowe had a modicum of sympathy and understanding with his boss.

'How's the toothache?'

'It feels like the rest of me. Like crap.'

'Are you up to this?'

'No. Not really.'

The flashing lights and the time of day were not conducive to Morris's overall well being. They had already served a ten hour day, and it was obvious they had a long night still ahead of them. The Scene Of Crime team were already resplendent in white disposable coveralls, searching the bushes, and the paramedics were bagging up the body.

'We have to face them,' said Crowe. 'Let me do the talking.'

'But they're friends of mine.'

'Even more important for you to take a back seat on this one. Come on.'

Morris and Crowe trudged up the gravel path to the mansion bathed in floodlights. A uniformed constable stepped aside to let the detectives in. The hallway exuded opulence and taste, the stairway leading up to the eight bedrooms above. A jaded looking man appeared from a bedroom doorway and tiptoed down the stairs. He was dressed in full evening suit and would have looked like an elegant man of the world, had his face been not so grey and drawn.

'Stan.'

Morris met the man as he stepped off the final step and threw his arms about him.

'Shit, Jack. This is like a bad dream. How's Mary?'

'The doctor's given her a heavy sedative. Thank God she's out of it.'

'Good. And you. What about you?'

The man shook his head. 'Man. I don't know what planet I'm on.'

'Are you up to talking?'

It was at that moment Jack Travis broke down completely. He hugged Morris and let his tears flood out. Morris stood like a rock, letting the tears wet his neck, feeling the big man shake with his sorrow. Several minutes of outpouring of grief followed, but finally, Travis managed to control himself.

'Stan...'

'Come into the kitchen, Jack.'

Morris knew the way and with his arm crooked through Travis's arm, they made a sorry path to the kitchen. Morris sat Travis down, and with a nod of his head towards Crowe, the kettle was filled and turned on. Perched on the breakfast stools, Morris and Travis faced each other.

'My little girl...'

'I know, Jack.'

'She was so beautiful....'

'A great kid.'

'Stan...'

The big shoulders convulsed again, and Morris took his friend's hand.

'I know mate. I bloody well know.' He wiped away his own tears, feeling deeply his friend's grief.

Crowe put the tea in front of them. 'Mr Travis. Stan's not up to this right now. If you don't mind, I'd like to take over, if that's okay with you.'

'Stan?'

'I've a raging toothache, Jack. Vince is right. I'm no bloody use to you right now. You have a top detective in Vince. Let him take over for now. I'll be back on the job in a few hours.'

The huge shoulders slumped and Morris took his cue to leave.

'Tell Vince all you know, mate. I'll see you in a few hours.'

Crowe and Morris nodded to each other, words being obsolete and meaningless.

Chapter 2

Detective Constable Fred Ducket had been unsure what to do when he had arrived at the police headquarters that morning. Crowe and Morris were nowhere to be found and nobody seemed to know where they were. So he spent a couple of hours in his “office” organising things and downloading his freshly acquired information. He had spent three days with the forensics teams, doing both laboratory work and also field work. It was part of the Chiefs new initiative and Ducket had been selected as the guinea pig to kick things off. With his records updated, he decided to try Morris's office again, this time finding him at his desk. He'd clearly had a rough night.

'Ah, Ducket. How did you get on?'

'Great, Sir. I learnt heaps.'

'Good. That's what it's all about.'

'You look rough, if you don't mind me saying so.'

'I feel worse than I look. Detective Crowe and I were called out on a job in the middle of the night. That and lack of sleep with toothache and I'm the result.'

'How's the toothache now?'

'Gone, along with the tooth. The injection's only just wearing off.'

Crowe walked in, he too looking worse for wear. He managed a nod at Ducket.

'Get any sleep?' Crowe asked Morris.

'I was about to ask you the same question.'

Crowe shrugged. 'A couple of hours. I'm going back there in a minute. You coming?'

'Yes. I want to see Mary. Did you see her?'

Crowe shook his head. 'No. She was still out of it. I got the statement from Jack, not that he had much to add.'

'What's happened?' Ducket asked.

'Sorry, Ferret,' said Morris. 'The daughter of a friend of mine was found murdered last night. She's only fifteen. Jeez. I can't get my head around it.'

'How did she die?'

'It looks like strangulation, but we'll know for sure when we get the autopsy report.'

'You probably know the family, Ducket,' said Crowe.

'Oh?'

'Ever heard of Jack Travis?'

'The writer? The Jack Travis?'

'Yes. It was his daughter who died.'

'My God. I read all his stuff. Blood on the ceiling was a classic.'

Morris said, 'That's how I got to know him and his family. I met Jack at a book launch, when Double Barrel Death came out. I had read the previous book, Backstreet Killer. I mentioned that it could never be solved the way he had written it. Now he always runs things by me when he's writing.'

'You helped with Blood On the Ceiling?'

'Remember the forensic report in the story? I did that for him.'

'I'm impressed. It was all down to that book that got me interested in joining the force.'

'Well, how about that?' said Morris. He checked his watch. 'Right. We had better get over there.'

Before he could leave, Detective Inspector Dale Andersen entered. A young woman was with him. No older than twenty two, she was an attractive red head, with a stunning figure her tight jeans and top only emphasised.

'Morning everyone,' said Andersen. 'Stanley. Sorry to hear about your friend's daughter.'

'It's a terrible business. We are just on our way back there now.'

'Right. But if you could just hold on for a minute. I'd like you to meet Poppy Mitchell.' He introduced the detectives to Poppy. 'Miss Mitchell is a writer. She is also a relative of the Chief's. She asked him for help on a novel she's writing, and he wants her to spend a little time with your team.'

'Sir,' said Morris. 'With respect, this isn't a good time....'

'I won't get in your way, I promise,' said Mitchell.

Andersen said, 'The Chief remembered how you enjoyed working with Jack Travis.'

'And as you are well aware, Sir, that's exactly where we are headed right this minute. For personal reasons, I'd rather Miss Mitchell not be involved in this one.'

'Did you say Jack Travis?' gasped Mitchell. 'He's my god.'

'And he's also my friend. You may as well know. His daughter was murdered last night. It'll be all over the news today.'

'Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. Perhaps we can make it another time...?'

'Sir,' said Ducket. 'If I might make a suggestion. I could look after Miss Mitchell while you and Detective Crowe go to see Mr and Mrs Travis.'

'An excellent suggestion, Ducket,' said Andersen.

Morris was keen to get away. 'Very well.'

Mitchell said, 'No offence, Constable Ducket, but I was hoping to spend a little time with someone more ...experienced.'

Before Ducket could answer, Morris said, 'Ducket might be young, but he's an important part of the team. Remember concrete man?'

'Of course.'

'Ducket solved that case.'

Mitchell looked at the blushing Ducket in a new light. 'In that case, I'd be delighted to spend time with Detective Ducket.'

'Okay,' said Morris. 'Sorted. Now we really do have to go.'

Chapter 3

'I was about to go for a coffee,' said Ducket. 'Care to join me?'

'Of course.'

She followed Ducket through the busy corridors to the cafeteria. 'This place is much bigger than I thought.'

'Well, it is the region's police headquarters,' said Ducket picking up a tray and standing in line. 'Hungry?'

'I wouldn't mind a filled roll. Here. Let me pay.'

'My treat. Next time.' They found a table by the window. 'So. A writer. Anything published?'

'Only self-published so far. Two ebooks. Getting good reviews, though.'

'Not doing it full-time, then?'

'Maybe one day. Very few writers do that well. I design web pages to pay my way.'

Ducket was admiring Mitchell as he sipped his coffee. He figured he was about two years older than she was. He also noticed she had no engagement ring on her finger. That was encouraging.

'Maybe you'll do as well as Jack Travis, one day.'

'I can only dream of being that successful. I can't believe it about his daughter.'

'We'll get to the bottom of it. Right. What would you like to know?'

'Well, amongst other things, I'm trying to get some idea of the workings of a place like this. We all see the action outside when the Scene of Crime Teams, or Tactical are at work. But what actually goes on in here?'

'A lot of Admin, of course. Down below we have the cells for holding people before they go to be sentenced, that sort of thing. The court is next door, so they go from here to there, then either they are free to go home or off to prison. We have about three hundred and eleven people here, admin civilians as well as police, keeping the place running twenty four seven. The brass live on the top floor, the troops on this floor, apart from Tactical who have their own rooms down below, next to the underground car park. I have my own little office.'

'You do? Isn't that a little unusual?'

'I'm the only constable in the division with an office. Care to see it?'

'Lead on.'

He led the way, and opened the door for her and turned on the light. 'It isn't much, but I call it home.'

'Kinda cramped, isn't it?'

'I'm lucky to have it. I sort of took it over unofficially. Begged, stole and generally got it all together from stuff nobody else wanted. I'm usually on my own in here. I have a bit of a reputation as the geek of the headquarters. If it isn't Detectives Morris and Crowe wanting me doing stuff in here, it's one of the others.'

'But you do get out in the field, don't you?'

'Of course. Mind you, it's only been happening quite recently. I sort of played my face a bit, and Morris took pity on me. Now I'm part of his team. I still end up in here a lot, though. Morris calls me Ferret, because I can find things out in cyberspace.'

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