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    A Pattern of Murder
    A Pattern of Murder
    A Pattern of Murder
    Ebook77 pages1 hour

    A Pattern of Murder

    By Paul Trembling

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    About this ebook

    A PATTERN OF MURDER

    And other Crime Scene Stories

    Meet Ben Drummond.

    Or perhaps you'd prefer not to.  He's obnoxious, cantankerous, and uncouth.  Disrespectful to superiors, patronising to colleagues, and rude to everyone, he's not a person you'd want in your home.

    Unless you've been the victim of a crime.  Because if there's one thing Ben's good at, it's Crime Scene Investigation.  And if you want to know what really happened, he's your man!

    Just don't expect him to be nice about it.

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherYearning Blue
    Release dateApr 23, 2013
    ISBN9781497788299
    A Pattern of Murder
    Author

    Paul Trembling

    Paul Trembling was born in England in 1957 and has been making up stories for as long as he can remember. Whilst following a varied career path - seamen, storeman, janitor, missionary, administrator and most recently, Crime Scene Investigator - he continues to dream up plots, characters, and scenes. Some became sketches, some short stories, some novels. Most are still waiting for their chance to get out of his head! Paul's Lion Fiction titles include: Local Poet, Local Artist, and Local Legend.

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      Book preview

      A Pattern of Murder - Paul Trembling

      A Pattern of Murder.

      BEN DRUMMOND DIDN’T like bungalows.  He especially didn’t like large, sprawling, over-priced bungalows in well-to-do areas, isolated from the rest of the world by their own extensive grounds.  Nor did he like the sort of people who lived in them, wealthy people who valued their privacy but were – in Ben’s opinion – too bone idle to go upstairs to bed.  Hence they had bungalows built for them.

      There was no particular reason for this prejudice.  Ben collected prejudices the way some people collected stamps, and didn’t bother to justify his attitude with reasons.  Bungalows and their occupants were just two more facets of his general dissatisfaction with the universe. 

      He did, however, quite like crime scenes.  He especially liked crime scenes in affluent areas, because he liked the idea of the rich and the smug being dragged down to the same sad reality he himself occupied. Plus which, the houses usually smelled better.  And – on a purely practical level – it was easier to find forensic evidence in clean and generally tidy houses than in messy ones.

      He rang the bell, flashed his ID as it opened, and introduced himself in his usual friendly fashion.  Scenes of Crime Officer.  Are you Teller?

      The man at the door nodded.  Yes. Reginald Teller.

      What’s happened, then?  Ben asked.

      Teller raised an eyebrow.  We’ve been burgled! he said, giving Ben a ‘don’t ask stupid questions’ sort of look.

      Scenes of Crime Officers are expected to treat members of the public with courtesy and respect.  Ben had always found that a bit of a challenge, and Teller wasn’t encouraging him in that direction.

      Yes, I know, he answered acerbically.  "That’s why I’m here.  Because you reported a burglary.  Ben was tempted to ask if Teller often had SOCO’s drop in on him just in passing, but he’d had too many warnings lately about his attitude. I need some more details.  Start with when you found it."

      Hmm.  Teller looked annoyed.  Tall, balding, and sharp featured, he was immaculately if casually dressed and had the air of someone who would take no nonsense.  Ben added ‘pompous fart’ to his assessment.  At six foot tall, he matched Teller for size, and could easily outdo him for attitude.  Apart from that, they had nothing in common, Ben being unremittingly shabby in appearance, with an untidy shock of iron-grey hair over his fleshy visage.  Traces of fingerprint powder on his jacket were, of course, the natural result of his job, but the greasy food stains on his shirt and tie were all Ben.

      You reported it at fourteen hundred.  Ben prompted.  That’s two o’clock this afternoon, he added patronisingly.

      Yes, Teller conceded reluctantly. My wife and I had been out all morning.  We’d gone in her car.  He indicated a silver Lexus parked on the drive next to Ben’s SOCO van.  The first thing we noticed was that my Range Rover, which had been left outside the garage, was missing.  Then we saw that the front door was ajar, and when we entered there was broken glass in the back bedroom.  Glass with blood on it – so that should make your job easier!

      Maybe.  Ben had been a SOCO for more than thirty years.  He didn’t care for people telling him how to do his job.  Anything else taken apart from the car?

      Teller shook his head.  As far as we can see, the intruder went straight from the bedroom to the kitchen at the front, took the car keys from the drawer where we keep them, and left through the front door.

      No signs of a search?  Ben frowned when Teller confirmed it. How many people know where you keep your keys?

      Not many.

      Another voice, a women’s, broke in on the conversation.  We know exactly who did this – and we’ve already given his name to the Police!

      And you are? asked Ben.  The woman had come out of one of the inner rooms, and was peering round Teller’s shoulder.  Short, thin, and blonde, with a supercilious expression.

      Rosemary Teller, she informed Ben.  We’re quite sure that it was Marcus.  Marcus Teller, Reginald’s brother.  An ex-convict, by the way! He’s been causing us a lot of trouble lately.  Demanding money!  When we told him that he had had enough charity from us he turned very nasty and threatened to take what he wanted!  And of course, he knew where we kept the keys.

      He knew the alarm code as well, her husband added, seeing Ben glance at the sensor in the hallway.

      What did he need your money for? Ben enquired.  His glance at the alarm sensor, high up on the far wall of the hallway, had shown him something else of interest, but he refrained from looking too closely at it.  He was wondering if the Teller’s were going to mention it, and didn’t want to prompt them.

      Well, how would we know? Mrs Teller snapped. Debts?  Drugs?  Really, we’ve no idea what he’s been up to since he came out of prison!  And in any case, I don’t see what difference it makes to your investigation!  The Police Officer told us that you just needed to take a sample of the blood.

      I’m afraid that there’s rather more to it than that, Mrs Teller, Ben said politely.  Ben, being polite, would have been a major danger signal to anyone who

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