Burlington Bertie

By Robert Mills

An old man is shot during a scuffle with an intruder in his own home.

Sanjay Patel is part of the team that investigates the suspicious death, which is thought to be manslaughter rather than murder, but progress is slow. Before the investigation ends, he is transferred to another case involving a serial killer who preys on young women. The killer waited several years before committing his latest murder, so why has he started killing again?

The skilled killer leaves no trace of himself at the murder scenes but gradually evidence of his begins to link to the crimes.

As the net tightens, Sanjay and his team are under pressure to bring the killer to justice. Will they catch him before it’s too late?

Inspector Sanjay Patel returns in Robert Mills gripping crime series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Release date: May 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9781805148814

Robert Mills

Robert Mills was born in 1950 and trained as a doctor in London. He worked as a consultant ENT surgeon in Dundee and Edinburgh. After retiring from the British Health Service and his marriage to a Thai doctor, he moved to Thailand. He has three children and three grandchildren, all of whom live in the UK. Burlington Bertie is Robert’s sixth published novel with Troubador Publishing.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter One

He noticed a chill in the air as he stepped out of the rear entrance of the store. It was just after seven o’clock and the weather forecast promised a day of blustery showers, but he would be sleeping so it didn’t matter. The night shift had gone well enough. As usual, some of the shelf-stackers had sneaked off for a fag when they should have been working, and they’d been reluctant to return when he caught them at it. He knew they didn’t respect him, but had gained the impression that at least some of them were a little afraid of him. No doubt he was the butt of their jokes when he wasn’t around, but he didn’t care. He went to work to earn money, not to make friends.

His house was a short walk from his workplace and he would soon be tucked up in bed. He had the ability to sleep at any time during a twenty-four hour period, so working the night shift was not a problem for him. It was a talent that had served him well during his army service. There had been times when he had to bed down under canvas or in a derelict building, but it didn’t make any difference; he slept like a log.

As he opened the front door he saw two envelopes on the mat. When he tore them open he found that they contained advertisements for things he didn’t want or need. He went through to the kitchen, a small room with old-fashioned wall and base units and a table with a Formica top. The cooker was old as well, but he hadn’t considered replacing it since his parents had died. The truth was he mainly lived on a diet of take-away food, and ready meals purchased using his staff discount.

He was about to throw the junk mail in the pedal bin when he noticed that someone had smashed the small window in the back door. There were fragments of glass on the floor nearby. Someone had broken in and it was possible that the intruder was still in the house. A search revealed that a small sum of money and his father’s old camera were missing, but the thief was already long gone. He sighed. He could simply forget about it or call the police. After a few moments, consideration, he reached for the phone and dialled 999.

It was early afternoon when the policeman rang the doorbell. He was glad he had gone to bed rather than staying up until the officer arrived. The cop had probably had to ring several times to wake him, but fortunately he’d been patient enough to wait while he slipped on his dressing gown and padded downstairs. He opened the front door and stood aside to let him in. Once in the living room, the constable sat down in his late mother’s favourite armchair and opened his notebook.

Can I have your full name, sir? he said.

Edward Lawson.

Any middle name?

Arthur.

When did you discover the break in?

It was about seven twenty when I got back home. I work nights, you see.

The policeman made a note of the items that had been stolen.

Anything like this happened before? he said.

No.

How did they get in?

Through the back door.

I’d better have a look.

The officer inspected the door and then went out into the small back garden and walked down to the wall, beyond which was the recreation ground.

I expect they came across the rec and climbed over the wall, he said.

Lawson had drawn the same conclusion himself when he discovered the break in, but decided not to say so.

Any idea who might have done it? he said.

The policeman shrugged. Probably kids, or maybe a drug addict. A pro wouldn’t have wasted his time breaking in to a house like yours. We’ve had a few similar robberies in this area in the last few months. We’ll make some enquiries and see what we can find out.

Lawson realised he had little in the house that was worth stealing, but a burglar wouldn’t know that until he got inside. Still, he supposed that the policeman knew what he was talking about.

As he was leaving, the officer stopped to inspect the old Ford Escort parked on an area of tarmac in front of the house.

You don’t see many of those nowadays, he said. I had one myself years ago. It was red like this one as well.

It’s my father’s old car, said Lawson. I inherited it when he died.

The policeman scratched his head. You don’t need to display a tax disk anymore, but why have you got one from 1988? he asked.

That’s a replica I bought online. I got it when I was still driving the car because the year it was built was 1988. Not long after that it broke down and I couldn’t be bothered to fix it, so it was a waste of money. I’m planning to scrap the car, but I haven’t got round to it. I’ve done a SORN for the vehicle. Would you like to see the certificate?

The officer shifted from one foot to the other. I think I’d better, he said, if it’s not too much trouble.

Lawson disappeared inside. He went to the old desk in the living room and opened one of the drawers. The document he wanted was under a pile of bills. He removed it and went back outside.

That seems to be in order, said the constable, after scanning the certificate. Right then, I’ll be off. We’ll be in touch if we find out anything.

Lawson watched as he climbed into his car and drove away. If we find out anything, he thought, looks like that was a complete waste of time.

Chapter Two

As he entered the hallway, Detective Sergeant Paul Owen detected a musty smell that reminded him of his gran’s house. It was a long narrow room, with the staircase on the right and doors giving access to the downstairs rooms on the left. The wallpaper had a floral pattern and the well-worn carpet was dark brown. The only piece of furniture was a large, rather ugly hallstand with a mirror and a holder for umbrellas. He turned to the young policeman who had let him in.

What’s the story? he said.

Old bloke’s been shot, said the constable. The wife said she woke when she heard him cry out. Says there was some bashing and crashing and then a gun went off. The body’s upstairs.

Are the SOCOs here?

Yeah, they arrived about ten minutes ago. The pathologist’s on her way.

OK, I suppose I’d better take a look.

Owen climbed the stairs to the landing. The body of an elderly man lay crumpled at the top of the stairs and the area of carpet around his head was stained with blood. Several men in white overalls were at work looking for evidence.

Hiya, Paul, said one of them. So you’re the lucky bastard who’s on tonight.

Oh hello, Ken, said Owen. Long time no see. Anything interesting?

We’ve got a few decent prints from the banister, but they could easily belong to the victim or his wife. We’re still at it so we might find more. Oh, and we’ve found the bullet, he said, pointing to the frame of the bathroom door. The blood staining is what you’d expect; back spatter onto the victims clothes from the entry wound and widespread droplets from where it came out.

Any chance some of the blood came from the assailant?

Unlikely, but we won’t know for sure until we test it.

Anything else?

Oh yeah, we found this on the stairs.

He showed Owen a piece of paper in an evidence bag. The sergeant frowned. What is it? he said.

It looks like a betting slip.

This didn’t seem important to Owen at the time and the item in question was already bagged and labelled. It would be available for more detailed examination at a later date.

Right, well, I’ll let you get on then, he said. He turned to the constable. You said his wife found the body, yeah?

That’s right, she’s pretty upset so I made her a cup of tea and put her in the living room.

Owen nodded his approval. What do we know so far? he said

The deceased is a Mr Norman Briggs, said the constable. According to his wife, something disturbed him around two o’clock this morning and he went to investigate. She didn’t wake until she heard the old man shouting at someone. Then she heard a loud bang and came out onto the landing to see her husband lying on the floor. As you can see, he’s been shot in the head.

Did she see the attacker?

She says not. Seems he got out of there a bit sharpish.

Was anything taken?

Like I said, the old lady’s in a bit of a state but she doesn’t think anything’s missing.

Owen scratched his head. It still could be a burglary that went wrong, he said. Have you found a weapon?

An old pistol was lying beside the body, said the constable, brandishing an evidence bag containing the item in question, Mrs Briggs says it belonged to her husband.

Bit of an antique, isn’t it?

According to his wife, he got it while he was doing national service. Apparently he hung on to it afterwards for some reason.

Anything else?

Not so far.

There was a ring at the door and the constable ran downstairs to open it. From his elevated position, Owen could see that the newcomer was DI Sanjay Patel. He hurried down the stairs to greet the newcomer. When he had brought his senior officer up to speed and Sanjay had examined the body, he said, Shall we have a word with the old lady now?

The inspector nodded. Where is she? he said.

In the living room, said the constable.

***

Patel and Owen descended the stairs and entered a room that was cluttered with large furniture, making it feel even smaller than it actually was. On the sofa sat a small lady wearing a heavy woollen dressing gown and slippers. Her white hair hung down over her shoulders and was brushed back to reveal the parchment-like skin of her forehead.

I’m sorry to have to trouble you at a time like this, said Sanjay, but I need to ask you a few questions.

Of course, I understand, she said in a steady voice, but he could see that her hands were trembling.

Did you see anyone in the hallway when you reached the landing?

She shook her head and wiped away a tear with a large linen handkerchief.

I keep thinking we shouldn’t have been here tonight, she said. We were supposed to be with my sister in Dorchester, but she phoned yesterday morning to say that she was poorly and asked us to come another time. If only we’d gone, Norman would still be alive.

Yes, I see, said Patel. When you let the uniformed officer in earlier, was the front door locked?

Oh yes, Norman was very particular about locking up before we went to bed. Well, I mean, there’s a lot of crime round here these days.

Do you have any family locally?

Only Norman’s nephew, Garry. He lives in Colliers Wood. He’s been very good to us. He generally telephones before he goes to the SavaCentre to see if there’s anything we need.

What’s his full name?

Garry Allen, he don’t have a middle name.

Was there anything of value in the house, Mrs Briggs?

Not really, but we do have some money under our mattress. Norman didn’t trust banks, you see, so he kept our savings in the house.

Sanjay thought that such behaviour was a thing of the past, but clearly he was wrong. How much would have been there? he said.

I don’t know exactly. Norman looked after the money, paid all the bills and that.

Can you give me a rough idea?

A few thousand I should think.

Sanjay looked across at Owen and the other raised an eyebrow in response.

Get the constable to check under the mattress, will you? he said. As Owen was leaving the room, Sanjay turned to Mrs Briggs. Was your husband a betting man?

He liked a little flutter now and then. I told him it was stupid but he wouldn’t listen. Garry used to do ’em for him.

Has he placed any bets recently?

Not as far as I know. He generally only did the big races, like the Grand National.

Sanjay nodded and smiled sympathetically.

That’s all for now, he said. We’ll need to get you to give us a formal statement but that can wait until morning.

As he rose to leave, she said, Who would have done such a thing? Norman never did nothing to hurt no one.

We don’t know at the moment, said Sanjay. You can rest assured we’ll do our level best to catch the killer.

He emerged from the sitting room to find Owen and the constable in conversation in the hall. Did you check under that mattress? he said.

The constable nodded. I did a quick count, he said. There’s roughly ten thousand quid there. It could be what the thief was after.

You’re assuming the motive for the killer entering the house was burglary, said Sanjay. As I understand it, there’s no evidence of forced entry. Owen nodded. That suggests the victim let his assailant in or that the guy had a key.

Owen scoffed. Could have been a burglar with a bump key, he said.

Before Sanjay could respond, one of the SOCOs appeared at his shoulder to let them know that the pathologist had arrived and was already examining the body. Looking up, he could see the slim form of Dr Alison Jarvis leaning over the victim and he and Owen climbed the stairs to join her. She stood up and turned to look at them.

‘Morning, Sanjay, she said. I won’t shake hands for obvious reasons.

Patel smiled. What can you tell us so far? he said.

Well, he was shot at close range, she said. The entry wound is on the right side of his face and there’s an exit wound over here on the left side of the head. She pointed at the victim’s body with a gloved finger. The PM will confirm the details.

Thank you, that’s very helpful. Sanjay turned to Owen. Tracy’s on her way, so we’ll need to stick around until she comes. Gives us a chance to have a look around the rest of the house.

Dr Jarvis peeled off her gloves. I’ll be off then, she said. See you at the PM.

When Dr Jarvis had gone, Sanjay said to Owen, Where’s the officer who arrived here first? There are a couple of things I’d like to ask him.

Downstairs somewhere, said Owen, I’ll fetch him.

He found the constable in the kitchen having a cup of tea. Boss wants a word, he said.

They climbed the stairs with the constable in front. When Sanjay saw him he said, Come on up, what’s your name?

Southgate, sir, said the officer.

So PC Southgate, what time did you get here?

About two thirty, sir, said Southgate. I was about ten minutes away when the call came in.

Did you see anyone about when you arrived in Anderson Road?

No, sir, the road was deserted.

Did you check the back door?

Yes, it was locked.

Good, that’s all for now. Turning to Owen, he said: We’ll check the rooms up here first.

Owen said, I still think it looks like a burglary gone wrong.

Quite possibly, said Sanjay, but let’s not jump to conclusions.

Chapter Three

Amber Patel was feeding their daughter, Christine, from a jar, but much of its contents had ended up in her pelican bib, rather than in her mouth. She had recently switched to a different brand of baby food in the hopes it would be more acceptable, but to no avail. Amber had slept little the night before and was therefore not as patient as usual, and it was as if the small person with a will of her own could sense this, but was not inclined to make life easy for her.

She had woken when the telephone call came through and Sanjay had clambered reluctantly out of bed to attend the crime scene. She had just got back to sleep when Christine, who had become distressed for no obvious reason, had begun to cry. It had taken a while to settle her. She had been disturbed again when Sanjay returned and climbed into bed.

The kitchen door opened and her husband came in in his dressing gown, bleary-eyed and dishevelled.

You were out a long time last night, said Amber. What’s up?

There was what appears to be an attempted robbery in South Wimbledon.

You don’t normally get involved in those.

The householder was killed, so the MIT got called in.

I see. I suppose that means you’ll be going in to work this morning, rather than catching up on your sleep.

Well, yes, there’s a lot to do.

I was hoping you’d be able to drop madam here off at the minder’s. I’ve got an early meeting.

That’s OK. I got a text from Tracy to say that the morning briefing’s been put back an hour. She’s been summoned to see the Cheeseburger at nine o’clock.

This news was a relief to Amber. She was usually the one who had to change her schedule in these circumstances. A case like the new one would probably involve a lot of overtime, which was good for their finances, but not for their family life.

Sanjay sighed. It’s so pointless, he said.

What is?

Well, as far as we can tell, this old guy got up because he heard a noise and tackled the burglar. It appears likely that the pistol went off as they were struggling. If he’d left the gun wherever he kept it, he’d probably still be alive.

Householders round here don’t usually own firearms, do they?

Fortunately not, otherwise this country would end up like America.

You can understand people wanting to protect their property.

Guns are dangerous, especially in the wrong hands. The old man didn’t even have a licence for this one.

Did they steal much?

As far as we can tell, nothing’s been taken. We can only presume the victim disturbed him before they’d got what they came for. Mind you, that’s pure speculation.

Do you think it was an accident then?

I don’t think it was premeditated, but we don’t have enough to go on at the moment, so I’m keeping an open mind.

My criminal law is a bit rusty, but I think I’m right in saying that killing someone in the course of a burglary would be involuntary manslaughter, assuming the perpetrator didn’t intend to kill the victim.

"If it was premeditated it’s murder. I have to admit that there’s no reason to suspect that the attacker went there to kill the old man, so you’re probably right."

Sanjay went over to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup.

They didn’t have children so the wife’s left alone, he said.

That’s a fairly common situation. Women tend to live longer than men. Has she got any family at all?

There’s a sister, but she doesn’t live in London, and the old bloke had a nephew who lives locally.

I’d imagine he’s left everything to his wife, which simplifies things.

Sanjay grunted. Representing parties involved in disputed inheritance cases was Amber’s job, so it was natural to her to consider this aspect of the situation. She realised he was more interested in finding the killer. It seemed unlikely that the old boy had much to leave his nearest and dearest, but in these cases you could never be sure.

Where did all this take place? she said.

Anderson Road, not far from the tube station.

Christine had finished her breakfast, or at least had eaten as much as she was felt was appropriate, so Amber asked Sanjay to wash and change her.

No problem, he said, and picked up the wriggling bundle of humanity. Let’s get you a nice clean nappy.

Amber smiled. Despite his irregular working hours, Sanjay was determined to be a hands-on parent, just as she’d hoped he would be.

Chapter Four

Superintendent Barry Cheeseman, generally known as ‘The Cheeseburger’ when he was out of earshot, chewed the end of one of the legs of his spectacles while he read the report on the new case. When he had finished, he tossed the folder onto his desk.

OK, he said, what are your initial thoughts, Chief Inspector?

Well, sir, said Tracy Taylor, I think the assailant could have been a burglar who was disturbed by the victim, but I’m not entirely sure that’s what happened.

You mean because nothing was taken? Chances are the killer was disturbed before he had a chance to grab anything.

It’s not that, sir. We haven’t found any evidence of a break in, which suggests either that the victim let his killer in or that he had a key for some reason.

Maybe the old boy didn’t lock up before he went to bed. Old people get forgetful. How old was the victim?

Eighty-two; the thing is, the front and back doors were locked when the first officer arrived on the scene.

Cheeseman cleared his throat. I must have missed that bit, he said. All right then, maybe the thief got in through a window.

Tracy shook her head. There was no evidence to suggest that, she said.

OK, so we don’t know how the killer got in. What we do know is that the victim didn’t know his attacker.

We can only be certain he didn’t recognise them. It was dark and the victim didn’t turn on the landing light.

Yeah, yeah, all right, said Cheeseman. The fact remains that strangers get into people’s houses to rob them, not to do a bit of dusting. We’ve got to assume that this was an attempted robbery. You may not be aware that there have been a number of burglaries in that part of South Wimbledon in recent months. We’ve got a pretty good idea who’s involved, but we don’t have enough evidence to charge them. I suggest your first move should be to bring the suspects in and interview them. Chances are when they realise one of them is potentially going down for killing this old man they’ll be inclined to cooperate. Chief Inspector Brewer is leading the investigation into the burglaries and I’ve asked him to liaise with you.

Inspector Patel raised the subject of those previous robberies and I had a look at the file on them before I came in to see you. The thing is, the pattern’s different. In those cases the properties were entered from the rear, usually by cutting a hole in a downstairs window. There was no evidence of that in this case.

Cheeseman scoffed. I’ve been investigating robberies in the London area for the last twenty years, he said. I can tell you that they don’t always follow a set pattern. Professional criminals are opportunists. If they see a way of getting into a property, they’ll use it. Some of them can pick a lock before you can say Jack Robinson, and without leaving any obvious marks on it.

Taylor was well aware of the ease with which most door locks can be opened and the ways of doing so. It was