The Flat on Albion Hill

Temple rather route marched Cantwell up the hill. The rain had not, as predicted, stopped. Cantwell swore that it was worse. He looked miserable and kept his hands firmly in his raincoat pockets.

"Little bit of water won't do you any harm, Cantwell. Anyway, aren't you Devonians used to water?"

"That's probably it, Gov. Seen too much bloody rain. You've heard the rhyme 'Come to Starmouth in sunny Devon where it rains 6 days out of 7'. That's why I hate rain."

Cantwell was right, it was raining harder, rivulets of water gushed over the gutter splashing onto the road. Ellacott's flat was halfway up the hill. It was the top floor of a converted Edwardian house. The wooden gate needed a lick of paint as did the front door. The landlord obviously paid little attention to the property.

Cantwell rang the doorbell but there was no response. After more ringing and knocking, Temple was beginning to get impatient. Suddenly, Cantwell tugged his sleeve and pointed to the upstairs window. A net curtain rippled slightly though the window itself was closed.

Temple lifted the letterbox and called out. Still no response.

"Go round the back, Cantwell, see what's going on round there."

"There's no back door, Gov, it's..."

"Just do it!"

Cantwell slouched down the side path which was slippery with moss and lichen. Four stone steps led down to the rear garden. Just as he rounded the edge of the downstairs flat, he saw a man running fast to the far end of the garden. Realising he would never catch him, he hastened instead to the back of the building and looked up. The top bay window was open and a curtain hung limply over the sill caught on the pebble-dash beneath.

Temple heard him calling out for Mrs Ellacott. Then, there was shouting: "Police! Stop!" Temple thought 'What the hell!', and set off to the back garden.

When he arrived, he found Cantwell half over the garden fence. As soon as he saw Temple, he rushed back: "Gov, I think some bloke's jumped from the upstairs window and run off down the back alley. He was away before I could reach him."

"Well let's stop pussy-footing about and break down the door." Which is exactly what they did. Cantwell's bulky frame did sometimes serve a purpose!

The flat looked as if a bomb had hit it. Broken crockery littered the kitchen floor, a frying pan had spilled its greasy contents over the green mottled lino. The long corridor leading past a small side room and to the rear reception had paper and books strewn its entire length.

At first, there was no sign of Mrs Brenda Ellacott in the large, bright sitting-room. Only the draught from the open window ruffled yet more papers in disarray on the carpet. A metal lampstand lay on its side; curtains were ripped from their poles.

"My God, Gov, there's been one helluva struggle here. Where is she?"

It was as Cantwell spoke that Temple caught sight of a red high-heeled shoe poking out behind the settee. Brenda Ellacott was lying on her back, a trickle of blood came from the back of her head. He reached down and felt her pulse, she was still alive but unconscious. Her face was puffy and red and her left eye was swollen. She had obviously been severely beaten.

"Go to the nearest phone-box. I think we passed one at the base of the hill. Get an ambulance, then phone the station and get the forensic boys here asap."

To his credit, Canwell moved fast, without a further word. When the chips were down, he usually did the right thing.

Temple rummaged round the bedroom and found a blanket to cover Mrs Ellacott. She was cold and her shallow breathing and pallour worried me.

"Ambulance is on its way, Gov. Forensics will be here soon. Also I gave a description of the bloke I saw getting over the fence. Though he's probably long gone by now."

They heard the ambulance before it arrived, the siren blaring. The neighbours would no doubt be out and the tongues wagging. In small town Starmouth, such events caused a stir.

There would be a few more events to get the tongues wagging even faster and not before too long either.