And now, as they say in the classics, for something completely different. This is a pair of stories triggered by watching a very realistic British crime series on TV. The term ‘flower’ further into this, is used in York, in a similar way that ‘pet’ is used in Tyneside.

Chapter 1

Marilyn Houseman stood by her bedroom window as she zipped up her skirt. She looked out, across the road, and to the left. The Blacksmiths Arms was standing out, its white walls strange in a sea of red brick. If she was home in time, she would be having a meal there, tonight, with her brother, Max, and her sister-in-law, Janet.

When she had been a child, she would often come to this window and look out on the pub, a forbidden place to her then. In those years, this had been her parents’ bedroom, with her and her brother and sister relegated to the back of the house, in tiny rooms of their own. That was before the family had reworked the old outbuilding into three self-contained apartments.

She had modernised the master bedroom, with her husband, when she inherited the house after both her parents had passed on, due to the pandemic. Max had already married and was living in Manchester, while her older sister, Moyra, had eloped, with the latest postcards arriving with South African stamps on. Her partner was a wild-life photographer and was in demand around the world.

Marilyn was born here, in York, had attended Huntingdon Primary, then Huntingdon Secondary. While Moyra had used her inherited beauty to snare a celebrity, Marilyn had more on her mind. Looking like a model, a good two metres tall in heels, she had excelled through her schooling and had gone to the University of York, where she started out in a business studies course, but transferred to the police training courses, after a long talk with the recruitment officer.

Marilyn didn’t spend any time on the beat, unlike others in her team. She had been fast-tracked into the detective branch, firstly in the robbery side, then, as she quickly moved up in the ranks, to her current rank of Detective Inspector with a murder team. She had what her superiors said was a good mind. She didn’t have a photographic memory, but it was an exceptional one. She had graduated with honours and spent her first years working out of the Scarborough Police Station, living in rooms in Barwick Street, a very short stroll to work. It had been an interesting couple of years, finding out that most criminals looked at her beauty and missed her mind, until she read them their rights.

Her next few years were working from Acomb Road to the west side of York. It was there that she got involved with a murder case, actually a robbery with extreme violence. Her team was investigating a series, targeting big winners from The Admiral Casino slot machines. She had seen that it had to be an organised gang. It took an in-depth search with school and work records that linked her case with others in Leeds, with other schoolfriends of those in her case who had been attacking big winners from the casino tables in Leeds, which had developed into a murder investigation.

She arrived at Acomb Road as a new Detective Sergeant, and left it as a Detective Inspector, with a team of six, working from the Fulford Road headquarters. She had two Detective Sergeants, one recently promoted, and the other unlikely to rise further in the ranks.

Checking herself in the big mirror in the bathroom, she went downstairs. Her husband, Anton, gave her a kiss, a cup of coffee, and two pieces of toast. She sat at the kitchen table and spread marge and jam on the toast. He sat with his own cup.

“What’s cooking today, honey?”

“I hope that we can wind up that murder case. He has to be somewhere nearby. There’s been nothing from traffic. I can only hope that he rings for a pizza. How about you, love?”

“We have a lecture to set up in Central, and there’s a concert in the Sir Lyons on the weekend. I’ll be good for tonight, but the afternoons and evenings will be busy, I’m afraid.”

“I’m not sure about me. If something breaks, I may be out as well.”

They tidied up and went out to their cars. Anton was heading to the University, where he was the audio technician for the two big auditoriums. Marilyn had first met him while they were both at the Uni. He was doing a science course, with a speciality in sound and acoustics. They had a steamy love affair and had married after meeting a few years later at an alumni reunion.

On the way to the office, she mulled over the current case. On the face of it, the husband had murdered the wife and took off on a runner. He had a rap sheet and had only been released from Wealstun six months before. He had finished five years for his part as a getaway driver in a jewellery smash and grab. It had been one of the cases that Marilyn had heard about when she had first come back to the city. It had been very much a comedy of errors, with the robbery taking place in full view of several CCTV cameras and a silent alarm bringing the police.

She picked up Sergeant Tim Barry at his bachelor house on Friars’ Walk. As usual, he looked as if he had slept in his clothes. He smelled all right, though.

“Morning, ma-am. I hope we can tidy up the Anderson case, today.”

“Yes, it would be good. We’ll have a quick catch-up with the team, this morning, to see if there’s something we missed.”

She parked in her spot at Fulford Road, and they walked into the complex and up to their team office. As she went in, she looked around and called out.

“Good morning, everyone. Meeting in five minutes.”

She put her bag next to her desk and checked her computer for messages. There were the usual reminders for expense sheets, budgets, and overtime requests, something she had to get used to at this level of responsibility. Back in the body of the office, she stood in front of their ‘Rascals Wall’.

“Right, the Anderson case. Anything new?”

Detective Constable Ian Pace put his pencil in the air.

“A message from his phone carrier came in, Ma-am. He made a call, last night, to the Station Inn in Tollerton. I’ve just called them, and they sent a take-away box to an address on Hag Lane in Youlton.”

“Right. Ian, you stay and monitor the screens. Have a look at the aerial view and let us know the layout. John, get on to uniform and organise an armed response team to join us outside the Lodge Farm Kennels. Hopefully, we’ll nab him this morning. While we’re out, John, tidy up the case file. Helen and Shirley, take a car and go and see the Station Inn. Look at the paperwork, verify what he ordered and the exact time, then give Ginger a call. Tim and Ginger, with me.”

The three of them went north, the other two behind them. At the Kennels, Marilyn pulled over as the other car carried on, to take the right-hand turn that would take them to Tollerton. The armed response car pulled up behind them and Marilyn got out to walk back to speak to them.

“Morning lads. We have a last known for Alfred Anderson, wanted for blasting his wife with a shotgun. We have an address on Hag Lane, just up the road. Here’s the number for Ian, in my office. Give him a call and he’ll send you the aerial view. We’ll hold back until you secure the site. He may still have that shotgun.”

“Right, ma-am. We’ll park short and go in on foot.”

She went back to the car and waited until the other one pulled out and went towards the destination. Just before the location, there was a small section that wasn’t part of the tilled fields, so they all pulled off the road. The tactical guys made sure that their weapons were operational, tested comms so that the detectives could hear them, and went along the tree line to the house. Two went to the front, while one went to the back.

“It’s very quiet, and the back door is open.”

“Use your initiative and give us a running commentary.”

“Going in now. There’s a body at the kitchen table. There’s an over and under lying on the floor and he doesn’t have a head.”

“Check the corridor and let us in the front. We’ll clear the house. We’ll let you know when it’s secure, ma-am.”

Marilyn started the car.

“Ginger, call up forensics, please. Something’s fishy, here.”

Her phone rang.

“Ma-am. It’s Helen. He ordered Jamaican Jerk Wings and fries at seven. Paid by credit card. The delivery reported that he couldn’t raise anyone so rang the bell and left it at the front door.”

“Thanks. Helen. Tactical have just reported a headless body in the kitchen. Get yourselves a drink. If we need you, we’ll call. Otherwise wait a half an hour and get back to the office to prepare the file for a double check.”

Ginger looked at her.

“Something bothering you, ma-am?”

“Yes. Who would spend money to buy a meal and then top yourself. Doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe, he just wanted to be found, before the rats got to him.”

The radio crackled.

“House is clear. We’ll leave it to you, now.”

Marilyn drove to the house and parked. They got out, donning the crime scene gloves. The officer in charge greeted them.

“Body’s in the kitchen, he was living here for a while. Mainly eating pizza and fast foods, by the look of the rubbish. We haven’t touched the gun, except to verify that both barrels had been fired. Nice weapon, an older Arrieta, quite collectable.”

“Thanks for that. I’m pulling a forensic team to go over the scene. There are a few things that don’t seem right.”

“What’s that?”

“The meal that he ordered is still by the door, if a bit attacked by early morning animals. Show me the gun.”

They went into the kitchen and Marilyn looked at the body, and then closely at the wall behind it. Then she bent down to look at the gun. Straightening up, she looked at the tactical Inspector.

“You know guns, Inspector. What can you see that’s totally impossible.”

He looked closely and then grinned.

“This is a murder scene.”

“OK, why?”

“The wall shows the brain and skull spread of the first barrel, but the shot pattern of the second overlays it. That gun has a double trigger. When the second barrel was fired, his head wasn’t there any longer. The spread is too low for a barrel under the chin.”

“We’ll make a detective of you, yet. Give your guys a pat on the back. I’ll catch up with you another time. Ginger, Tim, out to the car. Give Helen a call to come and pick you up. Go back to the office and re-open the file on the entire case. Go into Andersons’ history, I want to know who he was mates with from his crib onwards. If someone wanted him dead, it’s now likely that that someone also killed his wife. I’ll stay here until forensics arrive.”

When she was alone, she looked around the house. It would take a while to confirm ownership, but it looked as if the victim had been here a while. She went to stand by her car, and then saw that there was a garage. She still had her gloves on, so went and pulled open the door.

Inside the garage was a load of tools and boxes, most of which were all spread over the floor, as if someone had been looking for something. The only transport was a bicycle, the sort that was popular in the days of cycle couriers, before delivery mopeds. Hanging from the handlebars was a pizza delivery backpack, from a company long forgotten. She had a quick look inside, and it appeared empty. Pulling her phone out, she took a few pictures.

As she waited, her brain was ticking over. Something was telling her to take it easy and let her memory work. Anderson had been about the same age as her, in his late twenties. He’d been sent to prison for the smash and grab about five and a half years ago. When he came out, they had been told that his wife had been on the game to make ends meet. If that was the motive, why did he wait half a year?

The forensic team arrived, led by Jacob, someone she had worked with. She pulled him aside.

“Jacob. The body is Alfred Anderson, who we’ve been chasing for the shotgun killing of his wife, back in York. Now, I don’t think that it’s suicide, and the armed boys agree. The shotgun is an old double trigger, and he couldn’t have pulled the second. Take extra care with his toxicology, and getting prints off the gun. There’s a pizza delivery bag in the garage. I want it carefully inspected. If it has anything other than cardboard and onion bits, I need to know.”

“All right, Marilyn. We’ll be extra careful. How many were clomping about the house?”

“Three armed and three of us. All had gloves on. The place is a tip, inside, and the garage looks like someone has been searching for something.”

On the way back to York, her brain did its thing. She called the office.

“Ian, can you get a list of jewellery robberies between seven and twelve years ago. There was one that was part of my training at the University, but I can’t remember the name of the case. You’re looking at between twenty-sixteen and twenty twenty-one. Concentrate on the violent ones.”

When she arrived, she went into her own office and sat with her copy of the case file. Originally, the wifes’ murder had looked simply a straight-out shotgun blast to the abdomen. The damage wasn’t bad enough to eliminate the foetus she was carrying. The body had been found by a friend, sitting in her armchair with a big hole in her back, from the shotgun having been poking her in the stomach, absorbing a lot of the noise.

The husband had been seen leaving, on foot, with a cricket bag. Seeing that he had never played the game, it was thought to have been carrying the shotgun. He had left the house in the direction of a lock-up that he had use of, belonging to a neighbour without a car. The neighbour had admitted to being a very good friend of Esme, the wife, which had blossomed while Alf was inside. He didn’t know what had been kept in the lock-up, having hardly been there in years.

Marilyn now thought that Alf had kept the bicycle there, and that was how he had got away without any detection on traffic cameras. Whatever happened now, they still had a job to do next week. Forensic results wouldn’t be in until Tuesday, at the earliest. For this afternoon there were still things that they could do, and that would be her instructions at the meeting, after lunch.

She had a light lunch in the canteen, with Ginger. He was her older sergeant, easy with his level of career and wise enough to realise that he didn’t have that spark of brilliance that would take him further. That, he had discovered when Marilyn had taken over the team. The previous Inspector had been at his high point of his career, with most of his successes being due to the diligence and concentration of the team. Ginger had seen how Marilyn had used everyones’ skills but gave praise where praise was due. Over the cups of canteen tea, he looked at her.

“You have that look, ma-am. The one that you get when there’s something that you’ve thought of but haven’t had proved yet.”

“You’re right, Ginger. Both of the Andersons were killed by someone we had never had in our sights. We accepted that the cricket bag contained the shotgun, but it may have just been clothes. I didn’t see it when I looked around the house, but I did see a pizza delivery backpack and a bike that the couriers used. We have to go back to before that smash and grab. That was ridiculous, no real planning, no scoping out the area for cameras. Anderson was the oldest in the gang, and just accepted his fate. The others all went to juvenile.”

“Are you thinking that he was mixed up in something before that. Maybe something more successful?”

“I’ll know for sure when Ian gets the details of other robberies from that era. The other thing that I’m curious about is the ownership of that house in Youlton. It didn’t look as if anyone else had been there for ages.”

At the meeting, she started with an instruction for Ginger.

“Ginger, you have the patience to do this one. I want a list of visitors that Anderson entertained in the nick. Also, a list of inmates that he may have met. Limit that search to plus or minus two years of his age. If you can, I want to get the names of those youths that did the smash and grab with him. Cross-check the names of their parents with those that we drag up from Andersons’ schooling. Use the others to do some of it.”

“On it, ma-am.”

“Ian, any luck with those violent robberies?”

“There are a few in that period that you stipulated. The worst was in Leeds, the Kirkstall Road job. It’s still open, from 2020.”

“Was that the one where the boss was away, and it was the next day when they discovered the two bodies?”

“That’s the one.”

“The lead DI was a guy called Russell?”

“That’s the one. He’s a Chief Inspector at Central now.”

“Thanks for that. Now, the rest of you, Ginger will allocate jobs around what I’ve asked for. Make today normal hours. We’ll get the forensics report in during next week, so we can start moving forward. I’ve got a call to make, then I need to report to the boss with the latest developments.”

She went into her office and made an appointment upstairs, then rang Leeds Central, asking to speak with DCI Russell.

“Russell, here.”

“DCI Russell, I’m DI Houseman in York. We’ve been chasing a guy who we thought was a murderer, only to find him with his head blown off.”

“That makes it complicated.”

“Almost as complicated as some of the cases you lectured on. I heard you talk several times. One came to mind during the day. Back then I was Cadet Masters.”

“Ah, the model with the steel trap mind. I was given the task of reviewing your career before you were promoted to your current position. How can I help you?”

“One of the cases that you talked about was a jewel robbery on Kirkstall Road. It was one that you told us to remember, as it was still an open file. The lecture was about being able to walk away from the ones that you can’t solve.”

“That one is still a thorn in my side. Do you have anything about it?”

“Without looking at the CCTV footage in the evidence file, I don’t know. I saw something, today, that jogged my memory. When you showed the CCTV coverage from across the street, everything looked normal. There was a teenage lad that came out of the side street and cycled down the road. If I send you a picture to your phone, can you have a look at that footage and get back to me next week. I may be totally wrong.”

“Being proved wrong will get it out of your mind. Send your picture.”

He gave her the number and she chose one that she had taken in the morning, sending it to him. Then, she tidied up her desk and took the case file upstairs to report to her superior.

Back in the office, Ginger knocked on her door.

“The team are busy, ma-am, and I looked up that case that Ian found for you. That was gruesome.”

“It was. It was something that DCI Russell lectured us on as a case that wasn’t solved. The lesson was to let your failures go and carry on as usual. The thing is that it’s still a sore point for him.”

“Aye, I’ve got a few of my own. What did you see that caught your eye?”

“In the garage at Youlton, his bike was there. Hanging on the handlebars was a pizza delivery backpack. It was very similar to one that I’d noted in the CCTV of that case. It’s an old Wellington Pizza Pub bag. They closed up in 2019. The robbery happened in 2020. The odd thing about it was that the internal cameras had been switched off during the day. The bodies were discovered when they hadn’t gone home. The two girls that worked there had been cable tied and gagged, but someone decided to cut their throats before they left. The crime scene was on a corner of a tee-junction, with a supermarket on the other corner. Russell thought that the gang may have parked as if they were going shopping, then went in through the back. They had a key or were let in. The supermarket CCTV was pointing out, over the car park, and didn’t catch anything solid. With the shop cameras off, the gang could have just parked behind the shop. The KFC, across the road, gave the best vision. The thing was that every car that was filmed that day checked out. The only odd thing was the cycle courier with the pizza bag. The KFC camera caught him turning out onto the main road and going west.”

“Was the option that they walked in and out, looking like normal shoppers, looked at?”

“Yes. I believe that the haul was too big to carry away in pockets. It was a warm autumn day, so big coats would have stood out. If they drove, they checked out with the follow up.”

“Had the internal CCTV been checked or maintained?”

“It had, at the beginning of that year. It had worked perfectly for eight months before the robbery. According to the clocks in the shop, it went dark at ten in the morning. When the forensics checked it, the computer was turned off. The thing was that the crooks would have been seen inside the shop if they had turned it off when they attacked.”

“No wonder that one’s still open.”

He went back to his own desk and continued his searching. Just before Marilyn was about to get ready to leave, she had two phone calls. The first one was from the CSI.

“Marilyn, it’s Jacob. We have everything back in Thirsk. I jumped the list with that pizza bag. There were several fibres inside. They seemed to be a good quality. Any ideas?”

“Look at those draw-string bags that they carry jewels in. Something available prior to 2020.”

“Sounds like you’ve got something solid. I’ll get back to you with that, next week. I can tell you that the second shot happened when his head had been totally blown off. Without the second shot, it would have been hard to decide it wasn’t suicide. The killer may have had his eyes shut as he pulled both triggers and didn’t notice that the second discharged into open air.”

“Thanks, Jacob. You may get a call from DCI Russell, from Leeds, on this one.”

“OK, the water gets muddy, eh?”

The second call only just caught her as she was tidying her desk.

“Marilyn, Keith Russell. I’ve looked at that CCTV and I have to congratulate you. It certainly looks like the same bag. That company was closed by then. The only people who should have a bag would have been regular casuals. I’ll be trying to find a list of employees from the local office. Do you have a photo of your victim?”

“You can get one from a few years after the robbery. He was involved in a smash and grab and went down for five years. His name was Alfred Anderson. We’re working on getting older ones, ourselves. I had a call from Jacob, in Thirsk. The bag had fibres in the bottom. He said that they were a good quality. I suggested to see if they’re a match with jewellery bags.”

“Good work. Marilyn. Have a good weekend and I’ll get back to you next week. This one may come down to who knew who and when.”

“With you on that, sir. Have a good weekend, yourself.”

That evening, she was in The Blacksmiths Arms, having a meal with her husband, her brother and his wife. It was a pleasant time, and she didn’t talk about her day. The only thing was the memory of that headless body. Monday, she would have to go through the case file for the wifes’ murder, if Anderson didn’t do it, then who did, and why.

It was a quiet weekend for Marilyn, joining Anton at the concert hall on Saturday evening, sitting quietly while listening to the local orchestra. Sunday was spent in her home office, with the case files of both deaths, so far. It didn’t help much, as without Anderson doing the first and then suiciding, everything else was a huge blank space waiting to be filled with facts.

Marilyn picked up Tim on the way to work. As they got near the office, he was quiet, but then turned towards her.

“This case is like peeling an onion. We peeled enough of one to find another one inside.”

“Good imagination, Tim. We just have to keep peeling. This week we gather a lot of facts that we can sift. We hardly bothered when it looked open and shut, and that’s what bothers me. Is the team getting too complacent?”

“I don’t think so, ma-am. It just looked good as we saw it. The body was found, the house to house getting a sighting with him leaving with a long bag. His record was against him from the start.”

“Yet, the record. What does it tell us? He was parked outside a jewellery store in a stolen vehicle while four teenage louts were inside, having broken in through the front door. It was night. The CCTV picked it up and the silent alarm alerted a response. He didn’t deny any of the charges, or dispute claims that it was all his idea. The louts were all tried in the youth court and sent to juvenile for piddling sentences, while he took the five years. As far as the prosecution were concerned, it was all quick and easy. Nowhere is any sign of a violent man.”

Marianne Gregory © 2026