Murder Backstage: Detectives Ruskin & Ashley Gripping Murder Mystery Read online

  Table of Contents

  Note from the author

  Editorial Review

  Characters

  Short Summery

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Review

  About the Author

  Copyright 2017 Michael Sivyer

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, are purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise without written permission from the author.

  Book 2

  Detectives

  Ruskin & Ashley

  Murder Backstage

  Cozy Mystery short read

  By Michael Sivyer

  Note from the author

  This is a current series of 3 books that can be read in any order with more pending. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them, you will find the other titles at the end of this book. Happy reading

  Editorial Review

  A wonderful writer skilled at creating characters that are realistic and unique. I love editing his books. He creates masterful suspense every time that keeps me on the edge of my seat, rooting aloud for her characters as they face dangerous and unpredictable situations, an enthralling read.

  Marie

  Characters

  Ruskin and Ashley are half of a peculiar, yet very proficient partnership and total opposites of one another. Mike Ashley, who is 35 standing at 6’11” and some would say looks unkempt. But don’t be fooled by his attire as he soon takes a mental image of a crime scene and although sometimes doesn’t always go by the rule book is ruthless in his pursuit to bring criminals to account. Whilst Andy Ruskin, in his late 50s and around 5’ 11” is a total opposite, he is very methodical, carries a trusty worn note-book in his trouser pocket and unlike his partner Ashley takes great pride in his appearance taking his favourite suit to the dry-cleaner on a weekly basis. Many pondered how they washed up working together, yet despite their differences, their opposing strengths formed a formidable duo – one that had put many criminals behind bars over the years.

  Short Summery

  This is the most unorthodox Murder Mystery ever to face Detectives Ruskin & Ashley

  Mike and Andy are called out to a particularly ruthless and vicious murder of a high society lady discovered to the rear of the Royal Opera House London. It’s going to take all their combined detective skills to find and bring the perpetrator of this heinous crime to justice.

  Chapter One

  On one particularly vicious winter morning, the chunky tires of Andy's polished black S.U.V demolished the thin layer of ice beneath them as they crawled across the frost-bitten rink of asphalt, pulling up behind a familiar vehicle; his partner's vomit-hued Volvo wagon, an auto-mobile that would not look out of place in a low-budget sitcom that spoofed all the worst things to come out of the nineteen-eighties. Without any sense of urgency in his actions, Andy paused to ensure that not a single strand of his neatly styled blonde fade was out of place before he started to go about his day's work.

  A young female rooky officer was watching over the crime scene while waiting for the senior detectives to arrive. Once on site Mike asked the young officer to check for anything that may have been dropped or thrown in the adjoining back ally. Within a few moments came a loud scream, Mike, who is a man not to be messed with raced in pursuit to find a man tearing at the officers clothing, he grabbed the man and threw him like a rag doll sending him crashing into a row of refuse bins. After checking on his colleague Mike handcuffed the villain and frogged marched him with his feet barely touching the ground down to the crime scene, he requested a backup to take the guy to the police station and be charged with assaulting a police officer and await further questioning regarding this investigation.

  The area was already cordoned off, and as Andy stepped out of his vehicle, he peered around for his partner. Thanks to the luminescent bib that they were forced to wear and the fact that he was 6’11” proved no hard task to locate Mike. Whilst Andy made his way through the crime scene, ducking under a low hanging thread of yellow tape before treading carefully upon the ice, his breath formed a silver aurora on the outside of his pursed lips as he spoke.

  “What's it look like? What are you thinking?”

  “There's nothing to think about,” responded Mike as he slowly crouched down next to the victim's body, letting his mind's internal camera whirr away behind the screen of his alert hazel eyes, focussing on every aspect of the scene, but specifically her outfit – she wore a pair of luxurious scarlet heels, coupled with an exquisite wool-blend peplum dress - “Apart from maybe that warm cup of coffee that you owe me. Victim is a white female, approximately twenty years of age. We've checked for any identification, but she didn't appear to be carrying a bag or purse.”

  Whoever this woman was, she was dressed to impress, and it didn't take a genius to work out why – the detectives found themselves in a back-street, behind London's Royal Opera House. Andy, the older of the two detectives, now approaching his late fifties, craned his neck around, noticing its spectacular architecture standing a story or two larger than the surrounding buildings in Covent Garden.

  “I think it's fair that we can work on the assumption that she came from there.”

  “Or that she was going there,” added Mike, “Look at the bottom of her shoes. They're immaculate – it's as if she put them on in a cab, took a few steps, and then met her demise.”

  “I envy people like that – with enough disposable income to spend money on a pair of new shoes every time they go out. They're Gucci too – this woman was a high roller, whoever she was.”

  “Shoes, Andy? You're envious of a shoe collection? I always suspected you were a bit that way inclined,” Chimed in Mike.

  “A high roller? She was a lot more than that.” A whistle interrupted the men’s banter, as the coroner Dr. Steven Vickers approached the scene with his kit bag tucked under his right armpit. Vickers, an older man with a receding hairline, was not normally the kind of character to exhibit a display of emotion in front of a victim, so it appeared as if he recognised the woman in an instant. “And your little new shoes theory? I can debunk that straight away. See, this isn't the kind of girl that walks anywhere. She'd be chauffeured around by a limousine, hence your lack of wear around the edges. Anyway, that's not my area of expertise, I do apologize gentlemen for crashing your party. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll do the job that I came here to do.”

  Mike and Andy stepped aside, and slowly began to revolve their heads towards each-other, for neither of them had ever seen Dr. Vickers quite as riled up as this. After exchanging looks, they glanced back towards Vickers, who had now knelt next to the body and was beginning to roll the victim over onto her front, being careful to maintain the position of her body. Even in the harsh lighting of the dismal winter morning, the two men could see the crimson goo that mangled the victim's fiery golden hair with a tainted darker shade. Daring to speak, Mike piped up; “So, who is the victim? I'm getting the heavy impression that I should know who she is.”

  “You don't know who she is? Half of London would know who she is!” Retorted the coroner as he inspected a wound upon the back of her head that had been pounded fiercely and repetitively.

  “Well, cause of death appears to be severe bl
unt force trauma to the back of the head.”

  “So, are you going to enlighten us as to whom she is? Or just leave us hanging?” Andy finally had the courage to mutter after a few moments of silence.

  “Oh, you're serious!” Dr. Vickers exclaimed, “Sandy Jennings. Canadian actress, famed for her role in the American soap, 'Envy City'. In fact, she's been on talk shows all over the country in the last few months. It's a shame, really, it probably signals the end of the show. I can't see them carrying it on without her, just when I thought that we were finally beginning to get rid of some of the crap that normally dominates our television.”

  “Thanks for the insight, doc.” Said Mike in a monotone voice, as if he had lost interest as soon as the word 'Soap' was mentioned.

  Dr. Vickers, appearing to talk to himself under his breath, restored the corpse to its original position before rising to his feet.

  “You've got five minutes before I need to bag her boys, so make the most of it,” He muttered as he walked past the two detectives, “Oh boy, I'd better phone my mother. She's going to be distraught as she was an avid fan. In fact, you two can have ten minutes.”

  Mike and Andy spread out in opposite directions, each of them scouring the radius for any clue. The former looked down at the desecrated carcass of his shoes - yet another item preserved in his wardrobe for the last ten years – as his foot thudded painfully against a concealed heavy object beneath a roll of newspaper.

  Mike pushed his tongue into his cheek as he prevented himself from yelping. With his unharmed foot, he scraped the newspaper away from the object with the sole of his shoe. Beneath was a rusted metal pipe, coated with a paint of fresh blood.

  “I think I've got the murder weapon!” Mike called his colleague over to his find, his voice slicing through the frozen air that surrounded him.

  Andy's footsteps approached before Mike felt his palm pat him on the back.

  “Well found. Gee, a pipe like that – that's got to have hurt.”

  “Yes, I'll bet,” Mike remarked, trying to prevent a tear from breaking free of his lower eyelid.

  Mike looked around, already appearing to disengage himself from the case, though his partner appeared to be taking the investigation a little more seriously.

  “Bored already, Mike?” Asked Andy, taking one last look at the scene before they were ushered out by the CSI team.

  “Well it is what it is, isn't it? Probably a mugging gone wrong.”

  “Probably, but we've got to do our job. I think we'd better start by going to the opera house, see if anybody can tell us who she was with.”

  Andy gazed over the rows of rooftops towards the mist-covered walls of the opera house once more, and then brought his eyes back to the crime scene, scanning the area thoroughly for any small detail missed. That was when he saw it; the catalyst for his thinking. One of the female members of the CSI team stepped away from the crime scene for a break, reaching into her scrubs for a small, palm sized purse.

  “Hey, Mike? Did you find a purse here at all earlier?”

  “A purse? No. We didn't touch or move anything, that job belongs to the CSI team.”

  “You tell me, what kind of girl goes on a night out without a purse? We’ve got to find that purse Mike, whoever stole it would probably know a thing or two about her death. We need to hope that she managed to get to the opera house before ending up here; the CCTV footage would let us see what kind of thing we're looking for.

  Chapter Two

  At last, a bit of actual detective work to keep mike occupied. After the Forensics had bagged any evidence, there was not a lot left scattered around. In fact, aside from the murky puddles that filled a few potholes, the asphalt was clearly visible now that everything had been stuffed inside the back of a police van, which began to let its engine roar into action behind the two of them before returning the station.

  Andy left nothing unturned, going as far as delving his hands into the stomach of a rat-ridden trash bin. He lifted his shirt over his nose before throwing open the lid, heaving dryly as the stench still penetrated the protective layer of his shirt. Inside was the remainder of several meals, which all looked like they had been sitting there undisturbed for quite some time. There was still no sign of a purse, even when he dared to churn the top layer, consisting of equal levels of mould and rat-droppings, with a sodden plank of wood which had been dropped beneath the bin itself. Although Mike watched on with much amusement, he too was forced into the difficult challenge of keeping last night's dinner in his intestines as a stray draught of wind carried the pungent scent towards him.

  When the sun began to peer out from a gap in the thick silver layer formed by the clouds, Mike and Andy considered it the opportune time to take the short stroll to the opera house. Although it had warmed up considerably since earlier, their clothes had been attacked by the series of showers that had drenched the land beneath their feet, allowing the cold to tear away at their skin like a pack of vicious hounds. Somewhere warm sounded grand, and they agreed that they would take a few moments to “Gather their thoughts” over a warm brew.

  The two detectives began to make their way to the opera house by foot, walking via the spot where they had parked their vehicles. Andy admired the metal beauty that was his luxurious car, droplets of rain giving the paintwork a natural shine. He then glanced towards his partner's beat up wagon before taking a moment to boast about his superior auto-mobile.

  “Really, Mike? £50,000 a year, and you're still driving that... thing?”

  Mike, not hesitating for a single second raised his voice in retaliation while noticing a woman hurrying across an alleyway further up the road to escape from the clutches of the winter weather.

  “Well, you know what they say about men who spend their money on classy cars, usually they're compensating for something...”

  Andy chose to remain silent for the remainder of their walk as they darted through a thin alley before rejoining a larger road, the low droning hum of the congested traffic breaking the silence between the two of them. After dashing across the busy road, they ascended the marble steps that lead towards the entrance of the majestic building, a large velvet banner advertising the previous night's show swooping across the marble archways, painting the skyway with a dash of magenta.

  Through the glass doors at the front of the building, they entered the lobby. It was a large immaculate lobby with a ground floor and a balcony on the upper level, lined with rows of dining tables where a fortunate few would be able to afford to eat their suppers. Andy and Mike approached an older female who was working at the desk, her fading blonde hair sweeping her shoulders as she turned to face them. Noticing the scruffy brown tufts of hair peaking from Mike's head, she turned her focus to the better presented of the two detectives in Andy.

  “How can I help you gentleman?” She spoke in a rather posh tone.

  “Hello, we're detectives with the metropolitan police force – we're hoping that we could see some CCTV footage from last night regarding a case that we're currently working,” Andy responded.

  “Certainly, let me show you to our security office.”

  The woman rose to her feet, and walked at a brisk pace in front of Andy and Mike, pushing through a set of heavy wooden doors into a personnel corridor. Although still grand, it wasn't as decorated as the lobby, and had several doors on either side of the corridor. They eventually reached a door on their right-hand side which the receptionist rapped with her knuckles. There was a brief pause before the door slowly opened and held back by a muscular looking younger male wearing a black polo top and a pair of smart looking trousers of matching colour.

  “These gentlemen are here to review some footage from the previous concert; they're from the police force,” The woman spoke.

  “Do you blokes have some I.D on you?” He spoke in a rather contrasting tone to the woman's in a strong cockney accent. The detectives each reached into their pockets and flashed their identification in front of the security guard, and
then dropped them back into their pockets.

  “Cheers mate,” spoke the guard, “If you'd like to step in 'ere, then I can give you what you need.”

  Andy and Mike stepped into the room, and Christine lingered just outside, ready to accompany them back. It was a smaller room, fitted with several monitors, and was filled with the scent of stale cigarette smoke which radiated from an ash-tray on the messy desk in the centre.

  “So, who're you needing' to look at?”

  “A young Canadian female – approximately 5'4, ginger hair and was wearing a stone coloured designer dress, do you remember anyone like that?”

  “Oh shit, yes – she's the gal from 'Envy City', how could I forget seeing her? She had a bit of a figure on'er that one – she was a stunning lady.”

  The guard's comment was met with a disapproving frown from Christine, whom peered into the room. Feeling the need to divert the attention away from his previous comment, he coughed nervously before scrolling back through the footage.

  “We are uncultured swine’s after-all,” Mike whispered to Andy as they waited for the man's signal to view the footage. He eventually nodded towards one of the monitors, and the two of them stepped forwards. It showed her stepping out of a white limousine, clutching a stylish leather purse as she made her way up the few steps that lead into the foyer.

  “Can we see if she was still there at the break please?” Asked Andy.

  “Intermission,” snapped Christine correcting him. “It's called the intermission.”

  “The Intermission then,” said Andy sarcastically correcting himself, “I'll add that to my list of vocabulary.”

  They watched on as the guard clicked a few buttons bringing forward the timeline of the footage. He turned in his chair so that he could watch Christine before he spoke to the detectives.