Underestimating the Neighbours

The white plastic of the front door opens with a creak as Mrs Whitely slowly peers around the gap. The white curls of her tight perm barely reach two thirds of the way up the door. “Mrs Whitely, I presume,” one of the male officers enquires. Mrs Whitely stares up at the sturdier of the two officers, noting the deep bags under his rust-coloured eyes. When she doesn’t answer, he continues, “I’m Officer Green and this is Officer Morgan,” he gestures to the tatted, lankier officer to his left. “Can we come in and ask you some questions Mrs Whitely?” Mrs Whitely, still unspeaking, looks warily from one to the other before a strong twinkle appears on her thin, slightly cracked lips. “Of course. Please, come in, come in,” she says ushering them in whilst hobbling down the hall. “The kettle’s just boiled. Now, can I get either of you boys a cuppa before we have our little chat? I have tea and coffee, the normal stuff mind, I can’t stand that fancy stuff young people are drinking these days.” The officers take a seat in her front room on the off blue sofa, attempting to not knock off the antimacassars balanced precariously on the back. Officer Green, with a warm smile replies, “Tea and two sugars please, Mrs Whitely.” She pops her head around the doorframe and says, “Please, call me Doreen. I haven’t been Mrs Whitely in a decade or so.” “I’m sorry for you loss Doreen.” Officer Green’s smile lessens. Her head tilts, thankful for his sympathy, before turning her attention to the other officer whose demeanour is entirely closed off in the corner. His dark, solitary mood contrasts the white flowery wallpaper behind him like fishes do to deserts. “What about you love?” “Same as Officer Green.” Officer Green elbows him in the ribs, giving him a stern glare. “Tea, two sugars please Doreen,” Officer Morgan replies in a forced polite tone. Mrs Whitely nods and hobbles off to make the drinks. The Officers during their wait, overhear the clangs, clattering and the occasional muttering of Mrs Whitely, who remind them both of their own elderly relatives. “You’re a gorgeous boy, aren’t you!” Officer Green remarks as a well-groomed Siamese cat lands on his lap. “I see you’ve met Walter already.” Doreen smiles at her cat whilst her slightly shaking hands place the two teacups on the eccentric coasters that sit atop the oak coffee table in front of them. Officer Green grins from ear to ear as he strokes the long, silky body of his new purring companion and is slightly disappointed when Doreen calls Walter away from him claiming that he’ll “distract them from their important work.” Officer Morgan, unlike his cat-loving colleague, attempts to start the questioning but stops, once again, as he and his partner watch Doreen ever so slowly shuffle across the cream carpet to her arm chair in the corner. He can practically hear each bone in her body groan as she bends to sit down in the unmatching pillow swamped seat. The chair swamps her petite frame and nothing about the cardigan wearing woman nor the sparring colours and patterns of pillows and chair makes sense. She scoots her skirt covered backside further into the chair and Walter, the patient cat he is, jumps up on her lap once he’s seen she’s settled. “I presume you know why we’re here Doreen?” Officer Morgan says, taking out a notebook and pen as his colleague brings out a tape recorder. “I saw the police lights and heard the siren, if that’s what you mean.” She looks to Officer Green with a soft smile. “I had fallen asleep whilst knitting, truth be told, and it woke me up. It gave Walter here, quite the shock.” She pets the purring cat as he eyes a loose ball of wool under a cabinet on the other side of the room. “I apologise for waking you Doreen but your neighbour was found deceased…” Officer Morgan glances about the bright, in your face, ugliness of the front room and shivers as the bright white of the antimacassars, the white of the lace curtains and the bold silk flowers dullen to an almost tolerable state. When he looks back at Doreen, tears are free falling from her wrinkled eyes. Officer Green is knelt by her side in seconds, handing her a box of tissues which had been out of her reach. He places a comforting hand on her shoulder and Officer Morgan rolls his eyes at his colleagues unprofessionalism. “M-may I ask, wh-which neighbour died?” She sniffles, before crying out, “Please don’t say Mrs Livre. I’m meant to play partner Whist with her on Tuesday! Who will I partner up with now?!” Officer Green looks to his colleague for help as she starts balling her eyes out. “Mrs Livre is alive and well, Doreen,” Officer Morgan reassures, “The deceased went by Nathan Cooper.”

It takes Doreen five minutes of blubbering and an entire family sized box of tissues to console herself, in which time Officer Green returned to his spot upon the blue sofa. Her hands shake as she strokes Walter in a quick manner hoping to calm herself, but her breathing stays erratic. Walter remains indifferent to the news. “How’s Olivia doing?” “She’s heartbroken,” Officer Green replies, “She was the one to find the body.” “Oh, how awful!” Doreen gasps, “That poor lass must be so shaken up. Especially after all the bad luck that house has had this week too! A-are there any suspects so far?” “There are a few, Ma’am,” Officer Morgan replies, “We can’t give out names yet but any information you’ve heard or seen could help catch this murderer quicker.” “He was murdered?!” Doreen’s eyes go wide as she shoots upright; Walter being flung off her lap in the process, surprising both officers at her speed. “I need to lock my doors, maybe push some furniture against them too. I won’t have anyone hurt my Walter!” “Doreen there’s no need for that!” Officer Green announces springing to his feet. The last thing they need is a frail woman hurting herself because she’s been spooked by something the police had accidentally told her. “I assure you; You and Walter will not be harmed by this!” Doreen, despite her heart pounding like a drum, perches back in her chair. "What my colleague meant is that it is very unlikely that the same killer would return to the scene of the crime or stay nearby.” Officer Morgan shoots Officer Green a quick glare before returning to what they were supposed to be doing. “Now Doreen, do you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Nathan Cooper?” Doreen ponders on the question as she watches Walter play, like a kitten, with the ball of wool she foolishly left unprotected. There are many ways she could answer this but which one will get them to leave her home the quickest? “I’m unsure of who would purposefully want to hurt Nathan but have you spoken to Derrick yet?” The Officers scowl at her, evidently not having heard of this name yet. “Derrick… Lawson I think his name is. He’s Olivia’s side piece, well, I presume he is. He goes round her house every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday evening when Nathan is working away from home.”

Officer Morgan jots the name down. “Do you know where he lives or have a license plate or anything like that?”

“I’ve never spoken to the bloke, but he seemed nice enough in passing. Unlike Olivia and Nathan, they’ve only argued once to my knowledge. That was two days ago, I could hear all the arguing when watering my plants. It was rather annoying. Now, did you see my geraniums out the front? They’re blooming wonderfully this year! Anyway, he drives some fancy black car which has one of those racer bits on the back that makes him look like an idiot,” she rambles.

“Oh, you mean a spoiler!” Officer Green interrupts, seemingly pleased with himself at the connection.

“I don’t know car terminology unfortunately. My Eddie was the car lover out of us two...”

The tatted officer whispers to his colleague, who stands and says with a smile, “We’ll be right back Doreen. Can I get you anything whilst I’m up?”

“I understand, duty calls,” she says, “When you’re finished, there’s a box of choccy biscuits in the furthest top cupboard in the kitchen. You boys must be ever so hungry working hard all day, help yourself to as many as you’d like.”

“Thank you Doreen,” Officer Green says as they leave to give the car details to the detective on the scene. Doreen covertly watches them through the lace curtain windows in the corner of her eye, as she sits patiently in her chair. Her focus shifting from the half drunken teacups to her adorable kitty, who’s ruining her mustard ball of wool.

The bulkier officer returns first, fifteen minutes later, with the box of biscuits, offering them around the room. Doreen takes one and the other officer does the same.

“Where were we?” Officer Morgan asks.

“You’d just found out about Derrick’s car,” she replies.

“Oh yes, you were telling us about an argument Olivia and Derrick were having. Do you remember what the subject was about?” The Officer enquires, sipping his cold tea.

Doreen munches on a chocolate chip biscuit as she pretends to think longingly about the question. Her focus, although seemingly on the bulky and lanky officers, is actually on the detective and other policemen outside. They are walking to and from a large white covered marquee. Every now and then one of them will open the flap up and Doreen is able to see glimpses of the inside. Photos and pieces of red string are attached to varying boards with smaller, unreadable writing under them. She comes to the conclusion that the officers sat on her lovely sofa, who had ruined her cream carpet with their chunky, dirty, steel toecaps don’t play that great a role in the investigation and are most likely bored and wanting to make it seem like they aren’t slacking off.

“The plumbing,” she absent-mindedly mentions, returning her focus to her living room. “Something about there being a leaking pipe and that Olivia wouldn’t know how to explain its occurrence because she was supposed to be elsewhere.”

The Officers scribble down their useless but identical notes, overly invested in Doreen’s recollection.

“Why do you think they were arguing about that?” Green asks.

“Nathan was a plumber, a very good one at that. He sorted my house out a few years back when the pipes froze and cracked. He was very detail oriented and efficient in his work so a leak couldn’t have happened by coincidence.” She pauses, rubbing her slightly hairy chin. “Now that I’m thinking about it, there was a large crash the day prior, I’m guessing something fell and broke a pipe and that’s why there was a leak. But then again, I’m just an old lady who’s imagination goes a bit stir crazy staying at home all the time.” She laughs and the officers join in, understanding her situation completely.

Officer Morgan whispers something to his colleague who gets up once again and asks, “Can we get you another cup of tea Doreen?”

“Such sweet boys!” she exclaims, her smile beaming as she shakily hands her cup over to Officer Green.

The second she hears the familiar creak of her kitchen floorboards, her smile drops and her gaze returns to the white tent and to the detective milling about outside. Most of them are drenched from the knee down or are wearing wellies to move about the flooded downstairs of her neighbour’s house. Doreen herself had opted for the wellington boots when she’d visited Nathan, but that was purely out of curiosity that she’d done so. How was she meant to know that flicking one light switch on would electrocute the water he was stood in?

Doreen is still replaying the memory of the killing when Officer Green, who’s holding a photo asks, “Was this your Husband, Doreen?”

She barely glances at the photo, recognising the frame, and replies, “Yes.”

“If I may ask, how was it he died?” The officer stares at the picture, remaining stood up with concern chiselled into his exhausted features.

“He drowned,” she says without thinking. Doreen’s answers are as distant as her facial expressions but then again, she isn’t thinking about the present. She’s zoned out thinking about how wonderful it had felt to remove those disruptive men and how quiet and peaceful life is for her now.

“Was he a swimmer?”

“He used to swim for the county,” she chuckles to herself as the image of the ocean’s waves dragging his soulless body under the waves loops in her mind. The waves had been unrelenting like how Eddie had been to her, like how Nathan had been to Olivia. “How ironic! They both died by doing the thing they were best at…”

Doreen watches Officer Morgan talking seriously with one of the detectives outside, who also opts to wear wellies. Once the lanky officer finishes, the detective turns her head in Doreen’s direction with a slight lift on the corners of her mouth. The detective claps slowly twice, sending a chill down Doreen’s spine. Doreen turns away, returning to her present self, and realises that Officer Green left the room who knows how long ago and has taken the photo with him.

Doreen with her stare fixated back on the detective and the officers who she had been talking to, picks up her chunky landline and calls the first and only memorised number she knows.

“Hi Alice, it’s me Doreen. I’m not going to be able to join you at Whist this week,” she said, not letting Mrs Livre speak. “I also need a favour from you.”

“Shame about Whist, maybe next week then. Of course, what can I do for you?”

“I’d have loved to joined you there but I’m going away for a bit. Would you look after Walter for me whist I’m gone?”

“Spontaneous holiday… I like it! How long am I looking after him for?”

“Something like that, yes,” Doreen responds, watching the detective make her way around the side of the house to the front door. “I’m not sure yet. I’ll give you a call later on today and give you more details. Goodbye for now Alice.”

The front door swings open and in marches the brown-haired detective. Stood either side of her are the two officers, who unlike before, are on edge about being in this room.

“Doreen Whitely, I’m Detective Seandre and I need you to come to the station with me.”

“Am I being arrested, Detective?” Doreen enquires, inspecting the overconfidence exuding from the pristine woman.

“Officially no, you’re not, but that might change if you don’t cooperate.”

Doreen stands up and walks three steps towards the Detective with the energy and posture of someone half her age. She stretches her arms out, bending down to stroke Walter one last time. She’s going to miss that mischievous little fellow but she knows that Mrs Livre is equally as loving towards cats as she is. He’ll be happy there.

“You can walk normally?” Officer Green exclaims, rubbing his eyes to make sure he was seeing this properly. Doreen smirks at the bloke as Officer Morgan shakes his head at his gullible colleague.

Doreen’s gig is up; she knows it. She’s had an enjoyable decade long retirement in peace. Now it’s time for her final chapter of life, one where she is supposed to accept the consequences of her actions. But who will she live this new life as? Will she be Mrs Whitely the innocent, frail, cat loving widow or as Doreen the capable and unforgiving husband killer. No-one but Doreen will know the answer to that until the papers publish the headliner about the unlikely criminal who lived alone with her cat.