Bang! (Part 1)
Title: Bang! (1/?)
Author: eternitybreaks orton_fics
Pairing: Iker Casillas and David Beckham
Fandom: Football (RPS) / AU
Plot: Iker is a DCI for the London Metropolitan Police and he is called in to investigate a murder, which David happens to be the victim and the number one suspect.
Rating: PG
Words: 5,143.
Notes: BECKS WOULD HAVE BEEN AN ARTIST. SOMEONE WRITE AN AU OF BECKS AS A SKETCH ARTIST AND IKER AS A POLICEMAN - rebelstrike21 (P.s. not proof read).
©
The room was a mess of activity with police officers trampling across his home with equipment he couldn’t even name. David could hear the buzz of activity from outside his home; the windows were open because he hated feeling cooped up when he drew. He sat on his narrow grey couch he bought of Gum tree for fifty pounds. It wasn’t the most prettiest of couches, but art didn’t pay all that much so he made do. David watched a policeman eye him warily before looking away. They had all done that from time to time, maybe it was because they thought he was weird - or a flight risk. He fidgeted on the seat and the policeman scowled at him, David sighed never one to stay still but it made him look like a junkie his friend had told him laughing one day. That friend that lay dead in his art studio with his head bashed in.
David had few friends but Martin had befriended him when he was a scared twelve year old at secondary school. Thirteen years later and now his only friend had been murdered and David was the number one suspect. David knew that once everything calmed down he’d probably start screaming. It was the only way for him to deal with traumatic experiences; to scream. Martin had been there when he did it the first time - which still shamed David until this day. A boy at school had beaten him up during lunch time. Martin had walked him home and once inside his bedroom David screamed for five minutes straight. Martin had held him tight and didn’t let go for hours until David stopped shaking. The only person who had loved him was dead and David wondered if he’d ever stop screaming?
“Mr. Beckham,” a soft voice called out to David. It felt far away as the banging inside his head seemed to dull David’s senses. He looked up and saw a face peering down at him, an open and expressive face with lines around his mouth and at the corner of his golden-brown eyes. David smiled at him he remembered Martin telling him that laugh lines meant that the person was good. David remembered smacking him on the nose shaking his head and saying what kind of deduction was that. He was pretty sure serial killers were also happy when they were killing people. Martin always told him he was a half-glass empty kind of guy, but David had his reasons for that.
“David,” he whispered clutching the afghan thrown around him. The policeman nodded his head and gestured his head towards the table. David found that sweet here he was the number one suspect for a murder, and the guy was asking permission on whether he could sit on a scarred oak table he bought from Ikea and built it with Martin. David looked around his small house and realised every part of it sang a story about Martin and David felt his heart beat faster. Something must have been apparent on David’s face because the policeman leaned forward and gripped David’s knee his face close again. David had severe issues with people touching him but the pounding inside seemed more scary than the policeman’s hand.
“Take a deep breath David. I can understand this has been a traumatic day for you. Just take deep breaths and let yourself feel each exhale.” The policeman had a slight accent, his words a tad thicker but it seemed over time - maybe living in the UK had diluted his accent some. David did as instructed and felt the pounding recede ever so slightly. The policeman removed his hand and leaned back.
“My name is Detective chief inspector (DCI) Iker Casillas, and I would like to take you to the police station if that is okay?” Iker watched the man fidget on the couch pulling the afghan closer to him and almost burying into the wrap. The man was gorgeous in a rugged way, with blonde stubble coating his jaw and dirty blonde hair in disarray. He could see paint and charcoal coated in the man’s nails, but he knew the guy was an artist. The man’s home was filled with so many paints and canvases it would be a blatant thing to miss.
“I’m I suspect?” David voice was quiet and Iker strained to hear with all the commotion going around them. The guy looked like he was just a kid despite the stubble he was definitely under twenty-five. Before Iker had come in to take the case his superior had given him a file on David and it was a colourful at that. The kid had suffered a lot during his life one that no one should go through. Iker was asked if he’d wanted a mental health officer to attend, but he figured the guy would not appreciate it.
“We’d like to ask you some questions David. You called the police and that says a lot. However you need to be questioned too.” David appreciated that man’s honesty many would try and spin it some way or be blatantly cruel. He stood up the afghan still wrapped around him. Iker didn’t ask whether the guy wanted a coat.
“We’ll go out the back.” The media had got a wind of a murder with all the blue lights flashing about. It wasn’t like there weren’t any chancers out back, but it at least gave David a fighting chance with not having his face plastered on BBC News. David walked through the narrow hallway through the kitchen. David usually kept the key on the hook next to the door, but it was already in the hole, luckily the door was locked and he turned the key.
“Crames lock this door behind us,” Iker said to the female officer who had come into the kitchen. The woman with her dark hair pulled into a tight bun nodded her head, and locked the door behind them as they walked out. The night was cold but dry and the sky clear with the stars twinkling against the inky darkness. Martin loved stars the big sap - he wanted to visit Texas one day to see them in all their glory. David wondered how much more he needed to suffer until it just all got too much.
Iker opened the door to his police-car and ushered David in, he closed the door and got into his side the lights not flashing. They drove in silence but luckily the station was close by and Iker was parking into a spot and then getting David out and walking up to the station.
“Morning Casillas,” a man in his fifties yawned at Iker as he pushed across the logging book, Iker nodded and he wrote Dad’s name, date and time into the book before being buzzed in. Iker walked David in and they passed officers busy at work. Even in the dead of night the phones were ringing off the hook. Iker led David into an interview room and the closed the door.
“Have a seat,” David did so and watched Iker as he fiddled with the camcorder in the room.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” David shook his head no and Iker smiled at him. He knew it was a forced polite smile because those little lines didn’t move and those bright eyes didn’t shine.
“Hold tight and I’ll be back in a minute,” David watched as Iker left the room and looked around the sparse room. The walls were a standard cheap magnolia colour; the table was a thick grey plastic. The chairs luckily had soft padding and other than the camcorder there was nothing else in the room. The blinds were drawn across but open and he could see people walking back and forth. The door opened and Iker came back holding a blue file. He pressed a button on the camcorder and then walked back over to the chair pulling it out and sitting down.
“It is five-oh five AM on the sixth of February 2013 I am DCI Casillas interviewing David Beckham of case #240.” Iker opened the blue file taking out a few sheets and clicked open his pen.
“Okay Mr. Beckham please recount the events of the night in much detail as possible. I may ask you to elaborate as you’re answering. Please do not let that deter you, I am not accusing you of anything and we’d all like to know what happened to Mr. Calahan.” David almost laughed at that; the police wanted to know? He lost half his soul and they just wanted to know.
David closed his eyes and let what he knew buzz through his head. He felt like vomiting but this was the one time he had to be strong. His best friend was gone and he could never get him back but at least he could help the police in finding out who did it.
David recounted the day from the start, he told Iker he rarely left his home and he did okay money wise. His parent’s death five years earlier he was left with a mortgage free home, two life insurances and a sizeable savings from his parents. David found it irritating that people always focused on money being a motive but he relented. It was natural for Iker to ask more about their number one suspect. David told Iker that Martin was his only friend and he knew him since he was thirteen. He also dealt with David’s art work, he was unable to function well in social gatherings and so Martin did that for him. He took his work to galleries and conducted his shows for him and processed his paintings when bought. David told Iker Martin worked in a call centre but he had a flair for art dealings. Not enough to make it a career he only did it because of David. He told Iker that neither had gone to university Martin didn’t care much for further education and David wouldn’t function in such an environment. David mused to himself at how disappointed his parents would have been but he knew they’d understand.
He knew some of the information was haphazard but David needed to tell it his way. Tell Iker who Martin was and who he was. Iker asked for names of galleries and people Martin would have met and dealt with. David only knew of the galleries his work was shown or bought at, he didn’t know the people personally nor care. He trusted Martin and never thought the man would do anything to weasel him out of money. He knew Iker wanted to raise his eyebrow at that one, but luckily he didn’t because David knew he’d start screaming.
David told Iker that Martin came over to his house at eight in the morning before going into work. David was an early riser and they always had breakfast together. Martin had left at twenty-past eight to make his bus and he worked till five-thirty five days a week. David told Iker that Martin had called at six that evening saying he had a voicemail about one of his paintings and he was going to go to the gallery. Martin had called at seven again saying he’d be over in an hour and he had some good news. Martin had arrived at seven-thirty with Chinese food and he told David that a buyer was interested in his ‘Red Pain’ series but wanted to know if it was possible to get a fourth. David could never force a project and shook his head. The series was done and he wasn’t going to revisit it no matter how much money was offered. He remembered Martin had laughed and called him a “starving artist” and said the buyer would have paid more, but he’d probably still buy the series with the agreed price.
Iker had interrupted whether Martin got a share of the sales and David nodded. He told Iker that Martin had hated it and fought so hard that they almost stopped talking once. Iker had asked him to elaborate so David carried on. He said Martin was never to do things to get something back. They were brothers and he never wanted to profit on David’s work. He had explained to Martin that he was doing all the selling and he was entitled to a share. They worked out a percentage and whilst David deemed Martin’s work more Martin had agreed on 10% of the profits. David admitted that some paintings had sold well, but he definitely didn’t make a steady income out of his work. That was why Martin was so against a percentage of the sales David made. He felt that David deserved all his money because sometimes he wouldn’t make anything out of his work for months on end. Iker asked who the seller was who wanted David’s ‘Red Pain’ series, but David did not know and told him the gallery that it was being processed at. After their dinner he told him Martin stayed till eleven he had called a taxi to go home because he didn’t want to take the bus. Iker had asked why and David sadly smiled and said Martin was a fighter but he was scared of taking the bus at night. Martin had been mugged when he was eighteen whilst waiting for the bus after leaving David’s home. Martin luckily wasn’t hurt other than a punch to the face, but he had become wary standing around at bus stops at night. Once Martin had left David locked up, checked the back door and slid the bolt and then went to bed.
David had awoken at four in the morning and come downstairs for water and to start on his new series. He had gotten his glass of water and walked into his studio (but it really was a small room that held the bulk of his art supplies and had slightly better lighting). He remembered flipping the light on and there was Martin laying face down on David’s rug with blood pooled around his head and a bloody ashtray David had never seen before. He told Iker he stood and looked at Martin for near enough ten minutes wondering why his friend wouldn’t get up.
Iker sighed and watched as David’s eyes grew watery and his voice started to hitch. David kept going his speech becoming faster. He told Iker he kept calling Martin but he wouldn’t move, and he asked what was with the ashtray that neither of them smoked. He told Iker that he called the police at four-fifteen and reported a murder in his home. David’s voice cracked on the word murder and he was now openly crying tears marking down his face.
He told Iker that Martin’s clothes were different, he was wearing casual clothes but when he left his home he was in his work clothes. Grey trousers a white slimming shirt and a grey tie. He remembered these things. Iker asked if Martin had a key and David shook his head, he told David that whilst he trusted Martin he couldn’t take knowing whether he was there or not. That suspense was too much to take even if Martin was his best friend. Iker told him that the door was not forced open and whether Martin could have made a key without him knowing. David stopped cold the idea someone could just walk into his home and have free reign and then kill his best friend made him feel sick.
“It’s not possible. I only have the master key there have been no copies ever made. I melted my mother’s and my spare key and kept the master key. Did you find one on him?”
“No, but whoever did this to Martin could have taken it.”
“Oh God,” gasped David he leaned his head against the table his whole body shaking violently. He vaguely heard Iker get up and leave the room. David felt the blood rushing in his ears and his head throbbing angrily. Someone had come into his home and killed his best friend that person now had an all out access to David’s home and David felt like the world was closing in on him.
“Breathe,” Iker said softly to David. Warm hands closed around David’s face and gently lifted his face of the table. Those eyes were now shining in concern and David couldn’t help but marvel at the brightness of that damn gold. Iker pushed a plastic cup filled with cold water, and David picked it up as Iker moved back to sit back in his seat. David drank the whole cup the cold water splashing into his body like waves.
Iker asked for names of friends, colleagues, gallery people, mutual friends, where Martin liked to hang out with, whether he was dating anyone, whether he had any recent fights, his family life. David knew none of Martin’s other friends when they were together it was just them. Iker seemed to find that odd that Martin didn’t speak of anyone in his life to David. David wanted to scream at Iker and tell him not to judge Martin. They loved each other. Their lives were intertwined that no one else mattered. David didn’t know anyone because he didn’t care and neither did Martin. They were brothers, soul mates and each other’s forever. No one would understand. No one did. He told Iker about Paula and Tim Calahan a working class family his mother was an administration worker for the local hospital and his father was a plumber. He had a younger fourteen year old sister who he adored. He loved his family and they loved him they were a kind bunch and they were always kind to David. He told Iker due to rarely leaving his home he did not see Martin’s family often and he had only visited Martin’s flat twice. He didn’t know anyone else in Martin’s life and for once David wondered if that was his misdoing; that if he had asked maybe he could have helped Martin then and definitely now.
-
The interview lasted for two hours, and Iker had brought some tea for David. He knew David was tiring and fresh tears kept making their way down his face. The scene was still being processed and Iker knew they’d be waiting for a few days for relevant results to be processed.
“I can’t go home.”
David had his eyes closed exhaustion plain on his face. Iker’s heart thudded uncomfortably and he was often criticised for taking cases to heart. Iker’s father was a police officer and had died on duty when a fifteen year old had shot him during a drug bust. Iker had moved to London with his English mother aged four but had gone back to his birth home Madrid as he grew up. Due to this his accent seemed to suffer and he laughed at his odd Spanish-English accent. Most people would balk at going into a profession that killed their father. However, Iker remembered what a proud man his father was and how he told Iker that helping people was a gift. Iker’s mother predictably had a fit when he told her he’d be applying to the London Metropolitan Police. He remembered her crying and then giving him the silent treatment for weeks. He was eighteen years old and he never felt more alive. This was his calling and his mother eventually spoke to him again but held him at arm’s length protecting herself for the day her only son died. Iker had been on the force for thirteen years and had been promoted to DCI at thirty. He loved his job and he didn’t think being empathic was a bad thing. His colleagues had always criticised him telling him not to be such a soft-hearted arsehole. Though he was a DCI at thirty so he figured he was doing something right.
“I can get Linda our administrator to book you into a hotel.”
David felt like sobbing, a dead friend, someone with access to his home and now having to stay somewhere he wouldn’t feel comfortable. He nodded his head and the officer left to make arrangements. Iker came back into the room and David listened dispassionately as Iker told him he was booked at the local Hilton for two nights. That it would give him time to change his locks and allow the house to be processed and secured.
“For now we don’t expect you to be under any threat as there is no evidence to prove so. However the manager at the Hilton has been told not to give any information on you staying there. You’re also not considered a suspect in this investigation as you called the scene in. I do advise you that you will be contacted and asked for more questions as we carry on this investigation.”
David figured as much and nodded his head, Iker stood up and David followed suit following the man outside. Iker did whatever officers did and David stood waiting until the man could drive him to the hotel.
“David this is Constable Harris he’ll escort you to the hotel.” Constable Harris gave David a tight smile and it made David sick. Maybe he was being dramatic but David felt like a criminal in the other man’s eyes. David smiled at Iker and tentatively held out his hand, Iker surprisingly gave David a bright smile and for not for the second time that day David felt like someone was on his side.
-
Constable Harris had bid his terse goodbye to David at his hotel room and left without a backward glance. Iker had said his life was not in danger but David couldn’t help but feel like he was being mistreated in a way. David used the key card to access his room and looked around at the brown faux-modern exterior that screamed boring and stifling to an artist like him. Iker had gotten one of the other constables to pick up some clothes for him. Most of his clothes were threadbare and splattered with paint. David remembered it was one of the things that use to annoy Martin.
“You’re twenty-three you barely have a social life and that I get, but man could you at least dress like you’re from this century.”
David remembered he had stuck his tongue out at Martin and then threw a red blob of paint on Martin’s tacky top from Hollister. The memory made David laugh and then he started laughing so hard that he couldn’t stop. All the memories of him and Martin came flooding through his mind and David couldn’t stop the hysterical tears and the heaviness of his breathing. David felt like everything was on fire but he couldn’t stop crying. He lay against the hardwood floor and pleaded with God to bring back his best friend; bring back his best friend so his heart could stop breaking.
-
Iker sat around a large table with his team as they discussed the murder and who Martin was and who had an objective in killing the kid. It wasn’t the right to do but Iker couldn’t believe David had anything to do with it. The kid looked like he was beyond breaking even before his best friend was murdered.
“The kid was killed with that ashtray and there were no prints,” said Constable Lisa Irvin. Despite being twenty-five Iker still considered her as a “kid” her small stature and baby face made her look like she was twelve.
“We’ve got the details on work colleagues and the gallery work he did for Mr. Beckham, so we’ll be questioning them later this afternoon.”
“Good soon as we can start talking to some people the more we can get a picture. I want these interviews done by the end of the day. If you can’t follow through with some people I want it done tomorrow morning.” Everyone nodded and despite this being a murder until questioning and analysis could be done they were walking as opposed to running. The team broke away to get started on their work and Iker headed to his office; he had decided to take point with Martin’s parents and dialled their number.
“Hello?” A weary male voice came from the other side.
“Mr. Calahan this is DCI Casillas, I was hoping if it was okay for me to come over today.”
“Of course,” Martin’s father didn’t say anything else and Iker sighed feeling sad for a grieving father.
“Thank you, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes,” Mr Calahan mumbled a yes and then ended the call. Iker sighed and placed the phone back on the handle. He hated this part dealing with grieving families who just didn’t understand.
-
The ride to Martin’s family home was a relatively quick one, and Iker pulled up to a stone-washed two-story home that seriously needed a paint job. The driveway held two old Ford models on cheap gravel that Iker hated with a passion. Iker parked his car trying not to block the driveway and closed up and headed for the Calahan household. He rang the doorbell and a young girl opened the door, she had the same brown hair as Martin and Iker looked at this young girl her eyes bright red and her skin pale. The look of distraught on such a young face made Iker angry that anyone had the right to do that to an innocent family.
“My name is DCI Casillas I’m here to see your parents.” The girl nodded and gestured with her hand and Iker smiled at her he walked past her into a narrow hallway. All the homes were cramped like this in London - too many people and not enough space. The girl locked up and walked ahead as Iker followed her into a living room. The room was a sky blue with a family portrait hung on the wall on top of a burning fireplace. The portrait looked a few years older, the little girl younger and a slightly younger Martin. The family were obviously in their best clothes with genuine smiles on their faces as they grinned at the camera.
“Hello Mr. Casillas,” Mr. Calahan stood up extracting his arm from his shell-shocked wife, “Please have a seat.” Iker nodded and sat down on the white leather couch and watched the young girl leave the room.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” started Iker. Mr. Calahan nodded as he sat down next to wife and she resumed to clutching his arm.
“I’m sorry to get right into this but as you know Martin’s death was foul play,” Martin’s mother let out a whimper and Mr. Calahan patted her hand.
“I’m sure you hear this from every parent you question, but I swear my boy was a good man. He loved us and he loved David and he was a good person. David didn’t do anything and if I know my boy he’d strike me down if I thought otherwise.”
Iker marvelled at this man who looked like a stereotypical English father, eating half his words, gruff and a little mean looking. However, under all that here was a man who loved his child fiercely and also loved his best friend.
“I do Sir but that doesn’t mean those parents or you are wrong. I didn’t know your son - so I’m going to respect you enough not to pretend I know better.”
“You’re a good man,” whispered Mrs. Calahan and Iker gave her a small smile.
-
After two hours Iker left the Calahan household with a little more information. They had told him that Martin had a fairly active social life, David was his best friend but he didn’t spend all his time with him. They had told Iker that Martin had recently started volunteering at a care home which was another aspect to look into. Martin seemed to have a lot more friends and more names were added to the questioning list. Iker hoped he could get some to come to the station for information as opposed to making home visits.
Iker returned to the station and his team were already back folders and sheets of paper being shuffled back and forth.
“Well...?” Iker asked as he sat down at the head of the table.
“Media is out with the news but hopefully that’ll get us some more calls. I met his work colleagues and they told us what a great guy he was and how important Mr. Beckham was to him. They said Mr. Beckham hardly came out with them but Martin had said he had some problems. Though they did say Martin was seeing someone for the last two weeks. He had told them he met someone and he was a bit scared to tell Mr. Beckham,” said Lisa Irvin.
“Why?” Iker asked David was hardly a scary man but maybe Martin had reasons to be.
“They didn’t know but they said it was because he didn’t want to hurt David. His friends figured because David was a shut in and had no other friends he’d freak if Martin was dating.”
“In a kill-you-kinda-way,” prodded Iker.
“No. They were all adamant it was more about his acceptance and not feeling abandoned as opposed to fearing for his life.”
“So we have another person we can’t account for,” mused Iker.
Lisa nodded her head, “I talked to his managers but they weren’t really close. They said he was a good worker and had a natural charm that made him good at his job. They said he was popular in the centre but the five people I interviewed those were the ones who he was the most closest too.”
“I have a few other lines that opened up, his parents stated he started volunteering a few weeks ago and if this new person in his life showed up a few weeks ago maybe there is a link.”
“Do you want me to look into it?” Lisa asked Iker.
Iker shook his head, “No, you keep with the friends and see if they point you into other directions and field any calls coming in. I’m going to pop in and see David and see if he knows anything.
“Al right,” Lisa got up and left and Iker leaned back against his chair. Nothing was really adding up for Iker but he hoped maybe David could help. He didn’t believe David had anything to do with it, but if the line went cold David would be shoved into the spotlight as the man who may have killed his best friend, and that was something Iker knew the kid wouldn’t come back from.
Author: eternitybreaks orton_fics
Pairing: Iker Casillas and David Beckham
Fandom: Football (RPS) / AU
Plot: Iker is a DCI for the London Metropolitan Police and he is called in to investigate a murder, which David happens to be the victim and the number one suspect.
Rating: PG
Words: 5,143.
Notes: BECKS WOULD HAVE BEEN AN ARTIST. SOMEONE WRITE AN AU OF BECKS AS A SKETCH ARTIST AND IKER AS A POLICEMAN - rebelstrike21 (P.s. not proof read).
©
The room was a mess of activity with police officers trampling across his home with equipment he couldn’t even name. David could hear the buzz of activity from outside his home; the windows were open because he hated feeling cooped up when he drew. He sat on his narrow grey couch he bought of Gum tree for fifty pounds. It wasn’t the most prettiest of couches, but art didn’t pay all that much so he made do. David watched a policeman eye him warily before looking away. They had all done that from time to time, maybe it was because they thought he was weird - or a flight risk. He fidgeted on the seat and the policeman scowled at him, David sighed never one to stay still but it made him look like a junkie his friend had told him laughing one day. That friend that lay dead in his art studio with his head bashed in.
David had few friends but Martin had befriended him when he was a scared twelve year old at secondary school. Thirteen years later and now his only friend had been murdered and David was the number one suspect. David knew that once everything calmed down he’d probably start screaming. It was the only way for him to deal with traumatic experiences; to scream. Martin had been there when he did it the first time - which still shamed David until this day. A boy at school had beaten him up during lunch time. Martin had walked him home and once inside his bedroom David screamed for five minutes straight. Martin had held him tight and didn’t let go for hours until David stopped shaking. The only person who had loved him was dead and David wondered if he’d ever stop screaming?
“Mr. Beckham,” a soft voice called out to David. It felt far away as the banging inside his head seemed to dull David’s senses. He looked up and saw a face peering down at him, an open and expressive face with lines around his mouth and at the corner of his golden-brown eyes. David smiled at him he remembered Martin telling him that laugh lines meant that the person was good. David remembered smacking him on the nose shaking his head and saying what kind of deduction was that. He was pretty sure serial killers were also happy when they were killing people. Martin always told him he was a half-glass empty kind of guy, but David had his reasons for that.
“David,” he whispered clutching the afghan thrown around him. The policeman nodded his head and gestured his head towards the table. David found that sweet here he was the number one suspect for a murder, and the guy was asking permission on whether he could sit on a scarred oak table he bought from Ikea and built it with Martin. David looked around his small house and realised every part of it sang a story about Martin and David felt his heart beat faster. Something must have been apparent on David’s face because the policeman leaned forward and gripped David’s knee his face close again. David had severe issues with people touching him but the pounding inside seemed more scary than the policeman’s hand.
“Take a deep breath David. I can understand this has been a traumatic day for you. Just take deep breaths and let yourself feel each exhale.” The policeman had a slight accent, his words a tad thicker but it seemed over time - maybe living in the UK had diluted his accent some. David did as instructed and felt the pounding recede ever so slightly. The policeman removed his hand and leaned back.
“My name is Detective chief inspector (DCI) Iker Casillas, and I would like to take you to the police station if that is okay?” Iker watched the man fidget on the couch pulling the afghan closer to him and almost burying into the wrap. The man was gorgeous in a rugged way, with blonde stubble coating his jaw and dirty blonde hair in disarray. He could see paint and charcoal coated in the man’s nails, but he knew the guy was an artist. The man’s home was filled with so many paints and canvases it would be a blatant thing to miss.
“I’m I suspect?” David voice was quiet and Iker strained to hear with all the commotion going around them. The guy looked like he was just a kid despite the stubble he was definitely under twenty-five. Before Iker had come in to take the case his superior had given him a file on David and it was a colourful at that. The kid had suffered a lot during his life one that no one should go through. Iker was asked if he’d wanted a mental health officer to attend, but he figured the guy would not appreciate it.
“We’d like to ask you some questions David. You called the police and that says a lot. However you need to be questioned too.” David appreciated that man’s honesty many would try and spin it some way or be blatantly cruel. He stood up the afghan still wrapped around him. Iker didn’t ask whether the guy wanted a coat.
“We’ll go out the back.” The media had got a wind of a murder with all the blue lights flashing about. It wasn’t like there weren’t any chancers out back, but it at least gave David a fighting chance with not having his face plastered on BBC News. David walked through the narrow hallway through the kitchen. David usually kept the key on the hook next to the door, but it was already in the hole, luckily the door was locked and he turned the key.
“Crames lock this door behind us,” Iker said to the female officer who had come into the kitchen. The woman with her dark hair pulled into a tight bun nodded her head, and locked the door behind them as they walked out. The night was cold but dry and the sky clear with the stars twinkling against the inky darkness. Martin loved stars the big sap - he wanted to visit Texas one day to see them in all their glory. David wondered how much more he needed to suffer until it just all got too much.
Iker opened the door to his police-car and ushered David in, he closed the door and got into his side the lights not flashing. They drove in silence but luckily the station was close by and Iker was parking into a spot and then getting David out and walking up to the station.
“Morning Casillas,” a man in his fifties yawned at Iker as he pushed across the logging book, Iker nodded and he wrote Dad’s name, date and time into the book before being buzzed in. Iker walked David in and they passed officers busy at work. Even in the dead of night the phones were ringing off the hook. Iker led David into an interview room and the closed the door.
“Have a seat,” David did so and watched Iker as he fiddled with the camcorder in the room.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” David shook his head no and Iker smiled at him. He knew it was a forced polite smile because those little lines didn’t move and those bright eyes didn’t shine.
“Hold tight and I’ll be back in a minute,” David watched as Iker left the room and looked around the sparse room. The walls were a standard cheap magnolia colour; the table was a thick grey plastic. The chairs luckily had soft padding and other than the camcorder there was nothing else in the room. The blinds were drawn across but open and he could see people walking back and forth. The door opened and Iker came back holding a blue file. He pressed a button on the camcorder and then walked back over to the chair pulling it out and sitting down.
“It is five-oh five AM on the sixth of February 2013 I am DCI Casillas interviewing David Beckham of case #240.” Iker opened the blue file taking out a few sheets and clicked open his pen.
“Okay Mr. Beckham please recount the events of the night in much detail as possible. I may ask you to elaborate as you’re answering. Please do not let that deter you, I am not accusing you of anything and we’d all like to know what happened to Mr. Calahan.” David almost laughed at that; the police wanted to know? He lost half his soul and they just wanted to know.
David closed his eyes and let what he knew buzz through his head. He felt like vomiting but this was the one time he had to be strong. His best friend was gone and he could never get him back but at least he could help the police in finding out who did it.
David recounted the day from the start, he told Iker he rarely left his home and he did okay money wise. His parent’s death five years earlier he was left with a mortgage free home, two life insurances and a sizeable savings from his parents. David found it irritating that people always focused on money being a motive but he relented. It was natural for Iker to ask more about their number one suspect. David told Iker that Martin was his only friend and he knew him since he was thirteen. He also dealt with David’s art work, he was unable to function well in social gatherings and so Martin did that for him. He took his work to galleries and conducted his shows for him and processed his paintings when bought. David told Iker Martin worked in a call centre but he had a flair for art dealings. Not enough to make it a career he only did it because of David. He told Iker that neither had gone to university Martin didn’t care much for further education and David wouldn’t function in such an environment. David mused to himself at how disappointed his parents would have been but he knew they’d understand.
He knew some of the information was haphazard but David needed to tell it his way. Tell Iker who Martin was and who he was. Iker asked for names of galleries and people Martin would have met and dealt with. David only knew of the galleries his work was shown or bought at, he didn’t know the people personally nor care. He trusted Martin and never thought the man would do anything to weasel him out of money. He knew Iker wanted to raise his eyebrow at that one, but luckily he didn’t because David knew he’d start screaming.
David told Iker that Martin came over to his house at eight in the morning before going into work. David was an early riser and they always had breakfast together. Martin had left at twenty-past eight to make his bus and he worked till five-thirty five days a week. David told Iker that Martin had called at six that evening saying he had a voicemail about one of his paintings and he was going to go to the gallery. Martin had called at seven again saying he’d be over in an hour and he had some good news. Martin had arrived at seven-thirty with Chinese food and he told David that a buyer was interested in his ‘Red Pain’ series but wanted to know if it was possible to get a fourth. David could never force a project and shook his head. The series was done and he wasn’t going to revisit it no matter how much money was offered. He remembered Martin had laughed and called him a “starving artist” and said the buyer would have paid more, but he’d probably still buy the series with the agreed price.
Iker had interrupted whether Martin got a share of the sales and David nodded. He told Iker that Martin had hated it and fought so hard that they almost stopped talking once. Iker had asked him to elaborate so David carried on. He said Martin was never to do things to get something back. They were brothers and he never wanted to profit on David’s work. He had explained to Martin that he was doing all the selling and he was entitled to a share. They worked out a percentage and whilst David deemed Martin’s work more Martin had agreed on 10% of the profits. David admitted that some paintings had sold well, but he definitely didn’t make a steady income out of his work. That was why Martin was so against a percentage of the sales David made. He felt that David deserved all his money because sometimes he wouldn’t make anything out of his work for months on end. Iker asked who the seller was who wanted David’s ‘Red Pain’ series, but David did not know and told him the gallery that it was being processed at. After their dinner he told him Martin stayed till eleven he had called a taxi to go home because he didn’t want to take the bus. Iker had asked why and David sadly smiled and said Martin was a fighter but he was scared of taking the bus at night. Martin had been mugged when he was eighteen whilst waiting for the bus after leaving David’s home. Martin luckily wasn’t hurt other than a punch to the face, but he had become wary standing around at bus stops at night. Once Martin had left David locked up, checked the back door and slid the bolt and then went to bed.
David had awoken at four in the morning and come downstairs for water and to start on his new series. He had gotten his glass of water and walked into his studio (but it really was a small room that held the bulk of his art supplies and had slightly better lighting). He remembered flipping the light on and there was Martin laying face down on David’s rug with blood pooled around his head and a bloody ashtray David had never seen before. He told Iker he stood and looked at Martin for near enough ten minutes wondering why his friend wouldn’t get up.
Iker sighed and watched as David’s eyes grew watery and his voice started to hitch. David kept going his speech becoming faster. He told Iker he kept calling Martin but he wouldn’t move, and he asked what was with the ashtray that neither of them smoked. He told Iker that he called the police at four-fifteen and reported a murder in his home. David’s voice cracked on the word murder and he was now openly crying tears marking down his face.
He told Iker that Martin’s clothes were different, he was wearing casual clothes but when he left his home he was in his work clothes. Grey trousers a white slimming shirt and a grey tie. He remembered these things. Iker asked if Martin had a key and David shook his head, he told David that whilst he trusted Martin he couldn’t take knowing whether he was there or not. That suspense was too much to take even if Martin was his best friend. Iker told him that the door was not forced open and whether Martin could have made a key without him knowing. David stopped cold the idea someone could just walk into his home and have free reign and then kill his best friend made him feel sick.
“It’s not possible. I only have the master key there have been no copies ever made. I melted my mother’s and my spare key and kept the master key. Did you find one on him?”
“No, but whoever did this to Martin could have taken it.”
“Oh God,” gasped David he leaned his head against the table his whole body shaking violently. He vaguely heard Iker get up and leave the room. David felt the blood rushing in his ears and his head throbbing angrily. Someone had come into his home and killed his best friend that person now had an all out access to David’s home and David felt like the world was closing in on him.
“Breathe,” Iker said softly to David. Warm hands closed around David’s face and gently lifted his face of the table. Those eyes were now shining in concern and David couldn’t help but marvel at the brightness of that damn gold. Iker pushed a plastic cup filled with cold water, and David picked it up as Iker moved back to sit back in his seat. David drank the whole cup the cold water splashing into his body like waves.
Iker asked for names of friends, colleagues, gallery people, mutual friends, where Martin liked to hang out with, whether he was dating anyone, whether he had any recent fights, his family life. David knew none of Martin’s other friends when they were together it was just them. Iker seemed to find that odd that Martin didn’t speak of anyone in his life to David. David wanted to scream at Iker and tell him not to judge Martin. They loved each other. Their lives were intertwined that no one else mattered. David didn’t know anyone because he didn’t care and neither did Martin. They were brothers, soul mates and each other’s forever. No one would understand. No one did. He told Iker about Paula and Tim Calahan a working class family his mother was an administration worker for the local hospital and his father was a plumber. He had a younger fourteen year old sister who he adored. He loved his family and they loved him they were a kind bunch and they were always kind to David. He told Iker due to rarely leaving his home he did not see Martin’s family often and he had only visited Martin’s flat twice. He didn’t know anyone else in Martin’s life and for once David wondered if that was his misdoing; that if he had asked maybe he could have helped Martin then and definitely now.
-
The interview lasted for two hours, and Iker had brought some tea for David. He knew David was tiring and fresh tears kept making their way down his face. The scene was still being processed and Iker knew they’d be waiting for a few days for relevant results to be processed.
“I can’t go home.”
David had his eyes closed exhaustion plain on his face. Iker’s heart thudded uncomfortably and he was often criticised for taking cases to heart. Iker’s father was a police officer and had died on duty when a fifteen year old had shot him during a drug bust. Iker had moved to London with his English mother aged four but had gone back to his birth home Madrid as he grew up. Due to this his accent seemed to suffer and he laughed at his odd Spanish-English accent. Most people would balk at going into a profession that killed their father. However, Iker remembered what a proud man his father was and how he told Iker that helping people was a gift. Iker’s mother predictably had a fit when he told her he’d be applying to the London Metropolitan Police. He remembered her crying and then giving him the silent treatment for weeks. He was eighteen years old and he never felt more alive. This was his calling and his mother eventually spoke to him again but held him at arm’s length protecting herself for the day her only son died. Iker had been on the force for thirteen years and had been promoted to DCI at thirty. He loved his job and he didn’t think being empathic was a bad thing. His colleagues had always criticised him telling him not to be such a soft-hearted arsehole. Though he was a DCI at thirty so he figured he was doing something right.
“I can get Linda our administrator to book you into a hotel.”
David felt like sobbing, a dead friend, someone with access to his home and now having to stay somewhere he wouldn’t feel comfortable. He nodded his head and the officer left to make arrangements. Iker came back into the room and David listened dispassionately as Iker told him he was booked at the local Hilton for two nights. That it would give him time to change his locks and allow the house to be processed and secured.
“For now we don’t expect you to be under any threat as there is no evidence to prove so. However the manager at the Hilton has been told not to give any information on you staying there. You’re also not considered a suspect in this investigation as you called the scene in. I do advise you that you will be contacted and asked for more questions as we carry on this investigation.”
David figured as much and nodded his head, Iker stood up and David followed suit following the man outside. Iker did whatever officers did and David stood waiting until the man could drive him to the hotel.
“David this is Constable Harris he’ll escort you to the hotel.” Constable Harris gave David a tight smile and it made David sick. Maybe he was being dramatic but David felt like a criminal in the other man’s eyes. David smiled at Iker and tentatively held out his hand, Iker surprisingly gave David a bright smile and for not for the second time that day David felt like someone was on his side.
-
Constable Harris had bid his terse goodbye to David at his hotel room and left without a backward glance. Iker had said his life was not in danger but David couldn’t help but feel like he was being mistreated in a way. David used the key card to access his room and looked around at the brown faux-modern exterior that screamed boring and stifling to an artist like him. Iker had gotten one of the other constables to pick up some clothes for him. Most of his clothes were threadbare and splattered with paint. David remembered it was one of the things that use to annoy Martin.
“You’re twenty-three you barely have a social life and that I get, but man could you at least dress like you’re from this century.”
David remembered he had stuck his tongue out at Martin and then threw a red blob of paint on Martin’s tacky top from Hollister. The memory made David laugh and then he started laughing so hard that he couldn’t stop. All the memories of him and Martin came flooding through his mind and David couldn’t stop the hysterical tears and the heaviness of his breathing. David felt like everything was on fire but he couldn’t stop crying. He lay against the hardwood floor and pleaded with God to bring back his best friend; bring back his best friend so his heart could stop breaking.
-
Iker sat around a large table with his team as they discussed the murder and who Martin was and who had an objective in killing the kid. It wasn’t the right to do but Iker couldn’t believe David had anything to do with it. The kid looked like he was beyond breaking even before his best friend was murdered.
“The kid was killed with that ashtray and there were no prints,” said Constable Lisa Irvin. Despite being twenty-five Iker still considered her as a “kid” her small stature and baby face made her look like she was twelve.
“We’ve got the details on work colleagues and the gallery work he did for Mr. Beckham, so we’ll be questioning them later this afternoon.”
“Good soon as we can start talking to some people the more we can get a picture. I want these interviews done by the end of the day. If you can’t follow through with some people I want it done tomorrow morning.” Everyone nodded and despite this being a murder until questioning and analysis could be done they were walking as opposed to running. The team broke away to get started on their work and Iker headed to his office; he had decided to take point with Martin’s parents and dialled their number.
“Hello?” A weary male voice came from the other side.
“Mr. Calahan this is DCI Casillas, I was hoping if it was okay for me to come over today.”
“Of course,” Martin’s father didn’t say anything else and Iker sighed feeling sad for a grieving father.
“Thank you, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes,” Mr Calahan mumbled a yes and then ended the call. Iker sighed and placed the phone back on the handle. He hated this part dealing with grieving families who just didn’t understand.
-
The ride to Martin’s family home was a relatively quick one, and Iker pulled up to a stone-washed two-story home that seriously needed a paint job. The driveway held two old Ford models on cheap gravel that Iker hated with a passion. Iker parked his car trying not to block the driveway and closed up and headed for the Calahan household. He rang the doorbell and a young girl opened the door, she had the same brown hair as Martin and Iker looked at this young girl her eyes bright red and her skin pale. The look of distraught on such a young face made Iker angry that anyone had the right to do that to an innocent family.
“My name is DCI Casillas I’m here to see your parents.” The girl nodded and gestured with her hand and Iker smiled at her he walked past her into a narrow hallway. All the homes were cramped like this in London - too many people and not enough space. The girl locked up and walked ahead as Iker followed her into a living room. The room was a sky blue with a family portrait hung on the wall on top of a burning fireplace. The portrait looked a few years older, the little girl younger and a slightly younger Martin. The family were obviously in their best clothes with genuine smiles on their faces as they grinned at the camera.
“Hello Mr. Casillas,” Mr. Calahan stood up extracting his arm from his shell-shocked wife, “Please have a seat.” Iker nodded and sat down on the white leather couch and watched the young girl leave the room.
“I am so sorry for your loss,” started Iker. Mr. Calahan nodded as he sat down next to wife and she resumed to clutching his arm.
“I’m sorry to get right into this but as you know Martin’s death was foul play,” Martin’s mother let out a whimper and Mr. Calahan patted her hand.
“I’m sure you hear this from every parent you question, but I swear my boy was a good man. He loved us and he loved David and he was a good person. David didn’t do anything and if I know my boy he’d strike me down if I thought otherwise.”
Iker marvelled at this man who looked like a stereotypical English father, eating half his words, gruff and a little mean looking. However, under all that here was a man who loved his child fiercely and also loved his best friend.
“I do Sir but that doesn’t mean those parents or you are wrong. I didn’t know your son - so I’m going to respect you enough not to pretend I know better.”
“You’re a good man,” whispered Mrs. Calahan and Iker gave her a small smile.
-
After two hours Iker left the Calahan household with a little more information. They had told him that Martin had a fairly active social life, David was his best friend but he didn’t spend all his time with him. They had told Iker that Martin had recently started volunteering at a care home which was another aspect to look into. Martin seemed to have a lot more friends and more names were added to the questioning list. Iker hoped he could get some to come to the station for information as opposed to making home visits.
Iker returned to the station and his team were already back folders and sheets of paper being shuffled back and forth.
“Well...?” Iker asked as he sat down at the head of the table.
“Media is out with the news but hopefully that’ll get us some more calls. I met his work colleagues and they told us what a great guy he was and how important Mr. Beckham was to him. They said Mr. Beckham hardly came out with them but Martin had said he had some problems. Though they did say Martin was seeing someone for the last two weeks. He had told them he met someone and he was a bit scared to tell Mr. Beckham,” said Lisa Irvin.
“Why?” Iker asked David was hardly a scary man but maybe Martin had reasons to be.
“They didn’t know but they said it was because he didn’t want to hurt David. His friends figured because David was a shut in and had no other friends he’d freak if Martin was dating.”
“In a kill-you-kinda-way,” prodded Iker.
“No. They were all adamant it was more about his acceptance and not feeling abandoned as opposed to fearing for his life.”
“So we have another person we can’t account for,” mused Iker.
Lisa nodded her head, “I talked to his managers but they weren’t really close. They said he was a good worker and had a natural charm that made him good at his job. They said he was popular in the centre but the five people I interviewed those were the ones who he was the most closest too.”
“I have a few other lines that opened up, his parents stated he started volunteering a few weeks ago and if this new person in his life showed up a few weeks ago maybe there is a link.”
“Do you want me to look into it?” Lisa asked Iker.
Iker shook his head, “No, you keep with the friends and see if they point you into other directions and field any calls coming in. I’m going to pop in and see David and see if he knows anything.
“Al right,” Lisa got up and left and Iker leaned back against his chair. Nothing was really adding up for Iker but he hoped maybe David could help. He didn’t believe David had anything to do with it, but if the line went cold David would be shoved into the spotlight as the man who may have killed his best friend, and that was something Iker knew the kid wouldn’t come back from.