The Mystery of the Homeless Man
Why would an airline pilot exchange a world of comfort for life on the streets?
In 2006, Miranda meets an itinerant in the wood, she takes him home. He refuses to stay, desperate to return to the streets. Miranda gives him some money and forgets the incident.
Fifteen years later, the SeeMs Detective Agency is investigating an abandoned house and discovers a homeless man was found there: murdered.
No one knows who the dead man is or how he died, and, with one hundred and fifty unidentified street deaths per year, no one has time to find out.
But, the SeeMs Detectives have both time and a client.
Their investigation takes them into a surprising world of aviation, night-clubs and the homeless.
What they discover threatens one of their team. Can they save their colleague before the homeless man’s killer strikes again?
Excerpt from The Mystery of the Homeless Man by Gina Cheyne
This is an excerpt from early in the book. Stevie, one of the SeeMs Detectives, who is also an airline pilot, is returning from Heathrow. She is driving the Triumph Spitfire she restored when she comes across an intriguing situation.
Stevie left the terminal and took the bus to the staff car park. She was ready to go home. She’d being flying long haul for over a week and although she loved flying and being away, she worried about her dementia-wracked mother, and the constantly changing carers.
She pushed back the hood and slipped into the well-conditioned leather seats, allowing the smell to envelop her for a few moments. She didn’t usually put the top down after a long flight, but it was such a lovely evening with a light breeze that she wanted to be out in the soft night air.
There was very little traffic at this time of the morning, particularly as COVID restrictions had only recently been lifted and drivers allowed out. Stevie made good time down the M25 and on down the A3, but as she past Milford she saw signs indicating that night work was being done on the tunnel and it was closed. Sighing she turned off down the Lea Coach Road and made her way along the slower road.
The only other car around was a silver Toyota Sienna, which accelerated past Stevie so fast it nearly knocked her into the ditch.
Stevie swore quietly. ‘No need to drive like that, my friend,’ she muttered. ‘Where could you be going that is more important than staying alive?’
As she reached the twisting, turning road out of Billington, she was forced to drive under thirty and couldn’t help wondering if the Toyota had slowed here or had careered through the corners like a madman.
Rounding a particularly sharp corner she saw what looked like a deer lying in the road about 100 yards ahead. Had the Toyota hit it? What a fool. Who drives so fast on these crazy corners?
She slowed down to a fast walking pace, but as she did so the deer jumped up onto its hind legs. She gasped as her headlights sprinkled across his body, revealing it was actually a man. Was he injured? Perhaps by the speeding Toyota. Stevie realised if she didn’t stop she would hit him too. She braked so hard she skidded slightly. She turned off the engine. The man turned towards her, looking around with jumpy movements. Unexpectedly, he swerved her way, running towards her, his speed increasing as he did so. She sat terrified. He was going smash into her car.
Her body went cold. Or was this a ploy? Was he pretending to be hurt, then jumping up and attacking her? She’d read stories like that on the internet.
Her hand grasped the jack by her left side. Pulled it on to her lap and waited. Watching to see what the man would do.
Reaching the car, the man stopped. He sank down by her door and, sitting on the tarmac, began sobbing piteously. As she watched, her body tense in her seat, he put up his arms, grabbed the top of her door, pulled himself up and lent in to the car, his tears dropping on to her right leg.
‘Oh,’ he wailed and his voice cracked her heart, ‘you are alive. You are alive!’
Stevie stared at the man. She could see now he was not a young man but rather someway into middle age and his eyes, when he lifted his head, were tired and bloodshot. She wondered what to do next.
A scream pierced the air. ‘Uncle Jake! Uncle Jake!’ and Stevie wrest her eyes away from the sobbing man towards the voice. A young woman was now also running towards the car and screaming out as she did so. ‘Don’t hurt him! He didn’t mean nothing. He’s good!’
Stevie realised with surprise she had automatically lifted the jack and was holding it in the air above the weeping man’s head. She gently brought it back into the car, her eyes darting between the woman and the man uncertainly.
As the woman got closer, she slowed down and stretched out her arms. Reaching the man, she enveloped him into a hug as though he was a child. ‘It’s OK Jake, it’s OK,’ she breathed gently into his ear. ‘Look she’s alive. She’s not even hurt.’
Slowly the man stopped crying, and the woman turned towards Stevie. ‘Sorry love. He’s lovely but he’s not all there. It’s not his fault. It was the second of the two accidents. He was so young, and he thought he was responsible but all he did was find her. It wasn’t his fault. And the second one wasn’t even hurt, was she love. The girl was OK. So is this one. Not even hurt. That’s good isn’t it Jakie.’
The man turned his head to look at Stevie while still clinging to the woman. She kissed him gently on the top of his head and turned back to Stevie. ‘Sorry love, I hope you’re not shocked. It’s a bad corner this one. Please drive safely.’
And with that she turned and led the stooping man away.
Stevie shook her head sighing. What was that all about? She really did not understand people. Machines were so much simpler.
She started up the Spitfire and drove home listening to Pink Floyd Welcome to the Machine.
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