by D. S. Butler
‘There are a few mentions of William Grant in the original interview notes, but only cursory details, nothing major,’ DI Morgan said as he parked beside the curb.
Karen unbuckled her seatbelt. ‘Let’s hope he has a good memory.’
They got out of the car and walked along a paved drive towards the small bungalow. The doorbell rang out a cheerful tune that seemed to go on and on, and then finally the door was opened by a short, grey-haired man who blinked at them nervously.
DI Morgan held out his warrant card. ‘Mr Grant, I’m DI Morgan, we spoke on the phone, and this is my colleague, DS Hart.’
‘Yes, come in,’ William Grant said, giving them a tentative smile and opening the door wide.
The hallway was spacious and brightly lit; the decor was old-fashioned. A thick, pink patterned carpet was partially covered by a rug, and the flowery wallpaper was dated, but it felt welcoming and homely.
‘I’m really not sure how I can help you,’ William said. ‘As I mentioned on the phone, I wasn’t very close to Oliver.’
Karen and DI Morgan followed him along the hallway.
‘Can I get you something to drink?’ he asked.
Both Karen and DI Morgan turned down the offer. William led them into a large living room, with big windows that let in plenty of sunlight.
He made his way over to a comfortable-looking recliner. It was one of those chairs that tilted upwards when you needed to stand up. He settled down in it, and Karen and DI Morgan took the other two chairs. The bungalow was certainly larger than it looked from the outside. Above the fireplace, there were numerous photographs of happy, smiling faces.
‘Are they your grandchildren?’ Karen asked, nodding at the framed photos.
‘Yes,’ William said, smiling proudly. ‘I’m lucky they live close by. My daughter’s been a sweetheart since my wife passed away. She brings the grandkids to see me at least once a week. I moved here from Skellingthorpe to be closer to them.’
There was a gas fire opposite them that had one bar alight.
William noticed Karen looking at it. ‘If you’re too hot, I can turn it off.’
Karen shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I feel the cold these days. That’s the trouble with getting old. That and the insomnia. I haven’t slept any later than five a.m. in years – and to think I used to look forward to retirement so I could get more sleep.’
‘How long did you work with Oliver Fox?’ DI Morgan asked, kicking off the questioning.
He was starting slowly, and Karen understood why. Despite cheering up when they spoke about his grandchildren, William Grant looked nervous. She put that down to the fact that he was a law-abiding citizen who didn’t know what it was like to be questioned by the police.
‘About fifteen years, I think. I was the English teacher, and Oliver took mathematics.’
‘He also coached the boys’ football team, didn’t he?’ Karen asked.
William frowned. ‘Yes, I believe he did.’
‘Did you organise any extracurricular clubs for the students?’
William shook his head. ‘No, I had enough to do with marking homework and looking after my own children.’
‘Do you remember Oliver acting any differently before he disappeared?’
William shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry. I didn’t know him terribly well. We didn’t mix socially. I wouldn’t say we were friends.’
Despite William Grant saying he felt the cold, Karen noticed his cheeks were flushed and his skin looked a little dewy.
‘Do you know Albert Johnson? He would have been the headmaster at Greenhill Secondary School when you worked there,’ DI Morgan asked.
William swallowed and cleared his throat. ‘I do. I worked with Bert for some time. We’re good friends. Do you mind if I ask why there is this new interest in Oliver Fox’s disappearance? He’s been missing a very long time.’
‘His case is up for review. We do this with cold cases from time to time to see if any new evidence has come to light,’ DI Morgan explained smoothly.
William looked down at his lap. ‘I see.’
‘Did you hear Albert Johnson had a fall at home?’ Karen asked, watching William carefully for his response. If he was a good friend, she expected to see immediate concern.
William’s face creased, and he shook his head slowly. ‘I did. It’s a terrible business. His neighbour telephoned yesterday to tell me. I’ve been meaning to get up to the hospital to see him.’
‘How did you find Oliver Fox?’ DI Morgan asked, switching the subject, a technique they liked to use to keep the person they were questioning on their toes.
‘How did I find him?’
‘Yes. Was he kind? Compassionate? Difficult to get along with?’
William rubbed a hand over his forehead. ‘Well, let me see, I’ll try to remember. It was ever such a long time ago.’
Karen smiled. ‘Take your time.’
‘I’d say he was a bit difficult. He could rub people up the wrong way, I suppose.’
‘How did he get along with the headmaster?’
‘Bert? Fine, as far as I know. Why do you ask?’
‘We’re just trying to get some idea of what Oliver was like – who he got along with, and who he didn’t. You’re not going to get anyone in any trouble, William. You seem nervous.’
‘Sorry, I’m just not used to being questioned by the police. I feel a bit shaken up after what happened to Bert. I told him he’d be better off living in a bungalow.’
‘How was Oliver’s family life? Did he ever mention trouble at home?’
William shook his head. ‘No – as I said, we didn’t really discuss things like that because we weren’t very close.’
‘Right.’ DI Morgan leaned back in the armchair and studied William. ‘You worked together for a long time . . . fifteen years. You must have found out things about him during that time. Maybe even things he liked to keep from his family.’
William shook his head. ‘Honestly, I really didn’t know much about him at all. Like I said . . .’
Karen finished his sentence for him. ‘You didn’t really know him very well.’
William shrugged and gave a sheepish smile. ‘What do you think happened to him?’ He glanced at DI Morgan and then Karen. ‘There were rumours he’d done a runner and gone off to France.’
DI Morgan raised an eyebrow. ‘There were? That’s the first I’ve heard of it. Tell us more.’
‘It was just talk in the staffroom, really. We all had theories about what happened to him. Most people’s ideas focused on him running off with some woman. I don’t think he was the faithful type.’
Karen leaned forward. ‘That’s exactly the sort of thing we want to know, Mr Grant. You probably know more than you think.’
William gave a half-hearted smile. ‘It’s really only from the talk in the staffroom. It was nothing I got directly from Oliver Fox himself.’
Karen and DI Morgan spoke to William Grant a little longer, trying to dig deeper and get him to open up, but he was unable to relax and confide in them. Karen wasn’t sure whether that was because he truly didn’t know anything, or because he didn’t trust them enough to tell them what he did know.
When they’d first started talking to William, Karen had put his nervousness down to the fact he’d had limited dealings with the police, but now she had to wonder if there was something more to it. If he was a good friend to Albert Johnson, did he know more than he was letting on?
DI Morgan wrapped up the questioning and they said goodbye to William. As Karen handed him a card with her contact details on it, she focused intently on the man’s face. His gaze refused to meet hers, and a muscle in his temple twitched.
By the time they’d left, Karen was sure William Grant knew more about Oliver Fox than he was letting on.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rick stood up and stretched. He was getting bored. He didn’t know how the old bloke could pretend to be asleep for so long. It
was a battle of wills, and Rick was losing.
He’d sat beside the hospital bed waffling away about nothing in particular, and Albert Johnson hadn’t reacted once. Rick was starting to doubt himself. Maybe the old fellow really was asleep.
There wasn’t much else he could do. He’d taken to strolling to the window, and up and down the waiting area once an hour, just to get the blood pumping again and to save his backside from getting numb.
It was one thirty, and they’d soon be bringing Albert’s lunch. Rick was hoping the smell of cottage pie, or whatever it was they had on the menu, would spark some life into Albert. But Rick’s own stomach was rumbling, and he was desperate for a shot of caffeine, so when he saw a smiling DC Shah walking towards him holding a paper coffee cup in her hand, Rick decided she was his new best friend.
‘Please tell me that’s for me,’ he said as she reached his side.
Farzana Shah chuckled as she handed him the coffee. ‘Yes, it is for you. I told Sophie we were bringing in a suspect, and she asked me to look in on you. She said this was the second day you’ve been waiting at the hospital.’
Rick took a sip of coffee and nodded. ‘Yes, I’m waiting for a chap to wake up, but he’s a very deep sleeper, apparently.’
They shuffled to one side, trying to get out of the way as a porter wheeled a bed containing an elderly lady towards the ward. Unfortunately, Farzana took a step just at the wrong time and nudged Rick’s elbow. The entire contents of the cup spilled down his white shirt.
Rick took in a sharp breath, because the coffee was still really hot and now he’d be wearing stained clothes for the rest of the day.
‘Oh, Rick, I’m so sorry,’ Farzana said, pressing her hands against her cheeks as she looked down at the dark-brown coffee stain.
‘It’s not your fault. It was an accident.’
‘Look, why don’t I wait here in case the gentleman wakes up? You can go home and change. I’ll call you if he wakes up.’
Rick hesitated. He really didn’t want to sit there for the rest of the afternoon in coffee-stained clothes, but could he chance it? Albert might wake up. It would be Sod’s law that as soon as he left, Albert would wake up and Rick wouldn’t be there to question him. But Farzana would let him know as soon as Albert woke up, so where was the harm?
‘Have you got time to wait?’ Rick asked. ‘I’ll be about an hour and a half getting home, changed and then back here.’
‘Not a problem.’
Rick smiled. ‘You’re an angel.’
‘Not really. It’s my fault you’re wearing coffee at the moment.’
Rick chuckled. ‘I won’t be long. Thanks.’
He strode quickly out of the cardiac care unit and along the corridor, pulling out his mobile phone as he walked. He dialled Karen’s number.
‘Sarge? It’s Rick. How are things going?’
‘We’ve just spoken to William Grant, an old colleague of Oliver Fox’s and an apparent friend of Albert Johnson. Any news? Has he woken up yet?’
‘He’s still playing the sleeping game,’ Rick said. ‘Actually, I was calling just to let you know that I’m popping home. DC Shah is here. She’s going to keep an eye on Albert for me and let me know if he wakes up while I’m gone. I’ve poured a load of coffee over myself, and I need to get changed.’
‘Ouch, that sounds painful.’
‘It wasn’t too bad. Just a little on the warm side,’ Rick replied. ‘But I look a state.’
After he ended the call, Rick made his way to the pay point for the car park.
‘How much?’ he exclaimed after he inserted the ticket and saw the amount on the screen. ‘Daylight robbery,’ he mumbled under his breath as he fed pound coins into the slot.
In less than a minute, he was in his car, driving towards the barrier at the exit. He really hoped Albert didn’t wake up while he was gone. But with Rick’s luck, he probably would.
Sophie stood by the communal scanner feeding in documents. Her task was to ensure everybody working on the case had scanned copies of all the reports.
The screen on the scanner flashed up with an error, and Sophie gritted her teeth. She wasn’t in the mood for it to play up today.
Swearing under her breath, she punched in some numbers, trying to get the stupid machine to work. Finally, it hummed into action. She leaned heavily against the bench and pulled out her mobile phone. Why on earth had she spent so many years studying hard so she could be what amounted to an admin assistant?
She was even working through lunch. She pulled up the Facebook app on her iPhone, not feeling guilty in the least because technically she should be on a break. The first update she saw was a set of pictures posted by Angela. A glass of champagne in the first-class lounge, a photograph taken from an aeroplane window . . . Angela was off to Monaco.
Sophie gazed at the warm blue sky in the photograph and sighed. She could really do with a holiday.
When the machine had finally finished scanning, she gathered up the original documents and removed the USB stick from the side of the scanner. For some reason, Sophie’s computer would never connect to the network, so she had to put the JPEG files on to a USB and then convert them to PDFs when she got back to her workstation. Another monotonous task to look forward to. She trudged out of the printer room, back towards the main office.
She was almost at her desk when DI Morgan called out from his office.
Arms still full of paperwork, she shuffled over to the door. ‘Yes, sir?’
‘How did the lab get on with the note left at Albert Johnson’s house?’
‘Oh, not good news, I’m afraid,’ Sophie said with a sigh.
A note saying It’s time to pay for your crime was something straight out of a crime novel. But if it had really been in a crime novel, then it would have been printed on a typewriter with a dodgy key or a malfunctioning ribbon or some other definitive clue that would lead them directly to the mastermind behind the crime. Unfortunately, real cases didn’t work that way.
‘The technician said it was printed on an inkjet machine – a very basic, common one, apparently,’ Sophie said. ‘They think it was probably a HP mono printer.’
‘Fingerprints?’
Sophie shifted the paperwork in her arms and shook her head. ‘Nope, only one set, which we are assuming are Albert Johnson’s. We’ll be able to rule them out if we can get him processed.’
‘Any more news on the pathology report?’
Sophie shook her head again. ‘Raj is still waiting for the bone expert to weigh in on the matter.’
‘Okay, thanks, Sophie,’ DI Morgan said and lowered his head, focusing on the papers on his desk, furiously making notes.
Sophie took a deep breath. She guessed that meant she was dismissed.
Karen had booked one of the fleet cars for the trip to DI Goodfield’s home in Bassingham. It was about a twenty-five-minute drive from Nettleham, depending on traffic, and now she was alone with Sophie she had the perfect opportunity to find out what was bothering the young officer.
She’d spent a lot of time with Sophie and had never known her to be so quiet. Karen had taken her bubbly, go-getting personality for granted, and now she found she missed Sophie’s usual enthusiasm.
‘I’ve noticed you’ve been a bit quiet recently,’ Karen said as she started the car, reaching over and turning down the volume on the radio. The local Lincolnshire station was playing Billy Ocean.
Sophie sat in the passenger seat, staring glumly out of the window as a soft rain began to splatter the windshield.
Karen had pulled out of the parking space and was heading out of the car park before Sophie answered.
‘I’ve just been a bit tired,’ Sophie said. ‘It’s nothing major.’
Karen frowned as she turned into Deepdale Lane. ‘You can talk to me, you know. Especially about work. I know this job is difficult sometimes. Or if there’s something bothering you at home, I can be a good sounding board.’ She shot Sophie what she hoped was a reassuring
smile.
Sophie turned away from the window and managed a smile in return. ‘I don’t know. It’s silly, really.’
‘What is?’
Sophie shook her head. ‘I’ve been feeling a bit down about the job.’
‘This case, you mean?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘Not really. It’s the job in general.’ She tugged on her seatbelt and twisted in the passenger seat so she was facing Karen. ‘Do you think I’m any good at this job?’
Karen blinked. Where had that come from? Was Sophie having a crisis of confidence?
‘Of course I do. You’ve done some excellent work this year. Really good, solid police work, Sophie. You should be proud of yourself.’
Sophie pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure. I’m starting to think I’m not cut out for this job.’
‘Have you had your performance review with DI Morgan yet?’
She grimaced and plucked a stray thread from the sleeve of her jacket. ‘Not yet. I can’t imagine it’ll be much good.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, he didn’t want me to go and talk to Oliver Fox’s family, did he? You were happy for me to go, but he pulled rank.’
‘It was an important stage of the enquiry, and he wanted to be there to talk to the family members. It wasn’t anything to do with how he views your ability to do the job, Sophie.’
‘It felt like it was. It felt like he didn’t trust me.’
Karen hesitated. She had a speech prepared that she’d used on junior officers in the past, which went on about having to earn trust and respect by putting in the hours and covering all the basics, but she had a feeling Sophie wouldn’t appreciate that particular lecture at the moment. What she needed was an encouraging pep talk.
‘I think you’re reading too much into it, Sophie. It’s my fault. I should have cleared it with DI Morgan before saying you could come along to visit the Fox family. But you need a thicker skin. You can’t take things like this personally.’
Sophie shot her a glance, and Karen detected the hint of a pout.
‘There’s no need to mope. I think you’re going to go far in this job, Sophie, but I can’t help feeling you want everything to happen yesterday. It doesn’t work like that. You need to start small and build your career step by step. It doesn’t happen overnight.’
