by D. S. Butler
‘Can I get you another cup of tea?’ Karen asked. ‘We’re going to have a few more questions for you after a quick break.’
William nodded but didn’t look up. He looked pale and exhausted, and it was clear he was finding it hard to relive the events of that afternoon.
Karen went to organise tea for him and the solicitor, and DI Morgan headed off to give the names of the three boys to Rick and Sophie. They’d need to see if they could trace the mysterious calls Albert Johnson had received, too.
They were a lot closer to finding out what had really happened to Oliver Fox, thanks to William Grant’s confession, but they still didn’t know who’d killed him and who had sent the notes. James Hunter, Stuart Bennett and Michael Simpson would be in their forties now but would have been minors at the time, and Karen didn’t really know what the Crown Prosecution Service would do with the information. What would be the point in charging them now? Especially after all they’d been through, if the child abuse allegations were true.
As the kettle boiled, she decided to tell William he’d be better off staying with family for a few days. He’d received the same letter as Albert Johnson, and if Albert really had been pushed down the stairs, then William’s life could be in danger.
Today’s questioning would go on for some time, but they wouldn’t be able to hold him indefinitely. At some point, he would need to leave the police station, and then he would be vulnerable.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DI Morgan and Karen emerged from the interview room after the third round of questioning. For the past hour, they’d been needling William Grant for the details and trying to get some clarity on what had really happened on that late afternoon in 1988.
‘He’s getting tired,’ Karen commented.
DI Morgan sighed. ‘He is. But we need answers. We have to get all the details.’
‘We’re not going to hold him for the murder, are we?’
‘I’ll clear it with the superintendent, but I don’t think so. He’s certainly not innocent. William covered up a murder and concealed evidence, but though that’s still serious, I don’t think he’s likely to do a runner.’
‘I thought it might be a good idea for him to stay away from home for a few days,’ Karen said. ‘If Albert really was pushed and both men got threatening letters, he’s probably better off staying somewhere else, maybe at a hotel or with family.’
‘Good point. I know for a fact the budget won’t stretch to putting a unit outside his home, but changing his normal routine might be a good idea for his safety.’
‘Why do you think the letters were sent six months ago? I mean, Oliver Fox has been dead for thirty years. Why now?’
DI Morgan shrugged. ‘We’re assuming those letters are related to this case. I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense, unless something happened six months ago to trigger the person who sent them.’
Karen thought for a moment. ‘Is it possible someone broke into Albert Johnson’s house and pushed him down the stairs? Or was he just delusional when he spoke to Rick?’
‘There was no evidence of a break-in,’ DI Morgan said matter-of-factly. ‘The attending officers had to break a pane of glass in the back door to gain entry. But the door and windows were intact when they got there.’
‘Maybe he let them in.’
‘Possibly. Or maybe Albert thinking he was pushed was down to his imagination working overtime.’
‘I’d still feel better if William stayed somewhere else for a few days. There’s something sly and nasty about those letters.’
When they returned to the main office, Rick looked up from his desk. ‘I think I’ve got something for you.’ He pointed at his monitor. ‘I’m pretty sure this is the James Hunter we’re looking for.’ Rick had the records from the DVLA on the screen.
DI Morgan put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Great work. And he lives in Lincoln?’
‘He did,’ Rick said.
‘He did? Do you mean he’s moved now?’ DI Morgan frowned.
‘I’m afraid it’s worse than that,’ Rick said, pushing his chair back from the desk to look up at Karen and DI Morgan. ‘James Hunter died six months ago.’
Karen looked at him in disbelief as DI Morgan sighed.
‘People associated with this case are dropping like flies,’ Sophie said with a shake of her head.
‘How did he die?’ DI Morgan asked.
‘The verdict was suicide. His blood alcohol level was very high, and he either jumped or fell from his balcony.’
‘And this happened six months ago, around the same time Albert Johnson and William Grant got those letters . . .’
Rick squinted at the screen. ‘He died on the twenty-fifth of September.’
Karen and DI Morgan exchanged a look. William couldn’t remember exactly when he and Albert had received the letters, but he’d said the letters came in the post in the last week of September or first week of October. William hadn’t kept the envelope, and there was no sign of the envelope at Albert Johnson’s house either.
‘Was a letter found at James Hunter’s house? Perhaps that was enough to drive him to suicide,’ Sophie suggested.
Rick shook his head. ‘There’s nothing recorded about a letter. He didn’t even leave a suicide note.’
‘The timing of his death is very interesting,’ Karen said. ‘It’s possible he destroyed the letter and then committed suicide.’
‘True,’ DI Morgan agreed, looking down at Rick. ‘Have you had any luck tracking down the other two men? We need to find out exactly what happened that afternoon.’
‘I haven’t yet, but I’m working on it. Sophie is looking into James Hunter’s family tree, and we’re going to request a warrant for his phone records.’
‘Okay. Good work.’
They still had another ten minutes before their next round of questioning, but before they could discuss the case any further, William Grant’s solicitor walked into the main office, escorted by DC Shah. Karen went to see what she wanted while DI Morgan carried on talking to Rick and Sophie.
‘I’m requesting a delay,’ Megan said to Karen. ‘My client is an old man, and this whole experience has been very draining. He realises what he did thirty years ago was wrong, and he’s prepared to cooperate fully with the police in this enquiry. I just ask that we continue the interview tomorrow morning.’
He had looked extremely tired, so this development didn’t come as a surprise.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Karen said. ‘I’ll need to clear it with the superintendent. If you go back to the interview room, I’ll come and find you in a few minutes.’
Megan gave Karen a curt nod and left the office.
Karen went to inform the superintendent and DI Morgan of the solicitor’s request. She had sympathy for William. If she’d been in his position, she wouldn’t have hidden the body, but she could understand his motives weren’t evil.
After the superintendent and DI Morgan agreed, Karen went to tell William and his solicitor that they should be back at the station tomorrow morning at nine a.m. As they were gathering their belongings, she added, ‘I think it’s a good idea if William stays away from home for the next few days. After what happened to Albert, we’re concerned for his safety.’
William’s jaw dropped.
Megan’s face tightened. ‘Do you really think he’s in danger?’
Karen hesitated, but decided she needed to tell the truth. ‘We’re working on a theory that Albert Johnson was pushed down the stairs rather than just fell. If that’s the case, after the letter William received, we think it’s better to be cautious.’
The solicitor swallowed hard. ‘Right, I can give you a lift to your daughter’s house if you like, William.’
William nodded but said nothing.
Megan picked up her briefcase. ‘Thank you, DS Hart. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Karen watched her walk away, wondering if this was the first time she’d represented a client in such unusual circumstances. I
f the CPS did press charges against William, he would need experienced representation with considerable expertise in criminal defence.
Karen turned and walked back along the corridor. As they wouldn’t be able to talk to William again until tomorrow morning, her time would be best spent digging into the old allegations to see what she could unearth.
Rick was busy tracing Stuart Bennett and Michael Simpson, and Sophie was contacting the council and the members of the school board, to request their records. They needed to find any official documentation of Mark Bell’s allegations, as well as any other complaints lodged against Oliver Fox.
Karen grabbed a coffee from the vending machine and carried it to her desk. She took a sip as she logged on to the system and then focused on the screen. One way or another, they had to find out why an old case had suddenly become active again after all these years.
At midday, DI Morgan headed down to the cafeteria to grab a sandwich. William Grant’s questioning had only lasted a morning, but it felt like longer. Questioning a suspect could be intense, both for the suspects and the officers involved. Focus and concentration were needed at every moment. They couldn’t allow anything to slip by unnoticed. DI Morgan didn’t blame William for feeling drained. He felt pretty exhausted himself.
He picked a ham and salad sandwich from the chilled cabinet and waited in line.
The cafeteria was already pretty full, and DI Morgan’s gaze drifted around the room as he waited to pay. Two tables away from the window sat a woman he recognised from the photo Rob Miller had shown him.
So that was Louise Jackson.
She was sitting alone. It would be easy for him to pay for his sandwich and take a seat at her table under the pretence of being sociable. He could draw her into a conversation and find out everything Rob wanted to know.
After moving to Lincolnshire, DI Morgan had finally felt he could let his guard down. It had been a welcome change. He’d forgotten what it was like to interact with colleagues without wondering how much they knew about him. He didn’t want to lose that.
Keeping Rob sweet would be easy. If DI Morgan did as he asked, life would carry on as before, and no one would find out what had happened while he was working at Thames Valley.
He forced himself to turn away and looked at his watch. They might not be able to question William Grant this afternoon, but he had plans to go and talk to Elizabeth Fox. DI Morgan found it hard to believe she knew nothing about the slurs against her husband.
He paid for his sandwich, studiously ignoring the woman sitting at the table near the window. Rob Miller could do his own dirty work.
Thanks to a tractor causing a tailback along Lincoln Road, it took DI Morgan longer than usual to get to Skellingthorpe. Elizabeth Fox’s grey stone house looked even darker and drearier in the rain. He turned his collar up and walked briskly to the door.
He hadn’t warned Elizabeth he was on the way this time. He didn’t want to give her a chance to prepare a story. He wanted to see her reaction to the allegations in person. Pressing the doorbell, he sheltered beneath the covered porch as the rain hit the ground and splashed back up, soaking the bottom of his trousers.
After a few moments, Elizabeth opened the door, keeping the security chain on.
Her eyes widened when she saw DI Morgan on her doorstep. ‘Is there any news?’
‘I wanted to give you an update,’ he said.
She pushed the door closed, removed the chain and then stood back, allowing him to enter.
He stepped into the dark hallway, and Elizabeth shut the door and then led the way into the same small living room they’d sat in the first time he and DS Hart had visited the house.
The light was better in here, and DI Morgan noticed Elizabeth looked haggard. She’d lost weight off her small frame in just a couple of days.
A fire was burning in the hearth. Elizabeth shut the door to keep the warmth in. ‘Can I offer you a cup of tea?’
‘No, thank you.’
She held out a hand to indicate he should take a seat, so he sat in the wingback chair opposite hers beside the fire.
It wasn’t that cold outside today. Despite an icy, snowy start to March, it seemed spring was finally here. But there was something about this house that made him want to keep his jacket on. A chill seemed to permeate the walls.
‘First, I need to tell you we have confirmed through dental records that the body we found is definitely that of your husband, Oliver. I’m very sorry for your loss,’ DI Morgan said.
Elizabeth raised her hands to her face, her gold bracelets slipping down her thin wrists.
He gave her a moment.
‘It shouldn’t come as a shock,’ she sniffed. ‘I knew when you first came here that it was him. Have you discovered how he died?’
‘We’re still investigating,’ DI Morgan said. ‘It looks like Oliver died around the time he went missing. You should know we’re still treating this case as a high priority.’
Elizabeth gripped the arms of her chair.
‘Mrs Fox, I do have some more questions about your husband. We’ve been talking to people who used to work with him, and our investigations have unearthed some worrying information.’ He paused to watch her reaction.
She’d been looking down at her lap, but as he spoke, her gaze lifted to meet his. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘There were allegations made against your husband, back in 1987. They concerned a boy under his care at Greenhill Secondary School. His name was Mark Bell.’ Again, DI Morgan paused to study the woman’s expression. How would she react to Mark Bell’s name?
Elizabeth raised her head regally. ‘That was utter nonsense. Some silly story the boy made up. Nobody gave it any credence at all. And you should be ashamed of yourself for bringing it up now. You’re slurring the name of a dead man who can’t defend himself. It’s really not fair.’
So she did know about Mark Bell.
‘The last thing we want to do is upset you or your family, Mrs Fox. But we do need to know everything about these allegations.’
‘I really don’t see why,’ Elizabeth said. ‘It’s a disgrace. You should be looking into how he died . . . You shouldn’t be bringing all this up again and relying on gossip.’
‘Exactly,’ DI Morgan said, and noted the look of surprise on her face. ‘We can’t rely on gossip, which is why we need to talk to people who knew what was happening at the time. That’s why I’m coming to you. I want to hear your side of the story.’
‘Well, all I can tell you is that it was an outright lie. Oliver was a good man. I told him he needed to be more careful, and not spend any time alone with the students after the boy made up those lies. But he loved being the football coach, and he said he wasn’t going to let one silly little boy get in the way of him helping other students.’ Elizabeth paused and looked down at her hands in her lap. ‘The boy was obviously troubled. His father had walked out on him and his mother, and he was looking for attention. These days I think he would have been recognised as having some mental issues, and, well, things might have turned out differently. Perhaps he would have got some counselling or something. As it was, the poor boy ended up killing himself just a few months later.’
She was utterly convinced of her husband’s innocence, DI Morgan thought – or she was putting on a very good act.
‘Were there any problems with any of the other students?’
Elizabeth hesitated, and then shook her head rapidly. ‘No, it was just the one boy.’
‘Did you ever speak to anybody else about the matter?’
Elizabeth frowned. ‘No, why would I? We didn’t want anyone to know. You know how these things have a habit of getting around, even when they’re not true. And I certainly didn’t want the boys finding out.’ Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she looked at DI Morgan. ‘You don’t have to tell them about this, do you?’
DI Morgan didn’t reply straightaway, so Elizabeth carried on. ‘Oh, please. It would devastate them. You can’t tell t
hem about these wretched lies. They worshipped their father. It would be unbearably cruel of you to tell them.’
‘We may have to ask them if they remember anything, Mrs Fox.’
Elizabeth glared at him with intense dislike. ‘It’s ridiculous. Why are you bringing this up now? It can’t have anything to do with his death, can it? Do you think somebody believed those lies and attacked Oliver?’
‘It’s a possibility,’ DI Morgan said. ‘We really don’t know what happened to him yet. Were there any threats issued to your husband after the incident with Mark Bell?’
Elizabeth looked horrified. She rested an elbow on the arm of her chair and covered her eyes with her hand. ‘I can’t believe this. You think somebody murdered him over that boy’s lies.’
‘It’s my job to consider all possibilities, Mrs Fox. Now, anything you tell me could help. Did anyone issue threats to your husband?’
Elizabeth bit down on her lower lip. DI Morgan waited, and eventually she spoke again. ‘Well, there was that horrible DI Goodson . . . or Goodfield, I think it was. He had some kind of vendetta against Oliver. He came around here one night shouting the odds, threatening Oliver. Oliver called his brother Robert. He outranked the horrible little man. Thankfully, Robert managed to get rid of him, and we didn’t hear from him after that. Or, at least, he didn’t come back to the house.’
‘That’s helpful,’ DI Morgan said. ‘Did anyone else know about the allegations?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘I suppose other teachers at the school must’ve known,’ DI Morgan said. ‘The headmaster, for example?’
‘Yes, I suppose he must have known. He would have had to deal with the situation at school. That’s why you were asking me about Oliver’s relationship with Albert Johnson, wasn’t it? Do you think he was involved in Oliver’s death?’
They were still keeping the fact that Oliver Fox’s body had been discovered in Albert Johnson’s house from the family, and DI Morgan felt guilty as he looked at Elizabeth’s distraught face.
