Murder-De-Sac

by Jim Bennett

  ‘Her appropriate adult?’

  ‘That’s right’. Mrs McGrath looked pleased with herself.

  ‘Mrs Giles, are you in some way vulnerable that you haven’t disclosed to us?'

  ‘She’s just found a dead body in her house, you pillock. Wouldn’t you say that would make most people feel vulnerable?’

  ‘I was hoping that Mrs Giles would be able to answer me’. DI Morris was attempting to act like a cool headed police officer again, but didn’t quite manage it.

  ‘What’s the point in having an appropriate adult in the first place if you’re not going to let them do their job?' Mrs McGrath managed to look inquisitive, as if this was a genuine question.

  He turned to address Mrs McGrath directly. ‘As you are well aware, the Crime and Disorder Act of 1998 only allows for the provision of appropriate adults for children and those who are mentally vulnerable’.

  ‘No it doesn’t'.

  ‘Yes it does',

  ‘It really doesn’t'.

  ‘Yes, it does’, the inspector said, in a voice that wasn’t quite a shout but was getting there.

  ‘The act says nothing about vulnerable adults or what consultes being mentally vulnerable. If you would like to read an interesting study on broadening the definition, I would suggest looking at the National Appropriate Adult Network website'. The voice, informed and considered, sounded alien coming out of Mrs McGrath’s mouth. It was in such stark contrast to her normal belligerence and the spouting of little known conspiracy theories.

  ‘And seeing as she hasn’t been arrested, she can walk out of here whenever she likes'. Mrs McGrath continued. Julie thought it was funny that Mrs McGrath was willing to protect her from excessive police powers but still would not take the time to learn her name. ‘So either you let me stay and you can carry on with the interview, or we’ll go and get some chips'.

  ‘Very well Moira', said DI Morris, conceding defeat. ‘As you seem to be committed to hindering this investigation at every possible opportunity, I don’t think there would be much point in continuing with this farce'. He left enough of a break that both women assumed he had finished talking. When they had just got to their feet, he said ‘however…', and once again paused until they sat down again, ‘I think this would be a good opportunity to remind you both that the investigation of crime is solely the remit of the police force. If any individuals were to take it upon themselves to attempt to circumvent the work of our hard working detectives, then they may find themselves being charged with a charge for the obstruction of justice'.

  Mrs McGrath started to argue with the inspector, but he interrupted her. ‘The local youth that the two of you decided to pay a visit to earlier this week has already been eliminated from our enquiries'.

  Julie looked dumbstruck. In contrast, Mrs McGrath looked like a teenager who had been caught having a party at her parent’s house and couldn’t care less

  ‘Not only was he in police custody on the night when Mr Harper died, but when was arrested a separate offence two days later, he disclosed to us that he had only sold cannabis to Mr Harper and not the heroin that killed him. He did claim that he was subject to police harassment, given that two undercover officers had already spoken to him about the alleged position of class A drugs'.

  Mrs McGrath and Julie said nothing. DI Morris opened the folder in front of him for the first time and began to read. ‘When he told us that one was a ‘mean old bitch with a stick', and the other was ‘one of them old housewife types’, it didn’t take much deducing to realise who he was talking about’.

  ‘Moira, you may feel that you have a better understanding of how to run an investigation than anyone else alive, but there are proper ways of doing things. I don’t care who you are or what relationship you have to this station. If I find that you acted illegally, I will not hesitate to arrest you. Do I make myself clear?'

  DI Morris gave Mrs McGrath a pointed look of such intensity that Julie would have instantly answered him if the question had been directed at her. After an uncomfortably long time of Mrs McGrath not answering the detective, he said ‘thank you for your time ladies', and left the room. Julie took a sip of her now cold tea before being taken to provide a copy of her fingerprints. When that was done, Julie hadn’t found Mrs McGrath in the reception area where she had anticipated that she would be. Instead, Julie was forced to wait a further ten minutes for the old woman to materialise.

  ‘Where have you been?' Julie said when Mrs McGrath emerged from the building. She had found a bench just outside the station and had been enjoying the afternoon sunshine.

  ‘Saying hello to a few people, wasn’t I?' Mrs McGrath said, limping over to the bench.

  ‘How did you even know I was here?’

  ‘Jimmy gave me a call. Said they’d brought you in’.

  I thought you didn’t like policemen?’

  ‘He’s alright. Cod and chips for me. Mushy peas. Pickled egg’.

  ‘Oh we’re actually having fish and chips?’

  ‘Right weather for it’. Mrs McGrath folded her arms and closed her eyes. With that, Julie tried to get her bearings and find a chip shop. In normal circumstances, it would have irked her that Mrs McGrath expected her to buy her lunch, but she had actually been a very good neighbour recently. Not only had she given Julie somewhere to stay while the police were turning her house upside down, she had also stopped her from potentially incriminating herself in front of the police on two separate occasions now.

  When she arrived back with the food, it wasn’t clear whether Mrs McGrath was asleep or just resting. Mrs McGrath seemed to have a tendency to do this. Julie suspected that it had less to do with the old woman feeling tired, and more because she had become bored with whatever conversation was happening around her. Julie gave her a gentle prod in the shoulder to announce her presence. Without thanks, Mrs McGrath unfolded her chips and began to eat.

  ‘What did he tell you before I got there? Anything important?’

  ‘It’s hard to tell what is important, isn’t it? It’s like they’ve got three different versions of events in their head and they’re asking questions about all of them simultaneously'.

  ‘Tell me it all then'.

  Julie relayed the conversation as well as she could remember it.

  ‘You’re sure that he had more money than that when you saw him with it?’

  ‘Not sure, no. But it definitely didn’t look like as little as that. Unless there was one fifty pound note and the rest were fives or something'. Mrs McGrath thought it over as she chewed. ‘Do you think it could have been a robbery gone wrong or something?' Julie asked.

  ‘Bit of a weird way of killing someone. You’d hit them over the head or something. How sure are you that the lad came in at 3.15?'

  ‘That’s when I heard the door, and he came into my room almost straight afterwards, so pretty sure'.

  ‘And they think he was killed, what? Right afterwards?’

  ‘The inspector said that he thought the time of death was between 3.15am and 6.00am, although god knows how they work that out'.

  Mrs McGrath nodded as she received this information, mulling it over.

  They had been sitting eating in silence for a few moments when Julie said ‘Mrs McGrath, why did the inspector say you thought you had a better understanding of how to run an investigation than him? And why do you know so many people at the police station?’

  Not acknowledging Julie’s question, Mrs McGrath continued to eat her chips.

  ‘When do you want to go?' the old lady asked finally.

  ‘What, home? I’m happy to go now if you want'. Julie said, although the idea of getting the bus with Mrs McGrath was a bit taxing.

  ‘Not home, lass. To speak to the people your young man was working with'.

  ‘What, why? They’re not convinced it was a suicide now. They’re taking it seriously'.

  ‘Doesn’t mean they’re going to do it right’. She scrunched up the paper around the remainder of her chips, o
f which Julie saw there was a great deal, and threw them into the bin to her right. Mrs McGrath then stood up with a ‘harrumph’. ‘Don’t come into town much these days. Where’s the train station?’

  ‘You want to go into London now? I need to get home’.

  ‘You just said that you didn’t have anything on', said Mrs McGrath accusingly.

  ‘It doesn’t mean that I have the time to trek into London for no reason whatsoever’.

  ‘Don’t know how you normally live your life, but someone dying in your house isn’t no reason whatsoever to me’.

  ‘I didn’t mean that’, Julie said, starting to lose her patience. ‘If the police are looking into it already, then what good are the two of us going to do?’

  ‘I’ve told you already. The people the lad worked with might be lying about what time he left or they didn’t half the wits about them to know when something was off'.

  ‘I can’t see why he even went in the first place. Not after all the carry on when I was there’.

  Mrs McGrath, who had been more interested in a map of the local area, now turned to Julie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I was at the bar with Jack and he had that fight? I told you about this?' Julie said it with little conviction, realising that she had no memory of doing so.

  ‘Who was he fighting with?’

  ‘A woman first, but I don’t know her name, and then one of the other bartenders. Oh, and then he had a punch up with one of the customers and his boss sacked him’.

  For the first time since she had known her, Mrs McGrath looked incredulous. ‘You’re telling me that the lad you just found dead in your house had a fight with four different people a few days before he died and you didn’t think to mention it?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s fair’, Julie said defensively. ‘Up until this morning, everyone was saying that it was an overdose’.

  ‘I bloody wasn’t! Did you tell the police?’

  ‘No I…, well if I’m honest, I’d forgotten about it. I didn’t think it was important'.

  ‘No doubt they know if they’ve been to the bar already’.

  ‘There you go then’, Julie said, feeling vindicated. ‘Nothing more for us to do’.

  ‘Right'. Mrs McGrath snatched the rest of Julie’s chips from her lap and put them in the bin.

  ‘I wasn’t finished with those!'

  ‘I don’t bloody care'.

  ‘You don’t think we should just go back inside and tell DI Morris about it? Then he can look into it if he thinks it’s relevant?’

  ‘The bloody rapture will come before Maz Morris decides what’s relevant. Look at the little thug who was dealing the drugs. We were a whole day ahead of them there'.

  ‘You bumped into him outside the shops. It wasn’t exactly the height of logical deduction, is it?’

  ‘It’s about putting yourself in the right situations. Where’s the train station?'

  ‘Mrs McGrath, I really don’t think it’s a good idea'.

  ‘I think you’ve proved that we can’t trust your judgement. Which way?' She had such conviction in her eyes that Julie didn’t dare to defy her. Cowed, she pointed to the direction of the station and then attempted to keep up with Mrs McGrath as she marched toward it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Julie looked on in horror as Mrs McGrath pounded against the steel shutter of the bar. As she stood frozen in embarrassment, the normal selection of Londoners passed them. Some were used to living in the capital and wouldn’t even think to give an old woman repeatedly bashing her stick against the front of a building a second look. However, there were some, particularly those passing with a friend or in a small group, who chuckled and looked over the shoulders to take a second glance at the spectacle.

  ‘Mrs McGrath', Julie said once at a normal volume and then again louder when it became apparent that the old woman hadn’t heard her. ‘I don’t think there’s anyone there’.

  ‘That’s what they want you to think', she said, giving the metal barrier another wallop.

  ‘I think in this situation it might actually be true'. Julie was petrified that one of the pedestrians was going to call the police. The inspector may be just about willing to forget about one indiscretion out of some mysterious loyalty he had to the mad old coot, but this would probably be the straw that broke the camel's back.

  ‘Not bloody likely’. She took a pause from her thrashing and peered in through the bar’s windows. ‘Get away with murder that way, hiding behind a locked door. Cowards’.

  ‘It’s five oclock. It would be more suspicious if there was someone there'.

  ‘Not everyone is after a drink'. Mrs McGrath said indignantly. ‘Some people might just want a cup of tea or something'.

  Julie noted the poster in the window for a performance by a band called The Clunge Hunters and thought that it probably wasn’t the kind of place where people went for light afternoon refreshment. Before Julie could stop her, Mrs McGrath started to once again smack her cane against the front of the establishment.

  Absolutely mortified that she was involved in this scene, Julie started to walk down the street. She didn’t plan on leaving Mrs McGrath. Nor did she think she had any hope of plausible deniability should someone in a position of authority arrive. Julie just wanted a few moments respite from the gawping of those walking by. She was walking at a very gentle pace and had only planned to open up a gap of a couple of hundred metres between them before walking back the way she came. When she was just about to turn, she looked up and saw someone she vaguely recognised. It took her a few moments to place him before realising that he was the other bloke behind the bar that Jack had argued with. Having noticed Mrs McGrath, who was continuing her assault, there was a look of real indecision on his face. Arriving to work and finding such a ridiculous spectacle to deal with even before the start of what Julie expected would be a very long shift wouldn’t be ideal. The young man looked as if he was weighing up whether dealing with this situation was worth keeping his minimum wage job for.

  ‘Hello', Julie said before he could decide that it wasn’t. ‘Do you work at Nixons?' Being accosted by strangers is part and parcel of London life, but the man still looked startled that someone he didn’t know was talking to him. His eyes passed from her to Mrs McGrath and back. Julie asked the question again.

  Something clicked in his brain and he realised that he was still wearing headphones. ‘Sorry, what?' he said, taking them out of his ears.

  ‘Do you work at that bar? Nixons, is it?’

  ‘I do, yeah’. He still didn’t seem sure if he wanted to ask what it was that they wanted.

  ‘Did you know Jack Harper?' She asked. His brow now creased, unhappy at the memory of his rival.

  ‘Not really’. He was now looking over her shoulder and Julie could tell that she had lost his attention. Mrs McGrath materialised at her side, the conspicuous ceasing of the clanging now apparent to her. The young man put his weight on his back foot and held onto one of the straps of his backpack ready to retreat if necessary.

  ‘This him?' Mrs McGrath asked.

  ‘This is…', Julie said, leaving a gap for him to interject his name. When he didn’t freely take up the opportunity, she said ‘I’m sorry, what was your name?'

  ‘Oli. Oli Simms’, he said reluctantly. He appeared to think he didn’t have any choice in the matter.

  ‘He was just telling me that he worked with Jack'.

  ‘That right?' said Mrs McGrath. She hooked her stick over her left forearm and reached into one of the myriad of pockets in her great green coat. She pulled out a little notepad and a pen. Flipping the cover open, she made a note of something.

  ‘Yeah. I mean, he was here for what, three weeks? Didn’t know him well or anything’.

  ‘We’ve got some questions for you. Better to do it inside if you don’t mind'. Mrs McGrath walked towards him and then stood half a step behind him. Obediently, he started walking towards the bar, giving the impression that he was
being escorted.

  Once the alarm was deactivated, chairs were turned the right way round and the three of them seated themselves just inside the entrance. He still seemed very wary of them, as if he was unsure that this was all an elaborate plot to get the better of him in some way. The chosen table meant that they were visible from the street. His choice of seat was the one closest to the door in case he needed to make a quick exit.

  ‘Can I get you a drink or something?' Oli said.

  ‘We’re fine, thank you’, Julie replied before Mrs McGrath could order herself anything alcoholic.

  ‘What’s this about then?' Oli sounded more confident now that he was in familiar territory. His light grey t-shirt was a size too small, no doubt chosen on purpose to display his expansive chest.

  ‘He’s dead'. Mrs McGrath said matter of factly.

  ‘Jack? Yeah, I heard'.

  ‘Why are you asking what this is about then? Not so ridiculous that people would come round and ask questions about a dead man’.

  Oli looked nervous. His eyes darted between them.

  ‘Heard there was some trouble here’, Mrs McGrath said, scribbling something in her notebook. Julie looked over and saw that they were far from comprehensive. She had written ‘dead', in the middle of the page, circling it a few times for emphasis. Underneath, there was something else scrawled that was barely legible, although Julie was fairly certain it said ‘grey t-shirt’.

  ‘He overdosed though, didn’t he?’

  ‘Drugs then, is it? A lot of that going on here, is there?' Mrs McGrath said in a gruffer tone.

  Oli shook his head nervously.

  ‘You don’t know where a young lad like that could have got his hands on heroin?'

  Oli had started to look really flustered. ‘No. Honestly, I really don’t’, he said, bumbling slightly. ‘I’m just saying if he overdosed then it won’t have anything to do with the fight, will it?'

  ‘Still need to look into it. Proper way to do these things'. She put another ring around ‘dead’.

  ‘What time did he leave here on Sunday night?'

  His face visibly brightened. ‘That’s when he died, yeah?' Neither of the women said anything. ‘I wasn’t working. Spent all night with my nan at the hospice. Dying. Lung cancer’. Never before had someone been so giddy at the passing of a grandparent.