Hunting for Crows

by Iain Cameron

  ‘All good points, Ms Walters and I can even shoot down my own argument about Peter Grant’s weights record book. He could have been tired and over-judged his capabilities due to alcohol and cannabis consumption as the doc,’ he said stabbing the P-M report with his finger, ‘in here says.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘There is still a nagging suspicion that won’t go away, and you heard Derek Crow expressing surprise about Barry even going into the water. Peter Grant was killed by something he had been doing for years without mishap.’

  ‘I went to the gym.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘I joined last year but I let it lapse. Two weeks ago I went back and signed up for two classes a week.’

  ‘Well done, I hope–’

  ‘What I’m was about to say was, I talked to a couple of weightlifters there, for research purposes only you understand and nothing to do with their jaw-dropping physiques. They tell me they always weightlift in pairs as you never know when muscle tiredness will kick in. In fact–’

  ‘Hang on a sec, Carol. I’ve just thought of something. Is there still a police presence at Peter Grant’s house?’

  ‘Nope. They’re long gone.’

  ‘Not a problem as I don’t think it will make a difference to what I want to do, but I need to see it for myself. Grab your coat.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Hove.’

  *

  Henderson eased the car onto the drive outside Peter Grant’s house in Woodland Drive, Hove, carefully avoiding the other car parked there. He supposed it belonged to one of the forensic techs, returning to retrieve something left behind. He knocked on the door and to his surprise, an attractive woman opened the door. The Forensic Service didn’t have techs as good looking as this, did they?

  ‘Good afternoon, I am Detective Inspector Henderson of Surrey and Sussex Police, and this is Detective Sergeant Walters.’

  ‘Hello,’ she said sounding a touch flustered, as if they were interrupting something. ‘I’m Emily Grant, Peter’s ex wife. Why don’t you come in?’

  It was Henderson who should feel flustered as he wasn’t expecting to find anyone here and didn’t have a clue what to say to her. What he came to see could be examined with the house closed.

  They followed Mrs Grant into the kitchen, where a copy of The Daily Telegraph was spread out over the kitchen table in the middle of the room.

  ‘I was having a cup of coffee and a read of the paper. Would you like one? Tea perhaps?’

  ‘Coffee for me,’ Henderson said.

  ‘Same for me,’ Walters said.

  The coffee pot must have been hot as it didn’t take long until Mrs Grant placed a couple of mugs in front of them.

  Henderson sat down on a seat beside the table. ‘It was tragic what happened to Peter, Mrs Grant. I would like to offer you my deepest sympathies.’

  ‘Thank you. You’re right, it was tragic, but call me Emily. I’ve been trying to drop the ‘Mrs Grant’ tag for some time now.’

  She was dressed in a tight-fitting blue dress, and despite her age, which he would put at about fifty, not difficult to estimate as it was Peter’s age, exhibiting a figure many younger women would pay good money to have. Her hair was light brown, shoulder-length with big, luxurious curls, a fine compliment to a tanned, rounded face.

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here,’ she said, ‘because as you probably know, I don’t live here anymore. I moved with the children to a house in Henfield to be with my new partner.’

  It hadn’t crossed Henderson’s mind, as even though he knew Peter Grant lived alone, he didn’t know if his ex-wife was a frequent and welcome visitor or wasn’t allowed to darken the door.

  ‘I came over for one last look before I hand the keys over to the estate agents, and to see if there was anything else I could take, as Pete doesn’t need it now, does he? What about you people? Everyone says he died in an accident so why does it require the presence of two detectives?’

  ‘You’re right to ask. Peter’s death was an accident, same as Barry Crow earlier…’ He examined her face to determine if he was telling her something she didn’t know, but instead she nodded.

  ‘All we’re doing is making sure there is no connection between them, as the deaths of two members of a small tight-knit group like a four-piece rock band within weeks of one another, raises a whole range of questions and leaves many people concerned.’

  ‘You’re trying to cover yourselves in case you’re proved wrong.’

  ‘It’s not only us, Peter’s HR Director at Grant’s Fitness Emporium, Sarah Corbett, has also asked us to review it.’

  ‘I’ve met Sarah, she’s a lovely lady.’

  ‘Why did you say, in case we might be proved wrong? Do you think we’re wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know why I said it. I don’t know any more than you do.’

  ‘All we’re trying to do is determine if there is a connection. We don’t believe there is one but we would not be doing our duty if we did nothing and something happened to Derek or Eric.’

  ‘I understand. Do you want to take a look in the gym?’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Help yourself, there are a couple of things I need to get on with. It’s down to the right–’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said standing, ‘I know the way.’ He led Walters into the gym and for the next few minutes explained to her the pathologist’s findings.

  ‘This is amazing,’ she said. ‘He’s got a great range of kit and his own tuck shop full of health foods and drinks. I’d love to have a place like this.’

  Henderson was listening to his sergeant but also keeping an ear on the movements of Emily Grant. He heard her walk upstairs and lock what he assumed to be the bathroom door. He motioned Walters to follow him.

  He walked into the kitchen, towards the back door, and began examining the frame.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘Signs of forced entry.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If Peter didn’t die as a result of an accident, the only other conclusion we can come to, is someone broke in and dropped the barbell on his neck.’

  ‘I get you. I’ll take a look outside.’

  Henderson opened the door and let Walters past. He inspected the door’s outer edge, running his hand up and down the wood, feeling for imperfections or hasty repairs.

  ‘Sir, come and see this.’

  He stepped outside, and following Walters’ arm, examined the frame of the kitchen window. He could see a small gap in the wood where a piece had been removed.

  ‘This is fresh,’ he said, ‘maybe in the last few days as the wood is still white and hasn’t gone brown.’

  ‘It looks deliberate to me and not the result of, I don’t know, weather or insects.’

  ‘I think so too.’

  He moved back into the kitchen and reaching up to the window he could see the cut was opposite the window latch.

  ‘So,’ Henderson said, ‘he cuts away this bit of window frame with a Stanley knife, sticks a flat blade like a screwdriver into the gap, gives it a push and out will pop the window locking arm.’ He donned a set of protective gloves and opened the window.

  ‘Is it possible for you to climb in here, because there’s nothing to impede an intruder’s progress once he’s inside?’

  ‘I can’t, as I’m too small to reach the window ledge.’ She scanned the area around her. ‘I could do it if I stood on that,’ she said.

  Henderson stepped outside. Standing close to the wall at the back of the house was a small, solid wooden table, probably used when cooking food on the barbecue, which he assumed was the large item under cover alongside it.

  ‘We need to–’

  ‘What are you doing out there?’

  Emily Grant was in the kitchen watching them. He had no idea for how long or how much she’d seen or heard, but he decided to bluff it.

  ‘I needed to make a phone call and couldn�
��t get any reception inside.’

  ‘You must be on EE, our friends can never get reception here.’ It must have been a convincing excuse as she picked something up from the table and walked into the hall.

  A few minutes later, Henderson and Walters drove back to Sussex House, not the result of being thrown out of the house by Emily Grant for his poor attempt at trying to fool her, but he’d seen what he came to see.

  ‘Should we add this one to our list of inconsistencies?’ Henderson asked as he turned off Woodland Drive and on to Dyke Road.

  ‘Most definitely, although it could be the work of a burglar.’

  ‘Could be, as Peter lived alone and the house is unoccupied most days, but it’s too much of a coincidence and the cut made in the wood, to my eyes at least, looks new. Forensics should be able to tell us one way or another.’

  ‘If he’s been so clever in the way he’s killed those guys to make it look like accidents, he’ll be smart enough not to leave anything behind when he does it.’

  ‘Yeah, that crossed my mind too, but we’ll take a look anyway, you never know, we might get lucky.’

  His phone rang. He pressed the button on the steering wheel to answer.

  ‘Henderson.’

  ‘Angus, it’s Lisa Edwards. I’m glad I caught you. Where are you?’

  ‘DS Walters and I are coming back from Peter Grant’s house in Hove.’

  ‘The former rock band musician who died working out in his home gym?’

  ‘Yes, him. There’s been a new development and I need to talk to you about it.’

  ‘I want you to drop the case.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s been a jewel robbery in the Lanes, a shotgun fired and one person injured. Get down there now and take it over. The press are going to have a field day as the shop belongs to the Crime Commissioner’s brother.’

  ‘This new development I mentioned suggests this case has changed from two accidents to two murders and if so, it constitutes a significant risk to the remaining members of the Crazy Crows, and with all due respect ma’am, I think this is more important than the theft of some rings and watches.’

  ‘Angus, I haven’t been working with the Sussex force for long, but I do know your antenna for spotting crime is as good as anyone I’ve ever met. While I think there is merit in what you’re doing, it is out of my hands. When the ACC heard about the story he practically blew a gasket. Investigate the crimes we’ve got, not Henderson’s pet projects or ones we invent for ourselves, was one of his milder comments.’

  ‘I’m amazed he’s taken this attitude.’

  ‘You know what he’s like. Vague suppositions don’t work with the ACC, he likes his evidence in concrete. I knew he wouldn’t support it.’

  Henderson couldn’t see a way out. ‘What do I do about the Crows while I’m investigating the jewel robbery?’

  ‘Let’s see if there are any more developments in the case, then we might be able to use it to persuade the ACC to authorise further investigation.’

  ‘What, like another death?’

  ‘Don’t be a cynic, Angus. You know what I mean.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Emily Grant stood at the window watching as DI Henderson and DS Walters drove away. She knew they were up to something when they were standing outside, the DI’s lame phone excuse didn’t fool her. She had been an expert deceiver and liar herself for many years and could easily spot the trait in others.

  Confident they wouldn’t be coming back, she resumed the task she had set for herself before they arrived and interrupted. No, it wasn’t reading The Daily Telegraph and enjoying a cup of coffee at a seat beside the kitchen table, as a better detective would have noticed the paper was dated last Friday.

  She climbed the stairs to Pete’s bedroom and resumed her search of the cupboard. The house looked bereft of all things loose, frilly and pretty but it wasn’t as if she had taken everything; God-knows she would have liked to, but her new house in Henfield was too small. It was because Pete didn’t want to be reminded of their marriage and he was a tad OCD. This meant everything he didn’t want, use or like the look of had been neatly stacked in this cupboard, the one in the spare bedroom and in the cupboard under the stairs.

  She’d had a good look through the cupboard under the stairs but she still had this one to do and the one in the spare bedroom. She got stuck into the task, pulling out boxes, emptying the contents, re-boxing the items, and putting the box back where it came from. A little voice was telling her to stop being so neat, as she could tip most of the stuff in a black bin bag or throw it in a skip. Pete wouldn’t care what she did, and in any case, whenever the house was sold, she would have to conduct the same exercise all over again.

  She suppressed the little voice as she was looking for something specific and if she didn’t do this in a tidy and systematic manner, she would miss it. She plodded on for another twenty minutes before removing another box which was full of photographs.

  Tears trickled down her cheeks as she looked at pictures of her and Pete during the first years of their marriage. They had gone to Spain for a cheap holiday with Pete’s brother and his wife, and she picked up picture after picture of them hugging, kissing and looking at one another with love in their eyes.

  This poignant reminder of how happy she’d once felt only served to bring forth a feeling lurking at the back of her mind. She didn’t love her new man, Greg, as much as she used to love Pete and she knew she never would. Perhaps selling the family house would be the catalyst she now needed to force her to turn her life around.

  Twenty minutes later and no further forward in her search, she picked up her phone and called her daughter, Danielle.

  ‘Hi, Mum, where are you?’

  ‘Are you at home?

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What happened to college?’

  ‘Nothing. I’ve only got one lesson on a Tuesday afternoon, so I came straight home.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re not telling your dear old mum porkies and dossing off?’

  ‘Ha, ha, would I? Have you been drinking?’

  ‘Of course, but only black coffee.’

  ‘Very funny. Did you call just to give me hassle or was there something else?’

  ‘Something else. I’m over at Woodland Drive.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not doing a house clear of all your childhood memories.’

  ‘You better not be, you can’t do it without me.’

  ‘I know. I’m looking for your dad’s blue notebook.’

  ‘The one with all his passwords?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you trying to get into his computer?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Shame, as I know the password for it. What do you want the book for?’

  ‘Enough questions. Can you come over here and help me?’

  ‘Oh I dunno. I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘I didn’t see you doing any last night.’

  ‘Fair enough, but what’s in it for me?’

  She sighed. ‘Your businessman father has taught you well.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Let’s say, I make your favourite pudding for tea and if you don’t come and help, I’ll make you eat rice pudding.’

  ‘Argh, not rice pudding. You drive a hard bargain, missus. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.’

  By the time Danielle arrived half an hour later, she was looking through the last box in Pete’s bedroom cupboard.

  ‘I’m upstairs,’ she shouted, when she heard the door slam shut.

  Danielle clumped up the stairs with the same noise and lack of finesse as her father, but he’d been a fifteen-stone bulk while she weighed a little over half that and had a sylph-like figure. Until the age of thirteen, they couldn’t get her out of a dress, and now they couldn’t get her in one and out of the jeans she wore all the time, except for funerals, weddings and christenings.

  ‘Why are you looking up here?�
��

  ‘I’m being a sentimental old fool looking through some of my old stuff; why do you think? It wasn’t where I thought it would be, in his study.’

  ‘Where did you look in his study?’

  ‘In the desk where he usually kept it, then the bookcase, and then filing cabinet.’

  ‘Did you check underneath his computer?’

  ‘Why would I look there?’

  ‘Because that’s where he put it to hide it from me.’

  She followed Danielle downstairs. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this on the phone, it would have saved you the bother of driving over here?’

  ‘Because I wanted to find out what you were up to.’

  ‘I’m not up to anything. I’m trying to open your dad’s safe.’

  ‘Dad has a safe? Cool. What’s in it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t play coy with me.’ She lifted the computer and there was Pete’s little blue book. ‘You’re not having this until you tell me what’s in the safe.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s in it, do I? It’ll be full of important papers and such. And anyway, if it was chock-full of valuables, what do you care? He left the business to you. You’re loaded.’

  ‘True, I am. Let’s open it and see what’s there. Where is it?’

  ‘In the lounge.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. Come with me and learn. Your old mother still has a few tricks up her sleeve.’

  She walked into the lounge and stopped in front of two pictures painted by the artist, Joaquin, the only pictures hanging in the room.

  ‘Where is it?’ Danielle said.

  ‘Behind one of the pictures.’

  ‘Well, I…hang on. The pictures are the wrong way round.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘In the bottom corner of the one on the right, it has the red and black stripes, while the one on the left, black and red stripes. Dad always had the red and black stripes on the left. You know how pernickety he could be about those things.’

  She did. All through their marriage she experienced Pete’s funny habits, from the way he folded his clothes, ate his food or filed albums in his record collection; order and precision had to prevail. She often told him, at the risk of making him angry, that in another life he would have been a ready recruit for the SS.