Suddenly at Home

by Graham Ison

  ‘We’re police officers,’ I said. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Brock and Detective Inspector Ebdon.’

  ‘Gosh!’ The girl pulled open the door and stepped back to allow us to cross the threshold.

  ‘Always ask for this,’ said Kate, producing her warrant card, ‘and don’t be afraid to examine it closely.’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ said the girl, ‘but you looked like the police.’

  ‘That’s what they all say,’ said Kate, emitting a sigh of exasperation. ‘May we come in?’

  We followed the young woman into the sitting room and I was pleasantly surprised to find it was remarkably clean and tidy. I’ve visited so many places that aren’t that I’ve come to expect untidiness, unwashed crockery, piles of dirty clothing and an overriding odour of boiled cabbage or curry.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I asked, as the girl showed no sign of offering it.

  ‘Oh, sorry! I’m Sally Grey.’

  ‘May we sit down?’ asked Kate pointedly as no invitation to do so was forthcoming.

  ‘Oh, sorry! Yes, of course.’ Sally Grey seemed to be full of apologies.

  ‘We were hoping to speak to Dennis Jones, Miss Grey,’ I said, as the three of us sat down.

  ‘I haven’t seen him since last Thursday. Er, he didn’t come home on Friday and he didn’t come home all weekend. It’s, um, I mean, what’s more he didn’t show up at the agency the day before yesterday. I don’t know what’s happened to him.’ The girl’s delivery sounded stilted enough to be a script she had learned, but not very well.

  ‘Am I to understand that you work together at the advertising agency that employs Dennis Jones, Miss Grey?’ In view of Kate’s knowledge of advertising agencies, this was a dangerous question for Sally Grey. Not that she knew that. Yet.

  ‘Yes, we do. I only started there last week. I come from Devizes and this is my first time in London.’ The young woman was doing her best to appear bright and knowledgeable, but the ordeal of Kate’s intensive probing was betrayed by beads of perspiration on the girl’s forehead.

  ‘Where is this agency?’ Kate asked casually.

  ‘Er, I’m not sure. I think it might be in Shepherd’s Bush, but I don’t know London very well and Dennis takes me to work in his car. I’ve never paid any attention to how we get there.’ Sally glanced at me, lowered her eyes and crossed her legs. It was a rather amateurish attempt to be beguiling, I suppose.

  ‘What do you do there?’ Kate enquired innocently, giving the impression that she was really interested. ‘Layout, design, graphics, customer relations? What exactly is your role there?’

  ‘Oh, I, er, well, as a matter of fact I’m still learning,’ said Sally, avoiding eye contact with either of us. ‘I’m sort of being shown round everything at the moment so that I can decide what I want to do.’

  ‘They’re going to let you decide what to do, are they? That’s interesting,’ said Kate. ‘And you’re living here with Dennis Jones?’ Her raised eyebrow implied ‘already’.

  ‘Yes, of course, I’m his sister. I was lucky to get this job in advertising, but having got a degree in graphic arts helped, I suppose.’

  ‘Splendid. How long ago did you graduate?’ Kate managed to make her relentless questions sound as though they were asked out of interest in the girl’s new career.

  ‘Oh, the beginning of this year,’ said the girl airily.

  ‘Odd time of the year to graduate,’ commented Kate, but let it pass. ‘So, how old are you, Miss Grey?’

  ‘I’m twenty.’ Sally Grey didn’t ask why Kate wanted to know her age, and I put that down to naiveté.

  ‘If you’re Dennis Jones’s sister, Miss Grey, why isn’t your name Jones as well?’

  There was a distinct pause. ‘Oh, I, um, changed it,’ said the girl eventually. ‘I want to be a model, you see,’ she added, gazing at me once again with what she undoubtedly thought was a sexy smile. ‘And I thought Sally Grey would be a better name than, um, Kelly Jones. But Dennis got me this job in advertising, so I’ve settled for that while I’m waiting to get a chance on the catwalk. I’ve had a couple of offers already,’ she added brightly.

  ‘Have you got your A level results yet?’

  ‘No, not yet, but I’m expecting them any—’ Sally Grey suddenly stopped, her face going red as she realized she’d been trapped by a seemingly innocent question.

  ‘When you’ve stopped giving my chief inspector that stupid come-hither look, young lady,’ said Kate sharply, ‘you can tell me the truth. You obviously haven’t learned the script that Dennis gave you, so I want to know your real name and how old you are. And when you’ve done that, you can tell me what you’re doing in this flat. Otherwise we’ll adjourn this interview to the nearest police station.’

  Sally Grey burst into tears. Suddenly her clumsy attempt at sophistication vanished.

  ‘I’m waiting,’ said Kate, after a few moments had elapsed.

  ‘My name really is Sally Grey, and I’m sixteen.’ The girl mumbled the reply through her tears.

  ‘And what are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m Dennis’s girlfriend.’

  ‘And do your parents know you’re here?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right, Miss Grey,’ I said. ‘Let’s begin again, because if you waste any more of our time my Inspector certainly will remove you to a police station. Where is Dennis Jones?’

  ‘Staying with a friend.’

  ‘Why is he staying with a friend?’ I asked.

  There was another long pause before the girl answered. ‘He said it was something to do with being questioned by the police last Friday. When he got home that evening he was in a terrible state and told me that he was sure he was going to be arrested.’

  ‘But you said that he hasn’t been home since last Thursday. Now you’re saying that he came home on Friday.’

  ‘I’m sorry. You’re confusing me.’

  ‘Did he say why he thought he was going to be arrested?’ I asked.

  ‘When are you due to leave school, Miss Grey?’ asked Kate, before the girl had a chance to answer my question.

  Tears welled up in Sally Grey’s eyes again. ‘Next year,’ she mumbled.

  ‘So this is all nonsense about working at an advertising agency.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought so.’ Then Kate came across with one of the cripplers for which she was well known in the Job. ‘How long has Dennis Jones been your schoolteacher, Sally?’

  I haven’t the faintest idea how Kate had worked that out, but it proved yet again that a good woman interrogator is a very good interrogator indeed.

  ‘Ever since I went into Lower Sixth,’ said Sally, hardly able to get the words out. The tears were now running down her face unchecked, and pulling up the bottom of her tee shirt, so her suntanned midriff was revealed, she buried her face in it as the sobs took over and her whole body was shaking.

  ‘And of course he’s had sexual intercourse with you.’ Again Kate made a statement, rather than asking a question.

  ‘I don’t see—’

  ‘Yes or no?’ snapped Kate.

  ‘Yes,’ mumbled Sally.

  ‘How long has this been going on?’

  ‘Two months.’

  ‘And that’s how long you’ve lived here with him, is it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You said you came from Devizes. And the school you were at is a girls’ boarding school?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the name of the school?’

  Sally mumbled a name, but Kate couldn’t understand what she said.

  ‘Here, write it down.’ Kate handed over her pocketbook. ‘And while you’re at it, write down your parents’ address.’

  Kate took back her pocketbook and glanced at the name of the school. ‘I doubt that they’ll be too pleased at you having it off with one of the masters.’

  ‘Are you going to tell my parents and the school?’

  ‘Is there any reason why we shouldn’t?�
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  ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

  ‘In that case we won’t, but we will tell them that you’re safe and we’ll tell your school as well.’ Once again, Kate regretted the instruction that did not allow police to inform parents of the whereabouts of their daughter when she was the age of this young woman. ‘Nevertheless, young lady, I strongly advise you to go home, because your parents must be worried sick. But I can tell you now that it’s most unlikely that you’ll ever see Dennis Jones again.’

  ‘And now, Sally,’ I said, ‘you can tell us where we can find him.’

  ‘I can’t.’ The girl looked up at me with a tear-stained face. ‘He said I mustn’t tell anyone, otherwise it would get him into terrible trouble.’

  ‘Let me explain the situation to you, Sally,’ said Kate patiently. ‘As your teacher, Dennis Jones was a person in a position of trust and has therefore committed an offence for which he will be arrested. If you don’t tell me where he is, or if you phone him to tell him we’re looking for him, you will be guilty of assisting an offender. Do I make myself clear?’

  Sally Grey nodded her head and, realizing that she had no alternative, leaned over the side of her chair and picked up her handbag. Opening it, she found a slip of paper which she handed to Kate.

  ‘And he’s still at this Feltham address, is he?’

  ‘Yes,’ admitted Sally.

  ‘Good. And now I’ll take a brief written statement from you setting out what you’ve just told us.’ Realizing that they would have to go to court and knowing that witnesses and victims sometimes renege on their verbal statements, Kate was making sure she got the allegations against Dennis Jones in writing.

  ‘Why on earth did Jones have this address on his driving licence? And more to the point, why did he show it to Dave Poole?’ I asked, once we were back in our car.

  ‘Two reasons, Harry,’ said Kate. ‘Dave is very insistent and Jones is a galah.’

  I decided we must go straight to the address in Feltham that Sally Grey had given us. Contraventions of the Sexual Offences Act were something which Homicide and Major Crime Command did not usually deal with, and I was annoyed that we had become unwittingly embroiled in an illicit liaison between a teacher and his pupil. I said as much to Kate.

  ‘No worries, Harry. We’ll soon get shot of it,’ said Kate, as we pulled up outside the address. ‘Once we nick Dennis Jones for having it off with Sally Grey, we can question him further about the Cuyper murder, and then hand him over to the locals for the abuse of trust job.’

  A rather plain woman answered the door of the neat semi-detached house in a street fairly close to Hounslow Heath. She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, but her grey mid-calf skirt and grey blouse together with the fact that her face was devoid of any make-up, made her look older. Her hair, parted in the centre, stopped just below her ears and was quite straight as though a sexually attractive coiffure was something that she deliberately avoided.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘We’re police officers,’ I announced.

  ‘Whatever’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Brock of New Scotland Yard and this is Detective Inspector Ebdon. We’d like a word with Mr Dennis Jones. I’ve reason to believe he’s staying here.’

  ‘Is this a joke?’ The woman laughed, but it was without humour. ‘He lives here,’ she said. ‘I’m Ann Jones, Dennis’s wife. You’d better come in.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise,’ whispered Kate, as we followed Ann Jones into the sitting room. Dennis Jones was sitting in an armchair watching television as we entered the room, but leaped to his feet as he recognized us.

  ‘We’ve just been to Munstable Street, Mr Jones,’ I said, ‘and we’ve spoken to Miss Sally Grey. She’s told us everything.’

  ‘What do they mean, Dennis?’ Ann Jones glared at her husband with her hands on her hips. It was undoubtedly an aggressive pose and she appeared ready to start a fight. I decided that she had all the signs of someone who’d graduated from the London School of Economics and would rather be known for her brains than her looks. She struck me as the sort of person who probably knew a bit of law, but thought she knew it all. That made up my mind for me: discretion was out.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Jones.

  ‘Miss Grey has stated in writing that you and she have had a sexual relationship spanning a period of two months and that you accommodated her in the flat at Munstable Street, Petersham, where she is still residing. Therefore, Dennis Jones, I’m arresting you for abusing your position of trust as a schoolteacher by having a sexual relationship with one of the female pupils at the school where you work. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be given in evidence.’ I didn’t ask him if he’d understood the caution, because nowhere did it say I had to. Frankly I couldn’t have cared less whether he understood it or not. I’d cautioned him and that was that.

  ‘Oh God!’ exclaimed Jones, clearly in shock at this unexpected twist of fate.

  ‘Tell me it’s not true, Dennis,’ Ann Jones demanded, adopting an even more intimidating stance as she turned to face her husband. ‘What’s this about the flat in Munstable Street? D’you mean to say that you held on to it after we moved here last year? I don’t wonder we were short of money. And that explains why you spent so many evenings away from home. Working in a supermarket, were you?’ She scoffed derisively. ‘Anyway, how did the police know you were there?’

  ‘It’s the address on his driver’s licence,’ said Kate, who had obviously taken an instant dislike to Ann Jones and wasn’t worried about fuelling the woman’s annoyance even farther.

  I’d wondered why that address was on his driver’s licence, but it now became clear. He’d omitted to change it when he and his wife moved from Munstable Street.

  ‘Goodbye, Ann,’ said Jones in a resigned voice, as Kate escorted him towards the front door.

  ‘Well, you needn’t think I’ll be waiting for you when you come out of prison, Dennis Jones. And if you get bail don’t expect to find me here, because I shall be long gone,’ shouted Ann Jones as she suddenly darted between her husband and the door and began delivering punches to his chest and face.

  Kate moved in quickly and seized Ann Jones in a bear hug from behind, lifting her effortlessly clear of the floor. ‘You can cut that out, sport,’ she said, ‘unless you want me to nick you as well as your husband.’

  Once order was restored, we took Jones to Hounslow police station, in Montague Road, and told the custody sergeant to put him in an interview room while I made a phone call to the CID at Richmond. I was assuming that the Petersham flat where Dennis Jones had installed Sally Grey was the venue of the offence he’d committed; but if it wasn’t, the local law could sort it out.

  That settled, Kate and I went to the interview room where Jones was being guarded by a uniformed officer.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ said Jones, the moment Kate and I walked through the door.

  ‘You sound like a character in a badly written soap opera, Den,’ said Kate, as she settled herself at the table, beside me and opposite Jones. ‘And what did you think we were thinking?’

  ‘Sally and I are serious, and we’re going to get married.’

  ‘We’re not here to discuss that,’ I said, cutting off any attempt by Jones to discuss the matter for which he’d been arrested. ‘The purpose of this interview is to talk to you further about the murder of Richard Cooper.’

  ‘When you arrested me, you told me that I needn’t say anything—’ Jones began.

  ‘That was in connection for your alleged breach of trust arising from your sexual relations with a pupil,’ I said. For a schoolteacher, this man did not seem very bright. ‘But if you think that you’ve committed an offence with regard to the murder of Richard Cooper, I’ll happily caution you.’

  ‘Of cou
rse I had nothing to with it,’ Jones protested. ‘So why d’you want to talk to me about it again?’

  ‘Because, sport, we don’t believe you,’ said Kate, now at her aggressive best. It was at times like this that her Australian accent, hardly noticeable most of the time, became deliberately more marked and menacing. ‘After all, you lied to us when you said you worked in advertising and claimed you were at some sort of conference at Heathrow Airport on the day of Cooper’s murder. And that caused Mr Brock to send one of his officers to the airport, where he wasted his valuable time checking that fairytale you came up with, only to discover that you’d been lying all along. That little exercise took nearly a whole day because the airport is a bloody big place and you’d made up the name of the company you said you’d been to see. Furthermore, there was no accident on the M4 that could’ve held you up on the day of Cooper’s murder. And that,’ she added, finally, ‘is called wasting police time.’

  ‘I didn’t want you to find out about Sally,’ whined Jones.

  ‘We’re not amateurs at this police business, Den. If you thought for one moment that we wouldn’t find out, then you were sadly mistaken.’ Kate laughed at the man’s stupidity. ‘You should have changed the address on your driving licence, but we won’t bother to charge you with that because you’ll have another address very soon. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s the lie you told us about Judy Simmons.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I thought so.’ Kate shook her head slowly, implying both doubt and impatience. ‘She’s the woman you said was your ex-girlfriend. And you told us you’d just split up from her. Well, Den, we interviewed her and she told us that the last time she saw you was at least four months ago and that she’d only ever been out with you twice. Hardly what I’d call a live-in lover. I won’t tell you what else Miss Simmons said, but it wasn’t very complimentary.’