by Lou Peters
‘No, I suppose not,’ bang goes another theory, Cooper thought.
‘How did you get on with Johnson’s mobile?’
‘He must have it switched off, it went straight to voicemail.’
‘If you want to know, what I really think Arnold?’
‘Go for it, sir.’
Walters gave Cooper a look he couldn’t decipher. ‘I think if Richard Johnson isn’t our killer, then he stands a pretty good chance of being dead himself, unless he’s gone to ground. Ruth Montgomery obviously told him something to rouse his interest that day in the market. Either confided in him who the mystery person was and he recognised the person’s name, wanted to know more, so he’d arranged to go to her house for further information. Maybe the killer witnessed their interaction at the market. He’d decided to keep tabs on either Johnson or Ruth, had seen him at the old girl’s house and suspected the reason for Johnson’s visit. He’d waited till Johnson had left, followed him and then got rid. On the other hand, perhaps what Ruth had had to say, placed Johnson in a compromising position and he’d had to silence her.’
We seem to be going round in circles, sir.’ Cooper stood up empty pint pot in hand. ‘You ready for another? This deducing is thirsty work.’
‘Yeah, why not.’ Walters drained the dregs from his glass before handing it to the DS. ‘Set a tab up behind the bar Cooper, we’ll get a receipt at the end of the evening. Perhaps we’ll be able to claim it back on expenses.’ Walters would make sure he had a bloody good try, anyway.
A few more rounds into the evening, after the conversation had veered away from the topic of murder, Cooper said, bringing the subject sharply back into focus. ‘You know sir; we could be looking at this from the completely wrong perspective. Maybe we’re putting too much emphasis on the old lady’s fall at the market. Perhaps Mrs. Montgomery had seen someone she’d known, waved to them in greeting. The person had waved back and then continued on their way. Some stranger then accidently knocks into Ruth, sending her sprawling, Johnson goes to her aid, and that’s that.’
‘Then why did Johnson go to the woman’s house, the following day?’
‘Maybe the old dear, being a bit lonely invited him for a cup of tea and he feeling sorry for her went.’
‘That’s stretching it a bit Cooper, and if that was the case then where’s Johnson now?’
‘...I don’t know sir. I haven’t thought it through that far ahead. All’s I’m saying is perhaps the killer is a local man.’
‘And Johnson isn’t?’
‘He’s only a recent resident, sir. Maybe, it’s as you said before, Johnson learned something he shouldn’t while he’d visited Ruth and the killer needed to silence him, before going on to kill the old lady, later.’
‘Bradley Purvis, you mean?’
‘Not him necessarily, can’t see Purvis having the strength to do away with a fit bloke like Johnson.’
‘Well, until we can work out what that knowledge might have been and therefore the possible motive, we’re back in no man’s land again, Arnold. Let’s face it we haven’t got a bloody clue. Unless George Morris and his forensic team can come up with something, or the appeal has any success, we’re well and truly knackered.’
‘Perhaps things will become clearer tomorrow sir.’
‘And perhaps they won’t, drink up; I’ll get the next round in, after I’ve been for a pee.’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sunday Morning 13 December 2009
That night, Walters again dreamt of his dead wife. On this occasion it wasn’t a nightmare, as the previous dream had been. In this vision the couple had been making love. The sensation so vivid, as they’d become one he could feel the exquisite softness of Sophia’s skin against his own. Walters’ joy had been complete, when lying sated beside her, his hand gently caressing the curve of her stomach Sophia had confided she was expecting his child. How cruel then to wake alone in an unfamiliar room, with nothing for company, but reality and a strong erection. He’d seen to himself in the shower. Hurried down the stairs, joining Cooper for a quick breakfast, before setting off to conclude the next phase, of what was turning out to be, the detectives’ wild goose chase.
The Johnsons weren’t in the least bit put out when the detectives arrived on their doorstep that Sunday morning. ‘Come in officers, won’t you?’ The couple were in their late sixties. Mr. Johnson had a full head of white hair, tall and lean, with a craggy wrinkled face. His wife was more petite and younger looking, possibly because she’d refused to grow old gracefully. Her hair was coloured nut brown and cut in a neat, short modern style, suiting her elfin features. The woman, as her husband, remained slim, both were casually dressed. Although Walters had only seen a photograph of Richard Johnson there was little doubt he’d inherited his grey eyes from his mother.
‘You don’t seem surprised to see us, sir.’ Cooper commenced.
‘No, I’m afraid if you were after the shock factor, you’ll be disappointed. Rachel rang us this morning, filled us in on the details. You do know you’re after the wrong man, of course?’
Walters and Cooper had been shown into a spacious sunny conservatory, stretching the width of the detached bungalow situated on one of the many estates condensed into the area. Located about seven miles away from the city, the small town crossed the border into the next county. Mrs. Johnson had scurried off to the kitchen as the policemen took their seats on the upholstered cane chairs. She now returned with a tray laden with coffee pot and matching chinaware along with a plate of assorted chocolate biscuits. Placing the tray onto the low table, she joined her husband sitting on the settee.
‘As you can imagine detective inspector, we’re concerned over the whereabouts of our son,’ Mrs. Johnson commenced. ‘Richard is all we’ve left now and it’s so unlike him to disappear like this. Rachel is beside herself with worry and we know he wouldn’t do anything, to intentionally hurt that girl. It may have taken him a long time to find the right one, but now he has... What I’m trying to say, is something must be preventing Richard from contacting Rachel and we sincerely hope you’ll find him for us. Then this other silly business can be put to rights.’ Leaning forward the woman distributed the crockery. Placing a cup and saucer in front of each of them she then proceeded to part fill the cups. ‘Please help yourselves to milk and sugar,’ she advised smiling. It was as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
‘Thank you,’ Walters said politely, if a little bemused. He’d never known murder referred to as silly business before. He took the cup, but ignored the milk and sugar. ‘You’ve had no contact from your son recently, Mrs. Johnson?’
The couple attempted to speak at the same time. Sylvia Johnson, with a smile and a gracious wave of her hand, allowed her husband to answer the inspector. ‘No unfortunately not. We’d hoped to go and see them the week-end before Christmas, after giving them a chance to settle in. Richard and Rachel haven’t been there long, you know,’ he offered.
‘Yes we know,’ Walters instinctively smiled. He was finding this meeting and display of casualness rather bizarre. Did these people not care their son was involved in a serious crime and may in fact, be dead. Perhaps the thought hadn’t occurred to them. ‘Would any of Richard’s friends know where he’s likely to have gone?’
‘Richard’s not a great one for friends, inspector. He’s always been too busy building up his business to have much time for a social life, and now he’s met Rachel...’
‘When was the last time you spoke to your son?’ Cooper asked.
‘I’m not quite sure, when would that have been Sylvia?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, how time flies, let me think, where are we today?’
‘Saturday,’ her husband responded.
‘No sir, it’s Sunday,’ the sergeant corrected.
‘Sunday, ah yes, it must have been a week today when we last spoke to Richard.’
‘How did he sound, was anything troubling him?’
‘No, he was just the same as usual, brig
ht and cheery. You spoke to him too, Harry dear, remember, he was asking you about buying that extra plot of land from the farmer and wanted to know what you thought.’
‘Yes that’s right, I’d told him to go in with a silly offer and then take it from there. I’d also told him if he needed bit of financial support, his mother and I would be happy to give him a helping hand.’
‘And did he say if he would take you up on your offer?’
‘Richard is a very independent young man, detective inspector. He would rather struggle on his own. Take this cottage they’ve bought in Rasburgh, the place is called Rasburgh, isn’t Sylvia?’ Harry turned his white topped head towards his wife; she nodded to him in confirmation. ‘Thought it was, now what was I saying... oh yes, of course, the state of the place. From what I gather from Richard, it needs a lot of work doing to it. Not the sort of dive I, or his mother would go for, but then he’s a lot younger than we are and good with his hands. Richard having the opportunity to buy the property outright, without having to take a mortgage out on it, was a big factor for him. The cottage not being perfect to move straight into wouldn’t bother Richard at all. He would just get on with it, as and when he could. As well as in the meantime sorting the business side of things out for his landscaping project. Richard is nothing, if not hard working. He thrives on it. My younger brother, Ted, has already been down to the cottage. He was happy to give Richard a hand with the electrics. Told me my son had got a real job on his hands. But I’m sure it’s nothing that together, Richard and Rachel can’t handle. They make a good team.’
‘Did either of you think it strange that your son wanted to move so far away?’
The elderly couple glanced at one another, but remained silent.
‘I presume from your reticence, there was a good reason he wanted to relocate. I’d be grateful if you could elucidate.’
‘We don’t like to inspector, we’re not gossips.’ Mrs. Johnson spoke.
‘I’m afraid under the circumstances of our visit; I’m going to have to insist you tell me your thoughts, Mrs. Johnson.’
The woman hesitated for a few seconds longer. Seemingly making up her mind, she commenced, ‘the truth of the matter is... well, it’s Rachel’s mother.’
‘What about Miss Smith’s mother?’ Walters was mystified.
Sylvia glanced across at her husband. He nodded his head to indicate she should continue. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware, but Rachel is an only child. Her father died when she was very young. I think when she was about ten, or eleven, in a road traffic accident, I believe. Afterwards the mother became rather protective. I’m not blaming her in the least for that. It’s only natural, when someone is taken away from you, especially suddenly and at a fairly young age. However, she was smothering the girl.’
‘The couple moved, to get away from Rachel Smith’s clinging mother?’ Walters interjected.
‘It sounds really bad when you say it like that, but yes, I suppose that was the reason. After they’d been together for about a year, Richard eventually persuaded Rachel to move into the flat with him. But because it wasn’t too far away from the house she’d shared with her mother, Mrs. Smith would arrive on the doorstep. Normally unannounced, and she’d spend the evening with them, or even the week-end. I think Richard had had enough, said it wasn’t good for Rachel either. When he’d seen this old cottage, with the land and the possibilities it offered to start a business, a couple of hundred miles away, well, he’d jumped at the chance. Especially, as Richard was in the enviable position of being able to acquire the place out right, without the necessity of having to take on any debt.’
‘Perhaps we need to speak to Mrs. Smith. Do you have her telephone number handy, Mrs. Johnson?’
‘Whatever for, she won’t know where Richard is. In fact, Rachel told me earlier she hasn’t let her mum know that Richard’s missing. She knows if she does, her mum will be on the next train, or bus to Rasburgh and she’d said that was the last thing she needed. So, I for one am not going to go back on her wishes. If you need the mother’s contact details, you’ll have to ask her daughter.’
‘That statement could be construed, as obstructing a police enquiry.’ DS Cooper advised solemnly.
‘Oh, please.’ The woman responded in a derogatory tone. ‘I’m sure you’ve got much better things to do, than charging a pensioner with obstructing the police. It’s not as though you can’t find the number by other means and I think I’ve already told you more than I should. Don’t you think your time would be better spent, trying to locate our missing son?’
For the first time Walters saw emotion in the woman’s face, as her eyes filled with unshed tears and she suddenly looked all of her years.
‘Come on Cooper; let’s leave these good people in peace.’ Walters sensed there was nothing more to be gained from prolonging the visit. After finishing his coffee, he handed the obligatory card to Mr. Johnson. Realising the forced veneer hadn’t been as thick as he’d thought and was about to crack at any moment. Rather like a breach in a dam wall, but instead of water gushing through, it would be a rush of emotions. ‘Please, if your son contacts you, give us a call. If he’s innocent as you say, then he has nothing to fear. We just need to speak to him, okay?’
‘All right son.’ Seeing his wife near to tears had brought a film over the man’s faded blue eyes, concealed behind his rimless spectacles. It seemed the reality of the situation was finally dawning on the couple. He took the card Walters proffered, lowering his eyes he glanced at the details. Not wishing the inspector to read the desperation they revealed.
‘Before we leave, there’s just one last question I would like to ask. Did Richard have a room here, somewhere that you liked to keep for his use for whenever he visited?’
‘Detective inspector our son was nearly forty years old; he’d left home many years ago. Until recently he lived in Chester, half a dozen miles away. Whenever he occasionally stayed over, usually because he’d had a drink and didn’t want to drive, he used the guest room. It’s a rather bland room I’m afraid, but you’re welcome to have a look around if you wish.’
‘If you wouldn’t mind, Mrs. Johnson.’
The room, containing a double bed and not much else, was as she’d said it would be. Sylvia hovered in the doorway, doing her best to retain her composure under the difficult circumstances. A cursory glance was enough to tell the policemen all they needed to know. However, Cooper went through the motions of opening the fitted wardrobe doors and the chest of drawers, the only other pieces of furniture in the room, just to be on the safe side, finding as expected, nothing but fresh air. The walls were painted in a neutral shade. A couple of gold edged prints breaking up the monotony. It had not been the shrine the inspector was possibly expecting. No ancient posters; or anything else to suggest the room had once been inhabited by a young man.
‘And there is no other bedroom Richard might have used?’
‘See for yourself inspector.’ Mrs. Johnson threw wide a second door, to reveal what was clearly the room she shared with her husband. Walters briefly noticed the framed photograph perched on top of one of the bedside cabinets, two grinning boys standing side by side on a beach. The inspector instantly recognised the taller lad, who was holding a large coloured ball, as Richard Johnson. The smaller child must have been the couple’s younger boy, Daniel. Walters had temporarily forgotten about the other son, who had died tragically young. It may have been an accident and administered by his own hand, but that wouldn’t have made his parents anguish any less. Walters wondered what right tragedy had to come knocking on the Johnson’s door for a second time.
‘Then we have the bathroom in here and the only other room off the corridor is the little box room. We use it mainly for storage and as you can see, isn’t very tidy.’
Walters popped his head around the white glossed door jamb. The interior of the small room did indeed appear as though the woman had been collecting items for a jumble sale, and was storing them there until r
equired. There was hardly any space left on the carpeted floor that wasn’t covered with old books and boxes. A free standing rail, hanging with garments of both genders, stood directly beneath the window, taking up more valuable space. Possibly the clothing had long gone out of fashion, or maybe now was no longer a perfect fit.
Inspection satisfactorily concluded the three wandered out into the wide corridor of the single story building. Passing low bookcases and a variety of plants in fancy pots, the small party progressed slowly towards the front door. Harry Johnson came to stand beside his wife. He encircled his arm around her waist, pulling her to him in an act of solidarity and companionship.
‘Thanks for that.’ Walters said to the couple.
‘I don’t know what you expected to find detective inspector. Richard has always been the very best of sons. We’ve never had an ounce of trouble from him. Please do all you can to find him.’
‘We will Mr. Johnson, you can depend on it. If you should have any contact from your son, remember to tell him it’s imperative that he contact us as soon as possible.’ Thanking Mrs. Johnson for the coffee he and Cooper passed through the door. His parting smile this time not reciprocated. The couple had too much on their minds for the exchange of pleasantries.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Sunday Morning 13 December 2009
Cooper managed to stuff the biscuit into his mouth, whole. His hand again on the steering wheel, he negotiated the roundabout.
‘Where the hell do you keep producing those biscuits from?’
‘Out of my pocket, sir,’ his reply muffled, as he chewed the sweet item. ‘I sneaked a few off the plate when I’d the chance.’
‘A few, it looks as though you’ve taken the bloody plateful, man.’
