A Good Death

by Chris Collett

  ‘Actually it’s you I was hoping to speak to,’ said Millie.

  ‘Oh, OK then.’ Initially reluctant, Tanya held open the door. ‘Come in. I was about to make some tea. Sam hasn’t turned up yet then?’

  ‘No,’ said Millie, following her into the kitchen.

  ‘How strange,’ said Tanya. They took their drinks into a living room overlooking the garden, where a number of small children were playing. Millie watched them all, in her estimation about four or five years old, swarming over a climbing frame. She felt an ache of longing for Haroon.

  ‘Only two of them are ours,’ Tanya smiled, glad of the distraction. ‘But for some reason our yard seems to be a magnet for all the kids in the neighbourhood.’ As they watched, two little girls broke away from the group and ran over to a cluster of dwarf daffodils which they stooped down to pick. Tanya tapped on the window and wagged a finger at them. They turned and giggled to each other, before scampering off again.

  ‘And you’ve got a new baby?’ said Millie, noticing the pile of laundered Babygros.

  ‘Yes, although I thought I’d done with all that.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Martha was a bit of a surprise. Have you got children?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Millie. ‘I only came back to work this week, so I’m trying to get used to leaving my little boy at home.’

  ‘That’s hard,’ said Tanya. ‘I’m not sure if I could do it.’

  It wasn’t said at all judgementally, so why did it make Millie feel bad? ‘I need to ask you about your relationship with Sam Fleetwood,’ she said, getting out her pocketbook.

  ‘I don’t have one,’ said Tanya quickly, ‘that is, I only know him through the church and through Laurie.’ She was sitting on the edge of her seat, as if hoping this wouldn’t take long. ‘We just chat a bit when he comes here. You know, just a bit of small talk.’

  ‘Does Sam ever come to the house when Laurie isn’t here?’ Tanya looked down at her mug, away into the garden, anywhere except at Millie. ‘He has done, a couple of times, to bring the measurements for the dresses and to see how they’re coming along.’

  ‘Isn’t that unusual?’ Millie couldn’t remember her husband Suli taking the slightest interest in anything like that. It would provide a good excuse, though.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Tanya uncertainly. She caught Millie’s eye. ‘I think Sam just wants to be involved. It’s not what you think,’ she added hastily. ‘We have a cup of tea and a bit of a chat, that’s all. Actually we get on quite well. In a way I think Sam finds it easier to talk to me than to Laurie, but then he grew up in an all-female household, so perhaps that’s not surprising. He’s quite a sensitive soul and good at picking up on people’s moods. I’ve been a bit low since the baby was born.’ She was talking too much now, like someone who has something to hide.

  ‘Does Sam ever confide in you?’ Millie asked.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘I don’t know, anything – his relationships, perhaps?’

  ‘I know he’s very happy to be marrying Gaby,’ said Tanya. ‘He thinks the world of her.’

  ‘Do you think it’s a good match; Gaby and Sam?’

  ‘Yes. I think Gaby’s a very lucky young woman. Well, they both are – lucky, I mean.’

  ‘You must know Gaby very well?’ said Millie.

  ‘Of course. She was just a little girl when we started going to the church. It was always obvious that she’d marry a good man, because she’s got so much going for her. But Sam is different from her previous boyfriends.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Gaby’s a big personality, and she gives off this impression of being the life and soul of everything, but actually I don’t think she’s at all confident where her appearance is concerned, or with men. Because of that I think she’s always played it safe and gone for boys who are quite shy and not particularly good-looking. But Sam’s different. He’s handsome, yes, but also very thoughtful; there are a number of older ladies at church and he always takes the trouble to say something nice to them, compliment them on their outfits or hair or something. It makes them feel special.’

  ‘What about any previous girlfriends,’ said Millie. ‘Has Sam ever talked about them?’

  ‘Why would he?’ Tanya seemed mystified.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Millie kept it casual. ‘Perhaps getting married himself might have stirred up memories of old flames, as it sometimes can.’

  ‘No,’ said Tanya. ‘He’s never mentioned anyone.’

  ‘There are plenty of pictures of Sam on Gaby’s Facebook page,’ said Millie.

  Tanya smiled. ‘Gaby’s always been one for showing off her new acquisitions; new pony, new car or whatever. She’s proud of him, that’s all.’

  ‘Does Sam ever indicate any doubts about the wedding?’

  Tanya chuckled. ‘He wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Oh nothing, nothing at all,’ said Tanya lightly. ‘It was just a throwaway remark. Clive, Gaby’s father, has a reputation for being a bit fierce. Completely unjustified, of course – he’s a lamb – though he is naturally very protective of Gaby, because it’s been just the two of them for so long. I think Sam is a bit wary of Clive, but that’s probably wise.’

  ‘Well, that’s been really helpful,’ said Millie, getting ready to go. ‘What are the bridesmaids’ dresses like?’ she added. ‘Could I be nosy?’

  ‘Of course.’

  As they climbed the stairs, Millie felt a sudden tug in her chest, as, very close by, a baby started to whimper. Tanya disappeared into one of the bedrooms and returned with a child of about Haroon’s age, on her hip. The little girl rubbing her eyes with chubby fingers had pale skin and wisps of dark brown hair.

  ‘Hello,’ Millie held out a finger and the baby grabbed it and squeezed hard.

  ‘The bridesmaids’ dresses are through here,’ said Tanya. She led the way into a bedroom given over to sewing, where dresses in a delicate floral design hung on a rail, each covered in protective polythene.

  ‘They’re beautiful,’ said Millie truthfully. The intricate beadwork on the bodices must have taken hours. ‘Gaby has great taste.’

  ‘They both have,’ said Tanya. ‘Sam has views too.’ They went back downstairs. ‘Before you go, would you like to pray together, for Sam?’ Tanya asked.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  Vicky dropped into Mariner’s office to let him know that she was going to talk to the Wright family.

  ‘I’m not sure about you going alone,’ he said. By now he’d had time to catch up on Brown’s entries to the policy book.

  ‘You think it’s unsafe?’

  Mariner vacillated. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ he said. ‘But I think they might be the kind of family where a male presence would be helpful, especially a uniformed one.’

  Vicky told herself that Mariner wasn’t questioning her competence. She’d been in challenging situations before, and had come through largely on her own wits and initiative. OK, so there might be something reassuring about having Brown along, and apart from anything else it would be another pair of eyes and ears, but still, she couldn’t quite understand it. She went back to the main office. ‘Fancy another outing?’ she said to Brown. He was up in an instant, or would have been if he hadn’t managed to sweep a pile of notes with his elbow and send them floating to the floor. It took him a couple of minutes to gather them up and restore them to where they had been, while Vicky made an effort to keep her exasperation in check.

  The Wright family had moved from Wellington Road to Attwood Green, a modern housing development close to the city centre, regenerated and rebranded from a social housing estate that had been practically a no-go area, especially after dark. It was only as Brown drove them nearer that Vicky realised this, and the quickening of her pulse made it suddenly clear why Mariner had been concerned about her going alone.

  ‘You all right?’ Brown asked, as they turned into the complex.

  ‘I’m fine
,’ said Vicky, breathing deeply. ‘It’s just that the last time I came here was to look at the spot where my husband was killed.’

  On the doorstep of the Wright household, Jesson made the introductions, the uniformed Brown at her shoulder, and they were admitted with reluctant scepticism. ‘I saw about that fire on the telly,’ said the woman they could only assume to be Jordan’s mother, when faced with the warrant card. ‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before you lot turned up.’ Apparently familiar with the routine, she wandered off into the house leaving them to follow and Brown to close the door. ‘Never mind that it could be an accident; someone’s stupidity.’

  ‘But we know from the Fire Investigation Team that it wasn’t,’ Jesson told her, as they came to rest in what was arranged as a sitting room, a vast widescreen TV taking up one wall and playing soundless, scrolling BBC news. The air was a warm combination of cooked food and animal. ‘It was down to vindictiveness. Someone broke a window and sloshed around a bit of white spirit, in the hope that they would start a devastating fire. It could even have been started by someone who intended to kill all the people inside, including two small children. So I think we’re within our rights to talk to anyone we think might have been involved. After all, it’s not the first time the Shah family have been attacked, is it?’

  ‘What, fireworks through the letterbox?’ Mrs Wright snorted. ‘Any kids could have done that. We don’t even live anywhere near there anymore.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Jesson pleasantly. ‘Is Jordan about?’ Though not invited to, she sat down on the sofa, beside a large marmalade cat, leaving just enough room for Brown to squash in beside her.

  Mrs Wright went to the door and called up the stairs, ‘Jordan! Get down here. You’ve got visitors!’

  By the time Brown had taken out his pad and pen, the lumpen youth had appeared, wearing lurid boxer shorts and a T-shirt. ‘Get us a cup of tea will you, Mum?’ he mumbled, his eyes heavy with sleep.

  ‘Where were you on Saturday night, Jordan?’ Jesson asked, as he plonked down into the armchair next to them, facing the TV.

  ‘I was out with my mates,’ Jordan said, his attention already snared by the flickering screen.

  ‘Who’s that then?’

  Jordan reeled off three names, which Brown had to ask him to repeat, so that he could write them down.

  ‘Will they back you up?’

  Jordan shrugged. ‘Yeah,’ he said petulantly.

  ‘I understand you had a dispute with the Shah family.’

  ‘What?’ Jordan’s eyes remained fixed trance-like on the forty-inch screen, unmoved by footage of atrocities in the Middle East.

  ‘An argument.’ Jesson remained patient.

  ‘That?’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘It was ages ago. Stupid old duffer shouldn’t go poking his nose in, should he?’

  ‘Poking his nose into what?’ asked Vicky.

  Finally, Jordan turned to look at them. ‘He didn’t like me cleaning my car on the street. I mean, why shouldn’t I? We were there before them.’

  ‘So you’re saying he objected to you cleaning your car,’ Jesson clarified.

  Jordan shrugged. Apparently it was as inexplicable to him as it was to her. Jordan’s mum brought in a mug of tea, which she handed to her son while pointedly failing to offer the two police officers any refreshment. ‘It was nothing to do with him,’ she added.

  ‘I’d like Jordan to tell me,’ said Jesson. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘He yelled at me, I yelled back. He walked away, back to Paki-land. End of.’ Jordan slurped his tea noisily, while his mum stood watching, her arms folded defensively. Further questioning was met either by ‘dunno’ or a wordless shake of the head. It was as much as they were going to get.

  ‘What have you got against the Shahs?’ Brown asked Jordan’s mum, as they were on their way out.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing personal.’ Mrs Wright blew a stream of cigarette smoke in his direction. ‘But you know how it is; once one lot move in the rest of them follow.’

  ‘And why does that matter?’ Brown continued, with the tone of the genuinely bewildered.

  ‘I want my children to be safe.’

  Jesson scoffed. ‘From what?’

  ‘The Daily Mail,’ said Brown as he and Jesson walked back down the path to the car. ‘Alive and well and living in a street near you.’

  That lunchtime, over a sandwich, Millie reported back to Mariner.

  ‘So it’s not Tanya?’ said Mariner.

  ‘No, I think if anything she and Sam have more of a platonic relationship. And Tanya and Laurie seem to be committed to their faith. In a church where the sanctity of marriage is so revered, I can’t imagine extramarital affairs amongst members are encouraged.’

  ‘But you still think that’s what this is with Sam Fleetwood, an affair?’

  ‘It’s what the evidence points to,’ said Millie. ‘Though admittedly it’s all circumstantial. I’m just surprised, I suppose, that with all the surveillance we’ve got these days, someone like Sam Fleetwood can just vanish.’

  ‘He could have taken on a new identity,’ Mariner suggested.

  ‘But why? What would make him go to that extreme?’

  ‘Perhaps he feels backed into a corner, and has taken the coward’s way out.’ Mariner sighed. ‘Frankly, if it wasn’t for Charlie’s link with the Boswells I’d have already let this one drop. It would have been good to see Sam Fleetwood show up for his wedding at least, but realistically, we should go and talk to Gaby and her father, to try and prepare them for a gentle let-down.’

  In the car park they met Jesson and Brown, returning from Attwood Green. They looked despondent.

  ‘Wright’s got an alibi,’ said Mariner, guessing.

  ‘We’ll need to check with his mates that he was where he says he was, but that should be straightforward enough,’ said Jesson. ‘To be honest, though, he’s a slob. I can’t quite imagine him bothering to get up off his backside to initiate arson, let alone being smart enough to cover his tracks.’

  ‘So if not him, then perhaps someone closer to home,’ said Mariner. ‘We need to get Mustafa Shah to think a little harder about who that might be.’

  ‘This help centre that he runs clearly plays a major role in the community,’ said Vicky. ‘There must be scope there for tensions of some sort or another. I’ll go first thing on Monday.’

  FOURTEEN

  ‘Brown seems to be insinuating himself into this enquiry too,’ Mariner remarked, as he and Millie drove over to Kingsmead, late on Friday afternoon.

  ‘That was completely my fault,’ said Millie immediately. ‘I did my helpless female act and he stepped up. I hope it was OK.’

  ‘As long as the fire investigation doesn’t get compromised that’s fine,’ said Mariner. ‘I don’t want him being distracted unnecessarily.’

  ‘I’ll make sure he isn’t,’ said Millie. ‘For what it’s worth, I think Brown’s quite good at his job.’ She hesitated, wondering whether to tell Mariner about what she thought she might have seen. But something held her back.

  ‘You could be right,’ said Mariner. ‘How are you going to play this?’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘We have to leave Gaby and her father with a clear rationale for why we can’t launch a full-scale investigation,’ said Mariner. ‘And bear in mind that these are people who are used to getting their own way.’

  ‘Do we drop the bombshell that there might be someone else in Sam’s life?’ Millie asked.

  ‘Not if we can avoid it,’ said Mariner. ‘We don’t have conclusive proof yet, and if Fleetwood does show up in the next few days, we’ll have really screwed things up for him. What we do is broadly explain what you have found so far. If those are the conclusions they choose to draw, then there’s not much we can do about it.’

  ‘I’ll take it gently,’ said Millie. ‘Gaby isn’t going to like what she hears.’

  Clive Boswell lived with his daughter just a few streets away fro
m Meadow Hall Rise in the kind of house that might have featured on a property design show; all slick concrete angles and plate glass, uniquely designed and built on a couple of acres of prime land. Mariner wasn’t sure if anyone would be home from work yet, and was prepared for a wait, but the Mercedes sports car on the drive was an encouraging sign, and he pulled in behind it.

  Gaby was at the door only seconds after they rang the bell. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked straight away, obviously fearing the worst. In the few days since they’d last met, it looked to Mariner as if she’d shed a few pounds, and her complexion had lost that healthy glow. The impeccable grooming had been abandoned and her hair hung loose and uncombed, while her clothing could have been assembled from the rejects rack of an Oxfam shop.

  ‘Sorry,’ Mariner shook his head. ‘But can we come in?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she stepped aside to let them through. ‘I’m in the conservatory. It’s warmer in there.’ Though it wasn’t a cold day, and Mariner would have described the conservatory as stifling. Instead of the lake view, this house had a swimming pool, and Mariner couldn’t help but wonder about its practicality, given the English climate. However, the steam rising from its surface indicated that it had the benefit of heating, and there was the added compensation of the hot tub nearby. Spacious and filled with light, the conservatory overlooked the park towards the distinctive steeple of Kingsmead church. The internal fixtures and fittings were high-end luxury; nothing from Homebase here. A book lay open on the coffee table, which Mariner recognised as a modern version of the Bible.

  Gaby invited them to sit. ‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked automatically, though it looked as if the effort of making it might be a bit too much.

  ‘We’re fine,’ said Mariner. ‘This is DC Millie Khatoon. She’s been making the enquiries about Sam on my behalf.’

  ‘But—!’ The petulant child began to protest.

  ‘DC Khatoon is a highly experienced officer,’ Mariner interjected. ‘And she and I liaise frequently.’

  Mollified, Gaby cast an expectant look at Millie.