A Private Investigation

by Peter Grainger

  Chapter Twenty

  John Murray followed her out through the back door. There was a paved area first, then a small lawn and at the far end a couple of big garden sheds. To the left was the driveway where Harrison’s van was parked.

  Murray said, ‘I’ll take the van, you look at the sheds. He says everything’s unlocked.’

  Murray walked around the corner of the house – Serena Butler heard his heavy footsteps crunching the gravel on the drive. She didn’t move but took another look at everything in front of her. She remembered Smith’s words – don’t just look, make sure you see as well. Everything anyone says or does or owns reveals them in some way, and even the things they don’t do and the things that are missing. This was Paul Harrison’s home. What did it reveal about him? What had he done and not done here in the garden?

  On the paved area, the patio, were several large containers for plants. In a typical person’s yard, there would be the shrivelled remains of last summer’s geraniums or fuchsias or whatever people grow in the things, but here the pots contained only level compost, so either the containers had never been used or the dead and dying plants had been cleared away. She walked across to the containers and took a closer look – not a single tiny weed, and the compost was perfectly level, as if someone had measured the gap around the edge with a ruler.

  Serena turned and looked at the place from the outside. Everything inside was the same. The furnishings matched, the carpets were coordinated with the colours on the walls, all the downstairs light fittings and shades were identical and when she had opened a drawer in the kitchen, every item of cutlery was in its own section of the spotlessly clean insert – not a teaspoon out of place. She had been there when DCI Freeman asked Harrison how long he had lived here, and he said four years, as if he knew to the day. Serena had stared at the drawer again before she closed it and thought, if I’d been out on a date with him – not as mad as it sounds because there are worse-looking blokes – and he invited me back here… If that had happened and I found this kitchen drawer, I’d be a little concerned. And I’d certainly not be inviting him back to my place until we were at least engaged.

  The house was semi-detached and in a good part of a nice village; she had been looking at places herself recently and could guess at its market value. Not bad for a burger salesman. What’s the margin in a burger? How many would you need to sell to get a place like this – because Harrison owned it, he wasn’t renting. She walked across the lawn, which was sodden from all the recent rain and felt her heels sinking into it. She was leaving a trail of two-inch indentations that would probably irritate Paul Harrison but no doubt he had a lawn-repair kit in one of these sheds.

  These sheds which had matching padlocks, both hanging open in readiness, as if he had been expecting this visit. She stopped and wondered – had Harrison been told that they were coming to see him again? Sometimes the police do let people know. Had he thought, well, they’ll want to search the sheds, so I’ll go and open those in readiness? She opened the door to the nearest one, eyes going over the usual garden shed paraphernalia, and her mind still going over Paul Harrison. He doesn’t look like a burger salesman and he doesn’t smell like one – she prided herself on her good nose, and Harrison had used some sort of pine-scented soap or shower gel that morning. So, what does he look and smell like?

  A set of weights and dumbbells under a bench in the first shed, which had been replaced presumably by the newer set she had noticed in the utility room. He likes to keep himself fit, you could tell that even though he was wearing a sweat shirt because the house wasn’t particularly warm – likes to keep his arms strong but he’s careful with money, keeping the heating bills down. Maybe you need strong arms to flip all those burgers.

  An accountant, maybe, someone who counts things, or something in quality control, someone who likes precision and order. But not HR, not management because there’s something odd in the way he relates to people. Something… And he’s frying burgers?

  ‘Anything?’

  Murray stood in the doorway behind her.

  ‘No. He’s very tidy, though.’

  ‘The van’s the same. I don’t know when he last took it out but there’s not a spot of grease. It doesn’t even smell of onions.’

  Murray wasn’t much of a talker at work but when she looked at him then, Serena Butler could see that he too had noticed something of the oddness of the man. Then Murray said, ‘I’ll check the other shed.’

  It became a challenge, to find something, some flaw in that shed that would make Harrison more human, but the closer she looked, the less she discovered. There was a tool cupboard but all the screwdrivers and pliers and saws were grouped together in lines, there were nails and screws but in little plastic tubs, one to a size. There were paintbrushes that had been used but all had been thoroughly rinsed and cleaned. Serena closed the cupboard doors and stared around – a new experience, the first time she had been made uncomfortable by a garden shed.

  Murray was replacing the lock on the adjacent one when she went out.

  He said, ‘Lawnmower, garden tools, a top of the range trail bike, a Cannondale.’

  She looked at him, trying to imagine Murray on a bicycle but it wasn’t easy. Then she said, ‘I’ll bet they’re all polished and ready to go, even the rakes and hoes.’

  ‘Correct,’ and then, after a pause, ‘Bit of a loner, I’d say. No sign of anyone else here.’

  ‘Well, if he isn’t he probably ought to be. There’s not really much sign of him here, either.’

  Both sides of the garden had a wooden fence. That on the left, the one separating the gardens of the semi-detached houses, was four feet in height until a point about ten yards from the buildings, where it increased to the typical six foot panels, to give the areas closest to the houses a little more privacy. At that spot, Serena realised, a woman was standing and watching them from the garden of the next-door property.

  Murray had seen her too, and he said, ‘Get your story straight, we’ve got company.’

  The woman had some washing draped over her arm, ready to go onto the rotary clothes line behind her – she must have noticed them and come to the fence to get a proper view. As they approached, she looked worried enough for Serena to say, ‘Please don’t be concerned, we’re police officers but there’s nothing to worry about. I’m Detective Constable Butler, this is Detective Constable Murray. We’re both from Kings Lake Central police.’

  Serena showed her ID and the woman looked at it long enough to reassure herself a little. Some of the washing was children’s clothes, and there was a wedding ring on the woman’s finger. Behind her, the garden was, thankfully, a bit of a mess – there was a heap of rubble and plaster from some sort of DIY job and a child’s pink bicycle lay forgotten and half-hidden in the grass of a lawn that hadn’t been cut since about last May.

  ‘Is this about Shona?’

  The question was directed at Serena but the woman’s eyes briefly went to Murray in the silence after it. He was the senior and more experienced officer but when Serena glanced at him, she saw that he wanted her to take this on.

  She said, ‘As I said, there is nothing to be concerned about – but could I have your name, please?’

  There was the usual reluctance of someone who doesn’t want to get involved but also something else – the woman took a small step backwards and took half a glance over her left shoulder. Serena Butler saw it straight away. She’s making sure she cannot be seen from the other house.

  ‘Reed. Terri Reed. Look, I’m sorry, I’ll let you get on. None of my business, so-’

  ‘Mrs Reed? We’re just carrying out a routine investigation, nothing’s happened here.’

  ‘Alright. That’s good, then. I was just checking, you know, you see strangers wandering about in the neighbour’s garden!’

  She tried a smile, and she tried to turn away but the female detective said, ‘Mrs Reed, if I could have just one more minute of your time?’

  Then
Serena looked at Murray and said, ‘I’ll catch up with you inside.’

  He got it, gave Terri Reed one of his rare smiles and went away towards the back door of Harrison’s house. Serena waited until she had the woman’s full attention, and then she said, ‘We’ve spoken to your neighbour, Mr Harrison, but we haven’t met anyone else. I’d got the impression he lives here alone. Is there someone else, Mrs Reed?’

  A slight shake of the head and another of those odd, uncertain glances to her left, as if the fence that concealed her might have been silently removed while she wasn’t watching.

  Serena said quietly, ‘Mrs Reed… Terri. Who is Shona?’

  Seconds after Smith typed the final full stop of his report for the meeting with Roy Green, Murray and Butler walked into the office – and that meant, or should mean, that Paul Harrison was in the building once more. Or Paolo Harris, whichever way you wanted to look at it. He, Smith, wouldn’t be involved any more, of course, but this all had an oddly familiar feel to it; he could not help thinking that his contempt for coincidence had all come back to haunt him in his final few days as a detective.

  John Murray offered to fetch tea or coffee and disappeared again, and Serena sat by Smith’s desk, looking pleased with herself.

  Smith stared before saying, ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Terek says it went well, that’s all. Harrison’s in Interview One. The DCI and Cara Freeman are meeting now before they go in.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘What d’you mean – “And?”. I’m just telling you what’s happening.’

  ‘Very good of you. Now I’ll tell you something.’

  ‘OK. What is it?’

  ‘Don’t ever quit policing and take up playing poker for a living. You’ll starve to death within a fortnight.’

  ‘I…” but arguing with him was pointless, so she told him instead. The next-door neighbour, Terri Reed, had told her about a girl called Shona Benson. This girl had lived with Paul Harrison for almost a year. The two of them, Terri and Shona had got to know each other, not really socially but just talking over the fence and a few times over coffee when Shona was there on her own. Shona was younger, about twenty-two or twenty-three, and she was nice, Terri Reed said, worked in an office somewhere on the Heathways commercial estate in Lake. It was good to have someone to talk to, she said, life in a village can be a bit lonely if your husband works shifts, and with Harrison out in the evenings, Shona used to come round then, sometimes. But never when Harrison was there. Sometimes Shona wouldn’t even look at her if he was at home or if she saw them outside the house – like she was two different people.

  When Serena paused in her story, Smith clicked save on the Word file he had completed. That was Roy Green done. Decent chap, quite a catch for Penny Johnson if she did but realise it, but they wouldn’t survive the loss of her daughter, not as a couple. He’d seen such losses destroy a lot more than their brief romance. This couldn’t be happening, could it, what Serena was telling him? It could not be happening again.

  Serena said, ‘Then Shona told her a few things because she wasn’t really happy any more, they weren’t getting on, her and Harrison, and she didn’t think it was going to last. It wasn’t fighting, it was sort of worse than that. She got a bit scared of him and…’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘Shona disappeared earlier this year, about six months ago. She went and didn’t say goodbye to Terri Reed. Eventually Mrs Reed spoke to him about it and asked where Shona was. He said he didn’t know. But…’

  She had Smith’s full attention now, and sometimes that felt like a responsibility.

  ‘But she said that Harrison had a funny look on his face. As if something she’d said had amused him. And this Terri Reed was scared about talking to me, DC. She was behind the fence all the time, and nervous.’

  ‘Disappeared? You’ve told our deadly DCI duo all this I hope?’

  ‘Yes. DCI Reeve said they’d bring it up in the interview with him when they’re asking about his domestic situation. She said I might need to get in touch with Shona Benson to confirm details.’

  ‘Get in touch? How? You said she’d disappeared.’

  Serena could be hard work and about half the time this was intentional on her part – the only problem was you could never be sure which half of the time you were in. Smith gave her his resigned look, which was rapidly becoming his default these days.

  ‘Well, Terri Reed gave me her phone number – Shona’s mobile number. After Shona left, they spoke on the phone a couple of times and then Shona stopped answering, so… Terri Reed thought Shona might have changed her phone number or something.’

  Which would make sense if she was trying to get away from Harrison, and from that time in her life altogether. John Murray arrived with a tray, three mugs and some of those little prepacks of biscuits you find in bed and breakfast rooms. Smith took the shortbread ones.

  He said, ‘So you’ve got a phone number for a woman who used to live with a bloke who’s about to be interviewed at length about the disappearance of Zoe Johnson. That’s useful.’

  Serena bridled a touch at the irony – in fact she rarely failed to do so – and said, ‘I know! I thought I’d run a check on the number and see if it’s still active.’

  Smith nodded approvingly and glanced at Murray before he said, ‘Good idea. If only there were some quicker way, him being in the interview room as we speak.’

  Then Murray was joining in, frowning as if he was trying to solve the puzzle too.

  Serena said, ‘Bollocks to both of you! DCI Reeve said to…’

  ‘She didn’t actually say to wait until she’d interviewed him, did she?’

  ‘No, but… You think I should ring the number, just ring Shona Benson? Are you telling me to ring her, DC?’

  ‘I’m just saying that there aren’t many other things you can do with a phone number.’

  She stood up and marched off to her own desk. Murray dipped a Rich Tea into his mug and managed to get the entire thing into his mouth before it disintegrated – this takes many years of practice and not a few sunken biscuits at the bottom of your tea. Shortbreads are structurally different and simple in comparison.

  Murray said, ‘Harrison’s a funny one, DC. I’m not saying, you know – Zoe Johnson? But he’s peculiar.’

  Smith hadn’t exactly given his word to Cara Freeman but this was difficult now; she’d been right to say in the meeting that the connection to Andretti shouldn’t be made public knowledge yet but John Murray was a good detective, a good friend and one of the few people in the world Smith would trust with his wallet. It seemed unfair not to tell him that his instincts were right.

  ‘Peculiar how?’

  ‘The house for a start. Perfectly clean and tidy. I suppose I notice that more now our place is a permanent natural disaster zone thanks to your godson. But it wasn’t just that. There was no personal stuff. He’s lived there for years apparently but I didn’t see any photos, not a card on a mantelpiece, no cat or a dog, not even a goldfish bowl or a pot plant. It was sort of sterile. I couldn’t see any sign that this girl Shona Benson had ever lived there, nor any other woman.’

  ‘Any sign of what he does out of work?’

  ‘I’d say he’s into fitness. One room had proper weights and a bench. There was a top-end trail bike in the shed. He looks to be in shape.’

  Smith watched Serena. She was talking to someone on her phone already, intent and quiet, and then writing something down.

  He said, ‘Does he run the burger business from home?’

  ‘Yes. The garage is converted. It’s got freezers and proper storage. All just as organised and tidy.’

  ‘What about another vehicle?’

  Murray hesitated.

  ‘Ah – that’s a good point. I don’t think anyone asked about that. He can’t go everywhere in the van, can he? But I didn’t see a car parked anywhere. Maybe it was out in the road.’

  ‘Just a thought. Here we go, look.’

&nb
sp; Serena was on her way back without the scowl.

  ‘I just spoke to her. She still works at Nordco.’

  ‘It’s a small world these days. I wonder if she knows a Donald McFarlane. What did you say about why you were contacting her?’

  ‘The truth – routine inquiries, Mr Harrison’s name had come up and she was a contact.’

  ‘Did she ask how you got her number?’

  Serena nodded – ‘I told her it was Terri Reed. She asked if Terri was alright, which was a bit weird when she doesn’t take her calls anymore. And when I said would she mind answering some questions, she said not over the phone. I think she was in a busy office or reception.’

  ‘So she agreed to meet you.’

  Always that split second ahead of you, she thought, in these moments… Michael, before he betrayed her for the sake of this bloody job, used to talk to her about cricket, his passion, sometimes even when they lay in bed together. He told her that the great batsmen see the ball milliseconds before the rest, even when it’s travelling at ninety miles an hour – they see the ball early and play into the space where they know it will be.

  ‘Yes, she’ll talk to me. Now, if you think…’

  Terek must still be with the DCIs, or, if they’ve begun the interview, he’s probably watching it live. He, Smith, could go and find him, run it by him and most likely be told to wait until after the interview. But it made more sense to see Shona Benson now, didn’t it, while they had Harrison in the building? She might have nothing, after all, and if someone got annoyed, it would be with him, and not Serena. He calculated all that, aware at the same time that there were other questions forming about what Murray had told him and about what he had not told Murray. There were freezers? Did anybody check the freezers?

  When he looked up, Serena and Murray were staring at him and waiting, so he said to her, ‘Why are you still here?’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Twenty minutes later, Terek had come to his desk and said, ‘DC, do you want to come and have a look at this?’