‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Sorry to interrupt your lunch, Dr Williams, but you could save us all time by telling me if you recall selling cylinders of nitrous oxide to a Mr Felix Pink of Barnstaple.’
‘Never heard of him,’ he said.
‘How about Geoffrey Skeet?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘There’s nothing on the computer in those names,’ said Becky helpfully.
‘Is that it? Where are your paper files?’
‘We don’t have them any more,’ he said. ‘Paperless office.’
‘We’re very environmentally conscious,’ agreed Becky.
‘Well, please could you print off records of all the N2O purchases and sales you have made in the past year? For starters.’
‘Do you have a warrant or something?’ said Williams.
‘We assumed you would cooperate, sir. If you’d rather not, let me know now and I’ll be happy to arrest you and lead you out of here in handcuffs so you can sit in a cell while we get a warrant.’
‘Obviously I’ll cooperate. I’m a dental surgeon, not a criminal! We just got off on the wrong foot, that’s all.’
‘We did,’ King said drily. ‘That whole window thing . . .’
‘Becky, print off the purchases for the officers, please. You won’t find any sales on the system because there are no sales of nitrous oxide. N2O is very tightly controlled.’
‘I didn’t know dentists even used laughing gas any more.’
‘Oh, we do. People like it. No needles.’
‘I can see the appeal,’ she nodded. ‘Well, that clears that up then. If you could show me your N2O stocks while Becky prints off the purchases and relevant patient records that would be great. Then we can make sure it’s all accounted for and be on our way.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Well, I assume that when you administer N2O to a patient you keep a record of that.’
‘Yes. Of course.’
‘Then you’ll have a record of how much N2O you have bought and how much you’ve used. All we have to do is check your stocks and do the maths and voila.’
‘Yes. Except, I’m afraid, patient records are confidential. We can’t just print them off.’
He smiled, but King did not. ‘Patient confidentiality is not a priority here, Dr Williams. We’re investigating a murder.’
The dentist paled. ‘A what?’
‘You heard me.’
A cold silence descended, in the middle of which Becky discreetly slid two sheets of laser-printed paper across the desk.
‘Those are the purchase orders.’
‘Thank you,’ King said, picking them up and studying them. ‘I see you order tanks, bottles and whippits.’
‘Whippits?’ said the dentist.
She looked at him curiously. ‘Aren’t those the little metal cylinders kids take to festivals?’
‘You flatter me,’ Williams laughed mirthlessly. ‘I’m too old for festivals. I have no clue what kids do now.’
But luckily Becky did, and volunteered, ‘Yeah, you see loads of people huffing noz at Glastonbury. Not me. Other people.’
‘And what do you use the whippits for, Dr Williams?’
‘I don’t. I think that must have been a purchasing error.’
King ran her eye down the list. ‘One you’ve repeated on six occasions in the past year?’
Williams said nothing, and Calvin felt almost sorry for him. They could all see the precipice he was heading for now, even Becky. Calvin always found it hard to watch people realize they were screwed. There were only two options for them. He always hoped they would turn back from the edge and come clean, but lots of people just closed their eyes and ran into the precipice.
‘So can we see your N2O stocks, please, Dr Williams?’
‘Umm . . . I don’t know where the storeroom key is,’ he said pathetically. ‘You lost it a couple of days ago, didn’t you, Becky?’
‘No,’ said Becky, because she was on minimum wage, and because the blue scrubs made her arse look big, and because Dr Williams had once docked her a day’s pay for booking an all-four-corners wisdom-tooth extraction on an afternoon when he’d arranged to play the back nine at Burnham and Berrow.
She handed him his fate on a key ring shaped like a molar.
The Dead Man
Reggie slowly opened his eyes. The sky was a brilliant blue, with puffy little Simpsons clouds.
Amanda!
He tried to sit up to see if she was still there, but it hurt too much to move his head, so he lay back down on the pavement and just waited to recover. He flinched as the shape of a man blocked out the sun.
Dennis Matthews bent over him. ‘Not your day, is it?’
Reggie agreed it wasn’t his day. It wasn’t his life. But all he could mumble was, ‘Please don’t hit my nose.’
Matthews straightened up and looked around him, then walked away.
Out of shot, thought Reggie vaguely. He couldn’t move his head; it hurt too much.
Brilliant blue. Cotton-wool clouds sailed gently by.
Then the sky darkened and Matthews was back. Didn’t bend down this time, just stood there with a gnome in his hands. The one with a butterfly on its nose.
‘We had a meeting.’
Reggie had to frown to remember. I’ll be in Ladbrokes. You’ve got a week. That copper had been there, though, and he’d had to make up the story about his ex—
Before he could say this, Matthews threw the gnome through the rear window of the Mazda.
Reggie made a face that shouted NO!
Matthews flickered briefly through his peripheral vision, then came back with two gnomes – one in the crook of each elbow, like a proud dad showing off twins.
‘Where’s Terry’s money?’
‘I haven’t got it.’
The fishing gnome exploded on the boot.
‘What about the will?’
‘There’s nothing left.’
‘Nothing?’
‘I can’t even pay for the funeral.’
The disco gnome shattered the windscreen.
Again Matthews passed him.
Again he came back.
‘What about the house?’
‘It’s Skipper’s house, not mine.’
‘Then make it yours,’ said Matthews. ‘Like father, like son.’ The gardening gnome hit the bonnet so hard that it stayed there, still clutching a broken spade, and cradled in a metal depression of its own making.
Reggie felt sick.
Not because of the car. Not because of the punch. But because for the first time he understood that Albert had planned to pay off his gambling debts by arranging the death of his own father.
Dennis Matthews bent over one more time and Reggie squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain.
‘I feel sorry for you, Reggie,’ said Matthews. ‘But take care of it by tomorrow, or you’re a dead man.’
The first gnome had woken Toff, and Toff had growled and woken Skipper from an unnaturally deep sleep. The second gnome made him roll awkwardly towards the window to see what was going on.
What was going on was so surreal that at first Skipper wondered if he were still asleep and dreaming. Reggie was lying in the road, on his back and with his arms spread out as if he were falling, while a huge toddler threw gnomes at his car.
Skipper sprang into action.
In his head.
In reality he twitched and tried to turn over and got his legs caught in the sheet and kicked feebly to free himself, and by the time he’d admitted he wasn’t going to be able to rush downstairs and save his grandson, the big man was bent over Reggie, and Skipper stopped moving and held his short breath, so he could hear what he was saying.
What about the house?
The house is Skipp
er’s, not mine.
Then make it yours. Like father, like son.
Skipper Cann rolled away from the window before the sound of the final crash.
He stared at the ceiling with his old heart beating so hard that it hurt.
Like father, like son.
Now he knew what Albert had done.
But what would Reggie do?
Off the Hook
Felix Pink said he didn’t know anyone called Andrea.
They spent an hour after booking the dentist scouring HOLMES, but without finding anything close to being a match.
Pete Shapland finally pushed his chair away from his desk and made a sound like a hard-ridden pony. ‘All Andrea’d out, ma’am,’ he said, and helped himself to a Mars bar from the stash Calvin had punched out of the vending machine.
DCI King nodded morosely. ‘What did he say about the Oxy?’ asked Calvin.
‘I haven’t got into that with him. I’ll do that first thing tomorrow. We have to be mindful of his age, particularly as he’s not being represented. I had to ask him about Andrea, but I can’t push him too hard.’
Calvin nodded, but shared her frustration. Even allowing for the couple of hours when this was still about the tulips, their right to hold Felix Pink in custody would run out just before midday tomorrow. After that they’d have to charge him with what they could or let him go.
Jackie Braddick had already brought in a duvet and pillow – both covered with Transformers.
‘What’s that?’ Calvin had said.
‘I popped home and got them for Felix,’ she’d answered. ‘He’s too old to be sleeping on that crappy bench.’
Tony Coral’s top half leaned into the office. ‘Young lady for you at the desk, ma’am,’ he said. ‘About Mr Cann.’
It was well past the end of their shifts, but none of them even looked at their watches before hurrying out of the office.
The girl in reception had sensible eyebrows but was so nervous that Calvin’s heart started to beat faster just looking at her.
They led her through to the cramped interview room and King closed the door behind them. ‘Have a seat. I’m DCI King. This is DC Shapland and Acting DC Bridge.’
The girl sat, but perched on the very edge of the chair, as if she might be getting up again any minute now. King asked her name.
‘I’m Amanda,’ she said, as if it were an announcement. She looked around as if they might know her. ‘Didn’t John mention me?’
‘Who’s John?’
‘We were together,’ she said, ‘when Reggie’s dad . . . died.’
‘Hold on,’ said King. ‘You were there when Albert Cann died?’
‘Yes,’ Amanda said, and looked as if she might cry, but caught herself.
‘Then I think I should caution you,’ said King, ‘that anything you say—’
‘But it was a mistake,’ said Amanda in a rush. ‘I gave him the instrument of death and I felt terrible and Reggie broke up with me when he found out, and I didn’t blame him, but then John called me and said we were set up and I didn’t believe him because I know I didn’t set him up so he must have meant Reggie, and I was, like, Reggie would never hurt anyone, and why would he set me up ? but then I saw on the news that John had been arrested and I couldn’t let him take all the blame even though he said he would, but I wanted to talk to Reggie about it first, but when I went there I saw him having a row with this . . . girl . . . who’s pregnant . . . so now I’m thinking maybe it was a set-up. Maybe he knew what was going on and decided to get rid of me and his dad all in one go!’
She burst into tears, and they all took a long moment to digest.
Then DCI King asked her, ‘So you’re an Exiteer?’
‘Yes,’ she sobbed. ‘Well, was. They probably won’t let me do it again.’
King found a photo on her phone and held it out to Amanda. ‘Do you know this man?’
‘Yes. That’s John.’
‘His real name is Felix Pink.’
‘Oh. Felix. I didn’t know.’
‘Is Amanda your real name?’
‘Yes. Amanda Bell.’
Calvin slapped the table and made them all jump. ‘Oh, Andrea !’
They all exchanged looks of illumination, but Amanda looked confused and King waved it away. ‘Ignore that,’ she said. ‘Exiteers apparently use pseudonyms to protect themselves, and somebody threw Andrea into the mix.’
‘Oh,’ she sniffed, ‘I didn’t think to use a fake name. I just used mine.’
‘Amanda,’ said King, ‘do you have any evidence of a set-up? Apart from Felix Pink telling you there might have been one.’
She’d stopped crying now. ‘Like what?’
‘Like witnesses, or text messages, or something Reggie said?’
She frowned. Thought. Shook her head. ‘No. Just the girl . . . At least now I know why he never took me to his house. He said it was because his granddad was sick, but really it was because she was there.’ She started crying again.
‘Tissues, Calvin,’ said King. ‘Do you mind?’
Calvin went into reception to find a box of tissues, just as Jackie Braddick was arriving with Tovey Chanter in handcuffs.
‘All right, Tovey?’
‘All right, Calvin?’
‘What news?’
‘Drunk and disorderly,’ he said with a shrug, ‘but I’m not even drunk.’
‘Just disorderly then?’ said Calvin.
‘He was peeing on Tarka the Otter,’ said Jackie brusquely.
A bronze of the celebrated otter had been recently installed near the old bridge. There’d been quite a fuss about it being so low, and hence vulnerable to vandalism, but if it had been much taller, nobody could have seen the otter.
It often wore a hat.
‘Bit low, in’t it?’ said Calvin.
Tovey nodded gravely. ‘Temptingly.’
Calvin grinned, then beckoned Jackie over to him and lowered his voice so he could tell her about Amanda.
‘You mean Andrea?’
‘No, the neighbour got it wrong. And now this Amanda just waltzes in here and coughs to killing Albert Cann!’
‘So Felix is off the hook?’
‘I don’t know. This literally happened five minutes ago. But she came right out and said she thinks Reggie set them both up.’
‘Oh, this is such bollocks !’ Jackie glared furiously at Tovey, who was helping himself to fruit cake. ‘You solve a murder and I’m washing piss off an otter.’
Calvin conceded with a shrug: ‘Worst job ever.’
Amanda Bell was arrested on suspicion of conspiracy to murder just after eight p.m. When DCI King said murder, she cried again and said, ‘But I was set up! We both were!’
‘You believe her, ma’am?’ asked Calvin afterwards.
‘It’s possible. There’s a lot of circumstantial evidence building up against Reggie. Now we’ve got Amanda’s testimony, we’ll speak to him again.’
‘You want me to go and get him, ma’am?’ said Pete keenly.
King glanced at the clock and shook her head. ‘No. We’ll speak to him tomorrow at the shop. Don’t want to bring him in and give him time to think.’
Also conscious of the time, Calvin asked, ‘What about Felix, ma’am?’
King pursed her lips.
‘He’s hardly a flight risk,’ said Pete.
‘I hate to keep an old man in a cell overnight,’ agreed King, ‘even with a Transformers duvet.’ She thought and then nodded. ‘If you two don’t mind sticking around to do the paperwork . . .’
Neither of them minded, and shortly after nine o’clock, Felix Pink was released on police bail.
Taking Care of Skipper
Felix had to sign a lot of papers saying that he understood a lot of things – including that he couldn�
�t go to Abbotsham or contact the Cann family. He also had a nine o’clock curfew, which was handy, as that was his bedtime anyway.
As he left, Jackie gave him a big hug and Calvin shook his hand, and Tony Coral patted his shoulder and handed him a paper bag so heavy that it might have contained gold, but which Felix feared contained cake.
Then Pete Shapland drove him home and refused to take any petrol money.
It was too late to wake Miss Knott to retrieve Mabel, but he did call Geoffrey.
‘John! Are you home?’
‘Yes. I’ve just been released on bail.’
‘Have you been charged?’
‘No.’
‘Wonderful! You must let me know what you told them so we’re on the same page.’
‘I’ll explain everything later, Geoffrey, but right now I need your help.’
‘Of course!’ said Geoffrey without hesitation.
‘One of my bail conditions is that I can’t go to Abbotsham.’
There was a confused pause. ‘Do you want to go to Abbotsham?’
‘Well, I’m rather worried about Skipper.’
‘Skipper Cann?’ said Geoffrey. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘I think he’s in danger, Geoffrey. I think somebody might be trying to kill him.’
‘You mean apart from us?’
‘Well, yes. But not suicide. I’m talking murder.’
‘Murder!’ Geoffrey was shocked. ‘Are you sure?’
Felix thought about the question very seriously. ‘Ninety per cent sure,’ he said. ‘I think somebody sawed through his walking stick and replaced his morphine with Oxycodone.’
‘Have you told the police?’
‘No.’
‘Why on earth not?’
Felix was embarrassed. ‘Well, it’s a long story, Geoffrey. I promised Skipper I wouldn’t.’
‘You what?’
‘Yes. Well. Things got a bit out of hand after the initial . . . incident. I went back to the house and Skipper and I became friendly—’
‘Good God, Felix!’
‘I know. I’m sorry. But the point is, I’d been sort of keeping an eye on him, but now I can’t and I fear he’s in danger, and – as you know – he wouldn’t be in danger if we’d done our job properly in the first place.’
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