by Alex Carver
“Maybe,” Stone said, matching his partner’s smile. “Are you psychic, Jerry?”
“I don’t think he can be psychic,” Burke ventured.
“Why’s that?”
“Well, if he was psychic, he’d have known we were coming,” Burke said. “And he’d have either been somewhere else or dressed, at the least he’d have been in better boxers, instead of those stupid Simpsons things.”
Stone nodded. “Very true. I guess you’re not psychic after all, Jerry, so why mention shotguns, especially sawn-offs?” His gaze shifted from the resolutely silent Jerry to Ben, who was trying to look innocent, and not at all angry with his brother. “How about you, Ben, do you know why Jerry brought up sawn-offs?”
“How the hell should I know?” Ben snapped irritably. “You know what an idiot Jez can be, always talking about stupid shit.” For a moment Jerry looked as though he was going to protest, but he held his tongue when he saw the warning look in his brother’s eyes. “If you’re gonna search the place, get on and do it. You’re not gonna find anything.”
6
Stone and Burke had not long finished taking the official statements of David Leigh and the other witnesses to the robbery, when DCI Collins strode into their office.
“Sir,” Stone acknowledged his superior without taking his eyes off the keyboard in front of him – he couldn’t touch-type, and not looking at what he was doing would only slow him down significantly, and leave typos in the statement he was putting on the system. Fixing the typos would make an already time-consuming job take a lot longer, and leave him very irritable.
“How’s the investigation going?” Collins asked. “Any breaks?”
Only sixteen hours had passed since the robbery, Stone wasn’t surprised that the DCI was chasing a result though; quick results looked good for the department, and for the DCI, and Collins liked things that made him looked good. “It looks like the Ice-cream Boys, Ben and Jerry Logan, are our boys, sir, but it could take time to prove it.”
“Why’s that?” Collins was pleased to hear that they had suspects, but not so pleased by the lack of an arrest.
“We’ve got a witness who spotted a tattoo on the neck of one of the blaggers, it matches a piece of ink Jerry Logan got recently, and both brothers match the physical descriptions we have, such as they are; not only that but Rose Leigh heard a faint accent when the blaggers spoke, which the Ice-Cream Boys have. They were both wearing masks during the actual robbery, though, so we don’t have positive I.D.s on them yet.” Stone took a sip of his coffee and grimaced when he discovered it was cold. “We’re trying to track down the car they used, and forensics are looking for anything that might link them to the robbery, that’s likely to take some time.”
Collins considered for a few moments and then nodded. “Keep me up to date,” he told Stone. “I want to know the moment you’ve got a result.”
“Yes, sir.” Stone looked over at his partner in time to see him roll his eyes, he had to fight the urge to copy him.
*****
“Hello, Nathan.”
Stone recognised the voice even before he turned to face the speaker.
“Louisa.” His voice was neutral as he greeted the reporter. It didn’t surprise him to find Louisa Orchard waiting by his car as he left the station for the evening; she had been trying, without success, to get hold of him all day.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Louisa said in a voice that suggested she was used to people avoiding her, and used to finding ways to get them to talk to her when they didn’t want to. “I hear you’re in charge of the investigation into the robbery at the Rock Radio festival – have you any suspects yet?”
“You know I can’t comment on that while the investigation’s ongoing, but we’re doing everything possible to find the people responsible. We have leads we’re pursuing, and we’re confident they will result in arrests soon.”
Louisa looked dubious at that, she had heard such statements many times before, and seen how often they were proved accurate. “That’s the standard crap you’re supposed to give me, Nate, now how about you give me something I can actually use. Is it true the thieves got away with more than fifty grand? And that they used sawn-off shotguns?”
Stone considered the questions for a few moments before he nodded. “We don’t know exactly how much was stolen, it was being counted when the robbery happened, but we do know they stole more than forty thousand pounds; and yes, they did use sawn-off shotguns. No-one was hurt beyond a few headaches, though.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Louisa asked once she had scribbled that down. “Come on, Nate, there’s got to be something else you can give me - I know about the blue Astra you guys are interested in. How about the elderly dog-walker that got knocked down? Anything you can give me there? Is there a connection between the two, the robbery and the hit-and-run?”
“Why would you think that?” Stone asked. He wasn’t aware that there was a link between the two incidents, but it didn’t surprise him that Louisa was trying to combine the two stories into something bigger. “The hit-and-run happened five miles from the festival; we’ve got no reason for thinking there’s a connection between it and the robbery.”
Louisa gave a knowing smile. “Is that the truth, or just the official answer?”
“The truth,” Stone told her. “If you find any reason to think differently, let me know.”
7
Stone pulled open the door and entered Branton police station, ready for another day of investigating. Almost immediately he was hailed by the duty sergeant at the counter.
“Nate.”
“Bill.” There was a cautious note to Stone’s voice as he acknowledged the sergeant.
“Can you spare a minute?” Sergeant Frost asked.
“What’s up?”
“This is Mrs Cromwell,” Frost indicated the lady at the counter. “She’d like to speak to someone about the hit-and-run on Sunday night. Mason and Grey aren’t in yet; would you mind?”
Stone was tempted to say that yes, he would mind, but that was the kind of thing Mason would say, and he had no desire for anyone to consider them similar, in any way. “Sure,” he said with a nod of his head. “If you’ll come with me, Mrs Cromwell, I’ll take you up to my office and you can have a cup of tea while you tell me how I can help.”
“Thank you.” Mrs Cromwell made her slow way through the security door Stone was holding open.
“Stephen, would you get a cup of tea for Mrs Cromwell,” Stone requested of his partner when they reached his office. “While we wait for the tea, Mrs Cromwell, would you care for a biscuit?” He fished in the bottom drawer of his desk for the packet of digestives he kept there to stave off the cravings for a cigarette, cravings that were, thankfully, getting fewer and farther between.
Burke returned to the office in a little over five minutes, bearing a tray on which he had one of the few china cups to be found in the second floor’s small kitchen.
“Thank you, Stephen.” Stone waited until his visitor had taken a sip of her tea, and then he addressed her. “Now, why don’t you tell me how I can help you, Mrs Cromwell; Sergeant Frost said you want to speak to someone about the hit-and-run that took place on Sunday night.”
“That’s right, inspector. I saw the picture in the paper this morning of the gentleman who was knocked down – I think he’s my neighbour, Alan Bollard. It was hard to be sure, the picture wasn’t very good, but I think it’s him.”
Stone had seen the picture in the paper and had to agree with her, it wasn’t very good, but he knew it could have been worse – Mason had at least waited until the mystery gentleman had been cleaned up in hospital before he took the picture.
“It looked like him, and I didn’t see Alan yesterday.”
“Do you normally see Mr Bollard?” Stone asked.
Mrs Cromwell nodded, making the cup rattle in the saucer she was holding. “Yes, I see him every day, walking his dog or going to the shop; h
e’s a good neighbour, always pops in to see if I need anything.”
“That’s good of him. I’m sure it’s a comfort to have such a considerate neighbour.”
“It is. I don’t get out much now, even with my stick, and my daughter can’t get over to help me out or take me shopping as often as I’d like, so it’s a real help that Alan is willing to get bread or milk for me when I need it. I’m not sure what I’d do without him.”
Her words made Stone feel a little guilty, as he thought about how long it had been since he last checked on his grandmother. “You say Mr Bollard has a dog,” he said, resolving to pay his grandmother a visit that evening. “Could you describe it?”
Mrs Cromwell sipped at her tea while she thought about the question. “I’ve never been very good with animals,” she admitted. “It’s some kind of mongrel, I think, part Labrador and part something else.”
“That sounds like the dog that was found with the gentleman who was run down,” Stone said. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” Pushing his chair back, he got to his feet.
“What’re you looking for?” DS Mason asked suspiciously when he found Stone going through his desk.
“I’m after the photographs you took of your hit-and-run victim’s dog,” Stone told him. “I’ve got a lady in my office who thinks she might be his neighbour. She’s pretty sure she recognised him from the paper this morning; I want to see if the dog looks familiar, if it does I’ll take her to the hospital so she can make a positive ID on the guy.”
“Why wasn’t I called?” Mason wanted to know. He stepped forward, as though he was going to force Stone away from his desk. “The hit-and-run is my case.”
“I know, Justin, but the lady was in reception when I got here; Sergeant Frost tried to get hold of you, but when he couldn’t, he asked me to speak to her.”
Through gritted teeth, Mason said, “Thank you, Nathan, I can take over now, though.”
“I don’t think so,” Stone disagreed. “I’ll finish up with Mrs Cromwell, I’ll let you know if she’s able to provide a positive identification.” He found the photos he was looking for and turned away.
“Nathan, sir!” Mason protested, following Stone as he headed back to his office, where he was stopped by the door, which was shut in his face.
*****
While Burke remained at the office, Stone took Mrs Cromwell, who was more confident that the man featured in the paper was her neighbour after seeing pictures of his dog, to the hospital.
Together they stood at the foot of the bed, looking at the elderly hit-and-run victim, who was heavily bandaged and hooked up to a number of machines. They remained like that for a minute or so before Stone asked, “Are you sure this is your neighbour?” of Mrs Cromwell.
Mrs Cromwell nodded slowly. “Yes, that’s him. Poor Alan, he never did anything to anyone, why would anyone run him down.”
“We suspect it was an accident, rather than deliberate,” Stone told her. “Not that that makes this any better.” He intended the comment to be reassuring, but it didn’t sound it to his ears. “Does he have any family? Anyone we should contact?”
“He has a sister in Australia, and a nephew in Canada, I think. He hears from his sister occasionally, but I don’t think he’s had any contact with his nephew since he left.” Mrs Cromwell was silent for a few moments when a noise came from the man in the bed. “I have his sister’s number at home somewhere, he gave it to me in case of an emergency. I’ll look it out when I get home and call her; I don’t suppose she’ll be able to come anytime soon, but she should know what’s happened to Alan.”
“That’s good of you, Mrs Cromwell,” Stone said, “but if you’d prefer, you can give me the number and I’ll arrange for someone to call her.”
“Thank you. Alan has told me about his sister, but I’ve never spoken to her; I’m not sure I’d be able to find the words to tell her what’s happened.” Her relief at not having to make the call showed on her face.
“Would you like to go home now?”
Mrs Cromwell shook her head. “I think I’ll stay for a while; after everything he’s done for me, it doesn’t seem right to leave Alan here on his own, especially when his family is so far away.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate the company, even if he doesn’t seem aware of it,” Stone said. “I’ll get the nurses to arrange a cab for you when you’re ready to go home.” She smiled at him in gratitude. “It’s the least I can do since you’ve solved the mystery of who Mr Bollard is.” From his pocket, he took out a card. “When you find the number for Mr Bollard’s sister, you can get me on this number.”
Stone was at the door when he thought of something and turned back. “We have Mr Bollard’s dog in the kennels with our canine units - do you know of anyone who could take her? She’s being well looked after, but I’m sure she’d be happier with someone she knows.”
“I suppose I could take her,” Mrs Cromwell said after a brief hesitation. “Daisy knows me, and I have a spare key to Alan’s house so I can get her food and things from there.”
“Thank you. I’ll have a constable deliver Daisy this evening, if that’s alright.”
8
Stone arrived back at the office bearing a couple of bags, one from Subway and the other from Greggs the bakery. “I got us lunch,” he told Burke, who was going through the latest information from the forensics team. “I got a meatball marinara sub and a Belgian bun for you.”
Settling himself in his chair, Stone took out his own lunch, a turkey, ham and cheese sub, and was about to take a bite when Burke stopped him.
“You might want to hold off on that, Collins wants to see you.”
“What about?” Stone asked, reluctantly re-wrapping his sub.
“I don’t know for sure, but,” Burke lowered his voice, “Justin went to see him after you left to take Mrs Cromwell to the hospital – he was in with Collins for a while and when he came out he was looking very pleased with himself, the way he does when he thinks he’s got one up on someone.”
“I must have hurt his feelings,” Stone remarked, giving every appearance of being concerned. “I guess I’d better go and see what the boss wants.” He caught the satisfied look on Mason’s face as he passed his subordinate’s desk but ignored it.
“Stephen said you want to see me,” he said after being invited to enter the DCI’s office.
“Yes. Have a seat, Nate,” Collins told him.
Stone knew his superior well enough to know that he wasn’t in all that much trouble - Collins never invited someone to sit if he was going to bawl them out.
“I had Mason in here earlier,” Collins said after a few moments. “He isn’t very happy with you.”
Stone gave an amused snort. “He never is.”
“True,” Collins agreed. “But on this occasion, I think he may have cause. Mason claims you are trying to steal the hit-and-run case from him – that you spoke to a Mrs Cromwell this morning, who should have been dealt with by him.”
Stone had to resist the urge to laugh; it was a bit of an effort, given how amusing he found the suggestion, and it showed on his face.
“I’m glad you can see the humour in this, Nate,” Collins said. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me what happened.”
“Sure. Mrs Cromwell was in reception when I arrived this morning; Sergeant Frost had tried to get hold of Justin but couldn’t, so he asked me to have a word with her, which I did. By the time I discovered she could identify the gentleman who was knocked down on Sunday night, Justin had arrived. I could have let him take over, but Mrs Cromwell is an elderly woman, and I thought it best not to confuse her.
“Besides, would you really want Justin dealing with an elderly woman? She was only here to help us and her neighbour by doing her civic duty; he’d have left her feeling as though she was a suspect.”
Collins nodded. “That’s true. He’s never been the gentlest of people when it comes to questioning. So, was she able to make a positive identification?”
“Yes. His name’s Alan Bollard and he lives at Forty-Seven Foxholes Road, which, according to the map, is just two streets away from where he was knocked down. He has no enemies, no family in the UK, no nothing really. According to Mrs Cromwell, he’s just a nice old man who likes to make himself useful to his neighbours. She doesn’t know for sure, but she thinks he was out with his dog at that time of the night because he has difficulty sleeping, he’s on medication that keeps him awake, and walking Daisy helps.
“Oh, and she’s agreed to take Daisy so we don’t have to keep her in the canine unit. I’ve given Justin all of this information, so he’s up to date.”
“From the sounds of it,” Collins said, “Justin’s making a fuss about nothing, like usual. I’ll have a word with him. In the meantime, you’d better get on with your own investigation. I want to hear you’re making progress, and are getting ready to make an arrest.”
9
Stone waited for the dimly lit couple to move out of the way, and then he pulled off the road into the drive. He stopped in front of the garage, under the glow of the security light he had had installed, and got out. As he made his way up to the front door, he saw his grandmother peering out from behind the living room curtains to see who was there. He gave her a wave, but it was a few moments before recognition dawned and she returned it; she disappeared then, he assumed so she could answer the door to him.
“Evening, gran,” he said when the door opened. He was surprised, and disturbed, by her appearance – she seemed to have shrunk since the last time he saw her; she had always been small, but now she was so slight there seemed nothing of her. The sight of her, looking diminished and sickly, made him feel even more guilty about his failure to visit regularly and make sure that she was alright.
“Nathan, what’s up?” Barbra Stone asked, her voice betraying how unexpected his visit was.