by D. S. Butler
‘If we work on the assumption that Albert Johnson recently brought the case down from the loft, do you think he was trying to move the body?’ she asked.
DI Morgan considered that, then said, ‘Maybe he panicked when he got the note and wanted to hide the body somewhere less incriminating.’
‘It must have smelled really bad a few years back,’ Karen said, wrinkling her nose. ‘How could he have lived with the stink?’
DI Morgan stopped by the garden gate and paused. ‘From the state of the suitcase, it looked like it had been in the loft for a while, but not necessarily since the victim’s death. He could have kept the body elsewhere or even buried it for a time. Hopefully, Raj will be able to give us a better idea when he’s done with the post-mortem.’
Karen thought for a moment. ‘The note . . . It must mean someone else knows about the body.’
‘That’s if the note was referring to the body. It’s time to pay for your crime could be directed at something else entirely.’
It could also mean that Albert Johnson’s life was in danger. If he had been attacked or pushed down the stairs, the perpetrator could try again. They’d need to organise an officer to keep watch over the old man in hospital.
Karen looked up at the neighbour’s house. It was a small detached property, very similar in style to Albert Johnson’s house. The front door was at the side, and at the front of the house were two large bay windows. The garden was well maintained, and there was a pretty lilac tree that would be coming into blossom in a month or so. All the flowerbeds were neatly tended. The spent daffodil leaves had been tied up neatly, and it made Karen think of her own garden that had been woefully neglected over the past few months.
‘How do we play this one, sir?’ Karen asked.
‘We’ll tell them the bare minimum. We don’t want anything getting out if we can help it. The last thing we want is the press getting wind of the story. It’s just the type of news item that would run and run.’
Karen shrugged. ‘We might need their help. As the murder was committed a long time ago, the press running a few stories could jog people’s memories and generate some leads.’
‘Hopefully it won’t come to that. Today’s visit is all about gathering background. We need to find out if he had a wife and family, and if so, what happened to them. We’ll just tell the neighbours he had a fall and we’re making sure it was an accident. And if it wasn’t an accident, we don’t want to let on how much we know this early in the investigation.’
‘Right,’ Karen said as she raised her hand to press the doorbell. It made sense to ask after Albert’s family.
The door was opened by a short woman with dark, grey-streaked hair. She’d had it cut in a chin-length style, but it seemed to have a natural kink. It wasn’t quite curly but flicked up at an awkward angle around her jawline. Her eyes were wide, and she gave them a nervous smile.
Karen judged her to be in her late fifties or early sixties.
‘Good morning, sorry to disturb you. I’m DI Morgan, and this is my colleague, DS Karen Hart. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Albert Johnson.’
‘Of course, come in. I’m Maud, Maud Kennedy,’ the woman said, stepping back.
The hallway was narrow and dark, not helped by the densely patterned wallpaper. A marmalade cat meowed plaintively and zigzagged in front of Maud as she walked.
‘It’s Bert’s cat,’ she explained. ‘I’m keeping an eye on her for him.’
She led them into the kitchen, her dress swinging about her legs as she marched on. ‘Stop eating, Harold,’ she called into the kitchen as they passed. ‘The police are here. They need to talk to us.’
Karen peered into the kitchen and saw a balding man wearing spectacles, trying to stuff the last remnants of a sandwich into his mouth.
‘Apologies,’ he spluttered, trying to talk with his mouth full.
Maud led them into the front room. It was a compact little living room, with a large three-piece suite arranged around an open fireplace that was unlit but decorated with dried flowers.
‘Please, take a seat,’ she said formally, pointing to the armchairs.
Karen and DI Morgan both sat down and accepted her offer of a cup of tea.
She bustled off to the kitchen, and her husband shyly walked into the room. He gave them a small smile and shuffled from foot to foot, as though not quite sure what to do next.
‘Thank you for talking to us today, Mr Kennedy.’
‘Oh, no trouble at all. Such a terrible business. Poor old Bert. Do you know if he’s going to pull through?’
‘I’m afraid we haven’t been updated on his condition yet,’ Karen said. ‘I do know he was taken straight to Lincoln County Hospital.’
The man blew out a long breath through pursed lips, making a whistling sound. ‘I feared something like this might happen. He’s been living on his own for far too long, and the stairs in these properties are so steep. All it takes is one missed footstep, and there you go.’ He slapped his hands together, making Karen jump.
‘How long has Albert lived on his own?’ DI Morgan asked.
‘Oh, years. His wife died about ten years ago, and since then it’s just been Bert. He does well, though. He maintains that garden all on his own.’ He sighed heavily. ‘I suppose even if he does get better he won’t be able to move back here. The house will be too much for him, let alone the garden. I suppose it happens to us all in the end.’
Maud walked back into the room carrying a tea tray, and she looked sharply at her husband. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, do sit down. You’re making the place look untidy.’
‘Yes, dear,’ he said meekly, and perched on the edge of the sofa.
Maud set the tray down on the small coffee table and began to pour the tea. She handed a cup to Karen first, then DI Morgan.
‘So, how can we help you?’ Maud asked.
‘I believe you were the one who phoned the emergency services this morning?’ DI Morgan said.
Maud inclined her head. ‘That’s right. I do my knitting in that chair there.’ She pointed to a wingback chair beside the window. ‘Every morning, come rain or shine, Bert gets on his bike and cycles to the local shop. It’s about a mile and a half away, and he’s a little doddery these days, so I do like to keep an eye out to make sure he gets back okay. But this morning, he didn’t even set off. I thought perhaps he was ill, so I decided to go and check on him. He didn’t answer the front door, so I walked around the back, and that’s when I thought I heard him moaning. Honestly, I was terrified it was too late. But the ambulance rushed off with him, and I took that as a good sign. They wouldn’t have been in such a hurry if they thought he couldn’t make it, would they?’
‘I’m sure the paramedics did everything they could for Albert,’ Karen said. ‘I think he’ll be very thankful when he recovers.’
‘I do hope he’s okay. He’s a good neighbour, and we’ve lived opposite him for twenty years. He doesn’t socialise really but always says good morning, and he gives me some of his apples in September so I can make him an apple pie.’ Maud blinked, and sniffed loudly.
‘We were just asking your husband about Albert’s wife,’ Karen said.
‘She died over ten years ago. Bert was devastated – he didn’t want to leave the house even though there are some lovely bungalows in Skellingthorpe now that would be more suitable, but he said he didn’t want to leave his home. It had so many good memories for him, you see.’
Karen took a sip of the hot tea. She suspected Albert had more reasons for staying at the property than he’d let on. The major one being the dead body he’d stashed in a suitcase. But she could understand Albert’s reluctance to leave his memories behind, too. After her husband and daughter had passed away, she hadn’t wanted to leave their family home. Karen couldn’t imagine leaving the house where they’d shared so many times together.
‘What was Albert’s wife’s name?’ DI Morgan asked.
‘Veronica,’ Maud said.
Maud shook her head. ‘No, they didn’t have children of their own. Bert was the head of the local secondary school for a while. It’s called the Academy now, but in his day, it was Greenhill Secondary School. He liked to joke he had enough children in his life, with his job.’ Maud smiled.
DI Morgan and Karen asked a few more questions, trying to get an idea of the type of man Albert Johnson was, but according to the Kennedys, Albert had been a very ordinary old man. He enjoyed gardening and reading, and had been an upstanding member of the community for years.
‘I must say,’ Maud commented with a smile, ‘it’s refreshing to find the police so interested in a case like this. So often you read about the police not caring anymore.’
‘You don’t think it was anything other than an accident, do you?’ Harold said suddenly.
Karen had almost forgotten he was sitting there. She shook her head. ‘There were no signs of a break-in. But we like to be thorough and look into things, just to be on the safe side.’
‘Honestly, what a question! We appreciate everything you do, officer. Thank you very much,’ Maud said, shooting a disparaging look at her husband.
When they got back into the fleet vehicle, DI Morgan said he’d drive, giving Karen the chance to phone the station and catch up with Rick. She gave him a quick update.
‘We’ve spoken to the neighbours, and by all accounts Albert Johnson was a well-respected man. He used to be the headmaster at Greenhill Secondary School, and his wife, Veronica, died of natural causes ten years ago. I’d like you to look up the death certificate on that though, Rick.’
‘Already done it, Sarge, and I have an electronic copy. It all looks above board. And records show his wife was cremated.’
‘Right, so the body in the suitcase isn’t her.’
‘Doesn’t look like it. Is it true the body was wrapped up like a mummy?’
Karen frowned. ‘Who told you that?’ Police stations were terrible places for spreading unreliable gossip and rumours.
‘I just went to get a sandwich from the canteen, and a group of officers were talking about it.’
‘Well, it’s not a mummy. The body is probably decades old, but it’s mostly skeletal. There are a few clothing fragments, hair and some leathery skin remaining, but that’s about it. There are no mummy wrappings, that’s for sure. Now, can you dig up more information on Albert Johnson, particularly focusing on what he was doing twenty to forty years ago?’
‘Absolutely, Sarge. I’ll get right on it.’
‘If Albert Johnson won’t tell us what happened, we need to put the pieces of this puzzle together ourselves.’
Karen pressed her fingers against her temples. This case was already giving her a headache. If they weren’t able to get the answers they needed from Albert Johnson, they’d need to dig deep to find the link between the body in the suitcase and the note they’d found in the old man’s kitchen.
The body was old, but the note was not. They needed to find out who’d sent that ominous message to Albert as soon as possible.
CHAPTER FOUR
DI Morgan dropped Karen off at Lincoln County Hospital, so she could check on Albert Johnson’s condition while he headed back to Nettleham to brief the team and talk to Superintendent Michelle Murray.
Karen entered into the hospital through the main entrance. It was busy and confusing. She’d been there only a few months ago, working on another case, but she was sure they’d changed things around. She put her hands in her pockets and waited for her turn by the reception desk.
She gave her name and held up her warrant card, and asked where she could find Albert Johnson. The woman behind the counter gave Karen directions to the intensive care unit. It didn’t take her long to find it.
At the entrance to the ward, she followed the instructions, using a squirt of the alcohol hand sanitiser and pressing the green button.
The staff nurse who came to the door smiled. ‘Can I help?’
Karen showed her warrant card again. ‘My name is DS Hart. I’d like to talk to the person in charge of treatment for Albert Johnson. He was brought in this morning.’
The nurse pointed to the row of chairs behind Karen. ‘If you’d like to take a seat in the waiting area, I’ll try to find the doctor for you.’
‘Thank you.’
There were a few magazines on the low table beside the plastic chairs, but Karen ignored them. She’d read an article recently detailing how bacteria and viruses could linger on the pages of magazines in doctors’ waiting rooms, and she imagined the same was true of a hospital.
The walls were covered with posters, displaying slogans such as ‘Caring isn’t sharing’ alongside pictures of various horrible bugs.
She had to wait for about ten minutes before a harassed-looking man in a white coat walked into the waiting area. He was short with dark-brown hair and bushy eyebrows, which knitted together in a frown as he approached Karen. He stuck out his hand. ‘I’m Dr Clark. Are you DS Hart?’
Karen shook his hand. ‘Yes. Are you the doctor treating Albert Johnson?’
‘I am. But I can tell you now he’s not going to be talking to anyone for a while. He’s been in and out of consciousness since he arrived. He suffered a nasty blow to the head from his fall and had a heart attack in the ambulance.’
‘Do you think he’ll recover?’
‘Difficult to say at his age. I suppose you want to talk to him to find out who did this. We had an old lady in last week. Two men had broken into her house and roughed her up.’ Dr Clark glared at Karen as though she were personally responsible.
‘We don’t know if anyone else was involved in Albert Johnson’s fall.’
The doctor’s frown deepened. ‘Then why do you want to talk to him?’
‘It’s important to the case I’m working on. He has vital information.’
Dr Clark huffed. ‘Well, give him a few days to recover, at least. He’s not up to questioning yet.’
She’d experienced some hostility from doctors and nurses in the past. Only because they were very protective of their patients, which was a good thing. People were vulnerable in hospital and often needed someone on their side, looking out for their interests, and in this case, the doctor had no idea what they’d found in Albert’s house.
‘Do you know if Albert has communicated with anyone since he’s been admitted?’
‘I wouldn’t know. He hasn’t said anything in my presence; you’d have to speak to the nurses. I’ll ask them to come out and talk to you.’
‘Thank you,’ Karen said, and sat back down to wait.
It was another ten minutes before someone came out. It was the same staff nurse who’d opened the door to Karen earlier, but now she wasn’t smiling. Her pretty features were contorted into a scowl.
Karen smiled and stood up, hoping to get the nurse on side. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy. I just wondered whether Albert Johnson has spoken to anyone since he’s been here. Has he said anything to you?’
‘What kind of thing?’
‘Anything at all. I’d be interested in anything you heard him say.’
‘Sorry, I can’t help you. He was muttering a few things here and there.’ The nurse paused. ‘He was in a panic when he first came in, screaming for help and shouting at the team treating him. Since then he’s been sedated and hasn’t said a word.’
‘Right. Thanks for your help.’
She turned to leave, and the nurse said, ‘You know, it’s not very nice, what you’re doing.’
Karen turned back. ‘What I’m doing?’
‘He’s an old man. He’s going to need time to recuperate. Surely your questions could wait until he’s recovered.’
Karen took a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid it can’t wait. We’re going to need to talk to Albert as soon as he wakes up.’
The nurse crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.
She saw Karen as th
e bad guy in this situation. Of course she had no idea the sweet old man she was caring for had kept a dead body in his house for decades.
By the time DI Morgan got back to Nettleham headquarters, it was almost one p.m. He briefed Sophie and Rick, making sure they understood the tasks assigned to them. They updated him on how they were progressing in digging into Albert Johnson’s background.
Satisfied with how they were getting on, he left Rick on the phone to the council and Sophie trawling through various pictures of suitcases in an online database, and headed upstairs to update Superintendent Murray.
‘I don’t want this getting out to the press,’ she said before DI Morgan had even sat down.
‘Absolutely, ma’am. We’ll keep it as quiet as possible.’
‘So where are we with this investigation?’
‘The body is old. Raj thinks our victim has been dead at least twenty years.’
‘So we’re dealing with a cold case?’
‘Sort of. The body was found in an upstairs bedroom, in a suitcase. But we suspect it was recently moved, probably by Albert Johnson, the exertion then causing him to fall and injure himself. A printed note was found in the kitchen with the words It’s time to pay for your crime. The concerning element is the fact the note looks new. At least, it didn’t look decades old to me.’
The superintendent held the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. ‘I’m not liking the sound of this.’
‘It’s an unusual one,’ DI Morgan said. ‘Right now, we don’t have much to work with.’
‘Was Albert Johnson married?’
DI Morgan nodded. ‘That was our first thought, too. We wondered if it was the spouse or a family member and he’d managed to keep it covered up all this time, but his wife died ten years ago, so it’s unlikely to be her body. Plus, there was a death certificate issued, and all the details seem to be in order. She was cremated. They have no children, so we need to expand our scope of potential victims.’
Superintendent Murray frowned. ‘Yes, we do. Has he lived in the area all his life?’
‘I’ve got DC Cooper and DC Jones both working hard looking into his background. As far as we know, he’s lived in Skellingthorpe for a very long time. We’re looking at the deeds to see when he purchased the house. He used to be the headmaster of Greenhill Secondary School.’