by D. S. Butler
It was worth a try. Waiting patiently didn’t seem to be getting him anywhere.
So Rick made himself comfortable and proceeded to tell Albert all about his trip home. He told him all about his mother’s early-onset dementia and how the disease had changed her.
‘I’d always thought it was a mental thing,’ Rick said. ‘I’m surprised at how physical the disease is as well. She’s gone from a healthy woman who used to walk two miles to work every day, to someone who needs to use a wheelchair even for short distances. Luckily we had a room downstairs that we could use for a bedroom, because there’s no way she could manage the stairs these days.’ He paused and looked at Albert’s face.
The old man had a little bit of colour back in his cheeks. He didn’t look quite as bad as when Rick had first seen him, but he still had a greyish tinge.
‘I did think about getting a stairlift installed so she could get upstairs, but I suppose there’s not really any point. The bathroom is downstairs and so is the kitchen and her bedroom, and that’s all she needs, really. Maybe you should think of getting a stairlift installed, Mr Johnson.’
Rick paused when he noticed a tiny tremor in Albert’s little finger, but then the old man stilled, and Rick began to think he must have imagined it.
‘You’ll be looking for a new place when you get out of here,’ Rick said. ‘It’s not safe for you to be back in your house with those steep stairs. I didn’t see them, but the officers I spoke to said they were ever so steep. It’s no surprise you fell. I suppose it was an accident waiting to happen.’
This time there was a definite movement. Albert’s fists clenched, gripping the sheet, and he opened his eyes and raised himself up on his elbows. ‘I’m not a doddering old man,’ he growled in a hoarse voice. ‘I’m quite capable of looking after myself. I didn’t fall, I was pushed.’
Startled, Rick leaned forward in his chair. ‘Who pushed you? Who sent you that threatening note?’
Albert narrowed his eyes. ‘How do I know you’re really a . . . policeman?’
His voice was rough and gravelly, but he was talking. That was the main thing. Now, maybe they’d finally get to the bottom of this.
‘I’ve got my warrant card here. Look.’ Rick held out his ID.
Albert peered at it suspiciously. His eyebrows came together, wrinkling his pale, papery skin.
‘I don’t know who sent the note.’ He paused to draw in a raspy breath. ‘And I don’t know who pushed me.’
‘You must have some idea. If you don’t tell me, how can we protect you? Talk to me, and we can make sure whoever pushed you doesn’t come back to finish the job.’
Albert hesitated.
Rick was desperate to ask him about the body in the suitcase but wanted to get him on side first.
Albert licked his thin, cracked lips. ‘First, you have to promise me no one is allowed in my house without my say-so.’ He clutched at his stomach and grimaced. ‘Can I have some . . . water?’
Rick stood, reached for the pitcher of water and poured some in a paper cup before passing it to Albert.
The old man’s hand trembled and he dropped the cup. The water soaked the sheets, and the cup tumbled to the floor.
Rick bent down to pick it up, then saw Albert was struggling for air. His face began to turn purple as he desperately tried to suck in a breath.
No. This could not be happening. Not now. He hadn’t even asked him about the body yet.
The machine started beeping.
Rick rushed to the door to call for help, but a nurse was already heading towards him.
He turned back to Albert. ‘Did you kill Oliver Fox? Did you see who pushed you, Mr Johnson?’
But Albert had fallen back against his pillows. Rick watched his chest, praying it would rise and fall with a breath, but there was no movement. Albert lay motionless.
He couldn’t believe this was happening. Not now, when he’d been so close to getting answers.
He moved back and watched the doctors and nurses desperately work on Albert before a nurse ushered him out of the room.
Rick stood outside as the team tried to resuscitate the old man.
‘Is he going to be all right?’ Rick asked when a nurse he recognised from the day before left Albert’s room. It was a silly question. He could tell from the look on her face that Albert certainly wasn’t all right.
She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. He had another heart attack.’
‘He’s dead?’
The nurse lowered her head. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to ask your questions.’
Rick ran a hand through his hair. Was it his fault? He’d known that Albert Johnson was very ill. The man had already had one heart attack. Rick shouldn’t have been pestering him like that.
‘I was in there,’ Rick said. ‘I was talking to him. I asked him some questions, which seemed to upset him . . . Do you think it was my fault?’
The nurse shook her head. ‘No, don’t think like that. He’d already had one major heart attack, so the chances of him having a follow-up were very high. At his age, it was too much for his body to recover from.’ She smiled at Rick. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself. You were just doing your job.’
Rick thanked her, but he couldn’t help feeling as though he’d seriously messed up.
How horrible that there were none of Albert’s family or friends around him when he died; just Rick demanding answers. Albert may have had a skeleton stashed away in a suitcase in his house, but Rick still felt it was sad there was no one there for him at the end.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, sighing heavily. What now? He’d blown their only chance of getting answers.
Now, it was looking more and more likely they’d never find the reason the skeleton had been hidden in that house. Albert’s secrets had died with him.
Karen was back at the station when she got the phone call from Rick.
‘Sarge, I’m afraid we’re not going to get anything from Albert Johnson now,’ Rick said. ‘He passed away a few minutes ago.’
Karen slumped in her chair. After finding out a huge number of people could have a motive for killing Oliver Fox, Karen had been hoping to get some answers from Albert Johnson, but now they would never get any help from their number-one suspect.
‘This investigation is getting more complicated by the minute,’ Karen said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes. I was talking to him at the end, just nattering on about stuff, and he woke up. He said he didn’t fall downstairs. He told me he was pushed, and when I asked him who pushed him . . . well, that’s when the machine started going crazy, and all hell broke loose.’
‘So he didn’t give you a name?’
‘No, nothing. He just said he was pushed, and that was it really.’
‘He woke up, told you that and then had a heart attack?’
‘That about sums it up, yes.’
Karen’s phone began to vibrate on the desk, but she ignored it. ‘We need our luck to turn around on this case. We went to speak to DI Goodfield, the SIO on the original investigation. He told me about a boy who accused Oliver Fox of abuse back in the late eighties. One theory we’re considering is maybe Albert Johnson stumbled across Oliver Fox with a student and decided to administer his own justice.’
‘I’m not sure how we’ll find out what happened now, boss,’ Rick said. ‘Any clues Albert could have given us have died with him.’
Karen leaned forward and rested her hand on her forehead. She’d really been holding out hope that Albert Johnson would cooperate when he woke up.
‘I’m heading back to the station now, Sarge.’
‘All right, I’ll see you soon.’
She hung up and then picked up her mobile as it beeped and scrolled through the multiple messages from her sister. Mostly a set of ‘yippee!’ and celebration GIFs. Karen shook her head and put her phone back on the desk. She had to be crazy to consider going out on a date in the mid
dle of all this.
Sophie walked past Karen’s desk on the way to the photocopier. ‘Was that about your date?’ she asked, nodding at Karen’s mobile.
‘Yes, it was a message from my sister.’
Sophie’s eyes lit up. ‘You’ve decided to go, then?’
‘Yes. I must be mad. But enough about my social life. Rick just called. We’ve had a serious setback. Albert Johnson died a few minutes ago.’
‘Oh, crap.’
‘My sentiments exactly.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘The post-mortem report is back, Sarge,’ Sophie said, looking over the top of her computer monitor.
Karen checked her email and saw Raj had sent the post-mortem and copied in the whole team. She double-clicked on the attachment to open the report, and then quickly scanned the contents. There were no big surprises. The cause of death was likely to be the blow to the left side of Oliver Fox’s skull.
Sophie walked across to Karen’s desk. ‘The dental records have confirmed the victim was Oliver Fox.’
‘The post-mortem is the only thing that’s given us the expected result,’ Karen said. ‘Everything else about this case is confusing. Just when I think I know where the investigation is heading, we find more information that turns everything upside down.’
Karen read the report in more detail, with Sophie looking over her shoulder.
Although the post-mortem identified the most likely cause of death was a blow to the head, extra notes had been added, which stated the blow to the head could have been caused by a blunt instrument or a fall. If they couldn’t rule out a fall, it was still possible Oliver Fox’s death had been an accident. Although the fact his body had been hidden for thirty years made Karen think that was unlikely.
‘I guess Raj’s bone expert couldn’t help much. The report just backs up Raj’s original theory,’ Sophie said, leaning against Karen’s desk.
‘It looks that way,’ Karen said, and glanced at the clock on the corner of her computer screen. ‘Now I have to go and tell Superintendent Murray that our main suspect in the case has passed away.’
Sophie pulled a face. ‘The superintendent is not going to be very happy.’
That was an understatement. She would be fuming. Luckily, she wasn’t the type of boss to take out her frustrations on the team, but the assistant commissioner was piling on the pressure to get this case solved because he was mates with the victim’s brother. She was not going to take the news well.
Since they’d come back from DI Goodfield’s, Karen had buried herself in paperwork, thankful that the superintendent was busy with meetings all afternoon. But her last meeting should have finished by now, and Karen couldn’t put it off much longer.
She and DI Morgan had agreed to put on a united front when they told the superintendent that there was a strong possibility Oliver Fox had abused schoolboys under his care in the eighties. Superintendent Murray would be frustrated to hear Albert Johnson had died, but being told their victim in the suitcase could be a child abuser took things to a whole new level.
She would want to know how much Robert Fox knew about the accusations levelled against his brother. It was a good question. DI Goodfield’s account suggested he was well aware of his brother’s behaviour. As Fox had been working for Lincolnshire Police at the time, he could have used his influence to cover up his brother’s crime and prevent a thorough investigation into Mark Bell’s allegations.
‘I’d better go and speak to the superintendent now. I can’t put it off forever. Is DI Morgan still in his office?’ Karen asked Sophie.
Karen couldn’t quite see into the office from where she was sat behind her computer.
Sophie, who was sitting on the edge of the desk, said, ‘Yep. He doesn’t look happy, though. In fact, it seems like he’s looking forward to speaking to the superintendent almost as much as you.’
Karen left Sophie going through the finer details of the post-mortem report and stuck her head around the door of DI Morgan’s office.
‘Ready to go upstairs?’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Is it that time already? I’m not looking forward to this.’
They walked together along the corridor and up the stairs to the superintendent’s office. Her secretary was just about to leave for the day and was picking up her handbag as they arrived.
‘She’s been expecting you,’ Pamela said. ‘Go straight in.’
DI Morgan rapped on the door and then opened it, and Karen followed him inside.
‘What have you got for me?’ Superintendent Murray looked up from her desk. She was frowning already, which Karen took to be a bad sign.
As they slid into the seats in front of the superintendent’s desk, DI Morgan began to describe what they had uncovered. The superintendent’s expression darkened as he explained the situation.
When he’d finished, she said, ‘So, to summarise, you’re telling me our main suspect is dead, and on top of that, our victim is a suspected child abuser?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ DI Morgan said.
She exhaled a long breath and put her head in her hands. ‘I spoke to the assistant commissioner not half an hour ago and assured him we are making progress.’
‘To be fair, we have made some progress, ma’am,’ DI Morgan said. ‘The fact that Oliver Fox could have been abusing students gives us a lot of potential suspects.’
Superintendent Murray lifted her head and steepled her fingers beneath her chin. ‘We’ve got too many suspects. The investigation has suddenly multiplied in scope.’
Karen couldn’t argue with that.
‘How reliable do you think DI Goodfield’s information is?’ the superintendent asked her.
‘He certainly wasn’t the drunk, unreliable ex-copper I was expecting after what Robert Fox told us, ma’am. He was obviously deeply affected by what happened to Mark Bell, the young lad who’d come forward with the allegations and later hanged himself. I believe he told us the truth. How do you want us to handle this? Detective Superintendent Fox is bound to be in touch soon, and . . .’ Karen trailed off.
‘This isn’t 1988 anymore,’ Superintendent Murray replied. ‘Oliver Fox and his brother do not have the old boys’ network protecting them now. At the same time, we can’t jump to conclusions. Right now we have DI Goodfield’s version of events, in which he levels extremely serious allegations against our victim. We have no evidence that Detective Superintendent Fox knew about his brother’s actions.’
She broke off, shook her head, and then got to her feet and began pacing behind her desk.
‘If the allegations are true, ma’am, it’s very likely that Mark Bell wasn’t the only boy involved,’ Karen said. ‘If we widen the investigation and talk to the other boys in his classes and the football club, we’d have more to go on.’
The superintendent pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Yes, and you should talk to Mark Bell’s mother. We can’t speak to Mark himself, but we can corroborate DI Goodfield’s version of events by talking to the mother.’
‘Sophie is trying to track her down, ma’am. According to DI Goodfield, she moved out of the area shortly after her son died.’
Superintendent Murray put her hands on the back of her chair and looked at DI Morgan and Karen in turn. ‘I wanted to keep this investigation as quiet as possible, but as the nature of this case has changed, I really don’t see how we can keep things quiet much longer. As soon as you start questioning former staff and students of the school, rumours are going to start.’
‘I don’t see how we can help that, ma’am,’ DI Morgan said.
She sighed heavily. ‘No, neither can I. The assistant commissioner is not going to be pleased.’
Karen didn’t really care what the assistant commissioner thought. For her, it was far more important to get to the bottom of this dark crime. They’d started this case thinking they had one victim – a body in a suitcase. But now it seemed there could be many more.
With Al
bert Johnson dead, the chances of them finding out who killed Oliver Fox were rapidly diminishing. The only evidence they had to go on was the child abuse allegations. Karen found it hard to believe that Mark Bell was Oliver’s only victim. If they could track down other boys Oliver Fox had abused, maybe then they could get some answers, or at least some solid suspects.
As they left Superintendent Murray’s office, she was picking up the phone, ready to call the assistant commissioner.
‘That wasn’t quite as bad as I’d expected,’ Karen said as she shut the office door behind them.
‘It’s days like these when I want to stay a detective inspector. I don’t envy Superintendent Murray the call she’s making.’
Karen agreed. She preferred to be actively investigating a case rather than overseeing it. Dealing with politics and paperwork was not what she’d joined up for.
When they reached the main office downstairs, Karen’s mobile phone started to buzz in her pocket. DI Morgan went back to his office, and Karen walked over to her desk, pulling her mobile from her pocket. It was her sister.
She tapped the answer icon. ‘Emma, is everything all right? I’m still at work.’
‘Yes, everything’s fine. I just wanted to call and tell you I’ve arranged the date for tomorrow night.’
‘Tomorrow? That’s a bit soon!’
‘I don’t want to give you a chance to change your mind.’
‘Very funny. I need time to think about it, to get in the right frame of mind.’
‘No, you don’t. You’ll just end up building it up into something bigger than it is. It’s a night out with a nice man, and you’ll have fun.’
‘If you say so,’ Karen mumbled, suddenly feeling nervous.
‘All right, I’ll let you go. But don’t forget. Seven thirty tomorrow at the White Hart.’
‘Right, great.’
‘You could sound more enthusiastic.’
But Karen couldn’t summon up any enthusiasm right now. ‘Sorry, Emma, I’ve got to go.’
‘All right, but don’t forget to text me to let me know how it goes tomorrow.’
‘Okay, will do.’