An Accidental Death

by Peter Grainger

  She was small and suffering, Smith guessed, from some sort of arthritis. The fingers were bent in a little, claw-like, and one hip was less willing to walk than the other.

  ‘Please wait here. I will find him.’

  She left them standing at one end of the hall, furthest away from the front door. Other doorways led off from there, including one into the large, well-equipped kitchen. Beyond that were French doors onto an expanse of lawn and a garden with mature trees, shrubs and borders. Smith’s gaze travelled slowly over the rooms that he could see, and their contents.

  Then they could hear voices approaching, still speaking in English.

  Mirsad Subic came forward, his hand extended towards Smith first, and then towards Waters. He was older than his wife but seemed fitter and more confident – the handshake was strong.

  ‘Please, do not stand here in the hall. Sonja, not in the hall! This is my wife, Sonja…’

  The four of them sat down in the lounge but it was a large house, Smith thought afterwards – perhaps they just sat down in one of the lounges.

  ‘The police, you say? I do not think that we have ever had a policeman here. What is this about?’

  Mr Subic’s English was excellent, and only the clipped delivery of the odd word gave away his origins. A change came over his face, a shadow, as his mind ran through the possible answers to his question – ‘Our daughters? Has something happened?’

  ‘Oh no, sir, not at all. Please don’t alarm yourself. It’s nothing like that.’

  Mrs Subic had half stood at her husband’s words – she sat down next to him again.

  ‘We’ve called to see if you could help us out. I hope it’s not an imposition. We have a piece of what might be evidence, and we’ve been told that it might come from Bosnia or that sort of area. We are right in thinking that you also arrived from there in the early 1990s?’

  Mr Subic nodded and took his wife’s hand momentarily in his own.

  ‘We did. A long time ago.’

  ‘In that case, sir, if you wouldn’t mind taking a look at this,’ Smith said, taking out the evidence bag and passing it over. Mr Subic smiled as he examined the packet before handing it to his wife.

  ‘Yes, this is from Bosnia. An old-fashioned brand that I remember from my childhood. It takes me back, as you would say. Perhaps the tobacco was even grown there. Many people do not realise how much is grown in the more fertile valleys…’

  His voice trailed away, and his wife seemed almost reluctant to part with the odd connection to the homes they had lost in the civil war. Smith glanced at Waters and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Subic. It might not seem much but you’ve actually been most helpful.’

  ‘It is evidence, you say? Where was it found? There are not many Bosnian families in Kings Lake now – I expect we know them all!’

  ‘Ah, well, it wasn’t found in Kings Lake, as it happens. A police constable picked it up on a riverbank a good way from here – somewhere north of Upham.’

  Smith could sense Waters’ look of surprise beside him, and he saw too the quick glance from Mr Subic, first to himself, then to Waters and back again. Mrs Subic seemed to have frozen, her stare going over Smith’s shoulder and out of the room entirely.

  ‘As you say, a good way from here. And not somewhere that we have ever been.’

  ‘Of course, sir. May I say what a lovely home you have here, lots of the original features. Is it Edwardian?’

  Mr Subic relaxed then and Mrs Subic came back from wherever she had been. Smith accepted the offer of a cup of tea, which, when it came, was accompanied by a selection of biscuits, and they listened as Mr Subic talked first about the house and then, naturally enough, about how they came to live in it. He was a solicitor, had been one in Bosnia too before the troubles began. On settling in England, he had had to take more examinations because of the different legal systems – it had been hard but fortunately he had good English before he came. Now he was semi-retired but he still took on some work, mostly in civil and financial matters, and mostly to help out his compatriots.

  ‘And you mentioned your daughters,’ Smith said, helping himself to another Rich Tea.

  ‘We have two daughters – Adriana and Hanna.’

  Mrs Subic climbed awkwardly out of her chair and fetched a photograph of two young women from the sideboard.

  ‘Did they stay in England, Mrs Subic? Sometimes the children of immigrant families feel the pull of homes they never really knew, don’t they?’

  She looked at her husband before answering.

  ‘That is very perceptive of you. We have one of each kind. Adriana lives in London now, her job is very good in Canary Wharfe. Hanna went back to Bosnia to see family and she met a boy. She stay there for good, I think.’

  ‘That’s the way of things these days, isn’t it? They fly the nest and can end up anywhere in the world. Do you see them very often?’

  Waters had sat back in his chair, making no contribution to the conversation – Smith resisted the temptation to look at him.

  ‘Not as often as we would like, of course. Bosnia is too far and they have no money, just love! London…’ and she raised her hands in parental despair, ‘is not so far but has many attractions. Maybe we see them all at Christmas!’

  ‘So, just the two of you here now, eh?’

  It was Mr Subic who brought the conversation to a close.

  ‘Well, I am very glad that we could help with this investigation. If there is anything else, please call me – our name is in the directory. I hope that you find whoever you are looking for, sergeant.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  When they got back to the car, Smith said nothing by way of explanation. He started the engine and pulled away but then, instead of heading back to the station, he turned around at the first junction and drove slowly back towards the Subic house. Finding a space about fifty yards from their driveway, he pulled into it, switched off and sat with a frown on his face. It was Waters who broke the silence.

  ‘Well, as you said, a nice area. We had a nice cup of tea, with some nice biscuits and a nice chat.’

  The frown never left Smith’s face, and even as he answered Waters’ comments, the younger man could see that another part of Smith’s mind was working away at something else.

  ‘Right. First, I might or might not have seen someone at an upstairs window. Bearing in mind that the second time I thought I did, was just before we knocked on the door, and if I did, was it either Mr or Mrs Subic?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘We could see her coming along the hall towards the door.’

  ‘And the stairs were where?’

  ‘To the left, off the hall, close to the front door.’

  ‘Good. Mr Subic?’

  ‘Same reason. He was somewhere out the back. We’d have seen him come down the stairs.’

  ‘Unless there are two sets of stairs – which I don’t think there are. I had a good look as we came away.’

  Waters had turned to face Smith now but Smith himself was still looking down the road towards the driveway of the house they were talking about.

  ‘What’s second?’

  ‘You need to imagine Mrs Subic in her underwear first.’

  Waters laughed and a brief smile followed on Smith’s face.

  ‘I’d rather not, if that’s OK!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘DC, are you serious? I mean, she’s…’

  ‘Getting on a bit, crippled up with something? Past it?’

  Waters was learning to recognize the edge that sometimes came into Smith’s voice – learning when to choose discretion rather than valour. This time he said nothing more.

  ‘So when we stood in the hall, waiting for Mr Subic, what was hanging up in the kitchen, on one of those plastic clothes-dryer things?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Several items of ladies’ under-apparel of the type that I’m almost certain Mrs Subic has
not worn for thirty years, if ever. Would you like me to go into detail?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Good – I think I’d be out of my depth, too. But you take the point.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Smith’s frown had departed, at least for the moment, but he still gazed down the road as he spoke.

  ‘It’s not just about looking – it’s about seeing. And remembering. You need a huge short-term memory and the ability to ditch 99.9 percent of what it contains at short notice. It’s the point one per cent that you’re after, like the one tiny diamond in a hundred tons of rock. I’m waxing lyrical – do you want to write that down? No? But whatever, they had ample chance to mention someone else being in the house, and they didn’t. Wasn’t the daughters’, was it? Not unless they were actually lying about that.’

  ‘Not much to go on. I doubt that the underwear belonged to the canoeist! You don’t think they’re actually involved, do you?’

  Smith thought, chewed the inside of his lip and took out his own pack of cigarettes.

  ‘I might need one soon. Don’t worry, I know the dangers to children of secondary smoke in a car. Might go for a stroll now the rain’s stopped. You can keep watch.’

  ‘Are you serious? This man just happened to be the one I could still find on the electoral roll! From nearly twenty years ago!’

  ‘Third. They both reacted when I told them where the packet was found –slight, different but definite reactions. Fourth, when did I tell Mr Subic that we were looking for someone?’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘So keep your eyes open. Any car coming or going, make a note. Did you see what was parked on the drive?’

  ‘Er – not really. Something green?’

  Momentary irritation.

  ‘Green BMW S series and a silver Jaguar XF for Sunday afternoons. Funny how foreigners still go for Jags… They see them as a sign of belonging, I reckon. Anyway, tonight’s homework – learn cars. Anything else?’

  ‘What are you thinking, DC?’

  Smith opened his lighter and sheltered it in his hands against a non-existent breeze. He inhaled the fresh smoke and shrugged.

  ‘I’m thinking we might just have got lucky. Very lucky. See you later.’

  Almost an hour had passed and Waters had had plenty of time to think it over. As soon as Smith walked away, Waters took out his notepad and placed it on the empty seat beside him, in readiness. So this was it – his first stakeout. If a car came out of the drive, should he follow it? Smith had not said… And if another arrived, he would not be able to get the registration from here. His lack of knowledge about such a basic matter as car models had been embarrassing, and nothing in training had alerted him to it. At first, he stared as fixedly down the road as Smith had done, but after ten minutes or so, his eyes were straining and he had to glance away. In the side pockets were stuffed a few CD cases. He took them out and vaguely recognized a couple as things that his own father might own, but most of them were old, blues legends, obscure rock bands and a couple of guitar greats compilations. Hard to imagine Smith in jeans, doing a bit of air guitar!

  Waters shuffled down in the seat and resumed his watch – sometimes you had to do this for hours. He thought about what they were doing again. It seemed ridiculous, imagining that the one and only house they had called upon had some connection to the events at Vine’s Drove; on the other hand, how could you explain Smith’s points otherwise? The Bosnian refugee community was small, liaison had said, in the form of Jean Borden – quiet and nearly as old as Smith but she obviously knew what she was talking about. No more than a dozen families, virtually all of whom had arrived in the same eighteen months in the early 90s; a very insular lot, she had said. If the canoeist had some connection to them, other than the fact he had hired the canoe in the same city, then that brought the odds down to about one in twelve - ‘very lucky’ would cover that. Waters had not noticed their reaction to the mention of the riverbank near Upham, he’d been too surprised at Smith telling them all that, but he had spotted how Mr Subic had closed the questioning down when Smith had asked whether they were all alone there now – as if the old man did not trust his wife with the answer. And Smith had said nothing about looking for anyone. That had come entirely from Subic himself. A new thought occurred to Waters. They said that the younger daughter had gone back to Bosnia, and that gave them a living, breathing connection to the old country once again. When you put all that together, it wasn’t quite as ridiculous as it first seemed.

  The door opened and Smith got back into the driver’s seat.

  ‘I didn’t realise you smoked king-sized.’

  ‘Were you getting lonely? Bloody boring, isn’t it? We normally do it in pairs, when it’s official. I don’t know whether that makes it better or worse, to be honest. Anything?’

  ‘No. A man walked by with a dog.’

  ‘What sort of dog? Did you make a note?’

  It was only the thing with the cars that made Waters fall for it, just for a moment.

  ‘Never mind – if in doubt, put ‘mongrel’. I had a look around. There’s a footpath runs at the back of the houses, they’ve all got gates onto it at the back of the gardens. Someone could easily nip out and away.’

  ‘So this was a waste of time, then?’

  ‘Not at all. ‘Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted’ – do you know who said that? If you say ‘Napoleon’ it’s a hundred lines. Duke of Wellington. No, I think they’re sitting tight in there. Mr Subic didn’t look to me as if he’d frighten easily. And don’t forget, they can’t know how much we noticed – you’ve always got to put yourself in someone else’s place in this job. Of course, in Mr Subic’s place, I would wonder why the local police hadn’t just got onto to the internet or something. There must be sites for cigarette packets, collectors and all that.’

  ‘So why did you come out here?’

  Smith reached into the glove compartment and found an ancient, half-empty packet of Polo mints. Waters said no thanks, so Smith took two.

  ‘I think our boy left from Lake. I think he was from Bosnia. These people live in Lake and came from Bosnia. It seems sort of obvious to me… And I get more from a face than a screen.’

  ‘What’s next?’

  A look at his watch told Smith that it was almost five o’clock.

  ‘Some tea, I reckon. Look, we sat here just in case they panicked – and we’ve assumed that at least some of my ideas are right. They might not be. Let’s be honest, by the time you get to my age, you’ll have spent years going after the wrong people, but these are the best we’ve got at the moment. Something’s slightly dodgy – it might be connected to the bigger picture, that’s all. Have you considered that the flimsy underwear might belong to Mr Subic? Anyway, nobody panicked as far as I can tell. We’ve recced the area just in case. Regroup in the office, eight o’clock in the morning.’

  Smith pulled away. They passed the driveway into the Subics’ house and saw that the two cars were still in place; Waters heaved an inner sigh of relief. Smith put his foot down then but as they drew level with the first junction on the right, he noticed the blue Golf parked a little way up the side road. He had memorized the number without even realizing that he had done so – it was the same car. His foot lifted off the pedal then, before he took the decision to drive on and say nothing to Waters. On his own, he might have turned towards them, stopped, got out and asked if he could be of assistance – it wouldn’t be the first time. But not with Waters in tow. Still – how had they found him again? And why were they parked up where they could not have a direct line of sight to him?

  It was only later that evening, as he sat at his desk, that he wondered whether they were watching him at all.

  DI Reeve thought that Superintendent Allen had not noticed her as he stood talking to a suit outside his office. She began to accelerate away but his voice caught her and called her back.

  ‘A word. In my office.’

  She remained standing
once in there, hoping that this would convey how busy she was and keep things brief.

  ‘Thank you for expediting this thing with the Fletcher boy’s funeral – the family is grateful.’

  Reeve nodded; like Smith, she thought the whole matter of the funeral was entirely out of proportion. Neither was it what Allen really wanted to talk to her about.

  ‘Are we sending anyone? We ought to, as a matter of form. The caring force and all that.’

  ‘DS Smith has said that he will go, sir. It’s tomorrow.’

  ‘Good, yes. Smith, eh? Dedicated to the end!’

  ‘The end, sir?’

  ‘Just a manner of speaking, Alison. I think he’ll outlast us all!’

  Too jovial by far. There was obviously more to come and so Reeve waited on.

  ‘Are all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed now? Anything I can help with?’

  She needed to give him something as he obviously wasn’t asking her that without a motive.

  ‘It seems possible that there was a witness to the accident. We have spent a little time seeing if we can locate them. We haven’t done so yet but Smith thinks he has made some progress.’

  ‘So he is - we are - still looking, eh? Good. It’s important that we make every effort. If someone could throw some light on this tragedy, then we must find him, for the sake of the family. They deserve to know. A terrible business, losing a child.’

  Reeve still stood waiting for him to dismiss her but then there were yet more comments about how well the section had settled after the recent nonsense, and how much of that must be due to her, and so on. By the time it had finished, she was positively alarmed and went in search of Smith.

  She found him at the usual desk with Waters. Her look said that they needed to talk but she spent a couple of minutes with the two of them – minutes during which Waters was alternately teased and praised for what he had done over the past few days. Smith said that he was planning to buy Waters some Dinky Toy models of cars as he’d obviously had a deprived childhood.

  Once they were alone in her office, Smith said, ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Remember the other day? How much police time do we intend to waste on this?’