by JJ Franklin
‘You can both definitely come again,’ Mrs Pritchard said.
‘I hope that won’t be necessary, but thanks for your help.’ Matt joined Jane in the hallway.
Outside, they waited until they were in the car before talking. Jane broke the silence. ‘I didn’t expect to feel sorry for him, but I do.’
‘Yes,’ Matt agreed. ‘Sorry for the whole family. Sister’s in a bind, as the husband wants him out. Can’t really blame him. Don’t think I’d want Dave around my new baby.’
‘Got something to tell me, guv?’ she teased.
‘God no. Still settling in together. And don’t you go putting the idea in Eppie’s head.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
Matt hadn’t really thought about it before. He and Eppie met and married within six weeks, but now he felt a sudden excitement. He could, no, probably would be, a father within the next few years. What would it be like to have a son?
She brought him out of his musings. ‘I don’t think Dave is capable of planning the killing of Jonathan. For one thing, he’s frightened of his own shadow and rarely goes out. His ideas of harming anyone are all in his mind. Besides, I can’t see how he would get the drugs.’
‘I agree. But he and his family have suffered a lot through his involvement with Jonathan, so I don’t think we can rule him out completely.’
They completed the rest of the journey in silence and Matt returned to thinking of his role as a father. It would be fun teaching him things, to get him playing rugby. But what about the sleepless nights? How would he or Eppie cope? And where would he sleep? The flat was just about big enough – according to him, not Eppie – for the two of them, but they would need more room for a baby. Resolving to talk to Eppie about waiting for a few years, he tried to push it to the back of his mind.
Back at the office, Matt gathered the troops together for a briefing, conscious of the need to get away early for the dinner party. He’d only just started when his phone rang. As it was Sam, he decided to take the call, indicating for Jane to take over.
‘Matt. No need to worry, but we’ve had a minor accident.’
Chapter 22
Matt cursed as he entered the hospital grounds. The evening stream of visitors all having to pass one at a time through the car park barrier made his progress towards the emergency department agonisingly slow. Finally, through the crowd, he pulled in behind two squad cars, put the official note on his car and headed inside.
The emergency department was busy. Patients with makeshift bandages leaking blood, others with black eyes sat resigned for a long wait. At the reception desk, he slipped in behind a family with a small girl held in her daddy’s arms, her arm covered in a tea towel and her dark eyes wet with tears. Matt guessed a scald or burn. He knew he could show his badge and get priority, but made himself hold back, reasoning that if Sam could talk to him, he couldn’t be that bad.
At last, he received directions and hurried down a corridor to a curtained cubicle. Drawing the curtains aside, he breathed a sigh of relief to find Sam smiling up at the pretty nurse who was attending to the wound on his head. Matt could see the head wound was minor and there didn’t seem to be any other damage.
Sam turned and saw him. ‘Matt.’
‘Talk about scaring me to death.’
‘Sorry.’
‘What happened?’
‘Tell you later.’ Sam gave a nod towards the nurse. ‘When Clare has finished.’
Clare glanced at Matt and he noticed that beside her long lashes, she had a dimple in her chin.
‘Just about done. The doctor should be along to discharge you soon.’ Clare gathered her tools and with a nod to Matt, threw a special smile to Sam, before wheeling the small trolley out of the cubicle.
Sam gave a sigh as he watched her go.
‘So this is all about pulling the girls, is it?’
‘Merely a welcome side effect.’
‘Clare seemed quite taken.’
‘I’ve given her my number, so it’s up to her now.’
Matt thought that Clare probably received a fair amount of offers, but didn’t say anything.
‘So what happened? The truth.’ Matt watched as Sam struggled with how to explain. It was always tricky to tell tales about a colleague, but he needed to know.
‘He’s always difficult to work with, so I suppose I try harder with him, give him the benefit. Today, he wasn’t talking at all, just the odd grunt. He seemed kind of sluggish, like he was coming down with a cold or—’
‘Had been drinking?’
‘Yes, I guess so. His reactions were slow. Even my mum could have missed that bollard. Grant was lucky it was old Duffer who came out. He just wanted to get back to his warm office.’
Matt nodded. Uniform Superintendent Derek Duffin was months away from retirement and wouldn’t have been happy to be called out, as required, to a minor traffic accident involving a police inspector. Grant had been lucky he hadn’t been breathalysed. If left to Traffic, he certainly would have been.
‘Sorry, Matt.’
‘Don’t be. I’ve been worried about him lately. Meant to have a word before anyone got hurt. I should be saying sorry.’
Thinking about what he should do next, he knew confronting Grant was not going to be easy. It sounded as if he should have been charged with drink driving. But it was now two hours since the accident so blood alcohol levels would be diminishing, and Grant knew the score. If he had any sense, he’d be drinking gallons of water. Then there was the effect on the team and the force as a whole, especially if the papers got hold of the story. He’d have to tackle Grant and talk to McRay. Although he wasn’t looking forward to doing either.
Sam interrupted. ‘Can’t say he smelt of drink, or I wouldn’t have got into the car. Probably a hangover from last night.’
‘That sounds likely. I’d better go and find out.’
‘Good luck with that one.’
‘I’ll hang on and drop you home.’
Before Sam could reply, the curtain swished aside and a harassed young man in a white coat entered.
‘Detective Sergeant Withers?’
‘I’ll wait outside.’ Matt went outside into the hectic ward. He saw Clare entering another cubicle and an older male in a suit, with several nervous-looking young people gathered at the end of the ward. Matt thought they looked like a new intake of doctors. His job was bad enough, but he didn’t know how anyone could cope thrown into this high-pressure environment.
Glancing at his watch, he was shocked to see how late it was. Eppie would be expecting him home as he’d promised to help her set up the folding table. Yet he felt duty bound to get Sam home safely and catch up with Grant. He needed to see for himself the state of the man. Not wanting to get into a conversation, he decided to call Eppie after he had dropped Sam home and seen Grant. By then he would have a better idea how late he would be.
Chapter 23
By the time he left college, it was already dark. Harry didn’t mind; it always felt warmer at night. He tugged his scarf around his neck and began to cross the car park, heading into town.
Usually on a Thursday he went to see his gran. She would have supper ready and then he’d catch up with Nick, have a couple of pints, before coming back to his room at the college. Gran still treated him as human, unlike his visits home. Mum and Dad were wary, never knew what to say to him. It was worse when his brothers were there as they acted as if Harry might contaminate them. He couldn’t blame them, not after what he’d done.
Tonight, though, he was due at rehearsal with the Gilbert and Sullivan society. As it was Gran’s friend, Ida, who had invited him, he was sure she was instrumental in it.
Harry stopped as a car pulled up alongside. The driver’s window was down and a nondescript man nodded to him. He didn’t know the man so gave a brief nod and went to walk on.
‘Yes?’
‘Someone would like to have a word.’
Harry couldn’t see anyone else in the car and shook his head.
‘It’s about Jonathan.’
As the man dropped his voice to a whisper, Harry had trouble hearing. He stepped closer to the car.
‘Who?’
‘Jonathan James.’
‘Well, I’m not the right person. I haven’t seen him since…in years.’
‘You’ve heard what happened to him though, haven’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘This person just wants to talk to one of Jonathan’s old friends.’
Harry hesitated. Most of his memories regarding Jon were unpleasant, but there had been some good times in the past. Maybe it was Jon’s mother. She must be devastated. When they were young, Harry remembered her welcoming them to play in the garden, even providing biscuits and pop, as long as Jon’s dad wasn’t home. He guessed it wouldn’t hurt to have a word. ‘Okay, I’ve got a few minutes to spare.’
As he got in the car, Harry wondered if he was doing the right thing. He had no idea where he was going. The man spoke as if guessing his thoughts.
‘We thought it best to meet in town. Big crowds tonight with the Christmas market. I’ll drop you at the top of Henley Street. He’ll be waiting.’
Harry noticed the he’ll be waiting and was suddenly afraid. Why had he agreed to do this? What if it was Jon’s dad? He was a bully and he didn’t want to talk to him.
It was a short drive complicated by the mass of cars making their way into town tempted by the offer of free parking, the Christmas lights and market. It would have been faster to walk.
The man dropped him at the top of Henley Street, right next to the statue of The Jester by James Butler, reminding Harry of the project they had done on the statues in Stratford. Out of all of them, this one with its sense of movement and fun remained his favourite. The statue held two poles, small heads on sticks, one representing comedy, the other tragedy.
Wandering down the street, Harry passed the Creaky Cauldron, a magic shop that sold butterbeer and chocolate frogs, before stopping to listen to the University of the Third Age’s steel band playing in front of Shakespeare’s Birthplace. The rhythm was infectious and he felt himself tempted to join in with several toddlers dancing in front while their parents smiled at their antics.
The mingled smells of food enticed him on towards the bright, canopied stalls further down the street. Although it was cold, the light from the overhead lights gave out a warm magical glow. Forgetting for the moment why he was there, Harry decided to get something to eat and headed towards the hot pasties stall. Before he could decide what to have, someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see a short man with a domed shiny forehead. Behind the thick glasses, his pale grey eyes seemed huge, giving him the appearance of a professor.
‘Hello, Harry. How very kind of you to meet me.’
‘That’s okay. Don’t think I’ll be much help though. Haven’t seen Jon in a long time.’
‘I’m sure whatever you can tell me will be a great comfort to, er, shall we say, my friend. Maybe if you can tell him, for instance, what has happened to Jonathan’s other friends? The ones arrested with him for, shall we say, that most regrettable incident.’
‘I haven’t seen any of them since.’
‘Come, come now, you live in the same area, and can surely provide me with some information. Take your time and think now, very carefully.’
‘Well, Beanie, Dave, went to live with his sister. He hasn’t been well, since…’ Harry stopped. He didn’t know this man, shouldn’t be telling him anything. The man’s voice had a soft, soothing quality, yet Harry sensed the threat beneath it and he could feel the sweat beginning to bead around his neck. There was no way he wanted to talk to this man, or tell him that he and Nick met up for the occasional drink. Beside Beanie, he had no idea what the others were up to, anyway, except Nick’s girlfriend, Tilly, who was pregnant. She used to be Jon’s girlfriend. Harry wondered if he should just walk away and lose himself in the crowd, refuse to answer any more questions.
The man reached out and grasped Harry’s arm as if he could read his mind. ‘Where are my manners? You are probably hungry. Let me take care of that while you think. How about one of these delicious-looking pasties?’ The man led Harry to the stall, still holding onto his arm. ‘Come now, what’s it to be, my boy?’
Passersby would not see any threat, just a mild-mannered man buying his companion, most likely his son, a treat. It would be useless to ask for help. The stallholder was smiling and waiting. People began queuing behind them, so Harry nodded towards the steak and onion and took the warm offering, even though he had lost his appetite. Still tightly holding onto his arm, the man manoeuvred them both away from the crowd into a shop doorway.
‘My friend is particularly interested in the young lady known as Tilly. He feels this dear girl might like to know what has happened to Jonathan, and could possibly be somewhat of a comfort to his dear mother.’
Harry did not intend to talk about Tilly. He wouldn’t betray his friends. ‘You know how Jonathan died?’
‘Sadly, it was a drug overdose.’
‘Yes, I’d heard that. But he’d never touch anything.’
‘Now there you are, young man. Already such a great help. You confirm my friend’s suspicions that Jon was murdered. As you can understand, he is desperate to find out who would wish him such harm.’
Harry thought there must be quite a few people who would be glad that Jon was dead, but he stayed quiet.
‘You can understand that my friend is anxious that justice be done. He is worried that the police will simply write Jonathan’s death off as accidental. These days you can’t rely on the police to figure it out, can you? He will be most grateful that you have confirmed his suspicions. Most grateful. Now I am going to leave you, give you time to think about all you know. You have until tomorrow to give me the information I require. Should you not be forthcoming, then my friend will be very disappointed. Do you understand?’
Harry nodded and the man smiled, a condescending sickly smile, one that belied the menace in his words.
Chapter 24
The Black Hound pub, though a bit grubby and rundown, was convenient to the police station. To cops coming off a long and difficult shift, it provided warmth and comfort, a favourite place for all ranks. Many stopped off there to relax before heading home. Matt used to do the same, before Eppie.
Now, he had the unpleasant task of seeking out Grant, of giving the man a chance. Grant had struck lucky having Duffer attend the incident, but Matt needed to see for himself if he should take it further. He spotted him at the back of the pub, pint in hand, propping up the bar, and headed towards him. Grant showed no surprise.
‘How can this help, Grant?’
‘What the hell would you know?’
‘You’re right – nothing at all.’
‘Then sod off and let me get on with it.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘Yes you can. It’s easy – turn round and walk out that door. I’m nothing to you.’
‘Not true.’
‘Why – because I turn out and do my job?’
‘You’re a valuable member of the team.’
‘Rubbish.’
‘You certainly keep me on my toes.’ Grant laughed at this and Matt felt as if he had gained some ground.
‘Someone has to.’
‘True. I would become unbearable if you weren’t there.’
‘Even when I am there.’
Matt grinned. He decided to relax. It might be the best way to get Grant on side. Catching the eye of the barman, he ordered two coffees. ‘Join me?’
‘Why not?’
As they waited for
the coffee to arrive, Grant continued to take swigs of his pint. He made no effort at conversation and Matt racked his brains as to what to say, conscious that he didn’t know anything about the man, except that he had risked his life to save Eppie. Maybe this was a mistake. Would it have been better to confront Grant in the office? But he wanted to avoid making judgements, at least until he had the facts. He waited until the coffees arrived and, after taking a sip, tried again.
‘Used to come in here all the time, before—’
‘The wife. Tie you up in knots, if you let ’em.’
‘You married?’ Matt was ashamed that he didn’t know.
Grant took a long drag of his drink, ignoring the coffee. ‘No. Not now. The job, usual story.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. You won’t be any different.’
Matt thought of Eppie and hoped not, but, given the strain the job brought with it, marriage breakups in the police were common. And, if McRay and Grant were anything to go by, the odds were against him. Mind you, Grant and McRay were hardly the easiest of characters. How could any woman enjoy living with either of them? He and Eppie must have more of a chance. ‘I can try.’
‘Good luck with that then.’
Matt wondered how to bring up the subject of the car crash.
‘It was an accident.’
‘Yes?’ At least the drink hadn’t dulled Grant’s perception.
‘Nothing more.’
‘Not like you though.’
‘Happens.’
‘But shouldn’t.’
‘Then do what you have to.’
‘I will. Just wanted to talk to you first.’
‘Don’t do me any favours.’
‘I won’t. Maybe we should go through it tomorrow, in the office.’ Matt watched as Grant shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care. He’d given the man a chance, damn him. Now, from what Sam had said, there was no other way but to make it his business. Matt doubted he would get any more sense out of the man tomorrow and he didn’t want to put Sam on the spot. The way Grant was knocking back that pint, which was probably his second or third and still early evening, was bearing out Sam’s thoughts that he’d been hung over from the night before.