Blood Ties

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘That’ll be the fingerprint powder,’ Naomi said. ‘Try not to touch any of it. It’s a swine to get out of your clothes.’

  ‘You think we should be here?’

  Probably not, Naomi thought. She had the strongest feeling, now, that the CSI would have to come back, but she couldn’t say why, not yet. It was just a feeling. She wanted to ask Susan if the house felt ‘right’. If it felt as it had done last time she was there, if it still felt like Eddy’s house, but she knew that would sound foolish. Though she knew too, beyond doubt, that the answer would be ‘no’.

  ‘OK.’ Naomi focussed on her mental picture. ‘Which rooms did you know the best?’

  ‘Living room and kitchen, I suppose. I only went into the study occasionally. It was the one messy room in the house.’

  ‘Messy?’

  ‘No, that’s not fair, really. Eddy used to pin stuff to the walls, have stacks of his research notes laid out, that sort of thing. He knew what it was all about, but it made no sense to anyone just glancing in. Looked just like a big mess.’

  ‘I think we’ll keep that for last. Did you go in there when you’d got Alec with you?’

  ‘Well, briefly. To be honest I wasn’t happy about even being there. That was Eddy’s private room and it didn’t seem right. I had a quick look for any address books or letters he might have kept there, but didn’t find anything, so we left it. I think we’d both had enough by then.’

  ‘So, if we do the kitchen first?’

  ‘OK.’

  Susan led her forward, taking her hand as the hall narrowed. Naomi let her free hand trail against the wall. Wooden panels clad the space beneath the stairs and she felt the latch of a door. ‘Cupboard under the stairs.’

  ‘Hoover, ironing board, laundry basket. That sort of thing. OK, come into the kitchen. Right, we’ve got the quarry tiled floor, table right in front of you. Not much in the way of worktop, so Eddy used it for preparation too. The stove is to your left, in a sort of alcove. On the right there’s a fireplace. It has its own chimney. The one in the living room links up with the old, closed off ones in the bedrooms. I know that because I had to find him a chimney sweep a couple of years ago. Sink under the window so he could see out into the garden.’ She paused. ‘What else do you want to know?’

  ‘Anything that might be different? Take a look in the drawers and cupboards too.’

  She stood still, listening to Susan opening doors and drawers.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s just as I remember it. I mean, not that I went through the drawers or anything. The clock’s stopped,’ she added sadly. ‘Eddy used to be so careful about winding it.’

  Naomi heard her cross the room towards the fireplace. ‘What kind of a clock is it?’

  ‘Oh, nineteen thirties. One of those wooden things with the round face. Nothing special, but he liked it, and it kept good time, considering. Maybe I should take it with me, keep it wound. What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. What else is on the mantelshelf?’

  ‘Right. Well, it’s a high wooden shelf and the fire has a tiled surround. On the shelf there’s, well, the clock, and the brass pot where he kept the key. I think it’s made of an old shell casing he got somewhere. There’s a couple of candlesticks: one brass, the other pewter. He kept them handy. They’re a bit prone to winter power cuts out here. A photo of his wife and— Oh.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There should be a picture of his wife. It was in a pretty silver frame, and one of Karen too. One each side of the mantelpiece.’

  ‘Would he have moved them?’

  ‘I don’t see why. They stood up there all the years I knew Eddy. Why move them now?’

  ‘Anything else missing?’

  ‘Not that I can see.’ Susan sounded tense now, anxious.

  ‘Where did he keep other family photos?’

  ‘In the living room. He had an album and a couple of pictures on the shelf.’

  Together they went through to the living room and Naomi listened as Susan rummaged in the sideboard, which was where she was certain Eddy kept the albums.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ she said at last.

  ‘Tell me?’

  ‘Well, I’m sure they were all together in here. There was a wedding album, which I never saw inside. Then some books just full of Karen and Martha when Karen was young. School photos, holidays, birthdays. Just ordinary stuff. Well, they seem to be gone, and one of the more recent ones. Eddy had this little digital camera, just a cheap thing, but he took it everywhere and he documented all the finds with it. Took pictures of everyone when they were out together, you know?’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Well, I know that there were four albums filled with that stuff. Finds and detectorists and well, you know, men getting drunk and playing the idiot. Three of them are still there, but the most recent one is gone. What do you make of that?’

  She was trying hard to sound calm, but Naomi could hear how shaky she really was.

  ‘I don’t know. Could he have taken them into the office?’

  ‘We should look.’

  Again, they went together. Susan’s hand was shaking as she drew Naomi’s through her arm. ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Well, it’s the office. It’s like someone came in and chucked stuff everywhere. I mean, I said it was untidy, but it wasn’t like this.’

  ‘Not when you were here with Alec?’

  ‘No. No way.’

  ‘OK.’ Naomi took a deep breath. ‘So we’re not the only ones looking for something. The big question is, what?’

  FOURTEEN

  Kevin was understandably nervous, and Alec did most of the talking, aware that his position as a serving officer both gave him kudos but also meant that he was treated with understandable suspicion. This was not his patch; he couldn’t just come along and butt in to local affairs.

  Sergeant Dean arrived shortly after, and Alec and Kevin were handed over to him. He led them into an interview room and then excused himself, saying he’d try and rustle up some tea or something. Clearly, Alec thought, he’d been caught off guard by their sudden arrival, and he was probably also taking a moment to search his memories and check for anything indiscreet he may have let slip when he’d met Alec so informally in the Bridgewater pub.

  ‘What happens now?’ Kevin, seated nervously at the table, glanced around the small room as though looking for a means of escape.

  ‘Well, you’ll make your statement, tell Sergeant Dean and the other officer he’ll bring in with him what you told us. We’ll hand over the diary and exercise books and then I’ll run you home.’ Hopefully. If they held Kevin for further questioning, it could take considerably longer and get far more complicated than that.

  ‘They’ll think I did it, won’t they?’ The young man was pale and already flustered. Alec was glad of Susan’s foresight in phoning the solicitor. Hopefully he’d have sent someone over soon. Kevin was anxious already; he wasn’t going to be his own best witness.

  ‘Just give them the facts,’ Alec said. ‘I’m not going anywhere, Kevin. I might not be able to sit in on the interview, but Susan’s sorted that out and you’ll have legal counsel with you, so don’t worry. Just tell the officers what you know and don’t let them push you into speculating about anything else.’

  Kevin stared, alarmed. ‘Like what?’ he asked.

  I’m not doing a good job of this, Alec thought. His attempts at reassurance seemed to be having the opposite effect. He wasn’t used to sitting on this side of the table. ‘It will all be fine,’ he said with as much certainty as he could muster. He noted that Kevin did not look convinced.

  Alec took stock of the little room Sergeant Dean had left them in. Small, windowless, more of a broom cupboard than a proper interview room. The table, he noted absently, appeared to be one half of a table tennis table, and the chairs were that ubiquitous metal framed, orange plastic variety the British police force must have acqu
ired as a job lot way back in the sixties.

  A grey Linoleum tiled floor and dark-green walls added to the general sense of make do and mend and long overdue redecorating that Alec was also familiar with. He had spent large chunks of his adult life in rooms like this, but he couldn’t recall them looking so bleak and dismal before.

  It was that ‘wrong side of the table’ feeling again.

  The door opened and Sergeant Dean entered with another officer. Dean was carrying a tray of mugs and he set it down on the table before introducing: ‘Inspector Blezzard. Help yourselves, there’s sugar in the bowl.’

  Blezzard took a seat opposite Kevin and looked expectantly at Alec. ‘So what’s your involvement, Inspector Friedman?’

  ‘Nothing official. I’m here on holiday and right now I’m just moral support.’

  Blezzard considered that, nodded briefly as Dean put two sugars in a mug and set it down at his elbow. ‘So?’ he said. ‘Fill in the background for me.’

  So far so friendly, Alec thought as he began, noting that Blezzard’s focus was entirely on him, and Kevin all but ignored. It was Dean, fussing with the tea and finally taking the other chair, who quietly studied the young man, watching for his reaction to Alec’s words. Alec recognized the technique, had used it himself on occasion; knew that information, informally gathered in this pre-interview chat, though it had no legal use in and of itself, was often what provided the wedge driven into the statement when the formal interview began.

  ‘We’re staying at the B&B next to The Lamb,’ he said. ‘Eddy, Edward Thame, he was a regular there and the manager was a good friend. She, Susan Rawlins, was the one that discovered his body. She knew that I was a police officer and she asked for my advice in tracing next of kin. Susan felt she had to take that on, that and organizing Eddy’s funeral. This was, of course, before anyone realized his death may not have been accidental.’

  ‘But you had your doubts?’

  Alec frowned. Had that been true? ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that I was trying very hard not to have doubts. I’d come down here on holiday, after being involved in a very difficult case. I really didn’t want . . . I didn’t really want the darker side of life intruding, I suppose, but . . .’

  ‘But?’

  Alec sighed, suddenly feeling that he and not Kevin was being interviewed here. He described how he and Susan had gone to the house to look for names of potential kin. How they had found nothing, but had noted the teapot and mugs that Susan had considered strange because Eddy was so meticulously tidy.

  ‘We didn’t find anything useful that day,’ he explained, ‘but Susan seemed uneasy and she gave me Sergeant Dean’s phone number. He was good enough to extend the professional courtesy of agreeing to meet and I explained Susan’s concerns.’ He noted that Dean relaxed as Alec stressed the word professional.

  ‘So he told me,’ Blezzard said. He waited as though Alec might find more to say, his gaze fixed on Alec’s face. Alec looked back, noting that the man must be close to retirement age. Either that or he’d aged badly. Blezzard was creased and worn, with a face like old, tanned leather and calloused, solid hands that should have belonged to a manual labourer. Alec wondered what he liked to do in his off duty hours. Blezzard’s eyes were the palest grey, flecked with green, and his deep crows’ feet hinted that either he laughed a lot or spent his days squinting at the light.

  ‘Then we had the news that Eddy’s death was suspicious,’ Alec continued quietly when it was plain that Blezzard had no plans to break the silence.

  ‘And then you discovered that our young friend here was with him on the night he died.’

  Alec nodded. ‘Kevin hadn’t made the connection until today.’

  Kevin cleared his throat, ‘Mam said we ought to tell someone so we went to The Lamb and we told Susan and she went next door and fetched Alec, here.’

  ‘And it didn’t occur to you that your first call ought to have been to the police?’ Blezzard asked.

  Kevin thought about that. ‘No, not really,’ he said.

  Alec hid a smile, had the strangest feeling that Blezzard did the same.

  ‘Right,’ Blezzard said. ‘We’re going to need a statement from you, Kevin, and I’m going to need to record a formal interview. No doubt Alec has told you this?’

  Kevin nodded, the panicked look back on his face.

  A soft knock on the door interrupted proceedings and a female officer opened it, smiling at no one in particular as she informed them that ‘Mr Hargreaves’ solicitor’ had arrived.

  Blezzard looked to Alec for explanation.

  ‘Susan was worried, and so was Kevin’s mother, so Susan called Eddy’s solicitor. He said he’d have someone come over and make sure Kevin was all right.’

  ‘Any reason why he wouldn’t be?’ Blezzard asked innocently.

  Alec had played that game too. ‘Yes, actually,’ he said. ‘Kevin’s never been in trouble, only ever seen the inside of a police station on a school visit. He’s bound to be anxious. I told Susan that I thought it was a good idea, as I didn’t think you’d let me sit in on the interview.’

  He let that inferred question hang on the air. Saw Blezzard consider it, then shake his head.

  ‘I think one accompanying adult should suffice,’ he said.

  A second knock at the door brought the message that Alec was wanted on the phone. His hand automatically went to his pocket and then he remembered he’d switched off his mobile when they’d arrived. His second thought was that only Naomi, Susan and Kevin’s mother knew they were here. What was wrong?

  He excused himself, passing in the corridor a man in a sharp grey suit that spoke of legal counsel arriving, and followed the female officer to the front desk.

  He listened as Naomi told him about their visit to the house, turned as he heard Dean and Blezzard coming through from the interview room, having left the solicitor and his client to consult.

  ‘You’ll want to hear about this,’ he said. ‘My wife has just called. She and Susan Rawlins went back to Eddy’s house.’ He noted the raised eyebrow and quizzical look. Decided that, as he didn’t know why either, he wouldn’t rise to the bait. ‘Someone’s been in there since I went over with Susan. They’ve searched the place, ransacked Eddy’s office and taken several photographs. Susan doesn’t know what else.’

  ‘Photographs?’ The quizzical look developed further but was no longer directed at Alec. ‘Why would anyone take photographs?’

  Why indeed, Alec thought, guiltily recalling that he had done exactly that. Evidence seemed to be leaking from this particular scene with the regularity of a dripping tap. But why indeed?

  ‘Are they still there?’

  ‘No, they got worried and left. They’re back at The Lamb.’

  ‘Good.’ Blezzard continued to nod, as though listening to some internal debate with which he thoroughly agreed. ‘Sergeant Dean will go over and have a chat and I’ll get a uniformed presence back at the house. Sounds like the CSI will be back there too.’

  He looked at Alec. ‘No doubt you’ll want to go and see that your wife is all right,’ he said, and Alec felt this was more of an imperative than the mild suggestion it appeared to be. ‘Your friend, Kevin, is in good hands. He won’t notice your absence for the next hour or so. At least that, I’d think.’

  ‘Right,’ Alec said, knowing he’d been dismissed but also reassured that there was nothing he could profitably do by hanging around the police station reception. ‘I’ll be back later. You will keep me informed, of course?’

  ‘I’m sure Mr Hargreaves’ solicitor will be in touch,’ Blezzard said. ‘Nice to have met you, Inspector Friedman.’

  Alec shook hands, trying to think of something sensible to say.

  He only recognized one of the two women who’d been at the cottage. He knew her as Susan Rawlins and knew that she had been a friend of Edward Thame’s. That alone made her the enemy. The blind woman was new to him and he could think of nothing in the albums he had taken, or the notes
his father had, which might refer to her.

  So, she was new on the scene then. Trouble? Incidental? Did she need dealing with?

  The slow burning anger that had been ignited on the day he had found the cards and letters his father had not destroyed had been fuelled by the knowledge that this woman, this Susan, would inherit so much and he had been left with nothing. Somehow the knowledge that this Edward Thame had money and a house to leave to anyone seemed utterly unfair. All his father had left to him was a house mortgaged up to the hilt, a pile of debts – which he had no intention of dealing with – and a stack of pathetic birthday cards written out to a girl he had never heard of. It was only when he’d had time to examine the papers more closely, had read the letters and the news clippings and had talked to people who actually remembered the incident – his mother being one – that he understood what his father had been hiding for all these years. The persecution he had suffered.

  ‘The police cleared him,’ Gavin’s mother had said. ‘No evidence to take it to court.’ But he had been able to tell by the tone that she’d not believed in her husband’s innocence, only that he’d managed to wriggle off the hook somehow. Obviously this Eddy Thame had found him guilty, even though the courts hadn’t, and this same Edward Thame had hounded Gavin’s father until he’d finally topped himself by getting drunk and driving his car into a frikking wall.

  Gavin could remember the father he’d had before Edward Thame had stuck the knife in. Yes, he got drunk and maybe drove when he shouldn’t have done. People did, back then. It wasn’t such a big deal, was it? But he also remembered a funny, happy man who’d spoilt him rotten and taken him to the football, not just one who had started beating up on Gavin’s mother. That had only begun after this Karen kid had been killed and her father had started persecuting his.