“Right, let’s start with Steve, you’ve been very helpful.”
The three walked over. “Hello there, is it Steve?” Grayling asked, and the detectives weren’t surprised when Steve turned with a look of paranoia and horror that both looked at them and twenty yards beyond them.
“What do you want?”
“You were in the Fisher’s class?”
“Yeah, I was allowed, they let me come. What do you want?”
“Did you know J-Stew and Kofi?”
“Yeah, they were allowed. They good lads. Didn’t buy me any stuff but good lads.”
“Thanks,” Grayling said turning away and rubbing her forehead.
She gave Maruma the look that said ‘pointless’, then looked at Susan and was pleased to find she’d cottoned on.
“So, you didn’t tell him you were cops cos he’d do a runner?” the journalist asked.
“Exactly.”
“Joseph then,” Maruma suggested.
“Indeed.”
They walked over and had to get in a queue. Joseph was clearly at one end of it, because he was a good foot taller than several of the people speaking to him and had extra width. He didn’t look fat so much as massive, which meant the trio were surprised when they got to him and discovered he had the softest voice they’d ever heard coming from someone so big.
“Good morning, you three seem to be new here! Welcome!”
“Hi, thanks, we’re going to be upfront, we’re detectives and we’re looking into the deaths of Joseph and Kofi, who we believe were known to you?”
“Oh, yes, such tragedy. I had the pleasure of knowing both boys and there was nothing to suggest they had any issues. Truly they loved Jesus and enjoyed their time at our church.”
Susan looked to the detectives faces and saw looks of polished neutrality, which she assumed were replacing ‘well you would say that’ stares.
“Did the two men know each other well?”
“No, no I don’t think they did. I never had any hint they knew each other outside of the Fishers, and they were only in the class for a semester. Some of our learners gather at out of class groups, but these two never did.”
“Okay, and they got on? Friendly?”
“Oh yes, everyone in our group is lovely.”
Grayling looked at Maruma with a smile that quietly implied Joseph would say Hitler was nice if he just turned up every week, and said “do you know anyone else here who knew them? Any friends in the church? Who might have known both of them?”
“Are you trying to link their deaths?” Joseph asked.
“We have to investigate all the angles.”
“Well, it must have happened outside the church. We put pastoral care first. Maybe look into their home lives. Can I help with anything else?”
“We might be in touch.”
When the trio had walked away, Maruma leant over to Susan. “It’s quite common for people to tell us how to do our jobs. The best thing to do is examine it. Really, that’s the best. Are they hiding something, or do they just think they know it all? Ninety-nine per cent of people it’s the latter.”
“So, what do we do now?” Susan asked.
“Oh, we keep talking to people. We have questions to ask.”
“Sir, sir?”
“Yes,” Edward replied.
“We are ready to call everyone into the service?”
“Ah, yes, of course, go ahead and start.”
Edward smiled. He felt calmer and he knew walking through his church would help bring him back into control. There was something invigorating, as well as stiffening, about walking around a place packed with people who all owed you, all looked up to you, who called you sir and treated you like the elder, which is what he was. Case in point, having people run up to you and ask if the service could start. The service happened twice a week, at the same time every week, but such was the culture here they always asked Edward if they should begin.
And it warmed him. Let the police come and ask questions, he was sure they couldn’t stop him. Not with all the parishioners. Not with all these subjects.
Actually, was that them? He looked across the hallway. Yes, yes it was, three of them, moving from person to person holding photos up. He thought it strange the police let in someone with red hair and tattoos who seemed so much younger than the other two, perhaps she was a trainee.
“Hello sir.”
His vision was interrupted by a young man who waved at him. One of the lowest ranking employees of the church, who helped prepare the rooms rented out during the week. That was the thing about owning a huge industrial building that you’d had fitted out; you could make a great deal of money renting rooms for conferences and meetings, enough money to run a church and make a tidy profit for the elders. Like him. But it wasn’t so much the money he loved, but the staff he paid who had to obey him. And a whole church of people who came willingly.
“Hello son,” he replied, shook a hand, “how are you?”
“I’ve been struggling to be honest with, yunno, doubt.”
“Ah, then you must come on one of our courses, coming in once a week really helps keep you focused. But before that, we have a team of people you can drop in and see, who’ll counsel you immediately. See one of the outreach team.”
“Thanks sir.”
Edward walked on. This was going very well, he was feeling better, his heart had calmed, and his breathing was steady. He felt like he could take on the world, and by the world he meant the police. Even if they discovered something, they couldn’t touch him. Imagine all that concern over nothing. He didn’t worry about the two dead boys, they were replaceable. Plenty more souls passing through. In fact, if there were any more souls, they’d need to have another fundraising drive and extend the car park. Maybe they should do that anyway and see if they could bring in some bigger conferences. He saw the image of pound signs in front of him.
“We’re ready sir,” a flunky said.
“Good, let the service begin.”
A photograph was held up into the air. “Do you know this person?”
A puzzled look was returned, a careful look, and then an “I’ve seen them around, but I don’t know them.”
“How long do we do this?” Susan asked, as Grayling turned to look for another target.
“Until everyone here has gone home, or the church throw us out. Given the way the red shirts keep staring at us the latter is most probable.”
Behind them, Grayling held up a photograph and said to a man “do you know this chap?”
“Nah, nah mate, don’t know him from…” A guilty pause, “Adam.”
“I see what you did there.”
Grayling turned to a woman who was sat reading a book on an outside table, an ashtray and a pile of cigarette butts nearby.
“Excuse me, do you know this man?”
The eyes looked up, at Jonathan, and went back down to the book.
They raised up again quickly. “I don’t know him, but two weeks ago he was pacing out the front all the time on the phone.”
“Really,” Grayling bent in, “pacing as in angry? Upset? Annoyed?”
“Oh, yes, upset. Very upset. Spent a good half an hour on the phone, then went inside.”
“What time?”
“Just before the service. Between ten and eleven.”
“Right, right, and how about,” she gestured at Maruma to hold Kofi’s photo up, “this man?”
“No, don’t know him.”
Maruma, who had been listening, rubbed his face and pulled out his phone.
“Thank you,” Grayling said to the lady, then turned to Maruma and nodded. He dialled a number.
“Hello Mr Google,” Maruma said to the office manager.
“Hi Sol,” DC Green replied, “what’s the issue.”
“Can you pull up Jonathan Stewart’s phone records. We have a witness saying he was on the phone for thirty minutes two weeks ago, between ten and eleven. Can you dive into his phone records
and see?”
“Yeah, sure, just a second and…” There was the sound of walking and typing and it took longer than a second.
“Just to confirm, two Sundays ago, ten till eleven, a phone call?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing sent or received from the phone. Used twice in the period before nine am, and then resumes about one pm, but no use in between, let alone a big long call.”
“Thanks, mate, keep the place clean” Maruma replied and clicked off the phone smiling. He caught Grayling’s return grin. They made pointy fingered gestures to each other.
“There’s a second phone, just like we thought.”
“What?” Susan asked.
“He was on the phone, but he wasn’t on the phone we have. That everyone saw him use. That was with the body. We need to find a second phone.”
Susan was very excited when she said, “and where do we look for that?”
Grayling laughed, “I’m sure we’ll think of an answer to that before it becomes embarrassing and we disappoint your audience. To which you can’t report live cases, or we’ll just never close this.”
The door appeared to have been polished. While DC Atkins had seen many doors in his time, including glossy ones, he’d never been stood at one that seemed to have been polished to a high sheen. He wasn’t surprised though, this neighbourhood was definitely… well his parents would have said aspirational, but they were being polite, and he’d have said middle-class people trying to be aristocracy. He knocked with his hand, not daring to use the ornate and gleaming brass knocker, and the wood opened to reveal a woman who looked like a witch dressed in Gucci.
“Hello there,” he began, “I’m DC Atkins and I’m making some enquiries in this area.”
“Is it about the immigrants?” she rasped.
“No? There are immigrants?”
“At number 48.”
“Oh, yes, it is about number 48 but… immigrants?”
“The new residents. They moved into the street, ergo they are immigrants.”
Atkins made a mental note. “You’ve met them then?”
“No, but we have all heard. I don’t mind immigrants, but everyone else in this street has lived here for more than twenty years.”
“Ah, so you’d call yourself a tight-knit community?”
“Yes. Something rare in England today.”
“You knew the old owner’s well? Of 48?”
“Of course, boy, I just said…”
“Yes, yes, why did they leave?”
“I’m not sure it’s any of your business. You’re not from this street.”
“I am the police though so…”
The reply was spat out. “Her children put her in a home. Took her away from our wonderful, warm street and put her in a home.”
“I see. And the people who’ve moved in…”
“You can say immigrants.”
“I don’t think I can, but they, how did they buy the house?”
In a voice that sounded like a gran explaining to a toddler that ice cream melts on a hot day, she replied “the house was put on the market, the immigrants made an offer, the house was sold.”
“Yes, well, of course. So, they weren’t involved before?”
“What do you mean?”
“The house was listed before they arrived on the scene.”
“Yes.”
“Interesting…”
“To you maybe,” she sneered. “She begged them not to make an offer during the viewing, but they did.”
The little light that goes on when you find something pinged. So that’s what the letter meant. The newcomers had ‘put the lady in a home’ because they’d made an offer during the normal process, not because of any other shenanigans, but the old owner hadn’t wanted to leave and was trying to stop offers.
“Did this upset anyone on the street?”
“You mean besides all of us?”
“Ah, right.” Well that didn’t narrow the suspects down. In fact, if everyone was like this resident, it could be any of them. Then again, Atkins wanted a case he could prove himself on, so this was as good a start as any.
“Well thank you for your time.”
“Will you be bothering everyone?”
“Probably.”
“I better call Neighbourhood Watch.” A pause. “To brief them of course.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Edward walked into his office and looked at the pile of files. He didn’t like manila as they were basically brown, so all his paperwork was kept in crisp white cardboard, with his own scrupulous handwriting on. At university he’d been teased for writing like a doctor, and that was by the lecturers. Ever a man after self-improvement (and vanity) he’d trained an entirely new style of writing. Now he picked the files up and carried them with him, tucked smartly under one arm, winning smile fixed and ready, and he entered a conference room. It was one of the church’s best, with a massive screen on one wall and a great sound system, the place they hired out to people who wanted media events and had the most money. Quince was using it today, as he did whenever he needed.
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” he began as he took his seat. Also, in the room were all the church elders and the heads of the departments needed today; finance, planning, and legal. Well, sort of heads, Edward was the practical leader of each.
“We’re going to have a report from Mrs Joules on how much we raised during our recent gifting weekend. Mrs Joules?”
A hundred years ago, Mrs Joules would have looked like a cartoon matron, but today she stood, adjusted her glasses and spoke about money. “I am pleased to say that our gifting efforts have raised a considerable sum of money. Through a combination of emails to our whole list, requests in the sermons, people on the doors with buckets and reminders in our groups, that weekend we raised £192,031, and 13 pence.”
“Thirteen pence?” said a sceptical elder called Joshua Cribb, who donates thirteen pence?”
“Either way,” Joules continued, “I think we can put that down as a resounding success.”
She smiled, sat down and prepared for praise.
“That is some sterling work,” Quince began, but soon changed the tone, “unfortunately it is nearly ten per cent down on our last gifting weekend. We need to work out what went wrong.”
“Oh,” Joules said.
“Indeed, I’m thinking we should develop some follow-on formulae to stretch the time period. We could do with raising that extra ten and maybe getting ten more, to tackle parking. So, the main focus of this meeting is how to evolve gifting.” He said evolve in the manner of a man who believed dinosaurs just popped into existence and he’d just made a naughty swear.
Cribb leaned forward. What he lacked in height he made up for in girth, looking for all the world like a dwarf who’d gone bald and wrinkly despite being only middle aged.
“I am sure we will come up with excellent ideas to meet our targets.”
“But first,” Quince said, “a round of applause for Mrs Joules and her sterling work.”
As they clapped their hands, Joules broke back into a smile and felt validated.
“Did anyone ever tell you it’s Sunday?” Susan had asked as Grayling and Maruma had got into the car. Susan stood by her own, which was parked next door.
“Yes?”
“Church is over, the final day of the weekend is here, and you’re talking about where to get sandwiches and go into the office.”
“Err…” Grayling looked to Maruma for support.
“We’re kind of workaholics,” was the answer they both always gave.
“I was hoping you’d defend us with more subtlety and moral fire,” Grayling sighed.
“Then you picked the wrong person.”
“Sure did,” Grayling continued “we work any day we need. We’ve already started today so why not carry on. You’re welcome to come in tomorrow Susan but…”
“Oh, no, I’m shadowing you.”
Which was
why they stopped at a sandwich shop and bought two complete lunches worth of food, from handmade subs to crisps from a brand no one had ever previously heard of, and why they settled into the office.
“So, what’s the plan?” Susan asked.
“I’m writing up everything we did today,” Grayling explained, “my memory is good, but it needs writing down to keep everything proper. Meanwhile…”
Maruma grinned, “the bank records of both Jonathan and Kofi have arrived. I’m going through them to see what I can find.”
“So, you can just get hold of bank records as well as all the mobile phone data?”
“Yes. People will think that gives us some sort of advantage, and that’s exactly the point. Life is about maximising your advantages.”
Grayling laughed, “and love and care and happiness and fun, but anyway, Sol has a great capacity to crunch through data.”
Susan nodded and as the pair began to immerse themselves in work she wandered into the canteen and returned with plates, on which she began to artfully arrange their lunch simply for something to do.
A while later, Susan looked up as she heard Maruma tap the table twice and exclaim “check.”
“What?” Grayling said as she leaned over to him.
“These are the accounts of both men…” he said pointing to a screen which had two files open side by side. “At 11:32 on this date, Jonathan spent £5.32 in a coffee shop that’s a twenty-minute drive out of town. At 11:33, Kofi spent money in exactly the same location.”
“They were there at the same time,” Susan gasped.
“Not only that. Two or three times a week, they spent money at the same time, in the same shop, at a distance away from everyone else who knew them.”
“Well F me,” Grayling exclaimed, “not only did they know each other, they were having secret meetings. They must have been.”
“Exactly.” Maruma continued “and I bet they spoke on this phone we can’t find, and I bet the second suicide is linked to the first.”
“Then we need to find the phone.”
Susan tilted her head. The numbers meant nothing, but the ideas meant a lot. “So why were they meeting? Boyfriends?”
“We can’t rule anything out.”
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