by GS Rhodes
“We had a few questions to ask you about the wake you had for your husband over the weekend,” Sanchez said. The mood in the room shifted dramatically. Where it had been warm and welcoming a few moments ago it suddenly went cold. Mrs Paige seemed to freeze in her seat while DC Ravel took out her notebook, pen poised and ready.
“What’s this got to do with my husband?” she breathed, her teacup frozen in mid-air, halfway between the saucer and her lips. “He’s dead, how could he—?”
“No, not like that, Mrs Paige,” Zoe said. “You had his wake on Saturday, is that right?”
“Yes, it was,” she said, eyeing the two of them curiously. And then it seemed to dawn on her all of a sudden. She put her cup back onto its saucer and down on the coffee table, her free hands immediately grasping each other across her chest. “Was it someone who was here?”
“I’m afraid so,” Zoe said. “I don’t want to cause you any undue distress, Mrs Paige, are you okay for us to continue?”
“Who was it?” she asked breathlessly.
“It was James Blythe,” she said. “He was one of your husband’s students. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Mrs Paige, but I’m sure you understand why we need to ask you a few questions. We’re trying to paint a picture of James’ final movements and find out what it was that happened to him. Are we okay to carry on?”
Tears started to fall from Mrs Paige’s eyes but she managed to keep her face neutral, calm almost. It was amazing to see her so strong even in her sadness. Zoe imagined this was how she had spent most of this past weekend, putting on a brave face through her tears while people told stories about her husband. When Zoe’s father had died, she had seen her mother doing the very same thing. Zoe had never been quite as good at it.
“Of course,” she said. “Investigations need to happen, people need to be brought to justice. I’ll answer any questions that you have, of course.” She paused and looked up towards the ceiling and back again. “My son, Robin, he’s home at the moment. He’s taken Gregory’s death quite hard, I…I don’t know how he will take the death of a friend.”
“A friend?” Ravel said, piping up, making a quick note. “They were friends?”
“They went to school together,” Mrs Paige said. “When I spoke to Robin about inviting people from his school year he didn’t seem so keen at first but we came up with quite a list. He was well-liked at school it seemed. So many people came to pay their respects to Gregory and to Robin too. I think he was flattered, but the day took an awful lot out of him.”
“I understand, Mrs Paige,” Zoe said, nodding, smiling, trying to make her feel better but unable to shake Robin from her mind. He wasn’t mentioned by James’ family last night, wasn’t even on their radar until just now. She wondered if Kidd was going through the same thing talking to the boys that James had been friends with. “I think it’s best that he hears sooner rather than later,” Zoe added. “The press will have hold of this soon and we will be asking for any witnesses to come forward if they have any information. It would be harder for Robin if it came from the news rather than from us, or even you, if you don’t mind, Mrs Paige?”
Mrs Paige nodded and took another sip of her tea before getting to her feet. She moved to the hallway and called up the stairs for Robin.
“Weird he’s not been mentioned yet, don’t you think?” DC Ravel said quietly.
Zoe nodded. It was definitely weird. Maybe he just wasn’t part of that immediate friendship group, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than that. She hated to even think it, but more often than not there was always more to it.
Mrs Paige reappeared in the living room, the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs behind her. There was sadness etched across her face.
It must be so difficult to be a parent, Zoe thought. Trying to shield your child from the horrors of the world only to have them show up on your doorstep.
Robin was not what Zoe had expected. He was tall, much taller than Mrs Paige, and thin, with a short, dark hair revealing an angular, pointed face. A pair of light brown eyes stared at the two officers on the sofa, intruders in his home. He looked confused. Mrs Paige obviously hadn’t let on about anything at all. Maybe he didn’t even know something had happened on his street.
“What’s happening?” he asked, his voice a low grumble. “Am I in trouble?”
“No, no, you’re not in trouble at all,” Zoe said, standing up so he wasn’t towering over her quite so much. Janya followed suit. She introduced herself and held out a hand for him to shake. Cautiously he took it, the handshake limp and noncommittal. “We’re investigating a murder that happened near here.”
“Well I don’t know anything about it,” he said, a little too quickly. “Can I go?”
“We weren’t coming here to accuse you,” DS Sanchez said firmly. “We wanted to inform you that the person who was killed was someone that you knew. Well, your mother has informed us that you knew him. It was James Blythe. He was here on Saturday for your father’s wake, and on his way home, he was attacked.”
“Right,” Robin said. “I didn’t know.”
“We thought that it was best it came from us rather than the news,” Zoe said. “I understand that the two of you were friends.”
Robin shrugged, not looking at the officers, turning his gaze to the carpet. His hands found their way to his pockets and he started shuffling in his socks, dancing back and forth from foot to foot.
Nerves? Zoe thought. What would he have to be nervous about?
“Were you friends, Robin?” DS Sanchez pressed.
“Yeah, I suppose,” he replied. “We knew each other at school. He came to pay his respects to Dad. We weren’t super close. It’s a shame. Sucks for him. Well, for his family too mostly.”
“Yeah,” Zoe said, narrowing her eyes at him. It wasn’t quite how she would put it but she supposed it did suck for his family. What was with this kid? “Did you notice him acting strange at all that night? Was there anything he did that seemed out of character? Or anyone acting suspiciously?”
Robin looked up at her, his face twisting in disgust. “It wasn’t really something I was paying attention to,” he said, venom lacing every word. “My dad had just been put in the ground, I wasn’t really focussing on what some kid from school was doing. Is that all?” He locked eyes with Zoe. A challenge for sure.
“Yes,” Zoe said. “Thank you for your time, Robin. You know where to find us if you think of anything. And I’m sorry for your loss.”
Robin nodded and walked out of the room, his footfalls heavy as he went back upstairs. There was something not sitting right with Zoe, something nudging at the back of her mind. But it wasn’t enough to bring him in on. She’d bring it up with Kidd later. Either way, it was interesting.
“Sorry about him,” Mrs Paige said quietly, moving closer to the officers and lowering her voice conspiratorially. “He’s normally fine with guests and very helpful but…everything has changed since Gregory died. It hit him quite hard I think.”
“How so?” Janya asked.
“He’s been more secretive than usual,” she said. “Just…it feels like he’s been keeping things from me and I don’t know what I can do about it. I…I don’t want him to get in any trouble. I just worry about him.”
Zoe smiled, nodding at Mrs Paige. “Understandable, Mrs Paige,” Zoe said. “We’d love to ask you a few questions about the wake if possible. Did you notice anything strange happening at all?”
Mrs Paige thought for a moment before shaking her head. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help,” she said. “I spent so much of the day in the kitchen or having people give me their condolences. Gregory was so young, you see, it was a shock to a lot of people. But he worked so hard for that school. I would say it drove him to an early grave because he worked so darn hard but he loved his work.” She stared fondly off into the distance, her eyes misting a little as she thought of her husband. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apolo
gise,” Janya said. “If you think of anything, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.”
Zoe pulled a card out of her jacket pocket. “Even if it’s just a small thing,” Zoe said. “We just want to help, okay?”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Even though David hadn’t turned out to be all that useful to them, the moment they’d stepped out of the house, Owen received a call from DC Powell back at the station with an address for Asim Farooq. He didn’t live here full-time anymore but was staying with his parents while he was in town for the funeral, and he was available for a chat. He’d already heard about James, and according to Simon, sounded quite cut up about it.
As they were about to get into the car, Kidd’s phone rang in his pocket. He answered it before checking who it was, bellowing a frustrated, “Hello?” into the receiver as he answered.
Nothing came back.
He checked the caller ID, only to find that WITHELD NUMBER was in block letters across the top of the screen again. He held the phone to his ear, desperately listening, trying to hear something, anything.
There was that creeping feeling that someone was there again.
“Hello?”
Owen turned around and looked at Kidd, his face twisting in curiosity.
“Hello?” Kidd said one more time with a little more force. He listened hard to the silence. He could hear someone there, he was sure he could. “Who is this?”
The next thing he heard were a few quick beeps as the person on the other end hung up. He stared at his handset. He’d woken up this morning half sure he’d imagined it, or at least, had managed to convince himself that there hadn’t been anyone on the other end of the line, but this time he couldn’t be more certain that there was. Who the heck was trying to call him?
“Everything alright, boss?” Campbell said, stepping away from the car and taking a few cautious steps towards Kidd. “You look spooked.”
“I’m alright,” Kidd said, trying to shake it from his brain. “Just someone trying to call me who…well, I answer and they don’t say anything so I have no idea who it is.”
“Weird.”
“Definitely,” Kidd said, looking down at his phone one more time, half expecting it to start ringing again. It stayed quiet, the time floating on the screen above a picture of him, his sister Liz, and his niece and nephew. He shook his head and looked back at Owen. “Right, Campbell, onwards. Don’t have time for this.”
They drove down the road for about ten minutes, getting closer to Kingston Riverside before turning into a small side road. After squeezing into a parking space a little way from the house, they both got out and started towards the address DC Powell had given them.
“DI Kidd!”
The voice came from a little way down the road. It was a voice that Kidd recognised, one that he knew all too well from the last couple of cases he’d been on. Joe Warrington was barrelling towards the two officers, his phone in one hand, a giant rucksack slung over his shoulders. His beanie hat was only just holding back a mess of dark curls, hair sticking out at all sorts of angles from underneath it.
By the time he reached them, he was out of breath.
“Sorry, had to call out before you went inside somewhere and I lost you,” he panted. “You alright?”
Kidd eyed him. Joe Warrington was an online blogger who had been a source of great irritation for Kidd a few months ago when he was working on The Grinning Murders case but had since become something of an acquaintance. He reported on a lot of cases and usually managed to get hold of a lot of information before the press did, which had proved useful during their last case.
Kidd had never questioned where Warrington managed to get his information in the past. He just seemed to know things. But something about him showing up now, something about having two anonymous phone calls in a twelve hour period had him feeling on edge.
“Fine, just on a case,” Kidd said bluntly. “What brings you down here?”
Joe Warrington raised his bushy eyebrows at the DI. “Why do you think I’m down here? I’m looking for you. I’m doing my job.”
“Your job?” Campbell was sceptical. “And what’s that? Selling sweets on the playground?”
“Easy, Campbell,” Kidd grumbled. To Joe he said, “Ignore him. What do you want?”
“I want the scoop,” Joe said, all too happy to ignore Campbell.
“The scoop on what?” Kidd asked. He didn’t want to give anything away, didn’t want to give him anything that he didn’t already have. The last thing he wanted was to upset DCI Weaver any more than he already had. He needed to do things by the book, that meant no slip ups.
“The scoop on the James Blythe murder,” Warrington said, narrowing his eyes. “That is what you’re working on, right?”
“How the bloody hell do you know about the James Blythe case?”
Joe snorted. “Do you really want to know?”
Kidd wasn’t sure if he did. “I am working on that case, yes,” Kidd replied. “But I don’t have anything I can give you Joe, the boss would string me up if I told you a damn thing. You got anything for me?”
“Hardly a fair trade,” Joe said, taking a step back. “You’re not giving me anything and I have to give you my scoop?”
“You have a scoop?”
“I might,” Joe teased. Kidd growled, checking the time on his phone.
“I’m sorry, Joe, I don’t have time for this,” he replied. “We need to go and talk to someone who might be able to help us—”
“Asim Farooq, right?”
Kidd narrowed his eyes at Joe once again, looking him up and down. How the bloody hell could he have known that? He thought again to his phone, now burning a hole in his pocket. Could Joe have done something to tap his phone?
No, he thought. Campbell got the information about Asim’s address. And he’d not said anything to anyone about Asim on the phone. So it couldn’t be that. There was no way. But there was enough of a niggle in the back of his mind that set him on edge. And suddenly he wanted this conversation to be over before Joe could even try to press him for anything else.
“Sorry, Joe,” Kidd said, regaining his footing in the conversation and straightening up. “Got to keep this one quiet I’m afraid. I’ll probably see you at the press conference alright?”
“Don’t expect me to go easy on you, Ben,” he said.
Kidd wouldn’t expect anything less. Joe moved about a little, taking photos of Kidd and Campbell as they walked towards Asim’s house before he disappeared down the road.
“I don’t like that boy,” Campbell grumbled. “Way too big for his boots.”
“He’s a journalist,” Kidd shrugged. “Whether they’re online or offline, they’re built from the same stock, every last one of them is a little bit poisonous.”
“Even the good ones?”
Kidd raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes it’s the good ones who turn out to be worse,” he said, walking up to Asim’s door and knocking heavily. A woman answered the door, her midnight blue headscarf pulled tightly over her head. She was small, having to literally look up into Kidd and Campbell’s faces when she pulled the door open.
Her face cracked into a sorry smile. She obviously knew why they were there and her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Asim,” she called back into the house. “The police are here to speak with you.” She turned back to the officers. “Come inside, I’ve made tea.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Asim sat across from them in the dining room, the three of them crammed in around a table so small that Owen and Kidd’s knees were touching. He looked nervous, upset, like he hadn’t slept. Kidd had a suspicion that was going to be a running theme through the rest of their interviews today.
Poor lads, Kidd thought to himself. Barely out in the world and having to deal with all of this.
“From the beginning,” Kidd said, pen poised over his notebook. “Tell us in your own words what happened that night, don’t leave anything out. If there’s anything that
jumps out to you as even the tiniest bit important, do not hesitate to let us know.”
“We went to the funeral,” Asim said, looking down at his cup of tea and then back up to the two officers. “I’m sorry, you probably heard a lot of this from David already.”
“It’s okay,” Owen said. “Just tell us your version of events. Whatever that may be.”
Asim nodded. “Okay,” he started. “We went to the funeral, all of us together. It was sort of like a reunion for us all. We were best friends in high school and, I don’t know, it’s a bit sick now that I think about it, but we all saw this as getting the old group back together. We were all so close and even though we still talk and everything, we don’t see each other as much as we used to.”
Asim took a deep breath. He was shaking as he spoke, like he was struggling to get the words out, struggling to come to terms with the fact that his friend was no longer here.
“Is his family okay?” Asim asked. “I spoke to them briefly on the phone but, you know, people don’t like to give too much away.”
“They’re coping,” Kidd said. “But I’m sure they wouldn’t mind you checking in with them. You said you were all very close at school?”
“Yeah,” Asim said, a fond sort of smile drifting across his face. “We were kind of a nightmare really, in that way teenage boys are. It felt kind of like an honour to be invited to Mr Paige’s funeral.”
“How so?” Campbell asked.
“Well, I always thought we drove him crazy,” Asim said. He lowered his voice and leant in a little. “I mean, don’t tell my mum this, but we gave a lot of teachers a hard time because we didn’t really think much of school. But it’s nice to know that he obviously thought well enough of us that his family invited us. It’s…it’s nice. It makes me wonder if he followed our progress over the years. Maybe he was checking up on us and watching us this whole time and we didn’t know.”