ironwork with considerable force. I wondered if there was any evidence of that.’
‘Look, Mr Booker, I understand why you might want to believe that this is not an accident, but they do happen. In the strangest of circumstances, sometimes. There is nearly always a reasonable explanation.’
‘I wish you’d make your mind up – accidental death or suspicious.’
‘We will when we have all the facts to make that decision.’
‘In the meantime, would you do me a favour?’
‘Mr Booker, we’re not in the habit of doing favours for members of the public.’ It wasn’t said with irritation.
‘Could you just ask the pathologist to look at the sleeve of the top she was wearing? There should be a hole in it where she was snagged on the outfall’s ironwork. And then can he look at her corresponding arm to see if there is any physical damage to suggest she had hit the structure she was found snagged on with any force?’
‘What do you think that will prove? She was in the water for some time. You’ve got a lot of sea wall, scores of groynes and the outfall that she could have been thrown against by the tide. All might have caused injuries to her. In fact, I’d be surprised if her body didn’t show signs of her having been battered by the sea and the geography of the place.’
‘I think you know what I’m thinking, Detective.’
‘Then, with your uncle still missing, don’t you think he could be involved in some way?’
‘Not for me. I don’t think my aunt’s death was an accident and the last person in the world who would have done my aunt harm was my uncle.’
‘Under normal circumstances.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘When I asked you before, you said you weren’t aware of either of them having a serious illness. Your aunt had cancer?’
I sat down. ‘What?’
‘The pathologist’s toxicology report found traces of a cancer-fighting drug and physical examination showed evidence of puncture marks to indicate regular injections.’ A brief silence. ‘You didn’t know?’
‘No. I didn’t.’
‘It could change things. How would you feel about a mercy killing angle?’
‘Disparaging. Come on. Not on the day I was due to arrive. Not with the business in limbo. And certainly not like that.’
‘I’ll find out what you asked and let you know, Mr Booker.’
‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that, Detective.’
I waited for her to hang up but she didn’t.
‘My DI wants to speak with you. Will you come here, or shall I send a car?’
That was unexpected. ‘What about?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I can drive my uncle’s car in. When?’
‘An hour suit you?’
‘All right. About an hour.’ I put my phone away and wondered what that was all about and why the hurry.
***
10
Standing against the wall to my left, Detective Cash had been babysitting me.
Detective Inspector Sprake kept me waiting nine minutes by the clock in the interview room where I’d wasted part of my life the previous day. It still reeked of vomit and guilt.
Cash seemed unusually taciturn compared with our previous interactions – professional and distant. I didn’t press her for conversation. If she wanted to practise the silent treatment, that was fine with me. I was used to it: I was married.
When the man himself finally deigned to put in an appearance he didn’t apologise for keeping me hanging around. He didn’t thank me for pitching up voluntarily and saving him a drive. He didn’t smile or introduce himself. He sat down opposite me and kept me waiting a minute longer while he pretended to be reading a piece of paper tucked in the usual beige file and I stared at the top of his head. It was no more interesting than the painted block wall behind him.
Sprake was a cod of a man: indifferent, grey, protruding cod eyes; featureless cod face; a cod mouth with a natural inclination to gape, no chin to speak of and a forehead that slanted back from his weak brow a little too sharply.
‘Look, Mr Booker, I understand why you might want to believe that this is not an accident, but they do happen. In the strangest of circumstances, sometimes. There is nearly always a reasonable explanation.’
‘I wish you’d make your mind up – accidental death or suspicious.’
‘We will when we have all the facts to make that decision.’
‘In the meantime, would you do me a favour?’
‘Mr Booker, we’re not in the habit of doing favours for members of the public.’ It wasn’t said with irritation.
‘Could you just ask the pathologist to look at the sleeve of the top she was wearing? There should be a hole in it where she was snagged on the outfall’s ironwork. And then can he look at her corresponding arm to see if there is any physical damage to suggest she had hit the structure she was found snagged on with any force?’
‘What do you think that will prove? She was in the water for some time. You’ve got a lot of sea wall, scores of groynes and the outfall that she could have been thrown against by the tide. All might have caused injuries to her. In fact, I’d be surprised if her body didn’t show signs of her having been battered by the sea and the geography of the place.’
‘I think you know what I’m thinking, Detective.’
‘Then, with your uncle still missing, don’t you think he could be involved in some way?’
‘Not for me. I don’t think my aunt’s death was an accident and the last person in the world who would have done my aunt harm was my uncle.’
‘Under normal circumstances.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘When I asked you before, you said you weren’t aware of either of them having a serious illness. Your aunt had cancer?’
I sat down. ‘What?’
‘The pathologist’s toxicology report found traces of a cancer-fighting drug and physical examination showed evidence of puncture marks to indicate regular injections.’ A brief silence. ‘You didn’t know?’
‘No. I didn’t.’
‘It could change things. How would you feel about a mercy killing angle?’
‘Disparaging. Come on. Not on the day I was due to arrive. Not with the business in limbo. And certainly not like that.’
‘I’ll find out what you asked and let you know, Mr Booker.’
‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that, Detective.’
I waited for her to hang up but she didn’t.
‘My DI wants to speak with you. Will you come here, or shall I send a car?’
That was unexpected. ‘What about?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I can drive my uncle’s car in. When?’
‘An hour suit you?’
‘All right. About an hour.’ I put my phone away and wondered what that was all about and why the hurry.
***
10
Standing against the wall to my left, Detective Cash had been babysitting me.
Detective Inspector Sprake kept me waiting nine minutes by the clock in the interview room where I’d wasted part of my life the previous day. It still reeked of vomit and guilt.
Cash seemed unusually taciturn compared with our previous interactions – professional and distant. I didn’t press her for conversation. If she wanted to practise the silent treatment, that was fine with me. I was used to it: I was married.
When the man himself finally deigned to put in an appearance he didn’t apologise for keeping me hanging around. He didn’t thank me for pitching up voluntarily and saving him a drive. He didn’t smile or introduce himself. He sat down opposite me and kept me waiting a minute longer while he pretended to be reading a piece of paper tucked in the usual beige file and I stared at the top of his head. It was no more interesting than the painted block wall behind him.
Sprake was a cod of a man: indifferent, grey, protruding cod eyes; featureless cod face; a cod mouth with a natural inclination to gape, no chin to speak of and a forehead that slanted back from his weak brow a little too sharply.
Similar Books
