‘Help yourself,’ she said with a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘If you do get it open I expect you’ll only find the usual mixture
of crap and junk in there.’
Neil looked out of the kitchen window and saw a familiar battered van pulling up outside. His colleagues were finally here.
‘Mind if I do this later? The others have just arrived so I’d better go and unload the equipment from my car.’ His eyes wandered
longingly to the keys lying there, temptingly. But duty called.
‘James Dalcott had a woman – a nurse at the practice – but he still kept calling Roz every five minutes. When she told him
she was expecting, it seemed to get worse. Couldn’t let her go. Fucking nuisance he was.’ Harry Parker sat back in the uncomfortable
wooden seat, completely relaxed, making himself at home.
‘Where were you when he was killed?’ Wesley asked.
‘I told that rather nice blonde detective sergeant everything I know. I don’t want to have to repeat myself.’
Gerry Heffernan leaned forward, an unpleasant grin on
his face. ‘Oh, we policemen always like things repeated. It must be the food in the canteen, kills the brain cells and knackers
our short-term memory.’ He paused and looked the man in the eye. ‘But you’ll know all about police questioning, won’t you,
Mr Parker?’
Harry Parker opened his mouth to speak then closed it again.
‘We know about your record.’
‘That’s in the past. I’ve put all that behind me,’ Parker said, avoiding Gerry’s piercing gaze.
‘Robbery, burglary and threatening behaviour.’
‘I was young and stupid. And that spell inside taught me a lesson.’
‘Some say prison just makes you a better criminal – that it’s a university for the thieving classes.’
‘In some cases maybe, but not in mine. When I came out I swore I was never going in there again.’ He paused and looked Wesley
in the eye, as if he judged him to be the more sympathetic of the pair. ‘But I have got prison to thank for my choice of career.
Had a brilliant art teacher in there who recognised my talents and kept in touch when I got out. Pointed me in the right direction.’
Gerry Heffernan gave him a threatening smile. ‘That’s very touching. But I bet it wasn’t the only thing you learned inside.
I bet you met some contacts in there. The sort of contacts who can get hold of a firearm at knockdown prices.’
‘I don’t know anyone like that.’
Gerry pushed his seat back and the legs scraped against the floor, a sound that put Wesley’s teeth on edge. ‘Only mix with
the Vicar and the Mothers’ Union now, do you? Bet you do charity work and all.’
‘I did donate one of my pictures to a raffle for the local hospice, yes.’
Wesley saw Gerry looking at him. ‘Very nice, isn’t it, Inspector Peterson? Restores your faith in human nature.’
There was a brown cardboard file on the table in front of Wesley. He opened it carefully and studied the sheets of paper inside,
a frown of concentration on his face. Then he looked at the man sitting opposite him and smiled – more friendly than the DCI.
He was playing ‘nice cop’ today. ‘Your conviction for aggravated burglary involved a firearm, Mr Parker. You were carrying
a gun when you broke into the premises of a Mr Joseph Hyam. Mr Hyam was a jeweller, I believe.’
There was no answer but Parker’s face had turned an unattractive shade of red.
‘You threatened Mr Hyam, didn’t you? You threatened him with a gun. Where did you get it?’
‘A mate. It wasn’t loaded. It was just meant to frighten him.’
‘But it does mean you are familiar with firearms. You’ve used them, er, professionally, as it were.’
‘I was eighteen. A stupid kid. Look, I’ve served my time, paid my debt to society or whatever you want to call it. I’m not
the same man now as I was then. I’m an artist. I’m going to be a father soon. I wouldn’t do anything to put that at risk now,
would I?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Gerry Heffernan. ‘Your girlfriend’s ex must have been a real pain in the arse so I can understand why
you wanted rid of him, especially with the baby on the way. He’d have come round pestering Roz all the time, wouldn’t he?
We’ve got his phone records, you know. One of the last calls he made was to Roz’s mobile phone.’
‘So?’
‘I think he was making things awkward. Did you know about the call?’
‘Yeah. It was just routine, about the divorce settlement.’
‘Know what’s in his will?’ Wesley did his best to sound casual.
Parker looked wary. ‘You tell me.’
‘According to his solicitor he never got round to making a new one after Roz left him. She gets the lot and the house must
be worth a bit.’ Wesley looked him in the eye. ‘The solicitor wasn’t too pleased at being contacted on a Sunday but he did
tell us one thing. Last Friday afternoon James Dalcott made an appointment to see him on Monday morning. That’s today. He
said he wanted to make some alterations to his will. Now the solicitor couldn’t remember exactly what was in the original
will but I’m sure we can take a guess, can’t we? In my will I leave everything to my wife, apart from a few small bequests,
and she leaves everything to me. It’s the usual thing between married couples and James never got round to changing it. Until
now. You see our dilemma, Mr Parker?’
Harry Parker examined his fingernails. There was paint caught in them, red mostly. ‘Not really. Roz didn’t know about this
appointment with the solicitor. Why should she?’
‘He might have told her when he called her on Saturday afternoon. If he did, it gives both of you a very good motive for murder.
The oldest motive in the book – money. Because James Dalcott died when he did, she’ll be a wealthy woman. If he’d made the
new will …’ He let the words hang in the air.
Harry Parker looked uneasy. The questioning was
beginning to get to him. It would only take another push, Wesley thought, to crack him. He caught Gerry’s eye. It was time
to put the nasty cop into action again.
‘You killed him, didn’t you, Harry? You saw all that lovely money you expected to get your hands on going down the drain.
How far had the divorce proceedings gone?’
‘Dunno. James was making things awkward, holding things up.’
‘Was Roz going to do well out of the divorce settlement or …?’
‘I suppose she was going to do all right. I think he was going to keep the house and pay Roz a hundred grand. She would have
gone for more but she felt a bit guilty if the truth were known. She’d left him and she had no kids so she didn’t really feel
she could take him to the cleaners.’
‘That was very charitable of her,’ said Gerry with more than a hint of sarcasm. ‘But if he died without changing his will,
she’d get a ruddy sight more than a hundred grand, wouldn’t she? Now remind me, Inspector Peterson, what are the main motives
for murder in the policeman’s instruction manual? Let’s see if I can remember.’ He screwed up his face in mock concentration.
‘Now there’s getting rid of someone inconvenient, like your girlfriend’s estranged husband.’
‘And money,’ Wesley chipped in. ‘Don’t forget money.’
‘OK, I’ll admit we’ll probably do all right out of all this. But I didn’t kill him. I swear.’
‘Our Forensic people’ll need to examine the clothes you were wearing on Saturday night.’
Parker looked up. ‘They’ve been washed.’
‘How convenient.’
‘Examine away. You won’t find anything.’
As Parker was about to be led away to the cells, he turned to Wesley, probably because he judged him the more sympathetic
of the pair. ‘James had his dark side, you know. That’s one of the reasons Roz said she’d never go back.’
Wesley looked at the man. This was something new. ‘What do you mean by his dark side?’
‘You searched his house yet?’
‘Why?’
‘You’ll see,’ Parker said with a smirk. ‘Over the past few weeks he became obsessed by it. It wasn’t normal.’
‘Obsessed by what?’
Parker smiled and shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t tell Roz any details but it was like it was haunting him.’
‘What was?’
‘The past.’
‘How do you mean?’ Wesley’s curiosity was aroused now.
But Parker shook his head again. ‘Not up to me to say. If you search his house you’ll see for yourself.’ He shut his lips
tight and walked out of the room.
Suddenly Wesley couldn’t wait to get over to Tradington to see what he meant.
As Trish Walton rang Adam Tey’s doorbell she looked sideways at Nick Tarnaby who was standing by her side, eyes fixed ahead
and hands in pockets. Nick’s taciturn manner sometimes made her feel uncomfortable. But she decided to ignore it.
She rang the doorbell again but still there were no telltale sounds from inside the house.
Nick Tarnaby turned to go. ‘They’ve probably gone away for a few days.’
‘Or done a runner after Dr Dalcott’s murder,’ said Trish, irritated at her colleague’s apparent lack of interest. ‘Let’s talk
to the neighbours.’
Tarnaby grunted. ‘Waste of time if you ask me.’
Suddenly Trish’s patience snapped. ‘Sorry if you’ve got something more important to do but this Tey character had a grudge
against the victim. We’ve got to talk to him. He could be our killer.’
She marched towards the neighbouring front door and rang the bell. This time it opened almost immediately – too quickly perhaps,
as though the neighbours had been watching their efforts to speak to Adam Tey and Charleen Anstice with great interest from
behind the net curtains.
Because the house had a neat front garden, snowy lace curtains and fussy ornaments on display in the front window, Trish had
been expecting to see an elderly lady at the door. But instead a large, tattooed man stood there, taking up most of the doorway.
He was bald and the muscles of his bare arms bulged like oranges in a Christmas stocking.
‘You police?’ he said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. A dog began to bark somewhere inside the house. It sounded big
and fierce and Trish hoped he wouldn’t invite them in.
‘That’s right.’ She held up her warrant card but he didn’t bother examining it. ‘We’ve been trying to contact your neighbours.
Adam Tey and Charleen Anstice.’
‘They’re in. I heard them.’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Just before you arrived. They had the telly on and they
were talking. These walls are as thin as bleeding paper. You can hear everything. And I mean everything,’ he added with a
suggestive grimace.
‘You’re sure they didn’t go out?’
‘No. They’re avoiding you. I’d put money on it,’ he added with a self-satisfied smirk.
Trish hesitated for a moment. ‘Do I get the impression you don’t get on with your neighbours, Mr … er …’
‘I can tell you’re in the CID, my lover,’ the man said with an unpleasant grin. ‘You’re right. I don’t like them. They keep
complaining about my Tinkerbell.’
‘Tinkerbell?’
‘My dog. They reported her to you lot – said she was a pit bull but she’s not. All because she growled at him. He said she’d
have gone for him if I hadn’t pulled her off. But he was tormenting her. She was only playing. She wouldn’t harm a fly.’
‘I see,’ said Trish quickly. She could hear Tinkerbell flinging herself against one of the inside doors. She sent up a silent
prayer that the door wouldn’t give – the last thing she fancied at that moment was an encounter with Tinkerbell’s slavering
jaws. ‘Thanks for your help, Mr … er …’
‘Mold. Ken Mold. And if they make any accusations against my Tinkerbell, they’re lying. Just you remember that.’
‘We will,’ said Trish as he closed the door on them.
‘So what do we do now?’ Tarnaby asked in a voice that suggested to Trish that he’d rather be somewhere else.
‘We keep trying. They can’t keep this up for ever.’
‘Can’t they?’
Trish marched back to the car. She unlocked the door and sat in the driver’s seat.
Tarnaby lowered himself down beside her. ‘We going or what?’
‘No. We’re waiting.’ Trish wasn’t giving up until she’d spoken to Adam Tey and Charleen Anstice. She could sense Nick Tarnaby
fidgeting by her side so she decided to make conversation to ease the tension and possibly improve relations.
‘You’re married, aren’t you, Nick?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Does your wife work?’
‘She used to. She’s had to give up.’
‘What did she do?’
But before he could answer, she saw Adam Tey’s front door open, just a crack at first, then wider. ‘Hold on,’ she whispered.
‘I think it’s our lucky day.’
She saw a man emerge and look around. He was short and skinny and he reminded Trish of a ferret with his small features and
pointed nose. He wore a parka coat, the hood up against the November chill. Slowly and casually, she got out of the car. Tarnaby
made no move but she wasn’t particularly bothered. She reckoned she’d be able to tackle this on her own and when she reported
back to DCI Heffernan, it might just earn her a few Brownie points.
She walked towards Tey and smiled. ‘Mr Tey. Can I have a quick word? Nothing to worry about,’ she lied charmingly. ‘I’m Detective
Constable Trish Walton and I’m making some routine inquiries. Can we talk in the house? I’d like to speak to your partner
too. What’s her name? Charleen?’
She handed him her warrant card and let him examine it. It was clear that he didn’t know quite what to do in the
face of her unthreatening manner. It probably confused him, but that was the intention.
The tactic seemed to work. He handed back her warrant card and began to retrace his steps to the house.
‘Charleen’s pregnant. I don’t want her upset.’
‘I promise I won’t upset her, Mr Tey. I just want a chat, that’s all. You do know what it’s about, I take it? You have heard
the news about Dr Dalcott?’
It was difficult to make out Tey’s reply but it sounded noncommittal. She tried another tactic to put the man at his ease.
‘I’ve met your neighbour. It must be difficult,’ she said sympathetically.
Tey looked at her. ‘He’s a fucking animal. Bad as that dog of his.’
‘Tinkerbell?’
Their eyes met and he gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Yeah. Bloody stupid name for a vicious beast like that. Went for me it did.
If he hadn’t pulled it off it would have had my arm off. When the baby’s born I’m going to do something about it. I’m not
taking any risks.’