Cold Justice (8 page)

‘Is this something to concern us?’

‘The phone call came pretty quickly from the Home Secretary. Even so, it may have nothing to do with Samuel’s disappearance. But he was a high-profile man, he had debts and people would assume he had money. Maybe someone’s been a bit hasty in taking Samuel before the house in Cornwall is sold.’

‘What do you want to do about it? Willis and I were thinking we should talk to the people who came up from Cornwall for the funeral. We could take a look at his house down there?’

‘Absolutely. Get it searched, low-key. I don’t want my arse roasted and I don’t want a feeding-frenzy from the press.’

‘Are you going to request more information from the Home Secretary?’ asked Carter.

‘Is the Pope a Catholic? We’ll discuss later. What time can you get to me?’

‘We have a couple of jobs to attend to, then I’ll be over.’

‘I’ll be at the bar.’ Bowie rang off.

‘Okay.’ Carter drank up the last of his wine. ‘We ready to pay a visit to Toby’s workmate? We have a lot to get through this evening and the boss wants to see me.’

‘Ready.’ Willis did up her jacket, packed up her case and followed Carter outside onto the cobbled street.

‘Christ . . .’ Carter pulled up his collar and tucked his chin into his scarf as the bitter wind hit him. ‘You need to get a proper coat for this weather, Eb. That thing you’re wearing’s seen better days.’

‘It’s fine, guv. Honestly.’ She rolled her eyes.

They reached the black BMW. Willis got into the passenger seat and Carter started the engine. Before pulling out he picked out a tissue from the compartment between the seats. He handed it across to Willis, who hadn’t managed to stop sniffing since they’d met. Carter knew there was no point in telling her she needed to wrap up warmer. She was a hardy animal. She might not think she felt the cold but her nose dripped like a tap.

‘Thanks.’ She took it and gave one wipe of the nose, then stuffed the tissue into her pocket and sniffed loudly again. The gap in Ebony’s social etiquette was too big to fill and yet it didn’t amount to anything in real terms. She ate off her knife. She ate with her fingers. She piled ketchup on everything.

‘There it is, guv.’

They pulled up across the street from the house and walked towards the neat front garden, split by a path running down the centre.

‘This area costs a fortune to live in,’ said Willis. ‘You can see the new money along here.’

‘Whereas this place looks like it’s been a while since it saw a paintbrush. Looks like it has probably been in the family a long time. The front garden has that look of someone older’s planting,’ mused Carter.

‘How do you know one plant from another?’

‘My mum loves her garden. She’s always working on colour schemes,’ answered Carter. ‘We took her to Chelsea Flower Show last year – she loved it. This wouldn’t be risky enough for her. There’s a lot of variegated shrubs, bark; this is a low-maintenance garden.’

Carter knocked on the door. A woman in her late sixties answered.

Carter showed his badge. ‘Mrs Turnbill?’ She nodded, looking from one officer to the other. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Dan Carter, this is Detective Constable Willis. Is Gareth in? Could we have a word with him, please?’

‘Gareth?’

‘Yes, nothing to worry about, it’s just about where he works.’

‘It’s closed today.’

‘Yes, we know, we are part of the investigation surrounding it.’ Carter smiled again. ‘Gareth?’ Willis took a step closer to the door to give Mrs Turnbill a hint.

‘Yes, please, come in.’ She stood out of the way for them to pass.

‘Thank you.’ Carter wiped his feet on the mat. ‘Would you like us to take our shoes off?’

‘God, no! We’ve got stone floors – your feet’ll freeze. Follow me.’

Willis was almost disappointed – it must have been one of the rare times she’d ever managed to find matching socks. She lived in a shared house where they didn’t have luxuries like a dishwasher or a washing machine. She took her laundry to the laundrette to be service-washed if she didn’t have time to do it herself – she gave it to the woman who smiled a lot but didn’t speak any English. She never seemed to get it all back. Somewhere out there were a lot of her socks.

Mrs Turnbill led them down towards a kitchen at the back of the house. The place hadn’t been redecorated for at least fifty years. There were 1950s-style cabinets in the kitchen that were now very sought-after. But it hadn’t been cleaned in a long time either. The only warmth was coming from an Aga.

‘Mrs Turnbill – Gareth’s your son, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. A late gift from God.’ She was obviously used to being confused with his grandmother. She smiled. ‘I’ll just fetch him – he’s outside. He spends nearly all his time in the shed.’ She left them in the kitchen as she went out through an ancient conservatory, which was dark and cold; thin, pale spider plants hung down from overcrammed hanging baskets. She opened a door that was just out of sight. Willis took a look around the corner and came back to Carter.

‘It’s impossible to see outside,’ she said. ‘It’s dark as a cow’s guts out there. Funny time to go to the garden.’

‘A man and his shed. One of those essential relationships.’ Carter took a step nearer to the Aga. ‘I’d love one of these.’ He was just about to say something else when they heard voices and the sound of the conservatory door.

Gareth and his mother came back in. Gareth didn’t make eye contact. He was a flush-faced young man, who looked more fifteen than nineteen. When he did look up it was with a nervous smile. He had a large flat section of hair down the centre of his head, sweeping down over his eyes. The sides of his head were shaven.

‘Hello.’ Carter smiled. ‘You have a man shed out there, do you?’

Gareth looked embarrassed. ‘I have my music collection.’

‘Isn’t it freezing out there?’ Carter asked.

His mother laughed. ‘Goodness me, not in the shed he’s got. He’s got one of those with a wood burner and goodness knows what else in it. It’s warmer than this old house.’ Carter could well believe it. Gareth smiled awkwardly.

‘Gareth . . . we’ve been working out Toby Forbes-Wright’s movements yesterday and, of course, you know what has happened to Toby and his son Samuel? We are pretty sure that you were the last person to see Samuel.’

‘Oh.’ He avoided looking at his mum. She was looking at him curiously. ‘I gave a statement.’

‘Yes, we appreciate it. We would like you to run through things again with us, if you don’t mind?’

‘Okay.’

Mrs Turnbill went to lean on the Aga facing her son, along with the detectives. Willis got out her notebook, checked and said, ‘In your statement you said that Toby came to see you in the gift shop at . . .?’

‘At four I looked at the clock to see how long it would be before I could shut up shop.’

‘And did you see Samuel then?’ asked Carter.

‘Yes, I saw him; he was asleep.’

‘He didn’t wake up at all while you and Toby were talking?’

‘No.’ Gareth’s hair flopped down over his eyes as he shook his head nonchalantly.

‘And what did Toby and you talk about, do you remember?’ asked Carter.

‘We chatted about the new exhibit, about the photo gallery. Toby’s amazing new photos. We talked about the new shop, the stuff on sale.’

‘Toby and you worked together in the shop sometimes?’

‘Yes, occasionally. Mainly, I work in the café or the shop. Toby maintains the exhibits. He does the technical things. He’s the clever one,’ Gareth giggled.

‘What time did you finish yesterday?’

‘At five thirty.’

‘Dead on?’

‘Yes. We close the Astronomy Centre at five. I just have to make sure it’s all ready for the next day.’

‘And when you left work where did you go?’

‘I came straight home.’

Carter looked at Mrs Turnbill beside him. ‘Mrs Turnbill, were you in then?’

‘Yes, I must have been. I suffer from rheumatoid arthritis, I was here trying to keep warm upstairs.’

Carter turned to Gareth. ‘I hear you and Toby get on very well? Is that right?’

‘I suppose. Yes, we do.’ Gareth blushed.

‘You see each other outside work?’

‘Sometimes.’ He glanced towards his mother, who was staring and smiling.

‘Have you met Toby, Mrs Turnbill?’

‘Toby? Yes, I have. A lovely young man. I didn’t know he had a child though.’

‘And a wife,’ added Carter.

‘A wife?’ Mrs Turnbill glanced at her son.

‘Toby comes round here a lot, does he?’ Carter asked.

‘Once or twice a week.’ Mrs Turnbill was starting to prickle. Carter could see her mind working, wondering what she should say and what she definitely shouldn’t.

‘When was the last time he came round?’

‘Oh . . .’ She shook her head as she thought. ‘Not sure, really.’ She turned to her son. ‘When was it now?’

‘A couple of days ago.’

‘So, can you tell us, Gareth, when Toby was about to leave yesterday, what were you doing? Where were you when he said goodbye?’

‘I was standing behind the counter.’

‘What did Toby say, do you remember?’

‘He just said, “See you soon.” ’

‘And then you saw him leave?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was it the first time you’d ever seen Samuel?’

‘It may have been; I can’t remember.’

‘Did he say anything about the fact he was on his own with Samuel that day?’

‘He said he’d been to his dad’s funeral. He said he needed some fresh air. He wanted to get back to work but he was taking a few days off to sort out his father’s things.’

‘Did you ever meet Toby’s father?’ Gareth shook his head. ‘Did Toby ever talk about him?’ Gareth shrugged and left his shoulders in the air. ‘What did he say?’

‘Just that he didn’t really know him. That he didn’t feel right going through his father’s things when he didn’t know him.’

‘Did you go with him to his father’s flat?’

Gareth nodded. ‘He asked me to.’

‘Did you have to help Toby do anything there, look for anything while you were in the flat? What did you do in there?’

‘I just waited for Toby. I looked through his dad’s music collection. He had a lot of stuff I’d never heard of.’

‘How long were you there with Toby?’

‘About an hour or two.’

‘And did Toby find what he was looking for?’

‘I’m not sure he had anything in mind.’

‘Did he leave with anything?’

‘Just a backpack with a few things in it.’

‘Okay, thanks, Gareth. You’ve been a lot of help. I don’t expect we’ll need to bother you again, but just in case you remember anything you think might help us . . .’ He handed Gareth a card. ‘And please don’t leave the area for now.’

Carter and Willis walked across the street to the car. Willis opened her notebook on the way.

‘Before you look at that,’ Carter said, ‘what do you think of young Gareth? Gay?’ he suggested as he got into the driver’s seat. Willis got in the car, closed the door and buckled up her belt. She didn’t answer as she thought for a minute. He started up the engine and switched on the lights.

‘I’m not sure if he is or just considering his options,’ she said.

‘What do you mean? You think he’s bi?’

‘I mean, I’m not sure if he’s ever been in a physical relationship. He lives with a much older mum, looks like there’s no dad. I think her son lives a sheltered life.’

‘Toby took Gareth to help him deal with something intensely private, like his father’s flat. He took him instead of his wife.’

‘I think Toby has the same mental age as Gareth – a young nineteen,’ said Willis.

‘I could smell weed,’ Carter said.

‘Yeah, me too. But it could be the mum. She would be in a lot of pain with her illness.’

‘Or it could be that’s what’s in his shed. Could be Gareth has a sideline going. I want to take a look at that shed. Let’s get some officers up searching this street. No sign of a weed patch, we would have heard about it from the helicopters.’

‘What’s the plan for going down to Cornwall?’ Carter looked at his watch. ‘It’s already six. We’ll head down early in the morning. Get down there by lunchtime.’

At six that evening, the wind was picking up at the Gordano services on the M5 on the outskirts of Bristol. It had been busy all day with a steady stream of lorries and cars. Viktor, one of the team of cleaners who were responsible for keeping the services in good shape, was finishing up in the men’s toilets. He checked his watch. He still had two hours to go until the end of his shift. Next on his rota were the outside smoking areas, just in front of the entrance. He needed to check and empty the bins. Not many smokers had braved sitting out there with their coffees today. They had gone back to their cars instead.

As the sliding doors at the entrance opened he felt the gust of cold air almost bowl him backwards. It reminded him of his home in the Ukraine, except Viktor had never actually been there for more than a two-week holiday – he had been born in the UK. He stepped outside; litter was flying about. He went up onto the decked area – the chairs had been removed before they blew away. He checked the bin and bagged up the insides, left the bag to collect on his way back. First he needed to check the bin near the cashpoint just below him.

He walked back and down the steps towards the right-hand side of the car park and noticed how the ornamental hedges had become a magnet for every piece of flying litter.

As he neared the bin he saw something dangling from the conifer in a pot. He noticed it because it was shimmering as it turned in the wind. White snow-flakes on mittens on a string.

By the time they got back to the Riverview apartment, Jeanie was just leaving for the evening. She stopped to talk with them on the stairs.

‘How is it in there?’ asked Carter.

‘It’s tense.’ Jeanie kept her voice low. The stairwell was absolutely quiet, the lift silent. ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘We thought we’d ask Toby a few more questions.’

Jeanie didn’t answer. She looked past Carter at Willis. ‘Eb? What do you think?’