As he walked in through the kitchen patio doors he heard the sound of a vehicle, and an instant later Humphrey, barking furiously, catapulted himself across and through the living area. They’d sealed up the letter box a while ago, as the dog would rip everything that came through to shreds.
Cleo, seated at the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of cereal, was studying her course work. Noah lay on the floor watching a cartoon on television and giggling intermittently.
‘I think that was Mr Postie,’ she said.
‘I’ll go check.’
‘No wait, I need to speak to you quickly about that call from Bruno’s headmaster. I really think we should be proactive. Let’s get him properly assessed by the psychologist for everybody’s piece of mind, they might be able to help integrate him better. We don’t want the school ringing us up every five minutes about him.’
He nodded. ‘Look, darling, I know where you are coming from, but he’s not a bad kid and maybe the school is being oversensitive.’ He paused, thoughtfully. ‘Or maybe I’m just protective of him. If it helps us move forward, let’s do it.’
‘Thanks, it would. Oh, just a thought, now your investigation is over, will you have a chance to call my OU mate Alison and chat with her daughter — you know, she wanted to learn about jury service and nobbling for her dissertation?’
‘It’s on my list! I’m sure there’s not much I can tell her that she couldn’t find out online. As I said, it hardly ever happens. I’ve never had a case, but of course I’ll ring her.’
Humphrey continued barking. Roy put the eggs on the table, walked to the front door and calmed the dog down. He heard a vehicle driving away and opened the door a crack, not wanting Humphrey to race out and chase it. The lid of the free-standing mail box was raised and he saw that a couple of the motoring magazines he subscribed to had been delivered, along with some letters held together by a rubber band.
He carried the letters back and plonked them on the kitchen table, then took a knife from a drawer and began sliding the envelopes open.
‘Anything interesting?’ Cleo asked.
He was about to say there wasn’t, when he picked up a small, flimsy envelope that was hand-addressed. It reminded him, darkly, of one he’d had some years back, containing a death threat from a particularly nasty drug dealer he’d put away. He slit it open and removed the equally flimsy folded sheet of paper.
At the top was written,
HMP Ford. Prisoner № 768904
He frowned again, then realized, even before he read the signature, who it was from. His former friend and colleague Guy Batchelor.
Last year Guy had panicked when a woman with whom he was having an affair threatened to go public. She’d ended up dead in a bathtub, and Guy hadn’t exactly helped his claim that it was an accident when he’d tried to cover his tracks and later escape arrest. But all the same, and despite his loathing of any cop who brought the force into disrepute, Grace couldn’t help feeling some sympathy for the man. He had a lovely wife, an equally lovely daughter, he’d been on a rising career path and he’d had everything going for him. Prison was not a good place for a police officer to be. In terms of prisoner loathing, they didn’t rank far below paedophiles.
He read the letter. It was brief. Guy’s handwriting was, as ever, neat.
Roy,
Hope this finds you well. Not much to report here, other than waiting for the appeal hearing against the length of my sentence. Other prisoners haven’t been as nasty to me as I feared — so far, anyway.
I’m writing because I may have something of interest about our mutual friend. No names mentioned because all these letters are read, but I know you were interested in doing something with that church bench. I may be able to help you. Perhaps you could come over — I can promise you it won’t be a wasted journey.
All my best to you and all the team — hey, I miss you all.
‘From a secret admirer?’ Cleo asked with a grin. ‘Not very classy taste in headed paper.’
‘I don’t think they have Harrods stationery departments in British prisons,’ he said and handed her the letter.
She read it then frowned. ‘All very cryptic — what is he talking about? What church bench?’
‘I’ve no idea, I’m trying to figure it out.’
She gave him a sideways look and grinned. ‘Pew?’
He raised a finger. ‘Genius! Of course!’
‘I thought you were supposed to be the detective.’
‘Yep, well, it’s my weekend off!’
‘So what’s his reference to Pewe, exactly, meaning?’
Grace smiled. ‘It may be he has found out something — got the goods on him. He’s always known the crap I’ve had to take from him. I will definitely pay Guy a visit, next week if I can.’ He smiled again. ‘The weekend just got even better! Something to look forward to afterwards — I’m very nicely intrigued!’
‘Perhaps we could go to church tomorrow — we haven’t been to a normal service since before we got married. Might be good to take Noah and Bruno?’
‘Really? I don’t want to get in the way of a thunderbolt aimed at our little Antichrist upstairs.’
She punched him. ‘You are terrible!’
‘And I can just about cope with one Pewe — don’t want to spend my Sunday surrounded by dozens of them.’
‘Stop it!’
He went over to a cupboard and removed a jar of coffee. ‘Any tea or coffee, darling?’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks, I’m fine. So, tell me, do you think Gready’s wife was in the know?’
He shrugged. ‘Honestly, I’ve no idea. She refused to give evidence and abandoned him during the trial — she seemed to have made her mind up that he was guilty. It’s the age-old question, was the partner really innocent? I’ve heard that she has made a substantial donation to the Down’s Syndrome Association. Interesting to know when she had this epiphany — blood money?’ Roy said cynically.
‘What about the rest of the money, surely she doesn’t get to keep it?’
‘She won’t lose anything under the Proceeds of Crime Act because he is dead, but there might well be civil action — Customs and Excise, the police, that sort of thing.’
‘Imagine if she didn’t know, Roy? First, she’s lost her husband, now she stands to lose her reputation.’
He nodded. ‘Twenty years ago, I might have imagined that she genuinely didn’t know. But less so these days.’
‘Because twenty years as a copper has turned you into a sceptical bastard?’ she said, with a teasing smile.
‘No, life’s about making choices. She chose a wrong ’un.’
‘And what about me?’ Cleo asked. ‘What did I choose?’
He grinned back at her. ‘I’m far too modest to say.’
Glossary
ANPR — Automatic Number Plate Recognition. Roadside or mobile cameras that automatically capture the registration number of all cars that pass. It can be used to historically track which cars went past a certain camera, and can also create a signal for cars which are stolen, have no insurance or have an alert attached to them.
CID — Criminal Investigation Department. Usually refers to the divisional detectives rather than the specialist squads.