Clarke let that one pass.
‘I’d better go visit Mrs Grey now, though,’ said Vogel. ‘Somebody’s got to make the death call, and I’d like to see how she reacts. I was pretty sure she wasn’t telling us half what she knew when we interviewed her before. Maybe the death of her husband might jog her memory. Then I’ve got some stuff I need to finish up. So first thing in the morning it is, if that’s all right with you.’
‘As you wish, Vogel,’ said Clarke. ‘How will you get here? Don’t suppose you’ve passed your driving test yet, have you?’
Vogel winced. Nobby Clarke knew him rather too well.
He dodged the question. In any case, Det. Supt. Clarke was clearly well aware of what the answer would be.
‘Saslow will be driving me,’ he said.
‘Ah good, you’re still working with her then,’ commented Clarke, letting Vogel get away with his bit of prevarication. ‘Sharp cookie that one. Is she OK?’
They both knew what Clarke was referring to; that last case which neither Vogel nor Dawn Saslow were ever likely to be able to put totally behind them.
‘She’s fine,’ Vogel replied shortly.
‘Good. Call me when you’re getting close.’
‘Yes, boss,’ said Vogel. ‘Sorry, yes Nobby.’
He winced as he said the name. He would never get used to it, never.
He was still in Wellington police station, sitting with his laptop open in front of him at a desk in the station’s biggest room, which wasn’t nearly big enough. He glanced across at Saslow, who was standing at the far end, studying something on one of the wall charts.
He walked over. ‘Do you fancy a trip to London tomorrow?’ he asked her.
Then he explained about his call from Det. Supt. Clarke and the discovery of George Grey’s body.
Saslow’s face lit up. Which might have seemed rather odd to anyone except another police officer. This was at the very least an intriguing development. Of course; she was pleased to know she would be actively involved, thought Vogel. Any young officer would be. Particularly one who was clearly determined to overcome experiences which might have brought down a lesser person. And he had reason to believe that Saslow welcomed the opportunity of working with Clarke just as much as he did.
‘But right now, I’m afraid we have to visit Janice Grey,’ Vogel continued.
He saw Saslow’s expression change. The light went out of her eyes. She’d guessed, he thought. All police officers hated breaking the news that a loved one had died. More than once in his career he’d had to break the news of the death of a child to distraught parents, and many times the death of a much loved, husband, wife, partner, or even dear friend. It never got any easier. Although, Vogel had to admit to himself, he didn’t feel quite the same about it this time as he usually did.
After all, George Grey had been, and remained, the only suspect so far in a case of double murder by arson, and Vogel was not at all convinced that his widow wasn’t also involved. Certainly, it was hard to believe that she had known nothing of whatever it was that her husband had been up to on the night of that terrible fire.
‘The death call,’ muttered Saslow, resignedly, breaking into his reverie.
‘Yes, but it’s much more than that this time, isn’t it, Dawn?’
Her face brightened just a little. Vogel had known he wouldn’t have to explain.
‘Well yes, Janice Grey surely has to be up to her ears in whatever’s going on, hasn’t she boss?’ Saslow volunteered. ‘Just like her husband.’
‘Quite probably,’ agreed Vogel. ‘At the very least I suspect that she knew what George was up to, or at least had a fair idea.’
‘I’ll get my coat,’ said Saslow.
‘Yep. Oh, and ask Margot Hartley to get a family liaison officer on board, will you?’
Saslow nodded, jumped to her feet, and began to move at speed, coat in one hand, phone in the other.
Janice Grey might be a suspect in her own right, but she was also the wife of a man who had died suddenly and possibly violently. So, Vogel had done what he would always do as part of the death call routine, made arrangements for a family liaison officer to be allocated to her.
This also had another purpose, of course. Particularly in circumstances where the bereaved might be under some kind of suspicion, family liaison doubled as on-the-spot eyes and ears for the investigating officers, in this case keeping a close watch on Mrs Grey, everything she did and everyone she might be in contact with. A good FLO could be an invaluable source of information.
Mrs Grey opened the door of The Gatehouse before Vogel or Saslow had even knocked on it. This was in stark contrast to their earlier visit.
She looked even more unkempt than when they had first met. Again Vogel reckoned the woman had been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed and slightly swollen. Perhaps she’d had a fair idea that something would happen to her husband after he’d walked out of hospital. Maybe she’d expected to hear from him and feared the worst when she didn’t. Or maybe she had merely shed tears of self-pity.
As soon as she saw the two police officers she seemed to know what they were there for. But didn’t they always, thought Vogel.
‘What is it, what is it?’ she asked, her voice high-pitched with apprehension. ‘Has something happened to my Georgie? It has, hasn’t it? That what you’re here for, just tell me, tell me...’
She sounded near hysterical.
Vogel interrupted her calmly, and as kindly as he could. ‘Look, can we come in Mrs Grey, please?’ he asked. ‘We do have some news. But why don’t we all go inside and sit down. Then we will tell you everything.’
The woman’s shoulders dropped. Suddenly she looked even smaller than she actually was.
She knew all right.
Without uttering another word, she led Vogel and Saslow into the sitting room. Vogel perched on one of the chintzy chairs, gesturing for Mrs Grey also to sit. She did so. On the sofa. Saslow sat down next to her.
‘Mrs Grey, I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you,’ he began. ‘It would seem that—’
Janice Grey didn’t need him to finish. She seemed calmer. Her expression had changed to one of glum resignation. ‘He’s dead, he’s dead, isn’t he?’ she interrupted. ‘My Georgie’s dead, isn’t he?’
‘I fear he almost certainly is,’ Vogel continued. ‘We need him to be formally identified, of course, but there seems little doubt. The police officers who have seen the body of the man we believe to be your husband have identified him to their own satisfaction from the photograph you gave us, which we circulated nationwide. Also, of course, there are wounds present on the deceased which are similar to those sustained by Mr Grey on the night of the fire, and these are an additional aid to identification.’
Mrs Grey stared at Vogel. ‘What happened to him, what have those bastards done to my George?’
Vogel explained where and how George was found, in Brentford at the bottom of Thames Lock.
‘What was he doing in Brentford?’ asked Mrs Grey, and Vogel had little doubt that her surprise was genuine.
‘We don’t know, not yet anyway,’ replied Vogel. ‘In fact, we were rather hoping you might be able to tell us.’
‘I haven’t got any idea,’ said Janice Grey.
‘Do you have friends, or relatives perhaps, in the area?’
Janice shook her head. ‘What the hell was he doing in Brentford?’ she muttered, repeating herself. ‘I told him no good would come of any of this. I told him. He never listened, my Georgie, not to me anyway, never...’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Vogel asked. ‘No good would come of any of what?’
‘Nothing,’ Janice Grey replied quickly.
‘Mrs Grey, you also asked “what have those bastards done to my Georgie?” I need to know what you mean by that too?’