resident of Curlew Road in Bampton, had called the station in the summer of 2012 to say that she had seen Andrew Fisher alive in Whitby while she was there on a weekend trip to the area. The officer, PC James Walker, had recorded the action but had done nothing to follow up the report.
Connie saw him looking at the name. ‘I rang him. Before coming to you. He remembers the call but only in vague terms. He thinks the woman began by being positive that it was Andrew Fisher she had spotted but by the end of the call had talked herself into believing it was a case of mistaken identity. So he made a note of the call and filed it away. I’m sure I’d have done exactly the same.’
Sadler smiled. ‘Me too.’ He handed her back the report. ‘Whitby? Interesting mix of Dracula, chip shops and early Christian religion. Don’t we have enough on our plate?’
‘It seems not. She’ll need checking out. Jane Reynolds lives on the other side of Bampton. It’s not far.’
‘Go and see her and get a proper statement from her. Then let me know how you get on. Whitby? What the hell would Andrew Fisher be doing in Whitby?’
Connie left the room, and, in the silence, Sadler thought back to his teenage years. He had shared many classes with Andrew Fisher while at Bampton High. They had been in the top set for most of the subjects and had progressed through school in the classrooms, thrown together by a shared capacity for doing well in exams. But they’d never been friends. Sadler had liked reading and cricket, and that was about it until he was fifteen. Then he had discovered music, and he and a group of friends would travel to Sheffield to see the latest bands.
Andrew Fisher had been sporty but was a rugby-playing drinker, even as a teenager. He would come into class hungover, smelling of stale beer and teenage sweat. Then they had gone their respective ways to university, and Sadler had seen him only very occasionally.
As Sadler had climbed the ranks of the police, the casual acquaintances of his childhood could basically be divided into two reactions. Those who were impressed by the status that the job of a police inspector afforded, and those who gave him a wide berth. Sadler had long learnt not to make any assumptions about the latter group, which had included Andrew. People steered clear of the police for a variety of reasons, not all of them criminal. Not all. But some.
Another knock on the door. This time it came in advance of the person entering. It was Llewellyn. Sadler stood up, but his boss waved him back to his seat. ‘Needed to stretch my legs. Get out of the office. You know how it is.’
‘I do. I’m about to go out myself. How did the visit to Mrs Fisher go?’
Llewellyn sat down in the chair opposite and clasped his large hands together behind his head. ‘She’d already had the news broken to her, of course. The family-liaison officer was still with her. She seemed to be taking it okay, though.’
‘She was surprised? His mother, I mean. About her son being alive all these years?’
‘I’d say she’d had the surprise of her life. I think she was still in shock when I left her. I mean, let’s face it, it’s a lot to digest, isn’t it? Your son’s alive, then he’s killed, then he’s alive because it was someone else who was killed, but actually you can’t see him because he’s now dead.’
It was almost comical, thought Sadler, and it was unsurprising that Llewellyn could see the humour in the situation. ‘So we can rule her out as an accomplice? That’s interesting in itself. Whatever made Andrew Fisher disappear, it was enough to make him determined not to speak to his mother.’
‘We’re missing something, Francis. I don’t want us pissing about just looking for Lena Gray, wherever she may have got to. Don’t look at me like that. Of course I want you to look for her. What I mean is there’s something gone on, that’s still continuing. We need to find out what it
Connie saw him looking at the name. ‘I rang him. Before coming to you. He remembers the call but only in vague terms. He thinks the woman began by being positive that it was Andrew Fisher she had spotted but by the end of the call had talked herself into believing it was a case of mistaken identity. So he made a note of the call and filed it away. I’m sure I’d have done exactly the same.’
Sadler smiled. ‘Me too.’ He handed her back the report. ‘Whitby? Interesting mix of Dracula, chip shops and early Christian religion. Don’t we have enough on our plate?’
‘It seems not. She’ll need checking out. Jane Reynolds lives on the other side of Bampton. It’s not far.’
‘Go and see her and get a proper statement from her. Then let me know how you get on. Whitby? What the hell would Andrew Fisher be doing in Whitby?’
Connie left the room, and, in the silence, Sadler thought back to his teenage years. He had shared many classes with Andrew Fisher while at Bampton High. They had been in the top set for most of the subjects and had progressed through school in the classrooms, thrown together by a shared capacity for doing well in exams. But they’d never been friends. Sadler had liked reading and cricket, and that was about it until he was fifteen. Then he had discovered music, and he and a group of friends would travel to Sheffield to see the latest bands.
Andrew Fisher had been sporty but was a rugby-playing drinker, even as a teenager. He would come into class hungover, smelling of stale beer and teenage sweat. Then they had gone their respective ways to university, and Sadler had seen him only very occasionally.
As Sadler had climbed the ranks of the police, the casual acquaintances of his childhood could basically be divided into two reactions. Those who were impressed by the status that the job of a police inspector afforded, and those who gave him a wide berth. Sadler had long learnt not to make any assumptions about the latter group, which had included Andrew. People steered clear of the police for a variety of reasons, not all of them criminal. Not all. But some.
Another knock on the door. This time it came in advance of the person entering. It was Llewellyn. Sadler stood up, but his boss waved him back to his seat. ‘Needed to stretch my legs. Get out of the office. You know how it is.’
‘I do. I’m about to go out myself. How did the visit to Mrs Fisher go?’
Llewellyn sat down in the chair opposite and clasped his large hands together behind his head. ‘She’d already had the news broken to her, of course. The family-liaison officer was still with her. She seemed to be taking it okay, though.’
‘She was surprised? His mother, I mean. About her son being alive all these years?’
‘I’d say she’d had the surprise of her life. I think she was still in shock when I left her. I mean, let’s face it, it’s a lot to digest, isn’t it? Your son’s alive, then he’s killed, then he’s alive because it was someone else who was killed, but actually you can’t see him because he’s now dead.’
It was almost comical, thought Sadler, and it was unsurprising that Llewellyn could see the humour in the situation. ‘So we can rule her out as an accomplice? That’s interesting in itself. Whatever made Andrew Fisher disappear, it was enough to make him determined not to speak to his mother.’
‘We’re missing something, Francis. I don’t want us pissing about just looking for Lena Gray, wherever she may have got to. Don’t look at me like that. Of course I want you to look for her. What I mean is there’s something gone on, that’s still continuing. We need to find out what it
Similar Books
