Read Online Catalyst by Michael Knaggs - Free Book Online

five months ago. She said that she understood that the elderly lady who lived there had become ill and left to live with a friend. But the house went up for sale only on Saturday – two days ago. The vendor is Marlburgh Borough Council. They have a policy whereby when a rented property becomes available they put it up for sale for a period of six months before re-letting it if there are no takers. Incidentally, so far they haven’t sold any houses on Cullen Field. It’ll be interesting to see if that pattern changes now.”
    David was pacing round his office, an activity which always made it look much smaller than it was. The twelve-foot square room was very sparingly appointed. Apart from David’s desk and large swivel chair, the only items of furniture were an old unused filing cabinet in one corner and two dining type chairs pulled up to the desk opposite his own, one of which Jo was currently occupying. On the back wall were a number of framed photographs – mostly team pictures from his rugby days – with half-a-dozen more standing in frames on his desk arranged around his PC.
    â€œAnd the lady who left?” asked David. “Mrs… ?”
    â€œDeverall, Alma Deverall. I’ve spoken to the council; they didn’t know she’d moved out of the house. Last Tuesday they received a letter, posted the previous day, informing them that she wished to terminate the tenancy with immediate effect, and requesting details of any final settlement in lieu of the contractual notice period. The sender’s address at the top of the letter was 12 St George’s Close and it was signed by Mrs Deverall. Anyway, they sent her the information on Wednesday.”
    â€œWhat about the rent payments to the council during the months she was away?” asked David.
    â€œApparently she had an agreement to pay it in cash at the council offices. They stopped accepting cash payments around five years ago but made concessions for several elderly tenants if they were already paying by cash, and Mrs Deverall was one of them. So these cash amounts were paid in by someone claiming to be a carer who turned up each month, just as she had, to pay the rent.”
    â€œDid the carer give her name?”
    â€œ His name,” Jo corrected, “and no, he didn’t.”
    â€œCan we get his name?”
    â€œI assume we can. I’m waiting to hear from Social Services.”
    â€œNext of kin?”
    â€œInitially there was a son designated as a prime contact, but his name was removed two-and-a-half years ago. No-one kept a record as to why, but one of the people in the rent office thinks that he was in the armed forces and had been killed in action.”
    â€œHow do they know when the name was deleted?” asked David.
    â€œWhen they change any field on the record, they have to insert the date of the amendment before they can save it. The prime contact field now just states ‘None’ and the date of that change was two-and-a-half years ago. By the way, the name wasn’t deleted as such; it’s automatically stored in a history file. His name was John Alexander Deverall. Could this be something, do you think, sir? Should we keep digging?”
    â€œIt’s a bit of a stretch even for the most committed conspiracy theorist, isn’t it?” he replied. “But there’s just something… ” he added, screwing up his brow in thought and leaning against the wall.
    â€œWhat?” asked Jo, frowning herself as if in sympathy with her boss.
    â€œI’m not sure,” he said. “It’s just that the timing is a bit of a coincidence. The house is empty for at least five months – all the time Mrs Johnston’s been next door – and no action is taken. Then, a few days after the killings, the council receive a letter that the tenant will not be returning. And if we hadn’t gone for our walkabout today, we wouldn’t have picked up