Read Online Fighting for the Dead by Nick Oldham - Free Book Online Page B

hesitantly.
    Sunderland’s eye darted from one man to the other, trying to weigh them up. Henry spotted a flicker of recognition when he looked at Barlow that went as soon as it came. Sunderland’s brow knitted, then his face crumpled in horror.
    â€˜You’re cops, aren’t you?’ Before either could answer, he uttered, ‘It’s about Jennifer, isn’t it?’

FIVE
    T hey retired to Sunderland’s office behind reception. Henry sympathetically outlined the finding of a woman’s body in the river and that all indications – from clothing, other property and photographic comparison – were that this was his wife, Jennifer. It just needed a formal identification – and Henry was, of course, deeply sorry for his loss.
    Sunderland seemed stunned and his features became granite-like as the news permeated. Henry studied him carefully, but tried not to draw any hasty conclusions from the way the man took the news.
    There was no set of rules as to how people should respond. Henry had seen everything, from hysteria to cold-blooded anger and shouting; others were detached and practical. Most veered between extremes.
    Henry had much experience in delivering awful news both to the innocent nearest and dearest and to those who knew exactly what was coming – the killers of the deceased. The way these people took it was often over the top. Much weeping, wailing and gnashing of dentures, vowing revenge – reacting in a way they thought people should behave on hearing the devastating news. Often, they were very convincing and it was only subsequent good coppering that unearthed the truth.
    So what was Harry Sunderland going to do?
    If he’d pushed his wife into the river, then he would be mentally ready and would probably have rehearsed his reaction.
    If he hadn’t and still harboured hopes of her turning up alive, or even if he feared the worst, he would have given no thought to how he would take the news and it would be spontaneous, whereas if he was her killer it would appear to be spontaneous. There was a subtle and not very obvious difference and Henry had to try to work out which was which. Prepared or unprepared? Guilty or not? He watched Sunderland’s mouth, his eyes, any facial tics, the general body language . . . but he had to admit he couldn’t reach any firm conclusion. He was not Sherlock Holmes, after all.
    â€˜When did you find her?’ Sunderland asked.
    â€˜Two hours ago, maybe?’
    For the first time he made direct eye contact with Henry and said softly, ‘Thank you for coming to tell me.’ Then he noticed Henry’s injuries. ‘What happened to you?’
    â€˜I’ll come to that.’
    Sunderland looked confused. ‘Is it something to do with my wife?’ he asked. ‘Your injury?’
    â€˜In a way . . . look, Mr Sunderland, because this is a sudden and unusual death . . .’
    â€˜Unusual?’ he butted in.
    â€˜Not that many people drown,’ Henry said. Sunderland nodded, understanding. ‘As I was saying, because of the circumstances, we will need you to do a formal identification and we will have to ask you some questions and the coroner will want an inquest.’
    â€˜Some questions?’
    â€˜About the night your wife went missing, what went on, that sort of thing. It will have to be quite detailed.’
    â€˜I told the bobby everything who reported it . . . and this detective has also been to see me . . .’ He indicated Barlow, who was standing by a window that overlooked the nearest warehouse unit.
    â€˜I’m aware of that.’
    â€˜So what then? It was obviously accidental . . . clearly she must have slipped into the river . . .’ His voice trailed off wistfully. ‘She liked walking by the river . . . and the tides must have washed her into the Conder.’
    â€˜I know what you’re saying,’