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Authors: Graham Ison
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accompanied you around the house to see if the intruder was still there.’
‘Oh yes, she definitely was. But I got the impression that she didn’t care too much about that sort of thing. Of course it could’ve been the shock of what had just happened to her. She certainly didn’t seem to know what she was doing. But there again, like I said, she was a bit of a flirt.’
‘Didn’t you suggest that she put some clothes on?’ asked Dave.
Miller smiled wryly. ‘No, of course not.’
‘When you and she entered the main bedroom, Sharon said she fainted when she saw her husband’s dead body.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ said Miller. ‘But I was a bit taken aback by seeing Cliff lying dead there, so my concentration was sort of on him. Like I said, I called 999 and when your blokes turned up they sent for an ambulance. Just following regulations, I suppose. But the paramedics said he was dead and they left it to the law.’
I decided that that was all we were going to get from Miller for the time being. Dave got him to sign his statement and we left.
‘D’you want to have another word with Sharon Gregory, guv?’ asked Dave. ‘As we’re right next door.’
‘No, we’ll leave it until tomorrow, Dave. That should give her time to get over her trauma. And it’ll be interesting to hear if she still tells the same story. Or if she’s prepared to tell us who the intruder really was, because I’m sure she knew him, despite what she said.’
I was not looking forward to Monday morning for a very good reason. And at one minute past ten precisely, my fears were confirmed when Colin Wilberforce appeared in my office.
‘What is it, Colin?’
‘The commander would like to see you, sir.’
‘Thank you, Colin.’ With a sigh, I walked the few yards down the corridor to the office of the chief.
‘Ah, Mr Brock.’ The commander looked up as though surprised to see me. I don’t know why the hell he couldn’t have just walked into my office like any other senior detective. Actually I did know: the commander wasn’t a real detective. He’d been arbitrarily selected for what we in the trade call a ‘sideways promotion’, a term that Dave dismissed as an oxymoron. After a lifetime antagonizing football crowds and introducing new traffic schemes that merely resulted in further delaying drivers who were just trying to get to work, the commander had been sent to the CID. Obviously some dim-witted visionary in what is now called ‘human resources’ thought that we would benefit from his expertise. The outcome was that he thought he really was a detective. The truth, however, was that he’d been put out to grass until the age limit sent him home. For good. But none of that stopped him from viewing all our activities with deep-rooted mistrust. And constantly questioning what we were doing.
‘You wanted me, sir?’
‘Bring me up to date on this suspicious death you’re dealing with, Mr Brock.’ It was one of the commander’s little foibles that he would never call a murder a murder in case it turned out to be manslaughter or suicide. Or even an accidental death. He hated to be wrong.
‘It’s a murder, sir,’ I said firmly. ‘No doubt about it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite definitely, sir.’
‘Tell me about it.’ The commander sighed and leaned back in his chair, peering at me over his half-moon spectacles. I doubted they contained corrective lenses; I think he wore them for effect.
I spent the next few minutes describing the case with which we were dealing, larding it with technical CID phrases that I knew he wouldn’t understand but wouldn’t query for fear of being found uninformed about the basics of crime investigation. I decided, however, not to voice my suspicions about Sharon Gregory’s account of what had taken place at West Drayton. That would set him off theorizing. Anyway, we needed more than we had before we could justify arresting her.
‘Yes, very well, Mr Brock. Keep me
‘Oh yes, she definitely was. But I got the impression that she didn’t care too much about that sort of thing. Of course it could’ve been the shock of what had just happened to her. She certainly didn’t seem to know what she was doing. But there again, like I said, she was a bit of a flirt.’
‘Didn’t you suggest that she put some clothes on?’ asked Dave.
Miller smiled wryly. ‘No, of course not.’
‘When you and she entered the main bedroom, Sharon said she fainted when she saw her husband’s dead body.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ said Miller. ‘But I was a bit taken aback by seeing Cliff lying dead there, so my concentration was sort of on him. Like I said, I called 999 and when your blokes turned up they sent for an ambulance. Just following regulations, I suppose. But the paramedics said he was dead and they left it to the law.’
I decided that that was all we were going to get from Miller for the time being. Dave got him to sign his statement and we left.
‘D’you want to have another word with Sharon Gregory, guv?’ asked Dave. ‘As we’re right next door.’
‘No, we’ll leave it until tomorrow, Dave. That should give her time to get over her trauma. And it’ll be interesting to hear if she still tells the same story. Or if she’s prepared to tell us who the intruder really was, because I’m sure she knew him, despite what she said.’
I was not looking forward to Monday morning for a very good reason. And at one minute past ten precisely, my fears were confirmed when Colin Wilberforce appeared in my office.
‘What is it, Colin?’
‘The commander would like to see you, sir.’
‘Thank you, Colin.’ With a sigh, I walked the few yards down the corridor to the office of the chief.
‘Ah, Mr Brock.’ The commander looked up as though surprised to see me. I don’t know why the hell he couldn’t have just walked into my office like any other senior detective. Actually I did know: the commander wasn’t a real detective. He’d been arbitrarily selected for what we in the trade call a ‘sideways promotion’, a term that Dave dismissed as an oxymoron. After a lifetime antagonizing football crowds and introducing new traffic schemes that merely resulted in further delaying drivers who were just trying to get to work, the commander had been sent to the CID. Obviously some dim-witted visionary in what is now called ‘human resources’ thought that we would benefit from his expertise. The outcome was that he thought he really was a detective. The truth, however, was that he’d been put out to grass until the age limit sent him home. For good. But none of that stopped him from viewing all our activities with deep-rooted mistrust. And constantly questioning what we were doing.
‘You wanted me, sir?’
‘Bring me up to date on this suspicious death you’re dealing with, Mr Brock.’ It was one of the commander’s little foibles that he would never call a murder a murder in case it turned out to be manslaughter or suicide. Or even an accidental death. He hated to be wrong.
‘It’s a murder, sir,’ I said firmly. ‘No doubt about it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Quite definitely, sir.’
‘Tell me about it.’ The commander sighed and leaned back in his chair, peering at me over his half-moon spectacles. I doubted they contained corrective lenses; I think he wore them for effect.
I spent the next few minutes describing the case with which we were dealing, larding it with technical CID phrases that I knew he wouldn’t understand but wouldn’t query for fear of being found uninformed about the basics of crime investigation. I decided, however, not to voice my suspicions about Sharon Gregory’s account of what had taken place at West Drayton. That would set him off theorizing. Anyway, we needed more than we had before we could justify arresting her.
‘Yes, very well, Mr Brock. Keep me
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