On Eden Street Page 11

  ‘I see…’

  Sullivan said that as if he did, as if he understood why Waters couldn’t say with so many people present.

  ‘Did you have any contact with the dead man yourself, Mr Sullivan?’

  ‘Only what I told your woman about yesterday. Blondie with the pony tail?’

  It was a new way of thinking about Detective Sergeant Denise Sterling. Sullivan continued, ‘He came in here a couple of times and had a bet. Marvellous, isn’t it? Begs a bit of cash for his starving dog or whatever, and then comes across here and puts it on a nag!’

  ‘But you took his money anyway, Mr Sullivan?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s what we do here.’

  There was a clock on the wall between the television screens and it told Waters the time was ten minutes to five. He needed to be next door now. Sullivan looked as if he was ready for an argument, a philosophical one about the morality of homeless vagrants and their inalienable right to a flutter on the horses, but a breath of fresh air followed by the scent of freesias seemed a better bet to Waters. He thanked them for their assistance.

  Patsy was locking the door. When she saw him, she reached up and pulled the bolt back – hanging on the other side of the glass was a card that said the shop closed at five pm on Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. He noticed too that there was a small camera mounted above the door, one he hadn’t seen on DI Greene’s list. He asked her about that first.

  ‘Yes, it’s working. Miriam says she had it put up when they were having a spell of kids breaking windows. Nothing like that’s happened since I’ve been here. I know how to check it though, there’s a little monitor screen out the back.’

  ‘How much does it show?’

  ‘Just the doorway and a bit of the pavement. But if you know how to get the thingy out, I’m sure she won’t mind you borrowing it.’

  They were standing just inside the door. Waters had glanced beyond her once or twice as they spoke, and when he said, ‘Thanks. We’ve got plenty already but I can call back if we need it,’ Patsy smiled and said, ‘Drop in any time. We don’t mind… Did you want a word with her, then?’

  He felt transparent, as if even the dim light of late afternoon was passing straight through him. He reached into his pocket and took out the photograph once more, grateful to have another reason to be there.

  ‘I wanted a word with both of you. We think this man might be able to… Well, it’s a bit clichéd but he might be able to help us with our inquiries.’

  She took the picture and examined it.

  ‘Another soldier? One of his mates? He was in the Army, then.’

  She sounded surprised, and it was one of those moments when you glimpse a figure running through the trees – it’s there and then it’s gone. Do you run after it or stick to the plan? You can’t go charging off in all directions, Waters, but sometimes…

  He said, ‘I remember you saying you thought it might be an act, the camouflage T shirt and the message about his time in the Army. Was there anything in particular made you think that?’

  She looked down at the picture once more before handing it back to him.

  ‘Well, he never seemed anything like this, did he? Not Michael. This is a proper soldier, isn’t it? Michael was – let’s be honest, Michael was a tramp. He looked like a tramp and he smelled like a tramp. I can’t imagine he ever scrubbed up like this bloke. Who is he?’

  Waters could hear her now in the rear of the premises, telling the dog to stay, which meant that she herself would be on her way to the front of the shop. He had to steady his breathing. It was ridiculous.

  To Patsy he said, ‘It’s someone we think Michael might have known,’ and this was also ridiculous because the man in the photograph was Michael, but it was too soon to go public with that. It would be wrong to assume this early in the investigation that no one in the Eden Street community was involved in the murder.

  When she appeared, she had a white stick and it went through him like a rapier of pity, and then he was angry with himself because she would scorn pity. He knew that much about her already.

  She said, ‘It’s Detective Sergeant Waters, isn’t it? And you need our CCTV? I don’t think it will show very much.’

  Where does one look? Into the eyes that cannot see you?

  He said, ‘I didn’t call for that. We have plenty already. But if we do at some point, I could call back for it.’

  After a moment, Miriam said, ‘We had some vandalism, a spell of it last year. The security company who sold it to me said the camera would act as a deterrent. I suppose it might have worked, as it hasn’t happened since. Or maybe they just grew out of it. Anyway, if you need it…’

  Patsy said, ‘The sergeant has a photo. It’s of a soldier.’

  ‘Is it Michael?’

  ‘No. Someone who might have known him – I think that’s what you said?’

  Patsy went on, when Waters confirmed it, ‘A smart-looking soldier in uniform. It’s a good picture but I’ve never seen this bloke.’

  ‘And I think I can say the same.’

  She was smiling towards him, used to making light of her disability. But when we do these things, the little things that make us human, we look for the response, the acknowledgement from others, the smile in return. Waters wasn’t sure whether he should smile, or even whether he was – instead he looked at Patsy, who said, ‘Is there anything else? Maybe some flowers for your wife? Or your girlfriend?’

  The shop assistant’s stare was all too direct and her intention was unmistakable.

  He said, ‘I’m not married. And I don’t…’

  ‘Buy flowers?’

  This was Miriam herself, looking surprised and a little hurt – they were both playing games with him.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You should. They make such a difference to a home, much more than people realise.’

  ‘My flat is for sale. I’ve just put it on the market.’

  It was an odd thing to have told them, two strangers, but he’d felt gauche and awkward since he’d stepped across the threshold. He should leave.

  Miriam said, turning towards Patsy, ‘Even more reason to have flowers! It makes a real impact if you’re viewing somewhere and there are vases of flowers. People tell us that, don’t they Patsy?’

  Her partner-in-crime said, ‘They do, Miriam. I’m thinking chrysanthemums?’

  ‘Absolutely, they’re at the peak of their season. Red and bronze will go with any colour scheme. You said it’s a flat? Is it here in Kings Lake?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How many bedrooms?’

  ‘One. I-’

  ‘So, what about some chrysanthemums for the entrance hall if you have one, or they can go into your lounge? We also have some phlox which have a beautiful scent, and you could put those in your bedroom. Some people say they have better dreams with flowers in their bedroom…’

  Waters was at a loss – they both seemed to be quite serious about the matter. And then Miriam laughed and said, ‘I’m joking about the phlox. But not the chrysanthemums – you should buy some. Flowers in a home for sale work as well as freshly-brewed coffee, and they last longer. If you want any, Patsy will find the best we have in stock.’

  Patsy said, ‘Six pounds gets you ten stems, ten pounds gets you twenty and a better selection of colours. We have some nice vases as well – you’ll need a vase.’

  He was sure he had one, he said, in the kitchen cupboard under the sink, a big, ornate glass thing he had never used, and Patsy went away with her order for twenty stems of chrysanthemums. Miriam was silent, and he noticed the clock on the wall, which told him they were late leaving because of him – it was almost a quarter past five. He apologised and she said it didn’t matter, Patsy would stay open until midnight if she thought there was an order at the end of it.

  He said, ‘She’s an asset to your business. I usually only buy flowers once a year, for-’

  ‘Your mother’s birthday? If you’re looking surprised, don’t! We k
now all the reasons people come through the door. So, you must be local, if your mother is close enough for you to take her flowers. I’m assuming you don’t post them or have them delivered in a van…’

  Not a bad piece of deduction. Her gaze was fixed somewhere to his right, as if a sighted person had seen something interesting beyond his shoulder, and her head was tilted very slightly as if she was listening intently for some inflection in his response. The pupils were large and perfectly round – eyes perfect in every way and it was again impossible for him to believe she was unable to see him, to see anyone. Had she been blind from birth? Had she never seen another human being?

  Miriam must have wondered what he was doing instead of responding to her, and for the first time he saw a look of uncertainty. Perhaps because she couldn’t know what she looked like herself or whether there was something odd or out of place.

  She said again, ‘So… Are you local? From Kings Lake?’

  ‘Not far away. My parents live out towards Dereham. That’s where I grew up, in Dereham. And you’re right, I take my mother flowers every year, on the fifth of July.’

  ‘And now I’m supposed to say, how sweet, you remember your mother’s date of birth…’

  This was an odd note for her, he thought, almost bitter, as if she expected him to be employing some artifice to gain her attention and her good opinion of him. But she couldn’t see that he wasn’t – she couldn’t see any man, even though she might attract more than her fair share of them. How many times had she been taken advantage of in that way?

  He said, ‘Well, you can say it if you want. But I’d remember it anyway because it’s also my birthday.’

  She laughed easily – ‘Oh, really? Your mum had you on her birthday? She was either delighted or devastated!’

  ‘Just glad to get it over with, I think. I was two weeks late.’

  ‘No wonder you’re still taking her flowers. Has she forgiven you yet?’

  ‘I think so. And I’m pretty punctual these days.’

  ‘Trying to compensate!’

  As they’d talked, her eyes had found him exactly – or rather, her ears had done so, and she seemed to be looking directly at him. He could not get over how strange this was, and he had become intensely aware of what he was saying and how he might sound because that was all she had to work with – sound waves. And her sense of smell… Waters remembered how she had described quite precisely what she’d learned about the homeless man she knew as Michael simply through that, and what she had said about the scents of flowers. Could she smell him? He had eaten a chicken masala sandwich for lunch some hours ago? Could she pick up things like that?

  He said, ‘What about you? Do you live locally?’

  She raised her left hand to draw back her hair a little and he could see, on the inside of her wrist, a small, neat tattoo, a six-pointed star, yellow outlined with black – the Star of David. He wanted to step closer to see it more clearly but she had a strong sense of personal space, almost an aura which he guessed you did not intrude upon without an explicit invitation.

  She said, ‘I live in Fairhills. It’s about a ten-minute walk.’

  Then he saw the fingertips of her right hand touch the watch on her left wrist – just the briefest of contacts but enough to tell her the time.

  Waters said, ‘Sorry. I’ve made you late.’

  ‘It’s the other way around – Patsy’s taking her time picking out your flowers.’

  Miriam smiled and frowned, as if she was trying to be cross about it, and Waters said, ‘How long will they last, the flowers?’

  ‘If you look after them properly, at least ten days. You know they have to go into water, don’t you? And we’ll give you a sachet of liquid feed. But you do have to cut that open and add it to the water. Don’t laugh! We’ve had people who didn’t, they just put the whole thing in!’

  Patsy reappeared with what seemed like an enormous bouquet. She handed it to Waters with a little ceremony, as if he’d just won Olympic gold, and said, ‘I’d say about a week. Then you’ll need some more. We can do a standing order, collect every Tuesday.’

  Miriam told her off, and Waters said he had delayed them long enough, and thanked them for their help. She said, ‘We didn’t give you any. We just took your money. But if you need the CCTV, you know where we are. We’ll look after it, just in case.’

  In the doorway, he stopped and said, ‘I meant to ask – what happened to the dog?’

  Miriam said, ‘Lola? She’s with some neighbours of mine. I told them about her and they offered. Is it theft? Have we obstructed your investigation?’

  She had come to the doorway without the aid of her stick, and stood closer to him than she perhaps realised. He said, ‘Possibly. I might need to return with a scenes of crime officer and take samples.’

  ‘From Lola? That sounds revolting.’

  She held the door as he stepped back into Eden Street. When he turned to look again, the door had closed and he could see her through the glass, laughing again at something Patsy must have said. He wondered what that was. It could only have been about him, couldn’t it?

  After half past five. Most of the shops were closed or closing but the fast-food places were getting ready for business. He could call on those and show the photograph but he’d look absurd carrying these flowers. He set off back towards the shopping mall, aware that professionally speaking he had wasted half of the afternoon, and aware too that this had not happened by accident. It was a novel feeling, something he couldn’t recall doing before.

  When he was safely out of view of the flower shop, he stopped and took out his mobile. There had been no calls but he’d received a text from Serena almost an hour ago. It said Don’t know if anyone’s told you but we’ve got it on CCTV.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘It’s eight thirty-six on day three,’ Freeman said, ‘and we have our first break. Go ahead, Tom.’

  Detective Inspector Greene touched a key on his laptop and the interactive whiteboard came to life, mirroring what had appeared on his screen. There was no hesitation, there were no just-a-minutes while he found the sections of CCTV he wanted them to see – everything had been prepared before the briefing.

  The scene frozen in front of them was of Eden Street, viewed from Kings Gate and looking north towards the Fairhills end. Greene said, ‘This is from a security camera belonging to the management company that runs the shopping mall. I haven’t been down to check myself yet but, according to the plans we have, the camera is about seventy yards from where the body was found. That’s a long way. We can enlarge the images but as they’re not particularly sharp in the first place, all you do is increase the fuzziness of it. I’ll give you an example of that because we all need to understand something – there is no way this will stand up as evidence in court. I asked Clive to look at Saturday and this is what he found.’

  The images began to move with the usual jerkiness of an old-fashioned, black-and-white film. The street had been busy – when Waters checked the time and date stamp in the top right, he could see the clip was recorded at a few minutes after half past four in the afternoon. He made out the locations of shops he recognised, the bookmaker’s and just beyond it, the florist’s; the chrysanthemums looked splendid in the vase he’d placed on the small occasional table he’d never found a use for until yesterday evening.

  Greene said, ‘Right, here we go. I’ll pause this for a moment. Chris, you haven’t seen this before. Spot anything pertinent to the case?’

  Waters took his time but the more you stared at it, the more the image resembled a late impressionist street-scene than a photographic record. He shook his head – it was better to be honest than try to be clever.

  ‘Exactly – that’s how poor it is. But there is something here.’

  The pointer on the screen circled what could only be two or three people together a short distance beyond the Flower Power shop, but it was little more than a smudge of darkness larger than those created by individua
l figures. Greene pressed a key and the figures began to separate into what seemed to be three people. As it proceeded, it became slightly clearer – three figures a few feet apart. One could eventually make out one of them raising an arm, and another seemingly pointing. A strange, almost abstract representation of an argument? After perhaps a minute a fourth figure appeared from the top left, leaving a shop and walking towards the others, and then Waters understood he had been watching the Demir brothers rowing with the victim some thirty-six hours before he was murdered.

  Cara Freeman said, ‘We’ve interviewed those young men, we know exactly what they look like, but there’s no way we could confirm an ID from what we can see here. We need to study the rest of this footage with that in mind.’

  She nodded to the detective inspector. Greene closed that file and opened another: 22.38, Sunday the 9th of September, from the same camera. Eden Street seemed to be well-lit at night – if anything, thought Waters, it’s a little sharper than the daytime footage. There was no one to be seen at first, and then after a few seconds, a woman walked north away from the camera and towards Fairhills. She wore a short skirt, heels and some sort of hooded top, and went quickly along until she disappeared into the shadows beyond the reach of the camera. Waters tried to make out which shops or takeaways, if any, were still open for business but it was impossible to be sure. There, on the right, a little closer to the camera than the altercation involving the Demirs, was the doorway to the Chinese Chow noodles bar but nothing could be seen to suggest anyone was present. Next, two youths cycled in from the Fairhills end, riding abreast and talking as they went into the town behind the camera. They were in their mid-teens, he thought, and ought to be in bed because tomorrow was a school day.

  Seconds later, two figures entered from the southern end – the boys must have passed or seen them. They were men, youngish, probably wearing jeans, and both had hoods raised – they looked almost identical but one was noticeably taller, the other much more heavily built and shorter. And they were in no hurry, looking around as they went; it struck Waters that they might be looking for CCTV cameras, as if breaking and entering was on their minds. They slowed a few yards short of the doorway he had just been thinking about, and from the movements of their heads it was plain they were talking. Both then looked back towards Kings Gate, checking, making up their minds about something. The faces were indistinct. One might say they had no beards, perhaps that they weren’t wearing spectacles but little more than that.