Compared to the Terry’s tidy home, Geoff Abbott’s tumbledown cottage resembled a moth-eaten shack.
Placed squarely in the middle of a plot of earth that might have once been turf but was now a tangled and twisted knot of overgrown weeds, the tiny dwelling looked as if it might fall down at any moment.
Oak and beech trees crowded the air above it, an eerie white noise filling the glade that eliminated all sound from the lane beyond.
Moss covered the roof tiles that weren’t missing, and a strip of dark green tarpaulin covered one end above a gutter that constantly dripped onto the dirt below, despite there being no rain for over a week.
Plaster was peeling from the anaemic stonework on each side of the battered front door, and as Kay walked up a cracked and uneven brickwork path, she tried to work out what colour had once graced the walls between the dark timber work that criss-crossed the building.
‘Bloody hell, guv,’ Barnes muttered. ‘We should’ve brought hard hats with us.’
Kay eyed the rotting hatchback car that was propped up on bricks to the right of the path, the driver’s window smashed and a bright green mould visible across the steering wheel and upholstery, then turned and rapped her knuckles against the door.
A fug of fetid cigarette smoke belched through the gap as it opened, and then Geoff Abbott emerged, squinting against the bright sunlight that penetrated the tree boughs.
Nicotine stains coloured his grey hair a dingy yellow, and lesions peppered his nose and cheeks.
‘You the police?’ he said, arthritic fingers dangling the remains of a butt.
Kay held up her warrant card, and introduced Barnes. ‘We’d like to speak to you about the incident at the White Hart last night. Can we come in?’
‘S’pose so.’ Abbott shuffled backwards, opening the door wider so they could pass, and gestured towards the back of the house. ‘Best go in the kitchen. Living room’s a bit of a state.’
As she eyed up the bales of newspapers stacked against the hallway wall and the damp patches seeping through the faded wallpaper, Kay suppressed a shudder.
The kitchen wasn’t much better, but at least a large window above a cluttered sink let in ample light to offset the gloom from the trees.
An elderly Golden Retriever staggered to its feet from a well-worn bed beside a stove, wobbled across to where Kay stood beside a chipped and pitted formica table, then promptly leaned against her.
As its dark brown eyes stared up at her, she groaned, ruing the choice of black trousers that morning as its hair moulted over the fabric. Then she reached down and rubbed the soft fur between the dog’s ears.
‘What’s his name?’ she asked.
‘Bernard.’ Abbott’s voice softened. ‘He’s thirteen now, so doesn’t get about as much as he used to. Misses going to the pub, too.’
The dog’s ears pricked up, and Kay chuckled.
‘He still recognises the word though, doesn’t he?’
‘That he does.’ The old man gestured to four rickety chairs surrounding the table. ‘I’d offer you a hot drink, but I’m out of milk and––’
‘Not a problem, Mr Abbott. We just have a few questions to follow up with you, and then we’ll be on our way.’
Mollified, the man nodded and took a seat beside Barnes while the detective removed his notebook from his jacket.
‘Talk us through what happened in the White Hart last night,’ said Kay. ‘Who were you with?’
‘Three friends.’ Abbott shrugged. ‘All locals. We tend to go in four or five times a week. I s’pose you’ll want their names?’
‘We will.’
‘Trevor Shadwell, Barry Peters, and Malcolm Cross.’
‘Have you got their phone numbers and addresses?’
Kay waited while Abbott recited them for Barnes, noting the way the old man dabbed and poked at the screen of his ancient mobile phone, his brow puckered in concentration.
She recognised the names from the list that Len Simpson had given them the night before, but having the details cross-checked and clarified was essential.
‘How long have you known them?’ she asked when he’d put the phone away.
‘Me and Barry go back thirty years or more. Used to work on the railway together out at Sittingbourne. Trevor’s local – lived down the road there about twelve years. He didn’t used to drink in the Hart, but his wife died four years ago. It was Malcolm who introduced me to him – I can’t remember where they know each other from, but it’s been a while.’
‘Did you spot the two men who were arguing last night?’
‘If they were arguing, I couldn’t hear it from where I was sat.’ Abbott sniffed. ‘Deaf in one ear, me, so I has to concentrate when I’m in the pub to hear what the lads are saying, even when it is quieter. I did see ’em get up to leave though.’
‘Did you get a good look at them?’
Abbott scratched at his earlobe. ‘One were taller than the other. The older one. The younger one looked a bit rat-like.’
‘Oh? In what way?’
‘Shifty. His eyes were all over the place. He had his hands in his coat pockets and didn’t look like he’d slept for a few days.’
‘What about their ages?’
‘I don’t know. Gets harder to guess someone’s age the older you get.’ Abbott shot her a shy smile. ‘Everyone looks about twenty to me these days.’
‘Best guess, then.’
‘I suppose the youngster might’ve been mid to late twenties. No older than that. The older chap… late forties, fifties perhaps. Only a bit of grey in his hair, see.’
Barnes flipped through his notes. ‘When you left the pub, did you notice anything out of the ordinary about either of them?’
‘No – I left before them, see. Like I said, Trevor lives down the road from here so he offered to give me a lift. That lane’s got too many twists and turns in it to risk walking along it at night.’ Abbott shrugged. ‘I don’t mind it in the summer, but not now the nights are starting to draw in.’
‘Did you hear them leaving the pub after you?’ Kay prompted. ‘Or did you see them when you were in the car park?’
‘Not really. Me and Trev were talking all the way over to the car, and then once we were in we were still at it, making arrangements for tonight.’ He paused, his brow puckering. ‘I think I might’ve seen them walk out the door – you know, seeing the light come out through it as they left. But I didn’t see nothing after that – Trevor don’t hang about, see?’
‘Any trouble amongst gun owners around here?’
‘Not like that, no. I mean, you hear people taking pot shots at stuff in the woods around here but nothing big like that. Shotguns, mostly.’
Kay bit back a sigh, signalled to Barnes that the interview was over and gently moved the dog out of the way so she could stand.
‘Thanks for your time,’ she said, handing over a business card. ‘We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions, but if you think of anything in the meantime that might help us, or if you overhear something, perhaps you could give me a call?’
‘Will do, lass.’ He took the card and held it close to his face, peering at the text. ‘The sooner you find out who’s behind that murder, the better I’ll sleep at night.’
‘You and me both, Mr Abbott.’