Gavin looked up from his notes as Paul Solomon exited the M2 and aimed the car towards Rochester.
‘Where does your first bloke live?’ he said, tapping his fingers on the top of the steering wheel while he glared at a red light that was taking an inordinate amount of time to change.
‘Just off Wouldham Road, past the chippy. It’s one of the roads down to the left heading towards the river.’
Solomon slipped the car into gear as the lights turned green and edged into the left-hand lane. ‘It’s about five minutes away. Yell when you see the house number.’
‘Will do.’ He bit back a yawn, reached out for the can of energy drink in the pocket beside the passenger seat, then cursed under his breath as he realised it was empty.
‘Need another of those first?’
‘Best not. That was my third today.’
Solomon shot him a sideways glance. ‘That’s not healthy.’
‘I know, but what with the hours we’re keeping on this case and the bloke in the room next door at the hotel having loud phone calls with his ex-wife at two o’clock this morning, I need the help.’
‘I didn’t realise you were staying local.’
‘Sharp reckoned it made sense given the sensitivity of this one – if we get a sudden breakthrough then we’re both on hand immediately, rather than having to travel from Maidstone.’
‘Well if it goes on much longer and you want somewhere quieter to kip, me and the wife have a spare room you can use.’
‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind.’ Gavin sat up straighter and pointed through the windscreen. ‘Here we go. Number eleven should be down here on the right.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Peter Jones. He was arrested for assault three months after the fight with Dale Thorngrove, given a caution when the other party refused to press charges, and seems to have been behaving himself since.’
‘Okay, well I’ll follow your lead on this one.’
‘Feel free to jump in if I miss something obvious.’ Gavin loosened his seat belt. ‘You’re the local, after all.’
Moments later, they stood on the front step of a 1930s terraced house with a red-brick archway forming a porch sheltering the door, and bay windows jutting out from the ground and first floors.
Gavin wrinkled his nose at the ugly pebbledash covering the walls, but took in the well-maintained front garden and fresh paintwork and reckoned Jones – or someone in his household – was at least making an effort.
The door opened, and a man in his late thirties with a receding hairline frowned as he took in their appearance.
‘Police? What do you want?’
‘DC Gavin Piper, and my colleague, DC Solomon. Are you Peter Jones?’
‘Yes. What’s this about?’
‘Can we talk inside?’
‘I’d rather not.’ Jones lowered his voice. ‘My wife’s at work, and I’ve only just got the baby to sleep. Can you make this quick in case she wakes up?’
Gavin held up his phone. ‘Do you recognise him?’
‘Looks familiar, but I’m not sure from where.’
‘You and a mate of yours got into a fight with him three years ago. He needed dental work afterwards.’
Jones rubbed his hand across his jaw and sighed. ‘Not one of my finer moments. I broke two fingers that night.’
‘Yet you got into another fight soon afterwards.’
‘Yeah, and then I quit drinking. I’ve been clean since.’ Jones handed back the phone and frowned. ‘What’s this about?’
‘Dale Thorngrove – the bloke in the photo – was murdered on Wednesday night.’ Gavin ignored the shocked expression that flitted across Jones’s face. ‘Where were you?’
‘On the phone to that free NHS service. Charlotte had a fever, and we were worried it might be something serious.’ Jones exhaled. ‘It wasn’t, but I don’t want another scare like that.’
‘And your wife will confirm that?’
‘Of course. Phone her and ask her.’ Jones recited her number. ‘She’ll be out and about at the moment but you can leave her a message and she’ll call you back.’
‘Have you had any contact with Dale Thorngrove since the fight?’
‘No, why would I?’
‘What was the fight about?’
‘God knows. It was a long time ago. Knowing what I was like on the grog back then, it could’ve been anything.’
‘The other bloke who was involved – Owen Chard – is he a good friend of yours?’
‘Not anymore.’ Jones shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. ‘Once I quit the booze, I stayed away from the old crowd.’
‘What does your wife do?’
‘She runs a real estate company in Chatham. Doing really well, too.’
Gavin heard the note of pride in the man’s voice. ‘And you?’
‘Full-time dad,’ Jones beamed. ‘Best job in the world.’
He glanced over his shoulder as a child began to wail in the background.
‘We’ll let you get back to it,’ said Gavin. ‘Thanks for your time.’
‘Reformed character, that one,’ Solomon remarked as they walked back to the car. ‘Shame they don’t all turn out like that.’
‘I had a feeling this would be a waste of time. I mean, it’s a big step from beating up someone three years ago to shooting them twice at point-blank range, isn’t it?’
Solomon smiled. ‘Still has to be done though. Where does the second bloke live?’
‘About twenty minutes away.’ Gavin yawned. ‘And we’d better stop for coffee on the way there.’