DI Hammond was taken aback by Cross’s ‘office’.
‘This is a temporary arrangement,’ Cross explained.
‘Blimey, maybe I should stock up on notepads while I’m here,’ she joked.
‘What size?’ asked Cross perfectly seriously and turning to look at the shelves beside him.
‘You called about Cal and Terry Napier,’ she said, ignoring him.
‘I did.’
‘Why the interest?’
‘It’s linked to a current murder investigation.’
‘But you’re obviously aware Terry’s in prison.’
‘I am. Were you involved in the case?’
‘I was. He’s a nasty piece of work. Nowhere near the top of the food chain but a big cog in the wheel,’ she replied.
‘Do you always speak in clichés?’ asked Cross.
She looked at him for a moment.
‘Funny way to go about asking for help. Good luck,’ she said, got up and left. Cross was puzzled by this and opened up his laptop. Hammond reappeared and just stared at him. Cross stared back. She came back into the room and sat down.
‘I was warned about you,’ she said. Cross said nothing. He’d heard this kind of statement before. ‘And, as it happens, I need something from you so I’m going to ignore your rudeness.’
‘I wasn’t aware I had been rude,’ said Cross.
‘Which I was also warned about. Which murder investigation are we talking about?’ she asked.
‘Alistair Moreton, an old gentleman killed in the village of Crockerne.’
‘Isn’t that the case they just made a press statement about? It’s closed.’
‘Moreton’s habits changed in the weeks leading up to his death. He stopped paying his nightly visit to the pub, didn’t go to church.’
‘Did anyone check up on him?’
‘They did. Had the distinct impression someone was in the house as he wouldn’t let them in.’
Mackenzie now knocked on the open door.
‘This is police staff officer Alice Mackenzie, she’s working on the case with me. This is DI Hammond from the county lines team.’
‘Ma’am,’ said Alice coming in and standing to one side as there was no room for a chair other than the ones Cross and Hammond occupied.
Cross turned his laptop around for Hammond to see. It was a still frame from the village store with the two men from the Ford Fiesta.
‘That’s Cal, Napier’s brother, and Filip. They work for Terry,’ she replied.
‘So, I understand. Our victim had an oxy habit. They were supplying him through an intermediary, an individual called Drew Tite. Do you know him?’
‘I don’t,’ she replied.
‘They appeared in the village asking for Moreton’s address a few weeks before his death,’ Cross told her.
‘Okay,’ she replied thinking it through.
‘We have evidence of someone living in the house with him,’ Cross continued.
‘It sounds like he’s been cuckooed,’ said Hammond. ‘It’s their MO.’
‘Cuckooed?’ asked Mackenzie, unfamiliar with the term.
‘It’s when a gang operating county lines moves into someone’s property and starts using it as a base of operations. Normally the victims are vulnerable, living on their own and more often than not have an addiction. The gang use their dependency as their weapon.’
‘That’s what Tite said had happened with Alistair,’ said Mackenzie.
‘But to be honest with you, I’ve never heard of cuckooing ending in murder. Beatings yes, but…’ Hammond added.
‘A beating gone wrong?’ asked Mackenzie.
‘Sure, I mean absolutely that’s possible. What was he like, the victim?’
‘A loner, not particularly popular in the village,’ replied Cross.
‘Isolated, elderly and an addict. It makes perfect sense to me,’ Hammond said.
‘Do you know where these two are?’ asked Cross.
‘Not at the moment. To be honest our energies have been elsewhere, since we sent Napier down,’ said Hammond. ‘But we’ll put them back on our radar and let you know what we come up with.’
‘That would be helpful,’ Cross acknowledged.
‘Right,’ said Hammond, realising this was all she was going to get from him. ‘I’ll be in touch.’ She left. Mackenzie knew that Ottey would have thanked Hammond and then pointed out to Cross that he should do the same. She was also acutely aware how inappropriate it would be for her to do the same and so said nothing.
‘Have you got five minutes?’ she asked instead.
‘I do.’
‘I’ve come up with some stuff on Moreton’s past as a teacher which I think might be relevant.’ She waited in vain for some encouragement, which was not forthcoming, then continued. ‘So according to a load of posts the man was a complete bastard as a headmaster. The scars run deep and have stayed in the memory. If these men are to be believed he was an absolute sadist. The things he did to them back then would end up with him in prison if he did them now. Words like “psychotic”, “abusive”, “violent”, “insane temper” and “drunk” litter these posts. Some of them go as far as to say if they could get their hands on him they wouldn’t care how old or frail he was they’d beat the shit out of him. I’m quoting there. These guys must be in their fifties by now and it still seems to have a real long-lasting effect on them.’
Cross thought about this for a moment. ‘This is interesting.’
‘He was a headmaster for ten years in Somerset when something obviously went wrong. There are all sorts of rumours on the boards, but no one seems to understand what exactly. But it was undoubtedly controversial. He was removed from his post in the middle of a school term by the board of governors. I could look and see if there was any media coverage of it. He then ran a crammer in London for a while then he seemed to fall off the educational radar,’ she went on.
‘Perhaps he retired,’ Cross volunteered.
‘It’s unclear.’
Cross was well aware that past trauma was often a strong motivator in murder. Particularly when people suffered that trauma at the hands of another when they were powerless to resist, vulnerable. They often sought revenge or some kind of reckoning when older and able to do something about it.
‘Has anything been posted since his murder?’ Cross asked.
‘I haven’t finished looking yet. But Sandy Moreton also comes in for a lot of grief on certain threads. His father made him head boy. No qualms about nepotism there, obviously.’
Cross said nothing but just sat there processing what she’d just said.
‘Also, Warner is getting twitchy about where you are and what you’re up to. They’re doing a presser at six. I got the feeling he expected you to be there,’ she informed him.
‘I have no intention of attending,’ he said.
*
As Cross left for the night he saw Carson, Warner and Sandy Moreton MP talking in reception, having made their announcement. He walked directly over to them.
‘Mr Moreton,’ Cross began.
‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘I’d like to speak to you about your father’s time as headmaster at All Saints preparatory school.’
‘Why?’
‘As part of our murder investigation.’
Carson decided to intervene, prompted by Moreton’s look of angry disbelief.
‘George, are you on your way home?’ he asked.
‘No. I am on my way to my father’s flat. It’s Wednesday. I have dinner with him every Wednesday,’ he informed Moreton.
‘I’ll bet that’s the highlight of his week,’ said Moreton. Cross considered this.
‘I’m not sure I’d go that far. He has other interests that occupy him. But he has told me he enjoys it, so I certainly think it’s something he looks forward to,’ Cross explained.
‘Please come and see me first thing in the morning, DS Cross,’ said Carson, trying to bring the conversation to a quick resolution.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Cross who then turned back to Moreton. ‘Should I get in touch with your office, Mr Moreton?’
‘What on earth for?’
‘I believe I’ve already told you the purpose of such a visit.’
‘Cross, stop making such an arse of yourself and bugger off. Accept defeat and move on,’ hissed Warner.
Cross realised in the face of this hostility he wasn’t going to get anywhere so turned on his heel and walked away but not before saying, ‘Were you aware of your father’s opioid addiction?’
‘His what?’
‘Specifically, OxyContin.’
‘This is outrageous. My father was a great man who has been savagely murdered and now you have the temerity to accuse him of being a drug addict?’ Moreton spluttered.
‘I’ll be in touch, Mr Moreton,’ Cross said finally before leaving.
‘Is he being serious? What is it with that man?’ asked Moreton.
‘He’s autistic,’ replied Carson.
‘Well, I suppose that’s one word for it,’ joked Moreton. ‘But how the hell did he get through selection?’
‘I think you’ll find our ranks are filled with neurodiverse people,’ replied Carson.
‘Well, that would explain a lot about the current state of the police force,’ Moreton responded. Warner laughed at this until he became aware of Carson’s glare and he stopped.
‘Sorry, not terribly woke of me,’ said Moreton.
‘No, not at all,’ agreed Carson. ‘Just terribly offensive.’
And with that he left, feeling just a little surprised at himself.