The following months reverted to relative normality at the MCU as much as that was possible for a unit that dealt with murder. This was partly because Warner had returned to his own division in Kent and wasn’t due to darken their doors until early in the next year when R v Cotterell came to trial. Cross had been initially horrified when he moved back to his office to find Ottey occupying the trespassing desk.
‘What?’ she’d asked innocently as he enquired what she thought she was doing. But she couldn’t keep the charade up for long. It was too cruel. Particularly as the target had no sense of humour. She then laughed and went back to her own desk. Cross realised her laughter meant that it was supposed to be a joke, one he didn’t find funny. Mackenzie organised for the offending desk to be removed later in the day. Another case after the Longwell Green murder landed on their desks and occupied a few weeks of their time. Even though they had a confession at the outset, at the crime scene itself, which had been repeated under caution at the MCU, it still required days of work to assemble and collate all the evidence into an orderly shape.
One thing had been agreed between Cross and Ottey early on in their working relationship, which was that they would always be open with each other in work-related matters. This mostly worked on Ottey’s part. She kept to it pretty much all the time and was able to forgive any transgressions on Cross’s part, as she knew he had no secret agenda. So she told him that Mackenzie and she were reaching out carefully to people in Warner’s Kent division. She simply couldn’t let the car park incident go. Cross appreciated that it was probably best done initially by the two women, but made it clear that if they needed his help they had only to ask.
For his part he was concentrating on their current case. He still wasn’t entirely happy or reconciled with the conclusion of the Moreton investigation. But he’d put it at the bottom of his mental in-tray. His focus had to be elsewhere currently. Every case deserved and got his full attention. There was also the not inconsiderable consideration that he and Ottey had been ordered off the Moreton case and forbidden from making contact with any of the parties involved. But then he received a call from the Reverend Alison Smith in Crockerne.
Cross had decided that it would only cause more trouble internally if he, Ottey or Mackenzie attended Alistair Moreton’s funeral and so they had stayed away. He had, however, asked the vicar to call afterwards so they could discuss it. She had initially been curious as to why, but after the funeral it made complete sense to her. Alistair had left instructions that his funeral service be held at the church in Crockerne. Alison was amazed and touched by the turnout for the service. The entire village, it seemed, had filled the church. All except for Malcolm Fisk, that was. The heavily pregnant Tamsin Cotterell was even there, which had surprised Alison, but not Cross. It was a clear statement of her belief in her husband’s innocence and a compassionate expression of her sorrow about what had befallen their combative neighbour. Tite had also skulked uncomfortably at the back of the church throughout.
Alison had stood at the door of the church and bade farewell to all the mourners as they left. Moreton had requested that he be buried in the churchyard and Alison had bullied a reluctant parish committee to accede. Whatever they thought of him, she told them, he had been an important part of their community for over a decade. One they had talked about endlessly and so he deserved his place there, as well as it being the Christian thing to do. She knew all of the mourners, of course, which included Sandy Moreton with a very glamorous woman and a couple of people from his constituency office. But there was one individual she hadn’t seen before. He wouldn’t give his name, but told her that he’d been a pupil of Alistair Moreton’s at All Saints. When she commented how nice it was that Moreton had had such an effect on his life that he’d come to pay his respects all these years later, she was taken aback by his reply. He said that Moreton had indeed had an effect on his life, which was why he was there to make sure the old bastard was definitely dead.
Moreton senior had uncharacteristically left money in his will, to be put behind the bar at the Hobbler’s Arms for the attendees of the funeral. According to Tom Holmes it wasn’t a huge sum, not because the old man was mean, but because he obviously didn’t expect many people to attend. The ex-pupil was there and had a few pints. He then proceeded to have a voluble argument with Sandy Moreton.
‘What was the argument about?’ Cross asked.
‘His father’s treatment of this man when he was a pupil of his. How he’d been physically abused. How his father had got away with it for years and justice had finally been meted out. The MP fella threatened to call the police. I told him there was no need and persuaded the bloke to leave. But then Alison found him standing next to Moreton’s grave later that afternoon,’ Tom said in a follow-up call.
‘That’s interesting,’ observed Cross.
‘All the more so when you consider it was pissing with rain. But the other thing was the guy was crying. Standing by the grave crying, like he’d lost someone he loved.’
This was strange indeed.
‘How’s Ricky?’ Cross asked before ending the call.
‘He’s all right. Fine. But you probably won’t believe this. He went missing one day. We looked all over for him and guess where we found him?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Cross who found these types of questions irritating. It would be far simpler, quicker and easier for all if the inquisitor just shared their information instead of this ridiculous dance.
‘In the churchyard, lying next to Al’s grave. He goes up there every day around the time Al used to come to the pub.’
‘That is remarkable,’ replied Cross before moving on. ‘This man, the ex-pupil, did he buy a drink, or did he not have to with the money behind the bar?’
‘Oh, he did. Refused to take one from Moreton’s pot. Insisted on paying himself. You’d have to ask yourself why he bothered to come,’ said Tom.
‘Did he pay with cash or card?’
‘Cash. I remember it, because so few people do these days.’
*
Cross called Maurice Simpson, the administrator of the All Saints alumni page.
‘Has anyone posted on the board saying they attended Moreton’s funeral?’ he asked.
‘No, and to be honest with you I can’t think of anyone in the group who would have wanted to go.’
‘An ex-pupil did go. It’s possible he’s not in your group. But he’s obviously still very angry.’
‘I’ll keep my eyes open. But one thing you should understand, Sergeant, is that we often go for months, sometimes a year or so, without any activity on the board. There have actually been a few times recently where I’ve thought of shutting it down. But that didn’t go down very well. People like it being there. When it started it really was an alumni thing, people getting in touch, posting old school photos, before it morphed into a Moreton abuse support group.’ He laughed at such a notion.
‘But presumably there’s been a lot more activity since the murder?’
‘That’s true.’
‘Anything stand out?’
‘Not really, no.’
Cross wasn’t sure he believed him but didn’t press any further. He asked whether, as the moderator of the board, he’d had to delete posts. He had but wouldn’t divulge what and from whom. Data protection and all that. He would willingly, with a warrant, but wasn’t sure it was worth Cross’s time and effort. Cross couldn’t get a warrant in the current circumstances as it would have got straight back to Carson.
As convincing as the evidence against Cotterell seemed to be, Cross was still far from sure the man was guilty. There were too many imponderables, too many unanswered questions. But frustrating though it was, there was only one thing he could do. Wait until it came to trial and hope that the legal system did its job properly. Unfortunately, as Cross knew well, that wasn’t always guaranteed.