Andrea Barnes was standing outside the block of flats smoking a cigarette. She was shaking under her winter coat, partly from the single-figure temperature and partly from the shock of seeing the dead body of one of her drivers.
‘Andrea?’ Matilda asked, shivering as she stepped out of the warmth of the flats. She introduced herself. ‘May I ask you a few questions?’
‘I’ve already spoken to someone,’ Andrea said, turning her head to blow away smoke.
‘I know. I have a few more questions about Iain Kilbride. How long has he worked for you?’
She thought. ‘Maybe five years. I’ve got his file back at the office.’
‘Was he a good employee?’
‘He was. He always turned up on time. Hardly ever had a sick day. He sometimes gave his holiday entitlement to others as he didn’t need it, so he said. Lately, though, he’s been missing shifts or turning up late.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He was a driver. We have a fleet of fifty coaches and we go all over the country.’
‘Do the drivers have set routes they travel?’
‘Some do. Iain was one of our few drivers who didn’t mind where he went – local or long haul. He wasn’t bothered.’
‘Sounds like an ideal employee.’
Andrea gave a weak smile. ‘He was. We’ve had some crap drivers over the years, some real troublemakers.’
‘Did you like him?’
Andrea looked at Matilda with a frown. ‘I don’t need to like my staff. As long as they do a good job and turn up on time, I’m happy.’
‘So that’s a no then?’
‘I didn’t know him. He was quiet. I like to think of Barnes Coaches as one big family. That’s how my dad used to run it when he was alive. Iain wouldn’t come on the Christmas parties and he didn’t come for a drink or socialize with anyone. Sometimes he wouldn’t say two words to you – just take his route and his coach and leave.’
‘Was there anyone at work who knew him well?’
‘I’ve just said, he didn’t mingle. I probably chatted to him more than anyone else.’
‘It looks like he lived alone. Was he married? Any children?’
‘I don’t think he was married but he did mention a daughter once. It was years ago. I phoned him up asking if he could do a last-minute run and he said he couldn’t because he was looking after his little girl. He never mentioned her after that. I thought it was an excuse, but, you can never tell.’
‘Do you know anything about Iain’s life before he came to work for you? Any previous jobs?’
‘No. He worked as a cab driver for a couple of years, took his full Driver CPC and applied for the job.’
‘So he never mentioned anything about what he did for a living in the eighties and nineties?’
‘No. How old do I look? I was at college in the nineties.’
‘Can you tell me what you were doing earlier this morning?’
‘You think I’d kill one of my employees at the busiest time of year? If you must know I’ve spent the last two hours trying to organize twenty-three drivers with only nineteen coaches. And if you need witnesses it’s all on CCTV in the depot and nearly two dozen hairy-arsed, moaning drivers can vouch for me. Look, can I leave? I’m supposed to be going on holiday in the early hours of tomorrow.’
‘Anywhere nice?’
‘California,’ she replied without smiling.
‘Lovely.’
‘Well, it was going to be until I found a dead body. Now I’m not so sure.’ Andrea flicked her dying cigarette onto the grass and headed for her car as quickly as she could without running.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t given your name.’
‘Robert. Robert Blyth,’ said the man in a woollen hat and body warmer. He was in shock and stared dead ahead, straight through Matilda.
Matilda had spotted Robert slowly walking back to his flat, his legs heavy, his mind obviously elsewhere, and followed. He lived in the apartment directly above Iain’s so the layout was identical. However, where Iain’s home was Spartan and devoid of atmosphere, Robert’s was full of life and personality. Framed paintings adorned the walls. The sofa was new and clean. The decoration was bright and airy and the windows sparkled in the winter sun.
‘How old are you Robert?’
‘Why?’
‘Just asking.’
‘I’m twenty four.’
‘Can you tell me what happened?’
‘Well, I was coming down the stairs and this woman was banging on Iain’s door. She asked if I’d seen him and I told her that I had, last night on my way home. She bent down to look through the letterbox and screamed. She said he was lying on the floor, dead. I looked through the letterbox but all I could see was the closed door to the living room.’ His voice was a dull monotone, clearly shocked by what he’d seen.
‘Did you try to open the door?’
‘No. I said I’d go around the back and try to see through the living room window.’
‘And could you?’
‘Once I saw the window was broken I didn’t want to get too close in case there was evidence, you know? I leaned in and tried to see Iain but I couldn’t. I’ve got blood on my sleeve,’ he said, showing Matilda the dried stain.
‘Where’s that from?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I must have leaned against the windowsill or something.’
‘Ok. How long have you lived here?’
‘A couple of years, maybe.’
‘And where do you work?’
‘In town. I’m a supervisor at Sainsbury’s.’
‘Do you know Iain well?’
‘No,’ he replied, scratching his head through the woollen hat. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. ‘I say hello when I see him. He took a parcel for me a couple of times and borrowed a sink plunger last month, but that’s about it.’
‘So you never went into his flat?’
He paused to think. ‘No. Well, I might have done to collect a package, but I don’t think I went right in.’
‘We will need to take your fingerprints to match against any prints in Iain’s flat. Don’t worry, they will be destroyed afterwards,’ she quickly added when she saw the look of panic on Robert’s face. ‘Have you seen anything odd lately? Anyone hanging around who shouldn’t be?’
‘No.’
‘What about your other neighbours? What are they like?’
‘I don’t really know them,’ he shrugged.
‘Have there been any attempted break-ins before?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘Ok. Well, if you can think of anything, please give me a call,’ Matilda said fishing a card out of her top pocket. It was slightly creased so she smoothed it out before handing it over.
‘Thank you.’
Matilda left him to his thoughts and showed herself out.
It took Eric Chatterton a while to answer his front door. So long that Matilda almost turned away to leave. Opening a door while using a walking frame was not easy but eventually a small enough gap appeared and Eric popped his head around the door.
‘Mr Chatterton? I’m DCI Matilda Darke. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your neighbour.’ She could already feel the heat coming from the flat and wished she didn’t have to enter. She wondered where the PC who was sitting with him had got to.
‘Come on in, love,’ he said without asking to see any ID. He shuffled backwards and let Matilda into the dark and cluttered flat.
The layout was the opposite of Iain’s and appeared smaller due to the number of armchairs he seemed to have. Every shelf, every windowsill, every table was chaotic with newspapers, magazines, and miss-matched ornaments. The curtains were drawn, making the flat oppressive.
Eventually, Eric followed Matilda into the living room. He instructed her to take a seat and offered her a cup of tea, which she politely refused.
Matilda waited until Eric slowly sat and made himself comfortable before beginning her questioning. ‘Has a PC been sitting with you?’
‘Yes. Lovely girl. Very chatty. Lovely name too, Faith Easter, very religious. My Nancy would have liked that. I told her to go though. I’m more than capable of looking after myself. I’m ninety-three.’
‘Really?’ Matilda was impressed. He didn’t look his age. She would have guessed early eighties. She wondered what she and James would be like at ninety-three. She couldn’t imagine James using a walking frame.
‘My Nancy would have been ninety-seven if she’d have lived. It’s been eleven years now. She lived with that brain tumour for eight years and then one morning just didn’t wake up,’ he said, his eyes tearing up. ‘It won’t be long until I’m with her again though. I’ve got problems with my knee, back and hip, and there’s something wrong with my liver that I don’t understand. She’s up there waiting for me.’
Matilda wasn’t sure what to say. She was never good around grief. She smiled politely, tucked her hair back and straightened her trousers.
‘Mr Chatterton …’
‘Eric.’
‘Eric. What can you tell me about your neighbour?’
‘Iain? He’s a nice enough chap. He does me some shopping from time to time and he’s taken me to Waitrose too when my daughter’s not been around.’
‘Does he have many visitors?’
‘A few. I’m right opposite the main entrance so I hear that buzzer whenever it rings.’
‘That could have been for your neighbours upstairs though.’
‘Possibly,’ he mused.
‘Did you see them?’
‘No. I keep my curtains closed. There’s a glare on my TV all year round.’
‘When did he get his visitors?’
‘Well in the evenings, obviously. He works in the daytime.’
‘Did he ever talk to you about them?’
‘No.’
‘What do you know about the other neighbours?’
‘Well,’ he said, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position on his armchair. ‘There’s young Robert upstairs. He’s quiet, says hello. Juliet lives next door to him but she hasn’t been here lately. Her mother had a stroke in Hull. She’s been staying there since it happened in August. She rings me occasionally, asks how her flat is. The third flat upstairs is empty. Gladys died in July. I don’t think her kids have even emptied it; I’ve not heard anything. They didn’t bother with her when she was alive though so I’m not surprised. Poor woman. Someone’s just moved into the flat next to Iain, about a week or so ago. I haven’t seen anyone though. You don’t, these days. People are too busy to have a chat with their neighbours. That’s what I miss, a good chat,’ he said with a warm, but sad, smile.
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘Just after my Nancy died. My daughter, Susie, she thought it would be best if I lived on one level. My old house was too big for me on my own anyway.’
‘How long had Iain lived next door?’
‘He moved in earlier this year.’
‘Was he married? Any girlfriends?’
‘No. He never mentioned a wife or anyone. I got the impression he was on his own.’
‘Did he ever discuss what he used to do for a living?’
‘No. Why all the questions? Is he a killer or something?’ he asked, his eyes widening in excitement.
‘No. Nothing like that,’ Matilda found herself smiling. She liked Eric, and, despite the heat, she could have spent the rest of the day chatting to him about ‘his Nancy’ and the local neighbourhood. She thanked him for his time and said she would show herself out. As she reached the doorway, Eric called her back.
‘There was something …’
‘Go on.’
‘About a week ago there was a hell of a row coming from next door.’
‘Are you sure it wasn’t the TV?’
‘No it was definitely a row. I could hear Iain. And there was another chap in there with him.’
‘What were they arguing about?’
‘I don’t know, love. I turned my TV up. I like to watch those box sets in the evening. I’m hooked on Breaking Bad. Have you seen it?’
Matilda tried to hide her smile. She hadn’t expected a ninety-three-year-old to be a fan of Breaking Bad. ‘I can’t say I have, no. How long did this row go on for?’
‘A while. Then it all went quiet. I didn’t hear any doors slam though.’