The living room at 9 Vicarage Road was eerily silent despite the presence of Sylvia Arthurs, Jack Culverhouse and Wendy Knight. Sylvia sat in an armchair, holding a framed picture of her husband which she caressed with her thumb as she smiled through salty tears.
Wendy was the first to break the uncomfortable silence. ‘I know this must be hard for you, Mrs Arthurs, but we need to ask some questions about your husband's death. Any information we have will help us find out exactly what happened to Bob.’
‘I don't know what I can tell you, officer. I really don’t,’ the woman said. Wendy noted that she seemed to be holding good memories of her husband. That was something, at least.
‘We need to know if your husband knew a man called Gary McCann. We believe they may have been in business together in some form.’ Wendy could see from Sylvia's reaction that she did, indeed, know of Gary McCann. The flickering of the eyes and the short, sharp, hardly-noticeable intake of breath told her all she needed to know. ‘Only we've received some information stating that Gary McCann may have invested in some of your husband's shares in Radley Stationery. Did you know anything about this?’
Sylvia Arthurs thought for a moment. She knew it was no use trying to lie. They probably knew everything anyway. ‘Yes. Yes, I did.’
‘And what was your opinion on it?’ Culverhouse asked.
‘Well, I was perfectly happy with it. Bob didn't have the money to keep his side of the business going and Gary stepped up and helped him out.’
‘Financially?’
‘Yes, that too. He helped Bob get the business back on track. Without him, the company would have folded long ago. It’s thanks to him that I’m even sat in this house, if I’m honest.’
‘With all due respect, from what we've seen, Mrs Arthurs, it doesn't look as though Radley Stationery was anywhere near back on track,’ Wendy said. ‘The business was haemorrhaging money and your husband must have been, too.’
‘Are you saying… Do you think Bob might have committed suicide?’ Sylvia asked.
‘Not unless he managed to cave his own face in with a baseball bat and then jump in an acid bath before tying himself to a chair in his own warehouse, no,’ Culverhouse said.
Wendy's eyes shot over to him. The man's tact astounded her.
‘We think he may have been murdered as part of a grudge,’ he added.
Sylvia Arthurs spoke, though visibly shocked. ‘No, not Gary McCann. He wouldn't do that. He has been good to us. He’s a good man, and he’s been good to me since Bob died.’
‘What do you mean he's been good to you since Bob died, Mrs Arthurs?’
‘Well, I know it hasn’t been long, but he’s been really supportive since I heard the news. I mean, I know obviously everyone has been supportive, but it’s mostly just words, isn’t it? Not Gary, though. He gave me… a gift.’ With this, Sylvia Arthurs stood up from her armchair and crossed the room to the sideboard. She opened the middle cupboard door and drew out two large jiffy bags. ‘These were in my porch when I got home yesterday.’
Culverhouse opened the bag, looking at Sylvia for any clue as to what might be inside. Drawing his hand out, he brought with it a large bundle of used twenty-pound notes. Both jiffy bags were stuffed full.
‘Ten thousand pounds, Inspector. Look at the note,’ Sylvia said.
Inside the second jiffy bag, Culverhouse spotted the folded sheet of white A4 paper, which he duly unfolded and read. There, in the neatly typed and printed font were the words:
Your husband was a good man. Take this as a gift. G McC.
He read the note twice more. ‘Why would Gary McCann give you ten thousand pounds in cash, Mrs Arthurs?’
‘I have no idea. I told you he was a kind man.’
‘We'll have to take this in as evidence, I'm sure you'll understand.’
‘Oh, yes. Of course. I've no idea what I'll do with all that money, anyway. Not now that I’m…’ Sylvia's voice trailed off as her mouth refused to form the word.
Once outside, Knight and Culverhouse got into the unmarked Volvo and sat silently for a few moments, both knowing what the other wanted to say. It was always going to be Culverhouse who had the first word.
‘I told you. I fucking told you Gary McCann was a lying bastard. All that bloody bollocks about being so surprised that Bob Arthurs had snuffed it, and all the time he's been sending fucking presents to his wife. But it still doesn’t make any sense. Why would he do it?’
‘Maybe he wanted to show Sylvia that he wasn't such a bad man after all,’ Wendy said. ‘Perhaps he felt that Bob Arthurs needed to go, but he felt no malice towards Sylvia. Nothing personal, that kind of thing. He must have known that Sylvia would be saddled with Bob's debts after he'd gone. Even criminals have a nice side.’
‘Not this one, he doesn't. Gary McCann has never cared for a little old lady before. Hell, in his younger days he was known for mugging them. And anyway, if he wanted to make sure Sylvia wouldn’t be left with the debt, why would he not just write it off in the first place and let Bob live? Wipe the ten grand off the company’s debts instead. Same amount of money, and no dead body on your hands.’
‘Or your conscience,’ Wendy added.
Culverhouse snorted. ‘Gary McCann wouldn’t know the meaning of the word. No, something’s definitely not right. We need to do some digging, Knight. There's something fishy going on with McCann and I'm going to find out what.’