Chapter Fourteen

 

Emma Angel had a few hours to kill but needed to stay close to Bradwick to be in on the raid at the holiday park. She drove over to the Seaview Estate, intent on talking to Margaret Watts. She was on much firmer ground than she had been a few months ago. With Rob Haines' sidelined, there was no one, apart from Andy Stonor, who knew about Gregory Watts. He was her nemesis – the one that she couldn't arrest for anything. Now, she had a clear field to pursue him on her own, until she had enough evidence to build a solid case against him.

Even so, she was far more nervous than she should've been. She stood outside a perfectly ordinary bungalow on the Seaview Estate. It had been built in the fifties and still had an original garden gate with green paint and a radiant sun design.

This was the house of Margaret Watts, the mother of Gregory Watts. Had he ever mentioned her name to his mother? If he had, no doubt he had painted her in the worst possible terms as someone harassing him. Was he here, even? She looked around but could see no big, flashy cars so maybe she was safe.

Now she was here, partly on the instructions of her boss. She knew that she was stretching the truth a little, but she was also eager to find out anything she could about Gregory. And she wanted to investigate the disappearance of Callum Frost. She kept telling herself that. It would be the only focus of her questions. Anything that she learnt about Gregory would be incidental. But possibly vital, if it didn't end her career first.

She made the approach up the path and knocked on the door, which also looked original. A short woman with dark hair in a neat bob answered. Emma couldn't stop herself checking for any features that might have found their way into her son, but she didn't see any.

'Hello, can I help you?'

Emma held out her warrant card. 'I'm Detective Constable Emma Angel from the police. Don't worry, it's nothing bad, I just wanted a chat.'

The woman's eyes narrowed slightly, the natural suspicion that people had on the estate for the police. 'What do you want?'

'Just a chat about some ancient history on the estate.'

'Hmmm. And you thought you'd come to me, did you?'

'It's about Callum Frost. We had a list of people who helped at the time, and we're just seeing who still lives in the area.'

She smiled, a tight smile that spoke of the pain that name still caused. 'Ah well, that was a long time ago although folk round here do have long memories. But this isn't the sort of thing to be talked about on the doorstep. I just picked up a Battenberg from the shop so you can come in and have some tea. Wouldn't want the neighbours to know what we're talking about.'

She was led into a smart home and when they were sat on sofas with cups of tea and squares of multicoloured cake, Margaret spoke, 'So what do you want to know about Callum Frost?'

'Well, do you remember the "missing" posters that went up when Callum disappeared?'

'Yes, terrible business. I know that they were probably helping, but can you imagine his poor mother? Every lamppost and shop? I know it'd be a comfort but in some ways it'd be a torment as well.'

'Yes,' Emma hadn't thought about the relatives. It was unimaginable what they'd gone through. 'One of the posters has turned up again, as evidence in a completely unrelated case.'

'Well, if you want a list of names who ever had one, then you'll be out of luck. They were everywhere those posters. We had a big stack in the community centre and folk were in and out all the time taking however many they needed.'

'I know. We've spoken to the printers so that's not what we were looking at. It's just that,' Emma leant forward, 'and this is confidential. There's been a nasty murder at the motel and that's where the poster has turned up. We have a list of names from the original investigation, everyone who helped out, but it's too long to be useful. What we need to know is if there's anyone we should be interested in?'

'And you want me to tell you who to investigate? Who among my friends and neighbours could've killed that poor boy?'

'No, not exactly. We just need a feel for what it was like.'

'It's all right, I'm messing with you,' Margaret said with a smile. 'I'm getting old and I'm stuck in this house all the time. You've got to let me have a bit of fun.' She smiled which reassured Emma slightly. 'Callum Frost, oh God, that takes me back. My youngest, Gregory, had just finished his exams, so he was home from school. His brother, Donald had left a couple of years earlier. But Greg, he never really relaxed. Even though he had just finished with education, he was still out every day. I was so proud of him, always grafting, always earning money.' She stopped for a minute, lost in happy memories of her sons. Emma's heart rate increased a bit. Margaret had brought up the subject – she hadn't even had to pry.

'So, were your boys around on that day?' Emma prompted.

'Don was about all day, bottle of beer in hand and a barbecue lit. Greg was out all morning and came back around lunchtime.' She stopped for a moment. 'That's the trouble about a day like that. You get interviewed by the police at the time, and then everyone talks about it. The press come sniffing around. By the time you've told the same story over and over, you can't really remember what happened, just what you said.'

'Was there anyone who stuck out as different or weird? Anything that you look back on now and think that it was a bit odd.'

Margaret shook her head. 'No, there's nothing. I mean, no one was behaving normally, not on the day or for weeks afterwards. I know it was the school holidays, but it felt so weird. It was like everyone was thinking about it but no one was saying anything.'

Emma felt her frustration build. But she had what she needed – she had a link between Gregory Watts and the Callum Frost case. She wanted to bring Margaret back to talking about the posters, to see who would've kept one. But she could already see some echoes of Gregory's behaviour. She was mischievous but also a bit manipulative.

'Did you know anyone who was a bit obsessive? Someone who was good with their hands, maybe good at DIY? But also a bit apart, kept to themselves?' She stopped and sighed. 'We're struggling a bit here to see who we're looking for.'

'Yes, well, that's a fairly vague description. Most of us on the estate, the old ones who know each other, well we respect each other. If someone needs space, we give them the space. So "kept to themselves", while it's a bit of cliché for a killer, doesn't really help. Likewise, you throw a stone round here and you'd hit half a dozen men who are handy. When you drive back to your station, look at the driveways you go past. This is where the self-employed live. It's not DIY, but there are builders, painters, plumbers, you name it. Although most of them are complaining about the Poles and Romanians taking their jobs.'

Emma tried to digest the stream of information. Basically, the killer could be on the estate, pretty much anywhere. They'd be going to work, owning a van, having plenty of tools and the ability to make any number of weird things for displaying bodies.

More to pass the time than anything, she asked, 'Is there a Mr Watts?'

Margaret went to fetch a photograph then sat down with it in her lap. 'My Albert. Lost him three years ago, the daft bugger. Still love him though.' Before Emma could find a tactful way to ask how, she continued. 'He never listened. Smoked all the time, drank and never watched what he ate. Worked up at the docks in Bristol and was within six months of retiring when he had a heart attack. I was hoping to retire with him, but, well, you know. We plan and God laughs.'

'I'm sorry to bring it up again.'

'Oh, don't mind. Everyone tiptoes around the subject. I loved the man and knew him for the best part of forty years. Still love the bugger even if he's not here.' She stopped for a moment to gather herself, then put the photo back on the mantelpiece. 'You asked about the whole Callum Frost thing? Well back then it was a close-knit community, people looked out for each other. After the disappearance, it all changed. I'm glad my boys were old enough not to worry. You see, they'd be able to go round to a mate's house or just play out without a care in the world. But afterwards, it was all different. You'd see kids being walked from one house to the next, parents meeting each other halfway. The whole estate got quieter after dark. I suppose that was the real tragedy. I don't think we ever got that back. I mean, they were all right when Al died – people came over, the funeral was huge, people looked in on me for weeks after, brought food for me.' She stopped for a second and judged Emma's mood. 'Oh, you don't want to hear me wittering on all day, do you?'

'No, it's okay. I like to listen. And I do need to learn more about what life was like on the estate fifteen years ago. And in this job, the chance to sit down for a few minutes with a snack is rare.' Privately she wasn't happy drinking weak tea and eating sickly sweet cake. But she knew that this was where the coal face was – this could be where the break in the case came, even though it seemed like wasted time in the moment.

She listened for a bit longer before the conversation naturally wound up. At the door, she asked the one question that mattered to her. 'Do you ever see much of your sons now?'

'Oh, well, you know. They pop round most weekends, have a meal and a chat.' She paused. 'I know I was a bit sharp when you knocked on the door but I have enjoyed our chat. Even with the community and my sons, I do get bored. You will come back, won't you? Have some more tea and cake?'

'Only if you really mean it, I wouldn't want to impose.'

'Of course I do. You can tell me what's going on in the town now, and I can fill you in about the past.'

'I'd like that,' Emma said. She was aware that she was adding extra obligations to her busy life. First she had Lukas to keep an eye on, then she needed to keep an eye on Rob Haines and now Mrs Gregory was on the list.