22

While Geraldine had been visiting the morgue and questioning David’s family, a team from the Visual Images, Identifications and Detections Office had been studying CCTV near David’s home, in an attempt to identify any vehicles registered to Jason or Jessica, or any other known associates of David, who might have been in the vicinity at the time of David’s death. The following morning a constable contacted Geraldine with information about a person of interest.

‘I’ve been searching for the man Anne alleged threatened her husband in the car park.’

Geraldine nodded to indicate she knew who the constable meant. ‘He said it wasn’t over, and someone was going to stop David –’

‘Look,’ the constable interrupted her.

As she pointed at the screen, a group of people appeared, crossing a car park on foot, led by a tall thin man. Just before they moved off the edge of the screen, they caught up with David and his wife who turned to face them. David looked somehow puffed up and angry, while Anne was clearly frightened, her shoulders hunched and her eyes darting around nervously. She tried to hustle her husband towards the car but he stopped and turned to face the people who were pursuing him. The camera didn’t pick up any of the words that were exchanged, but it was clear they were shouting at one another. The tall man shook his fist at David in a threatening manner before they all moved out of sight of the camera.

‘His image isn’t very clear here, but we managed to pick him up on his way into the hall. It’s definitely the same man. His clothes, his gait, all identical.’

The film froze, showing a gaunt face gazing directly at the camera.

‘It’s a good resolution,’ the constable said. ‘We had to enhance it, but you’ve got to admit it’s pretty clear. You could pick him out of a crowd.’

‘Now all we’ve got to do is find out who he is,’ Geraldine said.

The constable smiled. ‘Our image recognition software has found a match.’

She pulled up another screen. Geraldine leaned closer to read the details: Jonathan Edwards, forty-two-years old, divorced, school librarian.

‘He’s a bit aggressive for a school librarian.’

‘A former school librarian,’ the constable corrected her. ‘He lost his job last year. These details need to be updated.’

Eileen was more interested in the identity of the heckler than Geraldine thought his actions warranted.

‘We know his anger’s personal,’ Eileen said, with something approaching glee. ‘He may blame David for the loss of his job and he’s following him around heckling his speeches. Could he be our killer?’

Geraldine frowned, wondering how a stranger could have introduced cetirizine into the dead man’s diet. It seemed unlikely.

‘All he did was shout out at a few public meetings,’ she said. ‘How was he supposed to have persuaded David to swallow pills?’

Eileen frowned. ‘Let’s speak to him,’ she said shortly.

Jonathan Edwards rented a ground-floor bedsit in a converted house off Holgate Road. It was ten in the morning when Geraldine rang the bell and she wasn’t sure she would find him at home, but after she had been waiting on the doorstep for a few moments a man’s voice called out, asking who was there.

‘Is that Jonathan Edwards?’

‘Who wants to know?’ he replied.

When Geraldine introduced herself, her response was met with silence. Too late, she was afraid she might have made a terrible mistake, and Jonathan might actually be guilty. If so, she had just alerted him to police interest in him. The house was terraced but even so there might be another way out. She was summoning backup when she heard the faint scrape of a lock turning, the door opened a fraction, and a pair of dark eyes squinted at her standing with the sun at her back.

‘What do you want?’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need to ask you a few questions. Can you open the door so we can talk?’

‘Wait there while I throw some clothes on.’

The door shut. Geraldine had barely had time to wonder how long she was going to be left waiting on the door step again when the door opened and a long, narrow face peered out at her.

‘Good morning, Detective Sergeant,’ he said, politely enough. ‘My name’s Jonathan Edwards. What’s this about? If my landlord sent you then I can only repeat what I’ve already told him, that I do not watch television at three in the morning, and in any case I fail to see how this is a matter for the police –’

‘This has nothing to do with your landlord,’ Geraldine hastened to reassure him.

Jonathan’s lugubrious features relaxed slightly and his narrow shoulders drooped forwards. ‘What’s the problem then?’

He didn’t invite her in. Conscious that he was a potential suspect in a murder investigation, Geraldine was happy to remain standing outside.

‘I’d like to ask you a few questions,’ Geraldine repeated. ‘It’s about David Armstrong.’

She watched Jonathan’s face closely as she spoke. His cheeks flushed slightly on hearing David Armstrong’s name, but his expression didn’t alter.

‘The Tory councillor?’

Geraldine nodded.

‘Well, I’m glad you lot are finally starting to sit up and take notice,’ Jonathan said with a brisk smile. ‘You are aware that you could be next.’

‘I’m sorry? The next what?’

Although the words could be construed as a threat, Jonathan hadn’t sounded hostile. Unexpectedly, he gave her a disarming smile.

‘Look, Sergeant, Armstrong’s been attacking local libraries, and even agitating to close schools in the area. He sees every public service as nothing more than a drain on funds which he’s keen to keep for his own purposes, whatever they might be. Something to bolster his own position no doubt, and of no material benefit to the community. A sop to local businesses, and a revamp of the council offices. It’s as clear as the nose on your face to anyone who bothers to examine what’s going on. If you ask me, you ought to be watching your backs. Once the schools and libraries have been decimated, you can be sure the police won’t be very much further down the list. I’m telling you, it won’t be long before he reaches you.’

‘The list? What list?’

‘Armstrong’s list,’ he replied impatiently. ‘His list of proposed cutbacks. Don’t tell me you still don’t get it? David bloody Armstrong and his cronies on the council are chipping away at any services that don’t make money. That’s all they’re interested in: profit, profit, profit. Never mind essential services. Never mind protecting basic human rights. They don’t care because they can afford private health cover and they can pay to send their children to fee-paying schools. The schools and libraries are first to go, because they’re soft targets, but you’ll be next. As for what’s happening in the health service, it’s – well, it’s criminal. Literally. David Armstrong and his stooges ought to be locked up.’

‘I’m not here to engage in political debate,’ Geraldine replied, when he appeared to have run out of steam.

‘Why are you here then, if not to help raise public awareness of these savage cutbacks?’

‘I’d like to invite you to accompany me to the police station so we can ask you a few questions,’ she said.

Jonathan took an involuntary step back but he made no move to close the door. Even in his evidently dawning alarm, he was intelligent enough to realise that would be pointless.

‘Why?’ he asked. ‘What do you want with me?’

Geraldine gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. ‘It’s just possible you can help us with an investigation,’ she replied. ‘We’d like to chat to you about your associates.’

‘My associates? Oh, very well,’ he replied, surrendering with a shrug of resignation. ‘If I have to come with you, I might as well come now. It’s not as if I’ve got a job to go to.’