Cross paid another visit to Danny’s Dry Cleaner’s later that day. He took with him a few shirts that needed laundering and pressing. He cycled there as he wanted to go on his own, arriving late afternoon. He was immediately allotted a service point. Karen saw him and quickly came to the counter.
‘I have four shirts to be laundered,’ he said, handing them over.
‘Pressed or just folded?’ she asked.
‘Oh, most definitely pressed,’ he replied, looking over at the shirt pressing with an expression which could be described as one of longing.
‘There’s a “five for the price of four” on the shirts at the moment,’ said Karen.
‘Is there?’ Cross thought for a second. ‘Do you have a customer lavatory?’ he asked.
Karen disappeared then returned with a key on a large wooden fob. She watched as he headed off into the restroom. He went into a cubicle and took off his jacket, V-neck sweater, shirt and tie. He then put his sweater and jacket back on, put his tie in his pocket and walked back to the counter where Karen was waiting. She smiled as he handed her the lavatory key and his shirt.
‘Number five,’ he proclaimed.
Danny appeared, running down the stairs from his office.
‘Now that’s what I like to see!’ he shouted. ‘A man who appreciates a bargain. Inspector.’ He held out his hand, which Cross ignored.
‘It’s “sergeant”, actually,’ said Cross.
‘Well that’s a travesty. Who do I call about that?’ Danny didn’t wait for an answer, but turned to Karen. ‘Give the sergeant the staff discount,’ he said.
‘No,’ said Cross.
‘Ah! A stickler for the rules. You cannot accept favourable treatment,’ said Danny.
‘Correct.’
‘Would you like to come up to my office?’ Danny suggested.
‘What for?’ asked Cross.
‘Well, it’s quiet and more private.’
‘Oh, I understand. That won’t be necessary. I just came here to have my shirts laundered.’ Cross picked up his ticket as he left.
Stokes shouted after him. ‘Did DS Ottey tell you about the shirt service I suggested for your office?’
But Cross ignored him and walked over to a café next to a pharmacy in a parade of shops opposite. He ordered a bottle of water. He’d rather have had a cup of tea but having observed the milky contents of various customers’ mugs, he decided on balance that the risk was too great.
He sat in the window and checked his phone for any emails and texts. There was one from Ottey asking where he was, which he ignored.
After about an hour Stokes senior appeared out of the dry cleaner’s, walked to a bus stop and took a seat. Shoulders slumped, he walked with a careworn shuffle, wearing his widower’s grief like a lead overcoat. Cross got up and left the café. He’d read this about the shy multimillionaire Gerry Stokes. He was a no-frills man. Took public transport. Didn’t own a car. Still lived in the same modest house he and his wife had bought when they were first married.
As Cross approached the bus stop he looked at the old man’s deep jowls folding from his jaw, drawn down by years of hard work, loss, and was it disappointment? But he was ostensibly so successful. What did he have to be so disappointed about? Cross was fairly sure he knew the answer.
‘Detective Sergeant Cross. How can I help you?’ Gerry asked.
Cross was always relieved when someone dispensed with the need for small talk. It took so much effort on his part, and his inability to conduct it successfully often had a detrimental effect on the ensuing conversation and the amount of information he was able to extract from it.
‘Why do you let your son tell complete strangers that he has done so well he’s bought you out of your business?’ Cross asked.
Gerry didn’t answer.
‘He claims to have turned the business round, and all that stuff about Milt & Edie’s in Burbank is nonsense, isn’t it?’ Cross went on. ‘There’s an old picture of you and your wife hanging up by your work station, taken outside Milt & Edie’s with a young child, about eight years old, probably in the eighties, judging by the cars.’
‘He was seven when we took him,’ said Gerry.
‘So all he did was paint the premises pink?’
‘No, that was Betty. It faded so Danny had it redone a couple of years ago,’ said Gerry.
‘Betty, your late wife?’
‘Yes,’ he replied dolefully.
At this point Cross remembered what Ottey had told him about these situations.
‘My condolences. I understand she passed away last year.’
‘Yes, cancer,’ Gerry replied quietly.
‘Do you have other children?’
‘No, just Danny. He was fantastic with her towards the end. Began sleeping over at our house again. Getting up every couple of hours to turn her so she didn’t get bed sores. The visiting hospice team couldn’t believe the condition she was in. So well cared for, they said.’
‘I detect an element of surprise in your voice,’ said Cross.
Gerry looked at him for a moment as if affronted.
‘It wasn’t what I expected, if I’m honest. It was a bit of a surprise. There you have it. He’s far from perfect. All of us are.’
‘This tribunal business. It must have been very upsetting for you.’
‘If she had a case,’ replied Gerry.
‘Oh,’ said Cross, surprised. ‘You don’t think she did?’
But the old man didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to be at all sure that Cross wasn’t taking the piss. He wasn’t. He was genuinely interested to know if this was the case. But the old dry cleaner clammed up.
‘Complicated things, relationships between sons and their fathers,’ Cross began. He then went on to tell Gerry of his present situation with his father. He talked to Gerry like he was talking to a friend whose opinion and experience he valued. The fact of the matter was that Cross was just pleased to be talking to someone about it. How Raymond had ended up in hospital. His hoarding habit and how, to avoid moving in with his son, he had agreed to go to a home that mainly dealt with dementia. Cross had now found him a different home but still wondered whether moving him into his flat had not been the better option all long.
‘Nonsense,’ Gerry said.
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Do you have money?’ Gerry asked.
‘Enough, yes,’ Cross replied.
‘So leave him in the home for a few weeks while you sort out his flat. He may not say so, but he will be grateful and you’ll avoid all the unnecessary arguing.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I do, and something tells me you’re not the easiest person to live with,’ Gerry replied.
If Cross hadn’t thought this was true he would’ve objected to it, but he found himself thinking how astute this man was. ‘How have you come to that conclusion?’ he asked.
‘I’ve spent my life watching people bring me their dirty laundry, both literally and metaphorically. Families, single people, couples – you can tell a lot from people when they get you to do their washing.’
‘You can really tell that much from just watching people across a counter?’ Cross asked.
‘It’s a very intimate business doing people’s laundry, and they know that. They tell you things. I’m a people watcher. Bit like you. Here’s my bus.’ Gerry got up. As he boarded the bus Cross made another observation.
‘I didn’t expect to see you at the funeral. What were you doing there?’ Cross asked.
‘What does anyone do at a funeral, Sergeant? Paying my respects,’ said Gerry.
‘Why?’
‘Because she was a former employee. It’s the done thing.’
‘A former employee taking her former boss to a tribunal,’ Cross pointed out.
‘That had nothing to do with me.’
‘But you feel a sense of responsibility?’ said Cross.
‘Is that a question?’
‘I can understand the confusion. Let me put it more succinctly. Did you?’ Cross said.
‘What for?’
‘For her. For what happened to her. Here,’ Cross said.
‘Look, she worked for us and she died. It was no more than that. I would do it for anyone associated with the business. Customers, suppliers, former employees.’
The bus doors closed bringing the conversation to an end. Cross thought Gerry’s reasoning was plausible but he couldn’t determine whether there was more at play. Was his presence at the funeral an apology for his son’s past behaviour? Was he conceding that his son was at fault, and if so, at fault for what exactly? Was it more than just Flick’s treatment at work?