As DC Gadd drove away, Brook looked after her. ‘Nice girl that. You should ask her out, John.’
‘Not my type,’ he replied. ‘So young Wallis is off the hook?’
‘Not completely. We may still need to interview him. About the drugs and the cash. But it’ll keep.’
Brook walked up the path towards the neat red brick semi, admiring the garden as he went. The house was for sale but it was clear from the loving care that had gone into the garden that the move was a reluctant one. He glanced next door at the two decaying cars perched on piles of bricks in the front yard, a large black and white cat watching Brook and Noble from the bonnet of one.
Brown paint peeled from a front window. A grimy curtain blocked the view into the house, sparing further blushes, if shame the residents felt.
The contrast with the house Brook approached now was stark. The Ottomans were clearly proud of their little empire and had done a lot with what they had, a corner house with a larger than average garden.
The small lawn was manicured and the flowerbeds were free of weeds. The hedges were trimmed, save the one that adjoined the neighbouring property, which had been allowed to grow tall to blot out the view. The garage was in a good state of repair too, with newly painted doors. A shiny Nissan snuggled between the open doors and a Volkswagen sat on the drive, minus its badge.
Even the gate, which Noble was now closing behind him, had been carefully maintained. It opened and closed without a sound save the click of the latch. As Brook neared the house, a slight man, about five-six, mid-forties, was scrambling to his feet with a small basket of weeds, pulled from cracks between the stone flags of the path. He looked round at Brook’s approach.
‘Mr Ottoman?’
The man narrowed his eyes against the wintry sun. He nodded as he spoke. ‘Ay. And you’d be the police I suppose.’
‘DI Brook, and this is DS Noble,’ said Brook offering his ID which Ottoman took longer than was polite to examine.
‘You’re here about the Wallis murders.’
‘What makes you say that, sir?’ inquired Noble.
‘Well you showed bugger all interest in what that bastard, Jason Wallis, did to my Denise so unless you’ve come about some other…’
‘Quite right, sir,’ Brook interrupted. ‘We’ve come about a crime that’s been committed, Mr Ottoman. Not one that’s been threatened.’
‘Threatened? That bastard…’
‘Can we go inside, sir?’ asked Noble with counterbalancing charm. ‘We shouldn’t be discussing this outside.’
Mr Ottoman hesitated and then gave in to a lifetime’s training. ‘I’m sorry. Yes. It’s been a difficult time. Come in. My wife…She hasn’t…she’s been under a lot of strain.’
‘Of course she has, sir. We understand.’
‘She’s not been back to work then?’ inquired Brook, still looking around. He glanced at the upper storey of the house in time to see a curtain fall.
‘She’s signed off until after Easter, Inspector. She’s had a nervous breakdown. You’ve no idea what that’s like.’ Brook allowed himself a thin smile and sneaked a glance at Noble to check his reaction. There was none.
Ottoman showed them through a small spotless kitchen and into the equally well-ordered lounge then went to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Denise. We’ve got visitors.’
Brook and Noble sat and waited. Denise Ottoman evidently came down the stairs, Brook could hear the descending chord of each step, but she declined to come into the lounge. Instead she went into the kitchen to her husband. After some hushed conversation, she emerged a moment later behind Mr Ottoman, carrying a tray of four cups.
She was a plain woman of about forty, a little taller than her husband. Her hair was dark and long with grey flashes and was swept to the back of her head and held by a grip. She wore slacks and loafers with large socks crumpled around her ankles and a very baggy woollen polo neck, which completely swallowed any figure she might have had.
All the while her husband’s eyes followed her progress, like a new parent monitoring the first faltering steps of an infant.
Denise Ottoman placed the tray on a coffee table, declining, at first, to look up from the floor. Until she discovered her cigarettes were missing. Then her face became frantic and she cast her eyes around the room for them, a rising panic bubbling to the surface of her emotions.
Brook recognised the symptoms. The shock of innocence removed in one brutal corruption, her vision of the world soiled and crumbled to dust at her feet. She now had ‘victim’ written all over her, though not in red lipstick. Brook had seen it all too often and reached swiftly into Noble’s pocket to offer her one of his cigarettes.
She looked up at him now with her red-rimmed eyes, grateful. ‘Thank you.’ She lit up and they all sat at Mr Ottoman’s bidding. Denise Ottoman coughed up smoke as elegantly as she could. She was not a smoker.
‘What can we do for you?’ asked Mr Ottoman. He looked at Brook and then at his wife in turn. Brook stared back at Ottoman and waited for Noble to speak.
‘Well, sir, we just wanted to…’ Noble’s pre-arranged hesitation worked perfectly. Brook was a fine teacher.
‘You want to know if I’ll confess to the Wallis murders. Am I right?’
Brook smiled. ‘Not at all.’
‘Then why are you here?’ asked Mrs Ottoman. Her voice was little more than a squeak.
Brook turned his gaze to her. His voice exuded a detachment he didn’t feel. ‘We’re here to eliminate you from our enquiries, Mrs Ottoman.’ She looked away and Brook felt her pain. He didn’t enjoy this but it was his job. To be sure he got the truth he always pushed people as hard as he could, even when convinced of their innocence. ‘Although you have a powerful motive for wishing harm on Jason Wallis, and possibly Mr Wallis, we’re certain you or your husband didn’t commit murder. But there are formalities. We’d like you to tell us where you both were on Monday night so we can close the book on it.’
‘We were here, Inspector.’
‘All night?’ chipped in Noble.
‘Of course all night, Sergeant. Where would we go on a Monday night in winter, in Derby?’
‘Just the two of you?’
Ottoman looked at his wife who resumed her examination of the floor. ‘Just the two of us.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘Do, Inspector?’
‘Yes.’
‘We watched television.’
‘All night?’
‘All night. Every night.’
‘What did you watch?’ asked Noble.
Ottoman smiled for the first time. For Noble it was an odd thing to do. But Brook recognised the impulse behind it.
‘I haven’t the faintest idea. You see, when I say we watched television, what I mean is my wife sits on the sofa sobbing herself to sleep, unable to let me near her. And I sit here staring at the TV, unblinking, not listening, not taking notice of what’s on, not even realising it is on. It’s just white noise to me but more comforting than hearing my wife cry or the sound of blood throbbing in my ears.’
Denise Ottoman ran from the room. Brook heard the soft gulping noise trail into the kitchen before giving way to a more vivid wailing. Noble stirred to go after her but Brook stopped him with a motion of his hand.
‘Do you understand? There’s nothing else we can do. We can’t go out, we can’t have friends round. We can’t have a bloody life. I can’t even go to work without Denise ringing me to say she’s heard a noise…’
‘I see…’
‘No you don’t see, Inspector. You don’t know what that animal did to her.’
‘She was threatened, sir,’ chipped in Noble, at once seeing the reproving look on his superior’s face.
