Death Row

‘What’s Henson got to say for himself?’ Delaney asked, nodding sheepishly at Dave Mathews as they passed the front desk. Matthews gave him an amused salute and Delaney hurried through the double doors and out into the car park before he got a chance to add any further comment.

‘Henson’s lawyered up and is saying nothing.’

‘Doesn’t take after his father in that respect, then.’

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Delaney became aware of the very man heading towards him. His face puce and his fist waving in the air.

‘I want a word with you, Delaney,’ he shouted.

Delaney turned to Sally. ‘Get in the car. I won’t be two ticks.’

Sally headed off to her car and Delaney turned to confront Adam Henson, who promptly poked a finger against his chest. Delaney grabbed the finger, turning his back to the station and the CCTV camera mounted on the wall above the entrance, and pushed it back until Henson squealed with pain and dropped to his knees.

‘I don’t like being poked,’ said Delaney and walked off calmly to join Sally at her car.

‘Did you break his finger, sir?’ she asked evenly.

‘Don’t think so,’ he replied. ‘Let’s go back to Harrow.’

*

Delaney pressed his finger against the bell again, leaning on it for five seconds this time.

‘Maybe he’s got his hearing aid in.’

‘Maybe.’

They waited a little while longer. ‘Come on,’ said Delaney. ‘Let’s go round the back.’

He led the way round the small side alley along the left-hand side of the house, into a small overgrown garden. He tried the handle on the outside door that led into the kitchen but it wouldn’t budge. He moved across to peer through the murky glass to see inside and clearly didn’t like what he saw. He went back to the door and kicked it. It stayed closed. He raised his foot again and kicked harder. It still stayed closed.

‘Do you want me to have a go, sir?’ asked Sally.

‘No, I don’t, constable,’ said Delaney, casting his gaze to the ground and looking for something suitable. He spotted a half-brick in an abandoned flower bed, picked it up and used it to smash the window.

A few moments after picking the shards of broken glass clear he clambered through into the kitchen, looked at the motionless figure of Graham Harper seated in his armchair with his eyes closed and then opened the door to let his assistant in.

Delaney put his hand against the old man’s neck and felt for a pulse. After a moment or two he shook his head at Sally.

Sally pointed to a scrap of paper by a bottle of pills on the kitchen counter. ‘He left a note.’

‘What does it say?’

‘It’s all my fault. Sorry.’ Delaney pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and hit speed dial.

*

Half an hour later Kate Walker closed up her medical bag and watched as Graham Harper was stretchered out to the waiting ambulance.

‘When did he do it, do you think?’

‘Last evening sometime, I’d say. There was nothing anybody could do. He took a massive dose of medication.’

‘Definitely self-administered?’

Kate shrugged. ‘There was no sign of a struggle, you say?’

Delaney shook his head.

‘No sign of a forced entry?’

‘No. Apart from mine and that was only because the doors were locked.’

‘When did his family last speak to him?’

‘Not since the day before yesterday. The mother blames him for her son’s disappearance.’

‘Looks like suicide, then. That’s more your area, Jack, than mine.’

‘Actually it’s my bloody area!’ said DI Robert Duncton as he barrelled into the room, followed by his Amazonian sergeant, who had to duck a little as she came through the kitchen door. ‘I thought I told you to clear anything through me.’

‘We’ll leave you to it then, Robert,’ said Delaney, smiling and ignoring the way the other man bristled when he used his first name. ‘Come on, Sally. The detective inspector has a scene to process and he doesn’t need us under his feet.’

‘Just you tread carefully, Delaney!’ Duncton called after him as they walked out of the kitchen.

*

A few moments later and Delaney was adjusting the heat setting in Sally’s car. ‘It’s colder than a witch’s tit in a brass brassiere in here,’ he said as the constable fired up the engine and threw him a reproving look. ‘What?’ he