said defensively.
‘Nothing, sir,’ she said, with a resigned sigh.
‘Good. Take us down to Roy Boy’s. I need to think and nothing helps me do that better than a fat bacon sandwich.’
‘What you said back there to the inspector …’
‘Spit it out, Sally.’
Sally turned the engine back off. ‘About the old man killing himself because he thought his grandson had been killed and it was all his fault.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, what if it
‘The boy we found was killed fifteen years ago.’
‘Exactly.’
Delaney looked at her. ‘Do you ever do the crossword, constable?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Well, let’s not turn this into twenty bloody cryptic questions. What’s your point?’
‘Well, you said it yourself, sir. Why Graham Harper? Why was his grandson abducted, why his allotment? Maybe he was involved fifteen years ago in the murder of those two children. You always said Garnier had an accomplice. What if it was Graham Harper? Maybe that was what he meant by the note:
‘Maybe.’
‘But he didn’t take his own grandchild, did he?’
Delaney shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
Sally shrugged. ‘Maybe he did just kill himself for the guilt he felt about his grandson being taken when he was supposed to be looking after him, like you said.’ She turned the key again and Delaney put his hand on her arm.
‘Hold on a minute. Let me think.’ He put a cigarette in his mouth, pulled it out again and looked at it thoughtfully for a moment, then put it on the dashboard. He took out his mobile, hit the speed dial and spoke urgently as it was answered.
‘Diane, it’s Jack. Can you pull up the scene-of-crime report from Graham Hall’s allotment and shed?’ He nodded. ‘The inventory from the shed, Look down it. Is there any mention of cigarettes?’ He listened for a while longer. ‘Okay, thanks, Diane. I’ll get back to you.’
Delaney closed the phone and looked at Sally, an excited gleam in his eye.
‘What is it, sir?’
‘Graham Harper said he went for a cigarette in his shed while the boy waited outside, didn’t he?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, there were no cigarettes in the shed. And he didn’t have any on him – he said as much when he asked if he could have one of mine.’
‘So?’
‘So where are the cigarettes?’
Sally shook her head, puzzled. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘He didn’t just say he had cigarettes in the shed. He said he had them stashed there.’
‘Okay …’ said Sally, clearly still puzzled.
Delaney pointed out of the window. ‘Let’s go back there.’
*
Back at the allotment the SOCO unit was dismantling the forensic tent. The ground had been dug up and examined and no further bodies had been discovered. Delaney nodded to the crew as he walked up to the shed and ripped down the tape sealing it, ignoring the protests coming from the SOCO unit, who were shouting that they hadn’t processed the shed yet. Delaney waved their complaints aside and stepped through the door followed by the detective constable.
Even though it was bright outside, it was still dark in the shed and he sent Sally back to get a torch. It was pretty much as Delaney remembered it, the usual clutter of a gardening shed. No heavy-bladed instruments. Not that he reckoned Graham Harper would have had the strength to cut off a woman’s head, but it wouldn’t have been the first time he had been wrong on a case.
A short while later Sally returned with the torch. ‘They’re not too happy us being here, sir. They’ve put a call in to Duncton. He’s on his way over.’
‘Great,’ grunted Delaney and scanned the floor. The floorboards were old and covered with the kind of ingrained dirt that takes years to build up. He moved the boxes around, paying little heed to the fact that he was disturbing a crime scene.
Nothing.
Frustrated, Delaney let his gaze travel around the room. He looked at the battered armchair, crossed to it and snatched up the cushion. Nothing. He threw it back in place and then shoved the armchair out of the way. The floor was as it was everywhere else, black with dust and dirt. Except there was a small knothole in one floorboard.
