‘Why don’t you take it upstairs?’ Sue Baxter asked.
‘Not if we want to avoid more damage.’ Grant Meston was already annoyed by the camera and the woman. Larry had forewarned him to keep his detailed findings to himself until they were clear of the house.
The crime scene investigator climbed the stairs and went to fetch the lights. Larry, eyes adjusting to the dim light, looked around the area. It was clear that Trevor Baxter’s aspirations to a wine cellar were in the early realisation stage. Baxter had cleared a small corner, a mop and bucket testament to the fact. On the floor, some wine shelves, the sort they sell in the shops, were already holding several bottles of wine.
‘My husband’s hobby,’ Sue Baxter said.
‘The looking at them or the drinking?’ Larry asked.
‘Both.’
‘Any good wines here?’
‘Better than the average. Leave them for a few years, and they will be great.’
Grant Meston returned. He had run an electric cord down from a socket in the hall. Soon, two powerful fluorescent lights lit the area. No longer needing to focus to see the detail in the basement, Larry could see the grille. It had been pushed up against the far wall. Judging by the marks on the faded paintwork, it had suffered some damage when it had been removed.
‘What can you find out from that?’ Sue Baxter asked.
‘There may be some stamps on the metalwork that will give us a year,’ Meston replied, cognisant of Larry Hill’s warning about Sue Baxter.
‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’ Larry asked.
‘Sure.’ Sue Baxter left for upstairs.
‘Would it be easier to take it down to your office?’ Larry asked.
‘Normally, I would agree, but the grille’s been in place for thirty years. Any fingerprints, DNA, will have long been destroyed.’
‘Your initial observations?’
‘Late 80s, I would say. Give me ten minutes while I check it out. Distract Mrs Baxter if you can.’
Larry left and went upstairs. He found Sue Baxter in the kitchen. ‘Grant’s fine. He doesn’t want tea.’
‘Coffee?’
‘No, he’s okay. He just wants to be left alone to conduct his investigation. He will be up here later.’
‘My husband wanted to use the grille for his wine cellar.’
‘It is part of a police investigation now, as is the basement. At least, it is for the time being.’
‘When can we have the front room back?’
‘It doesn’t upset you as to what was found in there?’ Larry asked.
‘The first day it did.’
‘And now?’
‘Not anymore. It’s as if the house had a character, almost like a haunted house.’
‘It’s not haunted, is it?’
‘No. Not at all. ‘Have you found the murderer?’
‘Not yet.’
Larry sipped his tea. The woman continued to probe.
‘We found some old photos,’ she said.
‘Of the house?’
‘They were hidden at the back of an old wardrobe. Slipped down the back, I suppose.’
‘Why didn’t you reveal this to the police?’ Larry asked, aware yet again that the woman would have sold them to the newspapers if she could.
‘I never thought any more about them.’
Larry decided to ignore her blatant lie. Sue Baxter was as sharp as a tack, he knew that, and she never forgot. Regardless, he needed the photos.
‘Can I see them, please?’
Sue Baxter opened a drawer in the table where she was sitting and handed them to Larry. There were four photos in total, all of them heavily marked from years of neglect.
It was clear that one showed the garden at the rear, another a picture of a child on a bicycle, and the other two a gathering of a group of adults. The adults appeared to be sitting on a sofa.
‘We think that is the room where the body was found,’ Sue Baxter said.
‘What makes you think that?’ Larry asked.
‘The window at the rear. The curtain material seems to be the same as we found in there the day we opened the room.’
‘And the people?’
‘No idea.’
‘You realise that these photos may become a crucial piece of evidence, yet you decided to keep them from the police.’
‘I forgot, honestly.’ Sue Baxter went on the defensive, regretting that she had told DI Hill about the photos.
‘I need to take them for evidence.’
‘Will I get them back at some stage?’
‘In time.’
Grant Meston had come into the kitchen before Larry had a chance to remind Sue Baxter that withholding evidence was a criminal offence, as was talking to the media without receiving clearance. It was a moot point as her offences could not be proven to be intentional.
‘Cup of tea?’ Sue Baxter asked.
‘Yes, please,’ Meston replied.
‘What did you find?’ Larry asked, mindful that he had asked Grant Meston not to reveal too much in front of Sue Baxter.
‘The age matches. I have taken some numbers off the hinges. It should be possible to match them to a date.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Nothing more. I have put crime scene tape across the grille, and across the door leading down to the basement. Mrs Baxter, please do not go down there.’
‘My husband’s wine?’
‘He will have to leave it alone for the time being.’
Larry had to admit that although Sue Baxter could stick her nose in where it was not wanted, she was an excellent hostess. The two men stayed for another cup of tea and some sandwiches. Twenty-five minutes later, they stood outside the front gate of the house.
‘What’s the true story?’ Larry asked.
‘I found a piece of paper under one corner of the grille. It had been painted over initially, but with time, the paint has lifted.’
‘Did you take a photo?’
‘I sent one to your email.’
‘What does it show?’
‘It’s a receipt for the grille, or at least,
