‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve been in the house; didn’t you feel it?’
‘Feel what?’
‘As though it was evil, which I suppose it was.’
‘You had been in?’
‘Only as far as the kitchen. Sometimes she’d ask me in for a cup of tea. I always got the impression that she was glad of the company.’
‘Did you ever see Lawrence?’
‘Not me. Once I heard a noise from inside, as though something had fallen over and smashed on the floor, and once or twice the sound of footsteps. I’m not squeamish, far from it, but I never wanted to stay there for long. Do you reckon Molly’s all there?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just the feeling that something wasn’t right. Now we know it wasn’t, but Molly, she must have known something.’
‘According to her, she hadn’t. She served the family all her adult life, that was all.’
‘I read in the newspaper that Lawrence had given her a house and money.’
‘He had. For loyal service to him and his family.’
‘But he never saw his children.’
‘Not since he locked himself away. Had you ever seen them there?’
‘I saw the daughter once or twice, but she only ever spoke to Molly from the footpath outside the front gate. The son, Ralph, he never came around, but Molly said he was a lovely child, not so good when he grew up.’
‘You never saw him?’
‘Not me. Molly may have, but she didn’t say much, although I could tell she was fond of the man inside the house. Supposedly at night, he’d come out into the kitchen, eat his meal and then retreat back to his place.’
‘For a postman, you seem to know a lot about Gilbert Lawrence and his family history.’
‘Just snippets over a few years. I saw him once shuffling down to the off-licence. I walked past him, said hello, but nothing.’
‘Why did you talk to him?’
‘Just curious. He didn’t reply, didn’t even look my way. What would have happened if someone got in his way? Would he have reacted?’
‘Porter, at some time we’ll find out the full story of Gilbert Lawrence, who killed him and why. We’ll also find out if you’ve been lying or failing to tell us the full story. If you didn’t kill him, then it would be better to be honest now. Later on, you could be charged with obstructing justice. Do you understand this?’ Isaac said.
‘I understand, but I’m just the postman, a bit too nosy sometimes for my own good. You’d be surprised what I’ve seen over the years, but Lawrence, I don’t know what to say. I didn’t kill him, and no doubt you’ve checked, but there’s no criminal record against me.’
‘We’ve checked. You’re clean, but you must have seen something of the man, seen something that would help us with our enquiry.’
‘Once or twice, when I was delivering letters along Lawrence’s street, I’d see a man standing by the post box, looking in the direction of his house.’
‘Checking the house?’
‘I don’t know. It only happened a few times in the weeks before his death, and it wasn’t always the same man. I know what I saw, but why they were there, and what they were after, I can’t tell you.’
‘Would you recognise these men if you saw them again?’
‘Probably, but if one of them is a murderer, I’m not too keen.’
‘We’ll give you protection if it’s needed.’
‘And when’s that? When you find me dead? Whoever they were, they weren’t there to make sure the old man was well and in good spirits.’
‘It’s more than that,’ Larry said. ‘The man did leave the house on an occasional basis. If they had wanted to do him harm, they could have then.’
‘Anything else?’ Isaac asked.
‘His letterbox used to fill up occasionally, and I always pushed the letters through. I couldn’t go back to the post office and say that I couldn’t deliver them when there was a letterbox in the door of the house, could I?’
‘You could have given them to Molly Dempster.’
‘I could have if she would have accepted them, but she wouldn’t.’
‘Any idea why?’
‘She never said. Anyway, there was this one time. It was about a year ago, and don’t ask me the date, as I can’t remember back that far. The letterbox was full, and I’ve got a letter to push through. It’s thick and in a padded bag. So I give the letters a shove, and they fall out of the back of it and onto the floor inside. I kneel down to hold up the flap on the letterbox to push the letter through. Now, most letterboxes have a weak spring on them, but Lawrence’s is heavy duty, and it’s hard to hold open.’
‘What happened?’
‘I’ve got the flap open, and I have the letter halfway through when it was snatched from me.’
‘Gilbert Lawrence?’
‘It had to be.’
‘Did you see him?’
‘I did. He was kneeling down on his side. Our eyes made contact. Nothing was said, he grabbed the letter, the flap closed, and I grabbed my bag and beat a hasty retreat. Not before I took a second look, though.’
‘Why?’
‘Maybe it’s too many horror movies, maybe not, but I was scared.’
‘But nothing happened.’
‘I know it didn’t but looking back at those eyes scared me.’
‘Did you see anything else?’
‘He swore, but to himself, not to me. I had seen inside the house, and I saw him standing ten feet, maybe fifteen, back from the letterbox.’
‘Why didn’t you just put the letter through and leave?’
‘Curiosity. I couldn’t help myself. I kept looking, and then he disappeared. After that, I never looked again.’
‘The men across the road, what about them?’
‘There’s not much more I can say. I’m paid to
