“Wow, nice job, officer, I’m impressed.”
“So, when do you want to go and pay Mr. Winters a visit?”
Chapter 5: Clues and No Clues
1.
We set out early the next morning in Steph’s Holden. It was agreed that I would start the drive and Steph could catch a few more z’s if she was able to. If we made good time, we would reach the barber shop before it opened for business, hopefully giving us a window of opportunity to talk to the man without interruption. Steph tuned the radio to 3BA, a Ballarat station, and although fuzzy at times, the tunes still sounded alright. The Penguins were mid-way through singing ‘Earth Angel’, when I heard the faint confirmation of sleep as Steph’s snores drifted to me.
I negotiated the twists and turns of the road, quietly steering us towards our destination. The road was almost completely deserted, not seeing another car until we were well into our journey. By the time the first car passed us, the sun had been in the sky for almost forty minutes.
The streets in Geelong proved to be almost as deserted as the roads that led us to it. The Little Barber Shop sat on the corner of Ryrie and Bellarine Streets, although this morning it looked far from the shopping metropolis it would be in an hour or so. I pulled the FX into a parking spot a couple of doors down from the barber shop. I wanted us to give the man a soft welcome instead of a full-frontal assault. I gave Steph a gentle shake and she grunted once, mumbled something then closed her eyes again. I saw a café a few doors down and decided to go in search of a couple of coffees, instead.
I returned a few minutes later, two coffees and two croissants in hand. I tapped on the passenger side window and when Steph opened her eyes, waved my goods in front of her. She smiled her toothy grin, wound her window down and thanked me for breakfast. I walked back around to the driver’s door and sat inside, eating hungrily. I had almost finished the croissant when a burgundy Morris Minor stopped in front of the barber shop and a man wearing a white overcoat climbed out. I nudged Steph who was looking down the other street while sipping her coffee. She looked, winced then nodded her head.
“Looks like our man has arrived,” she said. I nodded as we both got out and walked slowly towards the shop, the man now unlocking the front door. He was about to open it when Steph spoke.
“Mr. Winter?” The man turned, looking surprised.
“Yes?” he said, giving the uniformed police woman the once over.
“Sir, I’m Stephanie Connor from Cider Hill Police Station. I was wondering if you had a few minutes?” He looked a little puzzled but nodded.
“Of course, Officer. May I ask what this is regarding?”
2.
Mr. Winter took us through to the back of his shop where a small kitchenette sat. He made a jug of tea as he invited us to sit at the small table. His face had grown grey and bleak in the space of a couple of minutes, changing as soon as he heard the name of his long dead sister, the memories visibly returning to him instantly. I thought I saw his hand shaking as he filled the jug and placed it on the small gas burner.
“We appreciate your time, Mr. Winters. It’s important we ask you some questions and I do apologize if it brings back painful memories. We need to get to the bottom of these new murders.” Steph spoke with an emphatic voice and I was glad that I had been partnered with a woman. A feminine touch in these situations would always make it so much easier on the person questioned.
“Please, call me Jeremy,” he said, not looking up as he prepared the cups. He looked older than 55, a trait I had noticed with nearly everyone involved in this case throughout the years. “You’re the one who caught him, aren’t you?” he said handing me a cup. It smelled majestic, rich with a hint of lemon.
“Yes, Sir, I was there that night.”
“I remember seeing you during the trial. I was there every single day. And every single day he failed to meet my eyes, always looking down at his hands.”
“Jeremy, is it true that you worked at Crab Apple?” Steph asked as he handed her a cup.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Did no one ever question you regarding your relationship to one of Lightman’s victims?”
“They didn’t know I was related. Veronica had taken the surname of Brian and I waited a few of years before applying. By the time I was given access to him, Harry Lightman was well and truly old news.” Steph took a sip then set her cup down as she spoke.
“May I ask why? Why would you want to work there? Close to him?” I didn’t think I needed to hear his answer, knowing what his objective was.
“I wanted to look into his eyes. I wanted to tell him who I was and look into his eyes. I thought that if I could do that, I would know.”
“Know what?” I asked.
“Whether he really killed her, of course.” Jeremy took a packet of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, offered us one, which Steph accepted, then lit both with a match.
“Our parents died years before, our father during the great war, our mother shortly after. I still believe Mum died from a broken heart. They were always close, my parents. When Dad was killed during the Gallipoli landings, my mother took it very hard. She withdrew into a shell no one could break her from. I took care of Veronica. She was four years younger than I was.” He took a long drag from his cigarette, held the smoke within him
