Jane set about preparing lunch, busily pulling everything together. The kids would have their usual weekend lunchtime offering, a pizza with some carrot sticks, sliced avocado and a few fresh tomatoes, if she was lucky. They could eat in front of the television today, leaving the adults free to talk. For them, she found three quarters of a loaf of olive bread that was still fresh enough to serve if she were to sprinkle it with water and heat it through in the oven. Retrieving the cheese box from the fridge, she placed it on the kitchen table while Ken busied himself setting out plates and gathering cutlery. He hadn’t been this productive domestically in months. There was also a carton of fresh soup, still within date, at the back of the fridge and without asking, she emptied the contents into a pan and set a heat beneath it.
Occasionally, she glanced at the policemen out of the corner of her eye. The drippy one appeared awkward, apparently unsure of how he was expected to behave whereas the other, Inspector Janssen, appeared impassive on the surface, quietly observing the goings on around him. She had the distinct impression very little passed by him unnoticed. She would need to tread carefully around him. Very carefully indeed.
Chapter Five
Janssen observed the couple beavering away at preparing lunch. The prospect of taking a statement whilst breaking bread seemed odd. They would need to make casual conversation while they ate, possibly touching on the discovery of Holly’s body, which in itself would also feel odd, and he resolved to take the formal statement afterwards. The husband’s ease with which he openly questioned his wife’s experience seemed strange bearing in mind the presence of the children, too young to hear the details in his opinion. Maybe when he was a parent, he might feel differently but somehow he doubted it.
The man, Ken Francis, was busy making himself useful, keen to offer himself up as the competent, domestic contributor. The modern-day husband and father but it didn’t take a career as a detective to figure out he was playing the role. Quite badly as it happened. The man frequently paused, looking around with an expression of bewilderment as he sought to locate items for the table. Whether it was the correct cutlery, soup spoons specifically, or napkins, he kept having to refer back to his wife for directions on where he could find them.
For her part, she hid her exasperation at his increasingly feeble attempts at assistance relatively well. Janssen interpreted her occasional frown or eye-roll as a judgement on her husband’s ability, no doubt much preferring him to leave her to get on with it in the belief food would be delivered much sooner. The children received their food first. The pizza was cut into manageable slices and arranged alongside their vegetables. Both protested at the volume of the latter and demanded more of the former but to no avail. Distracted by the television and the food, they hunkered down on the sofa and Jane returned to the table as the three men took their seats.
Ken set about slicing the warm bread, although, hacking at it was probably more accurate. Janssen caught Eric looking in his direction. The constable knew the approach with the knife would irritate him. Aware of his almost obsessive desire for neat lines and presentation, there was a good reason as to why he was well-suited to this profession. Attention to detail, organisation, a methodical approach were all key attributes to his success.
At the invitation of his hosts, he reached over and helped himself to some bread, burying his frustration at the uneven cut. Gratefully accepting the butter, he caught Jane’s eye. First checking the children were not listening, they weren’t, the volume on the television was up further; no doubt a desire to filter out the adult voices for the novelty factor had already lost its appeal.
“Tell me how you came to be out at the reserve when you were?”
She glanced at her husband but he was intent on loading his plate and didn’t notice.
“I was on my way to the shop for a morning paper,” Jane replied.
“Bloody forgot it though, didn’t you?” Ken replied, blowing on a spoonful of soup before taking a mouthful. “Understandable, I guess.” Janssen ignored the comment, encouraging Jane with his eyes.
“The path isn’t the route I took, mind you.”
“I thought that,” Janssen agreed, letting her know he had already mapped out the probable route in his head. It was a deliberate admission.
“But I saw something… someone.” She appeared edgy. Nervous about something but whether it was the shock of finding a dead body, Janssen couldn’t be sure. “That strange lad from up the way. Oh… what’s the family? The ones you always complain about.” She glanced at Ken, this time he noticed. Janssen gauged his reaction. His eyes narrowed while he thought.
“You mean the McCalls?” She nodded. Ken returned to his lunch, tearing a slice of bread in half and dipping it in the soup.
“You mean Mark?” Eric chipped in, chewing a mouthful of tomato and frowning as he queried the comment. Jane nodded. Janssen didn’t add anything, preferring to let her continue. He found it was easier to remain silent on occasion. Most people sought to fill any gap in conversation with more words which was useful when investigating a case. The McCalls were well known in the area, by the police as much as by the locals. There wasn’t an officer stationed in the parish who hadn’t needed to speak with one of the family in relation to their inquiries at least once.
“Yes, he was there, looking at the body when I saw him.” Jane directed her answer towards Janssen, even though it was Eric who asked her the question. If the constable minded, he didn’t show it, merely setting about his food once more. Janssen picked at his own. There was nothing wrong with it. The soup was okay. Shop bought.
