“There’s more going on in there than either of them is letting on. You can drop me back at the station. They’ll want to bring in an SIO for this one, so I’ll make the call.”
Eric nodded but wondered what their next step should be. A senior investigating officer would have to travel up from Norwich. They would need to progress the investigation in the meantime. Starting the engine, he looked over his shoulder to determine the best method to navigate their way out of the courtyard. The turning circle was tight, the exit gate narrow, and the residents’ vehicles were awkwardly parked. For what had once been a working farm, space was limited.
Janssen ignored his obvious anxiety at the manoeuvre, setting out their next steps. “Then, I want you to go and have a word with this friend that the Bettanys directed us to. You’re closer to their age group than me, so she might open up to you more if I’m not there.”
“Really?” Eric was uncertain and he heard it reflected in the tone of his voice. “Teenage girls don’t really talk to me. At least, they never did.”
“Teenage girls confide in their friends. If anyone knows what was going on in Holly’s world, then it will be her.”
Eric waited patiently in the sitting room of the Harding’s home. Amelia’s parents had been shocked to learn of Holly’s death, offering any support they could to the investigation. Eric met Fraser Harding for the first time three years previously. Their home was burgled while they were attending a harvest supper at the village hall, barely two hundred yards away. Theirs was one of a spate of burglaries that took place over the course of a few weeks; seven in total on that very night. Eric had been one of the uniformed officers on duty, attending to the calls that flooded in once the residents returned home to find their belongings and in many cases, their lives, turned upside down.
Oddly, he didn’t feel the same sense of anxiety around being in the company of the Hardings as he did at the Bettany residence. He should. They were of equal standing, if not superior to the latter. Fraser Harding was a senior executive with one of the global oil companies, or had been but the last he heard, Fraser was looking into taking early retirement following a health scare. He couldn’t remember which company he worked for. Perhaps it was the fact he came across as a self-made man, speaking much like everyone else and did not carry any of the associated mannerisms that niggled Eric, such as the ones exhibited by Dr Colin Bettany.
Angela Harding appeared bearing a tray of cups and a teapot. She smiled broadly at Eric as he stood out of politeness. That was what you did when a lady entered the room. His mother taught him his manners. You’ll always go far if you remember your manners. Those words stuck with him although they often felt like they might belong in a bygone age. Some people held preconceived ideas about those at the lower end of the economic scale, imagining their existence being rough, somewhat unclean and relatively squalid in comparison. His experience was the total opposite. It was the kids on the estate like him whose parents always insisted they wore clean clothes, nagged at them to brush their hair and mind their manners every time they left the house. Fewer people seemed to act that way these days. Or maybe he was struggling to see things as he once did. Angela Harding set about pouring them a cup of tea and Eric spied the plate of assorted biscuits. The lunch provided to them was nice and everything but soup, bread and a bit of cheese didn’t quite fill the gap, so to speak. She noticed, encouraging him to help himself. He selected an oat biscuit, topped with milk chocolate.
The mouthful he took was ill-advised as he was still chewing when Fraser entered the room, a nervous looking Amelia half a step behind. It was obvious to him she had been crying. He stood up, taking the offered hand of her father, biscuit crumbs visible down the front of his shirt and lap. Everyone was far too polite to comment. He swallowed as fast as he could. He introduced himself to Amelia who perched herself on the edge of one of the two sofas in the room. Eric sat opposite her. Fraser Harding stood to his right, folded arms across his chest.
Eric glanced at Angela and then shot a fleeting look to her husband. Nobody spoke. “Perhaps, it might be best if you left us to have a word in private.” The silent bridge between words lasted barely a few seconds but felt like minutes. “Amelia’s not in any trouble. I just need to speak to her about Holly.” Her father appeared unconvinced, immoveable. “This isn’t a formal interview situation.” Eric explained, appealing to Angela with a hopeful smile.
“Come on, Fraser. Let’s leave the kids to have a chat.” Angela got up and practically hauled her husband from the room. He didn’t offer much by way of resistance but it was clear he would prefer to remain. As the sound of the latch clicking into place could be heard, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Does it bother you, my mum referring to the two of us as the kids?”
The reference passed by him unnoticed and therefore he shook his head, suddenly self-conscious as the dark eyed teenager focussed on him. “I need to ask you about Holly. Her parents thought she was attending a tutorial in Norwich and then heading to a recital tonight.” Amelia scoffed. A derisive gesture. Eric figured he would return to that. “Did you see her last night?” Her reaction was cagey. “It’s important, Amelia.” Eric laid on his most
