That was where he fitted in. He didn’t have a family. Well, he did but his mother didn’t really count. Without children, he considered himself far too young for all of that, or even a girlfriend to speak of there was no danger of his caseload getting in the way of his personal life. Not that the cases crossing his desk up until now were particularly beguiling. DI Janssen was keeping things from him of that he was certain but what he didn’t know was why? The confident side of his nature advised it was to allow him to bed in, find his feet before the pressure would ramp up. Then there was the nagging little voice, the one that told him why he couldn’t attract a girlfriend. This voice implied that Tom Janssen didn’t rate him, nor want him on his team and therefore couldn’t trust him. Time would tell.
Unwrapping the cling film from his sandwich, he took a bite. Home-made Coronation Chicken filling with a fresh salad to accompany it and a piece of cake. This is why I would be mad to find a place of my own, he thought, regardless of what his friends said. Voices in the corridor announced the imminent arrival of his boss. Sitting up in his chair, he chewed furiously and tried to swallow the mouthful before they entered; but failed.
Tom Janssen walked in, glancing at him. The woman alongside him was a new face and he looked past her, seeking DCI Galbraith but it was quickly apparent the two were alone. Janssen must have read the look of confusion on his face.
“Eric Collet. Meet DCI Tamara Greave. She will be the SIO on the Bettany case.”
Realising she was the new boss, he practically leapt out of his chair, keen to make a good impression. The chair slid backwards on its wheels, striking his desk. The impact rocked his open bottle of coke and it toppled, spreading fizzy pop across his paperwork. He swore, righting the bottle and frantically rescuing as much of the paperwork as he could while the liquid fizzed and spread everywhere, running to the edge of the desk and falling to the floor below. He swore again, flushing red with embarrassment.
Greave noticed a box of tissues on an adjacent desk, passing it across. Eric thanked her and began the clean up operation. Inwardly cursing his clumsiness, he knew they were off to a poor start. Glancing in their direction, Janssen looked on with an expression depicting a mixture of pity and mild amusement. As for the DCI, she merely frowned. He wished the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
“You went back over to the Bettany’s house yesterday, right?” Janssen asked him as he finished the mopping up. He nodded. “What did you pull out of Holly’s room besides the laptop?”
Eric felt much more comfortable. He had something constructive to share. Producing a large evidence envelope, he took it over to another desk, one without fizzy cola residue. Removing the contents, a clutch of sheets of plain paper, he lay them out alongside each other. The two senior officers came to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder.
“I found these in a folder stashed at the back of her wardrobe.”
“Stashed?” Tamara asked.
“Yes. They were underneath a pile of clothing towards the rear. But I don’t think they are old works and forgotten about. Look,” he pointed to them, “the paper is not faded and the edges aren’t tatty or creased. She took care of them and I think they’re recent works.”
“So, she was a budding artist?” Janssen said, admiring one of the drawings. Eric noted his interest in that particular sketch. It was black and white, sketched with charcoal by the look of it. It was also a stunningly accurate representation of Holly.
“I don’t think she did that, though,” he said. Both senior officers looked to him. Feeling suddenly self-conscious he continued. “Look at this.” He reached past them and scooped up another piece. This one was of a male face only this time it was drawn in pencil and the lines were of a far lesser quality. “Either she was excellent one day, in self-portraits, and forgot how to draw the next or…?”
“She was responsible for some but not all,” Tamara finished, nodding her approval of his conclusion.
“That’s right. I reckon someone else was sketching her and either she took it or it was a gift.”
“Is it signed?” Janssen said, leaning in for a closer look. It wasn’t, not even initialled. Eric reached for another work, passing it over to Janssen but Tamara misread the intent and took it from him instead. The image was of another male, only this time there was more definition to the figure. He appeared to be drawn bearded, an attempt at designer stubble possibly.
“A different person to before,” Tamara said. “Perhaps she was part of a true-life artist’s class? Do you have anything like that around here?”
Eric didn’t know of anything like that but both of them appeared to be looking to him. He knew Janssen was impressed by his local knowledge of people but arty hobbies weren’t his interest. He shook his head. “I’ll ask around.” If anyone was disappointed with the contribution, they didn’t show it.
“We could always ask Ken Francis. He would probably know,” Janssen suggested. Eric was annoyed he hadn’t thought of that. It was fairly obvious. “Did you ask the parents, Colin or Marie, about these drawings?” They looked to him once again. He hadn’t. Shaking his head, he felt that was another mark against him today. He was playing a blinder. “Any joy with Holly’s laptop?”
“No. It’s password protected and the encryption on this brand is pretty decent. We will have to get the tech guys in Norwich to have a look at it.” Janssen appeared deflated. With Holly’s diary recording next to nothing aside from a few choice references regarding her mother’s insistence she continued her musical
