His computer bleeped. He looked at an email response to one he had sent earlier that day, a reply he hadn’t anticipated this close to the holiday period. It was a coroner’s report. He read it twice and activated the video again. Each time the same four words grabbed at him. Handbag … on the floor.
3.45 p.m.
Watts went down to reception, immediately seeing the person he was looking for. As always, he was hard to miss.
‘Thanks for coming in on a Saturday.’
‘No problem.’
Watts led him into the informal interview room. ‘Have a seat.’
Watts sat opposite him. ‘OK, Nigel. Let’s talk some more about the shooting at Forge Street.’
Nigel shook his large head. ‘Sorry, I did what you said, left it alone, but nothing’s come back to me.’
Watts studied him. ‘You walk that dog of yours regularly.’
‘Three times a day.’
‘What time’s the last walk?’
Nigel shrugged. ‘Ten thirty, give or take half an hour. All depends on Abdul and customer flow.’
‘You were around Forge Street that night.’
‘You know I was.’
Watts looked him in the eye. ‘You told me you didn’t recall seeing anything except a car with all its doors closed.’
‘That’s right.’
‘How about another night since then? There hasn’t been that many. Think about it,’ he invited.
Elbows on the table, Nigel rubbed the stubble on his lower face. Watts saw something happening, deep in his eyes. ‘Come on, Nige.’
‘That place is always deserted, and for good reason. Anybody who goes down there’s got a death wish – apologies to the woman whose husband got done there but that’s a fact, Mr Watts.’
Watts lowered his voice. ‘That’s exactly what I think. I also think that the place is no problem for a big lad like you, plus dog.’
‘Ha! It’s a bloody shi’itzu!’
‘You’re getting my drift, Nige. Much as you don’t like the place, it doesn’t hold any fear for a big lad like you, who’s light on his feet.’
Nigel nodded. ‘You got that right.’
‘I’ll ask you again. What about the few nights since the shootings? You’ll have been out in the area, following your usual routine, you and the dog, walking that street, looking, listening.’ He waited. ‘Come on! I’m turning myself inside out here building the picture, laying it out …’
‘There was one time I did see somebody. Two people. But that was a couple of nights before the shootings.’
Watts stared at him, swallowing hard. ‘Why didn’t you bloody tell us? Tell me everything you remember, and I mean everything.’
Nigel shrugged. ‘That’s it. I couldn’t see them that well because it was dark and with the street lights being out, it’s black as the ace—’
‘What time was this?’
Nigel puffed out his cheeks. ‘Around nine-thirty-ish, near as I can recall. The shop was quiet. The dog spotted it first. Movement. Around that abandoned garage. It’s a yappy little sod so I picked it up to quieten it. That’s when I heard low voices. It sounded like a bloke and somebody younger-sounding, a kid, although they were too far away for me to hear what was said.’
Watts waited, gave him a direct look. ‘What were they doing?’
‘Nothing. Just walking slow-like, looking around.’
‘Did you get a proper look at either of them?’ Watts sat forward. ‘Come on. I need your head on this, Nige. Start with the bloke. What did he look like?’
‘Just a bloke. On the big-ish side, dark hair but that’s just an impression. I wasn’t taking much—’
‘Did he look like anybody you’d seen before?’ He waited. ‘Did he move in a way that reminded you of somebody local?’ He watched Nigel’s forehead crease in concentration as he stared down at the table, giving it some thought. Finally, he looked up at Watts, who leant forward.
‘No.’
Exasperated, Watts changed tack. ‘OK, this kid, you mentioned. Did he look at all familiar to you? Was there anything about him that struck a chord?’
Nigel considered it. ‘Like I said, they were a way off from me.’ His face cleared. ‘I’ve just remembered. He was wearing a baseball cap.’
Watts was thinking that as an identifier a baseball cap had serious limitations. But Molly Lawrence had described youngsters at the scene and Watts now had a particular individual in mind.
‘You know a young kid from your area called Presley—?’
‘It wasn’t Presley.’
Watts stared at him. ‘Hang on. How can you be so sure?’
‘Huey brings him into Abdul’s shop occasionally. It wasn’t Presley. He’s too tall. Too thin.’
Watts sighed. ‘Carry on. Tell me what this pair were up to.’
‘I’ve told you. We watched ’em, me and the dog. They were just wandering around, talking and then’– Watts sat forward, shoulders bunched – ‘they took off.’
‘Meaning?’
‘They went.’
‘Where?’
‘How would I know?’
Watts sat back. ‘Did you see or hear anything as they went?’
‘Like what?’
He glared at Nigel. ‘My hair has nearly reached my shoulders in the time we’ve been sat here! The sound of a vehicle! Anything.’
He looked at Watts. ‘Now you mention it, I did hear something like that, but it was quiet, not much to speak of …’ The big face split into a grin. ‘Now, I’m thinking it might have been one of those electric jobs, or diesel, like a taxi? Like I said, they took off, the bloke first in the direction of a slip road that leads on to the main thoroughfare. The other one, the kid in the baseball cap, hung around a bit then took off in the same direction.’
Nigel had gone, Watts was heading for his office, Nigel’s statement in his hand, his head full of one question.
If this wasn’t robbery, why in God’s name would one person and a kid, or any number of kids, set out to kill an interior designer and his accountant wife?
10.05 p.m.
Huey Whyte was relaxing, drink in one hand, roll-up in the other, eyes half-closed. Letisha lifted the remote to the television.
