‘That’ssomething I suppose,’ Morton mumbled, keeping close to her heels.
‘I might beable to find out more tomorrow. I’m on at five in the morning standingoutside the damned house,’ she complained, pulling on a pair of tracksuitbottoms and loose-fitting t-shirt that had been purchased with the unfulfilledidea of a regular jogging routine.
‘Does thatsound normal to you?’ Morton asked. ‘Have you ever guarded the house of asuicide before? Murder maybe, but not suicide.’
Juliette pausedthen shook her head. ‘But that doesn’t mean anything. Like I said,the big boss is in so we’ve got to go OTT on everything.’
Morton didn’tget it. What were they worried about, that Coldrick’s dead body mightreturn? He thought about it for a moment and the idea came to him thatmaybe he could use this abnormality in police procedure to his advantage.
‘Will it justbe you there?’ he asked tentatively.
‘I expect sonow that SOCO have done their bit; might be two of us. Why?’
‘You need tolet me get inside,’ Morton said.
Juliettelaughed as she left the bedroom and dumped herself down into the sofa. Morton trailed in behind her.
‘I’m serious,Juliette. Turn your back, do whatever you have to do. I really needto see if I can find what Coldrick wanted to show me.’
Juliette rolledher eyes. ‘Why do you care, anyway? Surely the job’s finished nowhe’s dead? Does it really matter what he wanted to show you?’
‘Yes,’ Mortonanswered. Granted, it was the shortest-lived case of his career, but onethat had piqued his curiosity – what if Coldrick’s suspicions held even anugget of truth? Kent Police might not find Coldrick’s death suspicious,but he sure did. Maybe it was simply that he had nothing better todo. Whichever way, he wanted to get inside that house. ‘Please,Juliette. I just need five minutes in there.’
‘No,Morton. Anyway, I might get to the station tomorrow and be doingsomething completely different.’
Morton sighedand sloped off into the kitchen to make dinner, hoping that by making hisdisappointment evident, she might take pity on her dejected boyfriend andchange her mind. She didn’t. She did what Juliette did best, andchanged the subject. ‘Did you get the email from Jeremy today?’ shecalled.
‘No, what wasthat?’
‘Invite to aleaving party Saturday night. It’s all a bit rushed as his regiment’sbeing posted out on Monday.’
Morton hadknown that the day of Jeremy’s posting overseas was looming ever closer, buthe’d put it to the back of his mind, hoping that the day would never arrive.
‘We’ve got tobe at your dad’s house at seven.’
Mortongroaned. ‘I suppose that means he’ll be there, then.’
‘Of coursehe’ll be there. Did you think Jeremy wouldn’t invite his own dad orsomething?’ Juliette asked, appearing at the kitchen doorway. ‘It’s beenages since you’ve been to see him or spoken to him. It won’t hurt you.’
‘I spoke to himon his birthday,’ Morton countered.
‘That was twominutes on the phone five months ago, Morton.’
She was right:it was time to make an effort. It just didn’t come naturally to him andeven saying the word dad felt like he was speaking in tongues.
‘Are wesupposed to get him a going away present? Do Smith’s do a Sorry you’releaving for the crap-hole of the world, hope you don’t get blown up by asuicide bomber card?’
‘Don’t be socynical, Morton,’ Juliette said, circling her arms around his midriff as hebegan to prepare the dinner. ‘It’s okay to be worried about him.’
Morton exhaled,allowing his tense muscles to relax in her embrace. As he considered hisbrother out in Afghanistan, he became aware, possibly for the first time sincehe was eighteen, of a bond between him and Jeremy. Was it a genuinefraternal bond? Or just the type of bond that forms when two people livein the same house for several years? A lone tear ran down his cheek andplopped unceremoniously onto the chopping board.
‘Bloodyonions,’ he muttered.
Chapter Two
Thursday
Morton woke with a start and sat boltupright, his breathing out of control and his heart feeling like it was aboutto burst from his chest cavity, just like that scene in Alien that hadscared the hell out of him when he had stupidly first watched it at the age ofnine. He had been dreaming of Peter Coldrick without the benefit of theroof of his mouth. Peter had looked right at him, shouting, ‘Comeover; I’ve found something. Come over; I’ve found something.’ Morton strained his eyes to see the clock: five forty-nine a.m. He neededto get up and clear his head. His tired mind was whirring as he stumbledfrom the bedroom towards his study. What was he doing, continuingto research the family history of a dead man with no known family? WithColdrick dead, he could just take the money and run. What was the pointin continuing? He searched inside for the answers. First ofall, he had no other work on at the moment, having cleared a good two weeks inhis diary for researching Coldrick’s family. Secondly, he felt that hisobligation to find Peter Coldrick’s family still stood, since payment hadchanged hands. Lastly, and perhaps most significantly, no prior job hadever held such intrigue before. He needed to give it more time. Morton sat at his cluttered desk and pulled open the cardboard walletcontaining the research notes taken at Coldrick’s house on Tuesday, as hereflected on the visit. He’d spent six hours in Peter’s company trying tobuild a picture of the Coldrick family, asking probing questions whichultimately led nowhere. Despite the severe lack of leads emanating fromthe meeting, Morton felt a strong affinity with the pitiful man beforehim. A man, like himself, struggling to connect with his identity. The only difference between them was that Peter was labouring under the weightof his past, while Morton did his best to ignore his. He decided that he really liked this man.
Slowly, he readaloud what he’d written, trying to absorb the information as he spoke. ‘Peter Coldrick, born 1971. Only child of James and Mary Coldrick, néeBalfour, married 1970. Mary died in a house fire 1987, James of cancer2012. Peter, no siblings.
