Forgotten Bones: The start of an addictive crime series from Wes Markin (Whitby's Forgotten Victims Book 1) by Wes Markin

Author:Wes Markin [Markin, Wes]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WFM Publishing
Published: 2024-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixty-Two

A tall, elderly man answered the door. Frank showed his ID. ‘Sorry to disturb you this early. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Frank Black, and this is Detective Inspector Gerry Carver. Are you Mr Arnold Fletcher?’

‘Can I help you?’

‘Is Ms Julie⁠—’

‘Ha!’ Arnold’s eyes widened. ‘Are you serious? Over pulling a lass’s hair! Not as if she scalped her?’

Frank forced back a grin. Arnold was a retired council man; he’d obviously great experience in delivering his views with strident wit. ‘No, sir. It’s not about the common assault charge.’

Which is a real charge for breaking the law, Arnold, but let’s not get into semantics and your dogmatic views right now.

Arnold creased further his already wrinkled brow. ‘Then what’s it about, young man?’

Frank couldn’t recall being referred to as a young man in a very long time, but he guessed next to this eighty-five-year-old, who loomed large and strong despite the support of a stick, he was comparatively young. Young enough to be his son!

Fancy that! Young enough to be someone’s son!

‘Is she home?’ Frank asked.

‘Answering a question with a question, eh?’

You’d know all about that as an ex-politician.

Frank could see the staircase behind Arnold, and the two pink slippers on the top step.

Bingo.

He leaned in, not enough to unsettle Arnold, but enough to see the lady in the dressing gown on the top step. ‘Ms Fletcher?’

Keeping her hand on the top of the banister, she stared down at Frank. She didn’t move or speak.

Now, how’s that for an initial reaction, Gerry?

‘We’re letting all your heat out here, Ms Fletcher. Probably best if we came in? We’ve shown your father our identification.’

She chanced a couple of steps, sliding her hand down the banister as she came. ‘Of course.’ She moved tentatively, as if nursing an ageing hip. In fact, as her father backed away, his expression less confusion, more frustration, he moved quicker than his daughter, despite his great age and his stick.

‘Thank you.’ Frank allowed Gerry in first.

Once they were in and the door closed, Frank regarded Julie on the bottom step.

Her eyes and face were red and blotchy.

‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes… fine… I…’

‘Hungover.’ Arnold snorted. ‘Might be better if you came back later?’

Frank stared up at the towering man. ‘Is it okay if we talk to your daughter alone, sir? Then we can talk to you.’

‘Curious,’ he said. ‘Is it not best she’s someone with her? Aren’t there rules about this kind of thing?’

‘Your daughter is fifty-five. It is perfectly acceptable to interview her without her father present,’ Gerry said.

Frank regarded the DI he’d warned off speaking. He then looked back at the red face of Arnold.

All right, Frank thought, I’ll let that one slide. It was rather funny.

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