Beyond the Point (DI Nick Dixon Crime) by Damien Boyd

Author:Damien Boyd [Boyd, Damien]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781542093293
Published: 2019-05-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

A blue rinse and a Siamese cat, the patio door ajar, a rope scratching post on the dining table saving the arms of the sofa and chairs. Just like his late grandmother, thought Dixon, standing in the large windows at the back of the bungalow.

Hinkley Point was hidden by the haze miles away across the Parrett Estuary, the tide in, but Dixon could make out the lighthouse and the churches at Burnham and Berrow. It was an unusual view of Brean Down, for him, but not for the residents of Bleadon, perhaps. Almost an island – it wouldn’t take much of a rise in sea levels.

Mrs Harper liked pink. And she had kept her late husband’s collection of military figurines, a whole display cabinet given over to them by the fireplace. The odd Beswick figurine had crept in and seemed out of place in amongst the Paras and Royal Marines; Jemima Puddle-Duck, Benjamin Bunny and a few shire horses.

Louise was peering at the photographs on the mantelpiece when Dixon turned back to the view from the window, across a manicured lawn and flowerbeds full of roses and hydrangeas, the garden sloping away down to a drystone wall, with cows in the field beyond. He was thinking back to the last time he walked out to the fort at the end of Brean Down with Monty.

The last time? Think positive; the previous time.

‘Do you take sugar?’

The shrill voice shouting from the kitchen was not enough to bring him back to the present.

‘No, thank you,’ replied Louise.

Cups and saucers rattling on a tray heralded Mrs Harper’s arrival in the living room, a nudge from Louise dragging Dixon away from the window.

‘It’s a grandstand view you have,’ he said, spinning round.

‘It’s why we built the bungalow. 1972, that was. Been here ever since,’ replied Mrs Harper, pouring the tea.

Definitely a hint of blue. Smartly dressed too. Either she had made the effort or she had been out for Sunday lunch. No one wears a three strand pearl necklace for a visit from the police, do they?

‘Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’

‘Your late husband’s company, Centrix Platforms,’ replied Dixon.

‘We sold that when he died. Our accountant was the executor of the estate and he managed to sell it as a going concern, I think that’s the phrase. Another company bought it, took on the staff and contracts and then wound it up.’

‘When was that?’

‘Ray died in 2004. On his sixtieth birthday.’ Mrs Harper stood up and walked over to the mantelpiece, handing Dixon a photograph that had been hidden behind a council tax bill. ‘That’s us at a Rotary do.’

Black tie and a big smile for the camera, an arm around his wife.

‘Was it sudden, his death?’

‘We had time,’ replied Mrs Harper, a hint of a tremble in her voice. ‘He had a heart bypass, which bought him a year or so. We managed a cruise before the end.’

‘How long had he been running Centrix?’

‘He started it from scratch in the early eighties, hiring out hydraulic platforms.

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