Reckless Endangerment--A Brock and Poole Police Procedural by Graham Ison

Author:Graham Ison [Graham Ison]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2013-12-10T16:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

It was about forty miles from Earls Court to Basildon, but even with Kate’s ‘positive driving’ skills, an expertise that was somewhat akin to Dave’s, it took her nearly two hours to get us there. We arrived at a quarter past two.

The Crosses’ house was a neat semi-detached three-up two-down property, of a style which pointed to it having been built before the Second World War. The front garden, in common with most of the houses in the street, had been paved over to accommodate the ubiquitous motor car. The vehicle outside the Crosses’ house was an ageing Honda Civic fitted with manual controls.

A wreath was already hanging on the front door, an indication perhaps that Sharon Gregory’s parents were very conventional people when it came to signs of mourning.

A woman answered the door. ‘Are you from the press?’ she asked. Although she was in plain clothes, I guessed who she was and why she was there. ‘Because if you are—’

‘No, we’re police officers from the Met,’ I said. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Brock and Detective Inspector Ebdon.’

‘Sorry about that, sir, but the vultures have started circling already. I’m PC Jacobs from Basildon police station, a victim support officer. You’re here about the Crosses’ daughter, I suppose.’

‘Yes, we are.’

PC Jacobs beckoned us into the small hall and closed the front door. I noticed that a chair lift had been fitted to the staircase. Jacobs shut the door to the sitting room. ‘It’s not a happy state of affairs, sir,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Mrs Cross suffers from multiple sclerosis. She’s in a wheelchair, and her husband Kevin is severely disabled. He was badly crippled in a train crash some years ago.’

‘Are they up to being interviewed?’ It was not a pleasant task talking to people who had just lost a member of their family, but in these circumstances it would be doubly harrowing.

‘I think they’d want to hear what happened, sir,’ said Jacobs. ‘I’ll take you in. Incidentally, Sharon was their only child.’

The Crosses’ sitting room was neatly furnished and clean, but it was fairly evident that they were not well off, despite having just returned from a cruise. There was a small television set in one corner, and a three-piece suite that had seen better days, as had the cheap carpet, now showing wear in places.

‘These police officers are from London, Mr Cross,’ said Jacobs. ‘They’ve come to talk to you about Sharon.’

‘I’m Kevin Cross,’ said the man, pressing a button that raised him from a chair that was different from the others. He struggled into an upright position with some difficulty and leaned heavily on a walking stick. ‘And this is my wife, Helen.’ He indicated a grey-haired woman seated in a wheelchair. ‘We got back from holiday first thing this morning only to find that our daughter had been murdered. Some homecoming this has turned out to be. It was the first holiday we’ve had in years and we’d been saving for it for ages.’

Mrs Cross gazed at us with red-rimmed eyes, but remained silent.

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