Lifting the Lid(8)

‘That’s why you’ve got computers and all that stuff, isn’t it?’

‘Computers aren’t crystal balls. You have to put something in to get something out. All we’ve got at the moment is a name and a photograph.’

‘He’s got a dog.’

‘Sorry?’

‘He’s got a dog,’ she repeated. ‘Mangy little thing. He brought it here once, but that was the first and last time. I told him I didn’t want it near this house ever again. He’s probably taken it with him.’

‘On a moped?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Well I suppose it might help to identify him if he has got the dog with him. What does it look like?’

‘Mangy, as I said.’

‘Colour?’

‘I don’t know. Black and brown probably.’

‘Probably?’

‘I just told you, I only saw it the once.’

‘Size?’

‘Medium?’ It was more of a question than a statement.

Logan switched his attention to his colleague. ‘You’ve got all this down, have you?’

‘Yes, sarge,’ she said, vaguely waving her notebook as if in confirmation.

‘Right. Well in that case, we’d best be on our way… unless of course there’s anything else you can tell us.’

Still with her back to them, Mrs Hawkins responded with an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

‘Fine. Thank you for your er… assistance. We’ll see ourselves out.’



* * *



DS Logan and DC Swann sat opposite each other at a corner table of The Hen and Chickens. For a Friday evening, the pub was surprisingly empty, although from the look of the place Swann wondered if it ever attracted more than a handful of the most committed of drinkers. It was one of those single storey, block-shaped buildings thrown up on the edge of housing estates back in the sixties, and the inside was overwhelmingly bright and smelt of stale beer and chip fat. She only hoped she wouldn’t need to find out what the toilet was like while they were there.

‘So what do we do now?’ she said.

Logan took a long slug from his pint of bitter and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘We do what all good detectives are supposed to do. We investigate.’

‘You don’t think she was making it all up then?’

‘Possibly. But it’s still a murder accusation and not just some complaint about the neighbour’s dog fouling the footpath.’

Swann picked up the photograph which lay next to her glass of orange juice. ‘Doesn’t look much like a murderer to me.’

Logan almost choked on his beer, ‘Maggie, I really can’t believe you said that.’

‘All the same…’ She continued to stare at the picture of Trevor and Imelda Hawkins on their wedding day, posing for the camera in all their finery – she with a forced grin on her face and he looking rather more genuinely happy. ‘We’ve hardly got anything to go on. Even this photograph is years old.’

‘Six, to be precise.’

‘That’s a bit odd in itself, isn’t it? I mean, there were plenty of pictures of his brother and a fair few of his sister but only this one of Trevor. – Can’t be very fond of him.’

‘Well no. Turning in your own son for murder isn’t what you’d normally expect from a doting mother.’

‘Maybe inventing a story about Trevor murdering his wife is a way of getting back at him for the other son’s death,’ said Swann, flipping through her notebook for the name. ‘Derek was definitely the apple of mummy’s eye. – It’s classic. Favourite kid dies. Mum resents the other kid for still being alive.’

‘And shops him for a murder that never even happened?’ Logan drained his pint and set the empty glass down in front of him, gazing at it as he twisted it back and forth between his palms. ‘Look, I’ve no idea whether she’s made it all up or not, but like I say, we have to do something. Otherwise the old bat’ll put in some kind of official complaint. She’s just the type who would.’

‘Okay, Sherlock, so where do you suggest we start?’

‘First, you go and get me another pint.’ Logan gave her an exaggerated wink and slid his glass towards her.

‘So how come it’s my round again?’

‘Forgot to bring my wallet.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Swann got to her feet with a scowl and made her way to the bar.

When she got back, Logan was leafing through her notebook. ‘God, your writing’s atrocious,’ he said without looking up.

‘So? As long as I can read it, that’s all that matters.’