‘Did you ever see this girl again?’ I asked.
‘Of course I did, and you’ve met her an’ all, Mr Brock. I’m married to her. She waited till I got out and we was wed eleven years ago. And I’ve been going straight ever since.’
‘Let’s get back to the night that Clifford Gregory was murdered, Sid.’
‘What d’you want to know that I ain’t told you already, Mr Brock?’
‘Just run through what you said to us before.’
Miller recounted, word for word, what he had told us the previous Sunday afternoon. When he finished, I glanced at Dave, who had been following Miller’s account against a copy of his statement. He nodded.
Nevertheless, I deemed it politic to caution Miller at this stage of the interview.
‘You’re a convicted burglar, Sid, so think carefully before you answer my next question,’ I said. ‘Did you have anything to do with the burglary at the Gregorys’ house or the death of Clifford Gregory?’
‘No, I bloody didn’t,’ said Miller vehemently. ‘When I came out of the nick, I swore I’d never go back again, Mr Brock, and that’s the God’s honest truth,’ he said. ‘It’s no joke being banged up for rape, especially when you ain’t done it. You get sick of everyone calling you a nonce. Even the screws would have a sly dig every chance they got.’
‘Were you having an affair with Sharon Gregory?’
‘No, I wasn’t. D’you think I’m mad, Mr Brock? You don’t do it on your own doorstep. Anyway, I wouldn’t do a thing like that to my Janet. I’d never cheat on her.’
‘Very well. I shall admit you to police bail to report to Uxbridge police station one month from now. If your attendance is not required, I’ll let you know.’
‘That’s bloody rich, that is,’ said Miller disgustedly. ‘I go and help the girl next door in her hour of need and this is all the thanks I get for it.’
‘What’s next, guv?’ asked Dave, once Miller had departed, still muttering to himself about the injustice of the world.
‘We go back to the factory and see if Sharon Gregory’s turned up yet. But I don’t suppose she has. I’ve got a nasty feeling that she could be anywhere in the world by now and doesn’t want to be found.’
It wasn’t until later that day that we discovered Sharon Gregory wasn’t missing any more.
DI Len Driscoll was waiting for me when Dave and I got back to the office.
‘I’ve got all the results from the house-to-house enquiries, guv.’
‘Did you find anything useful, Len?’
‘It was the usual blow out,’ said Driscoll. ‘Nobody saw anything. No one saw any unusual cars. Nobody saw anybody hanging around. Mind you, it was late on a Saturday evening and apparently Tarhill Road is a cut-through from a pub to a council estate.’
‘Yes, Miller told us that. So did Sharon.’
‘One or two near neighbours heard screaming, but put it down to kids coming back from the pub,’ continued Driscoll. ‘Even so, one of ’em did actually think about calling the police.’ That statement was followed by a cynical laugh. ‘But then the screaming stopped, so they all went to bed.’
‘Did any of them know the Gregorys, Len?’
‘Only in passing. I got the impression that they’re all at pains to keep themselves to themselves. It was the usual “don’t want to get involved” attitude. A lot of them work at Heathrow, of course, and that means that many of them are on shift work. Those who knew Sharon knew she was a flight attendant – they’d seen her going to work in uniform – but didn’t suggest that that made her flighty.’ Driscoll chuckled at his little joke. ‘But as for visitors, or any suggestion that she put herself about, zilch! Mind you, guv, they probably knew, but weren’t prepared to say. And I wouldn’t have put it past some of them to have got across her themselves.’
‘All of which is more or less what I expected, Len. Thanks, and thank the team for their efforts.’
‘By the way, the Gregorys haven’t come to the notice of the local police either. No domestics or anything like that,’ said Driscoll. ‘But there was one other thing, although I don’t think it means much. We spoke to the customers at the local pub and one of them, a lad of about nineteen, said he was passing the Gregorys’ house at just after ten on Saturday night when he caught sight of a naked girl at the window. He stopped to have a good look and whistled, but the girl quickly drew the curtains.’
‘That fits in with her story,’ I said. ‘She must’ve gone up to bed just after that, and then come down again later when she heard this noise she claimed disturbed her.’