Never Forget Read Free Page B

from his pocket and answering a call. ‘Hello, Eric Nottingham… Just on my way.’ He walked away back to his car.
    Wingsy came up to me and beckoned me away from the open police car window where I’d been talking to Connor.
    ‘Why do you think this knobcheese ran away from us?’ I asked him. ‘He strike you as a murderer?’ I just wasn’t getting a feel for him. We’d only been told to go and see him because his car had been seen on the dual carriageway near to the body. He’d been a priority as the cameras had picked him up three times that morning half an hour before the body was found, twice northbound and once southbound. The pathologist still hadn’t given a time of death, so, for all we knew at this point, he might have been driving along totally innocently, a clear twenty-four hours after Amanda was murdered. If he hadn’t done anything wrong it seemed madness to have run from us, but then this job had introduced me to so many halfwits over the years that little about human behaviour struck me as out of the ordinary.
    ‘No idea, Nin. Probably hasn’t paid for his TV licence and is a bit nervy. DCI wants me to take him back with another PC – ’ he pointed at the van ‘ – and you’re to stay here. I don’t expect we’ll be interviewing him. Probably a job for Serious Crime. Doubt you and I will get a look in.’
    ‘But we nicked him.’
    Wingsy just shrugged at me. Showing him my notebook, I told him Connor’s earlier comments and we went back to the car. ‘David,’ I said. ‘I’ve written down what you told me;can I get you to sign this as an accurate account of what you and I said?’
    ‘Sure, love, it’ll pass the time.’
    Wingsy recuffed his hands in front so that he could read and sign the notebook, while I passed the keys to the uniform PC who was taking him back to the nick. Wingsy asked the usual questions: whether anyone was in, whether there was any burglar alarm or a huge dog in the house that was likely to jump out and bite anyone. Once reunited with my notebook, I followed the search team to the front door. The only woman in the group, Lila Armstrong, was removing exhibit bags, labels and tags from the rear of the van.
    ‘Wotcha, Bill,’ I said to the sergeant.
    ‘’Lo, Nin. How you been?’ he asked. Bill Harrison was six feet tall, well-built, with a bit of a soft heart – you wanted him on your side, as he could be pretty useful in the right situation. ‘Any idea what’s in this place?’ He waved in the direction of No. 82.
    ‘No. Dozy git just legged it when we said “police”, and then you arrived.’ I shrugged back at him. I’d always had a bit of a crush on Bill. I couldn’t even tell you why, but I sometimes blushed like a teenager when talking to him. I had never worked out if he knew the reason or if he thought I just had high blood pressure. In fairness, either would have been a safe assumption to make, as I was no spring chicken and I did drink a lot.
    To try to avoid eye contact with Bill, and in an attempt to stop myself blushing, I turned towards the house. I had the key ring in one hand and my notebook in the other. One of the two keys appeared to be a back door key and the other was for the front door. I unhooked the back door key from the ring and passed it to one of the officers heading for the side gate.
    As Bill and I walked along the gravel driveway, I glanced up at the top floor of the house and ran an eye over each of the windows, then did the same for the ground floor andthe glass-partitioned front door. No signs of movement; it looked as if the premises were empty. My heart was beating just a little bit faster. No, not Bill this time – this was in a professional context only. I was excited at the thought of who or what might be inside our murder suspect’s house.
    Bill peered through the frosted glass panel into the hallway. ‘Can’t see anyone in there,’ he muttered.
    I put the key into the lock, opened it with one turn and