‘That’s good with me. I’ll use the time to go through the council CCTV footage,’ said Ramouter.
‘And, Ezra, I don’t even want you turning left unless Henley tells you to, do you understand me?’ Pellacia asked.
‘Crystal,’ Ezra said as he gave a salute.
23
Stanford pulled up his coat collar, insulating himself against the chill in the air. ‘I heard Oprah say once that your home should rise up to meet you.’ The garden gate was missing and tall weeds that had begun to flower grew through the multiple cracks in the stained paving stone. ‘This house looks like it’s about to drag you down to the pits of hell.’
‘Yeah, it’s not the best is it?’ Eastwood wrinkled her nose at piles of cat litter that had spilled from the multiple bags in the corner of the small garden. She pressed the doorbell.
The outline of a figure appeared in the frosted panels of the front door. There was the sound of a lock turning and then the door cracked open, a silver chain still secured to the wall cut across the man’s face on the other side.
‘Laurence Durant?’ Eastwood asked.
‘Who’s asking?’ the man’s voice was low and hoarse as though he was recovering from a cold.
‘I’m DS Eastwood and this is my colleague DS Stanford. We’d like to have a word,’ she held up her warrant card to the gap.
The chain pressed against the man’s cheek as he pushed his face closer against it to squint at Eastwood’s ID. A second later, the door closed shut and they heard the distinct sound of the chain sliding back and the door reopened.
‘Laurence Durant?’ Eastwood repeated.
‘Larry,’ he said. ‘Come in but watch where you step. The kittens are roaming.’
Inside, the house contrasted with the exterior. It was clean and looked to have been recently decorated but Larry himself looked neglected. His greying beard was unkempt and there were visible stains on his misshapen navy T-shirt. The smell of burnt bacon lingered in the air.
‘So, what can I do for you?’ He picked up the remote control from the sofa and lowered the TV volume.
‘We’re here to ask you some questions about Graham and Tabitha Ashcroft,’ Eastwood explained as she picked up a tortoiseshell kitten that had dug their claws into her jeans and was attempting to climb.
‘I don’t have anything to say aboutthem.’ Larry took the kitten from Eastwood’s hand and placed it in a cage.
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work like that,’ said Stanford as he walked across the room and sat down at the table, gently pushing aside a towering pile of papers.
‘It looks like we interrupted you,’ he commented.
‘You did,’ said Larry. ‘I’m marking exam papers and the last thing I want to do is talk about those people.’
‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to and, to be honest, I’d rather do it here as opposed to going through the trouble of taking you down to the local station.’
Larry stared at Eastwood through narrowed eyes as he lowered himself into an armchair.
‘What happened to your hand?’ Eastwood asked, pointing at the scabs and bruises on his knuckles.
Larry turned his hand and looked at his knuckles as though he’d just realised that the wounds were there. ‘I had an accident in the back. Gardening. Ask me your questions because as I said—’
‘We know. You’re busy,’ Eastwood replied. ‘So, let’s get to it. I know that you’ve been through a lot and the last thing you want to do is talk about the Ashcrofts.’
‘They ruined my life. I don’t my want their names spoken in my house.’
‘If there was a way I could ask you these questions without mentioning their names then I would, but that’s not possible,’ Eastwood was sympathetic. ‘Take a moment. Steady yourself and listen carefully to what I ask you.’
Larry stared intensely at Eastwood, the muscles flexing in his arms as he gripped the armrest. After a few seconds he nodded at her.
‘Thank you,’ said Eastwood. ‘Someone tried to kill Tabitha and—’
‘Tried to kill?’ Larry interrupted abruptly. He huffed and shook his head. ‘You’ve knocked the wrong door if you’re expecting me to feel sorry for her.’
