Cold Justice (Willis/Carter #4)(19)

Willis was almost disappointed – it must have been one of the rare times she’d ever managed to find matching socks. She lived in a shared house where they didn’t have luxuries like a dishwasher or a washing machine. She took her laundry to the laundrette to be service-washed if she didn’t have time to do it herself – she gave it to the woman who smiled a lot but didn’t speak any English. She never seemed to get it all back. Somewhere out there were a lot of her socks.

Mrs Turnbill led them down towards a kitchen at the back of the house. The place hadn’t been redecorated for at least fifty years. There were 1950s-style cabinets in the kitchen that were now very sought-after. But it hadn’t been cleaned in a long time either. The only warmth was coming from an Aga.

‘Mrs Turnbill – Gareth’s your son, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. A late gift from God.’ She was obviously used to being confused with his grandmother. She smiled. ‘I’ll just fetch him – he’s outside. He spends nearly all his time in the shed.’ She left them in the kitchen as she went out through an ancient conservatory, which was dark and cold; thin, pale spider plants hung down from overcrammed hanging baskets. She opened a door that was just out of sight. Willis took a look around the corner and came back to Carter.

‘It’s impossible to see outside,’ she said. ‘It’s dark as a cow’s guts out there. Funny time to go to the garden.’

‘A man and his shed. One of those essential relationships.’ Carter took a step nearer to the Aga. ‘I’d love one of these.’ He was just about to say something else when they heard voices and the sound of the conservatory door.

Gareth and his mother came back in. Gareth didn’t make eye contact. He was a flush-faced young man, who looked more fifteen than nineteen. When he did look up it was with a nervous smile. He had a large flat section of hair down the centre of his head, sweeping down over his eyes. The sides of his head were shaven.

‘Hello.’ Carter smiled. ‘You have a man shed out there, do you?’

Gareth looked embarrassed. ‘I have my music collection.’

‘Isn’t it freezing out there?’ Carter asked.

His mother laughed. ‘Goodness me, not in the shed he’s got. He’s got one of those with a wood burner and goodness knows what else in it. It’s warmer than this old house.’ Carter could well believe it. Gareth smiled awkwardly.

‘Gareth . . . we’ve been working out Toby Forbes-Wright’s movements yesterday and, of course, you know what has happened to Toby and his son Samuel? We are pretty sure that you were the last person to see Samuel.’

‘Oh.’ He avoided looking at his mum. She was looking at him curiously. ‘I gave a statement.’

‘Yes, we appreciate it. We would like you to run through things again with us, if you don’t mind?’

‘Okay.’

Mrs Turnbill went to lean on the Aga facing her son, along with the detectives. Willis got out her notebook, checked and said, ‘In your statement you said that Toby came to see you in the gift shop at . . .?’

‘At four I looked at the clock to see how long it would be before I could shut up shop.’

‘And did you see Samuel then?’ asked Carter.

‘Yes, I saw him; he was asleep.’

‘He didn’t wake up at all while you and Toby were talking?’

‘No.’ Gareth’s hair flopped down over his eyes as he shook his head nonchalantly.

‘And what did Toby and you talk about, do you remember?’ asked Carter.

‘We chatted about the new exhibit, about the photo gallery. Toby’s amazing new photos. We talked about the new shop, the stuff on sale.’

‘Toby and you worked together in the shop sometimes?’

‘Yes, occasionally. Mainly, I work in the café or the shop. Toby maintains the exhibits. He does the technical things. He’s the clever one,’ Gareth giggled.

‘What time did you finish yesterday?’

‘At five thirty.’

‘Dead on?’

‘Yes. We close the Astronomy Centre at five. I just have to make sure it’s all ready for the next day.’

‘And when you left work where did you go?’

‘I came straight home.’

Carter looked at Mrs Turnbill beside him. ‘Mrs Turnbill, were you in then?’

‘Yes, I must have been. I suffer from rheumatoid arthritis, I was here trying to keep warm upstairs.’

Carter turned to Gareth. ‘I hear you and Toby get on very well? Is that right?’

‘I suppose. Yes, we do.’ Gareth blushed.

‘You see each other outside work?’

‘Sometimes.’ He glanced towards his mother, who was staring and smiling.

‘Have you met Toby, Mrs Turnbill?’

‘Toby? Yes, I have. A lovely young man. I didn’t know he had a child though.’

‘And a wife,’ added Carter.

‘A wife?’ Mrs Turnbill glanced at her son.

‘Toby comes round here a lot, does he?’ Carter asked.

‘Once or twice a week.’ Mrs Turnbill was starting to prickle. Carter could see her mind working, wondering what she should say and what she definitely shouldn’t.

‘When was the last time he came round?’