Page 14

14

Sunday evening

It was the Clwyd Police Press Officer. “The Chief Constable wants to make a statement,” she said. “He needs to know the latest information about the murder of DC Unwin.”

“I’m not the SIO,” Charlie said. “Contact Chief Superintendent Kent, or DI Ravensbourne.” He knew as he spoke, that the Press Office would have already done just that. They had. Charlie moved away from the bench to stand next to the house.

“DI Ravensbourne is not available, Chief Superintendent Kent suggested I talk to you.”

Thank you very much Chief Superintendent sodding Kent.

She continued: “I understand that Alun Evans, MP, will also be making a statement, and that you have already spoken with him, and the family of Josh Unwin. You really are the best person to brief me.”

“What do you want to know?” Charlie asked tiredly. He could ring Kent and ask for guidance, or try to contact Ravensbourne, or he could get it over with and follow his inclination — which was to say as little as possible.

“Can you confirm that DC Unwin was murdered?”

“We are treating it as a murder enquiry, yes.” But anyone could have told you that.

“Is there a relationship between the arson attack on the shop where the body was found and the murder?”

You tell me.

The questions continued, pointlessly asking Charlie things he didn’t know, until he lost his temper.

“Look, Unwin was a colleague. We found him this morning and we’ve hardly had time to draw breath since. We don’t know anything yet. Not about Unwin, not about the fire, not about nutters on social media.” He calmed down enough to apologise, and say he had to go back to work, but she was relentless.

“It would be super-helpful if you could be part of the press conference,” she said.

“It would be even more helpful if you would let me get on with my job,” Charlie said and ended the call. Whatever Ravensbourne said, he would eat and then go back to the station, if only to make a list of all the things they still had to do. But first, he needed to ask Patsy a question and then ensure she was being looked after. He went back to the bench and picked up his drink. A sip told him it contained a lot of alcohol, so he put it down again. His head was fuzzy enough already.

“Can I ask you about something,” Charlie said.

Patsy nodded. “Anything, if it helps.” He noticed that her glass was almost empty. Good, it might help her get some sleep.

“Unwin’s sister said that you had, I quote, found out about his other women …” He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

“I had all this with the Chief Super. There weren’t any other women, and if there were, I wouldn’t find out , Unwin would have told me. We’d have talked about it. Non-monogamy doesn’t mean sex with everyone you meet.”

On paper, perhaps. Charlie didn’t want to quiz Patsy about Unwin’s alleged habit of propositioning members of the HQ staff, but he channelled his inner Ravensbourne.

“You do know Unwin had a bit of a reputation …?” he asked.

Patsy blushed red with anger. “According to whom? Don’t answer that. I know. Eddy and Will. Because Unwin liked them both, and he flirted with people he liked. Big fucking deal. He thought I liked Eddy, which I do, as a friend . We talked about it and Unwin backed off. Only Eddy got all bent out of shape, and he won’t let it go.”

Tom coughed, loudly and artificially. Charlie looked up as Eddy’s tall figure stepped out of the back door and came over to the bench.

“I’ve been looking all over for you. Mam insists you come back to ours,” he said to Patsy. His tone left no room for argument. Eddy reached out his hand to help Patsy up and put his arm around her shoulders. He looked at Charlie. “I’ll be in first thing,” he said.

Charlie watched them leave. He felt Tom’s presence and turned. “I have to go back to work,” he said. “I’ll get some sleep there later.”

“You need to eat,” Tom said. “Proper food, not doughnuts.”

Charlie heard his stomach grumble its agreement. “Lead me to it,” he said. Inside, Tom had set the kitchen table with a quiche, cold meat, cheese and salad. “Thanks,” Charlie said, sat down and started eating. After the first few minutes, he noticed Tom hadn’t eaten anything. “You’re not eating?”

“I ate earlier with the girls,” he said. “They’re at a friend’s house. I’ll go and pick them up in a bit.”

Silence fell.

“Can I take some of this with me?” Charlie asked. “Because I need to get going.”

Tom reached over the table and took Charlie’s hand in his own. “This is your home, Charlie, your food. Your Tupperware boxes to put it in. You don’t have to ask. Take whatever you want. But come back tonight. Don’t sleep in the office again. I miss you.”

“I can’t talk about this now,” Charlie said, reclaiming his hand. “I’m going to get a change of clothes to take with me.”

When he got back downstairs, Tom had packed several boxes of food into a cool bag.

“Drink some water, not just endless coffee,” he said as he handed the bag to Charlie. “I’m sorry,” Tom said, though it wasn’t clear what he was sorry about. Charlie kissed his husband briefly on the cheek and took his packages to the car and thence to the police station.

Charlie shouldn’t have been surprised to find Mags in the open office, head thrust forward, reading something on her screen.

“Mags, it’s after your bedtime. And certainly after the baby’s bedtime.”

She turned to him grim-faced.

“I told you. My husband is perfectly capable of taking care of his offspring. I’m needed here. I hope we’ll get more help tomorrow, but for now I thought I’d make a start on these statements.”

“OK,” Charlie said. “Have we heard anything from Ivan Smith, aka the genuine fire investigator?”

“Report on the system.”

He went into his little office and booted up the computer. The electronic files appeared to be breeding rapidly, but he soon found the fire investigator’s report. Its conclusions were exactly the same as the conclusions reached by Jeff Britton — that the fire had been caused by a lid-less petrol can thrown through the shop window, and something to set it alight. The only difference was that the petrol can, or rather its remains, had been identified. There was a picture of something purporting to be the container in question, but which could have been any bit of melted metal and plastic. The next picture was of the un-melted version; the same petrol can he had in the back of his car and the back of every police car he’d ever been in.

“Sarge,” Mags called, and Charlie went out to the main office.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Some of these statements contradict what you and Eddy saw. At first I thought the witnesses were probably drunk, and anyway, you and Eddy are trained observers, but there’s enough agreement for you to have a look.”

Charlie took the chair next to hers, as she scrolled through the statements, mostly taken by Ravensbourne’s three uniformed officers earlier in the day.

There was a police car parked on the corner, and a lady policeman next to it. While I was having a smoke outside the pub, she walked up the road to where that old kebab shop was burnt down.

I didn’t see the fire start but your officer must have done. She was right next to it.

The policewoman either started the fire or tried to stop it. Is she OK? She was very close.

The girl in the police uniform was right by the shop when it went up.

There were others, all saying the same thing in different words.

“Stay here,” Charlie told Mags, and he ran down the stairs to the car park where the patrol car was kept. He popped the boot open. It held the usual paraphernalia: traffic cones, police tape, waterproof and hi-vis jackets. The one thing missing was a standard police issue petrol can.