handed her warrant card over. The old man studied it far more closely than the receptionist had. “Especially around here.” Hazel said deliberately.
“What do you mean by that?” He pretty much shoved the warrant card back at her.
“Are all your employees criminals?” Hazel said, “Not counting the women in reception.” It was possible they might have been criminals also and Hazel hadn’t known them. Certainly the two men in the van and the four others working in the main building were known to the police. Mostly for petty crime.
“You might say we give people a second chance, Sergeant Vernon. Sort of recycle their lives you might say.” He gave her a malicious smile, “I’d like to see his identification as well.” Softwood looked to Price. Hazel mentally kicked herself. The man might be getting on but he was no fool.
Price had to hand over his warrant card for the same close inspection. Hazel was very unhappy about this. She didn’t mind Softwood knowing she was from Elm Street, but Price’s ID would make it clear he was from Dransfield.
“Bit out of your way, aren’t you, Constable Price?” Softwood said, dashing the vain hope that he’d not noticed. “I haven’t been to Dransfield in years.” Hazel didn’t like the sudden change of tone to friendly and casual.
“We’d like to speak to Charlie Harris.” She said, a bit hurriedly.
“I hope you know a good medium then.” Softwood said, “He’s been dead for eight…going on nine years now. Changed the company signs from light green to dark green when he died. Poor Charlie.” He didn’t sound very upset but then eight years was a long time and Softwood didn’t strike her as the sentimental sort.
“His son.” Hazel said.
“Oh.” Softwood said, “You should have said.”
Hazel hadn’t thought there was any good reason to specify which Charlie Harris as the senior was long dead.
“What’s he done?” Softwood said.
“I take it you don’t read the newspapers.” Hazel said.
“There’s I don’t know how many tonnes of newspapers out there. I see so many of the things in my working day I don’t need to read what’s in them. What are you claiming young Charlie has done?”
How much the old man really knew was open to question, but Hazel thought he knew exactly what was going on. She said, “He’s got himself into trouble with a group of very bad men. The Symes brothers.”
To give the old man credit he never blinked. His face was a complete blank. It looked a natural blank as well. If she’d not seen how many villains he had working for him Hazel would have believed him when he said, “Who’s that?”
“He’s a bad man.” Hazel said, playing along. “He took over from Charlie Warren a few months ago.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Softwood said in a voice that would have convinced any jury. “But young Charlie is a good boy really.”
No he’s not, Hazel thought, He’s a bastard with a string of convictions ranging from petty theft to car crime to GBH. Young Charlie is too keen with a knife and his fists. He’s not a good boy but he is a very stupid one. “You’ve known him a long time then?”
“Oh yeah. I knew his father. And his mother, lovely woman she was, A teacher you know. Very refined.”
Hazel didn’t know and was determined to find out because she had no intention of believing anything this old reprobate told her. “Is she still alive?”
“No that was a terrible thing. She died soon after he was born. Cancer it was. Breast cancer, I think,” He shook his head. “Terrible it was. She lingered for a bit and then went. Lovely funeral she had. All her friends were there.”
“You knew her friends, Mr Softwood?”
“Eh?”
“Ms. Harris’ friends. You knew them?”
“No, not me. I don’t travel in those refined circles.”
Hazel knew quite a few teachers and refined wasn’t a word she’d use to describe them. “What was her name?”
“Mrs Harris.”
“Yes, what was her name.”
“Mrs Harris.” Softwood said again with a straight face. Hazel knew very well the old man was playing his game with her. He also knew she knew. But he also knew that she wasn’t going to do anything about it because he was a small, elderly man, who looked much more frail than he really was. Hazel suspected he was strong and wiry and very robust underneath his old man act.
“Did she have a first name?”
“Who?” Did she just catch the merest glimpse of a crafty smile? It might have been her imagination. But then he was, very clearly, enjoying this whole encounter.
“Did Mrs Harris have a first name?”
“Oh yes, she did.” He nodded firmly. He gave her a small smile.
“May I know what it was, Mr Softwood? May I know what Mrs Harris’ first name was?” Hazel wasn’t going to let him get to her. She spoke calmly and casually, as if she were unaware of his deliberate unhelpfulness.
“Susan.” He said, “Her name was Susan Harris.”
“Thankyou.”
“Well you only had to ask.” He said, smiling at her. His teeth were neat, even clean, and very likely false. “Or was it Sarah?”
Now even Price looked up from his notebook. He’d already written Susan Harris down. He slowly wrote Sarah and put a question mark after it.
Softwood waited until he had finished writing, “It might have been Sandra.”
“We’ll find out.” Hazel said, closing down this part of the game.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged slightly.
“Where is Charlie Harris….”
“I just told you…”
“The one that isn’t dead.” Hazel said, “Your former partner’s son. Where is he, Mr Softwood?”
“I dunno. I see him at Christmas and his birthday….sometimes….Maybe he went abroad.”
“He didn’t go abroad.” Hazel said.
“Didn’t he?” The old man looked convincingly blank. “Well wherever he is he’ll be with some blonde.”
“Which blonde?” Hazel said.
He shrugged again, “The world was full of blondes for young Charlie. So many blondes.”
“Such as who?” Hazel said, “Who was his latest blonde?”
“I
