as you can see, the Exiteers say they do not provide the instrument of death. In this case, the nitrous oxide. Do you know where Skipper got it from?’
‘No. Have you asked him?’
‘We will be speaking to him in a minute,’ she nodded. ‘Was there anything unusual about this morning, Reggie? Anything different?’
‘Not that I can think of. I had breakfast and fed the dog and said goodbye to Skip and went to work.’
‘You didn’t say goodbye to your father?’
‘He was still asleep.’
‘Are you sure?’
Reggie nodded. ‘He breathes loud.’
‘I see there’s an oxygen tank in his room. How long has he been using that?’
‘About a year,’ said Reggie. ‘Has it upstairs and downstairs.’ He gestured across the room to where a large black tank stood on a trolley beside the sofa.
‘Reggie, can you think of any reason someone would want to hurt Albert?’
‘No.’ For the first time, Reggie Cann looked truly upset. He stopped talking and King handed him a tissue so he could wipe his eyes and loudly blow his nose.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘We have to ask the question.’ She waited for him to compose himself and when he appeared to have done so, she went on. ‘But if you don’t feel anyone would have wanted to hurt your father then it could be that these Exiteers simply made a mistake. Somehow gave the gas to the wrong person and then panicked and left this case behind. What do you think? Is that possible?’
‘I suppose so,’ he shrugged. ‘I don’t know how, though. I mean, it’s a pretty bloody big mistake to make!’
‘It is.’ King nodded and closed her notebook. ‘Thank you, Reggie. I’ll be back to speak to your grandfather in a minute.’
She got to her feet and Reggie looked up at her anxiously. ‘Is Skipper in trouble? I mean, it’s not a crime to kill yourself, is it?’
‘No, it’s not,’ said Kirsty King. She hesitated, then said, ‘But, of course, he didn’t die . . .’
Calvin and Pete followed DCI King outside.
‘What do you think?’ said King quietly.
‘I think his cleaner’s ripping him off,’ Pete snorted. ‘Place looks like it’s been burgled!’
King raised her eyebrows and turned to Calvin, who hesitated. He felt bad that he’d broken the news of Albert Cann’s death to his son the way he had, and decided to cut him some slack. ‘I think he’s very shaken up.’
‘Understandably,’ King nodded, ‘but we’ll check his story anyway. I don’t think the old man arranged this by himself.’
She looked at her watch. ‘First things first – let’s try to find the caller. The techs should be able to triangulate it but it would be nice if we could get a head start from an eyewitness. You and Pete knock up the neighbours. There’s only a few houses so it shouldn’t be hard to narrow it down. Start with Jean over the road.’
There were only six houses in Black Lane – three either side. The house directly opposite boasted a picket line of gnomes standing shoulder-to-shoulder along the front edge of the lawn. There had been no attempt to arrange them in suitable locations. Those that fished, fished for ants, those that dug, dug pavement. One focused a telescope into the pointy ear of his neighbour.
‘I’ll take the gnomes,’ said Pete, as Calvin had known he would, so he went to the immediate neighbours. The squat woman who opened the door looked vaguely familiar.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Hello, Calvin!’
It took Calvin a moment before the penny dropped. ‘Hello, Mrs Moon!’
Just a few hundred yards from this very spot, Marion Moon’s husband, Donald, had climbed over a gate in a lay-by and stepped on to a murdered woman’s face.
‘How are you and Mr Moon?’
‘Can’t complain, Calvin, and yourself?’
‘Can’t complain.’
‘We heard you broke up with Shirley.’
Calvin blinked in surprise. That was the thing he hated about being a copper in a small town. People he hardly knew knowing things about him that he’d rather they didn’t.
‘Got a couple of quick questions, if you don’t mind, Mrs Moon?’
Her face clouded over and she leaned in and whispered, ‘Police business?’
He nodded.
‘Because Donald’s not up to it,’ she went on. ‘Standing on that woman, you see? It knocked him for six. And then just as he was getting back, one of the sheep broke his leg and that knocked him for another six and he had to retire and sell that little bit of land we’d kept because it was all too much, and move here, and Donald doesn’t like being in the town, you see, and his nerves are terrible, and he’s just getting over a chest infection, so I don’t think he’s up to much.’
‘Of course,’ said Calvin, reeling from the litany of disasters that had befallen Donald Moon since he’d stood on Frannie Hatton’s face. It was too tangled to even start to unravel, so he just pressed on, lowering his own voice in consideration of Donald Moon’s nerves. ‘We had a call from a lady earlier today about two people who were seen going into the Canns’ house. Was it you who called?’
‘Not me,’ said Mrs Moon. ‘I didn’t see anybody.’
Calvin considered for a moment, then asked, ‘Might I ask Mr Moon if he noticed anyone?’
Marion pursed her lips.
‘It’s really very important. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.’
She sighed, and Calvin followed her through a dark hallway and into the back room, where Donald Moon sat in a chair by the window with a pair of binoculars in his lap. He’d lost weight and looked ten years older than he had three years ago.
‘You remember Calvin, Donald!’
‘Calvin?’ Donald Moon looked up vaguely. ‘No.’
‘From the police. Remember?’
‘Oh, the police,’ he said, and didn’t smile.
Calvin put on his best cheerful voice. ‘Hello, Mr Moon, nice to see you again.’
‘Mm,’ said Donald.
‘Sounds like you’ve had a bit of a tough time of it since we last met.’
‘Could say that.’
‘Sorry to hear it, sir. But I wondered if you might be able to help me. There were a couple of strangers
