‘What’s the postcode?’
He stayed silent, hoping it might shut down the conversation.
‘One-point-seven-five. Seven bedrooms, gym and an indoor pool. The garden backs on to the golf course.’
‘And what would you do with all of that?’ he asked. ‘There’s only you, your husband and Katie.’
‘I’m not saying I’d want it. I’m just interested, that’s all.’
‘Why?’
Louise hesitated, clearly having to think about an answer. ‘I don’t know really. Everybody’s interested in houses, aren’t they? Especially other people’s houses.’
‘Nosy, then.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
Hopefully that would put an end to the tedious property speculation; for a while anyway. Dixon had forgotten just how irritating the whole process of buying a house was. Six months spent in the conveyancing department as a trainee solicitor had been bad enough, but now he was experiencing it for himself, from the other end – buying the small cottage opposite the Red Cow that he and Jane rented.
If the bloody solicitors take too much longer, interest rates will have gone up again.
‘How’s your purchase going?’ asked Louise.
‘Slowly.’
Dixon followed Small into a driveway on the right, the front garden gravelled over for parking. He counted seven cars.
‘There are eight flats, which tells you how big the place is.’ Louise hadn’t got the message. ‘Upstairs would’ve been for the staff. Someone’s holiday home back in the day, I expect.’
Bay windows, two balconies; loft conversions, judging by the dormer windows.
Small had parked his car and appeared at the driver’s door of the Land Rover just as Dixon climbed out. ‘Michael Allam had one of the garden flats, with its own entrance around the side. I’ll show you.’
They followed Small along the path at the side of the building, past flowerbeds packed with neatly pruned roses.
‘I dread to think what the service charges are,’ said Louise.
Small stopped in front of a door and began sorting through a set of keys. ‘There’s a bit of bad news, I’m afraid,’ he said, inserting a key in the lock. ‘We rang the daughter to let her know what’s been going on and she’s driving down from Sunderland, apparently; wants to speak to the man in charge.’ He turned the key and the door swung open. ‘Don’t envy you that one, I’m afraid. She’s a right pain in the arse, complaining about this and that. She’s even threatened to make a formal complaint to the IOPC.’
Things were looking up. Another run-in with the Independent Office for Police Conduct.
‘The poor old bugger moved down here from Somerset to be near his daughter,’ continued Small, ‘and she promptly ups sticks and moves to Sunderland.’
Four large bin liners, each tied at the top, were lined up along the wall in the hall.
‘Then, he’s only been dead a couple of days and she’s down here clearing out his stuff and cleaning the place. She’d already been on to an estate agent, as well. It would serve her bloody well right if he’d changed his will and left it all to the cats’ home.’
A nice thought. Dixon had drafted a few wills like that in his time as a trainee solicitor.
‘Have you seen his will?’
‘A copy. It’s just a straight split between his two daughters. The other one married an American and lives in Atlanta.’
‘What’s in these bags?’ Dixon asked.
‘That’s the daughter tidying up. His clothes had already gone to a local charity shop. These are just rubbish that we retrieved from the recycling bin. Forensics went through them and it’s all in their report,’ replied Small. ‘I’m arranging for you to have system access.’ He picked up some junk mail off the doormat and left it on the radiator cover. ‘It’ll be done by the time you get back to Express Park.’
Dixon handed Louise a pair of latex gloves.
‘You won’t need those,’ said Small. ‘We’ve finished in here.’
‘Force of habit,’ said Dixon, snapping on the gloves anyway. ‘There’s no key safe.’
‘He was able to answer the door, according to his daughter. It took him a while, but he got there in the end.’
‘So, he answered the door to whoever killed him.’
‘He did.’
‘Living room’s through here.’ Small pushed open the door with his foot, both hands thrust deep into his pockets. ‘This is where he was found. That chair over there.’
An L-shaped room, the back windows looking out over a patio, a white painted metal table and chairs just beyond the patio doors. A television in the corner, three armchairs and a sofa; oddly tidy, but then the daughter had seen to that.
‘He had a table by his chair, but it’s gone back to the mobility people already,’ said Small. ‘A walking frame too, and there were other bits and pieces: a grab rail for the bed, stuff like that. A bit like your Mrs Baxter.’
‘She wouldn’t have wanted them in the estate agent’s photographs, Sir,’ said Louise.
‘How long was it between Mr Allam being found and the post mortem?’ asked Dixon. It was an embarrassing question for Small, possibly, but that was just tough.
