‘Doing well for ninety-four,’ said Louise, as they walked up the short drive to Dixon’s Land Rover. ‘Mind is still sharp. I’m not sure how much further her evidence takes us, though.’
‘It tells us that Deirdre and Michael did know each other, and quite well over a long period of time.’
‘Yeah, but she was adamant the relationship was purely professional.’
‘And how would she have known if it wasn’t?’ replied Dixon. ‘If they were determined to keep it a secret.’
‘I’m glad she’s got somewhere to go. I’ll get uniform to keep an eye on her this afternoon, till her daughter gets here. Did you notice she had no puzzle books or crosswords?’
‘Mind seems sharp enough without them,’ said Dixon, opening the Land Rover door. ‘Let’s get over to Bradford Abbas. Sarah’s meeting us there with the notice Thomas Fowler’s son needs to sign for the exhumation.’
Chapter Eleven
Sarah was waiting for them when Dixon and Louise arrived outside Thomas Fowler’s house in Bradford Abbas, her silver Fiesta parked in the middle of two spaces in the residential street.
‘Shall I get her to move forward a bit?’ asked Louise.
‘Don’t bother.’ Dixon pulled on the handbrake, leaving the back end of the Land Rover sticking out of the drive, blocking the pavement.
‘This is the notice of application and a copy of the petition,’ Sarah said, hardly giving Dixon a chance to get out of the driver’s seat, which was difficult enough being hemmed in by a hedge. ‘There’s a second copy for him to sign to confirm he’s happy with the exhumation. The drafts have gone to the chancellor by email as well.’
‘Shall I wait here?’ asked Louise, leaning across from the passenger seat.
‘The more, the merrier,’ replied Dixon. He flicked through the papers before slotting them back in the envelope.
‘You’ve come mob-handed.’ Thomas Fowler’s son was a small man, balding with long hair at the sides. He looked as if there was a strong wind behind him; either that or he’d just stuck his fingers in an electrical socket. He was holding the front door open. ‘Are you here to arrest me?’
‘I didn’t mention why we needed to see him, I’m afraid, Sir,’ whispered Sarah.
‘Shall we talk inside, Mr Fowler,’ said Dixon.
‘Yes, of course,’ replied Fowler, although it hadn’t been a question.
‘You’ve driven down from Maidenhead?’
‘Yes, but I’ll stay a couple of days now I’m here, and use the opportunity to clear some more junk to the tip. Pops was bit of a hoarder, as you can see.’
A small cottage, but it looked more like the inside of a removal van – a full one.
‘There’s room in here.’ Fowler turned sideways and squeezed through a gap that turned out to be a door.
Dixon followed, Louise and Sarah behind him, finding Fowler leaning back against the kitchen sink.
‘I started with the kitchen and the spare bedroom,’ he said. ‘Gives me somewhere to eat and sleep when I’m staying here. Now’ – he folded his arms – ‘what’s this all about?’
‘It’s your father we need to talk to you about,’ said Dixon.
‘I saw you on the news, didn’t I? Do you think my father was another victim of this . . .’ Fowler was sucking his teeth. ‘That’s impossible.’
‘Difficult,’ replied Dixon. ‘But not impossible. When did he go into the care home?’
Louise and Sarah frowned at each other.
‘End of September. He had one last summer here, but it was getting too much for him really, so we got him into Lower Ham House. The garden was all over the place. I had to get people in.’
‘Tell me about his death.’
‘I got a call from the care home one night to say they’d found him. Someone had been in earlier to check on him, but they’d thought he was asleep and just left him. It wasn’t until he didn’t go down to have supper that they checked him again, and that wasn’t until about nine or so. Useless bloody lot, and you wouldn’t believe how much it cost.’ Fowler looked up sharply. ‘God, you’re asking to dig him up, aren’t you?’
‘There was no post mortem done.’
‘He was nearly ninety.’
‘But otherwise in good health?’
‘I suppose. I saw him the weekend before and he seemed fine. My wife and I came down on the Sunday and took him out for lunch. He wasn’t on any medication, which is pretty damn good for someone of that age; a bit forgetful, perhaps, and frail. He was starting to lose his balance and then he’d topple over, hit things on the way down. I’d got called to Yeovil Hospital a couple of times, so we decided enough was enough.’
‘So, it’s fair to say his death wasn’t expected.’
‘Not imminently, no.’
Dixon tried a comforting smile. ‘His body will be taken to Musgrove Park Hospital, where a Home Office pathologist will perform a post mortem.’
‘And then he’ll be reburied?’
‘If no evidence of foul play is found then he’ll be reinterred at the earliest opportunity in the family plot.’
‘What if he was murdered?’
