‘I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of nosy neighbour or anything.’
‘We don’t,’ said Sarah.
Can lie convincingly too, thought Dixon. She’ll go far.
‘I leave the curtains open so Parsnip can look out. There’s a window seat. I watch the telly and he watches the world go by.’
Barks at it, too, for all he’s worth. Still, Monty did his fair share of that, so who was Dixon to criticise?
‘I’ve known Deirdre for years and sort of keep an eye on her. She’s got carers and stuff, but I’ve done odd jobs, fixed her fence, cleared the snow off her path a couple of years ago. Not for money, you understand. Anyway, she’s got a routine, you can set your watch by it: carers, the hairdresser today, postie.’
‘And . . .’ Sarah looked as if she was going to burst.
‘Today there was someone else. About five o’clock. Well, I say about five o’clock; it was three minutes to, I checked. I thought it was her carer arriving a bit early, but then she turned up as usual at six.’
‘Who was it?’ asked Dixon.
‘No idea. It was dark, mind, and the streetlights are down there’ – pointing along the lane. ‘They parked across the drive, used the key safe and went in, so they must’ve known the code.’
‘Male or female?’
‘It’s difficult to tell, these days. And we’re not supposed to judge, are we? How do I know how they identify?’
Dixon ignored the sarcasm. ‘Could you see any features?’
‘No, they had their back to me; coat with a hood up.’
‘How long were they in there for?’
‘Twenty-two minutes.’
‘You checked?’
‘And he wrote it down, Sir,’ said Sarah.
‘You got a full statement?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Good.’ Dixon didn’t want to spend any more time on the doorstep in the sleet than he had to. ‘When this person came out, they’d have been walking towards you,’ he said, turning back to Hardy. ‘Could you see what they were wearing then?’
‘Yeah, the coat was open. A white top, like what the nurses wear. Down to here.’ Hardy was drawing a line across the tops of his thighs with his fingers. ‘Had a pass dangling on a lanyard too, and dark trousers; I thought green, but I might be wrong.’
Sarah was scribbling notes in her notebook. Not a full statement then. ‘That’s an OT’s uniform, Sir,’ she said. ‘An occupational therapist. White tunic and green trousers.’
‘Show him a picture.’
Dixon waited as patiently as he could for Sarah to do a Google Image search on her phone. ‘OT uniform’ did the trick.
‘Yeah, that looks like it,’ said Hardy.
‘And you still couldn’t tell whether they were male or female?’
‘No, sorry. The coat was open, but the hood was up. Seemed in a hurry too.’
‘Any cameras covering the front of your property?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘Motion activated dashcam on your car, perhaps?’
‘Forward facing only, so it’s looking straight at my garage door.’
‘Thank you, Mr Hardy,’ Dixon said. ‘We may need to speak to you again.’
‘Of course, mate. Any time.’
‘Let’s have that carer back here,’ said Dixon, as he passed Cole in the porch of Deirdre Baxter’s bungalow.
‘She said she could come back at ten, Sir.’
‘Now, please.’
Sarah had followed and was standing on a piece of newspaper in the doorway of the living room, watching Dixon stare at Deirdre’s body.
‘Check with the local hospitals, will you?’ he said. ‘See if an OT visit was scheduled for today. The medical centre too.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
