“How long will this take, do you think?” Derek asked, his glance passing between the two of them.
“Not long,” Ray said, his tone completely non-committal. Derek said nothing, instead he started to take off his boots, so Ray went on. “You were working last night. Left at a little after half past ten?”
“That’s right.”
“That a normal time for someone in your position to leave?”
“Yes. Believe it or not, I don’t care to be here anymore than the rest of them.” Derek stood as he spoke, taking the boots to underneath where his coat hung and putting them down, picking up a pair of black lace-up shoes and returning to his chair.
“So, who was in charge?”
“That would be Garry Wise.”
“He someone you trust?”
“No.” Derek shook his head. “I don’t trust a single one of them. Too many opportunities for them to make a quick quid around here. But of all of them, he’s probably the most cowardly, which makes him the least likely to get involved with the sort of people who would want him to steal.”
“Might make him more susceptible to pressure from those sorts of people,” Joseph pointed out.
“I would imagine it would also make him more susceptible to the threat of a stretch inside and, given that most of the sorts we have ferreting around here don’t take too kindly to snitches, I’m sure he’s not their ideal sort of target,” Derek sneered back at Joseph, making him wish he’d never spoken up.
“Was Gerald Trainer still here when you left?” Ray said, trying to wrestle back control.
“I think so.”
“Only think? That surprises me.”
“This is a big place. I don’t do a roll call when I leave. No. I saw him about a half hour before, down in the east warehouse. He were doing the usual: much of nothing. Leant up the door having a cigarette, watching the water.”
“He do that a lot?”
“Gerald weren’t bothered about working and he was even less bothered about being told off for it.”
“I bet that irritated you.”
“Drove me mad.”
“Did you say anything to him?”
“I did. I told him one day there’d be a statue of him leaning there and no one would know any different.”
“What did he say to that?”
“That he always thought he deserved a statue, cocky bastard. They always are, aren’t they? Always got that chip on their shoulder.”
“What did you say after that?”
“Nothing. I learned quite quickly that arguing with Gerald was what he wanted you to do. Kind of like a sport to him. You could tell he enjoyed it. He would work his hardest then, that’s for sure. And it didn’t matter who was right, that wasn’t the point. He wanted to make you angry and say something he could hold over you. Some people fell foul of it. Told him what he really was, where he really belonged, but of course then he had them. ‘You called me a what?’” Derek mocked a West Indian accent as he spoke. “‘You best not be wanting me to say dat to da boss man.’ Like it was his get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“Surprises me he still had a job. How long had he been here?”
“Gerald and a few others of his ilk showed up about two years back if I recall. If it were down to me, he wouldn’t have. But he had a charm, and when the managers are on site, oh, you best believe he’s a model worker. Yes, sir. No, sir. Three bags full, sir.”
“You really didn’t like him, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. And when you find the fellow who did for him, before you lock him up, do me a favour and let me buy him a pint first.”
Derek didn’t have much more to offer. They walked him back through his story a couple more times, taking different angles each time, probing it to ensure what he said tallied each time. His alibi left a bit to be desired, being a widower who lived alone. He’d had a couple of drinks after work then headed home well before the murder happened. Not that anyone could vouch for that.
“What do you make of him?” Ray asked Joseph whilst they awaited their next interviewee.
“He’s got motive,” Joseph offered.
“Yes, he certainly wasn’t shy about how much he disliked our victim.”
“Or his creed.”
“No. Almost came on a little too strong about that. Makes you wonder how the two of them could have co-existed.”
*
Joseph and Ray continued to hold court in Derek Nadderley’s hut. Robert Smith spoke with them next. He sauntered in, sitting opposite them, removing the cap from his head and wiping sweat from his brow as he did so. A busy morning on the docks, made even busier by the team being a man down.
“I didn’t care for him,” he began, before adding by way of excuse, “but that doesn’t mean I wanted the man dead. Didn’t deserve that.”
He lit a cigarette and talked with it perched between his lips, telling them how he had been a part of the team since before Gerald had joined. He made no attempt to hide his annoyance at Gerald taking the role above him.
“I don’t get that,” he sighed, the smoke trickling about between his lips as he did so. “Why do you bring someone in, someone who ain’t from around here, and give them the job above people who live and breathe in this area? That ain’t how it should be. I mean, no disrespect to them, I get it, everyone has to live and all, but there’s people around here who gave a lot for this place, for this country, and they still get passed over for them who are fresh off the boat, if you get what I mean.”
