Before Ethel could move on, Jenna snatched her opportunity. ‘Shenanigans?’ Was the man having an affair?
‘Ugh.’ Ethel shook her head and sucked in her cheeks, so the flaccid skin sank inwards, forming wrinkled craters to make her face skeletal. ‘Shooting. Shooting. All the time, the man was obsessed with shooting.’
As unobtrusively as possible, Jenna jotted down notes, taking care to keep eye contact with the old lady as much as possible. Gordon Lawrence. Did he have a firearms certificate? Something to check on. ‘What did he shoot, Ethel?’
Her breath crackled in the back of her throat as she wheezed out a bitter laugh. ‘Anything that damned well moved, I would imagine.’
‘Did you ever see him shooting anything?’
‘No, but I heard. The sound would carry over to our house when the wind was in our direction. Some days it was as if he was in our own back garden.’
The man obviously liked his guns. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be an issue in Shropshire. So many farmers and country dwellers had gun licences but they used their firearms for shooting foxes that encroached on their land, or birds that threatened their chickens. What he did sounded like target practice.
She looked back up at Ethel. ‘How often did he shoot things?’
‘Daily.’
Surprised at the quick comeback, Jenna scratched the side of her nose with the end of her pen. ‘Did you ever report him?’
‘Whatever for?’
‘Disturbance of the peace.’
Ethel shrugged. ‘Would there have been any point? Everyone shoots around here, it was more a matter of how much he shot. The frequency, the length of time.’
‘Do you know if he was allowed to keep guns?’ It wouldn’t take her very long to establish if he was a registered keeper of firearms, a quick call, but that was for later. The priority now was to find out what had happened to the family. Were they in the house? Had they gone elsewhere for the evening? Until she knew, her hands were tied. They needed cold, hard facts. In the meantime, gathering information on the family didn’t harm. With her police officer’s instinct, Jenna knew that the best knowledge gathered was often when it appeared you were having a casual chat. A little nudge and a myriad of information spilled out.
‘Oh, he was allowed. He boasted about his gun collection loud and often, when he wasn’t firing it, that was.’ Ethel jiggled about on the narrow cot bed, getting into her subject matter. ‘Obnoxious man, made those poor children fire the guns too, I believe.’
This did not sound good. The more she heard, the more uncomfortable Jenna became. It may only be one old lady blowing off steam because she didn’t appreciate the disturbance from her neighbour, but no police officer worth their salt ignored that little itch that told them something wasn’t quite right.
Jenna tilted her head to one side. She didn’t have the data on the children yet, but she would and it would be another line to follow if the children were under the age of fifteen. Under that, legally they weren’t allowed to handle a firearm, even under supervision, let alone shoot one. Why the hell would anyone allow a child to shoot a gun? ‘Did you see the children firing the guns?’
‘No.’
Damn. She’d come to investigate a fire, a possible arson, not a whole host of firearms offences, but she’d still pick at it. ‘How did you know, Ethel? What made you think the children fired guns too?’
‘Because my great-grandchildren, Emma and Joseph told me. They come over for cake and tea every Thursday afternoon.’ Warm pride softened her voice. ‘Emma’s in Rainbows with the twins. Oh, I forget their names, but sweet little ones.’ She tapped her wrinkled forehead as though she could persuade the names from her mind. ‘They sometimes come over to join Emma and Joseph. My Joseph is thirteen, he said the older lad, ooh, he’s a bit older than Joseph, wasn’t keen on shooting and the girls have to watch.’ Her eyes brightened. ‘Talisha and Geraldine. Nice girls.’ She raised the oxygen mask to her face and sucked in a couple of lungfuls before she continued. ‘Joseph said they didn’t like to see the rats’ guts splattered up the stable yard. The squirrels were even worse. Said it gave them earache and made their chests burn from the inside.’ Her eyes turned cool. ‘Joseph seemed to think it would be good to have a go. But there’s no way he’s allowed over there. Irresponsible if you ask me.’
Discomfort stirred in the pit of Jenna’s stomach. She wasn’t there to investigate the inappropriate use of firearms by a potentially dead man, but her ethics, training and natural curiosity all got the better of her. Nosiness was one of the most important attributes to have as a police officer. It may only be gossip they listened to, but it was often the gossip, if you cared to listen, that had a ring of truth about it.
‘Did you see much of the family?’
‘Not really.’
‘How old are the twins?’
‘Our Emma is…’ she screwed up her face. ‘Oh, my memory isn’t what it used to be.’ Ethel didn’t appear to have anything wrong with her memory. ‘Emma is eight, so the twins would be around that age. They were in the same year at school. Not that they go to the same school. They’re at that posh, private school in Shrewsbury. You know. Ummm. Prestfelde.’
‘Isn’t there another child?’
Ethel frowned. ‘Yes. The eldest girl goes to Shrewsbury Girls’ High. Quiet. Sweet. She comes to collect the twins sometimes. Her mum’ll stay in the car if she brings her, or sometimes on a good day, she walks across the fields. I’ve seen her with some older girls occasionally in Much Wenlock. Nice little group. Sophie and Olivia something or other. They go to the Girls’ school too.’
Circling around, little connections, Jenna wrote Sophie and Olivia’s names down. She’d definitely be going back to them for some more information.
‘You say older girls. How old is the daughter, Poppy, isn’t it?’
‘Poppy. That’s right. She must be sixteen. I know Sophie is a bit older, just passed her driving test, so I heard. Parents bought her a brand new little car.’ Ethel’s mouth twisted with disapproval. ‘We used to have to earn anything we had. These days, it seems they’re just given things. It doesn’t give them any respect, these children. No respect for property or value for money, I’m sure.’
Jenna’s spine creaked as she straightened the curve of it and jotted down a couple more notes. She needed to get Ethel back on track, but before she could draw breath, the old lady rattled on.
‘Of course, I expect he…’ she jerked her chin in the direction of the burning house. ‘…will buy his children bigger and better cars. Just to show he can.’
The picture Jenna was building of Mr Lawrence wasn’t a favourable one. More important was whether the family were alive or not. None of the information Ethel was imparting was of particular relevance currently, but it could be.
Jenna tapped the nib of her pen on the notebook.
Ethel wasn’t going anywhere. They knew where she lived. Jenna could always come back to her if the need arose, but right now, she had the basics and she needed to get along, find out more. Ethel was a great source of information, but the immediate requirement was to establish if there were any survivors.