‘The suitcase is very dusty,’ DI Morgan continued. ‘It’s covered with cobwebs all around the base, but the rest of the room isn’t too bad.’ He looked around. ‘It is dusty in here, but I can’t see any cobwebs.’
They both looked up at the same time and saw the hatch to access the roof above them. ‘Do you think the old man brought the suitcase down from the loft?’ Karen suggested. ‘The exertion may have brought on a dizzy spell or made him feel light-headed, which led to his fall.’
‘It’s a good theory,’ DI Morgan said, looking up at the hatch above them. ‘Shall we take a look?’
At that moment Darren Webb, the crime scene manager, appeared in the doorway. ‘I’m sorry, DI Morgan. I’ll have to ask you to wait until the team have photographed the loft before you go up there.’
DI Morgan held up his hands. ‘Of course, sorry. I wasn’t thinking. How are you getting on with the rest of the house? Anything interesting?’
Darren motioned towards the stairs. ‘Yes, we’ve found something in the kitchen that I think you’ll both be very interested in.’
DI Morgan followed him out of the room, and Karen turned to say goodbye to Raj.
‘Thanks, Raj. When do you think you’ll have more answers for us?’
Raj pulled a face. ‘It’s not going to be an easy one, Karen. I’m going to need to take my time and make sure I don’t ruin any evidence. The body has been curled up in this position for a long time. I’m not even sure I’m going to be able to give you a cause of death. But, luckily for you, my caseload is light at the moment.’
Karen smiled. ‘If you find anything, don’t wait to file the full report. Just give me a call, okay?’
Raj nodded, and then his gaze flickered back to the body.
Downstairs, Karen joined DI Morgan and Darren Webb in the kitchen. They both wore serious expressions and were studying something on the kitchen counter.
Karen stepped forward, peering around DI Morgan. It was a note printed in a large font on a plain sheet of A4 printer paper. The paper was creased in three places where it had been previously folded. That was innocuous enough, but the message made Karen catch her breath.
It read:
It’s time to pay for your crime.
CHAPTER THREE
It was midday by the time Karen and DI Morgan left Albert Johnson’s house and crossed the road to speak to his nearest neighbours. They had attempted to talk to the officers who had found the body, but the two men had already returned to the station. Apparently, they were still very shaken up. DI Morgan looked displeased with the news, and the poor uniformed officer beside the crime scene tape had been very apologetic, even though it wasn’t his fault. He told them PC Montgomery had already been sick twice, and, finally, DI Morgan softened a little and agreed to find them at Nettleham headquarters later.
The mist had finally disappeared, and it was starting to feel like spring. Blackbirds and wrens sounded alarm calls as they darted in and out of the hedgerows. No other buildings could be seen around the two properties. There was nothing but fields, and an occasional ash tree dotting the landscape.
‘I’m surprised it’s so isolated,’ DI Morgan commented. ‘We’re not that far from the centre of Skellingthorpe.’
Karen nodded, but she was deep in thought. The note found in Albert Johnson’s kitchen had set her nerves on edge. She’d come to the scene working on the assumption that this was an old case, possibly an accidental death or a murder that had been covered up for decades.
The most likely perpetrator, Albert Johnson, was an old man who was now in Lincoln County Hospital, no threat to anyone, but what they’d discovered suggested a different perspective.
The note hadn’t looked old. The paper was pristine and white, with no signs of yellowing with age. She wondered if this case was really as cold as she’d thought. Had Albert fallen, or had he been pushed?
‘If we work on the assumption that Albert Johnson recently brought the case down from the loft, do you think he was trying to move the body?’ she asked.
DI Morgan considered that, then said, ‘Maybe he panicked when he got the note and wanted to hide the body somewhere less incriminating.’
‘It must have smelled really bad a few years back,’ Karen said, wrinkling her nose. ‘How could he have lived with the stink?’
DI Morgan stopped by the garden gate and paused. ‘From the state of the suitcase, it looked like it had been in the loft for a while, but not necessarily since the victim’s death. He could have kept the body elsewhere or even buried it for a time. Hopefully, Raj will be able to give us a better idea when he’s done with the post-mortem.’
Karen thought for a moment. ‘The note . . . It must mean someone else knows about the body.’
‘That’s if the note was referring to the body. It’s time to pay for your crime could be directed at something else entirely.’
It could also mean that Albert Johnson’s life was in danger. If he had been attacked or pushed down the stairs, the perpetrator could try again. They’d need to organise an officer to keep watch over the old man in hospital.
Karen looked up at the neighbour’s house. It was a small detached property, very similar in style to Albert Johnson’s house. The front door was at the side, and at the front of the house were two large bay windows. The garden was well maintained, and there was a pretty lilac tree that would be coming into blossom in a month or so. All the flowerbeds were neatly tended. The spent daffodil leaves had been tied up neatly, and it made Karen think of her own garden that had been woefully neglected over the past few months.
‘How do we play this one, sir?’ Karen asked.
‘We’ll tell them the bare minimum. We don’t want anything getting out if we can help it. The last thing we want is the press getting wind of the story. It’s just the type of news item that would run and run.’
Karen shrugged. ‘We might need their help. As the murder was committed a long time ago, the press running a few stories could jog people’s memories and generate some leads.’
‘Hopefully it won’t come to that. Today’s visit is all about gathering background. We need to find out if he had a wife and family, and if so, what happened to them. We’ll just tell the neighbours he had a fall and we’re making sure it was an accident. And if it wasn’t an accident, we don’t want to let on how much we know this early in the investigation.’
‘Right,’ Karen said as she raised her hand to press the doorbell. It made sense to ask after Albert’s family.
The door was opened by a short woman with dark, grey-streaked hair. She’d had it cut in a chin-length style, but it seemed to have a natural kink. It wasn’t quite curly but flicked up at an awkward angle around her jawline. Her eyes were wide, and she gave them a nervous smile.
Karen judged her to be in her late fifties or early sixties.
‘Good morning, sorry to disturb you. I’m DI Morgan, and this is my colleague, DS Karen Hart. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Albert Johnson.’
‘Of course, come in. I’m Maud, Maud Kennedy,’ the woman said, stepping back.
The hallway was narrow and dark, not helped by the densely patterned wallpaper. A marmalade cat meowed plaintively and zigzagged in front of Maud as she walked.