Night Fall by Frank Smith

where the camera shop was, but the name Billy Travis meant nothing to her, and she was sure she’d never heard her husband mention it.’
    â€˜Didn’t they see the piece in the local paper about Travis?’
    â€˜She said she recalled seeing something about a local man being killed, but the name meant nothing to her.’
    â€˜Did Moreland belong to anything, any organization that might have brought him into contact with Billy Travis?’
    â€˜Not that I could find,’ Molly told him. ‘Dennis Moreland was an ardent golfer for years, but Billy Travis wasn’t; Billy was in the choir at All Saints, but, according to his wife, Dennis Moreland was never in a choir. They attend a different church, though I gather he didn’t go as much as Mrs Moreland and the children. The only other activity Dennis was involved with was the Minster Players, the repertory theatre on Vicarage Walk. He was a volunteer there, working backstage.’
    â€˜Friends, relatives?’ Ormside queried.
    â€˜Parents live in Sheffield, and he has one brother, a teacher, who lives in Cheadle. They have a number of friends, but only three couples they see on a regular basis. It doesn’t look too promising, but if Dennis Moreland was in any sort of trouble he might have confided in one of those, so I have them on my list.’
    Ormside grunted. ‘Promising or not, if it’s all we’ve got, then let’s get on and do it. We’ve spoken to a number of people in Osmond Street, but we didn’t get them all, so we’ll keep going back until we do. There isn’t anyone living within a mile of the quarry, so we’re not going to get anything at that end, which means we’ll have to concentrate on the street. Does Mrs Moreland work?’
    â€˜Apart from scrubbing, cleaning, washing, ironing, shopping, cooking, and looking after the house and the children, you mean, Sergeant?’
    â€˜Don’t be cheeky,’ Ormside admonished sharply, but a hint of a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘You know what I mean, Molly. Does Mrs Moreland work
outside
the home?’
    â€˜No. She runs a quilting course at the Thread Basket in Market Square every now and then, and she’s a volunteer at the local library, but that’s about it.’
    â€˜A quilter?’ Ormside looked thoughtful. ‘The wife used to do that years ago, and I remember her saying some of the best quilters were men. Do you know if there are any men in Mrs Moreland’s classes?’
    â€˜No idea,’ said Molly. ‘Why?’
    â€˜Just a thought,’ Ormside said. ‘Any sign of marital problems?’
    â€˜I think Joan Moreland and her husband were very happily married,’ Molly said. ‘In fact, I think they were a very close family.’
    â€˜Still, best to keep an open mind,’ Ormside said. ‘Granted, even if one of them
was
playing away from home, it may not have anything to do with why Moreland was killed, but it’s still a possible lead, so don’t be too hasty in crossing that possibility off your list.’
    He looked up at the clock. ‘Better get your notes written up and make enough copies for general distribution,’ he said. ‘And make sure you put the highlights on the boards. Tregalles is down at SuperFair market talking to the people Dennis Moreland worked with, so maybe he’ll pick up a lead there. There’s a CCTV camera at the bottom of Osmond Street, and two more in the car park, but we looked at them yesterday and Moreland wasn’t on any of them, so it looks as if he never made it to the bottom of the street, let alone into work.’
    â€˜When will we have the post-mortem results?’
    â€˜Not till Monday, I’m afraid.’
    Molly looked puzzled. ‘I keep wondering how that could happen to someone like Dennis Moreland in Osmond Street. It’s not a long street, and there are houses on both sides.