look like suicide.’
Jacqui said, ‘What?’ and then thought for a few moments. She took a deep breath and set down her tea, and said, ‘I suppose it’s still too early for something a bit stronger.’
A quick look at Google Maps told Holland that Graham Daniels lived no more than a few minutes from the reservoir in which his mother had drowned five weeks earlier. It also confirmed that his work address was only a mile and a half from where Holland was based at the Peel Centre. There and back in an hour, tops. By mid-morning, Kitson was deep into a meeting, so Holland decided to go while he had the chance. The lunch hour would have been marginally less risky, but it made sense to try and get away before the man he was going to see had the chance to disappear in search of his own lunch.
Made sense. Like doing it made any bloody sense at all.
It was a small printing business on a busy stretch of West Hendon Broadway, in a parade of shops between St Patrick’s Roman Catholic Church and Hendon Mosque. There were no customers waiting. A man and a woman were at work behind the counter, so Holland was fairly sure that the man in the
Pleased-2-Print
T-shirt stepping forward to greet him was Graham Daniels. He was tall and balding and his smile revealed teeth that had yellowed near the gums.
Holland showed his warrant card and asked if he could have a chat. The man stopped smiling and stared at him, and Holland said, ‘About your mother.’
Daniels thought about it for a few seconds, then told the young woman, who was busy at a guillotine at the back of the shop, that he would not be gone long.
‘My daughter,’ he said, following Holland out on to the pavement and reaching for cigarettes. ‘Only supposed to be helping out, earning a few quid before she goes to college, but now she reckons she’s enjoying herself so much she might not bother with college at all.’
They walked towards a small café a few doors along. It was dry but windy, and while Daniels struggled to light his cigarette, Holland fastened his jacket to prevent his tie flapping.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘I’m torn, if I’m honest,’ Daniels said. ‘Obviously I want her to go, but it’s great having her around, you know? Her mother certainly wants her to go, mind you, so I probably won’t have a lot of say in it.’
‘Right,’ Holland said, like he knew what Daniels meant.
Once Daniels had finished his cigarette, they found a seat in a quiet-ish corner and Holland bought them both a cup of coffee. As soon as it was laid in front of him, Daniels said, ‘So, what about my mother?’
‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Holland asked.
Daniels looked shocked, then annoyed. ‘Don’t you
know
?’
‘Broadly,’ Holland said. ‘This is a… separate investigation.’
Daniels considered this for a few seconds. He sighed heavily. ‘She walked out of her front door in the middle of the night in her slippers and dressing gown. She walked across a main road and across the field to the Welsh Harp. That’s the Brent reservoir…’
Holland nodded.
‘She took off her slippers and her dressing gown and she… walked into the water.’ He swallowed. ‘They found the dressing gown neatly folded in the mud the next morning. Her slippers were side by side. Then they found her. OK?’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘There was CCTV,’ Daniels said. ‘Bloody everything’s on CCTV these days, isn’t it? Only as far as the field, and they were able to piece the rest together.’ He stared down into his coffee. ‘It wasn’t the easiest thing to watch.’
‘No, I’m sure it wasn’t,’ Holland said.
‘So?’ Daniels picked up his cup, studied Holland across the top of it. ‘Listen, I really don’t want to be away from the shop too long.’
‘Was there anyone else on that footage?’
Daniels blinked. ‘Why would there be?’
‘I just need to make sure.’
‘It was the middle of the night.’
‘Nobody walking
Jacqui said, ‘What?’ and then thought for a few moments. She took a deep breath and set down her tea, and said, ‘I suppose it’s still too early for something a bit stronger.’
A quick look at Google Maps told Holland that Graham Daniels lived no more than a few minutes from the reservoir in which his mother had drowned five weeks earlier. It also confirmed that his work address was only a mile and a half from where Holland was based at the Peel Centre. There and back in an hour, tops. By mid-morning, Kitson was deep into a meeting, so Holland decided to go while he had the chance. The lunch hour would have been marginally less risky, but it made sense to try and get away before the man he was going to see had the chance to disappear in search of his own lunch.
Made sense. Like doing it made any bloody sense at all.
It was a small printing business on a busy stretch of West Hendon Broadway, in a parade of shops between St Patrick’s Roman Catholic Church and Hendon Mosque. There were no customers waiting. A man and a woman were at work behind the counter, so Holland was fairly sure that the man in the
Pleased-2-Print
T-shirt stepping forward to greet him was Graham Daniels. He was tall and balding and his smile revealed teeth that had yellowed near the gums.
Holland showed his warrant card and asked if he could have a chat. The man stopped smiling and stared at him, and Holland said, ‘About your mother.’
Daniels thought about it for a few seconds, then told the young woman, who was busy at a guillotine at the back of the shop, that he would not be gone long.
‘My daughter,’ he said, following Holland out on to the pavement and reaching for cigarettes. ‘Only supposed to be helping out, earning a few quid before she goes to college, but now she reckons she’s enjoying herself so much she might not bother with college at all.’
They walked towards a small café a few doors along. It was dry but windy, and while Daniels struggled to light his cigarette, Holland fastened his jacket to prevent his tie flapping.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘I’m torn, if I’m honest,’ Daniels said. ‘Obviously I want her to go, but it’s great having her around, you know? Her mother certainly wants her to go, mind you, so I probably won’t have a lot of say in it.’
‘Right,’ Holland said, like he knew what Daniels meant.
Once Daniels had finished his cigarette, they found a seat in a quiet-ish corner and Holland bought them both a cup of coffee. As soon as it was laid in front of him, Daniels said, ‘So, what about my mother?’
‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Holland asked.
Daniels looked shocked, then annoyed. ‘Don’t you
know
?’
‘Broadly,’ Holland said. ‘This is a… separate investigation.’
Daniels considered this for a few seconds. He sighed heavily. ‘She walked out of her front door in the middle of the night in her slippers and dressing gown. She walked across a main road and across the field to the Welsh Harp. That’s the Brent reservoir…’
Holland nodded.
‘She took off her slippers and her dressing gown and she… walked into the water.’ He swallowed. ‘They found the dressing gown neatly folded in the mud the next morning. Her slippers were side by side. Then they found her. OK?’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘There was CCTV,’ Daniels said. ‘Bloody everything’s on CCTV these days, isn’t it? Only as far as the field, and they were able to piece the rest together.’ He stared down into his coffee. ‘It wasn’t the easiest thing to watch.’
‘No, I’m sure it wasn’t,’ Holland said.
‘So?’ Daniels picked up his cup, studied Holland across the top of it. ‘Listen, I really don’t want to be away from the shop too long.’
‘Was there anyone else on that footage?’
Daniels blinked. ‘Why would there be?’
‘I just need to make sure.’
‘It was the middle of the night.’
‘Nobody walking
Similar Books
