Chapter 7
The smell of newly mown grass filled the air and several small children played on an activity area as their mothers, deep in conversation, watched, occasionally, from nearby.
“Mister Chapel? DCI Baddeley.” They shook hands.
“Call me Roger, please.” Chapel pointed at the bench and sat down. In his mid-fifties, full head of hair, signs of greying, smart casual; he looked like the sort of man to be found in the bar of a golf club, on a squash court or simply stepping out of a Lexus.
“Thanks for meeting me. I think the other detective who’d been dealing with this got fed up with my phone calls. I take it you’ve read the file or whatever it is you people have these days?” He lit a cigarette and leaned back on the seat.
“It’s all on computer, so they tell me, but somehow we still manage to have an awful lot of paper,” Thurstan smiled then hesitated. “I have to tell you, Roger, first inspection of the records hasn’t rung any massive alarm bells. Being a bit pedantic, there are a few things I would have done, but given the circumstances and the post mortem report there’s nothing unusual about it, other than the case file describes Mister Buchanan as your uncle but there doesn’t appear to be any other blood relatives recorded. Why don’t you give me a bit of background?”
Roger blew out a long stream of smoke as he leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Ok, well we weren’t blood relatives but to me, he was always my Uncle Jack. There are no relatives because he lost them all in the war. He was a Polish Jew. Came here with nothing. He and my Dad met in 1953. They were workmates, on the building sites, down in London.”
“Do you know his original name? It’s not in the report.”
“I don’t. We were never told. He probably told my Dad but he never said anything to us. I only ever knew him as John Buchanan. I think it originated from when he was working for the Army after the war, but I’m not sure.”
“So, how did he end up here, in Liverpool? Was it a recent move?”
A deep inhalation, a shake of his head then more smoke filled the air. “No. In those days, Chief Inspector, you went where the work was and they were practically joined at the hip. At one point they were working in Liverpool. Uncle Jack met a local girl, Rose, her parents died during the war, German air raid. She’d no other family to speak of. They fell head over heels as they say, got married and set up house here.”
He dropped the cigarette to the floor and shuffled his foot over it. “We used to come up during the summer and spend some time with them and they’d do the same with us. Holidays together, Butlins, Pontins, camping in the Lakes and North Wales, that sort of thing. It was a great time. They were a lovely couple but they never had any children, not sure why. It was never spoken about, not in front of us kids, anyway. Then Rose died. Nineteen eighty. Breast cancer. She was only forty-five. It hit Uncle Jack hard. All of us really, but obviously, him the most.” He looked at Thurstan and sat back.
“Anyway, to cut a long story short, after my Mum died, I used to ferry my Dad up here to visit and we’d all go the pub. I’d listen to them reminiscing. You know how it is. When my Dad passed on I felt it was only right that I kept an eye on him, stayed in touch, even brought my kids up to see him. Eventually, the old house was getting a bit too much so I convinced him to sell it and made sure the money was put away in a nice safe savings account so he’d be ok.” He offered a mint. Thurstan declined.
“I got him the flat myself as a thank you for helping me have such a great childhood.” He smiled at the memory. “We were just in the first throws of getting him out to a little pensioner’s bungalow somewhere. He wouldn’t admit it but the stairs were becoming difficult, I think.”
Thurstan nodded understandingly.
“That’s about it Chief Inspector. I’m not sure what else I can tell you.”
Thurstan sat back on the bench. “You said on the phone that the place hasn’t been touched since he died? No problem with the landlord?”
“I am the landlord. The whole house is mine, well, the company’s to be exact. It’s not been touched, yet. I just couldn’t find the motivation to go in and start clearing it. I know I’ve got to, eventually.”
He looked Thurstan directly in the eyes, his face suddenly sad. “The last time I saw him, I can’t put my finger on it but I felt he was very worried, even scared. Initially, before the post mortem, I thought it might be cancer or something but as we both know, he was still pretty healthy.”
Thurstan stood up. “Shall we go over? Which one is it?”
“It’s that one, over there. Next to the one with the for sale sign.”
They crossed the road to the path of a large semi-detached house. Chapel stepped up to the door, keys in hand: “It doesn’t look much but it’s a lot nicer inside.”
They entered into a wide hallway, ornate tiled floor, cream walls with an antique half table upon which sat several letters and a small parcel. An elderly woman stood mopping the floor.
“Hello, Roger, love. Don’t walk on that bit, it’s still wet, use the other side, I haven’t done it yet,” she said.
“Hello Mrs Kelly, just come to take a look at Jack’s flat. This is DCI Baddeley.” Chapel gave her a warm smile. Thurstan nodded.
“Oh! A Policeman! Are you thinking of moving in, love? You’ll like it here, it’s very nice. Call me Elsie.” She had a friendly face.
Chapel put his hand on her shoulder and let out a little laugh. “No, he’s just come to look at one or two things for me. We won’t be long.” He ushered the DCI past.
They followed the stairs to the landing and as they stopped by the first door Thurstan asked, “Are all the flats occupied, Roger?”
“Yep. Elsie and a young couple with a little kiddie downstairs. Alan, across the landing. He’s a diver so he’s away a lot then there’s the young lad living above him, Rob, decent guy, keeps the music down to an acceptable level and there’s Tom in the other flat directly above Uncle Jack. He’s away a lot too. Security industry he says. Ex-Forces.”
They entered directly into the living room with its open plan kitchen and dining area looking out onto the park, through the bay window. To the right: a short corridor, bathroom and toilet off to the left, bedroom opposite.
Thurstan smiled. “Larger than I expected, I have to say.”
“Yeah, they’re not bad. We did the best we could.”
Standing in the bedroom doorway, Thurstan surveyed the room. Fingerprint dust adorned the furniture and the black metal bedstead.
Wandering around, he inspected this and that. “Looks like they’ve been pretty thorough,” he murmured. The bedding and mattress he knew were still in forensics, awaiting final disposal.
A quick look in the bathroom and toilet. More fingerprint residue.
Back in the living room: “It was you that found him, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. He wasn’t answering the phone so I called Elsie. She sees practically everything and hadn’t seen him go out. I was up this way, anyway, in Chorley, so popped over to check.”
He followed the DCI around the room and into the kitchen; tidy with a clean sink, tea towel on the counter next to a mug containing mould grown from the remnants of what was probably tea or coffee.
“Anything strike you as unusual or not as it normally would be, either then or since?”
“What sort of thing?”
“Anything. Something not where you would expect it or something you think doesn’t quite fit. Remember, I’ve not been here before.” Thurstan smiled at him.
“Well, it’s probably nothing as far as you’d be concerned but I did wonder about the cup and the towel. Normally, from my experience, he was quite fussy about tidying up and putting things away but it could’ve just been the pills he’d taken.” Chapel brushed his hand through his hair with a sense of frustration. “Then there’s that glass on the shelf. He always, and I mean always, put them the other way up so that dust didn’t get in them. I’ve seen him get up and turn them over when either me or one of the kids have put them the wrong way round.”
Thurstan rubbed his chin and glanced at the cup. “Was there a glass or a cup next to his bed when you found him?”
Chapel shook his head slowly. “I honestly can’t remember.”
“That’s ok. I’ll check the file again. Did he have any regular visitors that you know of?”
“Not that he ever told me but Elsie mentioned about him meeting an old friend and apparently a young bloke visited him every now and then. Brought him shopping, that sort of thing. You’d best ask her.”
Thurstan looked at his wrist. “Ok. I think we’re done here for the time being. I take it you’ll be in town for a few days more?” Chapel nodded. “Good, I’ll phone you as soon as I can but I think I need to have a CSI go over the living room and kitchen area, fingerprints mainly. It obviously wasn’t done before and I suspect I know why.” He gave Chapel a sympathetic smile. “Come on, Roger, let’s go and have a quick word with Elsie, shall we?”