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Degsy pulled away from the kerb as Thurstan clicked his seat belt into place.
“Back to the Office Derek, I think.”
Looking idly out of his window as the world slipped past, he eventually said: “Well? Anything?”
The DS stole a glance at him. “No. Nothing in the bathroom to indicate he’s staying there and when she went back downstairs I took a quick look through the rooms.” He paused as he negotiated his way around the vehicles in front. “He may well have stayed there at some time, but I couldn’t see anything to make me feel he’s there now.” He accelerated hard and slid the gears from second to fourth. “No photos out either.”
“There was an old photo of him in the living room from when he was in the firearms team. I managed to get it on my phone. Must’ve been taken almost twenty years ago.” Thurstan hesitated. “I think we need to get his passport and driving licence pics. Probably the most recent photos we’re going to get at the moment. When was his passport issued?”
Degsy was silent as he checked his mirror, signalled and overtook several cars. “Six years ago now, and he used it on his DL when he renewed it last year.”
“Parent’s address as usual I take it?” Thurstan looked at his colleague for confirmation. Degsy just nodded then said: “What do you think of the parents, Boss?”
Thurstan took out a battered half packet of chewing gum from the inside pocket of his jacket, picked off a piece of fluff and briefly offered the packet to Degsy who felt it safer to decline. He popped a piece into his mouth and started chewing.
“I don’t know. They seem decent enough people. I think broadly speaking they’re telling us the truth, or what they believe to be the truth, but Nickson seems to be very cautious for someone who’s a simple ‘personal security consultant’. I can’t help feeling there’s something they’re not telling us though.”
They sat in silence for the rest of the journey; Thurstan deep in thought. He’d been through the file on the Nicksons' neighbour in great detail. His criminal record, the case file on his death, neighbours’ witness statements, Coroner’s, the lot. There were no unaccounted fingerprints, DNA or unusual fibres. Nothing. The Pathologist’s report concluded the cause of death was wholly consistent with the Police evidence that, whilst heavily under the influence of cannabis and alcohol, he’d fallen down the stairs after tripping on his undone shoelace.
He’d obtained Nicks' service record with minimum paperwork by exploiting an SIB friend who now worked at the Service Police Crime Bureau. There was nothing in it to indicate Nicks had any military training which would have provided him with the skills to break a man’s neck. It was a fairly unremarkable record. Three years regular service in West Germany, 11 with a TA Provost Company in Manchester followed by 5 years with the TA SIB unit. That single piece of information was of interest. He knew it gave Nicks an insight into his head. No, he’d gained nothing from the visit to take him further forward, but it had filled in one or two blanks in his knowledge. Maybe the neighbour’s death was a coincidence, these things happen. From what the Police files had told him, it was on the cards sooner or later, given his unreliable track record with his associates in the local criminal ‘fraternity’.
What troubled him was if his parents had been in a similar situation, he’d have wanted to do something. Of course, he wouldn’t murder someone – well, he didn’t think he would – but he’d have done something. He didn’t buy it that Nickson didn’t know but all he had was a gut feeling. No evidence. Not a glimmer. Time to put this one to bed, he thought.
Degsy had a good idea of what his DCI would say, when he was ready to say it. It wasn’t something he looked forward to, and he knew the other team members on the MacMahon enquiry would be similarly ‘thrilled’ when he delegated the matter downwards.
Driving along New Quay then The Strand, they turned into Liver Street and Police Headquarters. “Drop me off at reception please, Derek,” Thurstan said on passing through the security post. Degsy drove up the ramp, headed for the far left-hand corner of HQ’s open-air car park and came to a smooth halt near the entrance.
Thurstan got out but held the door open as he bent down into the vehicle and said, “I know you’re not looking forward to this, Derek, but we need to go through every hotel and ‘bed and breakfast’ in Liverpool. I want guest lists. I want one week before MacMahon’s death right up to date. And I want them as soon as possible. When I say as soon as possible, Derek, I mean, of course, Monday afternoon would be good.” He let a sad smile escape, closed the door and walked casually into reception. Degsy had the brief thought that should he look in the rear view mirror he would see the elephant, on the back seat, shrug its shoulders apologetically.