The Organ Grinder (part two)

PLEASE NOTE: THIS MURDER MYSTERY/ CRIME STORY IS NOT SUITABLE FOR READERS UNDER FIFTEEN YEARS OLD

For the story so far, click here

Thursday 16th April

“It’s 14:10 on Thursday the sixteenth of April. Present in the room are Detective Sergeant Trent and – ”

“Detective Constable Melton.”

“And? State your name please.”

“Greg Underhill.”

“Your date of birth?”

“7th of September 1980.”

“And your occupation?”

“Night manager. Marvin’s Superstore.”

“At Oakleaf Retail Park?”

Underhill nodded.

“Speak aloud please. For the tape.”

“Oakleaf. Yes, that’s right.”

“Did you work last night?”

“Yes I did.”

“I’m sorry, you’d probably like to be asleep right now.”

“er, yeah, I would actually.”

“Sorry about that.” Fran paused while she studied the contents of the folder in front of her. “Are you working tonight?”

“Yes. What’s this about?”

“Just a couple of things you might be able to help us with. We want to clarify a few things from your last interview. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can get back to bed.” She closed the folder. Underhill nodded. “Has the CCTV been fixed now? At the back of the superstore?”

“Er, yes, it has, yes.”

“When did they finally get around to it?”

“Oh, I’m not sure. Few weeks ago I think.”

“I thought you would remember. I mean, they probably made a lot of it when you were interviewed in February.”

“February seems a long time ago now. I have a lot of responsibilities. More than just CCTV cameras.”

“Yes, of course. But it’s your responsibility alone is it? The cameras?”

“Er, well, no, it’s everybody’s. Anyone who notices a camera isn’t working is supposed to report it.”

“How would they notice? Blank screen in the office?”

Underhill smiled and shook his head. “No. We don’t actually have anyone watching screens. Staff will report if a camera’s red light isn’t working.”

“But the red light was working on the camera in the back.”

“That’s right.”

“So no one could tell it wasn’t working.”

“Right.”

“So how was it discovered to be faulty?”

“I check the footage once a week. On the computer.”

“And there was no footage for that camera?”

“That’s right.” Underhill looked at his watch. “I explained all this in February. I really could do with some kip.”

“Who else knew that camera wasn’t working?”

“Erm, whoever gets the requisition forms at Head Office I guess. I ordered a new one in December.”

“But would they know which camera was down?”

“Erm,” Underhill tried to recall the requisition form, whether it asked for the position of the camera. “Actually, no, probably not. No.”

“Okay, so you would be the only person who knew the camera overlooking the bins wasn’t working?”

Underhill’s eyes narrowed as it dawned on him that he was being led into a trap. “You think it was me?”

“Just trying to get the facts straight.”

“You think I’d put someone I murdered into a bin at my own work?”

“Someone you murdered?”

Underhill sighed. “I’m being hypothetical! If I murdered someone, I wouldn’t leave their body at my work would I? That would be pretty stupid.”

“Or pretty brazen.”

“I don’t believe this,” he complained with a yawn, “I should be asleep right now! I come down here to help you out. As a favour to you because you didn’t want to do it on the phone. And now I find out why. You’ve run out of ideas and you want to pin it on me!”

“Greg, please calm down. If you haven’t done anything wrong you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“You call me Greg like we’re friends. We’re not.”

“Mr Underhill, -”

“I know what you’re trying to do. I want a solicitor.”

“Mr Underhill, you’re not under arrest. You’re free to go at any time. We just wanted to understand how the murderer knew the camera wasn’t working and you’re the only person who can help us with that.”

Underhill was very uncomfortable. He didn’t want to say another word without consulting a lawyer.

“Nights is awful isn’t it?” Toby tried to break the tension.

“What?”

“Working nights. It’s awful. I worked nights for a while in Bournemouth. Five nights on, two days off. It was a nightmare. Couldn’t get my body clock back to normal on my days off so I ended up with next to no sleep.” Underhill shrugged. “Couldn’t stick it. Got back to days as soon as I could. How long have you been on nights?”

“Few years.”

“A few?”

“Nearly ten.”

“Really?”

Underhill nodded. “I prefer it when there aren’t so many people around actually.”

“There’s not many on the night shift?”

“At the beginning there is. Twenty seven shelf fillers, re-stockers, whatever you want to call them, from eight ’til midnight. Then it’s just me ’til the cleaners get there at seven.”

“So you’re on your own for seven hours? Does it drag?”

Underhill was relaxed again, if a little grumpy. “No. Too much to do. Prefer to be on my own. Other people slow me down. Like if there’s a problem and I have to call someone out, all they want to do is talk talk talk. I haven’t got time for that.”

“Problem?”

“Yeah. Like last week, perfect example. The customer toilets were blocked. I had to call out an emergency plumber. By the time he got there it was about, er, half twelve I think. No, closer to one. Anyway, the others had gone, I was on my own, just getting into my work, then he arrived. Non-stop gabbing from the moment he got in the door.” Underhill realized he was at risk of doing the same and cut his story short. “Anyway, no, it doesn’t drag. I’d rather be left alone.”

Toby looked at Fran and she nodded for him to continue. “Does that happen a lot? Problems.”

“Not often, no. Only a couple of times this year. The plumber last week and, a couple of months ago, had a power cut,” Underhill’s words came slower as he started to remember something. “Needed an electrician.” The detectives waited. “Yeah. We had a power cut in January I think. End of January. It was before midnight because the others were still there. I couldn’t leave it ’cause of the freezers, so I called an emergency electrician. He didn’t get there ’til getting on for two and when he’d finished he wanted to check everything was working before he left, and we looked at all the camera footage – yeah, so he saw the one in the back wasn’t working. Asked if I wanted him to try and sort it before he left but I told him not to bother. I’d already ordered a new one.”

“Do you know the electrician’s name?”

“No.”

“He didn’t tell you or you can’t remember?”

“Either. Both.”

“Does the company keep a record of people like that?”

“Electricians?”

“Yes. Outside contractors. Or was he an employee of the company?”

“Probably not employed by the company, no. You could ask Head Office. They might know.”

“They would have had to pay him.”

“Right.”

“What can you remember about him?”

“Er, I dunno. Bit older than me. Middle-aged. Chubby.”

“Was he a talker? Did he talk about himself? His family? His work?”

“Er, not really. Although he did -” Underhill paused to think. “He noticed some damaged shelving and asked if I wanted him to fix it. Said he was a multi-tasker, or multi-skilled. Multi-something. Reckoned he could turn his hand to anything if the money was right.”

Toby nodded. “Okay, thank you. Did he tell you anything else?”

Underhill shook his head. “No.”

“Thank you Greg,” Fran smiled. “We’re sorry to have disturbed your sleep, but you’ve been very helpful.” She gathered up her notes. “Interview terminated at 14:24.”

“I can go now?”

Fran nodded and pushed a button to call the uniformed officer who would escort Mr Underhill out of the building. Toby opened the door.

“Next time, phone.” Underhill suggested on his way out, “but not ’til after five.”

****

Monday 20th April

“The CSIs have finished at the scene. They say they might have something for us on the blood and fingerprints by the end of the week.” Fran put down the phone and broke off a chunk of Toby’s Vego.

“Hey!”

“Hey Sergeant.”

Toby grabbed the rest of the chocolate and stuffed it safely in his pocket. “What about the autopsies? Anything useful there?”

“Erm, hang on,” she read from the screen, “death caused by sharp knife to the throat …. organs and feet removed post mortem. No, nothing we didn’t already know.”

“Aghh!” Bonner returned a mouthful of scalding coffee to his mug.

Fran logged off and grabbed her bag. “I’m going to chase down the other electrician on that list from Marvin’s Head Office.”

“Shouldn’t one of us come with you?”

“Ooh, how could I choose?” she replied with icy snark and left the room.

****

In a quiet cul-de-sac of seventies-built semi-detached houses, a window cleaner climbed his ladder to reach an upstairs window of number sixty-six. At number seventy-four, a middle-aged man prepared to wash his already pristine car.

“Excuse me,” Fran smiled, “are you Michael Carter?”

“Next door,” the man spoke without looking up.

“Oh really? They told me seventy-four.”

“Seventy-two. But he’s away.”

“Away?” Fran stepped back to avoid the spray as the man switched on his jet washer. She tried to keep smiling. “Would you mind switching that off for a minute? Sir? Excuse me, SIR!” She showed him her warrant card. “Could you switch that off for a minute please!” He switched it off and turned his sour face towards her. “Is Mr Carter on holiday?” The man shrugged. “Does he live alone?” The man nodded. Fran lingered for a moment before stepping across the wet lawn and over a miniature hedge into the front garden of number seventy-two.

“Oh yeah, don’t bother to walk round on the pavement. I was hoping for one of those muddy tracks across the lawn that are so popular these days.” The quiet man switched his jet washer back on as he wondered why he’d bothered to be so helpful. “I told her he wasn’t there, but why listen to the bloke next door? What does he know?”

Fran knocked on the front door and peered through the window. It certainly looked like no one was home, but there was only one letter on the mat so he probably hadn’t been gone long. She turned back towards the grumpy neighbour before deciding to try number seventy. There was no one home there either. As she returned to the pavement en route to number sixty-eight she met the window cleaner coming the other way.

“Looking for someone?” he asked.

“Michael Carter. Do you know him?”

The window cleaner grinned. “Do you?”

She showed him her warrant card. “Not yet but I’m hoping to meet him soon. Is he on holiday do you know?”

“Couldn’t tell you that. Got a text from him yesterday,” he scrolled through his inbox to find it. “He wrote Upstairs only please mate, money’s in the usual place.”

“The usual place? So he’s often not here when you clean his windows?”

“I wouldn’t say often. Sometimes.”

“Because he’s away?”

“Might be away. Might just be at work. More than half my customers are at work when I come round.”

“The man at number seventy-four said he was away.”

“Nosey-Norman? Well, what are you asking me for then? If Nosey-Norman says he’s away, he’s away.”

Fran took out her notebook. “Norman what?”

The window cleaner smiled amiably. “Not Norman Something. It’s Something Norman.”

Fran bit her tongue, forced another smile and tapped her pen on her notebook. “Could you tell me his first name? Please.”

“That’s Geoff Norman.”

“Thank you. And could you give me Michael Carter’s number?”

The window cleaner shrugged and read it to her. “It’s not a secret – it’s on the side of his van. No one’s died have they?”

“We just need a chat with him,” Fran told him coolly, “nothing to worry about. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Ooh, now you’re trying to drag me into it.” He grinned and shook his head.

“If you’ve done nothing wrong -”

“I’ve got nothing to fear, yeah, yeah – but which of us has done nothing wrong?” He smiled again before answering her question and adding, “have you tried his work? They might know where he is.”

“I thought he was self-employed.”

“As an electrician, yeah, but he works part-time for that trade clearance company as well – er, what are they called?”

“The Trade Clearance Company?”

“That’s it!”

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CLICK HERE FOR PART THREE

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