Chapter 19
DCI Chris Hudson swings his Ford Focus onto the long, broad driveway leading up to Coopers Chase. The traffic hasn’t been at all bad, and he is hoping this won’t take too long.
As he takes in his surroundings, Chris wonders why this place needs quite so many llamas. There are no spaces in the visitors’ car park, so he eases the Focus onto a verge and steps out into the Kent sun.
Chris crosses a residents’ car park, past a red postbox looking picture-perfect, annoying him further, and finds Wordsworth Court.
After being buzzed up, walking across a lushly carpeted hallway and up a lushly carpeted staircase, and knocking on a solid oak door, Chris finds himself in that flat of Ibrahim Arif, sitting opposite the man himself, and also opposite Ron Ritchie.
Ron Ritchie. Well, wasn’t that quite the thing? Chris was taken aback the moment they were introduced. The father of a man Chris was investigating? What was that? Luck? Something more sinister? Chris decides he will just let it play out. He trusts that if there is an angle, he will spot it.
Strange that this is where Red Ron ended up, though.
The scourge of the bosses, the Beast of British Leyland, and British Steel, and British whatever else you’d care to mention?
Amid the honeysuckle and Audis of Coopers Chase?
Chris would have barely recognized him, to be honest. Ron Ritchie is wearing mismatched pajamas, an unzipped tracksuit top, and dress shoes.
He is looking around vacantly, mouth open.
He is a mess, and Chris feels awkward, as if he is imposing on a private scene.
Ibrahim is explaining the situation to Chris. “It can be very stressful for elderly people to talk to police officers. You mustn’t think that’s your fault, though. This is why I suggested you conduct the interview here.”
Chris nods gently, because he has done the training. “I can assure you that Mr. Ritchie is not in trouble, but if, as you say, he has information, I need to ask him a couple of questions.”
Ibrahim turns to Ron. “Ron, he just wants to ask you about the argument you saw. Remember, we talked about it?” He looks back to Chris. “He forgets things. He’s very old, Detective Inspector. A very, very old man.”
“All right, Ibrahim,” says Ron.
Ibrahim pats Ron’s hand and speaks to him slowly. “I think it’s quite safe, Ron. We’ve seen this gentleman’s warrant card. I rang the number on it, then I googled him. Remember?”
“I just—I just don’t think I can,” says Ron. “I don’t want to get into any trouble.”
“There won’t be any trouble, Mr. Ritchie,” says Chris Hudson.
“I guarantee it. It’s just that you might have important information.
” Red Ron is a shadow of his former self, and Chris is very aware that he must play this carefully.
Certainly don’t mention Jason yet. The possibility of a pub lunch is also rapidly vanishing.
“Mr. Arif is right, you can tell me anything.”
Ron looks at Chris, then back to Ibrahim for signs of reassurance. Ibrahim squeezes his friend’s arm, and Ron looks back to Chris.
Ron leans forward. “I think I’d be happier talking to the lady.”
Chris is taking his first sip of the mint tea Ibrahim has made for him. “The lady?” He looks at Ron and then at Ibrahim. Ibrahim helps him out.
“Which lady, Ron?”
“The lady, Ib. The one who comes and talks to us. The woman copper.”
“Oh yes!” says Ibrahim. “PC De Freitas! She often comes to talk to us, Detective Inspector. Window locks. Do you know her?”
“Of course, yes. She is one of my team.” Chris is trying to remember if the young PC with the nonexistent shoelaces was Donna De Freitas. He was fairly sure she was. She’d come from the Met, and no one knew why. “We work very closely together.”
“So she is part of the investigation? Well, this is excellent news,” says Ibrahim, beaming. “We love PC De Freitas here.”
“Well, she’s not officially part of the investigation team, Mr. Arif,” says Chris. “She’s on other important duties. Catching criminals and . . . so on.”
Ron and Ibrahim don’t say a word; they just look expectantly at Chris.
“But it is a terrific idea. I would love her to be on the team,” says Chris, trying to work out whom he would need to speak to. Surely someone owed him a favor?
“She is a fine officer,” says Ibrahim. “She does you credit.”
He becomes serious again and turns to Ron. “So if the handsome detective here, and our friend PC De Freitas came to talk to you together? Would you be happy, Ron?”
Ron takes his first sip of tea. “That’d be perfect, Ib. I’d like that. I’ll talk to Jason too.”
“Jason?” asks Chris, on alert.
“Do you like boxing, son?” asks Ron.
Chris nods. “Very much, Mr. Ritchie.”
“My boy is a boxer. Jason.”
“I know him, sir,” says Chris. “You must be very proud.”
“Only, he was with me, so he should be here. He saw the row too.”
Chris nods. Well, that was very interesting. The trip has not been wasted. “Well, I’m sure I can come back and talk to you both.”
“And you’ll bring PC De Freitas with you? How wonderful,” says Ibrahim.
“Of course,” says Chris. “Whatever gets us to the truth.”