Watters noted Neilson’s reply. “When did you begin to see Mr Grant looking sick?”
Neilson straightened up the bottles on a shelf before he replied. “A few months back, Sergeant. Four or five months, maybe.”
“When you saw him the day he died, did he appear any worse than normal?”
Neilson shook his head. “I think Mr Grant had a depreciating illness that made him progressively worse. Or that’s what Mrs Grant said.”
“Did she, indeed?” Again, Watters noted Mrs Grant’s words down. “Are you aware of the manner of Mr Grant’s death?”
“Only what the newspaper tells me,” Neilson nodded to a two-days-old copy of the Advertiser that lay on the kitchen table. “He died in his sleep, although I’ve heard some rumours that say otherwise.”
Advertiser“Mr Grant was murdered,” Watters said brutally. “Some
