All the Lonely People

Chapter Two-2

THE VICTIM HAD BEEN robbed of his wallet, but luckily, for purposes of identification confirmation, he had a gas bill in his pocket, so they had Sutherland's full address, which Andy Strong had been unable to supply.

Rafferty rounded up Lizzie Green, with Timothy Smales to drive them, and headed for Sutherland's home through the quiet streets. Fortunately, it was a Thursday, with tomorrow another working day, so the majority of the town’s revellers that the weekend would spawn were safely tucked up in bed.

Tim Smales parked up at the address. The Sutherlands’ house was in darkness, of course. Mrs Sutherland must have long since gone to bed. Rafferty didn't relish the necessity of waking her up and breaking the news.

He climbed from the car, opened the creaking gate, and walked up the path. He rang the bell, and quickly hunted in his pocket for some breath freshener. It wouldn’t do to stink of booze, especially not when breaking bad news to the bereaved. When there was no sign of life, he rang it again, a long, piercing sound. This time, he saw lights go on, and a shadowy figure appeared behind the glass of the front door.

'Who is it?' A woman's voice querulously demanded. 'Is that you, Keith? Have you forgotten your keys again?'

'We're police officers, Mrs Sutherland,' Rafferty shouted back. ‘Can you open up, please, we’d like to speak to you.’

The door opened a few inches. Rafferty held up his warrant card in the gap.

Mary Sutherland looked to be in her late fifties. She had short, greying hair that was standing on end. She ran stubby fingers through it, and only managed to increase its disorder. Her ample frame was enveloped in a quilted housecoat in buttercup yellow. She blinked owlishly at them from myopic brown eyes and wiped the sleep from the corners. 'What do you want? What's happened?'

'If we could just come in, Mrs Sutherland, we can explain.'

She stood back, and they entered a square, spacious hall. It was a detached house of two storeys, and with five doors opening off the hall, looked a fairly substantial property. It wasn’t a new house, Rafferty judged it Victorian in style, built when there were open fields all around it, so it was likely to have an equally spacious garden at the rear.

Mrs Sutherland led the way along the hall, and into a nicely proportioned living room with two sets of French windows leading on to a terrace at the rear. There was a suite of three large gold-coloured settees grouped around an ornate white marble fireplace. The room was tastefully if conservatively furnished, with what looked like original oil paintings of pastoral scenes on the walls.

Mary Sutherland invited them to sit down. Once they were seated, she gazed questioningly at them. Her face appeared still dazed from sleep, but with a wary expression in her eyes, as if she knew something unwelcome was coming and didn’t want to hear it.

Rafferty’s voice broke the tense silence. 'It's about your husband, Mrs Sutherland. I'm afraid it's bad news.

'Keith?' The hands resting in her lap gripped each other tightly. 'What do you mean? What's happened to him?'

'I'm afraid he was found earlier this evening in the car park of The Railway Arms public house. He's dead, Mrs Sutherland.' Rafferty was about to add that her husband had been murdered, when she broke in.

'Dead?' she repeated. 'What do you mean? Was it a heart attack?'

The heart had certainly been attacked, Rafferty reflected, though by the blade of a knife rather than from the ravages of an abused middle-aged body. 'No. It wasn't a heart attack. Someone assaulted him.’ Unwilling to reveal anything further about the cause of death, he left it at that.

Her mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out. They sat staring at one another as several seconds ticked away, checked off by the ticking of the handsome grandfather clock that stood to the right of the door, but it seemed Mrs Sutherland for the moment had nothing to say.

Rafferty broke the silence again. 'Is there anyone who could stay with you? A family member, perhaps? Or a friend or neighbour?'

Mary Sutherland continued to stare at him as if she didn't understand what he was saying. But then she seemed to come to herself. 'There's—there's my daughter, Susie. Susan.' She glanced over at the clock. 'But it's very late. I don't like to disturb her at this hour.'

'I'm sure she'd want to be with you at such a time. You shouldn't be alone. I'll get one of my female officers round to her home and fetch her, if you'll let me have the address.'

'Yes. Yes, of course.' She rattled off an address, and Rafferty gave the nod to Lizzie Green, who went out.

Rafferty heard the door shut behind her. 'I'll make some tea,' he said. He went in search of the kitchen, and had the kettle boiled, the teapot found, and a tray made up five minutes before Lizzie returned with Mrs Sutherland's daughter.

***

* * * *

SUSAN SUTHERLAND LOOKED to be in her mid-twenties. She had clearly dressed in a hurry, for the collar of her shirt was half tucked in, her fair hair tousled from the pillow. She went straight to her mother and gave her a tight hug. The older woman clung to her as if she feared what might happen should she let go.

Rafferty gestured to Lizzie Green, and the two of them retreated to the kitchen to leave the grieving women to their privacy.

'There's a son as well,' Rafferty murmured. 'He's on his stag night according to the landlord of The Railway Arms. He’s a possible suspect, as he had a row with his father just minutes before the elder Sutherland was murdered. God knows where he is. One of the local night clubs, presumably. I suppose I could send officers around to the nearest and get them to put out a message on the sound systems, but it seems a shame to spoil his night. Bad news can always wait.'

That was if it was bad news for the son. If he and his father didn't get on, as the information from Andy Strong and the row in the pub had indicated, and he had financial expectations, the news might not be so unwelcome. Always supposing he wasn’t actually guilty of his father’s murder himself, which seemed a strong possibility, him being on the spot.

But, for the moment, he needed to remember that Ian Sutherland was a young man who had just lost his father to violent death, so he must be treated accordingly until he discovered otherwise. 'Fine news for him to get, though, in the morning, in the midst of a hangover.' He gave a nod towards the living room. 'Get his address from the daughter. But leave it a little while. There's no rush. I don't suppose he'll be home much before dawn.'

Lizzie nodded.

'I want you to stay here,' he instructed. 'Be what comfort you can. I'll get back to the pub and see how the team's getting on. You can ring me on my mobile when you have the son’s address.'

Rafferty slipped silently out of the front door, closing it gently behind him.