Chapter 8: Jennifer at Home

“I’ve spoken to Detective Webster at the end of last week and she’s only told me a little about you,” Alicia Knight said to Tommy, “She didn’t think it was a good idea for me coming to see you while you were still poorly but I so wanted to. I hope you don’t think it too much of a cheek.”

“No, that’s perfectly alright, Mrs Knight-”

“Please call me Alicia, Mr Barlow.”

Tommy grinned, “OK, Alicia, but only if you call me Tommy.”

Alicia reddened a little, smiling nervously, a couple of dimples appearing fleetingly in her rounded cheeks.

“Look, Alicia, I can’t speak to you for very long today, as my Mum and a couple of detectives are coming back from lunch any minute, but I’d like a longer chat later on, if that’s OK?”

“That’d be great, shall I come back tonight?”

“Why not? I’m not expecting any visitors so it could be a bit flat around here otherwise. Shall we say seven?”

“You’ve got a date,” Alicia flashed her dimples again with a brilliant smile and continued, “See you later, then,” turning and disappearing out of the door just as his mother and the two detectives returned from their luncheon.

It seemed like this was a very nice neighbourhood, Rachel Webster noted, leafy avenues in a private estate dating probably from the 1930s. It was a cut above where she lived, a small mid-terrace Victorian house she started buying with her then boyfriend shortly before they split up. This street was made up of semi-detached houses, many extended, with extra bedrooms over the garages and dormer windows in some of the tiled roofs. Neatly-trimmed hedges, immaculate lawns everywhere, covered in bright red and brown fallen leaves shed by the many trees set in grass verges in the generously wide pavements. Rachel pulled up in front of one of the houses and checked the house number against her notes, which tallied. She got out and locked up her car. Glancing round the scene, while she did so, she thought the location was very agreeable. The Morris house was not unusual in comparison with the others. It hadn’t been extended over the garage, like maybe a quarter of the others in the street, but the house looked as though it had been recently fitted with double-glazed windows and everything looked neat and tidy.

“Good morning, Mrs Jennifer Morris?” Rachel asked of the short, quite chunky but well dressed blonde woman who answered the door, “I’m Detective Constable Rachel Webster from the Chesterfield police force, I believe you are expecting me this morning?”

“Yes, come on in Detective, I was warned by the local station that you would be by at ... well, exactly at this time.”

Rachel noticed that the woman was nervous, a natural enough response when a member of the public is unused to dealing with the police. In this neighbourhood, that was more than likely what should be expected.

The interior of the house was as neat and tidy as the outside, a bit too prim and fussy for Rachel’s personal taste and seemed to belong to an older woman than Mrs Morris looked. Rachel knew from her research that Mrs Morris was fifteen years younger than her husband. Rachel was led through the spacious hall and sitting room into the large light and airy conservatory, which seemed to occupy the whole of the back of the house. Their was a large area of decking between the conservatory and the garden, Rachel noted through the picture windows. The garden was large and laid down to lawns, shrub and flower beds filled with brightly-coloured winter pansies, with a shed on one side and what looked like a neatly fenced-off vegetable patch behind that. A large greenhouse was situated next to the shed, still showing bright peppers ripening inside, the misted-up windows indicating the presence of some form of heating inside. The row of semi-detached houses were some 150 yards away, so much of the garden was private and secluded.

The mistress of the house offered her a choice of tea or coffee. Rachel expressed the thought that a cup of tea would make a nice change. Jennifer Morris disappeared into the kitchen.

Rachel took the opportunity to look around the conservatory. Nice bamboo furniture, a couple of groups each of settees and armchairs around a coffee table made for comfortable arrangements foe coffee mornings or afternoon tea. A Welsh dresser at the back was filled with decorative plates and photo frames. The conservatory was double- or possibly even triple-glazed, with automatic blinds currently retracted, allowing the wan winter sunshine to light up the room and show off the garden. She had noted on her way through to the back, the large wall-mounted TV screen in the sitting room. A very comfortable house for a family of five.

The Welsh dresser had a number of photos on it. Tommy was only featured on a few of them with Jennifer. Clearly, thought Rachel, he was the main photographer in the family. There were a number of photos of their three children, two tall and very handsome boys wreathed in smiles and an unhappy girl who appeared to be hiding behind her hair in all her recent photos, in contrast to her much younger snaps. Rachel was reminded of her own difficult teenage years.

Jennifer came through with a tray of tea things and put it down on the coffee table. Rachel moved to one of the settees next to where Jennifer stood and they sat down together. There was a plate of sweet biscuits on the tray but Rachel decided not to indulge herself. Jennifer was nervous and, after pouring the tea, picked up and put the cup and saucer down more often than was strictly necessary and sipped at it continually, bird-like, without drinking much at all, it seemed. She didn’t touch the biscuits either.

“How is my husband?” Jennifer quietly asked as soon as they had sat down.

“Well, he was severely injured, beaten up by two assailants and left for dead,” Rachel watched Jennifer for her reaction. The woman put her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide open in shock. That looked like a genuine reaction, thought Rachel.

“He’s making excellent progress, though,” Rachel continued gently, “The medical staff are very pleased with his rapid rate of recovery. I spoke to Doctor Harding this morning and he thought your husband should be allowed home within a day or two at the most.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Jennifer replied, “I was worried when the local station told me they thought they had found my Bob and that he was in hospital. I, well, I feared the worst.”

“The local officer told me you said you’d had an argument, which led to you believing that perhaps your husband had left you, is that right?”

“Yes, yes,” Jennifer replied with some agitation, “But only on a temporary fit of sulking. After all, it was just a minor tiff, the usual married couple sort of thing, nothing of any real importance. I expected him to come back immediately after his run. When he didn’t come back by Sunday lunchtime, I was angry at him rather than upset about the row and I thought he might have stayed away to sulk for a day or two. At that point I wasn’t really worried about him at all. To be honest, I thought ‘Sod him!’ for being so petty about it all and staying away to sulk.”

“Do you mind if I ask what specifically the argument was about?” asked Rachel, wondering what the woman had to hide.

Without batting an eyelid, Mrs Morris lied, “If you must know, it was a number of things: firstly, about his obsession with jogging, it was taking up so much time it was impinging on the lives of our family. Secondly, I started working part-time a little while ago, hoping by contributing more to the household income, Bob could afford to come off shifts and work a normal week again. I was prepared to step up my hours to help in that regard. He was just being stubborn about everything.”

Rachel smiled at that, hoping Mrs Morris would relax a little, “What time did he leave the house on Sunday morning, Mrs Morris?”

“Call me Jennifer, please, Detective. We continued the row as soon as he came home from his night shift and he left I suppose about five-thirty. I had just woken up, didn’t have my lenses in and didn’t really look at the time exactly.”

“You can call me Rachel, Jennifer. What was he wearing when he left?”

“I’m not sure, as it was still dark, we barely exchanged more than a couple of tetchy words and then he was off and running. He always went for a long ten-mile run and more at the end of his six-day spell of shifts. He never really felt the cold, so he would just have been wearing his shorts and singlet. As it was still pitch black out at that time in the morning I am sure he would have worn one of his lightweight high visibility vests.”

“He wasn’t wearing the hi-vis vest when he was found, Jennifer, so it is likely that he discarded it somewhere during his run. It was unseasonably hot that October morning.”

“Possibly, he has several styles and thicknesses of vests he could’ve worn, so he may’ve removed and lost one without me noticing that one of them was missing. You said you are from the Chesterfield police force, did Bob run all the way to Chesterfield?”