local neighbours. We’ve been hearing some rumours about his conduct towards young people.”
The woman’s lip curled in disgust. “Not that again. People are so cynical and suspicious. When Mum died, Dad was at a loose end so he decided to do some volunteer work with the scouts. Is that so wrong?”
Warren said nothing, letting her fill the silence. She continued, her face flushing pink.
“My father is lying in the mortuary. He’s been dead less than two days and already you’re raking up the dirt.” Her voice started to rise. “Check your records. You won’t find so much as a whisper. There was never anything to report. It was just mean-spirited stories from years ago. Why are you even asking about it? Can’t you just let him rest in peace?”
Warren gave her a moment to compose herself. “I’m very sorry to ask you this at such a difficult time, but we need to make a thorough investigation of the circumstances surrounding your father’s death.”
Now the anger gave way to confusion.
“What circumstances? It was an accident. He tripped and fell.”
Warren chose his words carefully. “At the moment it’s still an unexplained death. I’m just making sure that we have all of the facts before we draw a final conclusion.”
The slight dissembling calmed her somewhat. Warren had no intention at this stage of admitting it was being treated as suspicious; he didn’t want her to go on the defensive.
“Why did you stop taking your children around to visit your father?”
Kathy Mackay blinked in surprise and Warren studied her carefully.
“It was easier to leave them with their dad. They hardly get to see him otherwise.”
The answer was smooth, practised; it might even be true.
“Witnesses say that about a year ago Callum had a massive temper tantrum outside your father’s house, refusing to go in, saying that he hated his grandfather. Do you know the reason for his outburst?”
A flicker passed across her face, again too quick for Warren to identify it.
“I can’t remember. You know how kids are. Sometimes they just get their knickers in a twist and there’s no reasoning with them. It was probably nothing.”
“But it was enough for you not to take them around to visit him again. Did he say why he no longer wanted to visit his grandfather? My understanding was that they were quite close.”
The flicker appeared again.
“No idea. And it was just a coincidence. Like I said, it’s the only time Ian gets to see the kids.”
She was closing down. Warren had clearly struck a nerve. He decided to back off. They’d try again later.
Before he left, Warren excused himself. He met the social worker in the hallway.
“The kids appear to be well cared for. I had a quick poke around and the flat is clean and tidy, their bedrooms are full of toys and the cupboards full of food. They appear well fed and healthy.”
“How are they to talk to?”
“A bit confused and upset at all the strangers and police, but I’m not prepared to ask difficult questions in an uncontrolled situation.”
“Fair enough. In your opinion, are they at risk of harm if they stay in the home with their mother.”
“I’ve seen no evidence to suggest that they are in any danger.”
Warren’s gut was telling him the same thing. If there had been any abuse, the perpetrator was probably dead. Nevertheless, he wanted them in for questioning as soon as possible.
After taking his leave, Warren climbed back into his car. His phone rang.
“Tommy Michaelson’s arrived.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
* * *
Thomas Michaelson was his father’s son that was for sure. The man sitting opposite Warren and Tony Sutton in interview room one could have stepped out of one of the black-and-white photographs of a young Charles Michaelson that had once stood above the fireplace.
After establishing that Kathy Mackay’s younger brother was maintaining the same alibi as he’d previously given, Warren decided to broach the
Learning to Kill: Stories