True Witness by Jo Bannister Read Free Book Online

something.” The policeman shrugged awkwardly. “It was the middle of the night. But yes, he saw the struggle. Then Chris went into the water and the other man ran. The witness got a glimpse of his face. I’m hoping it’ll be enough.”
    â€œAnd then – did I get this right? – he pulled Chris out of the sea?”
    Deacon nodded. “He thought he might still be alive. He found him and started artificial respiration. But it was too late.”

    â€œHe could have died. Trying to save my son.”
    â€œYes,” nodded Deacon. He looked surprised. “Yes, he could.”
    â€œWould you thank him for me?”
    â€œYes, Mrs Berry, I will.” It had taken the mother of the murdered youth to think of it. Deacon didn’t remember saying a single appreciative word to Daniel Hood when he stood, shocked and exhausted, in front of him. For a moment he regretted that. But he knew the feeling would pass before he saw Daniel again.
    While he had her there Deacon took the opportunity to ask a few questions of his own. “You told me Chris went out training yesterday evening. Do you know where he’d have gone or who he’d have been with?”
    â€œHe’d have been with Nathan. They did all their training together. They did everything together.” She smiled wanly. “We used to say they’d have to marry Siamese twins.”
    â€œNathan?”
    â€œNathan Sparkes.” She gave him an address on the Wood-green estate. “They’re – were – best friends since they started school. The year Chris didn’t win the Three Downs, Nathan did.”
    â€œSo they were running yesterday evening.”
    â€œThey might have gone running,” said Mrs Berry, “they might have gone to the gym. They might have decided to skip a night and go to the pub. They weren’t just athletes, Inspector, they were young men. They enjoyed their lives. It’s the one consolation in all of this, you know? Chris may not have had a very long life but it was a full one. He’d done as much, achieved as much, as men twice his age.”
    â€œIt ought to make it better,” Deacon agreed softly. “Somehow it makes it worse. I’m going to get this man, Mrs Berry. Count on it.”
    He saw her out. When he got back to his office there was a message waiting. “A Mr Ennis to see you. He says he knows you.”

    Deacon’s eyes widened. “George Ennis? Of course. Send him up.”
    If the girl on the desk had been doing this job for longer she’d have known who George Ennis was too. Ten years ago he was Detective Chief Inspector Ennis, leading the hunt for the man who murdered three Dimmock youths over the course of thirteen months. Deacon knew that his failure to make anyone amenable – more specifically, to bring charges when the whole of CID knew who committed the crimes – influenced his decision to take an early retirement a couple of years later. He hadn’t been much older than Deacon was now.
    He headed for the stairs to meet Ennis on the way up. There was also a lift, and most men in their fifties would have taken it, but Ennis had always been a fitness fanatic. He’d got salad put on the canteen menu at a time when self-respecting policemen ate steak and chips. When he retired he opened some kind of a health club. Deacon hadn’t seen him for years, but he still knew better than to wait for the lift.
    They met at the top of the stairs and shook hands, Deacon uncharacteristically warm in his welcome. Of course, this was the man who’d taught him nearly everything he knew. “Good of you to come round, George. I was going to call you, let you know he’s back in business.” It wasn’t true but it might have been.
    But he’d misunderstood the reason for Ennis’s visit. He wasn’t for the moment concerned with Neil Cochrane. “Jack, they’re saying it was Chris Berry. Is