Free A Killing Resurrected by Frank Smith Page A

moving in yourself, or will the house be sold?’
    Claire ran a hand through her hair. ‘I really haven’t made up my mind. I’d like to move in, more for Aunt Jane’s sake than anything else, but it’s really far too big for one person. I’ll have to give it more serious thought when I’ve had time to sort things out. Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t come here to listen to my problems, so what was it you wanted to see, exactly?’
    Alcott had asked Paget the same question when the Chief Inspector had persuaded the Superintendent to accompany him to the house, and he gave Claire the same answer. ‘To be honest, I’m not quite sure myself. But after hearing what you had to say the other day, and reading the old reports, it seemed to me that it might be useful to learn more about Barry himself.’ He glanced at Alcott. ‘And, since Superintendent Alcott was directly involved at the time of Barry’s death, I’m hoping that revisiting the scene might stir a helpful memory or two.’
    Alcott had balked at the suggestion that he accompany Paget to examine the place where Barry Grant had died. His first reaction had been to say he couldn’t spare the time. Marion was undergoing more tests today and he should be with her at the hospital. But he’d changed his mind, not because he wanted to revisit the scene of a young lad’s suicide he still remembered vividly, but because it would be a welcome distraction from his personal situation.
    â€˜So, Miss Hammond,’ Paget said, ‘if you would lead the way, perhaps we could begin by taking a look at what used to be Barry’s bedroom.’
    â€˜Of course.’ Claire started towards the stairs, but Alcott stopped to examine a picture on the wall.
    â€˜That’s him,’ he said, tapping the glass. ‘That’s a better picture of him than we have on file.’
    â€˜Yes, that’s Barry,’ Claire agreed. She stepped back to allow Paget to see the picture.
    Barry Grant was sitting in the driver’s seat of an old Vauxhall. The window was down and he was leaning out, grinning and waving at the camera. Long fair hair that fell below the shoulders framed a narrow face.
    â€˜He looks pretty proud of himself there,’ Paget observed. He looked at Claire, but she remained silent. ‘How old would he have been when that was taken?’
    â€˜Seventeen, maybe eighteen. I don’t know exactly.’
    â€˜Any idea whose car that was?’
    â€˜Not the slightest.’
    â€˜Do you mind if we take this picture with us when we leave? I’d like to see if Forensic can tell us anything about the car. It might have belonged to one of his friends.’
    â€˜Of, course, if you think it will help.’
    â€˜Thanks. Do you know if there are any group pictures of Barry and his friends?’
    Claire frowned in thought. ‘Not that I can think of,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t think Aunt Jane owned a camera, but if I come across any pictures, you’re welcome to them.’
    â€˜Thank you.’
    Alcott, who had moved on to study other pictures on the wall, said, ‘Do your parents still live next door, Miss Hammond?’
    â€˜No. They moved to Southampton about ten years ago. My father’s in insurance. He’s general manager there.’
    â€˜But they were still living next door when Barry died?’
    â€˜That’s right.’
    â€˜Did they ever talk about what happened?’
    Claire shook her head. ‘Not really. I think as far as my dad was concerned, the less said the better when it came to Barry.’ She cast a furtive glance at her watch.
    Alcott took the hint. ‘Right,’ he said briskly, ‘best get on, then.’ He stood back to allow Claire to lead the way. ‘It was the back bedroom, if memory serves,’ he said as they reached the landing at the top of the stairs. He pointed to a closed