Neil climbed out of the cellar and stood in the kitchen. He looked down at the wallet in his hand and inched one of the credit cards out. There, in bold relief, was a name: Mr Michael Grayson. This situation made absolutely no sense at all.
Neil stared into the living room, the family still huddled in a ball. How much did they know? From his own entrance to the cellar, he knew the faces would not be visible unless lifted or viewed from beneath. Had one of the family seen who was down there? Or were they just in shock from the dawning realisation they had been co-habiting with corpses for six months?
Neil called Officers Daventree and Bell over and asked to see the statements they took upon arrival. Laying them side by side on the kitchen counter, he began to scan them for any signs of obvious inconsistency. There were none.
Both stories told of Mister Grayson beginning the work to an unblemished wall, and upon clearing enough space, fumbling in the dark for a light switch to illuminate the room beyond. Only when it was lit, did Mister Grayson realise there were bodies, and his screaming brought both his wife and child downstairs to see what was going on. Both stories confirmed that until today, the wall had remained untouched, and the property details Mister Grayson gave Officer Daventree clearly showed the house particulars, including a photograph taken from the top of the stairs to the cellar with wall still intact. Still, it was probably worth contacting the estate agent in question about their recollections of the property when they initially surveyed it.
Neil hated talking to families after highly emotive events. Answers were usually contradictory and sense minimal. However, there were questions he needed answering before he could even begin an investigation. There was no other choice. He had to find a starting point. He knew there were times for subtlety, and times for a more aggressive approach; unfortunately, because he could not rule out the unnerving coincidences presented by the case and thus Missus or Mister Grayson’s involvement, this would not be a time for the former.
Neil stepped into the living room, quietly closing the glass doors behind him. Catching the fraught look coming from Officer Leeks, he put on his best smile and walked to where the Grayson family were sitting.
“Excuse me.” he said, softly. “I’m Detective Townsend of Scotland Yard. I was wondering if I might be able to ask you a few questions.”
Neil extended a hand toward Michael Grayson, and the man shook it limply.
“Can we leave the questions for today?” Michael asked, still hugging his daughter to his chest.
Neil went to speak and got his first look at Alanis Grayson. Pausing, his mind flicked back to the image of the child at the bottom of the stairs. Although similar, it was clear there was an age gap between the two children, perhaps a good few years.
“I’m afraid I can’t.” said Neil, taking up a spot on the couch opposite them so he could keep a close eye on their expressions. “Memories are unfortunately fickle. Tomorrow, you will have lost and added many details to your experiences surrounding this event, even indirectly related ones. I need to do this today. Now, to be exact.”
Harriet Grayson glanced at her husband, before turning to Neil. “I’m sorry detective, as you can imagine were all a little shocked. We’ll do everything we can to help.” She straightened in her seat, retracting her hand from Officer Leeks, and wiping the tears from her face.
Missus Grayson was a well presented woman. Her suit jacket, probably a Gucci, showing her desire to be seen as a woman in a powerful position. Her light-brown hair, short and formal, when added to her stoic expression, illustrating she was a woman who could control her feelings. Her job, working for an MP, must have been quite stressful, and keeping a check on your emotions was obviously an advantage she leveraged in her day-to-day life.
“Thank you Missus Grayson.” said Neil, projecting calming authority. He took the notepad from his pocket and flicked to a fresh page. Titling the sheet Grayson Family Statement, he noted the time, before returning his focus to Harriet. “I understand Officer Daventree has already taken statements from you, and I will be reviewing those later. For my own records, I would simply like to ask you a few questions about yourselves, if I may.”
“Please.” said Harriet, leaning forward and clasping her husband’s hand.
“Officer Daventree tells me you work as a personal assistant to a member of parliament Missus Grayson.”
“I do. Clara Robertson, the Liberal Democrat MP for Halifax.”
The words were strong and true, they were clearly the truth. “I take it you are her personal assistant only when she is in attendance at the Commons?”
“That is correct.” Harriet said, earnestly. “Although, I do quite a lot of odd jobs for her when she’s in her constituency.”
“What sort of odd jobs, Missus Grayson?” said Neil, scribbling away.
Harriet shrugged, unsure how to respond. “Secretarial mostly.” she offered, trying to fill in the blanks. “Official correspondences, runs to get legislature papers from the Commons, updates to her Twitter and Facebook accounts; anything that requires my attention, or I am asked to do really.”
Neil tapped his pen on his notepad, pausing to allow the next question time to gather importance. “Have you ever, especially last year, done anything… out of the ordinary shall we say for Miss Robertson?”
“How is that relevant?” asked Harriet, bemused.
“It may not be.” said Neil, not looking up from his pad. “But I won’t know that unless I get an answer.” He glanced at Harriet, and caught the concerned stare coming back. It was time to find out how much the parents knew about what they had found. “Three bodies are in your cellar, Missus Grayson. I need to know if anyone has a motive for putting them there.”
“Them!” shouted Michael, eliciting a yelp and fresh crying from his daughter. “That’s not a them down there. That’s us!”
His answer received in a single outburst, Neil raised his hands in supplication, trying to calm Mister Grayson. “Those people may look like you, but they are obviously not you, as you are here.” He knew the wallet found with the bodies held the potential to invalidate that statement, but the Graysons did not need to know that right now. “I was also not insinuating any involvement, Missus Grayson. According to your statement, you moved to this residence about six months ago, correct?” Harriet nodded her response. “Our on-site experts have informed me the brickwork wall dividing the cellar from the property is about a year old, so I can surmise from what I know at present, you or your family did not put it there. I logically must proceed on the assumption that someone else did. It is therefore of the greatest relevance to determine who, and why.” His statement seemed to calm the couple, and once more, they gave him their undivided attention. “So, to answer my earlier question, have you ever done anything for Missus Robertson that would fall outside the normal practises of your role?”
“No. Never.”
The response was automatic, stern to a fault, and the slight grimace accompanying it told of its possible untruth.
“Very well then.” said Neil, not lingering to ask more questions for fear of forcing Harriet into becoming defensive. “Could I ask how you came to live here in beautiful Belsize Park?”
Harriet prodded Michael who realised it was his turn to speak.
“My work bought it when we moved here.” said Michael, his words slow and unsure.
Michael Grayson looked older than Harriet, but maybe not by much. His thinning black hair was laced with sparks of grey, and his stubble was thick and unkempt. He wore jeans and a woollen jumper over a creased shirt. He looked every inch the scientist Neil was expecting.
“Wow!” said Neil, feigning a chuckle. “I wish the Met bought family homes around here! It must be a fantastic package that you’re on to get something like this thrown in?”
Michael looked down before responding, Neil realising the question made him feel uncomfortable.
“My new employers paid off the pharmaceutical company I was previously employed with in order to ge
t me to join them. The house was part of the relocation deal they offered. We don’t own it. We just get to live here rent free whilst ever I continue to work for them.”
“Did you have to move far?” asked Neil, returning to his note taking.
“Only from Hatfield.”
“How is the switch from pharma to genetics working out for you?” said Neil, knowing the strange question concealed a more important one.
“It’s good.” said Michael, confused. “I worked in gene testing of new products at my old company, so I have a background. I’m actually a doctor of cytology.”
Neil laughed. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what Symology, or whatever you said is.”
“C-Y-T-Ology.” said Michael, smiling as he spelled it out. “The underlying genetics of human cells.”
“Ah.” said Neil, jotting the term down. “Still one hell of a sweet deal to get you here. Especially if you were only up the road.” Neil smiled. His first suspects, in the form of the company that bought the house for the Graysons, found. “I take it Officer Daventree was given contact details for your places of work?”
“For both of ours, yes.” said Harriet.
“Then I thank you for your time.” said Neil, standing. “Please make sure you listen to whatever Officer Leeks says. She’ll do everything she can to assist you through this difficult time, but she requires your cooperation to do so.”
“Thank you.” said Harriet, unsure if that was what she actually meant.
“Don’t you worry about what happened here. I’ll make sure we get to the bottom of this as quickly as we can.” Neil turned to leave, pausing at the French doors. “And please make sure you keep in touch. We may need more information from you as our investigation develops.”
Neil left the room and stepped into the kitchen. Police personnel were everywhere, and it messed with his mind to try to think in this chaos.
Pausing only to speak to Daventree about having the statements typed up as soon as possible, he made his way outside, and drove back to Scotland Yard.
Chapter 5
The Wrong Assistance