‘What’s her name?’
‘Hayley.’
King glanced at Shapland, who wrote it down. ‘Do you know her last name?’
Reggie frowned. ‘I don’t know. I just got her from a card in the Co-op.’
‘That’s all right.’
But Reggie was distracted. ‘I never even asked . . .’ he muttered. Calvin knew it was the shock, surfacing inappropriately.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said King. ‘When does she come?’
Reggie took a moment of staring at nothing to remember. ‘Mondays and Fridays.’
‘So yesterday?’
Today was Tuesday. He nodded.
‘Do you have her number?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ he said, and took out his phone and scrolled through while they all waited. Finally he showed it to King, who jotted it down, then tapped the briefcase that lay on the coffee table.
‘Is this yours?’
‘No. Why?’
‘It was on the landing,’ said King, and opened it. She was wearing shiny latex gloves and took out the items one by one. ‘So . . . we’ve got a thermos flask, and a . . . sandwich, and we’ve got this . . .’
She took out a slim steel cylinder with a rubber mask attached. ‘You know what’s in this?’
‘Uh . . . Oxygen?’
‘It’s not a guessing game.’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Then no.’
‘It’s almost certainly nitrous oxide,’ she said.
‘What’s that?’
‘N2O. Laughing gas.’
‘Oh. OK. Don’t dentists use that?’
‘Yes. In low concentrations, nitrogen is used as an anaesthetic. But kids fill balloons to huff it, and in high concentrations it’s lethal. Fast, painless and untraceable. Unless you leave it at the scene, of course.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Your grandfather – Skipper – told us he was supposed to die today.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Reggie.
‘It seems he had planned to commit suicide.’
‘Suicide!’ Reggie looked about wildly at Shapland and then at Calvin, as if King must be joking and one of them might wink. Nobody did.
‘Seems he’d been in contact with a group who support the right to die. He says they call themselves the Exiteers.’ She watched Reggie’s face carefully.
‘Never heard of them,’ he said. ‘I mean . . . he’s been sick for so long and I know it’s getting on top of him. You can’t blame him, can you? I mean . . . but bloody hell!’
‘So you don’t know anything about this?’
‘No! He never said a thing!’
‘What about these?’ She unfolded two documents on the coffee table in front of him.
‘What are they?’
‘His will and what looks like a waiver.’
‘Skipper’s will?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where was it?’
‘Also in the briefcase.’
She tapped the document. ‘Is that your granddad’s signature?’
‘It looks like it, yes. But I’ve never seen Skipper’s will. Didn’t know he’d made one.’
‘Well, he’s very old,’ said King, ‘and he does have terminal cancer.’
‘I just never thought about it, I suppose.’
King moved her finger to the waiver. ‘Have you seen this before?’
‘No.’
‘It appears to be a waiver absolving the Exiteers from culpability in his death.’
Reggie read it, then nodded.
‘And that’s Skipper’s signature too?’
‘It looks like it. As far as I can tell, yes.’
‘So as you can see, the Exiteers say they do not provide the instrument of death. In this case, the nitrous oxide. Do you know where Skipper got it from?’
‘No. Have you asked him?’
‘We will be speaking to him in a minute,’ she nodded. ‘Was there anything unusual about this morning, Reggie? Anything different?’
‘Not that I can think of. I had breakfast and fed the dog and said goodbye to Skip and went to work.’
‘You didn’t say goodbye to your father?’
‘He was still asleep.’
‘Are you sure?’
Reggie nodded. ‘He breathes loud.’
‘I see there’s an oxygen tank in his room. How long has he been using that?’
‘About a year,’ said Reggie. ‘Has it upstairs and downstairs.’ He gestured across the room to where a large black tank stood on a trolley beside the sofa.
‘Reggie, can you think of any reason someone would want to hurt Albert?’
‘No.’ For the first time, Reggie Cann looked truly upset. He stopped talking and King handed him a tissue so he could wipe his eyes and loudly blow his nose.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘We have to ask the question.’ She waited for him to compose himself and when he appeared to have done so, she went on. ‘But if you don’t feel anyone would have wanted to hurt your father then it could be that these Exiteers simply made a mistake. Somehow gave the gas to the wrong person and then panicked and left this case behind. What do you think? Is that possible?’
‘I suppose so,’ he shrugged. ‘I don’t know how, though. I mean, it’s a pretty bloody big mistake to make!’
‘It is.’ King nodded and closed her notebook. ‘Thank you, Reggie. I’ll be back to speak to your grandfather in a minute.’
She got to her feet and Reggie looked up at her anxiously. ‘Is Skipper in trouble? I mean, it’s not a crime to kill yourself, is it?’
‘No, it’s not,’ said Kirsty King. She hesitated, then said, ‘But, of course, he didn’t die . . .’
Calvin and Pete followed DCI King outside.
‘What do you think?’ said King quietly.
‘I think his cleaner’s ripping him off,’ Pete snorted. ‘Place looks like it’s been burgled!’
King raised her eyebrows and turned to Calvin, who hesitated. He felt bad that he’d broken the news of Albert Cann’s death to his son the way he had, and decided to cut him some slack. ‘I think he’s very shaken up.’
‘Understandably,’ King nodded, ‘but we’ll check his story anyway. I don’t think the old man arranged this by himself.’
She looked at her watch. ‘First things first – let’s try to find the caller. The techs should be able to triangulate it but it would be nice if we could get a head start from an eyewitness. You and Pete knock up the neighbours. There’s only a few houses so it shouldn’t be hard to narrow it down. Start with