Mrs Ede, the immediate neighbour, hadn’t noticed anything unusual, hadn’t complained about the smell because she thought it was the drains, and was very sorry for not being very observant. She was an elderly 83-year old, barely able to make tea in the kitchen on account of not being able to get about the house much without relying on her frame. Suffering from a slight stoop, she sat in her upright chair, her eyes a little distant on account of the myopia.
“I only met the black gentleman once, about one month ago, when he was hanging out his washing and she happened to be sitting in the sun.”
“Did you get on well?” asked Detective Vince Rite, dunking a custard cream.
“I was surprised to have a new neighbour!” she responded. “I didn’t know who he was at first. It was his accent, you see, it was so very strong I couldn’t understood a word of it. But then I thought, he must be living there – why else would he be hanging out his smalls on the line. He smiled at me, but I noticed that he seemed quite preoccupied, like his mind was elsewhere.”
“You said, ‘new neighbour’ – quite how long ago was it when he moved in?”
“Well, that’s just it, you see. After Mrs Selman died, the place was empty for a year. And then he just turns up.”
“When was that?”
“Oh, I can’t really remember. A few weeks ago: maybe a month, maybe more.”
Her little grey head appeared to be the only animate part of her; her arthritic hands lay still in her lap. Detective Rite continued with his gentle questioning.
“Hmmm… And what about his friends? What sort of company did he keep?”
“I didn’t really see much of his comings and goings. No one came to the door as far as I’m concerned. But then I don’t really notice a lot now, on account of me not getting about. The meals on wheels lady comes to check up on me every day, and I mentioned it to her, but she didn’t know anything. She even went around to check the other day, you know – to say hello and ask him to look out for me, but there was nothing – not even an answer at the door. Poor man.”
“Was he a noisy neighbour?”
She shook her head. Detective Stiss sat staring at his tea. He knew this was now a waste of time.
“And you didn’t notice that anything had happened? That he’d died.”
“Oh no, the poor man, God rest his soul. I’d just thought he’d simply... gone away.”
And that was about it; they made their excuses, politely thanked her for the tea and biscuits and left her in peace.
They had little more success with the other neighbours, most of whom were unaware of his existence. Of those that had seen him, none had noticed him coming or going, or that anyone had come to the door, or leave. The neighbour opposite, a Mrs Furter, had seen lights on upstairs from time to time a few weeks back, but had assumed it was the daughter back from the Caribbean or some such where she lived. When the lights no longer came back on, she forgot all about it.
That immediately caught the interest of Vince. He put in a request to find out about the passport movements of the strange dead Haitian. In his mind he'd assumed the man had somehow come from Haiti, still suffering from the enormous earthquake of January 12th, but perhaps he’d come from elsewhere, perhaps indirectly.
“What about that TV? Don’t you think it’s a bit odd?" said Jim. "Brand new flatscreen, and yet nothing else new: not the fridge or the washing machine or anything? And no phone! If he was squatting, then how could he get cable connection. And how did he pay for electricity and gas? What about food?”
The questions had no answers, but they had to start somewhere. Vince went back into the house, turned the TV on its front and copied down the serial number on the back.
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