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“I haven’t done anything wrong!” he shouted.
“Bit of a shock for you, seeing that” said Reilly.
“Shock!” repeated Cuthbertson. “I was bloody traumatised. It’s not every day you open your shop and find your assistant hanging upside down with her insides in a bucket.”
“Not so shocked that you didn’t take everything in, by the sound of it,” said Reilly.
Cuthbertson fixed Reilly with a stare. “What are you suggesting?”
“How would you describe your relationship?” asked Gardener.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” retorted Cuthbertson. His eyes were like slits and his expression had hardened. “I’ve heard about you lot and your strong-arm tactics. Well, you won’t get me to admit to something I haven’t done.”
“We don’t want you to. But we would like an answer to the question I’ve just asked.”
“Oh, God.” He placed his arms on the desk and supported his head with his hands. “What a bloody mess.”
Gardener didn’t feel the need to repeat the question. He chose instead to simply stare at the suspect.
Cuthbertson sighed. “My relationship.” He lifted his head and rubbed his hands together. “Well. It was pretty much like any other. She was a good worker. Usually on time, never really took time off sick.”
“Had she caused you any problems recently?” asked Gardener.
“I think she’s had something on her mind. Last couple of days she’d been late, and her attitude with customers wasn’t what I would have expected of her. More than once I had to smile and make an apology.”
“Did she say what it was?”
“No, but she was certainly withdrawn. I did ask of course, but she just blamed it on women’s problems. Maybe it was boyfriend trouble.”
“Do you know the boyfriend?” asked Reilly.
“Yes, met him a couple of times. He’d picked her up from the shop. He seemed all right, but then don’t they all when you only see them for a couple of minutes?”
“Do you know anything else about him? His name? Where he lives? His job?”
“Carl Simpson, lives over Esholt way; don’t know where exactly. Plays in a band, as far as I know. He’s a drummer, likes to make a bit of noise. Not the sort of band I’d want to see, nor you two by the look of you.”
“Were there any other problems?” asked Gardener.
“Nothing she let on about.”
“So, you worked well together?”
“Yes, I just said so, didn’t I?”
“How long had she worked for you?”
“About five years. The shop had been growing steadily busier, and I advertised for an assistant. She was the best of the bunch.”
“Did she ever talk about her home life? About her relationship with her parents?” asked Gardener.
“A little. She had a younger sister who was still at college. Her father’s dead. Her mother takes in ironing.”
News of her father’s death struck a raw nerve with Gardener. Was it Jack Harper of the watch committee? If it was, then they needed to find Fletcher for all sorts of reasons. “Did you know her father?”
“No. He died before Janine came to work for me.”
“She ever mention his name?”
