“He were always distracted. He’d stand and talk, but not for long, and I always had the impression he had more than the conversation on his mind. Regularly checked his watch. Always looking over your shoulder… and his.”
“Did he ever mention something bothering him?” Reilly asked.
“No. And I didn’t know him well enough to ask.”
“Why did you see him yesterday?”
“He came to pay the rent.”
“What kind of a tenant was he?” asked Reilly.
“Never had cause for complaint.”
“Any problems with the rent?”
“None whatsoever,” replied Wrigglesworth. “Regular as clockwork, cash on the nail, every Friday.”
“Always cash?” questioned Gardener.
“Always.”
Gardener glanced around again. Although there wasn’t much, the gear was quality. The TV was 4K – very big: too big for the room. Morrison had a Sky Q box, the CD player a Bose Wave. The twin settees were leather Chesterfields. He walked back into the bedroom and sat on the bed. He jumped up again quickly, watching the quilt move for some time afterwards: a waterbed.
Judging by what he’d seen so far, Gardener decided Barry Morrison was a confusing man who didn’t appear to have much on the surface. Judging by the clothes he was found in, he gave the correct impression of someone running a taxi office and car pitch, especially with the current economy. Digging a little deeper, though, it became obvious he had expensive tastes for life. All of his gear had to be paid for. Eating out and takeaway meals also did not come cheaply. The problem was, Gardener realized, even being both a car salesman and a taxi driver wouldn’t earn him that much.
“Bit upmarket for a cab driver.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” said Reilly. “But he was more than that. According to what people are saying, he and his brother were partners in a car dealership.”
“I think we’re going to find there’s a lot more to Barry Morrison than meets the eye.”
Gardener turned to the butcher. “I noticed some garages across the road. Did Morrison have one of those for his car?”
“No, they all belong to the surrounding flats. He generally parked his car round the back, next to mine.”
“But you haven’t seen it this morning?”
“No, but I never do see it in the mornings. He works the night shift, so he doesn’t normally turn up till around nine, nine-thirty.”
“Who collects all the mail for the flat? Does it come into your shop?”
“Yes.”
“Whose name is on the letters and bills?”
“His, mostly. Some are addressed to me.”
“Who’s responsible for the bills?”
“A bit of a split,” said Wrigglesworth. “The rates are covered as a premises. There’s a meter for electric and gas, and he pays me for them.”
“Cash?”
The butcher nodded.
Gardener wandered into the bedroom and opened up the drawers in the chest. Most contained small items of clothing: underwear, socks, and shirts. The bottom drawer had letters and bills. Gardener skimmed through them. He saw receipts for items Morrison had bought, paid for in cash.
“Did he have any friends calling on a regular basis?” Gardener asked.