Page 68 of Her Last Walk Home

‘I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs Morgan.’ Lottie reached out her hand. Brenda’s grip was sweaty and flaccid, and she sat as quickly as she’d stood.

‘It’s Brenda.’ A clipped tone. ‘I can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you, given the circumstances. What are you doing to find out what happened to my son?’

Lottie pulled out the low-seated chair and sat. Her legs were too long and she wanted to stand again. ‘We have a full murder investigation under way.’

‘What has that yielded?’

‘It’s early stages. John’s body was only discovered Friday afternoon.’

‘And? Today is Sunday. I don’t want excuses. I want facts.’

So be it, Lottie thought. She had to speak above the din of crockery and cutlery and chatter around them, without being overheard. ‘We’ve been unable to establish who might have killed your son, or why.’

‘The why could be because my son was a gambler. He may have owed someone money.’

‘If that was the case, why didn’t he ask you for help?’ From her hurried research, Lottie had established that Brenda was wealthy.

‘Inspector, my son had an addiction to gambling. I helped him in the past but then I realised that all I was doing was facilitating his habit. He agreed to rehab early last year. I thought he’d kicked his habit after that, but I’ve been proved fatally wrong, because now he’s dead.’ She produced a handkerchief from the small black bag on her lap and dabbed her eyes.

‘Had he asked you for money in the last few months?’

‘No.’

‘From our investigation so far, we haven’t established any recent gambling. He had few friends, only work colleagues. He lived in a small bedsit that was immaculately clean.’

‘I raised him to respect other people’s property. Maybe I should have spent more time teaching him to respect himself.’

There was pain behind Brenda’s words and Lottie felt the mother’s anguish. The hard persona was just that. A persona.

‘Had you visited John since he came to Ireland?’

‘No. My job takes up a lot of my time. I asked him to come to London at Christmas, but he said he’d rather stay here.’

‘Alone?’

‘I presumed he had friends.’

‘When did you last speak with him?’

Brenda closed her eyes, thinking. When she opened them, they were filled with unshed tears. ‘Christmas Day. A FaceTime call to wish each other a happy Christmas. He looked well. No sign of drug use.’

‘Drugs?’ Lottie hadn’t heard this angle yet.

‘He smoked a bit of weed now and then. I doubt he was into anything stronger. Did the autopsy show up anything?’

‘Samples have been sent to the lab for toxicology analysis.’ Lottie paused and studied the sparrow-like woman before her. There was no sign of the formidable character Mr Collins had mentioned. ‘You asked Gordon Collins to give John a job. Why was that?’

‘John needed to be kept busy, especially after his stint in rehab. He’s a good worker. His father,’ she pursed her lips before continuing, ‘can testify to that from John’s time in Australia.’

‘How did you come to know Gordon Collins?’

‘He was in London at a conference. He was trying to secure funding for a contract to build a new office block in Canary Wharf. Said he was expanding.’

‘Did he approach you?’

‘Yes, but his other capital seemed wobbly. My bank refused.’

‘Was he annoyed or upset over it?’

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