A few minutes later, Tom Grogan sat in the lounge of Alfie Whitehouse’s home, together with the late man’s extremely distressed sister.

“Does… did Alfie have any young relatives, Mrs Dunning? Young relatives that would come to visit him?” Tom was curious to know. Alfie’s sister shook her head.

No, definitely not.” She replied.

“What about friends? Did Alfie have any friends that might have a reason to be in his home? Say, someone in their teens, or early twenties?” Asked Tom.

“Good heavens, no. Alfie tended to keep himself to himself. If he was close with anyone of that age, I would definitely have known about it.” Answered Mrs Dunning. “Why are you asking me these questions, Mr Grogan?” She asked.

“I’ll be brutally honest with you, Mrs Dunning. I believe that somebody else might have been in this house at the time your brother died.” Tom confided. A look of shock fell across Mrs Dunning’s face.

“What? I don’t understand… the paramedic, she told me that it looked like Alfie had just had a heart attack in his sleep.” She replied, confused.

“Yes, it does look that way. On the surface. However, my colleagues called me out here because of several peculiarities that they noticed around your brother’s home.” Said Tom.

“I don’t understand… what do you mean by peculiarities?” Asked Mrs Dunning.

“Well, your brother appears to have some bruising, across the chest. Now, that could just be as a result of post-mortem changes to the body… it happens, sometimes, but until we carry out an autopsy…”

“An autopsy? You’re going to have to carry out an autopsy?” Said Mrs Dunning, visibly upset. Tom Grogan nodded.

“I’m afraid so.” He answered, softly.

Tom Grogan leaned forward a little in the armchair that he was seated on.

“We’ve also found footprints, Mrs Dunning. Footprints made from a mixture of mud and sand. They’re in, of all places, your brother’s bath-tub.” Advised Tom.

“Footprints? But surely, they would have just belonged to Alfie?” Mrs Dunning queried.

“No, I don’t think so. The footprints appear to have come from a pair of soft trainers, the sort of footwear that a young man or woman might use.” Said Tom.

“Oh, come on, you don’t know that.” Dismissed Mrs Dunning.

“Well, I’ve got a lot of experience in this sort of area, madam, and I can tell you now… and with a good deal of certainty… those prints do not come from a pair of shoes. Certainly not the sort of shoes that your brother would wear.” Pointed out Detective Grogan.

“I see.” Mrs Dunning said. “So, do you think that there was an intruder in this house?”

“Well, if there was, then that would solve another little puzzle that one of my colleagues noticed when looking around your brother’s home a bit earlier.” Replied the detective.

“What is that, Detective Grogan?” Mrs Dunning asked, curious.

“A tiny slither of metal. A tiny slither of metal that we found in your brother’s front door lock.” The detective informed her. Carefully, Tom produced a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, before walking across to Mrs Dunning and sitting down next to her on the settee. Tom sat the handkerchief on his open palm, and opened it carefully with his other hand; in the middle of the handkerchief was a small piece of metal. “Do you know what this actually is, Mrs Dunning?” Asked Tom.

“It looks like part of a paper-clip.” The woman responded.

“That’s exactly right. I think this was used in order to open the front door of this house, and the little piece here, on my handkerchief, broke off in the lock. I’m guessing that this happened at night, in the dark, and the intruder didn’t notice.” Suggested the detective. “If I’m being perfectly honest with you, Mrs Dunning, I think that your brother might, MIGHT, have been murdered.”

***

Howard Trenton looked out from his bedroom window, across to Alfie Whitehouse’s home, puzzled. What the hell is going on over there? What’s with the two vans that pulled up a few minutes back, and those men inside them, all kitted-out in fucking protective clothing? Why haven’t they taken that old fart’s body out yet? What the fuck is going on? Howard’s curiosity, and anxiety, got the better of him. He left the bedroom, went downstairs, and then out of the front door. Howard walked over to Lucas and Kay, who were still hanging around outside, together with another dozen or so onlookers.

“Do you know what’s going on in there, Lucas?” Asked Howard, trying not to appear too agitated.

“Well, some guys pulled up a few…”

“Yeah, in the vans. I saw that from the bedroom window. Who are they?” Interrupted Howard, eager for answers.

“I’m not sure, but I think that a couple of them may have been from forensics… or something like that.” Kay informed him.

“Forensics? What the fuck would forensic examiners be doing in there? I thought that the old… I thought that Mister Whitehouse had died from a heart attack?” Queried Howard, growing increasingly anxious and paranoid.

“I don’t know, Howard. Maybe it’s just standard procedure…”

“No, Lucas, it is not just standard fucking procedure.” Snapped Howard Trenton. “You don’t send lab guys, or whatever the fuck they are, into a house where a simple, natural death has occurred.”

Howard’s cousin wore a look of surprise on his face.

“Hey, calm down a bit, Howard.” Lucas responded. “I’m sure that we’ll find out what’s going on soon enough.”

“I’m sorry, Lucas.” Howard apologised. “It’s just that… I don’t like this sort of thing… the thought of something bad happening to Mr Whitehouse.” He tried to explain.

“What do you mean, Howard?” Asked Kay.

“Well, you know… if there’s forensic people in his house at the moment, then that tells me that Mister Whitehouse might not have died… from natural causes. Which possibly implies something else… something a lot more sinister. And I don’t like thinking about that, Kay… a poor old man being subjected to… well, who knows?” Bluffed Howard.

“We don’t know that, Howard. There’s no point working yourself up over something that might not have happened.” Lucas responded.

“Yeah, well… I can’t help it, Lucas. You know how sensitive I can be sometimes.” Pointed out Howard. I need to know what the fuck is happening inside that house, he thought, at the same time. It was as this thought went through his head, that Howard Trenton happened to glance down the road, and notice two figures approaching, a young man and woman, holding hands. Howard suddenly felt as if his whole gut had been turned upside down, and then violently squeezed, as he recognised the couple; it was Mary. With Alex Crennell.

Mary and Alex walked up to the crowd gathered outside Alfie Whitehouse’s home. Howard stared at the pair, completely gob-smacked, his heart and head pounding with jealousy.

“Hi Howard.” Smiled Mary. “Erm… this is my new boyfriend, Alex…”

“Alex Crennell.” Howard finished Mary’s sentence for her. “Yes, I know who it is.” He said, frostily.

“How’s it going, Howie?” Grinned Alex. Howard didn't reply.

“What the fuck’s going on here?” Mary asked, referring to the crowd of people gathered on the pavement.

“Oh, it’s old Mister Whitehouse. He’s dead. Heart attack, or something.” Replied Howard. Lucas and Kay walked over.

“Hey, who’s this?” Kay asked her sister, referring to Alex.

“This is my new boyfriend, Alex.” Beamed Mary. “Alex, this is my sister, Kay, and her husband, Lucas.” She continued.

“I already know Alex.” Said Lucas, who nodded at his sister-in-law’s new beau, before giving him a frosty look. Alex nodded back at him.

“Hi Alex!” Kay said, excitedly. She turned to her sister. “Wow, you kept this quiet, sis!”

“We only met at the weekend.” Explained Mary.

“Ah, but that explains why you’ve been out every single night this week.” Kay responded.

“When did you two meet again?” Butted-in Howard.