Chapter 10
As all three of them walked back to the old car, the wind still pushing at their backs, voices from the path below the small cliff caught their attention. Sam stopped first and, with a hand holding her hair away from her face, said "that's Colin Thompson".
Foyle stopped beside her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Hmm?" he mumbled, his face turned towards her.
Andrew came to a stop beside his father, his eyes following Sam's line of sight. He took a careful step forward, his toe at the very edge of the cliff, and looked over.
Foyle's expression asked Sam for clarification so she continued, her voice low – although the strong wind meant that she could have shouted her response and no-one outside the trio would have heard.
"Colin Thompson" Sam repeated. She looked back at Foyle and continued. "Jack Thompson's father." When Foyle's confused look remained, she went on. "The young lad from the Home Guard. The one that Danny took home after …. well, you know." She rearranged the pins in her now chaotically arranged hair in a vain attempt to keep it out of her eyes.
Andrew looked at Sam then nodded. He slid his front foot forward, the toe of his shoe disturbing the loose rocks near the precipice.
"Careful" Sam said and reached out to grab Andrew's elbow. "It's not a long drop but you'd come out worse for wear."
"You sound like you're speaking from experience, Sam" Andrew replied, a cheeky grin filling his face.
Sam blushed and smirked but said nothing.
One of the disturbed rocks, losing its fight to stay put, suddenly tumbled down the compacted soil. It bounced and bumped its way down, causing small clouds of dust to swirl about in the wind as it went.
Colin Thompson, a headless but as-yet-unplucked chicken carcass in his hand, stopped in his tracks and looked up. The damp feathered bird knocked against his knee.
"Mr Thompson" Sam called, her hand curved around one side of her mouth to channel her words.
Colin Thompson's expression softened as he saw who was speaking to him. He raised a hand, the one still holding the carcass, in a wave.
"Mrs Grimshaw. Lovely to see you, as always" he remarked, shrugging his shoulders to accentuate each syllable, the effort involved with projecting his voice against wind and cliff clearly a struggle for his skeletal frame. He pointed to a small but neatly kept house about fifty yards ahead of him. "Kettle's on the stove. Bring your guests" he simply said and with a dip of his head set off again.
"Come on" Sam declared, clearly on a mission. She dropped the car's keys into her deep pocket and slipped a hand around Andrew's elbow.
"Sam" Foyle said, his apprehension evident. "Would you like to take a break?" He gave his son a knowing look and raised an eyebrow. "There's no need to …."
"No" she answered and shook her head. "We should speak to Mr Thompson."
Mrs Thompson's slim fingers held open the door and her smile welcomed them in. Both she and her husband had strong accents, their west midlands heritage unmistakable.
Sam and Foyle took the only spare chairs, the small front room not allowing any more than four. Mrs Thompson poured out two cups of tea – one for herself and one for her husband. Foyle and Andrew waved away a cup and Sam begged to be excused.
Andrew moved to the side of the room and chose for himself the small space beside the fire to stand. He shook his head, in response to Mrs Thompson's pleading, and declared that he'd been sitting all morning and it was a relief to finally be able to give his legs a stretch.
"You're here to check up on my Jack, then?" Colin Thompson asked, the carcass now hanging off an old hook suspended from the hearth, an occasional drop of blood landing on a folded piece of newspaper below.
"Well," Foyle began, not entirely sure how to continue. He sat back in his chair and crossed one knee over the other.
"How is he?" Sam chirped, her eyes catching a framed picture of Jack on the top of the hearth.
"I can tell you that Mary and I were very grateful to your husband," Colin replied, looking to his wife for confirmation, "for bringing the lad home after such… an awful thing."
"Mmmm" Mary Thompson hummed. She nodded in agreeance.
"Danny was happy to do it. Truly" Sam replied, smiling.
"How old is your son, Mr Thompson?" Foyle asked, his eyes focusing first on the photograph then on Mr Thompson's face.
Colin Thompson nodded a couple of times then answered. "Fifteen, in the spring." He gave his wife a sideways glance before continuing. "We knew he was too young but what could we do?" Thompson threw up his hands, as if in resignation, and sighed. "He's a bright boy. Knows what he wants."
"Where is he now?" Foyle asked.
"Gone out with his Uncle. Rabbits." Thompson pointed through the window, the slim bony finger gesturing towards the woods surrounding the house.
"Colin," Mary Thompson said, her elbow knocking into her husband's side. "Tell them what our Jack said."
"I don't …."
"Colin" Mary said, insistently.
"Alright, alright" he said, rubbing his side. With one final look at the photograph, he began. "The young lad..."
"...Jason Comino..." Mary Thompson added, filling in the gaps in her husband's speech.
"The one who was …. you know ..."
"Killed" Foyle simply said.
Both of the Thompsons nodded.
"Our Jack told us of a conversation that he and the Comino lad had." Colin Thompson adjusted his thin frame in the chair. He placed the cushion behind his back, making him sit further forward in the chair. "He said that the Comino boy said to him 'I've got something to show you. Wait until you've seen it,'". Colin Thompson looked at his wife as she let her fingers link together in her lap. "Jack said the lad was frightened, went an awful colour."
"When did this conversation take place?" Foyle asked.
"Just before the lad was … killed" Thompson replied, still sitting awkwardly in his seat.
"While they were all on exercise?" Sam asked, her eyes wide.
"Aye" Thompson replied, reverting to the accent of his youth.
"What was it?" Andrew asked, from his position behind Mary Thompson's chair. "The thing that he wanted to show him?"
"We don't know" Mary replied, craning her neck to keep Andrew in view. "Our Jack was quite ..."
" … he was troubled by the whole thing" Colin Thompson finished. "We didn't push".
"I understand" Foyle said, softly. He added a small smile when he caught Mary's attention.
"He did mumble something about a picture" Mary admitted, and gave her husband a somewhat apologetic look.
"As in a photograph?" Foyle asked, picking up on the uneasiness that suddenly fell between the couple.
"We don't know." Mary answered, shaking her head.
Foyle made a scene of looking at his watch then pointed to the rather grotesque looking chicken still hanging from it's hook. A smell was beginning to permeate.
"Well, we mustn't, um, keep you from your lunch" he said and, placing both hands on the armrests of his chair, slowly rose to stand. "Thank you for your time."
Sam followed his lead and, after shaking hands with the older couple and assuring them that she would indeed pass on their thanks to her husband, stepped around the sparse furniture until she was standing beside her old boss.
They exited quickly, Andrew gently closing the thin door behind them. Sam set off at a pace towards the car and the Foyle men dutifully followed.
