Death in the Black Wood, Oliver Davies [short story to read TXT] 📗

a pleasant thing to think about, but I could at least disabuse them of that notion. “We currently believe that happened after death occurred.”

“The news said he’d been found near Dores?”

“That’s correct.” I really didn’t want to get side-tracked by their curiosity. “Mr Parker, can you tell us of the times you met and spoke with Dominic please?”

He didn’t have a great deal to tell us. Our victim had first visited the centre with one of their regular attendees at the end of October. Alan thought he was a recent arrival to Inverness. Dominic had spoken English with a strong African accent and had walked with a slight limp from an old leg injury. He’d seemed like a calm, shy young man and had been very grateful for the hot meal he’d been given, and the warm coat and boots he’d been offered from the stores.

“He didn’t seem to want to talk much, so we didn’t press him with questions. Old Eric, the man who’d brought him in, told me that Dominic had come to his aid when a pair of drunks had stumbled across him and decided to start harassing him the night before.”

We didn’t have many homeless people registered in our area but vicious, nasty drunks didn’t seem to be in short supply anywhere. I got what details I could for ‘old Eric.’ He’d also found himself cheap lodgings since then and we’d need somebody to go and talk to him too.

“Dominic came in maybe another half dozen times over the next couple of weeks and opened up a bit as he began to feel more comfortable around me,” Alan went on. “He told me he was from South Sudan and had been in the UK for about eighteen months. He’d been housed in the south of England for a while, while his request for asylum was being processed, before being granted his initial right to stay for five years once that was approved and finalised.” That would have taken five or six months if nothing had occurred to delay the process.

“I was aware that he had a drug problem,” Alan told us. “You soon learn to recognise the signs, but he always seemed sober when he came in. Eric must have warned him that we don’t tolerate misbehaviour here. He politely declined our counselling service but was happy to be given information on employment agencies that might be able to find him some work. I knew he was receiving benefits, so he wasn’t totally destitute. The last time he came in, it was just to let me know that he’d managed to rent himself a room, somewhere over in Merkinch, and that the Citizens Advice Bureau people had helped him put in his application for housing benefit for that. He didn’t come back again after that.”

“Can you supply us with a list of those agencies you mentioned?” I asked. Captain Thorne got up and looked through the stacks of fliers arranged on a table under the window.

“He’d have been given this,” she told me, handing one over. I put the flier, and my folder, back in my bag.

“You’ve been very helpful. Thank you again for your time.” Caitlin put her notebook away, and we all stood.

“May I ask, was it an overdose, Inspector?” Alan asked. “It’s just that there’s only so much we can do, but I can’t help feeling that maybe I should have tried to do more with Dominic.”

“Alan, no,” Captain Thorne remonstrated mildly, “it’s a fine line to walk between scaring people away and making them feel safe here. I’m sure you handled him properly.”

I didn’t envy them their chosen work, but I was glad that there were people willing to do it. Especially volunteers like Alan, who weren’t receiving any financial compensation for their time.

“It wasn’t an overdose, Mr Parker,” I told him. “And I’m sure that Dominic was very grateful for your kindness. I know I would be if I ever found myself in need of help like that.”

We shook hands all round and took our leave of them. At least the sleet was taking a bit of a break when we went outside again. Back in the car, I got my phone out and called Shay.

“Hi. We’ve just spoken with the Sally Army people. They first saw our man in late October. We only have the given name Dominic so far but he’d told them he was from South Sudan, had been in the UK for eighteen months and had a five year right to stay after an asylum hearing. He was living somewhere in the south of England while that was being dealt with.”

“That’s useful… if he was telling the truth. I’ll look into it. Anything else?”

“Yeah, image four was the closest, but the hair was slightly longer when they saw him. Also, he was on benefits. CAB were helping him out with the applications. Oh, and he had a limp from an old injury. Nothing else yet but we’re off to see the construction guy now.”

“Okay, good stuff. Keep me updated, Con.” He rang off.

“South Sudan,” Caitlin mused as I pulled us out. “The civil war there’s been going on for quite a few years now. I wonder if our victim was caught up in any of that.” It seemed likely, given that he’d been granted asylum. The ethnic massacres and rampant human rights violations sweeping the region certainly made it probable.

“It doesn’t sound like he had an easy life of it. I can’t imagine what it must be like growing up in the middle of a mess like that.” Given the limp and the scar Shay had determined was on his forehead, Dominic Chuol had certainly taken a knock or two at some point. “We’ll have to wait for the pathologist’s report to see what they make of his medical history.”

She nodded. “Then there’s Alan Parker’s impression that he was a user. Pain relief or just escapism? Hopefully the tox screen will shed some light on that too.”

Our