Desperate Measures

Chapter 10

As soon as Janine heard that Fraser McKee was in police custody for his own protection, she arranged to have him transferred to her station for interview as a victim and potential witness.

Her first impression was that the man was scared witless, tension evident in the set of his shoulders, the light in his eyes. Wounds on his face had been cleaned up but Janine doubted that he’d got any sleep.

‘I’m DCI Janine Lewis,’ she told him, ‘in charge of the inquiry into the murder of Dr Halliwell.’

McKee nodded, rubbed a finger under his nose.

‘DI Richard Mayne,’ Richard introduced himself.

‘You’ve seen a doctor,’ Janine said. ‘Is there anything else you need?’

‘No.’ McKee kept blinking, pale lashes against pale blue eyes. He seemed to find it hard to maintain eye contact.

‘Perhaps you could tell us what happened?’ Janine said.

‘I…erm…’ he was jittery, a fist tapping on the edge of the table as he talked, ‘I left work and went home and my house…they’d completely wrecked it. It was… it was incredible, the scale of the destruction. I knew what it meant – they were after me. I had to get away, so I… erm, I got in the car and started driving. I didn’t know where to go. They’d be looking for me.’ His breath was uneven, panicked.

Janine wondered who ‘they’ were but didn’t want to break the flow yet. She nodded for him to continue.

‘Then the news about Don came on the radio. They’d killed Don, oh God, and now my house and I didn’t know what to do.’ He splayed his hands, imploring. ‘Then this car was right up behind me, he forced me off the road. My car turned over, I thought I’d had it… I got out and I just ran, there were woods nearby and I hid there for a while until it got dark, then I made my way to the police station.’ He stopped, his breath uneven and noisy in the small room.

‘What time was it when you left work?’ Janine said.

‘About five thirty,’ McKee said.

‘Dr Halliwell was still there?’ Janine said.

‘Yes.’

‘You sound as though you know who’s behind all this,’ she said.

McKee hesitated, his eyes intense, then said, ‘It’s the Wilson Crew, you’ve heard of them? They broke into the surgery before and now they’ve come back and Don’s got in their way.’

The Wilson Crew were notorious, one of several Manchester gangs who made money primarily from drug pushing and robberies and maintained their power by intimidating anyone who they perceived to be a threat. Gangs were responsible for the majority of shootings in the city. The police operation Xcalibre had been set up to try and purge them from the city streets.

‘No-one was convicted for the previous break-in,’ Janine said.

‘But everyone knew it was them, and stuff like this: shooting, the state of my house, who else could it be?’ His voice was high with fear.

Janine couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. ‘Dr McKee,’ she said, ‘if we accept for a moment that Don Halliwell was shot because he interrupted an attempted break-in, I don’t see why these same people would then set out to vandalise your property and threaten your life.’

He looked incredulous. ‘Because they can, because that’s how they work isn’t it? They intimidate people.’ As an explanation it didn’t hold water.

Richard shifted in his seat. Janine could tell he wasn’t convinced either.

‘What can you tell us about the vehicle that ran you off the road?’ Richard said.

‘It was dark, some sort of 4x4, with those blacked-out windows,’ McKee said.

‘Could you see how many people were in it?’ Richard said.

McKee shook his head.

‘Was there any actual impact? It might help us with forensics,’ Richard said.

‘I’m not sure. I was just trying to get away, it all happened so fast.’ McKee swallowed, rubbed at his nose again.

‘Was the road busy?’ Richard said. He was wondering about witnesses, Janine thought.

‘No,’ McKee said.

‘And the other car didn’t stop?’ Richard said.

‘I don’t know. I think I was unconscious but I don’t know how long for,’ McKee said.

Janine leant forward, ‘Have there been any threats made in the past to you or to other staff by these people?’ she said.

‘No,’ said McKee.

‘And they’re not personally known to you?’ Janine said.

‘No,’ McKee said, his eyes darting away.

Janine asked him if he’d be happy to wait as they made further inquiries and would want to talk to him again.

‘I can stay here?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said and he gave a nod.

‘What do you think?’ Janine said to Richard as they travelled up in the lift.

‘His story’s a bit of a dog’s dinner,’ Richard said.

‘Yes. I’m not sure he was being straight with us,’ she said.

‘In fear for his life,’ Richard said.

‘Yes, I believe that but he seemed paranoid. All that stuff about the Wilson Crew targeting him just because they can. I don’t buy that.’

‘Do you think he knows something about the murder?’ Richard said.

‘I can’t tell but he’s holding something back, something that scares him enough to bring him here,’ Janine said.

Chapter 11

Once the reference to the Wilson Crew had been entered into the inquiry log and before she could brief the team, Janine was contacted by DCS Roper from Xcalibre, the gun crime operation. Roper wanted to know where her interest in the Wilsons stemmed from. After she’d explained, he invited himself over to the briefing. Her inquiry had blundered into Xcalibre territory and Roper sounded hell-bent on making it clear where they could and couldn’t tread. ‘Sounds like it does involve the gang,’ Janine said to Richard, ‘at least something’s becoming clearer.’

Janine waited for Roper to arrive and took him into the incident room where the team were assembled. The boards contained significant information so far on all lines of inquiry: a picture of Halliwell and his details in the centre with a section on the crime scene, including a note about the missing briefcase and weapon, and a section on Norma Halliwell and the vandalised car, and a map of the area near the surgery. To the left, the team had compiled details of the practice, a list of colleagues and a section on McKee with pictures of his house and the crashed Peugeot. To the right, the new line of inquiry into the gangs, the Wilson Crew and the previous robbery.

‘Some of you may know DCS Roper, from Xcalibre, our gun crime operation,’ Janine said, ‘he has an interest in our current case as you’ll hear.’

Roper nodded and took the floor. ‘Good morning. I’m here because the Wilson Crew were flagged up to us as of interest to your investigation and what I can tell you is that at present we have the inner-circle, the half-dozen people at the top, under close surveillance. We do know there was talk of another burglary but no immediate plans to carry it out. We can confirm that members of the gang were party to the property damage to Fraser McKee’s house yesterday but we can also confirm that the murder of Dr Halliwell was not instigated or carried out by those we are monitoring.’

Janine saw the ripple of surprise travel round the room. Shared it herself. The proximity of the incidents, the connection between Halliwell and McKee had persuaded her, persuaded all of them, that the crimes were linked by the same perpetrators but Roper was saying that categorically was not the case.

‘What about the attack on Halliwell’s car?’ Shap said.

‘And McKee’s?’ Butchers said.

‘No, neither of those incidents are linked to the Wilson Crew,’ said DCS Roper.

‘Do you know why they ransacked McKee’s place?’ Richard said.

‘Not yet. What I should make clear is that just because we rule out the top-dogs for commissioning or carrying out the shooting, it could still be a gang member. The gang structure is pretty fluid, there might be eighty people or more loosely affiliated at any one time. Some are related to the big boys, others just live in the area, run the odd errand.’

‘It could be the work of a splinter group,’ Janine said.

‘Possibly. They tend to be the younger ones, who can often be more reckless, more violent,’ Roper said. ‘But we haven’t had any intelligence through on that. It’s just speculation. All I can say is this killing was not sanctioned by the gang leadership.’

‘It’s an unusual target, Janine said, ‘middle-aged GP.’

‘I’ll grant you that,’ Roper said, ‘gang violence tends to arise from gang activity, rival groups vying for control, fallings out within the gang. Sometimes it spills over to friends and relatives, then of course we get mistaken identity, that sort of shooting. But this…’ He shook his head. ‘If I were putting money on it I’d say this was not a gang related killing.’

‘Not even some rogue scrote on the edge of the action?’ Shap said.

Roper shrugged. He paused for a minute then said, ‘Obviously we don’t want to blow our obs…’

‘You don’t want us pulling in your suspects,’ Richard said.

‘And there’s no need,’ DCS Roper said, ‘the leaders are clear for the murder, and no-one wants to see eighteen months of work go down the drain picking them up for criminal damage to the McKee property. If your continuing inquiries lead you to conclude any involvement from any wider associates I’d appreciate being kept up to speed.’

‘Understood,’ Janine said.

Once Roper had left, Janine led the discussion, ‘So the Wilson Crew trashed McKee’s house but someone else drove him off the road. He’s a popular guy.’

‘Like Lancelot said,’ Shap chipped in, ‘could be an offshoot gang.’

‘The last burglary,’ Butchers said, ‘the intruders got away with a load of computers and prescription pads. The alarm went off but by the time an area car responded they’d legged it.’

‘And was there any evidence to link it to the Wilson Crew at the time?’ Janine said.

‘No, only hearsay,’ Butchers said.

‘Suppose it was a splinter gang, a copycat crime,’ Lisa said, ‘this time they go in at the end of the day but Halliwell confronts them and they shoot him.’

‘OK,’ said Janine, ‘investigating that is one priority. The other is Halliwell’s workplace. After all, that’s where he was shot. We need to build up a picture of Dr Halliwell. What can the rest of the staff tell us? We’re talking to them this morning. But we also look at patients.’

‘Place like that you get all sorts,’ Shap said, ‘nutters, junkies.’

‘Sick people,’ Janine said. ‘You not have a doctor, Shap?’

‘Nah,’ Shap said.

‘No-one to check your bits?’ Janine said.

‘Don’t need a doctor for that,’ Shap said, ‘they’re lining up for it.’

Lisa groaned and Butchers laughed.

‘Queasy,’ Janine said, ‘spare us.’

‘How about a patient with a grudge?’ Richard said. ‘They do Halliwell’s car, then the shooting.’

‘Needs exploring,’ Janine agreed. ‘Lisa, you mentioned the Marcie Young inquest.’

‘Yes, boss. Dr Halliwell was cleared of any negligence and the verdict was accidental death.’

‘How did the family take it?’ Janine said. ‘See what you can find out.’

‘Will do,’ Lisa said.

‘Other actions?’ said Janine.

‘We’ve pulled in CCTV for the area,’ Lisa said, ‘and we’re looking for activity near the scene: people, cars. Same with house-to-house.’

‘We’re also working back through his day,’ Butchers said, ‘getting the timeline filled in.’

‘Good,’ Janine said, ‘We’ve arranged to talk to staff at the surgery now, and I intend to speak to Dr McKee again after that. And attend the post-mortem. We’ll review everything at five-thirty.’

Chapter 12

Roy was no stranger to organizing funerals. He’d helped with his father’s, sorted out his mother’s, then Peggy’s parents and -

He was startled by a blare from the horn of the car behind him. The lights had changed to green and Roy sat there like an idiot. He drove on. He had the death certificate now from the registrar. The registrar had offered to print out extra copies in case he needed to send them to Peggy’s bank or building society or anywhere else but Roy had declined. They had a joint account, the house was rented, he wouldn’t need them.

Cooper’s, a Catholic firm were doing the funeral, there’d been an opening at the cemetery on Saturday afternoon. There was no need to wait any longer – it wasn’t as if there were any family who needed time to travel. It’d be Roy and Peggy’s friends, most of them from church. Father McDovey would do a Requiem Mass at St Edmund’s beforehand.

Roy pulled into the road at the side of the surgery. The place was closed. He had watched the news this morning, reports that someone had been shot. Later they named the victim as Dr Donald Halliwell. The main entrance was taped off but Roy could see the fire door at the side was open and a police officer stood there. He parked and lifted the oxygen cylinder out and walked along the path to her.

‘Surgery’s closed,’ she said.

‘I’m just returning this,’ Roy said, ‘it won’t take a minute.’ He had already rung up to arrange the return of the hospital bed and they would collect on Friday.

‘If you could come back tomorrow,’ the officer said.

Roy felt a flash of anger, hot across his back. My wife’s just died, he wanted to tell her, she spent the last weeks of her life hooked up to that thing and I want rid of it. Now.

He said nothing, then he caught sight of Miss Ling behind, in the hallway.

‘Roy,’ she said, ‘come in.’ The police officer glared at him but stood to one side. ‘I heard about Peggy,’ Ms Ling said. ‘I am so sorry.

‘And Dr Halliwell,’ he said.

‘It’s awful. Unbelievable.’ She had been crying.

‘I just wanted to drop the oxygen off,’ he said, ‘but then-’

‘Of course.’ She glanced sharply at the officer. ‘No problem.’

The policewoman tightened her lips and he wished he had the nerve to challenge her attitude but what if he lost his temper and caused a scene when they were trying to work out what happened to the doctor?

So he said nothing but left the cylinder where Ms Ling showed him. He could see other people in the building, a woman who looked at him as he came in. And a tall man near the consulting rooms. They weren’t in uniforms but he got the impression they were police too. Ms Ling asked when the funeral was and she said she’d try and come and that made him feel a bit better.

On the drive home he remembered going to the surgery with Peggy for the results of the tests; how they had sat side by side while Dr Halliwell told them that it was bad news, that the shadow was a tumour on the lung and that it was unfortunately very advanced.

‘How advanced?’ Peggy had said.

‘But can you treat it?’ Roy said at the same time.

‘The only treatment will be palliative,’ Dr Halliwell said, ‘to make you comfortable. I am sorry.’

Sorry, he had said but it wasn’t his fault, was it? The luck of the draw. Terminal, Roy thought. The word hadn’t been spoken but that’s what it was. Terminal.

There was a rushing in his head and he felt sick. He clamped his jaw tight.

‘How long have I got?’ Peggy had said.

‘Impossible to say.’ Dr Halliwell shook his head.

‘Roughly?’

‘Peggy,’ the doctor reproached her.

‘Please, doctor, you must have some idea. Months? A year?’

Dr Halliwell took a breath, his fingers on the knot of his tie.

Weeks, then, Roy thought.

‘A year would be most unlikely,’ the doctor had said

‘Thank you,’ Peggy said.

For what? A death sentence? Roy was furious. How could she be so accepting? Why wasn’t she full of rage at the unfairness of it all? She deserved better. God knows, she’d been through enough in the past few years.

Roy had got abruptly to his feet and let go of her hand. He had to leave.

Dr Halliwell looked up at him and said to them both, ‘It’s an awful lot to take in. Why don’t you go home and I’ll call in tomorrow afternoon and we’ll look at your care plan then.’

Care plan? How had it come to that? One minute she was a bit more breathless, had a pain in the side, next thing she was dying and had a care plan.

Peggy stood up. ‘Yes, thank you, doctor,’ she said again. Roy followed her out, the injustice of it a searing fire in his chest.

And it had been weeks. Five short weeks from that day until her death yesterday.

Dr Halliwell had called just after lunch.

Roy had been up with Peggy all night, dozing in the armchair, beside the big hospital bed. He’d had to move furniture out of the room to accommodate it but there was just enough space for the chair and the small table to put all the medicines and things on.

When it grew light, Roy had made a cup of tea. He’d asked Peggy if she’d like a drink of anything but she didn’t wake. Her breath was irregular even with the oxygen and several times she made a gargling sound. Roy worried she was choking at first, he sprang up and watched, ready to try and clear her throat if he had to but then he saw the ripple in her throat as she managed to swallow and he sat back down again, took hold of her hand.

He didn’t speak. There was no need for words. Now and again a noise from outside would pierce his consciousness: the slam of a car door, a burst of bird song, a plane overhead; but in the cocoon of the room, over-warm for Peggy, he let his mind drift.

Peggy began to cough and then her breath made a stuttering, scraping sound. He felt her hand slacken. And then there were no more breaths. Roy waited a while to be sure, an awful aching in his throat. He rubbed his eyes and he gently removed the oxygen mask and smoothed her hair back. He folded her hands on her chest and gazed at her for a few more minutes before calling the surgery.

Dr Halliwell gave his condolences when he arrived in the early afternoon. He said he’d finished his home calls and thought it was best to visit Roy last so he could take as much time as they needed. Roy offered him tea but the doctor said he was popping home after this. He explained that, as Peggy’s death was expected, Roy was free to call the undertaker and could take the doctor’s death certificate to the registry office.

‘She was at home with you, where she wanted to be,’ Dr Halliwell said.

Roy gave a nod.

‘It will get easier, life goes on,’ the GP said.

Roy bit his cheek, didn’t trust himself to answer. He took the piece of paper from the doctor and put it on the arm of the chair.

‘There’ll be a lot to sort out now, with all the arrangements,’ Dr Halliwell said. ‘It’ll keep you busy. But you may find things a bit harder after that, with time on your hands. Any problems sleeping, anything like that, do come and see me. Now I’ll leave you to it unless there’s anything else?’ He spread his hands.

Rory shook his head.

Once Dr Halliwell had gone, Roy picked up the death certificate, his hands shaking, the paper trembling and the words shivering on the page.

Now, Roy pulled up outside the house and parked.

Inside, the curtains were still closed, the place cold. He had turned the heating off. He sat in the chair in the room and closed his eyes and imagined Peggy’s hand in his.

Chapter 13

The police tape remained in place. A laminated A4 notice on the gate post explained the surgery was closed. Inside, the phone was ringing, over and over again, cutting off each time as the answer machine kicked in.

The staff were assembled in the waiting room. There was a hushed, shocked atmosphere. Ms Ling sat with a pile of folders on her knees, face drawn. Beside her was the receptionist Vicky Stonnall, young, plump with her head dyed an improbable shiny purple and sporting oversized rings and a golden necklace like a mayoral chain. Opposite them were Dr Gupta and the practice nurse. The doctor wore black-rimmed glasses perched half way down her nose, her hair salt and pepper. Janine judged her to be in her 40s. Nurse Dawn Langan had been crying, nose pink at the end, and had a balled up tissue in her hand. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

‘Have you found Dr McKee?’ Ms Ling asked.

‘We have,’ Janine said, ‘he was involved in a road accident, he’s fine, just cuts and bruises, but that’s why he can’t be here today. Now, we’ll be talking to you each in turn, using the consulting rooms for privacy. Ms Ling, if you could come with us.’

Once Janine and Richard were settled with Ms Ling in the other room, the practice manager said, ‘I’ve already made a list of Don’s appointments yesterday, including his home visits.’

‘Any of these names cause for concern?’ Janine asked.

‘No,’ Ms Ling said.

‘How was Dr Halliwell regarded?’

‘Well respected, his list was always full. You hear so much these days about people never seeing the same GP twice in a row, not knowing them but Don believed the doctor-patient relationship was essential. He would care for several generations of the same family. He was very popular.’

‘Did anyone ever threaten him?’

‘Oh, we all get our share of abuse,’ Ms Ling said, ‘it goes with the territory. But it’s a small minority of people.’

‘And what about formal complaints?’ Richard said.

‘Those too,’ Ms Ling said.

‘Anybody spring to mind? Anything current?’ Janine said.

‘Adele Young, her daughter Marcie.’

‘Dr Halliwell attended Marcie’s inquest on Monday?’

‘That’s right. Accidental death. Marcie was a heroin user. When she died, from an overdose of street drugs, Mrs Young instigated a formal complaint. She believed that Dr Halliwell had reduced Marcie’s methadone dosage too quickly. The coroner fully exonerated Don. But the internal complaints process still has to run its course.’

‘Sergeant Butchers will follow-up on these and any other complaints, if you can make sure he has all the notes. He’s going to be based here for now,’ Janine said, ‘and will be going through Dr Halliwell’s appointments.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Ms Ling said.

‘How did Dr Halliwell get along with the rest of the staff?’ Janine said.

‘Fine,’ Ms Ling said, ‘well…except for Fraser.’

Janine felt her pulse speed up.

‘They didn’t always see eye to eye,’ Ms Ling said, ‘there was a confrontation yesterday.’

‘A confrontation?’ Richard said.

‘Don informed Fraser that he wouldn’t be made partner. Fraser didn’t take it well.’

‘Did he make any threats?’ Richard said.

‘No,’ Ms Ling said, ‘he was just very angry, disappointed.’

‘Thank you,’ Janine said. ‘If you think of anything else do please tell Sergeant Butchers or contact any of us via the helpline.’

Ms Ling nodded.

As Janine went to ask Dr Gupta to come through, Ms Ling stopped to talk to someone at the fire door. Janine watched Ms Ling guide the caller, who was delivering an oxygen cylinder, along the corridor and heard him ask about Dr Halliwell. The murder had shaken the community to the core. Like Roper said, most of the gang violence was contained within the gangs and their associates but here was a middle class professional gunned down at his place of work. People needed reassurances, and they needed answers.

Receptionist Vicky Stonnall couldn’t think of any reason why someone would harm Dr Halliwell. But when asked to describe the day in detail Vicky said, ‘There were some sort of ructions going on, yesterday. Fraser had a face like thunder. You could have cut the air in chunks.’

‘Do you know what it was about?’ Janine said.

‘Well, him and Dr Halliwell, they didn’t really get on. Dr Halliwell, he’s a bit old-fashioned. Was. It’s weird,’ she said, ‘I keep having to remind myself he’s dead. You never know, do you, you never know what’s round the corner.’

‘And the argument?’ Janine said.

‘Fraser’s saying how he was relying on the partnership and how he’s screwed now. Then he starts in about how Dr Halliwell runs his own little empire and no one else can have an opinion.’

‘How did Dr Halliwell respond?’ Richard said.

‘Well…’ Vicky grimaced, ‘…he didn’t usually lose his temper but he went ballistic, he was under a lot of stress, he was shouting, really shouting at Fraser to get out, telling him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’ She shuddered. ‘It was horrible.’

‘He was a good man, a good doctor, a friend,’ Dr Gupta told Janine and Richard.

‘All good?’ Janine said.

‘Well, we had to coax him a little with some of the new initiatives but he was highly regarded by his patients, his list was invariably full.’

‘And his colleagues? Dr McKee?’ Richard said.

There was a pause. Dr Gupta looked uneasy. ‘Don didn’t feel Fraser was right for us,’ she said, ‘in the long term. Fraser would complete his year, then he’d have to look elsewhere.’

‘We understand there was a confrontation yesterday?’ Janine said.

‘That’s right, a row, but you can’t think that has anything to do with the shooting,’ Dr Gupta said.

‘We’re not jumping to any conclusions,’ Janine said, ‘we’re just gathering as much information as we can at the moment. Can you think of anything else, anything out of the ordinary, odd?’

‘No,’ she said, then she froze, her eyes cast upwards as though remembering.

‘Dr Gupta?’ Janine said.

‘It may be nothing but-’

‘Go on.’ Janine said.

‘On Monday, I saw a Range Rover outside, a black one, parked across the road. It was a little odd because surgery had already finished, so they weren’t picking anyone up.’ Janine thought of the 4x4 that had come after McKee. Could it be the same vehicle?

‘Was there someone in it?’ Richard said.

‘A man. I couldn’t see him properly, the windows were quite dark. And I didn’t like to stare.’

‘This was Monday?’ Janine said.

‘Yes,’ Dr Gupta said, ‘at six o’clock.’

‘Did you see the car again?’ Janine said.

‘No.’

‘Did you notice the registration?’ Richard said.

‘Sorry, no.’

‘Thank you,’ Janine said. ‘Dr Gupta, we need someone to make a formal identification of the body and Mrs Halliwell has declined. Would you…?’

‘Of course,’ she said.

‘It will be sometime later today after the post-mortem,’ Janie said. ‘Thank you.’

Dawn Langan was so tearful, apparently in shock and they got next to nothing from her. In between crying, her eyes would cloud over, staring into the distance and Janine would have to repeat the question to get any reply.

‘On Monday, do you remember seeing anyone parked across the street?’ Janine said.

‘No.’

‘And did you notice anyone hanging around when you left on Tuesday?’

Dawn started to cry again. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just so awful.’

‘Something Fraser McKee failed to mention,’ Janine said as they walked to the car. ‘A screaming row.’

‘Shall we jog his memory?’ Richard said.

‘Definitely. It could be a motive but it’s messy, isn’t it? Halliwell sacks McKee in effect, McKee overreacts, some may say, and shoots Halliwell. Meanwhile, the Wilson gang are trashing McKee’s house. McKee flees and is run off the road by forces unknown, maybe Wilson Crew affiliates – in a car similar to the one Dr Gupta saw the evening before.’

‘Where’s the gun?’ Richard said.

‘And why would McKee come to see us if he’s the perpetrator?’ Janine said.

Janine’s phone rang. Shap calling. ‘Boss, I’m at the garage. There’s no match between the cars, they’ve found black paint on Halliwell’s but nothing like that on McKee’s. In fact, no sign that a second vehicle was involved in the crash at all. If he had been rammed, shunted off the road, they would expect to see scratches, paint samples and so on but there’s nothing. Nada.’

‘Interesting. Thanks Shap.’ Janine relayed the news to Richard. ‘Something else we need to speak to Fraser McKee about.’ She checked her watch. ‘I’m due at the post-mortem now – you go and sort out a duty solicitor for McKee and we’ll question him under caution as soon as I’m back.’

Chapter 14

The ringing of the doorbell roused Norma from sleep. She was on her bed, fully clothed, a sour taste in her mouth and drool on the pillow.

Perhaps they’d leave, go away, if she just ignored it. But it went again, three short peals.

Norma wiped at her face, glimpsed herself in the mirror as she passed, face drawn, deep shadows under her eyes, hair tangled. No time to improve on her appearance.

Yvette was at the door. Had she not heard? Had the family not seen the news? The picture of Don, the headlines, FAMILY GP SHOT DEAD.

Yvette’s family were from the Congo, recent immigrants. Sometimes Norma used a French word, Yvette’s first language, to explain what she wanted from the teenager’s playing.

‘Mrs Halliday,’ the girl smiled, her face bright, eyes clear. She didn’t know. For a moment Norma considered letting her in, going ahead with a lesson anyway but swiftly realized this was foolish. She would not be able to listen to the music without getting upset. ‘Yvette, I am sorry but the lesson is cancelled,’ she said. ‘My husband, he’s… il est mort. Je suis desolee.’

The girl’s smile disappeared and she swallowed. ‘Oh, I am sorry,’ she said and she scuffed one shoe against the step. Gawky.

‘No more lessons,’ Norma said, ‘Finis, finished.’

Yvette nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘bye-bye. Thank you, merci beaucoup.’ She walked away, down the drive.

‘Au revoir,’ Norma whispered. She had a sudden powerful memory of that wonderful summer in France, those weeks before she started university. Of Pierre, her first lover, her only lover apart from Don.

There was a small copse on the outskirts of the village, in a hollow below the road, where all the teenagers liked to meet. Pierre had arrived in the village over the winter, moving in with his grandmother, so Norma had not met him on previous holidays. He was the quiet type, on the edge of the group, enjoying the games and jokes, volunteering little. But his eyes were always on her and she felt the attraction too. He was sallow-skinned with brown eyes, long curling eyelashes and a crooked smile and he could play the harmonica.

The relationships in the group fluctuated. Some more serious than others, some of the local kids had a series of flings with les Anglais who visited and it was commonplace for couples to indulge in petting as the night wore on, moving away into the trees if things got more intense.

Norma kept a diary back then and each night chronicled the state of play with Pierre. On the second week, she moved away from the campfire with him, giddy from the wine but flushed with desire too. He had a rubber Johnny. She felt a lurch of embarrassment when he pulled it from his pocket and asked her to hold his lighter so he could see to put it on. But then he kissed her again and touched her and she didn’t want it to stop.

She was level-headed enough to know it was only a holiday romance and when he asked for her address, so they could write, she had smiled and said she was moving to university so she didn’t have one yet.

She never saw him again.

In the dining room, Norma got out her work diary. She made a list of current pupils and their phone numbers, seven in all not counting Yvette. Then she began to ring them. She rehearsed what she would say, a bereavement in the family, giving up teaching. In five cases she got an answerphone which made it easier. She spoke to a further three parents who sounded either shocked or embarrassed (they obviously knew about Don) and were as eager to keep things brief as she was. The other call, the last, was to Leo Johnson’s house. Leo answered and said no, neither his mum nor dad were in. What did she want? Leo had an uncomfortable habit of saying whatever came into his head. Norma decided not to go into the reasons for terminating the lessons but just said, ‘I’m not going to be doing lessons anymore, Leo, can you let your parents know?’

‘Not on Saturday?’

‘That’s right. Not on Saturday. Not ever. I’m retiring.’

‘You are quite old,’ he said.

‘I am, yes,’ she said, ‘bye-bye, Leo.’

‘Bye, Miss. Miss?’ he said quickly.

‘Yes Leo?’

‘Was that man your husband? The one what was shot?’

‘Yes,’ Norma said.

‘Who shot him?’

‘Nobody knows,’ she said, ‘the police are trying to find out.’

‘OK Miss, bye Miss.’

Norma hung up the phone. She stared at the paper beside it where she had scrawled dead, dead, dead over and over and underlined it. ‘Oh, Don,’ she whispered.

She heard the door, and his footsteps and, shivering, she stumbled to the hall.

But there was no one there.

Just her.

Alone.

Chapter 15

‘In good health, could have lived another forty years,’ Susan, the pathologist, commented. ‘Clean liver and lungs, strong heart. Not always the way with doctors.’

Janine looked at the man on the table. He’d a strong face, large nose and high brow. His clothes had been photographed, swept and taped for trace evidence then removed and sealed to be admitted into evidence. His body had been photographed and examined before being cleaned. The three wounds to his chest were vivid, shocking against the pallor of his skin but now overshadowed by the sweeping Y-shaped incision that the pathologist had made to carry out the internal exam.

Why, Janine thought? Why would anyone want to kill a GP? Someone who was providing a public service, someone who people trusted, relied on. Someone who tended to the sick, to babies and pensioners, the dying, those in pain. First do no harm. It seemed so peculiar.

If the man had been killed anywhere else she’d have been tempted to think of it as a case of mistaken identity but Halliwell had been locking up the surgery. Either whoever had shot him had done so deliberately, sought him out and killed him, or Halliwell had been an obstacle for someone who had come to the surgery carrying a handgun to some other end. Armed robberies these days usually focused on places with reasonable amounts of cash and minimal security: pubs, restaurants and the like. But the surgery didn’t have any cash. They didn’t store drugs in significant amounts. The last time the burglary happened they’d taken computers and prescription pads but they had done so cleverly, long gone before the police were alerted. No guns that time, no casualties.

‘No defensive wounds,’ Susan said, ‘no sign of a scuffle, no skin under the nails.’

‘The beauty of a gun,’ Janine said. ‘No contact needed between parties, means there’s little or no exchange of trace material.’

‘Harder for you,’ Susan said.

‘I’m hoping ballistics can give us a steer,’ Janine replied.

‘Any motive?’ Susan asked, beginning to stitch the incision closed.

‘Not sure,’ Janine said. ‘We’ve someone we’re talking to, parted from the doctor on bad terms, shall we say.’

‘Good luck,’ Susan said.

‘Thanks.’ Janine replied, ‘I’ve a feeling I’m going to need it.’

It was clear from the formality of the opening procedures and from Janine’s tone that Fraser McKee was no longer simply being regarded as an innocent witness. Janine wasn’t clear yet whether he had committed any crime but he had lied to the police, by omission, and that was a serious matter in the light of a murder.

‘I’m concerned that you’ve been keeping information from us,’ she said.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Fraser McKee said.

‘What can you tell me about the shooting of your colleague, Donald Halliwell?’

‘Nothing,’ McKee said. He looked at the solicitor by his side then back to Janine, though she noticed his eyes slid over hers.

‘You’re hiding something. Something about the shooting?’ Janine said.

‘No!’ McKee looked terrified. ‘Nothing. I’ve nothing to do with that. Honestly.’

‘‘Really? On Tuesday afternoon you and Don Halliwell argued about your future at the practice,’ she began. ‘A couple of hours later he was dead.’

‘That has nothing to do with me,’ he said.

‘Prove it,’ Janine said, ‘stop lying to us. The row with Don Halliwell?’

He looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘I wanted to talk about being made a partner, I needed a rise. Don said they were going to let me go, that I wasn’t right for them. I wasn’t right!’ He said derisively.

‘Why was that?’ Janine said.

‘He couldn’t stand the competition, that’s what it was. I could see he was making mistakes and I let him know about it,’ McKee said, an edge of malice in his tone. ‘He didn’t like that. Dissent in the ranks.’

‘What mistakes?’ Janine said.

‘Marcie Young for one.’

‘Dr Halliwell was fully exonerated at the inquest.’

‘Not everyone thinks that was the right verdict,’ McKee said.

‘Including you?’ Richard said.

‘That’s right.’ McKee raised his chin.

‘So yesterday you argued about your future at the practice, you claim that you left and went home. There you find that someone has done over your house and you flee in your car, you crash and then you come to us for help. What’s all that about?’ Janine said.

McKee hesitated, pale lashes blinking.

‘This is a murder inquiry,’ Janine reminded him. ‘You’ve been less than honest with us. Now’s the time to start.’

McKee said nothing, the muscles round his jaw jumped and flickered.

‘Or perhaps,’ Janine said, ‘you actually returned to the surgery and waited for Dr Halliwell, furious that he was blocking your promotion, taking your job.’

‘No, I didn’t, I swear.’

‘Tell me,’ Janine said.

He pressed his lips together still reluctant.

‘Traffic investigators have not found any evidence of another vehicle involved in your car crash,’ Richard said.

‘Omissions, inconsistencies,’ Janine said, We could just send you on your way, you’ve not been honest with us so why should we believe you when you claim you’re at risk of harm?’

Fear darted through his eyes. ‘You can’t do that,’ he said.

‘Try me,’ Janine answered. ‘You start talking, you stop wasting our time.’

McKee’s shoulders dropped and he slumped back in his chair. ‘I’m in debt, serious debt. I owe thousands. I got into a mess: student loan, credit cards, bought the house at just the wrong time. So,’ he drew a breath, ‘I went to this loans office, Barry Stroud, you know him? Sold him my debts but I couldn’t keep up the instalments, it was crippling.’ He stopped, closed his eyes.

‘What then?’ Richard said.

‘Stroud offered me a way out, payment in kind. If I helped some friends of his break in to the surgery.’

‘Yesterday?’ Richard said.

‘No, the time before,’ said McKee, ‘I had to make sure the alarm was off.’

‘The alarm rang,’ Richard said.

‘Yeah, they set it off as they were leaving, to throw people off the track, so they wouldn’t know they’d had inside help. These friends of Stroud’s,’ he curled a lip, ‘I didn’t know they were bloody gangsters.’

‘Yesterday?’ Janine said.

‘They’d been on about organising a repeat performance, all relayed through Stroud. I never met them. But I couldn’t do it. Stroud kept threatening me. I said no. Then yesterday… I got home and saw the house… I knew it’d be me next. I didn’t know where to go. I got in the car. Don’s death was on the news.’ His voice shook, ‘I panicked, I lost control of the car. It was stupid.’

‘The crash was an accident?’ Richard said.

‘Yes,’ McKee said.

‘And the black 4x4?’ Richard said.

McKee shook his head. ‘Doesn’t exist.’

Janine was sick of his lies and half-truths, the way he had confused the lines of inquiry and wasted their time and resources.

‘So no one ran you off the road?’ she said.

‘No – but they killed Don,’ McKee’s voice broke.

‘Why would they do that?’ Janine said.

He threw his arms out. ‘As a warning. I wouldn’t agree to help them with the burglary so they killed him.’

‘Bit extreme,’ Richard said.

‘Or in mistake for me, then,’ McKee argued. ‘Look, if they find out…’ He was still pale but beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead. ‘Can you… please, what sort of protection do I get?’

‘We want all this in a written statement,’ Janine said, failing to keep the irritation out of her voice. ‘I advise you not to return home and we can refer you to our witness support scheme.’

‘But if I make a statement, if they know, they’ll come after me…’

‘That’s the point of the witness protection scheme,’ Janine said. ‘You act as a witness for us and we protect you.’

McKee moved to stand up and Janine said, ‘There’s just the matter of the charge.’

‘Charge?’ he stammered.

Janine nodded to Richard who said, ‘Fraser McKee, I am charging you with conspiracy to commit theft. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

McKee sat there, open-mouthed, aghast. What did he expect, Janine thought? A pat on the back? A free pass? Not going to happen. Even if the case came to court and the prosecution decided to grant him immunity he would still be expected to testify and witness protection was no joyride. He could kiss goodbye to his work as a doctor, he’d rarely see friends or family again. What a waste.

Chapter 16

The boards in the incident room had been updated to reflect what they now knew: McKee’s involvement in the previous burglary, his financial problems, the Wilson Crew flagged up as behind the attack on his house. On the left, in the surgery section, there was a note about Dr Gupta’s sighting of a black Range Rover and this was linked to the attack on Halliwell’s car. Beneath a list headed ‘grudges’ were several names, including Adele Young, furnished by Butchers. The post-mortem results had been added.

‘There is no connection between our murder case and the McKee incidents,’ Janine said, ‘separate inquiries. The investigation into the previous burglary we’ve passed over to serious crime. McKee’s given his statement, he’s out on bail and under the care of witness protection.

‘The GMC?’ Richard said.

‘Notified,’ Janine said.

‘They’ll have to strike him off,’ Richard said.

‘All that training,’ Janine said, ‘down the drain. Now, the post-mortem holds no surprises: our victim is in good health. There was nothing recovered that could lead us to the identity of the assailant or assailants. And I’ve had word through that the formal identification was made by Dr Gupta. So, looking afresh, what do we think? Is a botched robbery still the most likely scenario?’

‘It doesn’t explain the attack on Halliwell’s car several hours earlier,’ said Shap.

There were murmurs of agreement. ‘For that,’ Shap went on, ‘we’re looking for a black vehicle with a powerful engine, and the Range Rover seen by Dr Gupta on the Monday evening fits the specs.’

‘If it’s not an attempted burglary then what?’ Janine said.

‘Gang members, novices or younger brothers upping the stakes to make an impression, it’s a cold-blooded hit and Halliwell’s a random choice,’ said Richard.

‘He was in the wrong place at the wrong time?’ Janine said. ‘I still find it hard to see Halliwell as a gang target. The surgery’s off the beaten track, if they were out to shoot someone why go there to do it?’

No one came up with any answers on that so Janine said, ‘Other angles?’

‘Can we rule out the family?’ Richard said.

‘There’s no kids, just the wife,’ Lisa said.

‘Anything to suggest her involvement?’ Janine said. ‘Lisa, Shap, you broke the news?’

‘She seemed genuinely upset.’ Lisa said, ‘She thought we were there about the damage to the car. She went into shock when she heard.’

‘She could have been practising in front of the mirror,’ Shap said.

‘Shap,’ Janine said, ‘it’s your faith in human nature gets me every time. OK, no concerns around the wife – but let’s be thorough, Lisa check out that her earlier pupils did have their lessons as she said.’

Janine looked at the boards. ‘Butchers, what have we got on patients so far?’

Butchers held up a DVD. ‘Marcie Young’s inquest. Janine nodded for him to play it and the team looked to the large screen up to the left of the incident boards. Butchers played the section where Adele Young gave her reaction to the reporters outside the court. ‘Nothing will bring Marcie back but that doesn’t mean I do nothing. It doesn’t stop here,’ she said firmly. She looked to be mixed race like her daughter, Janine thought. A black man behind her, a family member presumably – Marcie’s father, Janine wondered – pushed forward. ‘This isn’t justice, this is a mockery.’ He stabbed his fingers in the air. But Adele Young stopped him, ‘Wait!’ She turned back to the press. ‘We’ll get an independent review for Marcie and if that doesn’t work we’ll go to the ombudsman. These professionals need to start listening to us, to the families. And we need to stand up for ourselves and for the ones that are vulnerable, like Marcie, because no-one listens to them.’

‘Good speech,’ Janine said.

‘She’s got an axe to grind,’ Richard said.

‘Yeah, but she’s going through the official channels. It’ll be a fair few years before she’s exhausted all the options. At that stage, maybe she’ll think about taking it into her own hands.’

‘Now someone’s beaten her to it,’ Shap said, ‘maybe someone else who thought the official route was a waste of time.’

‘Another disgruntled patient? Could be,’ Janine said. ‘Butchers you’re talking to everyone who had an appointment with Halliwell on Tuesday. Use Shap if you need extra legs. And keep your ears open at the surgery.’

Chapter 17

The methadone replacement programme had a mixed press, Adele knew that. Some people hailed it as a proven route to breaking addiction, others pointed to a number of pitfalls, the addicts who sold the methadone to buy heroin, the problem of withdrawal from the methadone itself.

It was a chance, Adele thought, and Marcie responded better than she had imagined. It was still difficult to accept her daughter was taking the drug. Marcie usually did so in private in her bedroom, the dosage carefully set to give her just enough relief from the craving for heroin. Methadone mimicked the effects too, the rush, the slump of energy, nodding off. It was important to support her in altering her lifestyle and routine, to avoid other drug users, stay clear of the lifestyle, the locations of that world, the GP had explained.

Adele did all she could to encourage her. It would have helped if Marcie had been allowed back to school but she’d been excluded, no one wanted a junkie in the classroom. Or if she could have worked, that would’ve helped with her confidence but at almost fifteen she could only do a few hours and people in the area knew she was a user. She would not be trusted, not even to wash pots, until she had proved herself. Maybe she’d go to college then, Adele thought. Find her feet, learn a trade, have a brighter future.

He’s cut my dose,’ Marcie had said slamming her bag onto the kitchen counter.

‘Already?’

‘Cut it in half.’ There was confusion in her eyes and panic too.

Adele felt an answering burst of alarm. ‘Why? Did he say why?’

‘Just said it’s the best thing, so I don’t get too dependent.’

Of course you’re dependent, Adele thought, you’re an addict, this is a substitute. ‘I’ll have a word with him,’ Adele said, ‘we’ll go in tomorrow. Tell them it’s too soon. Yes?’

Marcie nodded.

Adele had to argue with the receptionist to get in to see him but she held her ground, just kept repeating that there was a serious problem with Marcie’s medication that she needed to discuss with Dr Halliwell. It sounded silly after the third repetition but she kept her voice level and maintained eye contact, with Marcie fidgeting at her side, and as the queue built up behind her she felt the pressure increase on the woman, who finally said, ‘Well, I can’t give you a time, he’s fully booked all morning.’

‘Whenever,’ Adele said. ‘We need to see the doctor and we need to see him today.’

They waited an hour and twenty-five minutes before an apparent no-show meant they got called in.

He greeted them by name. He had a grandfatherly style, smiling, at least to start with.

‘We feel the reduction in Marcie’s dosage is too much, too soon,’ Adele said.

The smile disappeared.

‘I can assure you,’ he said, ‘that I’m satisfied she has stabilized on the current dose and best practice is now to reduce the amount.’

‘But she’s not-’

He held up a finger to silence her, his eyes now flat and cold. ‘We do not simply want to replace one addiction with another.’

‘It’s not enough,’ Marcie said, shakily.

His eyes flicked her way and back. ‘I’ll be the best judge of that,’ he said. ‘In my opinion your best chance of recovery from drug abuse rests in sticking with my treatment plan. Otherwise we are all wasting our time.’

Adele felt a flush of anger, the afterburn of resentment. ‘Based on what?’ she said, sounding more bullish than she meant to.

‘Based on a lifetime’s experience in medical practice.’

‘We could get a second opinion,’ Adele said.

‘That is your prerogative. The relationship between doctor and patient is one of trust and cooperation. If that breaks down…’

He was threatening them, the arrogant wanker. Adele had no idea how easy or hard it might be to find a new GP, to get the help Marcie needed. And if it took some time, if there was a gap in her treatment, she could soon be back on the streets.

‘A cut in half is a big step,’ Adele said, ‘and patients must vary. If that was staggered, say over a month or two.’ She spoke too quickly, babbling.

Dr Halliwell watched her with unforgiving eyes and then said, ‘If I thought that was appropriate then that’s what I would have done. We can’t all be experts.’

Marcie made a little sound, a sigh or a laugh, Adele couldn’t tell.

‘She’s my daughter,’ Adele said, ‘and I believe her when she says it’s too early, that she won’t be able to cope.’

‘She’s my patient, Mrs Young. Addicts will do anything to get a fix, perhaps Marcie is not as committed to recovery as she should be.’

‘How dare you!’ Adele said. ‘Why won’t you listen to what she’s saying instead of slagging her off? She needs your help!’ She was trembling with rage, her face hot, her ears singing.

‘I’ll thank you to lower your voice,’ he said sharply, ‘or leave.’ He turned to Marcie. ‘I’ll see you next week. Believing you can do it is half the battle. This may well be a bout of cold feet.’ He sat back and gestured to the door, his face set.

Adele clamped down on the anger, she needed to in order to deal with Marcie. All that mattered was that Marcie didn’t just give up and stop trying.

‘You are going to do this,’ Adele said on the way home, ‘and I’ll help.’

‘How?’ the girl said.

‘Any way I can. It’ll be all right,’ she said, trying to sound truthful. ‘It might not be easy but I know you can do it. It’ll be all right.’ She tried to smile then turned away so Marcie would not see the worry.

The words were a prayer. And a lie.

Adele knew, from her own smoking habit, that addiction acted upon the brain as much as the body, that the whisper of voices in your head was as much responsible for relapse as the physical cravings. The times Adele had tried to stop smoking she had to erect barriers in her mind to prevent those thoughts from entering at all; because it was only five minutes from just one won’t hurt or you can’t keep this up or you deserve a smoke, today, don’t you? to that guilt-ridden sprint to the corner shop and twenty Lambert & Butler. So she could sense that Marcie’s belief that her new dosage was inadequate could, oh so easily, translate into her ‘just needing a proper fix’.

They were watching Big Brother but Marcie was distracted, getting up and down for crisps, then a biscuit, then Bombay mix; shifting on the sofa, making the leather squeak, rubbing at her leg then her stomach, as if her skin was crawling: one of the responses to withdrawal Adele had read about in the leaflets and online.

‘It might take a day or two to get used to it,’ Adele said. ‘Your body would have to adjust, give it a couple of days and you’ll feel much better.’

Marcie shot her a look, sullen. She bit her nails. Adele stopped herself commenting. Christ, if that helps then go for it.

When Howard came home, she cooked chicken fillets, oven chips and peas hoping the food might fill some of the hunger that Marcie was feeling. Adele watched Marcie eat, waiting until she went upstairs to tell Howard about their visit to the doctor.

‘She’ll be all right.’ He reached over and rubbed Adele’s shoulder. ‘It’s bound to get easier.’

‘Just don’t leave any money about.’

He turned to look at her, muting the sound on the TV. You really think? his expression said.

Adele shrugged. ‘Just don’t.’ She lay awake most of the night, listening for the creak of the top step or the click of the front door but Marcie never left her room.

Adele was on early the following day, six till two, serving food at the airport. Work was purgatory. She resisted the temptation to ring Marcie every five minutes. Howard was there until mid-day and that meant Marcie would only have two and a half hours on her own, as long as Adele’s bus was on time.

When Adele got home, Marcie was safe on the sofa. Adele felt as though she’d been holding her breath all day long. ‘Do you want a brew?’ Adele asked Marcie, who nodded. She looked miserable, preoccupied.

‘Can I have a cig?’ Marcie asked when Adele brought her drink.

‘Of course.’ She didn’t hesitate. ‘Here.’ She passed the packet. ‘In the yard.’ Adele never smoked in the house, well, very, very rarely. Howard didn’t like it and she didn’t want the place smelling like an ashtray.

It was cool outside, a sharp wind. Marcie hunched her shoulders up, and smoked like an old hand. Adele shivered, the smoke and her breath both coming in great clouds. ‘How’re we doing?’ she said.

Marcie creased her nose, then tears filled her eyes.

‘Hey,’ Adele said gently, ‘it will get better. And I am so proud of you, you know that, don’t you?’

Marcie gulped. ‘What? Your junkie daughter?’

‘My girl,’ Adele said, ‘and you’re trying, it must be so hard and you’re sticking with it and that is totally brilliant.’ She hurried the last words, sensing her voice might break and not wanting to upset Marcie and show that sort of emotion.

They got a take-away from the Bengal for tea. Adele found it hard to eat, to force food down her gullet. The knots in her stomach got worse. She smoked more than usual and by bedtime she had a thumping headache over one eye.

Another early shift tomorrow. She did sleep but fitfully and the alarm woke her at five.

She opened her eyes. Her phone was gone. A kick in her belly. A fleeting moment’s thought told her that she had brought it upstairs last night. She felt under the pillow. Her purse was still there. She got up and went straight to Marcie’s room knowing already that it was too late, that the room would be empty, that Marcie had gone.

The next time Adele saw her she was laid out on a mortuary table, covered in a sheet.

Chapter 18

Wednesday was Pete’s night for the kids, though it tended to be Tom who spent most time with him: Pete would put Charlotte to bed and Eleanor was of an age where time on her own in her bedroom was preferable to any interaction with either of her boring parents. When Janine pulled into the drive she was surprised to see there was no sign of Pete’s car outside the house.

Janine went in and called out ‘Hello? Tom?’

She found him in the living room, sprawled on the couch, a game on the TV.

‘Where’s your Dad?’ Janine said.

Tom shrugged, never taking his eyes from the screen.

‘Oh, he’s probably got held up with Alfie,’ Janine said, annoyed that she had to make up excuses for Pete. ‘Did you ring him?’

Tom gave a shake of his head.

Janine heard Eleanor coming downstairs and went into the hallway to catch her.

‘Your dad’s not been, then?’ Janine said.

‘Who?’ Eleanor said, not breaking her stride.

Janine pulled out her phone and dialled Pete’s landline. His voice mail was on. ‘Hi, you’ve reached Pete, Tina and Alfie. Leave a message.’ All very cosy but what about your other kids?

‘Pete,’ Janine said after the beep, ‘Tom was expecting you tonight. Can you call me back? Be nice if you called him too, or text, smoke signals, whatever.’

It’s not fair, Janine thought, she hated the idea of Tom waiting for his dad, of his anticipation turning to disappointment. Pete had sworn that he’d have regular time with them, even if it had to be less time than before with Alfie’s arrival. She was sick of having to nag and cajole and negotiate with Pete. Why couldn’t he just get his act together and do as he promised?

Janine took a breath and then went upstairs to check on Charlotte. She was in bed and fast asleep.

Eleanor came back up and Janine went onto the landing. ‘Did you put Charlotte to bed?’

‘Someone had to,’ she said, heading for her room.

‘Thanks,’ Janine said.

‘Add it to what you owe me for last night,’ Eleanor said over her shoulder.

Brilliant! Now Eleanor would be charging her for everything. Perhaps if Pete had to chip in too, that’d concentrate his mind.