Desperate Measures

Chapter 26

Opening the morning team briefing, Janine started with the weapon. ‘Back to basics. Our killer had access to a gun; Aaron Matthews’ gun. Two possibilities.’ Janine counted them off on her fingers. ‘Matthews fired the gun; or our killer obtained the gun from Matthews at some juncture and used it. We couldn’t hold Matthews but he is still our number one suspect.

‘The Range Rover, the one that was seen outside the surgery on Monday and was used to ram Halliwell’s car, I bet that’s our killer’s,’ Shap said.

‘Let’s see if we can find a car like that on local CCTV approaching the surgery on the Tuesday prior to the shooting or on the Monday when Dr Gupta saw it. Lisa can you do that?’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘We’ve still not found the briefcase,’ Janine said, ‘are any of these people suddenly chucking prescriptions around?’ She pointed to the boards, all the names connected to the inquiry. ‘Is anyone bragging about a hit? Meanwhile we throw everything we can at links to Aaron Matthews: friends and family, the gang network, hangers-on, wannabees.’

‘Boss,’ Lisa raised her hand. ‘I found a connection last night.’

‘Go on,’ Janine said.

‘Aaron Matthews’ uncle is Howard Urwin,’ Lisa said, ‘Adele Young’s partner.’

Janine felt the hairs on her neck lift. The atmosphere in the room shifted. Richard turned to face Lisa, Shap sat up in his seat and Butchers leant forward.

‘Has Urwin any criminal record?’ Janine asked.

‘No, boss,’ Lisa said.

‘Any association with the Wilson Crew?’ Richard said.

‘No, boss.’

‘You found this out how?’

‘Did some digging,’ Lisa said. ‘Urwin had given a character reference for Aaron Matthews when he was on trial, how he deserved another chance, that sort of thing.’

‘He backed a wrong ‘un there,’ Shap said.

‘Urwin was mouthing off outside the inquest,’ Richard said.

‘So Howard Urwin could have got the gun from Matthews two years ago?’ Janine weighed this up. ‘He hangs onto it then suddenly wants vengeance and hey presto he is armed and dangerous and ready to go?’ She shook her head, it was iffy.

‘Matthews could have stashed it before his arrest,’ Shap said. He’s released and then Uncle Howard asks him for a favour when Doc Halliwell gets off scot free.’

‘Urwin asks Matthews to do the deed?’ Richard said.

‘Or lend him the gun,’ Shap said.

‘Matthews keeps insisting he’s gone straight,’ Lisa said.

‘Well, he would,’ Shap said, ‘It could have been Adele Young out for blood – on the house to house reports she was seen in the area on Tuesday.’

‘She lives in the area,’ Butchers said.

‘Here,’ Shap found the reference, ‘seen out in the vicinity, just before half-six.’

Janine felt her pulse quicken. ‘Close to the time of the attack. That gives us motive, means and opportunity.’ She went up to the boards, drew a line to connect one side, one line of inquiry, to the other.

‘We thought it was either a gang crime or something linked to the practice,’ Janine said, ‘maybe it’s a bit of both: the motive’s a vengeful patient or their relative – Adele Young or Howard Urwin – but the gang link, in the shape of Matthews, supplies the weapon.’

‘It’s personal not business,’ Richard said.

‘Shall we bring her in, boss?’ Butchers offered.

‘I’ll go and talk to her first,’ Janine said, ‘I still think this runs counter to her crusade for legal redress.’

‘Urwin might favour different tactics,’ Shap said.

‘Yes. Someone for Howard Urwin?’ Janine said. Butchers got to his feet. ‘Not you, Butchers. You’re still on the files. Shap?’

Shap nodded.

Butchers sat down heavily, Janine knew he was missing the action, probably feeling sidelined, shunted off combing through the paperwork at the surgery but Janine knew that methodical work was often critical – and Butchers was good at it.

‘Urwin works for a floor cleaning company, they operate out of the Portwood industrial estate,’ Lisa said.

‘Nice work, Lisa,’ Janine said.

‘What’s with the long face?’ Shap said to Butchers as he made to leave. ‘You love it there. You’re like a wasp in jam. Got your feet under the desk, surrounded by women.’

‘Piss off,’ Butchers said.

‘It’s that Vicky Stonnall, she’s the one, isn’t she?’ Shap said. ‘Bet you’re dying for her to take your temperature.’

Janine turned away stifling a laugh as Butchers’ face flooded with red.

Chapter 27

Janine went to see Adele Young on her own, preferring a softly-softly approach. The woman had lost her only child and the man she held accountable for the death of her daughter had been cleared of any wrongdoing. She must be hurt, angry. But angry enough to turn to violence?

The surgery straddled two communities. On the leafier side was a haven for professionals and also bohemian types. You’d have to be a professional, have a well-paid job to afford a mortgage in those parts. Across the far side of the main road, was a council estate, most of it still rented out as social housing.

Adele Young’s house, on the estate, looked well-kept but spartan from the outside, no hanging baskets or garden tubs as there were in the adjoining property. No time for any of that, Janine imagined, all Adele Young’s energy swallowed up by the campaign for justice for Marcie.

Adele answered the door and Janine showed her ID. ‘I’m DCI Lewis, Greater Manchester Police, can I come in?’

‘What for?’ Adele said. Her black hair was cut short, there were dark shadows under her eyes and her lips were chapped, peeling.

‘I’m leading the investigation into the murder of Dr Halliwell,’ Janine said.

‘And?’ Adele’s arms were crossed, the hostility clear on her face.

‘And I would like to ask you a few questions.’

‘We’ve already had your lot knocking on the door,’ Adele Young said. ‘I told them I hadn’t seen anything.’

‘I would still like to talk to you.’ Janine held her gaze and eventually Adele Young turned and walked inside leaving Janine to follow.

In the living room, a coffee table was covered with papers, cuttings and files, material for Adele’s campaign. There were photos of Marcie all around the room; as a toddler with an enormous stuffed rabbit, a schoolgirl with her hair in corn-rows, a teenager dressed up for a big event. Janine thought fleetingly of Eleanor, tried to imagine her getting addicted to drugs, overdosing.

‘I was sorry to hear about your daughter. You thought Dr Halliwell was wrong, the way he dealt with her. There was an incident when you challenged him about that?’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ she said.

‘You were abusive?’ Janine said.

The woman’s lips tightened. ‘I was at my wit’s end. Close to locking her up to stop her going off and getting what she needed and he wouldn’t listen. All he could do was pontificate about his own bloody opinion. I’m watching her fall apart because he’s cut the dose so much, and he didn’t get it. You bet I lost it,’ her voice shook. ‘I could see what was going to happen…I knew… and I couldn’t save her.’ Tears sprang into her eyes. ‘God, I miss her. You do your best to try and keep them safe…’ her voice trailed off. She rubbed at her upper arms as if she was trying to warm herself.

‘And then the inquest, too, that must have been hard,’ Janine said.

‘You’ve no idea,’ Adele said simply.

‘I am sorry,’ Janine said. ‘Adele, I need to ask you where you were on Tuesday evening, between six and seven?’

Adele stared at her, eyes shrewd, mouth twisting. ‘Piss off,’ she said.

‘I need you to answer the question,’ Janine said.

Adele Young gave a shake of her head.

‘Adele, I’m sorry, I need to rule you out of our inquiries and I can’t do that if you won’t cooperate.’

‘Here,’ Adele said.

‘Alone?’

‘With Howard.’

‘All of the time?’ Janine said.

‘Yes.’

‘The thing is, someone saw you on Tuesday, on the high street. Just before half-past six.’

‘I’ve had enough of this. Do you think gunning someone down is the sort of justice I want for my daughter? Get out.’ She stood up, flung her arm towards the door.

‘Where were you going, Adele?’

‘Get out. I’m not having you accuse me of stuff. Don’t you think-’ The woman stopped, trembling, close to breaking down. ‘Just get out. Or arrest me if you think I shot him.’

Chapter 28

Shap approached the empty showroom and could see Howard Urwin inside cleaning the tiles with one of those large round polishing machines. He was a big bloke, looked like he worked out. Shap hated that whole scene; preferred his criminals underfed and feeble, physically incompetent, ideally with rickets too. But this vogue for body-building had everyone pumping iron and bulking up like they were all Rambos in the making.

Shap went in, he knew Urwin had seen him but the man still took his own sweet time turning the machine off.

‘Howard Urwin?’ Shap said. The man gave a nod, wary. Shap pointed to the floor, ‘You missed a bit there.’

Urwin was not amused. Shap showed his ID. ‘DS Shap. Your nephew Aaron Matthews, you done any business with him recently? He lend you anything?’

Howard Urwin gave a snort and switched his machine back on. Prat.

Shap walked over and flipped the switch at the socket. The machine whined to a halt.

‘You weren’t very happy with the inquest verdict, were you? Saw you mouthing off on the telly. Quite a temper you’ve got there,’ Shap said.

‘What do you want?’ Urwin said.

‘Where were you on Tuesday, between the hours of six and seven pm?’

‘Home,’ Urwin said, his eyes hooded.

Anyone corroborate that?’ Shap said.

‘Adele.’

‘Either of you leave the house at all?’ Shap said.

‘Why?’ Howard Urwin said.

‘Because that’s when someone took a pop at Dr Halliwell, three pops, to be exact,’ Shap said, ‘and you and the good doctor hadn’t exactly parted on friendly terms.’

The man rolled back his shoulders, thought for a minute.

‘Adele nipped out for milk, that’s all,’ Urwin said.

‘When?’

‘About six,’ Urwin said.

‘Where d’you get your milk?’

‘Spar shop on the high street.’

Stonewalled by Adele, Janine went back to the office. Shap had rung in with Urwin’s claim that Adele had gone out for milk. Janine sent Lisa to collect security camera footage from the store, for the time in question. And if it didn’t prove Howard Urwin’s account? If Adele had been elsewhere at that crucial time, perhaps heading for the surgery… Her job was to follow the evidence, Janine knew that, wherever it led. To be objective about it but she hoped to hell that Adele Young hadn’t gone and done something she’d regret for the rest of her life.

Chapter 29

Roy polished his shoes. They really needed re-heeling but they’d have to do. He had hung up his suit and shirt and tie, all ready.

The bed had gone now and the medicines, Peggy’s inhalers too, so the room looked bare, just his chair and the side table there.

He had been up to Cooper’s with the clothes for Peggy: her navy dress – the one with the flowers pattern – and her miraculous medal and rosary beads and her wedding ring all to be buried with her.

The flowers he had chosen were a mix of roses: red, white and yellow with some ferns and gypsophilia. Peggy loved roses, she had grown them in the little garden at the back of the house, different varieties, so there was always something in bloom. She’d spend hours out there, pruning or deadheading, tying in and cutting flowers for the house.

As was the custom, her body would be taken to church that evening in preparation for the requiem mass the following day.

He got out the photograph albums. Peggy had put them together. Three leather-bound books full of the best pictures they had taken of Simon, as a baby, as he grew, holidays, birthday parties, playing on his bike.

Roy didn’t need to open them, all those pictures were vivid in his mind. Simon on his shoulders, in Peggy’s arms, Simon covered in ice cream, in school uniform, with his first skateboard, on his eighteenth birthday. The picture they had used for his funeral.

Roy took the albums outside and got the barbecue lighter fuel, poured it over them and set the lot alight. The flames flashed high, scorching some of the rose bushes then subsided as the books burned to ash.

He wrote a letter then, brief and to the point, and found a stamp for it in the drawer in the kitchen. Second class. That would do. He didn’t feel the need to explain himself but he knew that Peggy would want him to set the record straight. He ought to take responsibility for his actions. If everyone did that, then things would not have got to this state in the first place.

He drew a chit of paper from his pocket, checking that he’d not forgotten anything that had to be done.

Satisfied, he looked outside. It was just beginning to spit so he put his coat on and set off to the post box down the road.

He ached with fatigue, wanted nothing more than to sleep. But it would soon all be over.

Chapter 30

Lisa was running the security film from the Spar shop, the shop floor was visible, the entrance door in the centre. Janine watched as the digital clock on the film clicked up close to six o’clock.

‘She’s a real fighter,’ Janine said to Richard, ‘I can’t believe it’s her.’

‘You can’t deny she was out for Halliwell’s blood,’ he said.

‘Yes, but she’s shouting it from the rooftops, taking it to the highest authority, whipping up debate – that’s not the sort of person who then turns round and performs a vigilante execution.’ Janine gestured to the screen. ‘There she is.’

They watched as Adele got a two litre bottle of milk from the chiller and paid at the counter.

‘But which way does she go now?’ Janine said. She held her breath as Adele exited the shop. Released it when she saw her turn left.

‘Away from the surgery – towards home,’ Lisa said.

Janine was relieved and Richard dipped his head, acknowledged her hunch had been right.

Janine signalled to the ‘grudge’ list on the boards.

‘Right, let’s try and eliminate some more of these names.’

Next on Shap’s list was Mr Neville Pemberton, an address in the pricey part of the area. When Shap reached it he found the smart semi had been adapted. A disabled ramp wound up to the front door where there was an entry phone. Shap pressed the buzzer.

‘Who is it?’

‘DS Shap, Greater Manchester Police. Can I have a word with you Mr Pemberton?’

‘You’re having one, aren’t you?’

Smart arse. ‘In person,’ Shap said.

‘What’s it about?’

‘Serious crime. You’ve heard about Dr Halliwell?’ Shap said.

‘He won’t be doing any more damage, now, will he?’

‘Please can you open the door, sir? Now.’

There was a buzzing noise and Shap pushed the door back in time to see Pemberton in a wheelchair, half-way down the hall by the entry phone unit. He was obviously very frail.

‘You made an official complaint?’ Shap said.

Pemberton made a noise of disgust. ‘Flu,’ he gestured to himself. ‘This look like flu to you? Meningitis and he failed to spot it.’

‘Where were you yesterday evening between six and seven?’ Shap said.

The man burst out laughing. ‘Seriously?’ he said.

‘If you could answer the question?’ Shap did not like being jerked about.

‘Here. Arguing the toss about my disabled living allowance. Then at the pub,’ Pemberton said.

‘Can anyone verify that?’ Shap said.

‘My personal carer might, she’s the poor sod had to get me dressed and into the Ring and Ride. Now, it’s going to take me the best part of fifteen minutes to get back to the computer so unless there’s anything else…’

‘Your carer’s name?’ Shap said.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Pemberton said.

Shap waited, pen poised. Pemberton spat out the details and when Shap got through to her, the carer confirmed Pemberton’s alibi.

Chapter 31

It still felt unreal to Norma, impossible to truly believe. The nearest she could come when she attempted to think about it was, who on earth would shoot Don? Perhaps it was a mistake or an accident, Don was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing else made sense. It was all so random, life – wasn’t it? If she’d not got that puncture, not met Don, if they’d not lost the baby, then everything would have been different. She wouldn’t be here now. He wouldn’t be dead. If the baby had lived…

‘You will have another,’ that’s what people said when you lost a baby, had a miscarriage or a stillbirth. ‘Nature’s way.’ Norma hated that platitude. Nature’s way was brutal and whimsical, cruel. The baby had been perfect. Everyone agreed. Perfect but dead.

She felt as though her heart had been taken from her. Birthed and disposed of, like the stillborn child had been, like the placenta. Taken in a mess of pain and blood and grief. Don at her side, grey faced and stoic, held her hand and rubbed her back and when it came to pushing called her a good girl, just like the midwives did. They’d induced her, so labour came on swift and savage, cresting pains robbing her of breath and sense and the ability to speak. When the baby was born there was only silence in the room.

Norma didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see, imagined gross deformities, something bestial. The midwife said gently, ‘It’s a little girl.’ And Norma’s eyes flew to the form on the plastic sheeting. And she was perfect.

‘I am sorry,’ the midwife said, ‘you get your breath and then we’ll see about the third stage.’ And with that she folded the sheet over the baby and took her away.

‘Why?’ Norma said to Don. ‘The cord, it wasn’t around her neck.’

‘No,’ he said, his voice husky, ‘sometimes we never know.’

And they never did.

Norma was able to go home the following day, away from the ward of newborns and happy mothers.

And into the pit.

That’s how she always thought it. Buried in the dark and cold. Numb and unfeeling.

Don still had to work and study. Some days she didn’t move from her bed from the time he left the house until he returned. There were days when speech was too much effort. She took the tablets that had helped settle her nerves at university but they weren’t strong enough. Food was irrelevant, sickening. She didn’t bathe unless Don insisted, running her bath, taking her rancid clothes away.

He tried talking to her but the words slithered around her and sank, joining her in the pit.

She took lots of tablets once and Don found her, her face and hair spackled with vomit. He raged at her. He thought she’d meant to kill herself.

‘No,’ she said, ‘I just wanted to feel safe again. The tablets, they’re not strong enough. You don’t have to stay. I’m not well, I know that. And now…’ Without the baby, she meant.

‘I’m staying,’ he said, ‘you’ll get better.’ He was so determined.

He filled a prescription, come home with it and emphasized it was just for the short term, to help her through this rough patch. It helped. It took away the cold, hard grief and it filled the gaping hole where her heart had been. It helped her forget about the baby. About everything. She began to live again.

Chapter 32

It was an honest mistake Lisa kept telling herself but what if DI Mayne wouldn’t give her a second chance? She wanted to be a detective, she liked the work, thought she could be good at it, or could be if she hadn’t made such an idiotic mistake.

She looked in the mirror, straightened her back, lowered her shoulders. Time to go.

When she knocked on his door he called her in.

‘Shut the door,’ he said and her heart sank. His tone was cold, he looked pissed off. She stood to attention in front of his desk.

‘Put yourself in my shoes,’ he said, ‘a fundamental mistake, what action do you expect me to take?’

‘Demotion,’ Lisa said, ‘back to the beat, filing.’

‘That might be appropriate but I’m not going to do that. Instead I want you to revise all your arrest and caution procedure…’

He was giving her a chance. Yes! She felt the weight lifting, the dread melting away.’

‘… You study your handbook. In future, if there are diversions, interruptions of any sort, you double check that you’ve actioned and noted every single step. Clear?’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’ She wanted to smile, fought to keep her face set, serious.

‘You stay on the case,’ DI Mayne said, ‘and you see it through. You deal with the fact that if Aaron Matthews is guilty, he may well escape prosecution as a result of your oversight. If that turns out to be the case you can explain it to Norma Halliwell in person.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Lisa said, praying that it wouldn’t come to that, but prepared to do whatever he said as long as she could stay on the team.

Butchers had continued to speak to patients who had seen Dr Halliwell on the day he died to see if anyone remembered anything out of the ordinary, or noticed anything sinister. Now and again he consulted with Vicky who knew a good deal about the practice even though she had only been receptionist for a couple of years.

‘The home visits,’ Butchers asked her. ‘Dr Halliwell called on Roy Gant on Tuesday.’

‘Oh, yes. His wife Peggy, she’d been ill a while. A smoker – she had emphysema and heart trouble then they found the cancer.’

‘So, it was expected – her death.’

‘Yeah. Poor bloke. Be nice,’ Vicky said.

‘I’m always nice,’ Butchers said. His phone rang – the boss calling. Vicky left him to it.

‘Boss?’ Butchers said.

‘Listen, Shap’s not got anywhere so far with those who’ve made official complaints. We are still investigating the link between Howard Urwin and Aaron Matthews in case Matthews acted on Urwin’s behalf. Adele and Howard Urwin are alibi-ing each other but I’m convinced that Adele wouldn’t countenance the killing.’

Butchers slipped off his shoes and stepped onto the scales.

‘So Aaron Matthews is still the lead horse?’ Butchers said.

‘That’s right but we continue other lines of inquiry and I’m thinking there could be patients who weren’t happy with Dr Halliwell but who won’t necessarily have filed an official complaint. They might just have jumped ship, moved to another practice, sacked him. So look at anyone who left his list in the last few years; changed their doctor. There may be something there, below the radar.’

Butchers stepped off the scales and looked at the BMI chart on the wall. His reading put him firmly in the ‘obese’ category.

‘Will do.’

‘How are you getting on with the appointments?’ the boss said.

Speak to your GP about lifestyle change and weight reduction. ‘I’ve talked to all the afternoon surgery appointments from Tuesday and there’s nothing there,’ Butchers said. ‘It’s like Dr Finlay’s casebook, not a bad word from any of them, the man’s a saint. Thought I’d do the home visits next, confirm the timing?’

‘Who were they?’

Butchers picked up his notes from the desk. ‘Marjorie Keysham, she’s in a nursing home, Halliwell prescribed diamorphine for her. He also called to certify the cause of Peggy Gant’s death, she died at home after an illness, husband’s name is Roy.’

‘Shap can try Keysham, if she’s up to having visitors – send him the details. You check with Roy Gant,’ the boss said.

Shap hated places like this. All floral curtains and the smell of piss under air-freshener. A load of old women with grey perms and twin-sets. And now the ones he was talking to, treating him like an idiot.

He repeated, ‘Dr Halliwell came on Tuesday afternoon, he left a prescription for you.’

Both of the old biddies, Marjorie Keysham and the Matron, shook their heads, acting like he was the one with missing marbles.

‘Tuesday afternoon, diamorphine for Marjorie Keysham.’ Maybe it needed repeating a few times to permeate, Shap thought.

‘I was here,’ the Matron said, ‘we had no visit from Dr Halliwell.’

‘And Tuesday, I go to my reading group,’ Marjorie Keysham said. ‘Besides, I’d remember if I’d seen the doctor, especially if he’d given me morphine. Fantastic stuff, had it when I broke my hip. I’d remember, Sergeant: I’ve got cancer not dementia.’

Both of them bounced their heads up and down like two nodding dogs.

Had Butchers got it arse over tit or had Dr Halliwell been playing hooky? Pretending he was off on home visits when he was actually on the golf course or screwing some bit on the side. Something was going on.

Shap explained the situation to Butchers who got all excited about it, something to do with the prescriptions. He told Shap to come to the surgery and said the boss would want to be in on it too.

When they had all arrived, Butchers showed them the pattern he’d found: a list of patients, all with addresses at nursing homes, all with prescriptions for diamorphine.

‘I’ve rung three of them,’ he said, ‘and it’s the same story. Halliwell has invented these visits and then he’s written the prescriptions.’

‘Always diamorphine? Always nursing homes?’ the boss said.

‘Yes,’ Butchers said.

‘Marjorie Keysham’s prescription was cashed in by Halliwell at Picket’s pharmacy, near the nursing home,’ Shap said. ‘The pharmacy say it’s not uncommon for a GP to pop in with prescriptions. But the actual prescription was for three times the amount that Halliwell entered on the computer records when he got back to work.’

‘And no-one compares the two amounts?’ Richard said.

‘Apparently not,’ Shap said. ‘The only way he’d be found out is if another doctor got called out to the patient, and discovered there’d been no visit, and they’d not had any medicine. Like I did.’

‘What about the drugs budget,’ the boss said, ‘that must have been on the high side?’

‘If he’s been at it for years then it might not be that obvious,’ Richard said.

‘What was Halliwell doing with the drugs?’ the boss said.

‘Flogging them,’ Shap said.

‘Who to?’ the boss said. ‘Find that out and maybe that will lead us to his murderer.’

Chapter 33

Back in the incident room, Janine was trying to work out a narrative that fit the evidence to date using Richard as her sounding board. ‘Halliwell and Aaron Matthews were known to each other, Halliwell was his GP. We know Halliwell was stealing drugs and we also know Matthews’ gun killed him. Add in Matthews’ history…’

‘A drug deal gone sour?’ Richard said.

‘It’s a possibility,’ Janine said. ‘And our Dr Halliwell is not exactly the upstanding pillar of the community we thought he was.’

‘Boss. I’ve got the Range Rover, Monday.’

Lisa had been scrolling through CCTV footage of traffic on the high street for Monday and Tuesday evening looking for the Range Rover.

She lined up the footage and played it for them to watch it driving down the high street from the west and then turning off out of view, towards the surgery.

‘Ten to six,’ Lisa said. ‘That’s the only one that matches Dr Gupta’s description, and the time’s right.’

‘Tenner says it’s a knock-off job,’ Shap said, ‘the gang will have used it to run a recce, done the job, then torched it.’

‘The job being to steal Halliwell’s briefcase and the diamorphine?’ Janine said. ‘I don’t know. Yes, the doctor is stealing drugs but the overall amount is chicken feed, a gang dealing in drugs is going to want a much bigger consignment.’

‘Maybe we are back to a splinter group,’ Richard said, ‘youngsters flexing their muscles.’

‘Or Aaron Matthews is a junkie and somehow finds out he can rip off his family doctor for the goods,’ Shap said.

‘How would he find out,’ Janine said, ‘we’ve only just stumbled on it. It’s obviously been the good doctor’s secret for a considerable time.’

Lisa shrugged, ‘I wouldn’t have said Matthews was a junkie.’

‘Tell by looking, can you?’ Shap said.

‘Nothing to show that at his flat, no obvious physical signs,’ Lisa said.

‘And Tuesday?’ Janine said, gesturing to the screen.

‘Nothing,’ Lisa said, ‘this vehicle wasn’t in the area anywhere close to the time of the shooting – not on the tapes and it would have had to pass this camera to reach the surgery.’

Janine sighed, finding the car in the vicinity on the Monday but not on the Tuesday was disappointing.

‘Can we get the plate?’ Richard nodded at the frozen image of the Range Rover.

Lisa wound the tape until the vehicle could be seen from the front and zoomed in. ‘Check it for registered keeper.’

‘It’ll be a knock off,’ Shap repeated.

Lisa accessed the database and typed in the registration number. The screen loaded with the registered owner details.

‘Neil Langan?’ Richard said.

Janine felt a kick in her chest. ‘Langan? We’ve a Dawn Langan. Practice nurse.’

‘Same address?’ Janine asked.

Shap checked Dawn’s details. ‘Yes.’

‘What was Mr Langan doing lurking outside his wife’s place of work on Monday?’ Janine said.

‘Well, he wasn’t giving her a lift home,’ Richard said.

‘Butchers said Dawn was a bit off with him,’ Shap told them, ‘hiding something? She must be sweating cobs.’

Janine rang Butchers at the surgery and explained the situation. Tasked him with speaking to Dawn Langan and establishing her husband’s whereabouts.

‘Dawn, can I have a word?’ Butchers said. ‘It’s actually Neil I hoped to talk to. Is he at home?’

‘No,’ she froze.

‘At work?’

‘No.’

Butchers waited. Dawn’s eyes flicked all over the place.

‘Is that usual?’ Butchers said, ‘Him being off the radar?’

She looked like she’d break, trembling, her chin wobbling, ponytail shivering.

‘Where is he, Dawn?’ Butchers said gently.

‘I don’t know where he is,’ she blurted out, ‘he’s not been into the sorting office. And his phone’s off.’

‘Was he at home in the early hours of Tuesday morning?’ Butchers said, thinking about the attack on Halliwell’s car.

Dawn looked away, as if she daren’t meet Butchers eyes. ‘No,’ she whispered.

‘What about Tuesday evening, around six thirty?’

She didn’t answer. Butchers could hear her breath, jerky and uneven.

‘And you didn’t think to tell us?’ Butchers said. Missing at the time of the murder. ‘Why’s that then?’ He picked up his phone.

‘Because this is nothing to do with him,’ she said vehemently, ‘even if he found out about us, he’d never hurt anybody. Neil is not a murderer. No way.’

‘Whoah!’ Butchers said, ‘Stop right there.’ Found out about us? ‘Who’s ‘us’?

Dawn Langan burst into tears. It was a good five minutes before Butchers could get any sense out of her. And when he did the whole picture changed.

Chapter 34

They were searching for Neil Langan: using the automatic number plate recognition system to look for sightings of his car, following procedures to get access to his phone records, and liaising with his bank so they could track him when he used his cards.

‘So,’ Shap marvelled, ‘Dawn Langan and Don Halliwell, playing doctors and nurses.’

‘And when Neil Langan finds out…’ Janine said.

‘He smashes up Halliwell’s car…’ Shap said.

‘And then shoots him,’ Richard said.

It was a strong motive and Janine knew that jealousy was a very powerful emotion. Being betrayed, cuckolded, dumped, drove people to kill. A minority to be sure – otherwise the murder rate would be phenomenal. She remembered her own sense of shock when she caught Pete cheating, the numbness giving way to a mix of cold fury and deep sadness. That Pete could risk it all, their marriage, their life as a family, daily contact with his children, for the thrill of sex. Janine was hurt even more when Pete chose Tina and left Janine, who was expecting their fourth child, on her own.

She had fantasized about hurting him, humiliating him, called down all sorts of catastrophes and punishments but that was all they were.

So, had Neil Langan, a postman married to the practice nurse, a man with no criminal record, been driven to act with such brutality? Violence against property was a very different matter than violence against the person. What had he thought? That if he shot Halliwell, put him out of action, that he might be able to win back his errant wife? Hardly. Janine imagined that if Langan had killed Halliwell it would’ve been done in a blur of hatred and rage, with no thought of the far-reaching consequences of his actions.

‘He just happens to carry a handgun in his postie’s bag?’ Janine said. ‘He goes from a clean sheet to criminal damage and murder in twenty four hours?’

‘He’s there on the Monday, casing the joint, planning it,’ Shap said.

‘Then why bother with smashing up the car, if you’re going to kill someone anyway…’ Janine said.

‘Maybe the car was the initial plan and then he’s still mad with jealousy so he ups the ante,’ Shap said.

‘Why the wait?’ Janine said. ‘The car was smashed up in the early hours then he waits all day until the surgery is closing to make his move on Halliwell. What’s that about?’

‘Perhaps that’s the only time he can get Halliwell on his own,’ said Richard.

‘We don’t have the Range Rover in the area on the Tuesday evening,’ Janine said.

Shap shrugged. ‘Went on foot, less easy to trace him.’

Lisa called out, ‘Boss, Langan used his card on Tuesday at a Travel Inn at Chester services.’

‘He’ll be long gone, now,’ Shap said.

‘No, he used the same card at the ATM there last night,’ Lisa said.

‘Go on, then,’ Janine told them, ‘what you waiting for?’

Butchers was trying to establish whether Halliwell had actually been to visit Roy Gant or if that was another cover story for this funny business with the drugs.

Gant lived in a small terrace with mullioned windows, double glazed so they looked odd, too fussy for the property, Butchers thought.

Butchers knocked and introduced himself. He apologized for the intrusion and explained the reason for his call.

Roy Gant grunted and nodded he should go on. He was dishevelled, Butchers saw, probably still dazed from his wife’s death.

‘Mr Gant, did Dr Halliwell visit you on Tuesday afternoon?’

‘Yes, that’s right. He had to do the cause of death certificate, for Peggy. Then he was calling home, he said, before afternoon surgery.’

This was news to Butchers.

‘What time was he here?’ Butchers said.

‘About two o’clock,’ Gant said.

‘How long was he here?’

‘About ten, fifteen minutes. Just filling out the certificate,’ Gant’s voice caught. Butchers nodded, a little uneasy at the man’s raw grief.

There was nothing about Dr Halliwell calling to his own home in his schedule for the Tuesday but maybe something like that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Dr Halliwell was in charge of the practice after all. If he fancied nipping home for a bite to eat or forty winks he’d not have to answer to anyone.

Butchers thanked Mr. Gant and back in his car he jotted down the new timeline.

1.30 pm, Chemist’s – collecting drugs for Marjorie Keysham

2.00 pm Roy Gant’s

2.20 Home

What if Halliwell was an addict? Maybe he popped home to use the drugs? The notion struck Butchers like a stroke of genius for all of ten seconds. It wouldn’t work, would it? They would have checked at the post mortem.

Chapter 35

Lisa and Shap enquired at the Travel Inn reception for Neil Langan and the receptionist pointed them towards the lounge bar.

‘It could be a domestic after all,’ Lisa said. And if it was, if Neil Langan had killed Halliwell in a crime of passion, then Lisa would be off the hook for messing up the Matthews arrest.

Shap just rolled his eyes, like she was baying for the moon.

Neil Langan was slumped in a corner booth, eyes shut, empty glasses in front of him.

‘Neil Langan?’ Shap said.

Langan startled awake, eyes bleary. ‘What?’

‘DS Shap and DC Goodall.’ Shap made the introductions.

Neil Langan stretched his neck, as though he’d a crick in it. ‘I wondered how long you’d be,’ he said. ‘I thought she should know that’s all.’ He gave a shrug.

‘Back up a bit, sir,’ Lisa said. ‘You were outside the surgery where your wife works on Monday night?’

‘Yes,’ Neil Langan said, ‘I wanted to see with my own eyes. I’d rung the Monday before to ask Dawn something, but the surgery was closed.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘She wasn’t at a late-night clinic every Monday like she told me; she was shagging Don Halliwell.’ He leaned forward and lifted a glass, whisky, Lisa guessed, and drained it. ‘I waited this time,’ Langan went on, ‘and I followed them to the hotel. Then I got hammered and I rang Mrs Halliwell and I told her all about them. Then I sank a few more – pints and chasers.’ He waved the glass. ‘And I went round there in the middle of the night and I rammed his car. Bastard.’

No attempt to mislead them or deny any of it.

‘Where were you on Tuesday, afternoon and evening?’ Lisa said.

‘Here,’ Neil Langan said, ‘well, that table over there, I think.’ He flapped a hand. ‘Or that one.’

‘Can anyone confirm that?’ Shap said.

‘Ask the staff,’ Neil Langan said. ‘I’m their big spender, this week.’ He waved at the bartender who gave a small shake of the head and busied himself stocking up the bottles behind, clearly weary of Langan, Lisa thought. She walked over to him and asked how long Langan had been in residence.

‘Too long,’ the man said.

‘Do you know when he arrived?’

‘He was in here as soon as we opened on Tuesday morning,’ he said, ‘drowning his sorrows.’

‘Did he leave the premises any time on Tuesday?’

‘No. Still here when I clocked off at seven,’ the man said.

There was no way Neil Langan could have returned to Manchester and shot the doctor.

Lisa went back across to the booth and got there in time to hear Langan protesting, ‘I don’t know what you’re wasting time with me for – it’s Norma Halliwell you want to be talking to. I tell her what’s going on, that her husband is shagging my wife, and next thing…’ He mimed someone shooting a gun, made a pow sound like a kid might. ‘I’d no idea she’d take it like that, shoot her own husband. That’s who you should be talking to.’ He stared at the empty glass in his hand, held it up to the light as if there might be more booze hiding somewhere inside it. ‘You should be talking to her. I spill the beans and she goes mental. Norma Halliwell. Unbelievable.’

Chapter 36

Janine and Richard were on their way to the Halliwell house. Janine was trying to accommodate the new theory, relinquish Langan as a suspect given his watertight alibi and focus on Norma Halliwell. ‘She might have motive but how on earth would she get hold of a gun? She’s a piano teacher – her clientele aren’t likely to be toting small arms about,’ Janine said.

‘Hit man?’ Richard said.

‘I can’t see it, though I have been known to be wrong.’

‘Steady on,’ Richard said.

She cut her eyes at him. ‘A doctor’s wife, in her sixties. Can you see her hanging round dodgy pubs in search of a contract killer? Not in a million years. She only learned about the affair on Monday night. And how did she get to the surgery and back? Halliwell had her car, his was wrecked.’

‘Taxi?’ Richard said.

‘So how do we handle it?’ Richard said as Janine drew the car into the kerb outside the house.

‘We can’t put the gun in her hand,’ Janine said, ‘but she’s clearly been keeping things from us. Not a dicky bird about Langan’s phone call. So let’s push her a bit, see what we get, eh?’

Norma Halliwell took her time to answer the door and seemed unsurprised to find them there.

‘We’d like a few minutes of your time,’ Janine explained, ‘to try and clarify some points that have come to light.’

Norma gave a nod and they went with her into the front room again.

She sat in an armchair, her manner distracted, absent, picking at the piping on the chair.

‘Neil Langan rang you on Monday evening,’ Janine said.

Norma glanced at Janine then lowered her eyes.

‘He told you that Don was having a relationship with his wife, Dawn Langan,’ Janine said. ‘That must have been quite a shock?’

‘Not really,’ Norma said, ‘I thought there was someone.’

‘Did you talk to Don about it?’

‘No,’ she said.

‘You failed to mention it to us,’ Richard said.

Norma shook her head, ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

‘Has it happened before?’ Janine said.

‘Probably,’ Norma sounded tired. ‘I don’t ask.’

‘You must have suspected that Neil Langan was behind the damage to the car.’ There was an edge of disbelief in Richard’s tone, ‘possibly involved in your husband’s death, and you still said nothing.’

Norma let her hands fall into her lap. ‘When they told me he was dead, I just couldn’t think,’ she said. Then something occurred to her and she straightened up, frowning, and said, ‘Mr Langan – he didn’t do it, did he? Surely not?’ Sounding innocent herself, Janine thought, or was she outwitting them?

‘No,’ Richard said.

‘Is there anything else you haven’t told us about, Mrs Halliwell?’ Janine said.

‘No.’

‘Where were you between six and seven on Tuesday evening?’

Norma Halliwell stared at her, pain lancing through her eyes, then gave a hollow laugh, incredulous. ‘Here. I was teaching.’

‘We could verify that?’ Richard said.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘When did you last see your husband?’ Janine said.

‘When he left for work on Tuesday,’ Norma said.

Wearily Norma Halliwell provided them with the two phone numbers for the pupils who had come for lessons on Tuesday evening, one at six and one at half past.

Out in the car, Richard made the calls and got confirmation from the parents involved.

Chapter 37

They never knew what had happened to the baby after the midwife had wrapped her in the sheet and left the room. The post-mortem, of course, a futile attempt to find a reason for the death but after that? Burial in some common grave, disposal like so much medical waste? In recent years, other couples affected like them had searched for their lost children, named them, had services and created memorials. The modern view was that acknowledging the life lost was a healthy response. But it held no sway with Don when she raised it, he regarded it as an indulgence at best and opening wounds at worst. She let it be.

They would never have another child. She hadn’t realized at first, couples were advised to avoid pregnancy too soon, so when she had clambered out of the pit and they began making love again she had gone on the pill, a new version. As the months went by her mother began to drop hints. ‘Don’t leave it too long,’ she said, ‘if you’re worried about the risks-’

‘I know the risks,’ Norma had said, ‘we just want to be more settled, it’s a hard year for Don.’

Don told her if they wanted to try again, she’d have to stop the medication, it would harm the baby. Even the thought of that, going a day without it, let alone nine whole months, made her feel panicky, a fluttering feeling in her chest, her mouth dry and her face hot.

‘Not yet,’ she said, ‘I’m not ready.’

Thankfully, Don didn’t seem desperate to have children unlike some men who wanted to make sure the family line continued. They discussed it on occasion back then, it was always Don who raised the issue. And then one time, just after he’d started his own practice, she had said, in response to his asking if she’d thought any more about babies, that she was happy as they were, just the two of them; that she didn’t think she could ever face another pregnancy after what happened. She’d taken a steadying breath, saying, ‘If a family is important to you then maybe we should think about separation.’

‘Norma,’ he said, looking exasperated and her stomach turned over. Then his expression softened. ‘You idiot. It’s you I want, first and foremost. That’s what matters most. The family, well…’ he shrugged, ‘… it might be nice but… I wouldn’t be the one dealing with it all and… it’s just not that important.’

‘You’re sure?’ She had stared at him.

‘Yes,’ he said.

She was so grateful. She ran the house and began to teach piano and went to parties with Don’s friends from work. In time as their friends had children, the friendships weakened and withered. They didn’t really need other people.

I was hiding, Norma thought, I’ve been hiding my whole life. Don had his work, his patients, his colleagues, his mistresses. And I had Don. Like Sleeping Beauty. But Norma’s prince had not woken her with a kiss, he pricked her with a needle, kept her drugged and docile and safe. Oh, yes, he tried to wean her off, now and again, but she felt that was to protect himself as much as anything. If it ever came out, he’d be disbarred.

The thought of relief brought saliva into her mouth, a lifting of the fear that gripped the back of her neck. But what about tomorrow, a voice in her head murmured. And the next day and the next? How long can you go on?

It was over. Don knew that, that was probably why he was still here, whispering her name, waiting in the corners where the shadows fell. He knew what was best. Always had. She was tired of hiding, exhausted by the fear of the future. Yes, she might last another three days but then what? The pit waiting to suck her back in. Or hospitalisation?

Outside, the aspens sighed in the wind and the house creaked in reply.

There was nothing else to do. No one to tell. Norma climbed upstairs and got things ready. She lay on the bed, let out a sigh.

‘Norma,’ he said.

‘I know,’ she answered, ‘I’m coming.’

She tried to think about the happy times, that first coffee with him, their honeymoon in Edinburgh, the happiness of easy routine and affection and comfort, of restyling the house and pouring her love into it. Don never left the house without kissing her goodbye. The wind blew again, stronger, so she felt the house shaking. Was that possible?

‘Norma.’

She couldn’t wait any longer. It was time to go.

Chapter 38

The case kept shifting shape, Janine thought, every time they believed a line of inquiry was gaining legs, something would come along and kick them away, leaving them winded.

First they had the prospect of a robbery turned violent, then all the merry dance that Fraser McKee took them on, the hunt for a patient with a grudge, then Halliwell re-cast as a drug dealer, next the prospect of a crime of passion. And now, she thought, where are we now? What was solid?

‘With Langan and Mrs Halliwell out of the picture where do we go?’ she said to Richard as they drove towards the police station.

‘Aaron Matthews is all we’ve got,’ Richard said.

Janine rang Butchers. ‘We’ve hit a brick wall with the jealous spouse angle,’ she said.

‘Maybe not,’ Butchers said. ‘Halliwell called at Roy Gant’s at two o’clock but he told Gant he was going home before he went back to work. Perhaps things started going sour then.’

‘Norma’s just sworn to us that she last saw him in the morning,’ Janine said.

‘Unless Halliwell was lying to Roy Gant?’ Butchers said.

‘Why bother – why raise it at all?’ Janine said. ‘It’s more likely she’s lying to us. Again.’

Janine ended the call. ‘Halliwell told Roy Gant he was calling home,’ she said to Richard, ‘you just heard her say she last saw him that morning. Why lie about that?’

‘He comes home, she confronts him with the affair, he’s not sorry enough, he taunts her, tells her he’s leaving her maybe. She decides to punish him.’

‘But she was here when he was shot,’ Janine said.

‘She had help?’ Richard said.

‘I don’t know,’ Janine said, ‘but at the very least let’s challenge her on the last sighting.’

There was no answer when Richard rang the bell again.

‘Perhaps she hopes we’ll go away if she leaves it long enough,’ Janine said.

Richard walked down the steps and along to peer in the front room window.

‘No sign,’ he said,

Janine tried the windows at the side. She wasn’t visible anywhere downstairs. Janine felt a chill inside. ‘I don’t like this,’ she said, ‘we need to get in there.’

Richard didn’t hesitate. When the front door wouldn’t give under sustained kicks, he picked an edging stone out from the flower border and used it to smash through the stained-glass sidelight. He reached in and undid the latch.

Janine kept calling out, ‘Mrs Halliwell? Norma?’

After double checking the ground floor, they took the stairs.

The master bedroom was at the front. She lay there on the bed, comatose, a band tied around her arm and sharps and ampoules on the bedside table.

‘Oh, God,’ Janine said. She picked up one of the ampoules and read the label. ‘Diamorphine.’

Janine grabbed hold of the woman’s shoulder, shook her hard, her head fell to the side. ‘Can you hear me, Norma? Norma?’

Janine placed two fingers on the angle of the woman’s jaw, felt a faint pulse in her neck and nodded to Richard who was already calling an ambulance.

‘Now we know why Halliwell was stealing drugs,’ Janine said.

‘Help’s on its way,’ she said to Norma, ‘there’s an ambulance coming. You’re going to be alright.’

She thought of Adele Young then, of her desperate battle to save Marcie. How many times had she found her daughter like this? And then to have finally got her help with Dr Halliwell, with the hope of being weaned off the heroin only to find that the dose reduction was too savage, was unbearable for the girl. Knowing that she would relapse, go in search of one more proper high, with deadly consequences.

Chapter 39

The hospital notified Janine when Norma was conscious and out of danger. Janine needed to talk to her, to try and establish if she had played any part in her husband’s murder but she was also aware that Norma Halliwell was extremely vulnerable, grieving and suicidal. Had the police questioning prompted her attempt on her life? Had the suicide bid risen from guilt? And given she couldn’t have pulled the trigger, that she was teaching at the time, was it possible she had engaged someone else to kill her husband?

A nurse was coming out of Norma’s room as Janine arrived.

‘She’s still awake?’ Janine checked and the nurse nodded.

Norma was sitting up in bed. Her eyes glanced at Janine then away again, indifferent.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ Janine said, ‘but there are questions I have to ask.’

The ethereal quality that Janine had noticed in Norma before seemed even more pronounced after her ordeal, her skin paper thin and porcelain white.

‘Mrs Halliwell, can you tell me anything about what happened to your husband?’

‘No,’ Norma said.

‘Are you sure about that?’ Janine said.

She raised her eyes to meet Janine’s. ‘I could never hurt Don,’ she said, ‘he looked after me, I depended on him completely.’

‘But the affair with his work colleague was a threat, and you got jealous?’ Janine said.

‘No,’ Norma said, ‘he’d never leave me, he loved me. She stroked the bed sheet, her long fingers pale, tapered, here and there a liver spot. ‘You know, when they told me he was dead, the first thing I thought of, before anything else, was: how will I get my medication? The very first thing.’ She made a little sound, breathy. ‘I lost my husband and I lost my supplier too. I couldn’t go on without him.’

‘How long has this been going on, the drugs?’ Janine said.

‘Since we met practically. Every few years, Don would try and persuade me to go into rehabilitation but I couldn’t face it. At medical school I’d needed stuff to keep me awake, stuff to help me sleep. I was always, strung out – I suppose. Then I got pregnant. We got married. But we lost the baby. Morphine made things bearable. Don helped me. And it got so there was no way back.’

‘He enabled your addiction,’ Janine said. ‘As long as he was around, you didn’t have to worry about it, deal with it.’

‘So you see, I could never have hurt him – even if I had wanted to – because then I’d have no way of getting my medicine.’ Tremors flickered in the muscles round her mouth.

Forty years, Janine thought, forty years of dependency. And the sheer hypocrisy of Halliwell. The same man who had kept his wife supplied with heroin had insisted on a rapid treatment plan for Marcie Young, against her family’s wishes. Could that have been because he’d seen how persistent, persuasive addiction was first hand and feared Marcie would go the same way that Norma had? Or had he been rigid as a reaction against his complicity with Norma – compartmentalising his approach? Norma’s addiction could be contained because she had money, access to safe drugs, privilege. Marcie’s addiction killed her.

‘What do I do now?’ Norma Halliwell said, sounding lost. ‘It’s all gone.’ She looked steadily at Janine, ‘ I wish you’d left me there,’ she said.

Janine took a breath. ‘People do it,’ she said, ‘they turn their lives around – it’s not impossible.’

Norma turned away, her hands no longer smoothing the sheets but one set of nails digging into the flesh at the base of her thumb.

Norma Halliwell had been living in a cocoon, Janine thought as she walked along the corridor to the exit. A comfortable life as the doctor’s wife, teaching piano and looking after the house. Respected, cosseted. Putting up with his dalliances because she had no option. It was a prison of sorts, trapped by her addiction. And the drug was the one true love of her life.

Chapter 40

Janine found Richard, Shap and Butchers at the pub, the two sergeants half way through a game of pool. They paused to hear what the trip to the hospital had produced.

Shap shook his head, mouth twisted. ‘Who’d have pegged her for a junkie?’ he said.

‘You didn’t see that one coming, did you, Shap?’ Janine said. ‘Me neither. Well, this time, Norma took the lot. She wasn’t getting high, she was getting out.’

‘Guilt?’ Butchers said.

Janine shook her head. ‘She’d never hurt him. No matter what she felt about the affair, all that really mattered to her was where her next fix was coming from. He was her source. No way would she jeopardise that.’

Shap nodded to Butchers and they returned to the pool table.

‘No Lisa?’ Janine said.

‘She knows we’re here,’ Richard’s tone was cool.

‘Make her feel welcome, did you?’ Janine said.

‘Look, it’s sorted,’ he said. ‘I spoke to her this afternoon. But until the case is cracked she doesn’t know exactly how much damage she’s done. She probably wants to see how it plays out.’ He shrugged.

Janine studied him. ‘You can come across as very harsh, you know?’

‘Harsh? Hah! Harsh? You’re calling me harsh? Is this a staff appraisal or what?’ His eyes were gleaming, was he teasing her or spoiling for an argument? It wasn’t how she would have managed the situation, coming down so heavily on Lisa. Lisa knew she’d made a mistake, a basic one and was obviously beating herself up about it. She would need to improve her performance, regain her reputation for being conscientious and reliable, which Janine believed her to be. But a cold shoulder from her line manager, exclusion from the inner circle of the team, was nothing less than petty. Janine wondered if there was anything else going on, other problems in Richard’s life that were causing him stress and making him more judgmental. Teamwork was crucial to their job, to the possibility of success, and Janine prided herself on commanding the respect and loyalty of her troops but it could easily be jeopardized if schisms started appearing. She didn’t feel now was the right time to go into it any more with Richard. She could only hope they got to solve the case because if Lisa’s mistake put it out of reach then everything could collapse.

Richard was still looking at her. Janine held her hands up, letting it go.

Butchers potted the winning ball, shouting, ‘Yes!’ and Shap groaned with disgust.

‘Doubles?’ Butchers said.

Richard signalled to Janine and then to himself.

Janine picked up a cue.

‘You break,’ Shap said.

Janine took a sip of her drink and chalked her cue. ‘If Norma Halliwell didn’t shoot her husband, then who the hell did?’ she said.

She lined up her sights and drew back the cue, hit the ball, breaking the triangle and potted a shot.

Janine waited until Tom had gone to bed to call Pete, Charlotte already down and Eleanor ensconced in her room. He actually picked up the phone. ‘Can you come round now, we need to sort this out?’

‘Bit tricky, I’m afraid, I’ve got Alfie.’ He sounded pressured, like he was the only person in the world who had ever had to deal with a small baby. But she wasn’t going to let him wriggle out of it.

‘He is portable, isn’t he?’ Janine said, ‘You’ve not super-glued him to his cot? I’m in the rest of the evening.’ She kept her tone frosty hoping he’d realise how pissed off she was and that he needed to face the music.

When Janine heard the door and went to answer it, Pete was there on his own. ‘Managed to get him down,’ Pete said.

‘Good.’

They went in the kitchen, the scene of so many discussions, traumas and celebrations, throughout their married life.

‘I need you to pull your weight with the kids. I end up making excuses for you. They don’t want to hear it. I know Alfie wasn’t exactly planned but it’s not fair on our kids if you don’t find a way of maintaining that contact. We knew it’d be a bit difficult when Alfie first arrived but he’s two months old now. You need to make time for them as well.

‘It’s not that easy-’

‘I don’t care, Pete. You promised me and you owe them. They don’t need you any less because they’re bigger.’

‘I know,’ he rubbed at his face. He looked shattered. Janine knew the feeling.

‘In some ways they need you more,’ she said, ‘Tom especially-’

‘Janine,’ he interrupted her, ‘Tina’s got post-natal depression.’ He looked at her, then away. Was he serious? She saw him swallow, the slump of his shoulders as he exhaled.

‘She can’t get out of bed half the time. She can’t even feed him. It’s all I can do to keep turning up for my shifts and look after her and the baby. We’re really struggling.’

‘Oh God, Pete.’ She stared at him for a moment, taking it in. ‘Has she seen a doctor?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘be a while till the medication kicks in.’ He sounded defeated. Janine had come across women suffering from the condition over the years, even one of them through work, a case of infanticide. Heart breaking. She could barely imagine the enormous strain of dealing with the illness alongside the demands of a new baby.

‘You should have told me,’ Janine said, ‘why didn’t you say anything sooner?’

He shrugged, ‘Hoped she’d improve.’ She felt sorry for him, a novel experience. She knew the baby had not been part of Pete’s game plan, as he put it. When he moved in with Tina he’d been hoping for a different life, unencumbered by kids and their demands. Now here he was starting out on parenthood all over again.

‘Right,’ Janine said, ‘I’ll explain to the kids. At least they won’t think you’ve traded them in for a younger model.’

He shot her a look.

‘You want a drink?’ Janine said.

He gave a wry smile. ‘I’d love a drink.’

They chatted over a glass of wine, Janine filling him in on Eleanor’s current mood and Charlotte’s antics. He promised that once things were on an even keel he’d be back on his regular visits.

‘You can always bring him here,’ Janine said, surprising herself, ‘bring him with you, if Tina’s OK to be left.’

‘That’s not a bad idea.’

‘I’m sure Tom would love to teach him the finer points of Call of Duty or whatever,’ Janine said.

Pete laughed.

She felt a moment’s poignancy, missing this, the company, the shared humour though after four years she was used to dealing with the kids, with the house, on her own. And it seemed to be all she could fit in her life. No space for romance. There were times when it looked like Richard and she might rekindle the flame that had flared between them briefly at the start of their careers, but she’d stepped back from the brink, realising she would rather have the certainty of his friendship than a risky shot at being a couple. And Richard’s track record with women wasn’t particularly persuasive if she was honest, he liked pastures new. Best all round, she thought as she saw Pete out, single, celibate, shattered.