Chapter Thirteen

Monday felt like it had lasted forever, despite Adam getting away from work by half past five. He'd had the much-dreaded delicate conversation with Jane, the Wickley staff member, which went better than anticipated because she'd expected it. With a flurry of tears that might have been genuine, Jane said she'd been on the verge of resigning anyway because she wasn't sure that Wickley school was the place it used to be, which might have been code for her no longer finding enough sympathetic ears in the staffroom. She'd also admitted that she couldn't imagine how she could improve her performance, which she said had always been good enough in the past, a lack of self-awareness which for Adam summed up the problem.

On the way home, he reflected that her departure would mean having to recruit, although that was probably going to be the best outcome for the school and its pupils. A square peg in a hole that had gradually become rounder didn't help anyone, least of all the peg itself. With a smile, he thought of Robin and his boss easing the unwanted constable into the Kinechester team, and wondered if he could steal some tips about how to give a reference that was factually accurate but didn't read like a hatchet job.

He got home in a good mood, if tired, to find Robin already there and on kitchen duties.

"That smells great," Adam said, as he kissed his husband.

"I'd say it was all my own work but you know it's not. One of Kate's specials." Robin stirred the casserole that was re-heating on the stove. "She left a note saying she'd made it for a family lunch do yesterday and ensured she had plenty left over for us, given how busy we are."

"What a legend. We should get her some flowers when your case is done and dusted. For going above and beyond the call of duty." Adam stretched, feeling better by the moment, not least because he'd deliberately not brought any work home with him. "Had a good day?"

"A productive one, yes. I'll tell you and Cam— Damn, I thought I'd cured myself of that."

"You're getting better. Give it another year and you'll have Hamish off to a T."

"I hope so. I was thinking about the old lad today. Somebody mentioned the Abbotston Slasher case and Campbell came to mind."

"Another batch of his heroics." Adam gave him a hug. "Anyway, you were saying you'd tell me something."

"Yep. An update on the case, over dinner. Talking of which, I'm expecting a call, so apologies in advance if it comes at an inconvenient time. Which Sod's Law says it's bound to." Robin rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to get hold of one of Suzy Bircher's old flames, but he's away at a conference in Birmingham, according to his answerphone, so I've left a message asking him to call back."

"No worries. If it's confidential, Hamish and I can amuse each other." Adam glanced across to where the dog was happily chewing one of his toys. "An old flame of hers. That's the way the case is heading?"

"I couldn't tell you where it's going, at the moment." Robin snorted. "We've got three people at least whom we know that Suzy was involved with, two totally separate strands to the investigation and at least one bloke we're sure is lying, but he's on the non-flame side of our enquiries."

"And a partridge in a pear tree?" Adam cut in, while the joke could still work. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

"Pillock." Robin took Adam's hand. "Don't ever change from being my pillock, though. You're exactly what a hard-working policeman needs to come home to at the end of the day. You keep me sane."

"I try my best." Adam pulled his husband tighter. "You keep on keeping me sane, as well. When I hear the sort of crap you're dealing with, it puts all the school stuff into perspective. I—"

Robin's phone sounded, so they broke the clinch to allow him to take the call. It turned out only to be some scammer insisting Robin had been involved in an accident that wasn't his fault. A quick mention of his rank put an abrupt end to the call. "I wish these people would find a proper job and not occupy my line."

"I usually ask them if their mothers know that they spend the day conning people. I'm not confident it'll prick their consciences, but it makes me feel better."

"I should have guessed it was dodgy when I didn't recognise the number, because the bloke I'm expecting has one that ends in triple seven. Can't not answer it, in case it was from Woodhall Spa, though." Robin's expression turned pensive. "One of the few witnesses I've really taken to in this case got rushed to hospital, and it might have been his neighbour ringing me with an update."

"Nothing serious, I hope. Or suspicious, given you're in the middle of a case," Adam added, remembering occasions when there'd been a second victim or the violence had spread.

"Not suspicious and nothing too serious, other than the march of time. It's Tom, the bloke Ashok and I went to see up there. Pru tried to ring him today to get contact details for somebody else and said the neighbour had answered his landline." Robin sighed loudly. "Tom had suffered a fall and was taken in for observation, which is why the neighbour was there, packing him an overnight bag. He should be home tomorrow, God and all the tests willing."

"Poor bloke." The perils of getting old: it came to everyone, if you lived that long. Adam quickly shrugged off the memory of Campbell's demise, determined to live in the moment and count his current blessings. Including Hamish, who'd come across to give him a proper welcome. "I hope you don't have to head back up to Woodhall Spa anytime soon."

"So do I, although I expect I'll have to visit the area. My liar lives in Lincoln." Robin chuckled. "I don't fancy saying that after a double scotch."

"Then keep sober until the food's on the table, and then you can tell me all about your long-legged liar from Lincolnshire who lives in a lorry."

"It's a camper van, actually, and he only lives in it when he's on his travels. Although I suppose his wife might boot him out there on occasions when she's fed up with him being around the house. That wouldn't surprise me."

"I suppose that'll all make sense at some point. I'm off for a spruce up." Adam pulled Robin close for another hug, one whose tender nature soon got spoiled by a growing canine inserting himself between the pair. "Oh, you want in, do you? Not enough for you being spoiled by Kate today?"

Adam made a suitable fuss of the dog before escaping to the bathroom, where he could lock the door against interruptions by creatures without opposable thumbs. Or indeed with them.

Over dinner, Robin updated him about where the case now stood. Adam listened, only chipping in with encouragement regarding the progress made or to ask a clarifying question about what seemed an increasingly complex investigation. One which was touching on unexpected areas, such as blokes caught cottaging, as well as the commonplace ones like possible adultery.

"Suzy reminds me of Jane, the learning assistant I had to have a serious talk with today," Adam said. "I'd been dreading it, but the result was good, because she's taken umbrage and is going to resign, which is no doubt the best outcome. I'll be picking your brains about references at some point, because I've never had to complete one for somebody who adds so little value."

"You'll have to hope it's a matrix which you can fill in honestly and leave the personal stuff to, ‘her attendance was good.' Assuming it was."

"If the rest of her performance matched attendance and punctuality, I'd have had nothing to complain about. Anyway, Jane's been trying to create an image of herself as somebody who's been hard done by, although I don't think anyone at Wickley's been taken in by the act. They'd seen the truth behind the image before I arrived, Alice told me."

Robin nodded. "Yeah. It does sound like Suzy, because the image of her is starting to tarnish. It's still sad about the medical side of things, I'm not disputing that, but she wasn't the innocent victim of fate that people had been making her out to be."

"The living-in-a-soap-opera thing again?"

Robin's phone sounding cut off the conversation. It soon became clear it was the call he'd been expecting, because he took himself off into the hallway to talk. Adam had cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher, and let Hamish out for a wee before Robin reappeared.

"Sorry about that. That was the ex, Harry Foakes. He couldn't chat much now, as he's off to the conference dinner, and I suspect he'd already got one or two drinks inside him. Typical medics, always living it up." Robin rolled his eyes. "I'm going to interview him late on Thursday, when he's back down here. He owns a bike, by the way, which supports Danielle's theory, although he was surprised when I asked him about it. Or pretended to be surprised—I can never really judge unless the witness is in the room with me. Long story short, he says he hadn't run across Mark for years and only saw Suzy occasionally when she was ill. States that was more on the medical side than the social."

"Do you believe him?"

"I'm not sure. As I said, I like to be able to see someone's face when I'm questioning them so I can read the body language. He did say something odd, though, right at the end of the call. About looking forward to seeing me and how it would be the first time he'd ever had to go through the whole, ‘What were you doing at twelve fifteen on Saturday?' routine. Before I could ask him why he was being so specific about the time, he rang off. It may have been nothing more than an off-the-cuff remark, but that's suspiciously close to when we think Mark was killed."

"And as far as I can remember, you've not been that specific in the media reports." Adam called the dog back in from his post-wee frolicking.

"Exactly. It could be purely coincidental."

"Or Foakes might know the bloke who overheard the argument, they've discussed it, and he's guessed that's the time you're focussing on. Stranger things have happened."

"I guess so." Robin's phone—still in his hand—rang again. "It's Mum. I wonder what she wants? Hello? I'm putting you on the speaker, so make sure you don't say anything rude about Adam."

Mrs. Bright snorted, in exactly the same way her son would have done at such a quip. "How he puts up with you, I don't know. I have news. Perhaps."

Robin pulled a puzzled face. "Hold on. Hamish can hear you and he's getting overexcited. Speak to him for a moment, while we relocate to somewhere comfy." He edged backwards, phone at waist level, while his mother told the Newfoundland that he was a good dog, yes he was, and that she'd be round to see him soon. The three of them processed into the lounge, where they all snuggled onto the same sofa. "Let's hear this maybe-news, then."

"It's from Ryan. He rang just now to say he'd been working on our mystery for most of what was left of the weekend, and he thinks there's a chance he's struck gold already. A chap in Australia."

"That's quick work," Adam said. "How did he manage it?"

"He said he came at it backwards. Started with the money somebody wants to give us and the name of the solicitor who contacted Mr. Caswell. Mr. Brown. He focussed on obituaries from possible countries—your tax treaty stuff helped there—and a time window of when the death was likely to have happened, what with probate and so on. He said he simply had to keep plugging different combinations of key words into various search engines and wherever else he goes hunting for his information. He says I'm not to get too excited, because he's had false dawns before and the chances of him hitting a bull's-eye straight away are pretty remote."

How remote? To the point, it begged the question of why Ryan had felt the need to share the tale so soon. Adam asked, "Why didn't he wait until he was certain before saying anything?"

"Because—and this is only what I'm thinking, not what he said—he's actually surer than he's letting on. Ryan's built up a lot of information about this man from various obituaries, because he'd made a lot of money in banking after emigrating from the UK and was heavily involved in supporting local charities, so his death got a fair amount of coverage. The rough date he left England fits with David's birth too. A bit beforehand." The injunction on Mrs. Bright not to get too excited was clearly being ignored and her voice was full of relief that the money seemed to be totally legitimate. "Anyway, when Ryan's a bit more certain, he's going to send the stuff over, because he thinks the human interest in the story's enough to intrigue me, anyway, even if it doesn't turn out to be David's dad. He's going to look for further information about this chap and the will he made. Do you know where Lutterworth is, by the way?"

Robin and Adam shared a baffled glance. "Couldn't tell you. Is that where this possible relative came from? And does he have a name?"

"Yes, he does have a name, but Ryan says he's not going to share it until he's done more work. He joked that I might terminate his contract prematurely. Lutterworth's where this chap came from originally so I shall be off googling it in a moment but wanted to share the location in case it meant anything. I don't recall your grandparents mentioning the place."

"Neither do I. Hold on. Adam's already got it up on his phone."

"It's a few miles off the M1 on the way to Leicester."

Robin took Adam's phone, scrolling the map out so they could see the detail. "I must have driven past it on the way from Woodhall Spa to Oxford. How bizarre."

"Perhaps it was somehow meant to be, that you'd be so close, especially when your case has got such a similar strand. Or it's a huge coincidence on both counts," Mrs. Bright added with another snort. "Anyway, when I know the fuller picture, you two will be the first to hear. Robin, give Hamish a big kiss from me and give Adam a hug."

"Will do. Take care."

"Well, what do you make of that?" Adam asked, when the call had ended and he'd had his hug, which was evidently second in Mrs. Bright's priorities to Hamish's kiss.

"Like Ryan ordered Mum, I'm not getting my hopes up. Especially as this Lutterworth bloke—Lutterworth Len, I'll call him—sounds like the kind of person anyone would want to have on their family tree. Successful, charitable." Robin gave him a smile. "It'll be difficult to prove, of course, whether or not the inheritance does come from him, because his solicitors might insist on keeping the waters muddied and say he was administering it on behalf of someone else. Whoever set up this inheritance for Mum clearly wanted their privacy respected, and if this guy he's tracked down had a reputation to keep up, he might not have wanted people to know he'd got some woman up the duff and either abandoned her or got sent away in disgrace. Maybe Ryan can trace things back to something concrete that'll prove he was Dad's father, but I'm not holding my breath. It's not like the solicitor would want the family bothered by a request for a DNA sample from a half great-nephew."

"Would you want to ask to do the test, anyway?" Adam asked.

"Probably not." Robin blew out his cheeks. "I think Mum and I will have to be satisfied with the level of proof demanded in a civil case. Preponderance of evidence—clear and convincing evidence if we're lucky—rather than proof beyond a reasonable doubt. That would be enough for me, and we'd have to persuade her to be satisfied with it too."

Adam rubbed his husband's arm. "I think she'll be relieved enough knowing that Lutterworth Len isn't Parkhurst Paul or Pentonville Pete. That night on the white wine, she was worried sick you'd be benefitting from the proceeds of crime."

"Oh, bless the old girl." Robin wrinkled his nose. "And bless Ryan if he can put her mind at rest."

"It's actually a bit of a pain that he's discovered something so quickly. I was hoping you'd have your case all put to bed before Ryan had anything to offer you. So you could clear your mind of one thing before tackling what you'd want to do if you did have a name—beyond reasonable doubt."

"Actually, I think it might be beneficial having work to focus on. I've spent thirty odd years not knowing who my biological grandfather was and I'd have carried on blithely if it hadn't been for this windfall. I'm not saying the news hasn't made me think again, but I need to consider it cooly." Robin produced what seemed an unforced grin. "Maybe when we're both retired we could take a plane down under or a car up the M1 and pay some quiet respects of our own. What this case has taught me is that stirring up the waters of family history mightn't be the safest thing to do."

"Very wise." Adam pecked Robin on the cheek, then offered to go and make them a hot drink, which would give his husband some time alone in which to process what they'd heard. He'd just got the kettle on for a cuppa when the doorbell sounded.

Robin called, "I'll get it. It's like Paddy's Market around here this evening."

Adam could hear muffled voices, then the sound of the front door closing, before Robin popped his head into the kitchen and said, "It's Pru."

"Pru? That sounds ominous." They'd lived in this house for a while now, and the sergeant had never dropped in on the off chance, despite it not being too far off her route home.

"She's full of apologies but says it's important. Can you make that tea for three?"

"If it's her, I'll break out the good biscuits rather than the own brand."

"Thanks, Adam!" came from the hallway, where it sounded like the sergeant and Hamish were getting acquainted, given the outbreak of, "Who's a handsome boy, then?"

"That would be me!" Adam quipped, as Pru and the dog came to the kitchen door.

"He gets worse," Robin said.

Pru snickered. "As banter goes, it may be predictable but it's not offensive. Anyhow, I hope you two don't mind me calling in on my way home. I was going to wait until tomorrow, but by the time I decided I should ring tonight I was only a couple of miles away and in a blackspot. I promise I won't make a habit of this."

"I know you won't." Robin smiled.

Adam nodded. If Pru had important news to share, he hoped he'd be allowed to hear it as well. If not, he and Hamish might be banished to the kitchen.

"I think it's important," Pru said, leaning against the door jam and fussing over the dog again. "I've spoken to Isabel, sir."

"Call me Robin while we're on home turf. I can't be doing the ‘sir' stuff while you're eating my best biscuits." Robin must have been making sure that Adam would get the update as well, or he'd have surely already whisked his sergeant off to somewhere they could speak confidentially. "That was quick work with Isabel."

"Thank Tom and his neighbour for that. I'd left work this evening to meet up in town with a mate who's having a birthday meal. I said I'd only stop in for a drink beforehand, because I don't like her boyfriend, although she doesn't know that. Good job I wasn't committed to the meal, because Tom's neighbour rang me ten minutes after me and my mate sat down, to say she'd been in to see him at the hospital. He'd insisted she go and get Isabel's number for me, rather than us having to wait." Pru smiled appreciatively. "Good timing, because it meant I could legitimately say to my pal I had to go back to the station, before the boyfriend arrived."

Robin snorted. "Winner winner."

Adam, who'd got the tray of refreshments all laid out, began swirling the teapot, ready to pour. "If I'm permitted to listen in, we should go where it's comfy. If not, I'll have a cuppa out here with Hamish."

"As far as I'm concerned, you're an unofficial member of the team," Robin said. "Unless what Pru has to say is strictly confidential."

The sergeant shook her head. "There's nothing Adam and Hamish can't hear, s— Robin."

Once they were settled on the sofas, steaming mugs in hands, Pru continued. "So, I nipped back to the station and spoke to Isabel. Well, she spoke to me. A lot. She's not quite as bad as Ryan, but if it turned out she was his granny, I'd believe it. Genetically."

"Adam's met him, so he'll get the idea." Robin cradled his mug. "There has to be useful stuff in amongst the gossip, though, or you wouldn't be here."

"Yep. It's possible you might have to go on your travels again, so I wanted you to know as soon as I could. I'll start with some other stuff first, though. The bloke in the dock for cottaging, Graham, wasn't the father of Moira's baby. Isabel was big pals with him as well, and reckoned if Eleanor had been Graham's child, he'd have insisted on marrying Moira or at the very least having the baby brought up by a member of his family. Actually, Graham did offer to marry her, so she could have the baby made legitimate. Offer not taken up, possibly because it would have been a celibate affair. Graham apparently couldn't face doing it with a woman."

Robin's eyebrows leaped up almost into his hairline. "Sounds like you had a very full and frank conversation. How did Isabel know all this detail?"

"She and Moira were Graham's confidantes, which shows you it wasn't all benighted attitudes back then. I guess he was what you'd nowadays call the typical gay best friend and the women—well, if it's not offensive, what did they call fag hags in the forties?"

"I dread to think. I bet the setup's as old as the hills, though. Go on." Robin, clearly morphing into work mode, showed an alertness of expression and posture never normally displayed when he was chilling out on the sofa.

"Isabel said she'd have gone into the witness box if Graham had needed her to act as character witness. She's certain he was entrapped by a handsome police officer who'd gone into those loos to act as bait, which was apparently pretty common back then. She and Moira were furious about their mate being set up and wanted to try everything they could to get him off the charge. As Moira already had another job ready and waiting that would take her out of the country, she'd said she'd avoid any flak for having stood up for him, so took on the character-witness role. And yes, some people were horrified that she'd done so. It caused quite a scandal, although it didn't lose her the job, which it might have done."

"Scandal enough that Alex Hanley didn't like any reference to it? I wonder exactly what that bloke said at Skegness to rile him so much. May not have been about his mother's supposed promiscuity." Robin sipped his tea.

"Hold that thought about Hanley. Actually, could you also hold my tea while I get out my notes? I don't want to put it on the table and then Hamish knocks into it and scalds himself."

Adam leaped up to take her mug. "Let me, Pru."

"Thanks." The sergeant passed over the drink, then consulted her notebook. "So, this next bit is specifically about Mark. Isabel saw Tom about a fortnight ago when he dropped in, which he does every couple of months. He said how excited he was at the prospect of meeting a new family member, and he got Isabel to do some googling for him about DNA tests and how they worked. Isabel suggested he should invite Mark to come and visit her, if and when they knew for certain he was Moira's grandchild. As inducement, she promised to tell him as much as she could about his grandmother."

"This is Isabel's principle of keeping the gossip in the family rearing its head. If she knew he was a McKay by heritage, he'd be allowed into the inner sanctum." Robin paused. "Although Tom wasn't allowed in, was he? If what he told us was correct, he'd only been given the bare details, although he might have been holding something back for whatever reason. Maybe to protect his sister, especially as he felt she was no longer in a position to protect herself."

"Could be. Anyway, Isabel's quite the silver surfer, and since Tom told her about Mark, she's been finding out about him on social media and the like. With a renewed emphasis when she heard about his death. She says she rarely gets out so has to live via her laptop, and apparently being active on there is the single thing that helps her keep her marbles."

"If that's what she believes, it probably does," Adam chipped in. "Power of the mind."

"I'd say you're right. As a result of her surfing, Isabel was certain she didn't need a DNA test to confirm that Mark was Moira's grandson, because of his eyebrows, which were identical to how hers had been at the same age. Isabel says it's that thing about distinctive traits skipping a generation." Pru made a go figure face. "Maybe Isabel saw what she wanted to see in Mark's face, but it wasn't only the eyebrows that she said reminded her of Moira. She made this weird remark about how her old pal had been a bit of a pushover for a sob story. Moira wasn't always a great judge of character, which was why she'd got taken in by Mark's grandfather. Isabel didn't quite state it categorically, but she gave the impression that it was the old tale of this bloke saying, ‘My wife doesn't understand me' until he'd got his leg over enough to satisfy him. At which point he decides that his wife understands him perfectly well and he's going back to her."

"I think I might need to cover Hamish's ears." Adam chuckled. "So why did she think Mark was a pushover like his gran was?"

Robin pointed at Adam. "I said you were an unofficial copper—I was going to ask that very thing. Was it something about Suzy's illness or her love life?"

"Initially the illness, which Tom had told Isabel about, although she'd done her own poking around on the net. There was a page for Suzy at one of these memorial sites, as well as an announcement on her Facebook wall, so Isabel read all the comments there and used them to fill in some of the story blanks. I'd already had a look at those, and while Suzy naturally generated a lot of sympathy, there are clear inconsistencies in terms of who she told what about why treatment was delayed. A pal of Izzy Packer's weighed in at one point to try to tell the family's side of the story." Pru raised an eyebrow. "That didn't escape Isabel's notice, nor did a barbed comment about Suzy being no angel. Isabel said it wouldn't surprise her if Mark had been duped in some way."

"The dying woman having a last fling? That would fit with Danielle's theory." Robin, lips pursed, thought for a moment. "It's a long shot, but can you remember any comments on those sites from Nick Archibald or Harry Foakes or anyone else who might have been an old boyfriend?"

"Not that jumped out at me but that was before we had those two names, so I wondered if Danielle might like to go through it all again. She might see something I've missed. Mind you, this Suzy angle might be irrelevant, because the main reason I dropped in tonight—apart from your best biscuits—is Alex Hanley. As you might have guessed by now, Isabel likes to read all the local news sites, and she saw the story about Alex's fight in Skeg-Vegas. She was pretty mobile a few years back when the assault happened, so when she saw the story, she called up a cab and went as quick as she could round to Moira's to discuss it."

"I bet she'd have beaten Usain Bolt getting there. Quicker than Hamish with his Bonios." Robin flashed Adam a grin that didn't simply appear to be linked to having made the quip. He was clearly getting excited about what Pru had to share.

"I think you'd win your bet quite safely." Pru rose to fetch the remains of her tea from where Adam had been cradling it. "This is where things get interesting. According to Isabel, Alex hadn't told his mother anything about the fight, just texted to say that his son's stag do had gone off well, despite it turning a bit rowdy. The grandson hadn't mentioned it either, although he'd not seen her since then. Moira didn't appear shocked when she heard about the assault, merely disappointed, and that seemed to be because Alex hadn't told her about it himself."

"I'm going to play devil's advocate," Adam said. "He may not have primarily been trying to cover up his misdemeanour. People don't like upsetting or worrying elderly parents, do they?"

Pru shrugged. "I'd agree with you in general but in this case Moira was already worried because of the business about the child she'd given up for adoption and the way Alex had reacted. He was due to visit her the next day because when he'd found out about Eleanor he wanted to discuss the matter in full, whereas Moira wanted to forget about it. She told Isabel that she could maybe wrong-foot Alex by asking him about the fight because then he'd be less likely to throw her own misdemeanours back in her face."

"Knowing how arguments usually go, I'd have thought that was a vain hope." Robin, onto whose lap Hamish had been slowly wriggling himself, gave the dog a scritch. It was evidently well received, because if Newfoundlands could have purred, Hamish would have done so. "It sounds like Moira didn't automatically make excuses for his behaviour. Same as Alex's son didn't."

"Exactly." Pru turned towards Adam. "You must see that a lot, when you've had to call parents in about their little darlings."

Adam nodded. "Plenty of times. It's a pretty common parental reaction to trot out the ‘he's not a bully, he was provoked' excuse or offer a dozen reasons why their child couldn't possibly have done what I've seen with my own two eyes. Was Isabel surprised that the family's reaction was far from the usual?"

"Not at all. Nor was she surprised at the assault charge because she knows Alex has got a bit of a temper on him. Isabel told Moira to call her the day after she'd visited, once she'd seen her son, in case she needed some moral support, but clearly the call never happened. She got a bit tearful with me and said that was the last lucid conversation she and her best friend ever had." Pru drained her tea, then laid down the mug. "I felt really sorry for Isabel. She has no children of her own—she got hitched in the early fifties but hubby died in a motorcycle crash at the Isle of Man TT and she never remarried. Lived her life vicariously through her friends' families and still does."

Like Adam with his husband's cases, a spectator who sometimes had a clearer and wider view of the game? Robin, given the glance in Adam's direction, might well have been entertaining a similar thought.

"Did Isabel have any suspicions that Moira's fall wasn't an accident?" Robin asked.

"Actually, she did. I didn't want to nudge her into saying that, obviously, but I needn't have worried about leading a witness on. She volunteered the theory as soon as we got onto Alex and his temper. She said her feeling that he'd pushed or hit his mother wasn't strong enough for her to contact anyone about it at the time." Pru smiled ruefully. "Whatever else she is, Isabel's still fiercely loyal to her friend and she knew that Moira wouldn't have wanted allegations flying about."

"What if the allegations were founded on fact?" Adam said.

"Isabel's streetwise enough to know that there are facts and facts. If Moira had been compos mentis, then an allegation might have been worth pursuing, but her mental state went downhill so quickly that if she'd alleged her son pushed her, the police or social services may not have believed her. After all, there was no other witness to what happened."

"Did Moira actually tell Isabel she'd been pushed?" Robin stroked his chin, every idea evidently being given due consideration. "Even in a non-lucid conversation between the pair of them?"

"Not in so many words." Pru blew out her cheeks, clearly frustrated at only being given tantalising glimpses of what might have gone on. "Isabel visited Moira in hospital after her fall, and there was some remark made about Alex being rough with her, but when Isabel pressed for further information, Moira denied she'd said anything at all about his visit. Whether that was dementia speaking or she realised she'd said too much and was playing forgetful, Isabel couldn't say. What I do know is that Isabel had seen mother and son get into arguments before, and while she'd never personally witnessed any physical aggression from Alex since he'd grown up, it wouldn't have surprised her if he'd got violent with his mother. And I don't think Isabel was just being wise after the event, like people too often are when they say they saw something coming."

Adam raised his arm, then pulled it sharply down, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry. I was so intent on the conversation I thought I was back in class. You said Isabel hadn't seen any aggression from Alex ‘since he'd grown up.' Does that mean he was violent when he was younger?"

"Apparently, he used to be fond of using his fists when he was a boy. Moira thought he'd grown out of it, but when Isabel told her about the Skegness incident, she'd got very upset and said he clearly hadn't."

Robin heaved a sigh, disturbing Hamish in the process and getting an aggrieved look. "Sorry, sunshine, but if you will sit on me don't expect I'll act like a mattress. Chances are your dad's heading up to Lincoln, and he'll be taking Aunty Pru with him."

"Me?" Pru sounded surprised, although not unhappy, at the suggestion. "I thought you'd have Ashok with you, as he's done all the Hanley side of things."

"Normally I would, for continuity, but Alex Hanley's lied to us already, he's got form for assault and a dodgy alibi, all of which adds up to me wanting to rack the pressure up on him a notch or two. Ashok will be disappointed, but things have become more serious and this is a job for a higher ranking officer. It might mean I'll have to postpone seeing Harry Foakes until later than planned, but we need to get the family side of things clarified."

"Right. Then I'll get onto Alex first thing tomorrow, and if he can see us Wednesday, shall I book us a hotel for that night? On the principle that there may be extra work to do up there if it turns out we think he's our man?"

"Sounds good. Do you think it'll be worth going to see Isabel, or do you think we've got everything we can from her?"

Pru shrugged. "I'd say she's told me all she knows that's relevant, for the moment."

"I've got another question, and maybe I shouldn't be asking it, but I do feel like an honorary copper at the moment." Adam paused.

"Ask away. I know you won't spread anything we've discussed, and I'm sure Pru's got used to me putting ideas past you and reporting back to the team with, ‘Adam wondered ... '" Robin gave him one of his special smiles. "If it's bad practice, then it's still productive and Cowdrey knows about it and turns a blind eye. Your question?"

"This Isabel sounds very switched on, and she's clearly not only following the case via the news but doing her own armchair research, like poking about on social media sites. I'm assuming that's harmless, so long as she isn't on these sites commenting and muddying the waters." Armchair detectives were all very well, but when they got it into their heads to get out of their chairs and go to the scene, poking around and potentially destroying evidence, it was no longer an innocent game. "Does she have a theory about who killed Mark?"

"She does, although I wasn't going to mention it, because it's a bit fanciful. Which she knows, because she has the sense to admit she didn't really know enough to make an informed judgement. Thing is, she watches a lot of crime shows on the telly and she said she approached the subject by thinking along those lines." Both Pru and Robin rolled their eyes at the same time, bursting into laughter as soon as they realised what they'd done. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I was dreading what she'd say. Actually, Isabel had several ideas, one of which she knows is a bit bizarre, but I'll share it because it made me laugh. She said that if this case had been televised, Moira would have been played by Judi Dench, she'd have been played by Penelope Wilton, and I'd have been ‘the nice one off the film about the racehorse,' whoever she meant by that."

"Shame she hasn't met Robin," Adam said. "I'd love to know who she'd cast for his character."

"Away from that fascinating topic and back to this bizarre theory," Robin said.

"Well, if it was a TV show, Isabel's sure we'd have three main suspects, Alex and Suzy's parents, all of whom would be acting suspiciously. Then, right at the end, it would turn out that the murderer was Suzy herself, who was never dead in the first place but had secretly gone off to get a radical new treatment. She'd then returned to take revenge on her husband."

Adam chuckled. "That sounds exactly like a plot twist they'd come up with."

"Yep. As Isabel said, TV cop shows were having increasingly ludicrous endings that she's sure bear no resemblance to the real world, although she did add that everything she's read online gives her the impression that Suzy was a nasty piece of work. One who probably didn't worry about whether she was telling the truth or a lie and got away with it because people felt sorry for her." Pru spread her hands. "People don't like to speak ill of the dead, especially when the circumstances of the person concerned are so tragic, but that doesn't help us get to the truth."

"And I'd say there's definitely a grain of truth in Isabel's character judgement of Suzy," Robin said, "even if the rest of her thinking is far-fetched. If Isabel picked all that up from what she read online, maybe we should second her onto the team, because we're only getting there ourselves. Mind you, I think I'll keep a resurrected Suzy only for when we run out of all other hypotheses, because I'm not sure I can justify digging up a grave to see if it's empty on the say so of an old woman, no matter how techno-savvy or streetwise she is."

Pru giggled. "Mr. Cowdrey would think you'd lost your marbles."

"I'd lose my badge. Interesting that she seems to see Alex as a credible suspect for the murder, though."

"Yeah. She said that was because he'd ‘got previous' and I can imagine her grinning when she said it. You know, we must have made her day, getting in touch, because she's clearly an intelligent woman with perhaps not a lot of outlets for using her brain. Oh, hello." Pru's lap was being invaded by Hamish, who was obviously relishing all the strokes he was getting. "Interesting that she also fancied the Packers for Mark's murder."

Robin brushed some dog hairs off his trousers. "Another example of Isabel being astute, I'd say. Given that she's picked out the one person we know lied to us and the couple who have no alibi."

"Neither of which I mentioned to her, so yes, astute. Unless she had inside information, which I doubt, because I'm pretty sure she'd have told me in that case. The last thing she said was that she wanted us to get to the truth."

Adam sighed. "What if the truth is her best friend's son got so angry with her he put her in hospital and later went on to murder her grandson in a similar fit of rage?"

"I think so. ‘We need the truth, whatever it turns out to be,' she said, and I believed her."

"Then she's a brave woman. Too often the truth is the last thing people want." On which sombre note, Adam began mentally preparing for his husband having another few days away.