Chapter Fifteen

On Tuesday, Adam made sure he arrived home at a decent time, despite Robin not being there. He'd brought a ton of stuff with him. Nothing important, just the routine, time-consuming bits that kept falling to the bottom of the "to do" pile. Better to clear them while snuggled up on the settee with Hamish, rather than staying late in his office. The one good thing about Robin going away overnight with work was Adam not having to feel guilty about crashing through a pile of paperwork or emails during an evening spent together.

Hamish was clearly delighted to see him, in a typically doggy you've been away for weeks and I've been inconsolable way, which produced a different pang of guilt about the situation. Adam would be with a loved one tonight, irrespective of it not being the loved one, but Robin wouldn't have anybody—not even a slobbery Newfoundland—to give him a goodnight hug.

Adam had his dinner and had made a huge dent in the work he'd brought home when the landline rang. Immediately assuming it would be a scammer because hardly anyone else used that number, Adam considered not answering. But Robin's aunt Clare sometimes used the house phone, as did an ex-neighbour who liked to keep in touch and swore that she didn't trust mobiles, so he shifted a protesting dog and went to the hallway.

"Adam?" A vaguely familiar voice sounded down the line.

"Ye-es?"

"It's Ryan. I'm sorry for ringing on the landline, but I know Robin's away with work, because Mrs. Bright told me so, and I didn't want to ring his mobile. She gave me this number so I can leave a message."

"Hold on while I get a pen and paper." The phone was used so rarely they no longer kept such things to hand in the hallway. As he fetched them, Adam remembered his grandmother being very proud of a black leather mat which her phone sat on, one with a notepad and pen holder built in. It had been very professional looking and for the young Adam the height of swish and sophistication.

"Right, I'm ready to make notes. Although if you're going to tell Robin you've located a bloke from Lutterworth who died in Australia who might be his grandfather, then Mrs. Bright told us all about it last evening."

"Yes, she said that to me. A very sensible woman, your mother-in-law. If only everyone I had to deal with was so shrewd."

Time for a pre-emptive anti-droning strike, or else Ryan might go on for half an hour about his clients, canny or dim. "Ryan, sorry to butt in and be a pain, but I've got a pile of school stuff to do and I'm taking advantage of himself being away to do it. I'd love to chat; however, not right now."

"Oh, okay. I've only got a couple of things to say and I'll make them brief, because I do know I go on a bit at times." Ryan snorted. "This chap in Australia, whom I'm still trying to verify as our chap, I've run across him on a couple of these family tree sites and one was of particular interest because they were discussing occurrences of syndactyly in the family. He had it."

"That is encouraging." And put in an admirably succinct way—the bloke could do it when he tried. Adam felt some praise was needed. "Robin's really grateful for your work, by the way, and he's happy not to be given this guy's name until you're as sure as you can be that he's the one we're after."

"I guessed that would be the case. He of all people would know how dangerous it is to jump to conclusions. People looking at family histories can end up like newspapers reporting on the same story—they all put their own interpretations on what they see. Take a basic set of facts and twist them to suit the narrative they want to expound, ignoring the ones that don't fit."

"That's what we try to teach our year-six pupils to avoid doing." Adam smiled. Ryan wasn't hard to talk to if you kept him on topic. Or near topic. "You said there was something else you wanted me to pass on to Robin. Is it family-tree business?"

"No, although it stemmed from that. I saw some ‘own narratives' stuff when I was browsing these family history forums, and it made Mark come to mind."

Adam's ears pricked, like Hamish's now did when the dog biscuits got opened. "Do you mean he had his own narrative?"

"Where Suzy was concerned, yes. He'd clearly worshipped his wife—possibly to the point it was unhealthy—and if she said something was so, he'd never have doubted it. I think, from the questions he asked me, Robin's got it in mind she'd been playing away, which is highly likely from the bits of gossip I heard about her. However, I think there's more."

"Like what?" Adam remembered the previous evening and Pru recounting the strange theory about a resurrected Suzy. Would this "more" turn out to be something equally odd?

"Remember I said she reminded me of a character in a book?"

"Yes." Although for the life of him, Adam couldn't recall if a specific one had been mentioned. "Sorry, but my brain's in school mode at present, rather than pubby lunch mode, so remind me who you meant."

"Walter Mitty. Short story version, not from either of the dreadful films."

"I've read it." A charming tale, and Adam would agree with Ryan's assessment. It had been blown out of all proportion and ruined when adapted for the big screen. "An old friend of ours also knew her and told Robin that Suzy's life resembled a soap opera, so you're not alone in thinking that. Although do you mean she overdramatised things or that she lived in some imaginary world, inside her head?"

"A bit of both. It may have nothing to do with his murder case, but can you tell Robin that when Mark was talking about her, he let the odd thing drop that implied ... Well, implied she was portraying things as worse than the reality had been. He'd already suspected that she was stirring up the conflict between him and her parents and maybe not telling either side the truth, so he'd become suspicious."

Which would accord with what Robin had said about the disparities in people's accounts of what had happened or what they'd been told had happened. "So, was she telling other people there was a conflict, say between her parents and Mark, when there wasn't that much of a one?"

"Something like that. Thing is, I'm used to picking my way between conflicting stories—it goes with the job—and sometimes I pick up an idea of what's really going on." Ryan took a deep breath. "You may not be able to answer this or you may not want to, but do the police have any reservations about Suzy's medical situation?"

"I genuinely couldn't say one way or the other." Although, hadn't Robin mentioned something about Suzy telling everyone that it had been her parents who hadn't wanted her to have mainstream cancer treatment and them saying that was a load of nonsense? "Why?"

"This afternoon I spoke to a U3A group about researching family history. I mentioned Mark's case—not by name—to show that you can end up doing unexpected things as a result of being involved in research. It turns out Suzy's parents were in the audience. They nabbed me afterwards and asked if I'd been talking about Mark and how they'd appreciated me not divulging personal details. I told them all I could about what I discovered, family-wise. Mrs. Packer got very upset when I talked about his birth grandmother apparently giving up her baby—she said she couldn't understand how anyone could do something like that."

"That's understandable." Adam felt distinctly disappointed that nothing new seemed to be forthcoming.

"That's what I said. Anyway, she had to go off to the ladies' to compose herself and Mr. Packer apologised. Said his wife had been getting into a state ever since she found out that people were saying they'd been responsible for delaying Suzy's treatment, especially now it appeared that their daughter herself may have been the origin of that tale. So, long story short as I promised, I had a terrible thought as I was driving home. What if Suzy hadn't been as ill as she'd made out? We know it wasn't the cancer that killed her in the end, it was coronavirus, so she might well have been in a less advanced stage of the disease than she'd told people she was. That in itself might explain some of the mystery around her treatment or lack of same. It's only an idea ..." Ryan trailed off, awkwardly.

"Ryan, it's a good enough idea for me to pass straight on to Robin when he rings me. He'd want me to say thank you."

"It's a pleasure. I think. Anyhow, I'll let you get back to your school stuff. Hope to speak again soon. Bye." Ryan put the phone down, leaving Adam with the sense that the bloke might have hit on something important. And if only he hadn't rushed out from their pub lunch, he might have registered the Walter Mitty comparison then and already passed it on.

Twenty minutes later, Robin called.

"Sorry to be ringing later than intended. Pru and I got dragged out for drinks with some of the local team because they think they've cracked their assault case. Got a tip off this afternoon from a woman who thinks her husband's been acting suspiciously and at last she's summoned up the courage to dob him in."

"That's good news. Are they certain?" It would surely be too early for anything like DNA tests to have been completed. This wasn't the telly with its almost instant results.

"Ninety-five percent sure, based on his lack of an alibi and the stuff they've already recovered from his house, apparently. Still got all the forensic to do, but they wanted to buy us a pint as they believed we brought them luck. It was only the one pint, by the way, because I said we had to be on the road early."

"Everything finished in Lincoln? Were you successful?"

"Yes and partly. The Hanleys appear to have found themselves an alibi and while Mister has put his hands up both to pushing his mother over and contacting Mark, I don't think he's the killer." Robin's disappointment was audible. "But rather than wait for Harry Foakes to get home from his conference, we've arranged to swing round to Birmingham and interview him there, tomorrow morning."

A frisson shot up Adam's spine. "He's the company doctor? If so, that's a big coincidence because I've had Ryan on the phone earlier—he had a bit of news on the webbed fingers front but that can wait. He said he'd met the Packers when he was presenting at a U3A event today and what they said got him thinking. Remember when I was telling you about lunch with him and your mum? How I missed some of what he said?"

"Ryan does have that effect on people. I think he's lonely, although he knows his stuff, and when he emails me it's always very businesslike and to the point."

"He's okay when he's chatting too, if you lay down the ground rules. He was relatively succinct today. Anyhow, he said that Suzy reminded him of Walter Mitty and since his chat with the Packers he's been wondering if she wasn't as ill with leukaemia as she'd told people. Hello? You still there?"

"I am. Having a think. That's not a bad shout, especially as I'm not aware of any photos that show her really ill. It would also explain some of the inconsistencies, like why she'd apparently delayed treatment. Maybe she hadn't needed serious medical intervention." Robin paused again. "Maybe she hadn't needed it at all until she got Covid."

"Are you saying she might have made up everything about having cancer? Is that even possible?"

"If the doctor who makes the diagnosis is your lover—or your ex-lover—and he's willing to lie for you, or blackmailed into doing so, then it could happen. I don't think leukaemia manifests in really obvious symptoms like a growing lump, and Christine did say that Suzy hadn't wanted to talk about exactly which type of leukaemia she had."

"Hmm."

"Yeah. Makes you feel a bit sick, doesn't it? Isn't there a name for pretending you're ill?"

"Munchausen syndrome. I've never come across it personally but I've heard of a genuine case of Munchausen syndrome by proxy, only it's not called that nowadays and I can't remember the proper name." Adam would have to look that up, later. "A few years back one of the local schools had one of the mothers pretending her daughter was very ill, in an effort at getting her own back on hubby, who'd ditched her. The headteacher told us about it at one of our cluster meetings, in case we had anything similar. Nasty business."

"I bet it was. You can tell me all about it when I get home because, much as I regret it, I think I'll have to love you and leave you. I'd better bring Pru up to speed and then ring the team with a list of jobs for them to get onto first thing. Might be a bit much to expect any results by the time we see Foakes tomorrow but a man can dream."

"He can. I hope if I dream, I have sweet ones of you and not nightmares about Isabel and Ryan teaming up to list their latest daft theories. Although if it was Ryan droning on, it would send me to sleep within my sleep."

"He could start a business on the side, making insomnia podcasts. Love you, Mr. Headteacher, and give himself a pat from me."

"Will do and love you too, Mr. Policeman."

Adam ended the call to find Hamish, who'd been lying quietly, staring up at him expectantly. "Your other dad says hello and sends you this pat on the head. He should be home tomorrow, all these villains notwithstanding."

The Newfoundland, face serious, bounced up to give Adam a lick on his nose.

"Thank you so much. Now sit quietly while I finish off my work, and then we'll have ten minutes' fresh air before bedtime. I'll need to clear my head of people who lie and cheat."

Especially where the lying and cheating led to the innocent being hurt. And maybe, ultimately, to Mark Bircher being murdered.