Chapter Eighteen

Thursday afternoon was crunch time. Nothing new had turned up so far that day evidence-wise, despite the best efforts of the team, apart from confirmation that both the Packers held driving licences. Ashok had identified a traffic camera on the cycle route from their smallholding to Kings Ride and was planning to scrutinise it as a matter of priority, while Danielle was on the hunt for the recording of the 999 call the night Suzy went into hospital.

Pru, Ben, and Robin reviewed exactly what had been said in the previous interview with the Packers, including the account of meeting Mark at the farm shop, so they'd be fully prepared. As prepared as they could be under the circumstances. Nobody had found an insurmountable flaw in the premise of the Packers' guilt, though.

As they headed down to the interview rooms, Robin said, "I'm still keeping an open mind. At present, it makes the most sense for Suzy's fake illness to be linked to her husband's death, but it's possible a better motive or culprit will turn up."

"As you often say, can you get better than the classic family or friend?" Pru smiled. "In an hour's time, you'll know."

"I hope you're right."

They'd put Justin Packer in one interview room and his wife Izzy in another. In Robin's experience, splitting a pair of suspects created several advantages, over and above the obvious ones of not having moral support to draw on or being able to ensure that each kept to an agreed tale. A witness or suspect spoken to confidentially, away from their cosy kitchen and the presence of their partner, might reveal information that they wouldn't otherwise.

Who would want said partner hearing about, for example, an alibi involving meeting a lover? The witness might also make a disclosure—maybe about domestic abuse—that they'd never dare do otherwise. There was even the possibility of previously agreed pacts being chucked out and one part of the duo being thrown under the bus to save the other. Robin had seen all those outcomes, and more.

He didn't expect to be seeing the "under the bus" scenario today, though. The Packers had struck him as a close couple and would surely be likelier to each admit being the guilty party in order to protect the other. Robin knew he should be entirely objective, but he couldn't supress every bit of humanity; he'd liked the Packers from the start, appreciating the way they'd helped Ben when he felt ill and the understanding attitude they'd taken towards their daughter. During their previous interview, he'd felt their deep pain and anger. His opinion of them hadn't changed yet, although his guess at the likely provenance of their pain—and what they might have done as a result—had shifted.

Once all the pre-interview formalities were completed, Robin said, "Mr. Packer, what we're about to discuss is no doubt going to be painful for you, but we have to get to the truth about Mark's death and the events leading up to it."

"I understand that." Justin, face drawn, kept his gaze fixed on his hands.

"We'd like to start with Suzy. We've had it verified that she'd had an early-stage melanoma removed, but we've also learned something much more disturbing about her medical history." Robin waited for any response from Packer, but the suspect remained quiet, his facial expression suggesting wariness rather than surprise. "Were you aware that she didn't have any other form of cancer and that all the business about her leukaemia and any treatment for it was faked?"

Unexpectedly, Justin began to weep. Mrs. Botterman, the duty solicitor who accompanied him, seemed as taken aback at the reaction as Robin was.

"I'll get you a drink of water," Pru said, while Robin paused the interview. She returned shortly with both a cup and a box of tissues, which the suspect took with thanks. "Danielle's outside. She has a message for you, sir." Clearly an important one, given Pru's tone of voice. Justin's glance flickered towards her, but his face was too grief-stricken to be readable.

"I won't be a moment." Robin slipped out of the room, to find the constable waiting.

"Sorry to interrupt, sir," she said, "but I checked with Ben, and he said you'd probably want to know this, ASAP."

"You can always interrupt us if what you've got to say is relevant to the interview we're conducting. Ben clearly thinks it is."

"I do too." Danielle's voice grew in assurance. "We haven't yet listened to the recording of the 999 call for Suzy, but we know it wasn't Mark who made it. No evidence he made any calls to the emergency services that night. Justin Packer rang for the ambulance."

"Bloody hell. I never expected that. Did Mark ring separately? Or Suzy herself?"

Danielle shook her head. "Only Packer. I suppose Mark might have been trying and for some reason couldn't get a solid mobile signal, but his house has a landline he could have used."

"It does. Is Sergeant Davis aware of this?"

"Yes. I told her in case you couldn't come out of the interview. Did I do wrong?" Danielle nibbled at her lip.

"Of course not. I'm not the kind of boss who'd resent her knowing something first, especially in these circumstances. As long as my team doesn't hold any information back from me." Robin gave the constable a smile and a thumbs-up. "If you get hold of the recording before I'm finished interviewing this pair, you and Ben listen to it and give me another heads-up if anything leaps out."

"Will do, sir." Danielle almost skipped off, beaming. Whoever had managed her in the past had clearly knocked her confidence. Still, dealing with her career development could wait: Justin Packer couldn't.

"Sorry about that," Robin said, as he re-entered the room. "The news was important and I'll explain why later. Are we ready to resume, Mr. Packer?" The suspect nodded and they restarted the recording. "We were discussing Suzy's supposed diagnosis."

"We were. You have no idea what that time was like for us, Mr. Bright. All the worry we'd had, all the guilt we'd borne that we could have done something if we'd got her to a doctor early enough." Justin took a sip of water. "Discovering that some people believed we'd prevented her getting treatment was bad enough, but then to find out it had all been a lie and she'd been the one fooling us ..." The tears started to flow again.

"Would you like us to pause again?" Robin asked.

"No, let's just get on with it." Another sip from his glass. "Izzy and I have kicked ourselves so often since then. We should have realised things didn't add up, especially when Suzy kept looking so well. Thing is, she was plastered with makeup and wore the kind of billowy clothes she'd not normally have chosen, so we assumed that was all part of an act to cover up how ill she was, hiding bruising or weight loss or whatever. We'd never have guessed the makeup and the clothes were covering up the fact she was perfectly well. Not that we saw her much towards the end."

Robin glanced up sharply. "Why was that?"

"She said she didn't want us upset by seeing her so ill. We spoke weekly on the phone, which was more frequently than we'd done for a while. I'd assumed it was because she was nearing her end, but that can't have been. Maybe she was starting to feel guilty—if she'd lived, we might have been reconciled." Justin blew his nose, clearly trying to stem his tears. "When you and that other constable came to visit us, we told you about wishing we'd known she was ill and paying to get her help. That referred to the time we believed she had cancer, but it also applied to what we know now. Thinking of her being mentally ill, rather than physically, and the help she should have received for that." Justin glanced from Robin to Pru and back again. "She must have been unwell, mustn't she, to have done something so cruel?"

Unwell or unscrupulous. It wasn't unknown for a supposed victim to be the manipulative party, deliberately inflicting pain on others.

"How did you discover the truth and when?" Pru asked.

"After her death. It started at the first U3A meeting we went to, when we thought we should get back into the swing of things. A new person joined us, a retired nurse called Dora who used to work in the ward where Suzy had been treated. Was supposed to have been treated, I should say. We discussed her, naturally and Dora seemed perplexed. You see, the name of the consultant Suzy had told us she'd been under didn't ring any bells with her. We assumed we'd got the name wrong, so we got in touch with Mark to find out who the doctor was, so we could ask Dora properly. That's when it all came out." For the first time in this interview, Robin had the feeling he was being led along. When the suspect had spoken about his feelings, his words had come across as authentic, but now the detail felt laid on with a trowel.

"And this was definitely all after Suzy died?" Pru said.

"Yes."

"So," Robin cut in, "when your wife met Mark last October—at a farm shop, I think she said—he didn't tell her anything then?"

"Not so far as I know." Again, this didn't sound convincing. "You'll have to ask Izzy about it when you interview her, although I'm sure she'll tell you the same."

"I'll do that. Then I'll no doubt want to speak to you about it again." Robin feigned consulting his notes. "Suzy died of sepsis, as a result of Covid. That's not in dispute. What I'd like to know is why you were the one to ring 999 for her and not Mark."

Justin flinched at the question. Maybe he hadn't realised that emergency calls were recorded or—like Robin and his team—he'd not remembered the implications. "She texted us that evening, feeling desperate, so I knew I had to get her help and quick. I've done first aid courses in the past and they always used to tell us to get a couple of people to ring for help. Better that 999 gets three separate calls than you've only asked one person to try and they can't get through."

Which was true, although that wasn't an answer. "Why didn't she ring them herself? She had the use of her phone."

"She did but her text said she could barely speak. Throat like sandpaper." Justin's brow furrowed. "I assume she was telling the truth about her symptoms by then. She came across as frightened. In an awful state."

"And as far as we know Mark never tried to ring. You must have known that too."

Justin flashed a glance at Mrs. Botterman and then said, "Mr. Bright, my son-in-law was bloody feckless at times. When Suzy texted us, he was being as much use as a chocolate teapot. She said he'd gone to pieces entirely. Knowing now what we didn't then, I wonder if she was hiding the fact that he'd already got doubts about how ill she was. If he knew about the leukaemia and assumed she was faking how ill the infection was making her, he may not have realised that things had become serious. When she was little, I used to tell her the story of the little boy who cried, ‘Wolf!' I couldn't have dreamed it would happen in real life."

The suspicion that Suzy was crying wolf again was a viable explanation for Mark not ringing for help, and one which put him in less of a bad light than the theory he'd known his wife was ill yet held off getting help. Was Justin now setting up a situation in which he and his wife could say, Why would we have killed him? We know what he was going through.

"Did you hold a grudge because Mark didn't get her help sooner?" Pru asked. "A few hours could have made all the difference to her chances of survival."

Justin shook his head. "I did feel angry at the time, but the hospital told us it might not have made much difference to her outcome. She developed sepsis and that was it. I suppose the person who told us that might have been trying to be kind. A little harmless lie."

"Mr. Packer," Robin said, "I'm not at all convinced you're telling us the whole truth. You spoke to someone at the hospital about Suzy's death, yet you never discussed her supposed terminal cancer?"

Justin flinched again. Robin was sure he'd identified a loophole in the Packers' pre-prepared story.

"Please answer the question," he insisted.

With another glance at Mrs. Botterman, Justin said, "I have no comment to make."

"Then will you comment on Mark's death? If you thought he'd—for whatever reason—not got help to your daughter quickly enough, that would give you a strong motive to get even with him. You have no alibi for his time of death, so did you meet him in Kings Ride Woods then?" That would leave the door open for the suspect to say they had met but he'd left the man alive, although Robin suspected the shutters had now come down. Justin would want to regather his thoughts, surely.

As expected, his reply was a curt "No comment."

"Then we'll recommence this when we've spoken to your wife. I will get to the truth, I promise." With that, Robin suspended the interview.

Once outside the interview room, Pru confessed she was in desperate need of a comfort break before she did anything else. "Effects of too much coffee, sir."

"Too much information, Sergeant." Robin would appreciate a similar break, though. "I'll swing by the incident room, then meet you back here. There's a couple of things I want to discuss before we see Izzy Packer."

When he returned, to find Pru seemingly much relieved, the couple of things had become three. "Nothing from the traffic cameras, yet, but Ben's hit on something," Robin reported. "When I first saw Justin, he reminded me of Robert Plant from Led Zeppelin. They were my dad's favourite band."

"I've heard of them," Pru said, in the same way she might have confessed to having heard of Neanderthals.

"Google him, like Ben did. He reckons I'm right about the resemblance. Anyway, he's just spoken to your mate Mr. Rashid, and he not only knows what Robert Plant looks like, he saw a bloke similar to him in Kings Ride Woods that Saturday. On a bike." Robin jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, towards the interview room where Izzy would be waiting. "There was a woman cycling with him, whom Mr. Rashid described as resembling a groupie. Not a very complimentary description, but he's got a point."

"I bet he'd pick them out in a lineup too." Pru pulled at her lower lip. "This 999 business, sir. I know it's only speculation, but do you think Mark not making the call was because he was feckless, suspicious, or being downright vindictive?"

"Short of a message from beyond the grave, we'll never know. I'm not sure it matters, anyhow, because it's what other people think his intention was that counts. I doubt Packer believes some of what he's been telling us, by the way. Seems like he was sticking to a script."

"Agreed. I'm sure he knew Suzy wasn't ill long before they met the nurse at U3A." Pru pulled at her lip again. "I've been wondering what Suzy would have done if the sepsis hadn't killed her. She couldn't keep up the pretence of being terminally ill indefinitely."

"Maybe she'd have taken a journey to Lourdes and then pretended she'd been granted a miracle cure." Robin shrugged. "Come on. Let's get the other side of the tale."

The start of Izzy Packer's interview mirrored that of her husband, except that her solicitor was a man called Dolby, who appeared rather uninterested in the proceedings. Robin used the same form of words, the same question about her knowledge of Suzy's illness—partly so she'd have no indication of what her husband had said—although the response he got was different. No tears, this time, just the same steely courage in the face of despair as Izzy had shown in her own kitchen.

"Yes, we did find out that Suzy wasn't riddled with cancer, apart from a minor melanoma. It cut to our hearts like a knife that our own daughter could do such a thing to her parents. I keep having to persuade myself that it wasn't some sort of revenge on us." Izzy paused, maybe having said more than intended.

"Why should she want revenge?" Robin asked.

"‘Revenge' is perhaps a poor choice of word on my part." She ran her fingers in circles on the table, as though regathering her thoughts. "Maybe ‘getting her own back' describes it better. She was always a rebel, in her own way—she hated our lifestyle, as you know—so anything that could have had a dig at us would have been up her street. But it can't have been that alone, because we weren't the only people she deluded. She must have been mentally ill, surely. Munchausen syndrome or something like that."

Robin now had severe doubts about such a diagnosis and would have plumped for Suzy being that old fashioned but useful term wicked. "When did you find out she'd been faking it?"

Izzy fingered the table again, the gesture suggesting she was weighing her options, given the intense look of concentration on her face. "We didn't know for certain until after she died, but we started to have an inkling when I saw Mark at the farm shop last October. I told you and your constable about that, when he had the upset stomach and needed help. Is he better?"

"Much, thank you. And you did tell us about seeing Mark, although clearly not everything." Robin smiled ironically.

"Can you blame me?" Izzy returned the smile. "What I said was the absolute truth as far as it went because Mark did talk about how everyone fussed over Suzy and ignored him. That was when he let slip something about the innocent suffering and not the guilty. He clearly was referring to Suzy, so I'm afraid I gave him a bit of the third degree about what he meant, and it transpired that he thought she wasn't as ill as she'd been making out."

"What was your reaction...?" Pru asked.

"After the initial shock? Feeling closer to Mark than I ever had. If what he suspected was true, then we were fellow sufferers, if that's not being overdramatic."

That point might need exploring further, depending on how the interview progressed, but for the moment, Robin wanted to drill down on the previous answer. "That's not the timeline your husband gave. He said you didn't know about the fake illness until after Suzy's death, starting with a conversation you had with a nurse at U3A."

Unexpectedly, Izzy laughed, smiling at her solicitor. "Justin's doubtless trying to protect me, the daft sod. I got very upset back then, not only at the farm shop, but for ages afterwards. I was so low I nearly did something very silly, although thank God I had the support from Justin to get me through. He's a good man, my husband."

"He just makes up stories about nurses called Dora?" Pru evidently didn't feel the same sympathy for Izzy as Robin did.

"No, Dora's real and if Justin told you we asked her about Suzy's so-called consultant, he's right, because we were trying to uncover the full story. If she'd involved real people on the medical side, for example."

"And had she?" Pru asked.

Izzy shrugged. "Not as far as we could tell, although that's not saying much. Mark played his cards pretty close to his chest and wouldn't tell us any of the details about what he'd found out or how he'd done so."

So the Packers didn't know about Foakes's involvement?

Robin said, "Given that you had your suspicions back in October, did you confront Suzy about them?"

"Would you have done, in the same circumstances? She was making less and less contact with us, anyway—all part of the pretence, I'd guess, because she'd have been worried we'd twig. We decided we'd bide our time, rather than jump in and risk her cutting all ties." Izzy shook her head, ruefully. "We knew she wasn't terminally ill, so we had time and space and could use that to see if she came round. We never suspected that time would be cut short by something else." Izzy produced a handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes.

Robin offered her a break, but Izzy insisted they carry on, which was a relief. She wasn't quite echoing what her husband had said and each answer felt like it was edging them nearer the truth.

A knock sounded on the door. Pru leaped up to answer it, but Robin intervened. "I'll go." He'd had an idea, prompted by the reference to their previous interview with the Packers, and he wanted the team to test it.

Ashok was outside bearing some pieces of paper in his hand, which he passed to Robin for perusal. A fuzzy printout of what must have been a still from traffic camera footage was accompanied by a note in the constable's distinctively neat hand.

This shows a couple of cyclists who look exactly like the Packers heading in the direction of Kings Ride at 11:05 on the Saturday morning Mark was killed. Google Maps says they'd have got from the camera to the middle of the Kings Ride Woods by 11:40.

"Brilliant. See if you can work the oracle with this." Robin asked the question his idea had prompted.

Ashok grinned. "I'll get onto that right away, sir."

Robin returned to the interview room, passing the paper to Pru with a satisfied nod before resuming his questioning. "Mrs. Packer, can we turn to the evening Suzy went into hospital with Covid? Who rang for the ambulance?"

Izzy paused a moment, clearly coming to a decision. "By the tone of your voice, you must know already that it was Justin."

Robin ignored the comment. "Why did he ring and not Mark?"

"I wish I knew. I mean, I wish I knew why Mark didn't ring. Suzy had texted us to say she needed help but he'd gone to pieces and was being as much use as a chocolate teapot."

"Those were her exact words?"

"They were not. She was too ill to make jokes."

Gone to pieces. Chocolate teapot. Those phrases made it sound as though the Packers had agreed the wording of that answer in advance, so they must have been expecting to be asked about the 999 call. Had Justin's flinch at the mention of it been less concerned with guilt at his own involvement and more about how the events of that evening gave them reason to resent their son-in-law? "Given what you suspected by then, didn't you speak to Mark about why he hadn't rung for an ambulance? Being useless doesn't seem a convincing excuse for his inaction."

Twin spots of red appeared on Izzy's cheeks. "What would have been the point? It wouldn't have brought Suzy back."

"Agreed, but most people wouldn't have been able to resist clearing the air," Pru pointed out.

"We're not most people." A hard edge had crept into the suspect's voice, one that matched the steely glint which had appeared in her eye. Perhaps Izzy realised how harsh she now sounded, because she followed up with a mellower "You learn to pick your fights."

"Like the fight you had with Mark the day he died?" Robin asked.

"I have no idea what you mean by that." The answer didn't sound convincing.

Robin turned over the picture and passed it across the table. "I'm showing the suspect a photograph from a traffic camera on the old Kinechester road. This was taken at 11:05 in the morning on the Saturday Mark was killed. Is that you and your husband?"

Izzy, a look of alarm quickly hidden, peered at the image. "What did Justin say about this?"

"Nothing, because we didn't yet have the evidence to hand when we interviewed him. Answer the question, please."

"That could be us. I know we said we were at home all day but we needed toilet roll—the cat had got into our supply and destroyed it—so we went to the shop in Kings Ride because they stock the eco-friendly type." Izzy pushed the picture back. "We went together because I'm increasingly nervous of cycling on my own."

Robin doubted Izzy Packer got nervous about anything. "Why didn't you tell us this in the previous interview, when we asked what you were doing that day?"

"We forgot. It was only a short run to the shop and home again." Izzy sat back, arms crossed.

"Do you have the receipt from the shop?" Pru asked.

"I don't ask for them. Waste of paper. I paid cash, anyway."

Robin studied the suspect for a moment. Was that fact a sign of innocence, given that a guilty person might have made sure they had a receipt to account for the journey? Although given that such an item would be time-stamped, it would have suggested a premeditated attack, with alibi pre-planned. "We have a witness who says two people matching your description were cycling in Kings Ride Woods around the time Mark was killed. Was that you and your husband?"

Izzy opened her mouth, shut it again, and then forced out, "No comment."

"Are you sure there's nothing you want to say?"

"No comment."

Robin picked up the picture and rose. "Let's go and see what Justin has to say about this. Interview suspended."

Halfway between the two interview rooms, Robin halted. "What do you make of that?"

Pru rolled her eyes. "We've been here before, haven't we? Two suspects with a pre-planned story, desperately trying to busk the bits they forgot to plan."

"Agreed. I'm confident we're getting nearer to the truth, though. The Packers were there in Kings Ride Woods, all right, but the challenge is linking them to the fatal blow." With a deep, calming breath, Robin headed to talk to Justin, still not entirely sure how he'd achieve his aim.

Once they'd recommenced the interview, Robin said, "You've not told us the truth, have you, Mr. Packer?"

Justin's expression of bafflement was clearly false. "The truth about what?"

"For a start, about when you first suspected Suzy wasn't as ill as she made out. Would you like to amend your previous statement?"

With an enquiring glance at Mrs. Botterman, one that got a nod in reply, Justin said, "Okay. I can't see how any of this matters, but when Izzy saw Mark at the farm shop last October, he said something that raised our concerns. By the time Suzy died, we were pretty sure the cancer—apart from the melanoma—was all an act, which is why we didn't talk to anyone at the hospital about her not getting the care she needed. I didn't say this earlier because it hurt at the time and it's worse now, given all the what-ifs we've had to ask ourselves every day. Are you satisfied now?"

"For the moment. About that aspect, anyway." Robin let his reply sink in. "Then there's this." He turned over the photograph, then pushed it across the table, with the same words—for the recording—about what he was showing the suspect. "At 11:05 in the morning of the same day Mark was killed, this traffic camera on the old Kinechester road shows two people who look for all the world like you and your wife cycling off in the direction of Kings Ride. When you assured us you'd been at home all that Saturday."

Justin squirmed in his chair. "We were rather stressed the day you interviewed us—with the shock of Mark's death and everything—and had completely forgotten we'd nipped out. And how embarrassing to have to admit we'd run out of loo roll."

"Oh yes, I suppose it is, if you use up the last sheet and you've forgotten to replace it," Pru said, with an innocent air that would probably fool the suspect but which didn't take Robin in.

Justin smiled, clearly relieved by Pru's response. "Quite. You feel such idiots that you hadn't stocked up, especially after the shortages during Covid."

Evidently the cat destroying the spares was part of the story that hadn't been agreed in advance. Robin pressed on, encouraged. "If you only went out to get supplies, why do I have a witness who says he saw you both cycling in Kings Ride Woods around the time Mark was murdered?"

With another glance at Mrs. Botterman, Justin shrugged. "He's mistaken."

"As the officer who interviewed this witness," Pru said, "I'd say there's little chance that he'll fail to pick you out in an identity parade."

The suspect sat quietly, no doubt weighing his options. Eventually he said, "I know this sounds bad, but try to see it from our point of view. We did go for a spin, after we'd been to the shop, because it was such a lovely day and the traffic wasn't as awful as usual on a Saturday. There's a nice trail through Kings Ride Woods which we've always liked. Using that doesn't make us killers."

"It makes you liars, though, so yes, it does sound bad. And I'm not sure what you mean by seeing your point of view," Pru continued. "What made it so essential to lie?"

"We were worried that we'd be suspected, but we have nothing to hide."

"Then why not be honest in the first place?" Robin was starting to lose his patience, having gone through a similar experience with Alex Hanley. "Our witness also heard somebody arguing in the vicinity of where Mark was found. We believe this argument led to his death. Had you and he arranged to meet?"

"No way."

Robin had heard every colour of a lie over the years and that sounded like one.

"Really?" Pru said. "Your son-in-law wouldn't ring for an ambulance when your daughter was desperately ill and you didn't at any point want to have that out with him? Look, we know you've been torturing yourselves ever since that evening trying to imagine exactly what went on. Mark at the end of his tether, perhaps, saying to Suzy, ‘You told me you were too late getting medical help for this nonexistent leukaemia of yours; well, let's see how you get on without help for your real, live Covid.'"

"It wasn't that. It—" Justin shut his mouth with an audible snap, undoubtedly having let his tongue run on too far.

When Pru spoke next, her voice was no longer harsh and accusing. "Mr. Packer, why don't you just tell us what the argument with Mark was about?"

The suspect, without the merest squint in his solicitor's direction, and with an air of defeat, said, "We didn't accuse Mark of anything, I swear. Yes, Izzy and I have speculated time and again about why he didn't ring, but honestly, we came to the conclusion that we could understand any reticence on his part. We felt for him." That did seem to have an element of truth and echoed what Izzy had told them.

Robin's phone, on silent, vibrated with what must have been an incoming message. It would have to wait. "So, when did attitude that change?"

"About a month ago, when Mark got in contact out of the blue. We'd not seen him since the funeral and honestly expected that we wouldn't likely speak again unless we ran across him somewhere. We only had Suzy in common, really." Justin reached for his glass of water and took a long draught. "I don't suppose the wounds we suffered because of her will ever totally heal, but Izzy and I had moved on a bit, trying to grasp what made her act as she did. So, the last thing we needed was Mark accusing us of having helped pull the wool over his eyes."

Honesty. No. One of the last things that Mark had written. Did it refer to his suspicions concerning the Packers?

"He alleged that you colluded with Suzy over her illness?" Pru asked.

"Yes and he said he had proof. That was the whole point, you see." Justin ran his hands into his long, straggly locks. "How could he have anything like proof, because we'd had absolutely nothing to do with Suzy's fake illness and we knew we hadn't."

Pru narrowed her eyes. "Can you state that for both you and Izzy?"

"Of course! Do you think I wouldn't know if my wife had been involved?"

"Then what gave Mark the idea you'd been tangled up in it?" Robin asked.

"I swear I don't know. Not even now. I can only think that he'd found some texts on her phone between her and us and misinterpreted them. If he'd become paranoidly suspicious after discovering she'd lied to him, he might see what he thought was there, not the reality." Justin put his head in his hands. "It's been a nightmare."

No doubt it continued to be. A nightmare in which the Packers were starting to give themselves away. But had Mark possessed anything resembling evidence?

You can do this. You're strong. The partly printed sheet from the wastepaper bin. Maybe it hadn't dated from the same time as the bills but was part of a batch Mark had printed off before his trip to see Tom.

It doesn't feel right.

It may not but you got it. Remember ...

Words that were possibly innocent, definitely capable of misinterpretation by someone who wanted to prove a theory.

Pru said, "Mr. Packer, you said you don't know even now. What did you mean by that?"

If ever a suspect resembled a rabbit in the headlights, that was Justin Packer. "Eh? Only that we've not found out anything else since."

"What about after you'd had it out with Mark in Kings Ride Woods?" Another moment of inspiration hit Robin. "Following which, you took his car so you could search through that for his so-called evidence."

With an expression of alarm and a clasp of his hands, Justin said, "I want to talk to my solicitor. Privately."

"We'll give you ample time to do that in a moment. Beforehand, I need to check what could be another vital piece of information. For the benefit of the recording, Chief Inspector Bright is checking his phone." Robin at last read the message, which came from Ashok.

I've checked with the medic, as asked. She says the mark left from the weapon could be consistent with a rolling pin, as long as it's one without any pattern on it and with a level end, like a cylinder shape. According to her, the style is called a straight dowel. She's also a bit of a dab hand with baking so knows more about them than I do.

Robin showed the message to Pru, who raised an eyebrow. He put his phone back on the table, face down, then said, "One final question before I leave you and Mrs. Botterman to your discussion. Mr. Packer, I know that the local area is hardly downtown Detroit, but living out in the sticks as you do must raise security concerns. Do you or your wife carry any form of self-defence with you?"

"What do you mean?" Justin waved his arms. "We don't have a gun of any kind, not even for deterring the crows."

"We're not talking about a gun. Or a knife. Plenty of women keep something about them to protect themselves. Maybe something they shouldn't, but I'm not discussing the legalities or morality of that. A form of defence which they'd only get out and use if they felt under severe threat." Robin leaned forward, tapping the back of his phone significantly so the suspect would guess he was referring to what he'd been reading there. "Have you or your wife ever carried something you could use to defend yourself in a fight?"

The hands got clasped once more. "No comment until I've consulted Mrs. Botterman."

In the corridor again, Pru said, "I feel like a yo-yo or a tennis ball. The back-and-forth strategy feels like it's working, though. Each time we seem to be knocking another brick off the wall of lies. Why the rolling pin business, though?"

"It was from a reference, earlier, to the interview Ben and I did at the Packers' house. I remembered sitting in their kitchen and being struck by the array of baking stuff—I'm sure there were at least three rolling pins—and then I thought of the story Ben told us about his gran."

"Self-defence with a carving knife or a rolling pin?" Pru snorted. "I guess the average kitchen is full of potential weapons."

"Exactly. Mark's wound's consistent with a rolling pin having caused it. Justin's admission that he and Izzy were cycling through the woods around the time Mark died, on top of the catalogue of lies, is probably enough to get a warrant to search the house, kitchen included, but I want something stronger." Robin quickly consulted his phone, vainly as it transpired, in case another little gem had come through. "That bit about not knowing evennow seems a dead giveaway. Implies they were in a situation where proof was discussed and he regretted letting slip the fact to us. Let's see what herself has to say."

Izzy Packer appeared calmer. Someone had fetched her and Dolby a hot drink, and they were chatting about keeping slugs off lettuces as Robin and Pru entered the room. The solicitor seemed much more animated now, although whether that was because of the case or the gardening tips, Robin couldn't say. He formally recommenced the interview. "We've spoken to your husband about you two being seen in Kings Ride Woods around the time Mark died. Would you like to tell us about it?"

"Who says we were there?" Izzy's air of calm hadn't lasted long. "This witness of yours?"

Robin smiled. "Not only him. That husband of yours."

Izzy's response took Robin by surprise. He'd anticipated a denial or perhaps an accusation that the police were lying and trying to frame them with false evidence. Likely, given the way the two interviews had gone, that he'd be presented either with tears or a brusque "No comment." Instead, Izzy began to laugh—nervous laughter perhaps, but plenty of it.

"What's so funny?" Pru asked, coldly.

"This situation. We're rubbish, aren't we, me and Justin? Justin and I. Whatever." More of the awkward giggles. "It's not easy lying when you're fundamentally honest people. We've tried to stick to as much of the truth as we could, because that's easiest, but we still get found out."

"Like your story about the loo roll?" Despite the seriousness of the situation, Robin had a sudden memory flash through his mind of Campbell playing merry hell with a loo roll all over the garden at their old house. Time for a deep breath and a refocus. "Justin gave a totally different account of why you ran out and needed to buy supplies."

"We didn't discuss that point. What a bloody mess." Izzy's increasingly hysterical laughter was clearly about to morph into tears. "There's no point in denying it. Yes, we were in Kings Ride Woods that day. Yes, we'd gone to meet Mark because he said he had proof we'd helped Suzy fake her illness and we wanted to put him straight that we'd had no involvement. We chose the woods because they were neutral ground and a convenient place to have a chat that wouldn't be overheard. I can see all of that's no news to you, so Justin must have said the same."

"Your husband did tell us that Mark contacted you because he thought you'd conspired in Suzy's deception. He didn't say that any meeting had taken place, but we'd already concluded it had and you've confirmed our conclusions exactly." Now Robin needed to hear the truth about what really happened that Saturday morning. "What proof did Mark say he held?"

Izzy, who'd blanched at realising she'd admitted something she might not have needed to admit, said, "He wouldn't tell us over the phone and said we'd have to wait until we were all face-to-face. I told Justin to call his bluff, because frankly what he said was a load of crap. You can't have proof of something that never happened, can you? Mr. Bright, I swear that we never colluded with Suzy, so anything Mark had got must have been itself misinterpreted at best or faked at worst."

"But you still agreed to see him?" Pru asked, pulling them back to the key point, rather than the nebulous matter of who thought what.

"Not me, so much as Justin—he wanted to clear the air. He was scared that Mark would start causing trouble for us by spreading tales or the like. Maybe going to the local press with the story. My son-in-law was a very angry young man."

"He had every right to be," Pru pointed out, "given the situation with his wife and the nightmare couple of years he'd have spent worrying over what turned out to be nothing. So, you met him in the woods. What happened next? Remember that we have a witness who heard a heated argument at the time."

"He—or she—would have heard Mark sounding off, then. Saying that messages he'd found on Suzy's phone proved that we'd been involved in her scam. Saying how the lot of us had broken his heart and how he got no support from his current family, either. He said he was off to see his real family and how they'd treat him properly, irrespective of them having rejected his mother." Izzy rolled her eyes. "It sounded like a load of nonsense, but he clearly believed it."

"But two voices were heard arguing," Robin said. "So, it couldn't have been Mark ranting on his own. Was it you shouting back at him or Justin?"

"Can't your witness tell a male voice from a female one?"

Robin couldn't decide if the response was sarcastic or a last grab at a straw. "Not when it's one that could be a tenor or a low alto. Plenty of women have a husky voice, Mrs. Packer. You included." He tapped the table. "Let's assume that at the time you both would have had enough of his accusations and both would have had a go at him. Suzy was the child of two parents."

That off-the-cuff remark got right under Izzy's skin in a way that prepared questions hadn't quite, given the way the colour flared on her cheeks. "Yes, she was, Mr. Bright. She was our little girl. And if you have children, you'll know how you don't stop loving them, no matter what they do and you don't stop fighting their corner even when they're gone."

"Any parent would feel the same." Robin nodded, slowly. "That day when you met Mark, you're admitting that you fought Suzy's corner with him? Or did you only fight your own?"

Izzy flung her hands in the air. "Okay, I admit that we argued. You know that because your witness heard us. We let Mark have his rant, thinking that if he got it all off his chest, we might be able to bring him to see how stupid his accusation was. But he went on and on, mixing up things about Suzy's illness with all sorts of stuff concerning his family. How he'd been let down on all sides but had suddenly found somebody he could talk to and trust. We had to stop him short, because we weren't prepared to listen to his crap."

"You said that?"

"We shouted it rather than said it, because it's difficult to talk to someone who's ranting away and not raise your voice. We told him he was being ridiculous about us being part of Suzy's deception. He didn't like being called ridiculous. Went ballistic."

This all seemed very thin as the rationale behind such a violent argument. Justin's slant on things would be vital in understanding what had really gone on.

"You say Mark erupted at being called ridiculous. Is that when you hit him with your rolling pin?" Robin asked. Izzy turned pale but didn't reply. "Or was it with some other weapon that you carry for self-defence?" Still silence. "Maybe it was Justin who struck the blow. As you say, he's inclined to protect you."

"He is, but I can fight my own battles, thank you."

"We should be able to tell from the forensics, when we search your house. Very difficult to hide every trace of blood or DNA on a weapon and harder still to explain away."

"I suppose it is." Izzy flicked away a restraining tap from her solicitor. "No, it's all right, Mr. Dolby. We've pussyfooted about too long. What's the point of keeping up the pretence—it's not like we have a daughter to live for now." She sniffed and set her shoulders. "Very clever working out about the rolling pin, Mr. Bright. Yes, I do carry one with me. They say the streets aren't safe for women these days, but if you'd been brought up in a rough part of London, like I was, you'd know that's nothing new. I've always refused to be dictated by people telling me where I can or can't go, so I've had a rolling pin of one kind or another tucked in my backpack for years, although I've never had to use it."

That sounded rather like a well-rehearsed speech, one no doubt aired often before when discussing the way women were treated. Robin shot an involuntary glance at the purple patterned backpack that Izzy had brought with her.

With a knowing raise of an eyebrow, Izzy shook her head. "Nothing in there today, Mr. Bright. I was anticipating being searched."

"The murder weapon's still at home, isn't it." Robin stated. "Washed and put away?"

Izzy nodded. "I once read a theory about the Holy Grail. How the legend was nonsense because when the last supper happened, the cup for the wine would have been washed afterwards—no doubt by the women—and put away with the rest to be used another day. I thought of that as I washed the rolling pin and stuck it with the others."

"Where we'll find it when we conduct that search?"

She nodded again. "I swear it wasn't murder, though. That implies intention, and we had nothing planned apart from clearing the air with him. I swear that I hit Mark in self-defence, and that story isn't going to change. I know you're not likely to believe me, given how we've arsed you about, but we both know there's no point in hiding the truth any longer. I'm sure you'll use your clever forensics to link us to the scene, as well as your witness and traffic cameras."

Robin's turn to nod. "It never ceases to amaze me what the team can turn up from the crime scene or from the car." He noted Izzy's rueful smile at the mention of the car but that could wait. He mustered up his kindest tones. "Best if you describe how it came to blows."

"It began when Mark had become incoherent with anger. We asked him where his so-called proof of our involvement was and he said he wasn't so stupid as to have brought it with him. Justin made the mistake of calling him a liar, that he'd be taking it to show his new-found family, and all hell broke loose. Mark went for Justin, lashing out with his fists, so I tried to fend him off. When that didn't work, I was so scared I grabbed my bag, got the rolling pin, and lashed out with it. I genuinely didn't think I'd hit him hard enough to kill him." Izzy's ashen face and trembling voice lent veracity to her words. "I must have caught him at the wrong spot."

"He had what's called an eggshell skull," Robin said, "so a lesser blow could prove fatal. That fact is no defence against a serious charge, though, as Mr. Dolby can confirm. So, you struck him. Didn't you try to get help?"

"There was no point. I crouched down to check his pulse and breathing, but he was clearly dead and beyond first aid. That wound ..." Izzy shuddered. "I think seeing it close up sent us into a panic. Complete and utter can't breathe and want to run away panic. The only other time in my life I've felt that bad was when Suzy told us how seriously ill she was. Said she was." Izzy's eyes began to well, but she sniffed loudly and pulled herself together, as though this was a fence she couldn't avoid taking. "Justin seemed to have frozen to the spot, so I tugged at him and said we had to get away because there was nothing we could do for Mark. I spotted his keys hanging out of his pocket and knew he'd have the car with him because he'd said he was off on a trip. I told Justin that if there was any supposed evidence about us being connected to Suzy's fake illness, it would be in the car or at the house and if we had the keys, we could check both."

"As well as get away from the area quickly?" Pru asked.

Izzy waved her hand. "That was a bonus, when we spotted Mark still had the bike rack on the Yaris and after I realised that we couldn't openly search the vehicle there in the car park. So, we just loaded the bikes and set off. Nobody gave us a second glance—I guess it's the kind of thing you see there all the time—and when Justin crunched the gears because he was out of practice, I guess anybody would have thought we were useless old codgers who shouldn't be on the road."

Again, the resort to humour. Robin said, "What happened next?"

"We drove off and found a quiet lane so we could give the car a quick once-over. Nothing turned up, but he had a case and a bag in the boot, both with a sturdy travel padlock on. We had nothing to break them with, so we decided to drive past our house and quickly dump them there behind the hedge, where we could break into them later. Then we headed off to the car park in Kinechester, where we left the Yaris, having paid for a couple of days." She shrugged. "That was all Justin's idea and a clever one for the spur of the moment, I thought. It gave us breathing space and wouldn't appear suspicious."

A clever idea indeed. "What did you do with the bunch of keys?" Robin asked.

"We tucked them away under some rubbish."

"What about your plan to search Mark's house?"

Izzy shook her head. "We ditched that. Got cold feet after we dropped off the bags and decided we'd ridden our luck enough. The panic had eased and cold reality set in, so we wanted to get rid of the car as soon as we could and be done with it. We cycled home, opened Mark's cases, and checked them over."

Danielle would be pleased to see how close she'd been with her theory, despite having got the wrong cyclist.

"And you found...?" Pru prompted.

"Apart from his spare clothes and a pile of family history stuff? Nothing. The only things which seemed relevant were copies of some emails and texts between us and Suzy. With a warped mind it might be taken to mean we were helping her, but we were just trying to be supportive."

If that was all the "proof" Mark possessed—and Robin knew how people could delude themselves and see what wasn't there—then his death had been even more in vain than they'd suspected.

"Can we see these copies?" Robin said.

"I'm afraid we destroyed them. Along with as much of his stuff as we couldn't dispose of—we'd had one of those plastic charity sacks come through the door that very day, wanting clothes. Good timing for us." Izzy smiled, ruefully.

Robin supressed a groan. One of the constables might be having a thankless time following up who'd been distributing sacks in that area and where the goods had gone. Although there might be a chance of an easier piece of evidence to locate. "Did you donate the suitcases too?"

"No, we thought that would look too suspicious. As would deconstructing and burning or burying the things. We were going to wait a few months and then offload them in a skip somewhere, but transporting them on a bicycle's a challenge." Izzy snorted. "You'll find them in the loft."

Robin sat back to take stock. If all this proved true, and the Packers didn't suddenly decide to rescind their story, then getting the Crown Prosecution Service to progress the case would be a doddle—although what charge should they press on the couple at the moment? Manslaughter seemed the obvious one, if the fight with Mark had gone as Izzy said it had but something didn't add up. There had been no strange fingerprints in or on the Yaris, which didn't chime with a sequence of events which had allegedly been completely unplanned.

"When you go cycling, how are you dressed?" Any answer Robin got could be easily checked against the traffic camera picture.

"Eh? Sensibly, I'd say. We both wear trousers, a warm top, but no helmets because they give you a false sense of security. Fingerless gloves." Izzy stopped, maybe having made the same leap of logic that Robin had.

"If you were both wearing fingerless gloves on that Saturday morning, how do you explain the lack of either of your fingerprints on Mark's car?"

Izzy glanced at her solicitor. "We wiped everything down, naturally. We've read enough crime books to know we should do that."

"Then how do you explain the fact that Mark's prints were still there?" Robin said. "The car hadn't been wiped down. His prints were smudged in places where somebody had used the vehicle after him, wearing gloves. Gloves that covered their entire hand, which suggests they were prepared not to leave prints."

Izzy, evidently shaken, eyed her finger ends. "No comment."

Time to give Justin the opportunity to revise his statement, although first they'd need to get a set of house keys and put the Crime Scene team into action. While they'd need to corroborate what Izzy had said, they could also be on the lookout for anything that might support the theory that the attack on Mark was, if not pre-meditated, then seen as a possible outcome of the meeting.

With a shudder, Robin thought again of that welcoming kitchen and wondered if Izzy Packer had used the murder weapon to roll out the dough for the homemade biscuits he and Ben had enjoyed so much.

"Yo-yo time," Robin said, as he and Pru moved between rooms.

"Productive yo-yo, I'd say. If you can have such a thing." Pru's eyes were alight, clearly at the prospect of settling the case. "Am I wrong to feel a bit sorry for them?"

"I'd say not and you're hiding it well." Robin halted. "I'm trying to keep objective when I feel for both the victim and the killers. So many lies, so much hurt. I think Adam and I wouldn't have resorted to violence in such a situation but who knows?"

"I do, sir." She smiled. "You two are too decent to let yourselves get so wound up. You'd walk away, kick the car tyres, give Hamish a cuddle. He'd put you right."

"I appreciate that, Pru." The sooner she was made an inspector, the better for whichever force was blessed with her. He pointed at the door behind which Justin was waiting. "Let's hope this is the last bounce of the yo-yo."

When confronted with what his wife had said—apart from the detail of the gloves—a plainly weary Justin redid his statement, giving the police an almost identical story to hers. Although not so identical that it made Robin suspect he was being told yet another pre-planned lie, apart from one aspect. He pushed the traffic photo across the table for Justin to see, using the same words he'd used for Izzy.

"That's us, all right." The suspect's brow furrowed. "But you knew that from what we've both told you."

"We do." Robin nodded. "But there's one puzzling thing. You said you took Mark's car, drove it, parked in Kinechester, and wiped the touch areas. Is that correct?"

"Ye-es." Justin evidently hadn't spotted the trap. Would it spring on him as it had on his wife?

"Which is why we could find none of your fingerprints in it?" Pru asked.

"Correct."

Time for Robin to put to Justin what he'd put to Izzy. "So how can examples of Mark's prints still be there? Some of them smudged where someone else has been driving the car wearing full gloves, not the fingerless ones you can just about make out in this picture."

"No comment."

Back there yet again. Robin had been dreading such an outcome and the likelihood he'd have to remand both suspects in custody, leaving them to stew overnight while they waited to see what forensics turned up. He felt his phone rumble in his pocket, glanced at it—nothing important—and was struck by a last-ditch line of enquiry. Mark must have kept Suzy's phone, because he'd got Foakes's number off it, but the thing hadn't turned up yet. "What happened to Suzy's phone?"

Justin couldn't have recoiled more if Robin had struck him. "Her phone?"

"Yes. We know Mark had it, but where is it now?"

The dramatic effect of such a simple question proved horrible to witness. Robin had never seen a man disintegrate so quickly and so deeply into a rambling, blubbering mess. It began with Justin saying Mark had told him he'd kept Suzy's phone so he knew what they'd all been saying to each other.

"He was gloating about the night Suzy was taken ill. How she'd led him on for so long, making his life hell, and how he'd decided he'd give her a taste of her own medicine, especially as he was convinced she was putting on how ill she was. He wasn't being feckless—he totally refused to ring for help." Justin's eyes welled. "My girl, my baby, all I could think about was her."

"When you say that all you could think about was Suzy," Pru asked softly, "are you referring to the night she was taken ill or when you argued with Mark?"

Justin ignored the question; maybe he hadn't even registered it. "I still think about her all the time. Now, here, yesterday, at home. In the woods, on the road." He patted his trouser pocket. "She's here, with me. Always with me."

Robin glanced at Pru—she was obviously finding the remark as bizarre as he did, until the penny dropped. "Suzy's phone is in your pocket? Did you take it off Mark?"

"He shouldn't have had it." Justin scrabbled at his pocket again, alternately grabbing and stroking at what must have been the item in question. "It was lying in his car boot, like it was trash, when it's so precious. So precious." He paused, eyes wild and fixed on Robin. "You mustn't take it. There's nothing on there."

"Mr. Packer," Pru said, in her kindliest voice, "we'll need to look at it. We'll take good care of it, I promise."

"No! You can't. It's all I have of her. Please, I beg of you. You see, he took all the rest away." Justin turned to his solicitor, who seemed alarmed. "He did. Mark. He wouldn't ring. He wouldn't help my baby. He took her away from us. I couldn't bear it."

Robin felt torn between continuing—because it wouldn't take much to get Justin to say exactly what had happened in the woods—and his conscience telling him that the bloke wasn't totally in possession of his faculties.

Before he could say anything, Justin pressed on. "You don't know what it's like. You have your heart torn out, and then it's thrown back in your face. He was gloating, so I had to do it, for her sake. I had to stop him, shut him up once and for all. Now I've got her here." Patting his pocket again. "I'll always have her with me, now. You can't have her."

Mrs. Botterman raised her hands. "This interview has to stop. Now."

"Agreed." Robin formally concluded the discussion. "I'll get the doctor in to give him the once-over."

"I don't need a doctor. I need my little girl. My little girl ..." The rest drifted off into semi-incoherence about Suzy and Mark and how unfair everything was, as though Justin's dammed off thoughts and emotions of months—years—had at last broken through and couldn't be held back. But the recording had stopped and the words would only be retained in the memories of those who were present.