Chapter Four

Adam had a staff meeting after school so wasn't able to get home at a sensible time on Wednesday. Kate, their seemingly super-human domestic help, said she'd stay on a bit later, ostensibly to make sure a meal was prepared for Adam and Robin, given the latter had a murder to deal with. No doubt that was merely a convenient excuse to spend more time with Hamish. She had been willing to do as many extra hours as needed while the Newfoundland was small—in fact she had often taken him to hers when he was in need of additional care. She doted on the dog and had confessed to dreading the time when he didn't need as much looking after.

Adam had not long been home—and was still lavishing attention on Hamish—when he heard Robin come through the door.

"Hello? Is that a handsome policeman or a bold burglar? I've a dog in here and I'm not afraid to use him. Even if he'd likely only slobber on you."

"Pillock." Robin came into the kitchen, then gave Adam a kiss and Hamish a pat. "I'll go back to work, shall I?"

"You'll go and get your tie off while I get this heated. Smells like there's curry in the pot." Adam lifted the lid, taking an appreciative sniff. "One of Kate's specials. Naan breads on the side."

"Perfect to discuss a murder over. I have a name for the victim and plenty else you'll be interested in." Robin backed out of the door, Hamish in tow, no doubt in search of the clean top he always liked to change into after work. Maybe he felt he was casting off the atmosphere of the police station as he did so. Adam, grinning, heard him talking to the dog as he made his way up the stairs, telling him how Hamish would be learning all about his first serious case and that there were many puppies who never got a chance to have the inside information straight from the police.

"Bonkers, but I love him," Adam told the curry as he stirred it, acknowledging that he was pretty bonkers himself for doing so.

Once they were settled over dinner, with a bottle of beer each as a treat, Robin said, "The victim was called Mark Bircher. I wanted to see if that name rang any bells, because he lived in Lindenshaw. Tumulus Gardens, on that new estate, round the back of the Esso petrol station."

Adam shook his head. "Nope. Name doesn't mean anything to me. Did he have any children I might have run across?"

"No, so be thankful that potential connection isn't there."

"I am. You've traced his family?"

"Not entirely. Although we'd not long released the name to the media when his wife's parents gave us a call, for which I'm grateful, because it makes our lives easier and the information will get to me quicker."

"I hope it's as reliable as it's quick," Adam said.

"Indeed. We've had nothing from Mark's side, yet, assuming he had anyone close still alive."

"Where did he live previously? The Barrows hasn't been up that long."

"Kings Ride. We've heard that he and his wife moved away from there supposedly because they liked the new builds, or so the in-laws say, although I wouldn't be surprised if the real reason was to get away from them. Suzy's parents have a smallholding on the Kinechester Road, a couple of miles out. Not a nice story, there, if what we've been told is correct, Hamish." The dog had placed himself at Robin's feet and kept looking up adoringly. "I'm seeing them tomorrow so I can assess things firsthand, rather than from hearsay. I'll give you the full story when I've heard the other side."

"I'll be patient." Adam scooped up another mouthful of the excellent curry. "It's a shame I don't keep up with the Lindenshaw gossip network anymore. Neil might have known the dead man—given that he seemed to have a clerical finger in many a pie—although I think that ship's sailed." Neil had been the vicar at Lindenshaw when they'd lived there, but he'd now been promoted to a key diocese job somewhere well north of the Watford Gap so wasn't easily available for a pint and a natter. "I'm pretty sure Christine Probert moved to that new estate, although it's going to seem odd contacting her out of the blue. I mean, we've already thanked her for the card she sent for our wedding."

Robin's nose wrinkled in its usual attractive way. "Keep her—and anyone else we used to know at Lindenshaw—on the subs bench in case we draw a blank elsewhere. Though from what I remember of Christine, she'd have been a sympathetic ear for anyone with family tensions."

"A confidential one too." Christine had been the first of the Lindenshaw parents who'd known about the blossoming Matthews-Bright romance. At Wickley, the board of governors all knew that Adam was married to a copper—a male one—and several of them had confessed to being delighted at the fact, partly because it gave them one up on their rivals in the neighbouring village, who thought themselves very trendy but weren't. "Still, it sounds like you've made a lot of progress today."

"We have. Starting with the call that came this morning." Robin launched into the tale of the two lads he'd interviewed. He finished with, "In your professional opinion, does their explanation seem likely?"

Adam nodded. "Absolutely. I mean, you can't discard the possibility they did it, but their story's not implausible. Boys of that age don't always act in a logical fashion. It could have started as a bit of a dare, taking the wallet and phone, and then they found themselves in over their heads."

"I think that's very likely. And we didn't automatically discount them—we made sure we asked where they were when Bircher was killed on Saturday." Robin loaded the last serving of curry onto his plate. "Those alibis check out. We've got a mystery, though, because they say they didn't see any keys on him and he did have a car. That seems to have disappeared, so if he used it to get to Kings Ride Woods, then someone's had it away. Pru and Danielle were down there today talking to regular visitors, but we've drawn a blank. Nobody claims to have seen him or his Yaris."

"You think he might have been killed to get hold of the car or was that a corollary? Seems odd to nick his keys and not his wallet or phone."

"Agreed. We don't think whoever took them wanted to turn his house over, either. Ben and Ashok nipped down there late this afternoon, and while they couldn't get in, when they peered through the windows it all seemed tidy. One next-door neighbour reckons the other one has a key to Bircher's house in case of emergencies. Unfortunately, she was out today. They left a note through her door, so hopefully we won't need to break in when we get a team to Tumulus Gardens tomorrow. The car wasn't there, either." Robin pushed his plate away, then picked up his beer. "Why nick a car and leave the rest? Unless the killer was interrupted when they were rooting out his pockets, although that doesn't ring true to me."

"They may have wanted access to his house but didn't actually know where he lived." Adam grimaced. "That's lame, isn't it? How many car parks are there at the woods?"

"Two main ones, but if you wanted a decent hike, you could park elsewhere, like in the village, and walk in. Are you wondering how the killer knew where the car was?"

"Sort of." Light bulb moment time. "I was asking myself whether the car could have been the target. Or its contents. Alice, at work, was telling us that during lockdown, an Amazon delivery driver dropped a parcel into a house three doors down from hers and in the thirty seconds or so that he was out of his car, it got nicked. He'd left the keys in because these people are always in a tearing hurry. Great speculation locally about whether the thief was someone who happened to be walking down the street who saw their chance or whether the driver had been targeted."

Robin, nodding slowly, said, "I'd be inclined to go with the first option, especially if the road gets a lot of footfall. Increases the chances of the wrong person walking past and thinking, ‘Look at all those parcels I can help myself to!' If it was pre-planned, how would they know where the driver was delivering, unless he was being tailed on the day by another car? Interesting idea, though. A red Yaris doesn't sound top of the nick-to-order list, so it might have been what was inside it."

"Say this Bircher bloke had something in his car or his house or both—drugs or whatever—that the killer wanted. He'd only take the keys because they were the things he needed."

"That does make sense, especially if there were other important keys on that ring, as well. Ones for a lock up somewhere from which Bircher ran his empire in counterfeit Rolexes. Joke," Robin added, although it might only have been half a one. "There could be an innocent explanation, I suppose."

"Like he lent his car to a mate and got to Kings Ride in an Uber? Or said mate dropped him off and has been oblivious to all calls for information and is happily driving around in a car he's legitimately borrowed? That could explain the lack of a car key although not the rest. He'd need to get in and out of his own house."

"Indeed, Mr. Headteacher. A question I don't have an answer for yet, unless the silly sod simply left them in the house and didn't realise he'd done so, in which case they'll be waiting there tomorrow for the forensic mob to find. Let's clear the table, get comfy, and I can tell you the other thing about this case which is a stonking great coincidence."

Once they'd done all their domestic jobs and were settled again, with Hamish choosing to curl up at Adam's feet this time, Robin continued. "So, coincidence two. Mark Bircher got into researching his family history after his wife died. I don't know if he was doing it generally or pursuing the answer to a specific question, but he enlisted the help of a chap called Ryan French. Ryan came in today to say he knew Mark through this freelance work he does, helping folk who can't do the ancestry sleuthing on their own. It's highly unlikely he's our killer, unless he's managed to fake the perfect alibi, so I wondered if he'd be able to help Mum."

Adam nodded. "That's a great idea. He'd be much more of a practical help than either of us could be. Do you know how much he charges?"

"Not as much as some. Ben had a quick flick around the internet and he found people quoting nearly a hundred quid an hour."

"A hundred quid? I'm in the wrong job."

"Ryan's quoting much less than that because he does it as a paying hobby. Linking up with him might have to be my only contribution on the Dad's birth family front for a while, though." Robin pulled an apologetic face. "Not only due to the fact I'm busy, because I'm aware you've always got plenty on your plate as well, but I don't want to blur boundaries."

"Won't they be blurred enough if your mum engages him to work for her, and anyway, aren't there other people offering their services that she could employ? Albeit at a steeper price." Adam noted the sheepish expression flitting over his husband's face. "Are you up to something? Do you actually want a subtle eye kept on him?"

"I hope I'm not that obvious when I'm in an interview room, trying to get some villain to tell me the truth." Robin knocked back the last draught of beer. "On the face of it, Ryan's a good citizen doing his duty by reporting to us with information. I'm pretty certain that first impression's right and Ben agrees with me. However, I also reckon Ryan might know more than he thinks he does, because he does come across as a details man and it'll be a matter of homing in on the right detail. You see, he's also the world's most boring man. I literally felt myself at risk of nodding off when we talked to him, despite the fact he had plenty of valuable stuff to tell us. Trouble is, it was all wrapped up in dozens of words and digressions from the point where one or two would have answered the question."

"You want to inflict that on your mum? Although I guess she'd be prepared, having developed the patience of Job, putting up with you for so long." Adam swayed to avoid the cushion which had been chucked in his direction. "Are you hoping he'll let something slip to her that she can report back?"

Robin, who'd woken the dog with his cushion throwing, now had a bleary-eyed Hamish scrambling onto his lap. "Your other dad's not daft, is he? Him and Mum have ears like bats, as well, so if Ryan were to make a significant aside about Bircher, they'd spot it. Even if it was hidden amongst his aunt Josephine's medical history and what cruise ports they went into."

Adam considered the idea for a moment. "It would be easy enough to ask him to meet up for coffee, no obligation on either side about making it a paid arrangement. He's bound to spot the connection because of your mum's name, but there's no need to hide it."

"If he's as good at the details when it comes to genealogy, then he could be a real help to her. Win-win." Robin stifled a yawn. "I could do with half an hour of something mindless on the telly and then a good night's sleep. Anything on the box?"

"Probably some footie, although I've got some new episodes of Air Crash Investigation recorded."

"Go with the footie. I don't want the boy being scared by images of planes going down in flames, badly CGI'd or not."

Which was no doubt a good idea. Watching that sort of programme so close to bedtime wasn't likely to lead to pleasant dreams. Adam would be unsettled enough at the thought of some poor sod lying undiscovered in the woods because two lads made wrong choice after wrong choice.

As Robin drove to the dentist to get his permanent crown put on, he hoped Thursday would bring as much news as Wednesday had, although it would be good if it also brought answers, rather than further questions. By the time he got into the station and gathered his team for a slightly later than normal briefing, it became clear that he was going to get both the things he'd wished for.

News had just come in that Bircher's car had been found in a Kinechester multistorey car park. It hadn't been burned or damaged, nor had anything obvious been stripped out of it, as though somebody had merely parked the thing up and gone off to stay in a city-centre hotel for a few days. The Yaris might have not been noticed at all had the parking payment not run out. Did that suggest forethought, given that a vehicle would be less likely to be noticed if legitimately parked rather than abandoned at the roadside? Time gained for whoever had taken it.

"A twenty-four-hour ticket was bought late on Tuesday—after the news broke about the body being found—but parking there's free overnight," Pru said, "so the multistorey wasn't patrolled again until this morning. Which is when the warden spotted it. She was aware of the appeal we put out yesterday for a red Yaris and contacted us. The local officers have taped off the scene, and we've got our CSIs going down there once they've finished at the house."

Robin nodded. "Hopefully they'll find the neighbour at Tumulus Gardens waiting with the house key and the spare car key tucked away in a drawer, so they won't need to break in to either. I don't need to tell you to check the CCTV from the car park, because I'm sure you're on it."

"Like a car bonnet, sir." Pru chuckled.

Robin, groaning at the joke, turned to study an incident board which was becoming satisfyingly populated with information. "Adam and I were discussing the car last night. He's always useful to bounce ideas off, not having a horse in the race, and we wondered if the keys to the Yaris, or the keys in general, were the particular thing the killer was after. What if Bircher had something dodgy going on, like dealing drugs out of his car or a lock-up?"

"Could be, sir, although if he's been doing that, he was never caught," Ben said. "I've checked his record, and he's got nothing listed apart from a speeding fine four years ago. I've also been going over his social media, and what little he's got is pretty sparse. Not a lot from his wife, either. She apparently made a point of not posting much, especially pictures, when she became seriously ill."

"Did you access that from his phone?" Robin asked.

Ben shook his head. "That's gone to the tech specialists, since none of the obvious passwords worked to get in. I got the Facebook stuff off the usual internet trawl."

"Okay. You and I can get down to his house when we've finished here, before we head off to see Suzy's family. Pru, I'd like you and Ashok to keep following up the Yaris, so co-ordinate with the CSIs to meet them at the Kinechester multistorey. Danielle, that leaves you here to field anything coming in. Think of it as being in charge." Robin grinned. "Pru, I'm assuming that you found nothing significant when you were at Kings Ride Woods or you'd have texted me."

"You assume correctly, sir. We do have a couple of pieces of information, though. Someone who heard shouting around noon on Saturday and an update on the car parks. We'll get that out of the way first. Danielle and I interviewed a woman who says she goes to those woods pretty much every day unless she's on holiday, although normally earlier than we saw her. She was late getting there yesterday because she had a flat tyre that needed changing. Anyway, she runs one of those day-care services for dogs, where you get them walked while you're at work. Happy Hounds, it's called. I don't think you use one for Cam—sorry, Hamish." Pru pulled an embarrassed face.

"We still call him by the wrong name too," Robin reassured her. "You're right. We're in the lucky position of having someone who comes and ‘does' for us as well as him. The snakes don't put this woman off taking her ‘happy hounds' there?"

"They don't appear to. Regarding Bircher, she said she doesn't think she's ever seen him there, and she definitely hasn't spotted a red Yaris in the car park recently. She could swear to that because her first motor was that make and colour, so apparently she always notices any cars the same. That said, there are two car parks between which she alternates, so Bircher might have been located in the other one at any point and she'd be none the wiser." Pru turned to Danielle, who had her notes to hand. "She was in the west one on Saturday?"

Danielle nodded. "Yeah. It's what the locals call the top car park, and she was parked there from eleven to two. No dogs with her this time, only her kids and their pals, to have a picnic and let off steam before term started."

"Was she the person who heard the shouting?" Robin asked.

"No. That was a Mr. Rashid. He's a twitcher who's been there on and off recently, to look for spring migrants. Don't." Pru raised a finger to ward off any daft jokes. Why was it that people seemed to find twitchers a source of amusement? "Mr. Rashid was very helpful, not least because he told us that the east car park—the locals call it the bottom one—had a notice of closure displayed on Saturday morning. It said the area was going to be shut from 1300 that day until Monday at 0700 for exclusive Forestry Commission access."

"Did he spot Mark's car?" Robin resisted making a pun on bird-spotting.

"He couldn't say one way or the other if there was a red Yaris there when he tried to park at half ten in the morning, because his mind was on the risk of getting locked in. He had to go back to the road and use a lay-by, and he found it all rather stressful. He did say there weren't as many cyclists as usual, although there were some milling about." Pru moved towards the incident board. "This is the best bit. He remembers hearing two people shouting around twelve noon because they were loud enough to scare off the bird he was watching. However, he didn't hear their precise words and he says the lesser-spotted-hoojit was pretty nervous, anyway. So, anything might have spooked it."

"We're getting some real characters for witnesses this time," Ben observed, with a roll of the eyes.

"I really liked Mr. Rashid," Pru said. "He was an absolute sweetie. Anyway, he guessed he was overhearing part of an argument, although it didn't last very long and he couldn't be absolutely sure if it was between two men or between a man and a woman with a deepish voice. When we asked him to point out on the map where he'd been bird-watching at the time, it was the other side of the copse from where our victim was found. He might have been as close as a hundred yards."

"That's consistent with the time of death, isn't it?" Danielle said.

"It is, although it could be coincidental. Good work, though." Robin pointed at the board. "Get the times and location from Mr. Rashid up on there. Then you can contact the Forestry Commission, because the people they had on site might have seen or heard something. There was time for the Yaris to be moved between Mark's death and the car park being shut. Any other news?"

Ashok raised a hand. "There were no fingerprints on the wallet or phone other than the lads', Mrs. Hill's and the dead man's. So, either Bircher took them out of his pockets himself or the person who did so wore gloves. The vomit is consistent with being Archie Hill's, given his stomach contents."

"I've got nothing much on Suzy's parents," Danielle said. "Justin Packer—the father—has been done for possession of weed, but not recently. Mrs. Packer, Izzy, got herself arrested in 2020, at a protest against a 5G mast. Bound over to keep the peace and seems to have been behaving herself since."

Robin, who'd already built up quite a mental image of the Packers, reminded himself not to fall for stereotypes, no matter how tempting. Depending on the timings, and assuming Mrs. Packer had only been in trouble once, she might have temporarily gone off the rails when she'd heard about Suzy's illness. He'd also have to take into account that they might be defensive if they were still feeling the loss of their daughter and bearing a burden of guilt for her death. Many tragedies were played out to an accompaniment of if onlys.

The forensic team were still going through the house at Tumulus Gardens when Robin arrived, although they weren't hopeful that they'd come up with much of use. A spare key to Bircher's car still hadn't appeared. There was no indication he'd been killed at the property or that anything else untoward had happened here. The house resembled a typical home that had been left while the owners went out. Apparently, the alarm had been set, although the helpful neighbour had given the CSIs the code to unlock it. She'd also confirmed that it hadn't sounded over the last few days, nor had she seen anyone hanging around the property.

Half a dozen pictures of Mark with Suzy or Suzy alone—clearly taken at different times, including one of them on bikes together when she seemed a picture of health—were on the walls and sideboard. He had to be the man they'd found. His wife had been a striking woman, who wore a broad smile even in what appeared to be a relatively recent picture, while Mark couldn't hide his besotted smile from the camera.

"Should I get one of these for the incident board, sir?" Ben asked.

"If you can't find any copies lurking about. It doesn't feel right to move the originals without permission." Although, who could they ask?

"Will do. Do you want to talk to the neighbours, while we're here?"

"I'd like a word with the one who had Mark's spare key," Robin said. "Maybe the ones on the other side too. You and Ashok spoke to them—why hadn't they linked him to the bloke whose picture was all over the local media?"

"Mr. Armstrong's blind, so he'd not seen what was on the news or in the papers. Mark wasn't the sort to play loud music or otherwise make his presence felt so the Armstrongs didn't particularly register a lack of noise from the house. And then it turned out Mrs. Armstrong thought Mark was away on holiday, so wasn't surprised at not seeing him. She admitted that she may have got the dates wrong."

"Sounds like she did. There's a note on the fridge calendar about a holiday," one of the CSIs chirped up. "Reminding Mark to cancel some regular food delivery for when he wasn't going to be here, but that's not until May."

"The Armstrongs told us that Suzy and Mark used to go away a lot, both when they lived here and when they were at Kings Ride," Ben said. "City breaks on the continent or off to somewhere in this country with their bikes. As a combination of the pandemic and Suzy's condition deteriorating, they tailed off travelling. Once the restrictions started to ease, they were going to try a last hurrah to the south of France but they left it too late."

Robin remembered the out-of-date European medical treatment card, which seemed rather poignant now. "You didn't report any of that back."

"We didn't think it relevant, sir. Sorry."

"Remember, you never know what's relevant at this point in a case, Benjamin." The constable should have known that fact by now, but everyone had off days. "Let's go and ask the person with the key whether she could have mistaken the dates too. What's her name?"

"Mrs. Crouch, like the footballer. She's not as tall, though." The CSI grinned and got back to the job in hand.

When Mrs. Crouch opened the door, she barely came up to Robin's shoulder. She was probably in her early sixties, and immediately invited them to come in and have coffee, the latter of which they declined, on the grounds that Robin and his constable were on a tight schedule. Once they were settled in her lounge, Mrs. Crouch expressed her shock at Mark's sudden death and how the local community had been horrified, especially following on from Suzy's death. Apparently, they'd been a nice, professional couple, who'd generally kept themselves to themselves but had always been ready to help in an emergency. Mark had replaced her fence panels when they'd taken a pounding from the wind during the winter.

"Suzy hadn't been long dead at that point, but I think he was happy to have something to occupy him. My Freddie had put his back out playing golf so was no help, apart from passing Mark anything he needed." She rolled her eyes at her husband's indisposition. "When Mark said he was going to start taking his weekends away again, I was so pleased, because he clearly needed a break. While Suzy was still well enough, the pair sometimes just upped and went on an adventure if they could get last-minute cheap flights and a bargain hotel booking. Especially if it was to some exciting part of Europe and there was a rugby match on."

"Is that what you think he did this weekend?" Ben asked. It wasn't like him to be quite so leading and almost put words into the mouth of a witness. Not on his best form at all at present.

"Along those lines. To be accurate—and the police on the telly always like accuracy, don't they?—I knew he'd be away. One of those weekends he mentioned to me a fortnight ago."

"It was definitely this weekend?" Robin asked.

Mrs. Crouch shot him a withering glance. "Of course. I'm not losing my marbles, you know. I can still read a date in a diary."

"I'm sure you can, and I didn't mean to imply anything. Perhaps we got confused." Robin tried his most winning smile. "You see, Mark's got a note on his calendar about going away in May." Now he'd met Mrs. Crouch, he saw how unlikely it was that both sets of neighbours could have made a mistake about dates.

"He may have, but I've got a note on mine to put his bin out on Tuesday, which I did." The scowl had been replaced with a triumphant twinkle in her eye. One over on these whippersnappers of policemen. "I saw him drive off about eleven o'clock on Saturday morning. That's why we didn't report him missing and why it never occurred to us that he was the chap you found in the woods. We thought he was in Woodhall Spa, doing something connected with this family history business he was looking into. I think he might have had another trip planned for the same thing."

"I'm probably going to come across as rather dim compared to your TV cops," Robin said with his best self-deprecating grin, "but I need to get this absolutely straight in my mind, given that we've had no indication so far that Mark was going away for the weekend. Which days did he say he'd be away from and to and did he take his car with him?"

"Last Saturday until Tuesday night and yes. There's no train station at Woodhall Spa anymore." She spoke slowly, evidently thinking that Robin wasn't living up to his surname. "I don't know exactly where he was staying—hotel or guest house or whatever—only that he'd be visiting Woodhall."

Where he'd evidently never arrived. "One last question and it's a long shot. You clearly knew the Birchers well. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?"

"Nobody. I know he didn't get on well with his in-laws but that's not uncommon, is it? I mean, Freddie hated my mother when she was alive, but we didn't end up all murdering each other."

On this sobering note—and with Robin remembering, yet again, that he was damned lucky to have a partner who actually liked his mother—they expressed their thanks and went back next door.

"I'm going to check Mark's fridge calendar," he said as he entered the house. "If Mrs. Crouch said she thought he'd be away last weekend, I'm inclined to believe her."

The reminder on the fridge about the delivery—a bright yellow Post-it note—couldn't be easily missed. Nor could the large month-to-view calendar, which had an intended short break marked on the page for May. Not to Woodhall Spa but to East Kirkby. Wherever either of those places were.

"Where's April disappeared to?" Ben asked.

"It might have fallen off and gone under the fridge. You're younger than me, so you can get down there."

Ben did so, wincing in the process. He came up shaking his head. "Can't see anything, sir."

"Are you all right?"

"Not really. We had a takeaway the night before last, and I've regretted it ever since. I think I might have food poisoning."

That would explain a lot. "You should go home. You're not on your usual form."

"I'm aware of that, sir, but I'm not really ill enough to take time off sick. It's pretty well all out of my system now—TMI, I know—although I'm still getting stomach cramps."

"Well, don't be a martyr." Robin could sympathise, though. Unless he was flat out with an illness, which was thankfully rare, he wanted to be active. "You have a shufti down here and I'll take a look around upstairs. Keep an eye out for the usuals—old-fashioned address books or the like and especially that April page from the calendar."

It was Robin who found the missing sheet, however, in one of the spare bedrooms that had been made into an office, as lots of folk had done during lockdown and from which many still worked for part of their week. It had doubled as a place for exploring family history, with various files, notes, and a sapling family tree on display. Pinned on a noticeboard was April, with Saturday to Tuesday marked, Woodhall Spa.

"I've found the sheet from the calendar," he shouted down the stairs. "Mark was due to be away now, exactly as Mrs. Crouch said he would be. The only other thing on there is an entry marked Beer with Ryan."

"I bet that was going to be the highlight of his month." Ben snorted.

Robin went back to studying the other material in the office, starting with the—mainly torn up—contents of the wastepaper bin, which he tipped into a bag for one of the admin support team to reassemble. A small Post-it caught his eye, bearing the words: Honesty. No. Discipline. No. What did that refer to and would he find a clue on Mark's desk?

As he read the paperwork there, a chill down his spine developed that was nothing to do with the room temperature. Mark Bircher had kept a neat, objective timeline, added to as he'd uncovered information concerning his family. It began with him discovering his mother had been adopted, a fact he hadn't found out about until 2021, when she was dying.

"Ben? Can you come up here for a moment?" Robin called down the stairs.

"On my way. Got something?" The constable came up at a more leisurely pace than his usual, bounding two-stairs-at-a-time.

"There's a desktop computer for you to take away and play with, but that wasn't what I wanted you to see. Look at this." Robin handed over of the most relevant of the notes he'd found. "Can you believe that somebody in their thirties wouldn't know their mother was adopted until she made a deathbed confession?"

Ben scrutinised the papers. "Yes, if she decided she'd never tell him until that point. How old would she have been if she was still alive? Fifties, sixties?"

Robin checked one of the family trees. "He was born in 1986 and she—Eleanor—was 1948. Bit late for her to be having a first child, if Mark was her first."

"It does happen though, especially if she married late."

"True." One couldn't judge a life story on raw dates. "Eleanor was a post-war baby. Plenty of hang-ups in that era about illegitimacy, so the birth mother may have had no choice but to give her away. That stigma could have stayed with Eleanor, so she was too ashamed to speak about it, let alone tell Mark himself, until she was at the point the shame wouldn't matter any longer."

Ben cast a glance around the room. "Poor bloke. Lost his mother, lost his wife, discovers that his granny isn't really his granny, not biologically, anyway. No wonder he wanted to dig deeper."

Robin bit back on saying that not every adopted child wanted to probe their background. Maybe the time would come for the team to know how closely Mark's situation mirrored his—and how different it was at the same time—but that could wait. "This could have nothing to do with his death, but when things don't make sense, my rozzer's nose twitches. Add that to him not getting wherever he was supposed to be going and it's twitching like anything."

Ben's brow crinkled as he stared at a family tree. "Let's say Eleanor's mum was sixteen when she had her. That would make her ninety now. It doesn't seem likely that Mark arranged to meet her in the woods to confront her and she got so angry she belted him one."

"No, but I wouldn't rule out the same scenario with a half uncle who didn't want his mum's shame exposed."

"It certainly fits with your favourite theory about victims being most at risk from friends and family, sir."

Robin nodded. A family Mark Bircher didn't realise he had until it was too late. In all senses of the term?