Chapter Seven

The Friday morning briefing took longer than it typically would. It was the first occasion the entire team had been able to get together since the equivalent meeting twenty-four hours previously and all present—Robin included—needed to be brought up to speed on everyone else's news.

"If anyone's wondering about the new name on the incident board, Kevin Bircher is Mark's brother. Ashok and I are off to see him later today, and where we go next will depend on what we find out. That should make better sense by the end of the briefing." Robin took a breath. "I suggest we start with matters car-related, given that I'm increasingly convinced it or its contents were the target of the key theft. His neighbour, Mrs. Crouch, saw Mark drive away in the Yaris on Saturday morning, around eleven. She's not the sort whose word you want to doubt. Not to her face, anyway. He was supposed to be going to Woodhall Spa for a few days, possibly to do with his family history research. More about that later." He nodded towards Pru and Ashok. "He must have had a suitcase or bag with him. No chance it was in the car?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. We have got the bunch of keys, though," Ashok said. "Well, technically we haven't, because they're with forensics at the moment, although nobody's very hopeful of them turning up anything. Not a lot else on the ring—house and car keys, something that probably opens a luggage lock, and that's about it. Nothing appears to be for a shed or a garage or whatever."

"Where was the bunch found?" Robin asked.

"About three feet away, under a pile of crud." Ashok pulled a face. "Pru thought of kicking through it, and there they were."

"Lucky I had my old boots on." The sergeant grinned. "The keys had been tucked in there, rather than dropped, I'd have said. We did wonder if that had been deliberate so the culprit could return to pick them and the car up. They wouldn't have had to worry about being tracked via a fine for overstaying their allotted parking time, because that would have gone to Mark's address."

"They couldn't be traced through Ringo or whatever app the car park uses?" Trust Ben to assume whoever had been driving must have used their phone.

Pru shook her head. "They paid with coins when they parked up. If they have tried to return, us being there in force might have made them do a U-turn."

"Why leave the keys at all, though?" Danielle said. "If they wanted to return to the car, why not take the bunch away rather than risk someone else nicking them and the Yaris?"

"Maybe the culprit didn't want to have to explain to anyone else why they had them in their possession," Ashok suggested, a touch sheepishly. "It could imply local knowledge, like the phone signal business did. If they knew the car park wouldn't be routinely cleaned, they might have assumed the keys would be safe. It's not the kind of place you get rough sleepers. Wrong end of Kinechester, for a start."

That was worth consideration, not least because the car park didn't have the reputation of having vehicles broken into. "Okay, that's another mystery to add to the mix. What about the car itself?"

"Nothing obvious, sir," Pru said. "It's got a bike rack on the back, which seems a bit odd for that size of car."

"The neighbour said they used to do a lot of cycling before Suzy got ill," Ben chipped in. "Mark probably never got round to taking it off. Or maybe he kept it for sentimental reasons."

Pru nodded. "The CSIs were going to dust it for prints. They were also going to test the car for drug residues or whatever, but I wouldn't count on them finding anything. Ashok and I bounced some ideas around, like what if he'd habitually carried something that the other person wanted. When I was first a constable, we came across a bloke who used to keep his stash of porn among his work stuff in his car boot. Didn't want his wife to know about it. I'm not saying Mark had a collection of smut, but it's an idea to consider."

"Although we didn't know then that he was supposed to be having a weekend away." Ashok was clearly a touch aggrieved that fate hadn't provided this information before they'd gone to Kinechester. "It could be as simple as them wanting from the weekend case."

"I like simplicity," Robin said. "So at present I'm inclined to think that the most likely explanation."

Ben raised his hand. "If we're talking simple, is there something we've overlooked? What if the killer and his victim went to the woods together in the Yaris? The killer then took the car not only to get their hands on the suitcase but to get themselves home. Didn't want to stand out by dragging a suitcase along the path or lugging it onto a bus. They then abandoned the car in what's—let's admit it—a pretty clever way. You don't torch the thing or otherwise bring attention to yourself. Park it legally and wait for it to be found."

"I think that's got a lot going for it. It would explain their leaving the keys, too, because they get distanced from the killer." Robin glanced at the incident board again, focussing on the map. "Although it still begs the question of why Mark and our culprit needed to go to Kings Ride Woods in the first place, unless they were meeting a third party there before he set off up the M1. Pru, CCTV for the car park?"

The sergeant rolled her eyes. "Joy of joys, most of the cameras are out of action, including the floor we're interested in. Some joker's smashed them."

"That was on the local news, a couple of weeks back," Danielle said. "Maybe whoever took the car there knew about it."

Pru nodded. "Ashok's going to get what little footage there is and work through to see if we can spot matey exiting on foot—we have the time stamp from the ticket to narrow things down—but, again, we're not hopeful. I don't suppose we have enough details about his travelling bag to put out an alert?"

Robin shook his head. "Can you put out a general one for any abandoned cases that turn up in the local area, please, especially in the corridor between Kings Ride and Kinechester? Although my gut feeling is that it's either been flung in a skip and long gone or hidden in someone's attic until people have forgotten about it. Anything else, people?"

"I have an idea about why Mark was in Kings Ride Woods," Danielle chirped up. "I've got the map on my phone and if you were heading from Lindenshaw to the dual carriageway and then towards the motorway, a diversion to Kings Ride Woods wouldn't be too far off your trail. If the person he was meeting with was also local, they may have agreed on that as a convenient place."

"That would argue against them needing the car to get away," Ben said. "Although if they really wanted whatever he was taking to Woodhall Spa in his case, that theory could still hang together. Dump the car in and take the case back to Kings Ride or wherever on the bus. You get a fair few tourists in Kinechester, so you'd seem less out of place pulling along a suitcase there. All of this assumes he was parked at the woods."

"He was," Danielle confirmed. "I spoke to the Forestry Commission people, and they gave me contact details for the guys who were doing work at the woods last weekend. One of them saw a small red car—he couldn't tell me the make because apparently they all look the same to him nowadays—but he particularly noticed this one because he almost hit it. He said it was badly parked, although that could be an excuse for the guy being a bad driver. It had gone by the time they closed the car park."

"Any other vehicles catch his eye?" Robin asked.

Danielle consulted her notes. "He said they were the usual mix of big and small, including a couple of camper vans. They keep an eye out for those because people aren't supposed to park up overnight, though they do. He hadn't heard or seen anything out of the ordinary, not even the flasher or the usual courting couples. He reckoned that car park can be a bit of a place at nights for folk to hang out. Literally," she added, with a snort of laughter.

"Maybe that's an explanation for what Mark was up to there," Ashok said. "Some people get a thrill about doing it in the open air. Maybe he was feeling lonely after the loss of his wife and thought he'd found a willing partner for some alfresco sex. He could have been getting in a session before he set off on his jolly. Only the partner got cold feet."

"Cold other bits too," one of the admin staff muttered.

Robin felt like Adam must when he was addressing errant seven-year-olds. "Can we please discuss this sensibly? Irrespective of the sex angle, it is possible Mark had a new girlfriend, either locally or in Lincolnshire. Or a boyfriend. If the new partner was local, they might have been going for a romantic stroll together before he headed up north."

"If so, it's highly suspicious that this partner hasn't been in touch with us," Pru said. "I'd struggle to believe that they're yet another person who has a legitimate reason for not having seen his pictures in the paper or worried where he was. Let's say this romantic stroll took place, during which Mark tried it on and she didn't like it. Or vice versa. She wants more from the relationship and he's not ready. They had an argument—the one Mr. Rashid heard—and it turned into a fight."

"What about the blunt instrument he got hit with?" Ben asked. "We know he didn't fall and hit his head on a rock or whatever, so this wasn't a case of argument that ended in a tragic accident. There had to have been a weapon, and the killer had to have brought it, unless Mark was the one who came armed for some reason and his strategy backfired. Not many people walk around carrying something that could have made that dent in his skull unless they're looking for trouble."

Pru patted the constable on the shoulder. "You probably don't want to hear this, but it's an eye-opener. A mate of mine at uni used to carry a huge backpack wherever she went. She told everyone it was so she didn't have to take two bags for when she was doing sport or going shopping after lectures. This one was big enough for everything she needed. Anyway, one girls' night in and a couple of bottles of wine later, she confessed the main reason she had her large bag was because she could carry an old-fashioned police truncheon in it. One of those large, polished wood jobs. For self-defence."

"Was your uni that rough, then?" Ashok asked.

"Not particularly. She just had an overprotective family. Her granny had kept that truncheon hanging in her hallway for years, in case she needed to protect herself when the grandad was away at sea on his merchant navy runs."

Ashok, eyes narrowed, clearly couldn't decide if they were being conned. He should have known that Pru wouldn't joke about something so serious. "Where did she get this truncheon, then? Coppers in the family?"

Pru snorted. "It was a case of don't ask. Don't tell, either. My mate never had to use it, as far as I know."

"My grandad used to say if any burglars came in our house, they'd soon regret it," Ben said. "Gran would have them with her rolling pin or the carving knife."

Robin raised his hand. "Before we get into whether she ever used that—I don't want to know if the answer's yes—can we scroll back to our killer?"

"I think we'd better," Pru said. "I was wondering if he or she may have routinely carried something around with them for protection, rather than specifically taking it on Saturday to biff our victim. A smaller baseball bat, for example, as per the postmortem indications."

"That description could match a truncheon, actually," Robin pointed out. "Not that we've had a hint of any suspects with police officers in the family. Right, moving on swiftly but still talking of families, we now have a better idea of what Mark wanted to know about his. His mum was adopted, although she didn't tell him until she was dying and that could well be all she did tell him. At present, we don't know if his dad wouldn't or couldn't answer his questions on the subject, but we might get a clue on that when we see the brother."

"It could be relevant to the case, couldn't it, sir?" Pru said. "The long-lost relative who didn't want to be found or who wanted to preserve the family reputation."

"Agreed, despite the fact we've no evidence of that yet." Precious little evidence of anything much, but it was still early days. "And so you all know, my dad was adopted, so we'll have no making assumptions or stereotyping about what went on with Mark's mum, please. Now, I hope you'll notice I'm resisting using another clichéd link here because we're still on the subject of family. Ben, do you want to take us through what we learned at the Packers' place?"

"Yep." He moved towards the incident board. "When the boss spoke about stereotyping, it could equally apply to the assumptions we made about them. They seem like typical new-age hippies, goat and all, but they kept surprising us. For a start, they're adamant they'd never have persuaded Suzy not to have mainstream medicine when she was ill." Ben went on to give an efficient summary of the interview and the things it had turned up. The constable then outlined what they'd learned from Christine prior to the interview. He was on better form today, so either nature had fully taken its course or the herbal drink Izzy had given him had solved the problem.

"So, we've got several mismatches," Ben concluded, "and not just about why Suzy didn't get the medical help she needed. Mark wasn't supposed to get on with them, but Mrs. Packer said she'd seen him last year and he'd been lovely to her, pouring his heart out."

"He does seem to have been the sort who liked an easy life. Which could mean he was two-faced, slagging them off but only behind their backs," Robin added. "He also told the Packers he'd never come back to Kings Ride once he'd moved away, and they reckoned he was keeping that promise, but we know he did return."

Pru said, "Maybe he changed his mind about returning and didn't want them to know, especially if he'd got a new person in his life who lived there. They might think it was too soon after his wife had died."

Robin nodded. "That wouldn't surprise me. What about the two different accounts of what went on when Suzy was ill?"

"How reliable is Christine Probert?" Pru asked.

"Both Adam and I would swear that if she says something, you listen. Unless we've misjudged her for years." Robin didn't want to entertain that thought. "Don't forget, what she said was in line with what Ryan told us. Chances are they couldn't both have got the wrong end of the stick, so either they've been lied to or had the truth stretched."

"Could Suzy have been stretching the truth, sir?" Danielle said. "Playing both ends against the middle for sympathy?"

"That would be no surprise, either. It might have made her feel less bad, given that she seems to have been in denial and didn't get help soon enough." Robin pointed at the picture of the couple which Ben had put on display. "We're seeing her solely as a victim here, but people with an illness can be as manipulative as healthy ones. Occasionally worse." He puffed out his cheeks. "There was an odd little Post-it among the waste bin things. ‘Honesty. No. Discipline. No.' It looked like Mark's writing, although I don't know what it referred to. The brother? His wife or in-laws?"

Danielle raised a hand. "It could be to do with his rugby team. I know it sounds daft, but there are four values plastered round the Saracens stadium: Honesty, Humility, Discipline. Can't remember the fourth."

"Work rate," chirped Ashok, who'd obviously just googled it. "Impressive that you knew them."

"My dad's a Tigers fan and I was remembering all that stick he gave Sarries when the financial irregularities were uncovered. About how their values were a joke, especially the honesty one. He might have been making notes about that?"

"Or using them to refer to his biological grandparents?" Pru suggested. "Lack of honesty in their dealings."

"Could be. Although it might only refer to a word puzzle he was working out." Robin shrugged. "Total change of tack alert. Has anybody come across a mention of Woodhall Spa or anywhere else in Lincolnshire? Or Mark liking RAF history, despite Justin Packer saying he didn't reckon the bloke had any interest in the subject?"

"Not that I know of." Pru's puzzled expression was matched all round the room.

"Well, let me know if you do. Especially if it comes up today when we're halfway there. His brother might shed some light on what Mark was supposed to be doing this weekend, although sods law says he won't and it'll only be when we're back in the car park here that the Lincolnshire connection will turn up. Anything else to share?"

Danielle raised her hand. "I've spoken to Mark's boss at Haveland and Sons. He was a highly valued employee, as was Suzy. She'd been a real high flyer. He confirmed that Mark had booked Monday and Tuesday as annual leave—which is why they'd not been alarmed at the lack of contact from him—and was supposed to be working from home the rest of the week, although that isn't unusual for the company. The boss then put me in touch with the guy he thinks was Mark's closest colleague, although I didn't get a lot from him. He said that Mark and Suzy had been a pretty self-contained couple and apart from her night classes and his rugby, their social life revolved around each other." She shrugged. "Nothing to follow up there, yet."

"Okay." Robin viewed the board again. "Let's be clear on what we do next. Ben, have you got anything from his phone or PC?"

The constable pulled a disappointed face. "There's nothing much on the phone, I'm afraid. The tech people got into it, but it looks like he was either a habitual deleter or he didn't have many incoming messages or calls. I'll get onto his phone company to access his records. The PC will be my job for today, so I'll keep an eye out for any references to a hotel booking and messages from a new girlfriend or boyfriend. I'd hate to have to ring round all the hotels and guest houses in the Woodhall or East Kirkby area to see if we can locate him and find out whether he'd made a joint booking."

"There was no mailbox on his phone?" Ashok asked.

Ben shook his head. "Nope. He accessed his mail through Safari. Actually, the lack of apps in general seems a bit odd if he was in IT, so he shouldn't have been a technophobe."

"It's not necessarily odd," Danielle said. "I've got a mate, Rod, who refuses to have anything on his phone that's got an automatic login. He says it's a matter of security. Even fingerprint or facial recognition doesn't work a hundred percent of the time in terms of stopping unauthorised access. His brother could activate Rod's banking app, and they're not that similar in appearance."

Robin brought the discussion back to Mark's phone, as opposed to Rod's, interesting as the digression was. "Did they get into his mail via his browser, then?"

"Yes, although he had very little in his inbox and what he didn't chuck he labelled and filed. I'll be going through any stuff he's got squirreled away."

"If he was supposed to be staying with someone—or meeting them—then why didn't they realise something was up and try to call him? Habitual deleter or not, he couldn't erase his call records if he was already dead," Pru pointed out.

"Agreed," Ben said, "although they might have called him after his battery ran out, couldn't get through, and didn't want to leave a message. Nothing suspicious in that, because lots of people hate using answerphones. Anyway, they may have thought he'd stood them up and gone, ‘Sod him, then.'"

All of which was true. It was far too easy to assume someone's actions were dodgy when there was a perfectly reasonable explanation. "Well, that'll keep you busy, Ben. Ashok, before we head off into the wilds of Bedfordshire, could you see if any service personnel were still based in the general Woodhall Spa area as late as 1947 or early 1948? Don't overwork it, I'd simply—and personally—like an idea of whether Mark's mum could have been a war baby. Of course, we may be able to get that information from our mate Ryan. Who wants to volunteer for that?"

"Talk to Ryan again?" Ben pulled a horrified face, as though Robin had asked for a volunteer to go and clean the men's toilets. "Can I be excused, sir? I know there's no harm in him and he's really well-meaning, but he's so boring. He rambled on last time and I zoned out. He could drop in some vital piece of evidence and I'd miss it among all the details of who he met and every word they said and what Ryan thought when they were saying it. Can't someone else have a go?"

"I'll talk to him," Pru said. "He can't be that bad. Maybe he'll respond better to a different person or to a woman."

"Good luck with that, then." Robin grinned. "Maybe you could play the ‘think of me as your mother' card and scare him into giving concise answers. We need everything we can on what Mark had found out and how it might relate to the weekend away he'd booked."

Sliding off the desk he'd been perched on, Robin headed for his office to clear some decks before they hit the road. He was five minutes in when Ben knocked on the door.

"Contents of that waste bin have been put back together, sir." He proffered Robin a pile of taped papers. "I've had a look through and they seem like they're the results of a sort-out. Torn-up bills from a couple of years ago, that kind of thing. Exception is this one on the top. Seems his printer cartridge ran out."

Robin nodded. The faded text on the page faded completely after a couple of lines, as though Mark had been printing off a wodge of material and not keeping an eye on it.

You can do this. You're strong.

It doesn't feel right.

The last line faded, barely legible. It may not but you've got it. Remember ...

"What do you make of it?" Robin asked.

"Not sure. Could be a copy of a conversation. Could be the draft of a novel." Ben grinned. "I wondered if it dated from the same time as the bills and had somehow got among them."

"Ryan told us Mark had got some stuff off Suzy's phone that backed up a theory he had." That little nugget had got lost among Aunty Josephine and the cruise and the adopted baby. "Could be this and he's taken it to mean they were talking her out of traditional therapy."

"While it wasn't?"

"Who knows? I don't remember seeing anything else like this, though."

"Me neither. Want me to go back and search again?"

Robin considered for a moment. "Put it on hold until we've spoken to the brother and followed up what he has to say. We need to know what we're looking for."

"Will do, sir. I'll go through these again, though." The constable scooped up the papers and exited, leaving Robin speculating about whether the answers they needed lay here or in Lincolnshire. He had the awful feeling he and Ashok would be completing the journey Mark hadn't been able to.

Kevin Bircher might have had his lower leg in plaster for a broken metatarsal, but he was a damn sight more mobile than he'd suggested over the phone. While he couldn't have driven himself from Bedford down to Abbotston, he could have been driven, and there appeared to be no reason he couldn't have got into the local police station. Still, bearding the lion in his den was always useful, and the impression Kevin's house gave reinforced the view that he wouldn't get off his backside unless he had no choice. The exterior paintwork was badly in need of attention, as was the side gate, which was rotten in places.

Kevin greeted them at the door before they rang, saying that his wife was on night shift at the moment so was presently in bed asleep. "She's a nurse at the local hospital," he explained, as he ushered them into the sitting room. No offer of refreshments was forthcoming, so it was as well that they'd got to Bedford early and had been able to stop off for a cuppa beforehand. Please God the M25 would be as kind on the return journey.

Once he and Ashok were settled, with a view of the back garden, Robin suspected there might be an old-fashioned delineation of domestic duties operating in the Bircher household. The interior of the house was clean and tidy, the windows spotless and the flower beds well-tended, whereas the lawn was a straggly, weed-strewn mess that spoke of recent neglect. Kevin's domain whereas the rest was his wife's?

"Do you need us to come and identify Mark?" Bircher asked, as he sat down with what seemed to be an over-theatrical wince as he manoeuvred his leg into place. The question seemed to be begging for the answer no.

"Not unless you want to come and see him. Suzy's parents have already done that duty, this morning. As soon as they could get in," Robin added, not able to resist a dig at a witness he'd taken an instant dislike to.

"That's good." The implied criticism was either being ignored or was water off this duck's back. "I'll pass on the offer of viewing the body because I don't want to see him like that."

"Didn't you see his picture in the papers or on the news?" The constable was remarkably chipper, having shared the driving duties with Robin and having been spared the usually fraught M25 stretch past Heathrow airport. It would be interesting to see how he coped with it on the way home, as it was unlikely to be flowing as freely as had been the case earlier.

"We don't get a paper. Can't stand the tripe they print." Kevin broke into a sneer. "So, it was a hell of a shock when we saw the story on the BBC website. That was after he'd been named, and I was getting people messaging me to ask if we were related."

"When was that?" Ashok pressed him.

The question seemed to catch Kevin on the hop. "What's today? Friday. It must have been Wednesday evening. All the days run together when you're stuck here. I'm a delivery driver, you see, so I can't work at present. On sick leave." Kevin didn't appear too upset at the fact.

"Why didn't you contact us at that point?" Robin asked. Surely being bone idle couldn't entirely explain his behaviour?

Kevin spread his hands. "I assumed you'd be ringing me if you needed to talk."

"Not being telepathic, we didn't know you existed at that point." Robin took a deep breath. Acting snarky wasn't going to help. "Did you have a reason why you didn't want us to talk to you?"

"Should I have?"

Ashok, from whose ears the metaphorical steam was clearly rising, said, "Please don't answer a question with a question. It isn't going to help track down your brother's killer."

When Kevin didn't respond apart from staring at his cast, the constable ploughed on. "Were you close to him?"

"Not really. He was younger and always used to tag along with me and my mates when we were kids. Typical annoying little brother." Kevin paused, face for the first time showing any emotion at his loss. Perhaps the reality was only hitting home now. "We didn't have much contact these days, but I am going to miss him. Nobody to buy me a stupid Christmas present, for one thing." He paused, voice catching.

Robin motioned to Ashok: they needed to give the witness a bit of time to compose himself.

After a few moments, Kevin said, "Okay, you can get on with the grilling. I've pulled myself together."

"We'll try to make it as little like a grilling as possible." Robin nodded. "Had your brother fallen foul of anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?"

"I don't know. There's a bit of a back story with the parents, but I can't believe it went that far."

"Go on."

"Well, I assume you know his wife, Suzy, had cancer, so there was needle between Mark and her interfering parents, and he wasn't best pleased with the health professionals who treated her. Or failed to treat her."

Robin raised his hand. "Hold on. We've been told she didn't actually die of cancer but of complications from Covid."

"Same difference. Mark reckoned if she hadn't been so ill to start with, she'd probably have shaken the virus off." Kevin waved the interruption away. "Anyhow, you asked about my brother falling foul of people. It's just struck me that if he'd been killed at another place and time, then it could make sense. For example, if he'd gone to the local hospital and got into a fight with one of the consultants in the clinic, especially if that had happened just after she'd told him her prognosis, because he was livid at the time. Livid enough to ring me up for a chat. But getting killed in the woods sounds like a random mugging rather than anything personal."

"Except that he appears only to have had his keys taken at the time of death. Not his wallet and not his phone," Ashok said. "Any idea why somebody would have wanted his car?"

Kevin shook his head. "It wasn't a flash model, like a Merc. I'd have thought it likelier they'd have taken the keys to get into his house."

"Why? Did he have stuff there that was worth nicking?"

"Only what the average person would, apart from the Jack Russell."

Ashok shot Robin a puzzled glance. "Did he have a dog, sir?"

"There was no evidence of one when we visited his house. What's so funny?" Robin bridled as Kevin startled to chortle.

"Not a dog. A different Jack Russell. He kept wicket for England—I thought you'd have known that, Constable—and now he does painting. Dad bought two of them, so Mark and I got one each."

Robin wondered if Ashok had noticed the jibe about cricket and how he'd react. While not necessarily racist, it was stereotyping at its worst: not every Brit of sub-continental family origin was into the leather on willow game.

"Never heard of him," the constable said, with a snarky edge to his voice that confirmed he'd logged the remark.

"This is one of his," Kevin said, clearly oblivious to any offence caused. He pointed to a small oil painting, one that was pleasing despite employing what might be seen as unrealistic colours. Robin had seen a similar one to it, in what appeared to be an identical frame, in the study at Tumulus Gardens. "It's worth about a grand, I'd say."

"Well, it's still there at Mark's house, so the killer couldn't have been targeting that," Robin said. "Anyway, we don't think his house has been entered. His car has turned up in a car park at Kinechester, though, with the parking fee paid after he was dead."

"Free of any fingerprints on the high touch areas, except for Mark's, and many of those were smudged, so whoever drove it wore gloves," Ashok added.

Robin returned to what Kevin had implied when he'd said the two sons had got one painting each. "Did your father leave you the paintings when he died?"

"No, he's still alive. In body, anyway. We got them when we cleared the house last year, when Dad had to go into a home. That was hard on the heels of Mum dying—I think he'd been on the wane for a while and either he was hiding it for her sake or her death was the last straw. That and the pandemic, which threw everyone, didn't it? Dad's in a place a couple of miles outside Cambridge, so I get to see him as often as I can, although I'm not sure if those visits are to benefit him or me."

The affection with which Kevin had referred to his parents was in marked contrast to the way he'd spoken about his brother. Another assumption gone astray. Robin would have guessed that Mark would have been the one to want his father close at hand, despite having nothing concrete to base that opinion on.

"Did Mark come up and visit him?" Robin asked.

"Not often, although that's maybe understandable what with all the stuff about Suzy and not only the calls on his time. When you're losing one person, you don't want to be confronted with another one." That was a valid—and empathetic—point. "He might have been meaning to call in at the home on the way to or from Woodhall. It wouldn't be far off his route."

Ashok looked up sharply from making notes. "You knew Mark was supposed to be going to Woodhall this past weekend?"

"Yes. We exchanged texts when I hurt my leg, and he told me he was going to be getting a few days away for the first time in ages. I didn't make a note of exactly when he was going to be travelling because he wasn't due to be calling on us."

"Was he travelling on his own?" Ashok asked.

"With a friend? I doubt it. Very solitary, our Mark." That was stated as fact, without any judgement.

"Surely not entirely solitary, given that he'd been married," Robin pointed out. "Could he have been in a new relationship?"

Kevin evidently had to think about that one. "He didn't say, although it's quite possible. I know he was in a total state about Suzy's death, but a man has to move on sometime. It may have been too soon, only a few months after her death, although who knows what could have happened if he'd met somebody with the right shoulder to cry on. I guess he'd been mourning Suzy even before she died. Perhaps it was as well that Covid got her when it did. Rather than a drawn-out, horribly painful death."

Robin turned the discussion to Woodhall. "Was Mark into military history? He had another visit lined up to the area. East Kirkby, which is an old airfield that's now a museum."

"I don't think he was into going to poke around aircraft, although it might have been another new passion. Like family history was. I'm probably telling you what you already know, so stop me if you need to, but when Mum was at the end of her life, a couple of years back, she told us both that she'd been adopted. It didn't bother me a jot because I've no interest in whether my granny was my granny in terms of her DNA, although it began to get into Mark's head big time. Especially when he was dealing with Suzy's illness and her being in denial about it for so long. He had the feeling that life was being unfair to him on all counts, you know? A real sense of injustice." Kevin, again with a touch of theatricality, adjusted the position of his leg. Perhaps he'd become so engrossed in the conversation he'd forgotten it was supposed to be giving him a lot of trouble.

"Your father couldn't furnish any information about the adoption?"

"Nope. He was as surprised as we were. She'd apparently been too ashamed to tell him, which did strike me as odd, and apparently the only birth certificate he'd seen had the people he knew as his in-laws listed on it and came from the registry office in Peterborough. I know about that, because when I saw Mark at Suzy's funeral he was moaning about how we'd likely never know the truth. I suggested that maybe Mum hadn't been adopted, that she'd got increasingly confused as she was ailing. He went ballistic." Kevin rolled his eyes. "He started banging on about her being as sane as anyone and how that certificate could have been manipulated. You know, a dodgy clinic or an obliging midwife—baby gets scooted off when newly born and the new parents register the child under their own names rather than that of the actual mother and father. Who'd check?"

Who indeed. Hadn't there been plenty of stories emerging over the years about dubious practices around unmarried mothers in the delivery room? Clearly Kevin had given the topic more thought than he'd let on, unless Mark had given him a full briefing. And if the latter had become as obsessed with the matter as it appeared, perhaps he had. "Can we talk to your father?"

"You can try but I think it would be a waste of your time. Our parents had us quite late in life and time's taken its toll. And his dementia has probably been made worse by his heading big leather footballs for years. He was a professional, before he ran a sports shop." Pride swelled in Kevin's voice. "Never at the highest level, although he turned out for Cambridge United and the Posh."

"Peterborough," Ashok said, with an appreciative nod.

"That's right. Anyway, if you do go to see him, I'd take what he says with a whole cellar of salt, let alone a pinch." Kevin wagged his finger. "I wouldn't be surprised if he'd forgotten what he knew about Mum or deliberately didn't want to remember. If that makes sense."

"It does. How did Mark feel about that?"

"How do you think? It added to his paranoia—if that's not too strong a word. He kept banging on about how people wouldn't be straight with him. Not the highest level of emotional intelligence, our Mark." Kevin sighed.

"If you could give me the contact details for the home, we'll give them a ring. Might as well try to see him while we're up here. We won't lose much by doing it." Apart from a couple of hours when they could have been on the road. "Before you get us the phone number, and now that you've had time to think, can we just check again that there's nobody who might have resented Mark?"

"Apart from the average Exeter or Harlequins supporter who's still annoyed at Saracens and that salary cap business? That's a joke, by the way. No. Nobody."

Robin believed him. "And we have to ask this. What were you doing on Saturday?"

"What do you think?" Kevin tapped his leg. "Resting this and watching the sport on the telly. Mags—my wife—can vouch for that because she had the day off before she started her run of nights."

Which seemed entirely plausible too.

They rang the nursing home as soon as they were back in the car, but any thought of going there that afternoon was soon discarded. The sister on duty told them that Mr. Bircher had the flu and was quite poorly with it, so not only was the man in no fit state to receive visitors, he was particularly confused at the moment. It would be unlikely that he could give a lucid answer to any questions they put.

Robin was about to hit the road for home when a call came through from Pru.

"I wish you could see us, sir," the sergeant said. "I've been raising my arms in surrender and Ben's got the smuggest grin I've ever seen plastered all over his gob. Because I've got to admit it, I was wrong and he was every shade of right. I rang Ryan for what I thought would take five or ten minutes."

"It's an hour of your life you won't get back," Ben shouted in the background.

"An hour?" Robin asked.

"Not quite." Pru snorted. "Ben's offered to take him next time. If there is a next time."

"That's noble but we should share the pain. It'll do Ashok here the world of good to have to deal with Ryan. He's just winced at the suggestion." Robin grinned at the constable's discomfort. "Think of it as an important part of your career development. You can use him as an example in job interviews of when you've had to deal with a tricky witness."

"We'd risk channelling him and boring the panel to death, sir. Anyway, in amongst his aunt's medical history and a beginner's guide to cruising, he confirmed that Mark was looking into his mother's family and that they'd made some progress. Ryan was ninety percent certain they'd found Mark's mother and that she was born in or near Kirkby on Bain, which isn't far from RAF Coningsby, where the memorial flight is. While they hadn't tracked down who Mark's grandfather was, they both suspected he might have been stationed there. Based on nothing but intuition, which Ryan told me about ad nauseam."

Mark didn't appear to have shared that with his brother, though. "Did Ryan happen to say—in amongst all the other stuff—whether that was why Mark was supposed to be up in Lincolnshire this weekend? Searching parish records or whatever it is these people do to make the ninety percent certainty into a hundred?

"That was part of it. He was apparently going to see a bloke on Sunday who might be his great-uncle. I'll email you all the details in a minute, because while Ryan only provided the name, Danielle's been like mustard getting an address and a landline number. The chap's called Thomas McKay and he's younger than his sister would have been."

"She's dead, then?" If Miss McKay had given birth to Mark's mother at sixteen, as a ballpark estimate, that would make her ninety now.

"Ryan doesn't know one way or the other. That's one of the reasons Mark was meeting Thomas. To see if they'd identified the right woman as his gran and whether there was any chance of seeing her."

"Did you get a sense of why Mark was so obsessed about his biological family? Not as if he was adopted."

"I didn't. People do get bees in their bonnet, though. I had a friend who was a serial obsessive. Every year a new ‘thing.' Maybe Mark was like that." Pru sighed. "Does any of that help?"

"I'm certain it will in the long run." Given time and more information, Mark's fixation might make perfect sense. "Ashok and I are probably heading north, then. I only hope that—given Thomas's surname—we don't end up having to drive all the way to Inverness."

"What's that about Inverness, sir?" Ashok asked, when the call had ended.

Robin summarised what Pru had told him, concluding with, "I was joking about driving to Scotland, purely based on the McKay bit. I don't remember seeing that or any other surnames on the maternal family tree in Mark's study, though."

"Maybe he didn't want to fill the names in until he was entirely sure," the constable said. "Tempting fate, if you know what I mean."

"I do indeed. Ryan seems to be on the ball if he's already turned all that up." Hopefully he could do the same for Robin's mother, who might be upset at not seeing her best boy any time soon. He'd need to make a couple of phone calls home as soon as he knew whether McKay could see them. "When Pru's sent the stuff, we'll give Thomas McKay a call. It won't be that far to travel, although we might want to make it an overnight job."

"Do you think he can tell us much, sir?"

"I have no idea. What I do know is that if we don't chat to him, I'll be left wondering if we've missed a trick. Mark didn't seem to be that close to his brother or his father-in-law and he didn't have his father to confide in, so it's possible he grabbed at another male relative to develop a relationship with." Rather like Robin, he might have been grabbing at straws.

Torn between satisfaction at what they'd learned and gloom that he likely wouldn't be home this evening, he forced a smile.

"Want me to find us a hotel, sir?"

"Get some options lined up while I try to get hold of Mr. McKay. We could be walking in the steps of the Dambusters soon."