Hope to Die

He starts easing off his shoes. ‘Yeah, well, it was almost on the way, so Fawley decided to go there on the way back. And I suspect he’s rather glad he did.’

He smiles at her, dangling the bait.

She makes a face at him. ‘Come on – spill.’

‘Well, let’s just say you were right. She’s shacked up with a woman.’

Maisie’s eyes widen. ‘I knew it – I told you – what that woman Leonora said about those two – I knew there’d been something going on –’

He’s grinning now. ‘Yeah, mega brownie points to you. Fawley didn’t make the connection at all, not until I asked her – even though we both knew by then she was gay. I think he was pretty impressed, actually.’

She drops her gaze to hide her smile – it doesn’t surprise her that Quinn’s taken the credit for what was actually her insight, but she really doesn’t care. She doesn’t give a toss about impressing Fawley, but she knows Quinn does. Far more than he’d ever admit, even to himself.

He loosens his tie. ‘So what’s for dinner?’

* * *

When Bradley Carter woke up the following morning it had taken him a few seconds to realize where he was. The light was coming from the wrong direction, the sheets felt strange. Not his own bed at his parents’ place in Marston (though he’s been careful not to let on to anyone at work that he still lives at home), but a pokey top-floor room in the just-as-bad-as-he-thought-it-would-be Park View hotel. It turned out the thirty-quid overnight stay was actually cheaper than the train up and back twice, so he washed his grots in the sink and had a night on a lumpy bed with a TV bolted to the wall and no Wi-Fi. It’s a demoralizing start to what will no doubt be another demoralizing day. He gives the instant coffee sachet and UHT milk a definite swerve and heads down the stairs, passing a couple of Chinese tourists at reception asking for directions to Buckingham Palace. He stops on the front step, assessing the various coffee options – at this time of the morning it’s going to be a trade-off between quality and speed, but when you factor in the weather, proximity is likely to win: there’s a thin, mean-spirited drizzle just starting, the kind that doesn’t seem to be that wet until you’ve been out in it an hour and realize you’re soaked. He checks his mobile for messages, then turns up his coat collar and heads down the street to the main road.

* * *

Upstairs at St Aldate’s, the office is surprisingly empty. Carter’s in London, Ev and Hansen are en route to interview Leonora Staniforth at her Cotswold stone pile, and Fawley and Quinn are halfway to South Mercia Police HQ for what’s likely to be an uncomfortable encounter. Which leaves Baxter in charge and Chloe Sargent on the coffee runs. And he’s going to need all the caffeine he can get: it took South Mercia six months to pull together the database he has in front of him, and he’ll be lucky if he gets that many days to go through it all. ‘Herculean’ isn’t in it.

He drags his chair a bit closer to the desk and opens the first file.

GENERAL RECORDS OFFICE, REGISTER OF BIRTHS

ENGLAND & WALES

1997

* * *

Even though she knew they were coming, Leonora still looks alarmed when she opens the door.

‘It’s about Cam, isn’t it – you found her son.’

Melissa has clearly phoned her. She was asked not to speak to anyone but she’s obviously made an exception for her old schoolmate. Ev puts on her ‘no need to panic’ face, first developed when she was a bobby on the beat and an invaluable part of her standard police kit ever since. Along with spare tissues, a packet of mints and a great deal of patience.

‘Good morning, Mrs Neville. DC Verity Everett, DC Thomas Hansen, Thames Valley Police. May we come in?’

She looks flustered now. ‘Yes, yes, of course, sorry. It’s all just been overwhelming, coming out of the blue like that.’

‘Don’t worry, I totally understand. It was bound to be a bit of a shock.’

They follow her down the hall into the same kitchen Ev remembers from the Netflix show, though it’s had a coat of paint since, and the clutter is rather less artfully arranged than it was on TV.

Leonora fusses about with coffee for a while, but they’re happy to bide their time: let the stress settle and they’ll get more out of her.

‘So, Mrs Neville,’ says Ev, when they’re finally seated at the table. ‘You’re obviously aware why we’re here. So is there anything you can tell us that may not have occurred to you before?’

She wraps her hands around her mug. ‘I’ve been thinking and thinking, ever since Mel called, and I just can’t remember anything.’ She lifts her hands. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Just take your time, Mrs Neville –’

‘You can call me Leonora. “Mrs Neville” makes me sound like my mother-in-law.’

‘OK, Leonora, like I said, there’s no rush, you may know more than you realize.’

There’s a silence, just the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. It’s so tall they’ve had to dig out part of the ceiling to fit it in.