it.
“Now, have a look for your names on the board. I’ve got you split into teams. Outside action team, you’re going door to door. Somebody must have seen something. We’ll brief again at the end of the day.”
There was a flurry of movement, the office filling with the scraping of chairs. Maddie wiped her hands across her eyes, glancing back at Tom with a watery smile.
“You okay?” Tom asked. Could still feel the wool of her sweater beneath his fingers.
She nodded, slowly. “Not much choice, is there?” Her hands circled her belly, and for a moment he thought that she was about to say something. Then she shrugged. “I’ll see you later.” She turned, slipping into the mass of bodies, leaving him sitting there, watching her go.
He’d thought about leaving Cecilia. Of course he had. Sometimes, when Maddie laughed, or just brushed past him with that rush of perfume that was utterly and entirely her, then the thought would occur to him that he could leave. But then he would remember his father, the black bin bags lined up neatly alongside the front door.
Stooping down in front of Tom, eight years old. You know this isn’t about you? You know that, right? Trying to tousle his hair, Tom jolting backwards as if he had been stung. That look in his father’s eyes like the time he had cut his finger, slicing the top clean off with the carving knife. It just, it isn’t working, your mother and me. It’s not about you. Then stay. His father grimacing, it wouldn’t be right. I’d be living a lie, Tom. I can’t live like that. So Tom stayed and watched as the world moved on without him.
“Tom.” The DI moved through the crowd towards him. He looked worse up close.
Tom took a breath, smoothing out his expression. Pushed himself up to standing. “Hey, boss.”
“Tom, I need you to do something for me.”
“Of course.”
“Jim. He…he’d be more comfortable if he had a CID liaison there. A fellow detective. He’s met with the Family Liaison Officer, but, you know, he’s a detective at heart. Could you…”
Tom nodded. “Sure. I’m assuming you’ll need someone to take statements anyway?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Just, you know, also hold their hands a bit. Okay?”
Tom watched his boss, thinking about the crime scene. The locked doors and a young woman dead. Thinking that in all likelihood she had been killed by someone she had allowed in. Wondered to himself if she had been killed by someone she loved.
“Sure. No problem, boss. I’ll go see the family.”
Chapter 12
Freya – Friday, 16th March – 11.21am
“Another cup of tea?”
“I’m okay, Grandma.”
“Coffee? There’s coffee here. It’s not, well, I mean, it’s instant, but you don’t have…ah…no. It is Nescafe. Nescafe? Nice cup of coffee?”
“No thanks.”
Freya rubbed at her eyes. The kitchen was grey, sky outside heavy with unshed snow. She had put the light on, a brief burst of colour in a black and white world. Her grandmother had turned it off again. It’s daytime. We don’t need the lights on. The world was fuzzy on the edges, colours leaching across one another as if someone had dragged at them with a wet brush. But that could be just her eyes, weighted down with the need for sleep.
“Looks like snow again. Look. They said it wouldn’t. It’s supposed to be gone by now.”
The paint was still on Freya’s nails, unkempt patches of colour. She hadn’t showered, hadn’t dressed. Sat at the kitchen table in purple checked pyjamas, baby soft brushed cotton. Her hair pulled up into a rough top knot that her grandmother’s gaze kept trickling back to, lips pursing.
“What about your mother? Would she want tea, you think? I could bring her a cup.”
Freya shook her head, watching the sky past the kitchen window, thickening, entire world doused in sepia tones. “She didn’t sleep much. Leave her. Let her sleep while she can.”
It had taken a moment, after her grandfather had come back, after
“Now, have a look for your names on the board. I’ve got you split into teams. Outside action team, you’re going door to door. Somebody must have seen something. We’ll brief again at the end of the day.”
There was a flurry of movement, the office filling with the scraping of chairs. Maddie wiped her hands across her eyes, glancing back at Tom with a watery smile.
“You okay?” Tom asked. Could still feel the wool of her sweater beneath his fingers.
She nodded, slowly. “Not much choice, is there?” Her hands circled her belly, and for a moment he thought that she was about to say something. Then she shrugged. “I’ll see you later.” She turned, slipping into the mass of bodies, leaving him sitting there, watching her go.
He’d thought about leaving Cecilia. Of course he had. Sometimes, when Maddie laughed, or just brushed past him with that rush of perfume that was utterly and entirely her, then the thought would occur to him that he could leave. But then he would remember his father, the black bin bags lined up neatly alongside the front door.
Stooping down in front of Tom, eight years old. You know this isn’t about you? You know that, right? Trying to tousle his hair, Tom jolting backwards as if he had been stung. That look in his father’s eyes like the time he had cut his finger, slicing the top clean off with the carving knife. It just, it isn’t working, your mother and me. It’s not about you. Then stay. His father grimacing, it wouldn’t be right. I’d be living a lie, Tom. I can’t live like that. So Tom stayed and watched as the world moved on without him.
“Tom.” The DI moved through the crowd towards him. He looked worse up close.
Tom took a breath, smoothing out his expression. Pushed himself up to standing. “Hey, boss.”
“Tom, I need you to do something for me.”
“Of course.”
“Jim. He…he’d be more comfortable if he had a CID liaison there. A fellow detective. He’s met with the Family Liaison Officer, but, you know, he’s a detective at heart. Could you…”
Tom nodded. “Sure. I’m assuming you’ll need someone to take statements anyway?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Just, you know, also hold their hands a bit. Okay?”
Tom watched his boss, thinking about the crime scene. The locked doors and a young woman dead. Thinking that in all likelihood she had been killed by someone she had allowed in. Wondered to himself if she had been killed by someone she loved.
“Sure. No problem, boss. I’ll go see the family.”
Chapter 12
Freya – Friday, 16th March – 11.21am
“Another cup of tea?”
“I’m okay, Grandma.”
“Coffee? There’s coffee here. It’s not, well, I mean, it’s instant, but you don’t have…ah…no. It is Nescafe. Nescafe? Nice cup of coffee?”
“No thanks.”
Freya rubbed at her eyes. The kitchen was grey, sky outside heavy with unshed snow. She had put the light on, a brief burst of colour in a black and white world. Her grandmother had turned it off again. It’s daytime. We don’t need the lights on. The world was fuzzy on the edges, colours leaching across one another as if someone had dragged at them with a wet brush. But that could be just her eyes, weighted down with the need for sleep.
“Looks like snow again. Look. They said it wouldn’t. It’s supposed to be gone by now.”
The paint was still on Freya’s nails, unkempt patches of colour. She hadn’t showered, hadn’t dressed. Sat at the kitchen table in purple checked pyjamas, baby soft brushed cotton. Her hair pulled up into a rough top knot that her grandmother’s gaze kept trickling back to, lips pursing.
“What about your mother? Would she want tea, you think? I could bring her a cup.”
Freya shook her head, watching the sky past the kitchen window, thickening, entire world doused in sepia tones. “She didn’t sleep much. Leave her. Let her sleep while she can.”
It had taken a moment, after her grandfather had come back, after