At six o’clock Lucy called it a day; the whole team had been working flat out. No one had been out for a proper dinner break; Rachel had done a sandwich run and brought them all back some snacks to eat at their desks. She’d declined Lucy’s offer of pizza, as had Col, who said he was going for a run. Lucy thought that he was mad to turn down food – it wasn’t as if running was the better option. So it was just her, Mattie and Browning. All three of them walked past the DCI’s office and Lucy paused. Tom Crowe was sitting there staring at his computer, looking as pissed off as they were.

‘Should I?’

The other two nodded. She knocked on his door and walked in.

‘Boss, we’re going to the Italian – we should just make happy hour if you want to come?’

‘Thank you, Lucy. I’d love to but it’s my turn to watch the boys. I’ll have to go home and see what vegan culinary delight Alison has made for me before she pops off to yoga for three hours.’

Lucy grimaced. ‘Well, if you change your mind.’

He smiled at her. ‘Thanks. Actually, if there’s nothing more that can be done I’m calling it a day as well.’

‘No, I can’t think of anything until we have Lewis Waite back in custody.’

‘I can’t even bear to think about it – it makes my blood pressure rocket.’

‘Night, boss.’

‘Night, Lucy.’

She caught up with Mattie and Browning, who were almost at the bottom of the spiral staircase, and the three of them went out to their cars.

Tom logged off his computer and yawned. He was going to have a hot shower and a large glass of red wine to help him unwind, otherwise he’d never sleep after the disastrous week this had turned into. He got into his car and began the fifteen-minute drive to his house and family. He loved Alison – it was just that she loved herself more than she loved anyone else. The boys were a different matter; he loved them unconditionally and at least he’d have a couple of hours to spend with them now without Alison interrupting every five minutes.

When he finally turned into their quiet street, he remembered how she’d parked the car too far up it that morning. He drove past their house and stopped opposite Craig’s, grinning to himself. He was being childish and he knew it, but it was a small price to pay for a little revenge. He knew she’d go mad and he actually didn’t care.

As he got out of the car he heard a loud thud and spun around to see where it had come from. Instantly, he saw that the front door to Craig’s house was wide open, swinging back and forth in the breeze – just as it had been earlier. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The lights were still blazing too. What if they’d gone on holiday and been burgled? But Craig would normally have knocked to let them know they were going away.

Tom crossed the street and walked up the drive. Craig’s car didn’t look as if it had moved all day; it was still parked in front of Michelle’s small Citroën. If they’d gone on holiday they’d have taken Craig’s car. He knocked on the open front door and shouted, ‘Craig, Michelle? Anybody home?’ He was greeted by silence. It was too quiet. There was no television or radio on. He pulled out his phone, ready to ring 101 should he need to report a break-in. Stepping inside the house, he called out once more: ‘Craig!’

As his feet moved towards the stairs, a strong gust of wind slammed the door behind him shut, making him jump. He inhaled and caught a whiff of the strong, coppery smell that he knew so well. His stomach lurched – not because he was scared of the sight of blood, but because he knew something was terribly wrong. For the blood to smell so strong there had to be a lot of it. He dialled 999, told the call handler where he was and then ran upstairs.

As Tom reached the top of the stairs, he wondered briefly if he should go back down and wait for the patrols to get here. Then he thought, Fuck it. Once upon a time he’d been a response copper up to his elbows in blood and gore. He might have what most would consider a cushy office job now, but he’d never forget the days and nights spent attending sudden deaths, or fighting with pissed-up contractors outside nightclubs. It was his instinct to help others and he knew that right now someone needed help.

All the upstairs doors were pulled to, but not shut. He knew from being here on many occasions to watch the football or for family barbecues which were the bathroom, master bedroom and Arran’s room. He walked towards the master and, pulling his sleeve down over his hand, pushed the door open.

The horror of what greeted him made his knees go weak and his first instinct was to get the hell out of this house and never come back. He stared down at the floor, where, face-down, lay the bloodied body of Craig. Sprawled across the heavily bloodstained bed was Michelle. Not needing to go in and check to see if they were dead, he turned and ran towards Arran’s room. ‘Please God, let him be okay, let him be alive,’ he prayed out loud. He pushed the door open and felt his knees give way completely under the weight of him. He landed on the floor in a kneeling position and let out a loud groan. The boy was lying in his bed, glassy-eyed, with a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead. He heard the sirens and wondered if he should get up or stay there and wait for the officers to come inside. He couldn’t think straight. His head was pounding and his heart was racing – he wanted to scream.

He heard a male voice shout, ‘Police!’

‘Up here.’

He pulled himself to his feet as two sets of feet ran up the stairs, and he turned around to see two young coppers who could have been his kids they looked so wet behind the ears. Pointing to the bedrooms, he mumbled, ‘They’re all dead.’

The first officer turned to his colleague with a look of horror on his face; the other one didn’t look much better.

‘Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to wait outside.’

Tom turned to go back downstairs. ‘I’ve told you, they’re dead – don’t go trampling all over the crime scene.’

‘Thank you, but we don’t need you to tell us how to do our jobs. Who are you?’

‘The neighbour, family friend, DCI Tom Crowe. I saw the door open and thought I’d better check they were okay.’

The other officer looked at him. ‘Please wait outside and don’t go anywhere. We’ll need to get a statement from you.’

Tom nodded. He couldn’t get the bloodied images of his friends’ bodies out of his mind. He got halfway down and heard a loud retching sound.

‘Don’t you puke in here, Dale. Go outside if you can’t handle it.’

‘I’m all right, Lee, it’s just the shock and the blood.’

Tom heard the hushed sound as they began talking. As he walked back out of the front door, he heard one of them request an ambulance. Both of them then came back outside, a lot paler than they were five minutes before. Tom, who had pulled his phone out, dialled Lucy’s number. He knew she was off duty and probably in the middle of eating her pizza, but he didn’t want anyone else to deal with this.

‘Put the phone down, sir.’

He turned around to see who had just said that. One of the officers walked towards him, holding his hand out for his mobile.

‘Don’t tell me to put the phone down.’

‘Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are or who you’re phoning.’

‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Crowe – I’ve not long left the police station. Here’s my ID.’ His hand went for his pocket and the other officer suddenly jumped to life, pulling out his handcuffs and rushing towards him.

‘I’m sorry, but until we know what’s going on and who you are I’m going to cuff you and ask you to sit in the van. It’s just a precaution; we don’t know if you’re responsible.’

He heard Lucy’s voicemail kick in. ‘Lucy, I need you to come to my house now, it’s an emergency.’

He never got to finish the call as the copper standing in front of him snatched the phone off him and the other one gripped his arm, snapping a cuff over one of his wrists. Anger radiated from Tom in waves as he tried to yank his arm away.

‘What the fuck are you two morons doing?’

Both of them grabbed him now, roughly pulling both arms behind his back to get the other cuff secured.

‘You two are going to regret this. Let me go this instant.’

‘As soon as the DCI gets here and we get it all straightened out we will.’

Tom growled, ‘I am the fucking DCI! Let me go.’

‘Just get in the van and we’ll have it all sorted out in a few minutes.’

The pair of them half walked, half pushed him towards the back of the police van. Shocked, Tom let them put him in the cage and watched as they slammed the doors shut. He’d never been so insulted in his entire life and the indignity and anger were making his heart beat far too hard.

* * *

Lucy, Mattie and Browning were crammed into a corner of the busy Italian restaurant at the last vacant table. They had ordered a combination of pasta, pizza and garlic bread to share, along with a bottle of white wine. Lucy’s phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out to see she had a voicemail. It was too noisy in the restaurant so she stood up, excusing herself, and went outside. She heard Tom’s panicked voice and immediately knew that something was wrong. She rushed back in to where the best al forno she’d ever tasted was waiting for her and looked longingly at it, knowing it would never be finished.

‘I need to go – that was a message from the boss asking me to go to his house. He said it was an emergency.’

Just then Mattie and Browning’s phones rang in unison, both from unknown numbers, which meant it was more than likely work. Browning signalled to the waitress for the bill. Pulling some money out of his wallet, he passed her fifty pounds. All three of them left, jumping into Browning’s estate car, which was bigger than Lucy’s but easier to park than Mattie’s truck. The other customers in the restaurant had watched amazed as they’d rushed out, leaving all their food and full wine glasses on the table.

Browning, who knew where Tom lived because he’d picked him up on numerous occasions, drove as fast as he could to get there. It was Lucy who broke the silence.

‘What do you think is wrong?’

‘Maybe he’s snapped and killed his wife for feeding him all that vegan crap.’

Lucy gasped. ‘Mattie, I can’t believe you’ve just said that.’

‘Why? We’ve been called out to a murder scene and he’s not dead because he phoned you.’

Browning shook his head. ‘Oh Christ, I hope not. He’s a decent bloke.’

He turned into Tom’s street, which was illuminated at the last house by the flashing red-and-blue lights from the police van. An ambulance was parked behind it.

‘At least it’s not Tom’s house; his is the one in the middle.’

Browning drove towards the end house and they all jumped out. The two officers walked towards Lucy, who flashed them her warrant card.

‘Where’s the DCI? He rang me himself to tell me to come here.’

A loud thudding emanated from inside the van and both of the officers turned even paler than they already were.

‘Holy fuck, he was telling the truth. I think I arrested him and put him in the van.’

Mattie looked at Browning and the pair of them grinned at each other.

Lucy shook her head and ran towards the van, pulling open the doors to the cage. She was greeted by the angriest looking version of her boss that she’d ever seen.

‘Tell those fucking morons to uncuff me right now. Thanks for getting here so fast, Lucy.’

He stood up and she held out her arm to support his elbow whilst he jumped down.

‘I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know who you were. I had to be safe – for all I knew, you were the killer.’ The officer fumbled with his key as he unlocked the cuffs and they fell away from Tom’s wrists.

‘Tom, Tom! What’s going on? I’m late for yoga!’

If Lucy had thought that Tom looked angry before, it was nothing compared to the expression on his face as his Lycra-clad wife came striding towards him.

‘Get inside the house, Alison. You won’t be going to yoga.’

‘Why? What’s wrong and why were you in the back of that van?’

‘Get inside! Keep the boys in the house and I’ll tell you when I get a chance.’

‘I want to know – I have a right to know. I live here and I was looking forward to going to my class. It’s okay for you; I’m the one stuck in the house all day with those little shits.’

‘Your class will have to wait because they’re all dead, Alison. The Martins are dead. Every single one of them. And I need to do my job.’

His wife, who was very attractive, lifted her hand to her mouth when she registered what he’d just said. Browning took hold of her arm and led her away, back to her house, his head bent as he talked into her ear.

Tom ran his fingers over his shaved head.

‘What a fucking mess. And that’s my life, before we even start with the scene.’

‘Sir, can you tell me what you saw?’

He looked at Lucy, nodding. ‘I left it; the door was open this morning when I left for work. Oh God, what if they were still alive then and I didn’t go in to check?’

‘I very much doubt it.’

‘They were all shot. Arran – he’s only a kid. He was shot in the head. It’s bad, Lucy.’

She nodded her head. ‘I’m so sorry, Tom.’ She couldn’t help herself; stepping towards him, she hugged him close and whispered, ‘I’ll take good care of them.’