Fabia’s clinic was actually the front room of her semi-detached Victorian residence, a grey stone building shrouded by tall hedging. Lucy drew into the small parking area to the front and, standing inside the arched porch, hammered on the blue door. A bronze plaque to the side of it attested to the fact this was Fabia’s clinic, with her name and list of abbreviations after it, revealing her to be a highly qualified psychologist.

The blinds at the downstairs three-bay window were drawn and there was no sign of activity. Lucy walked to the side of the house and peered through a frosted-glass window into what appeared to be a small utility room with a toilet. The gate to the rear was locked.

Returning to the front of the house, she rang the bell and stood back to look at the window above, another white-framed bay window that appeared to have curtains rather than blinds. A slight movement caught her eye so she rang once more, opened the letterbox and shouted, ‘Dr Hamilton, it’s DS Lucy Carmichael. We spoke earlier. Can you open up, please?’

There was no reply. Lucy tried again. ‘Dr Hamilton. It’s the police. Open the door.’

‘She’s not in.’

Lucy spun around. An elderly man with rheumy eyes and pale, downy hair stood behind her.

‘She rang me earlier. I’m DS Carmichael from Samford Police.’ She pulled out her ID. ‘Have you any idea where she is?’

He shook his head. ‘She said she had an emergency and had to go away for a few days. Asked me to look after Loki for her. Her cat,’ he added.

‘Are you related to her?’

‘Me? No. I’m a neighbour. I live in the flat above the wellness clinic next door. I’ve got a key. Was on my way around to check on Loki.’

‘Would you mind letting me come inside with you?’

‘Has something happened to Fabia?’

‘I don’t know, but I’d appreciate it if I could take a quick look around to make sure everything is okay inside.’

He gave her another look. ‘Who did you say you were?’

‘Detective Sergeant Lucy Carmichael. Would you like to ring the station to check?’ She handed him her ID card, which he examined carefully before stating, ‘You can’t be too careful these days. You could be a hustler. You’re not in uniform and that isn’t a police car.’

‘It’s an unmarked car, sir, and I don’t have to wear a uniform. I wear plain clothes.’

He chewed at his lips before deciding to return Lucy’s card. ‘All right. I’ll let you in. I hope Fabia’s okay.’

‘Thank you, Mr…?’

‘Milligan, Pete Milligan.’

He unlocked the door and stood aside for Lucy to go ahead. The door to her right opened into what had once been a front room, now a consulting room complete with desk, chairs and a sofa. Certificates hung above the ornate fireplace with its tiled surround.

She stole back out into the tiled hallway and into the kitchen at the rear of the property. It was empty. Passing the gentleman who waited by the door, she took the stairs slowly, turning right and right again into a small but stylish sitting room. There was no sign of a struggle. The room was neat and tidy, with a chair and settee facing another fireplace, filled with a dried floral arrangement and decorated with fairy lights. Above it, a flat-screen television. Lucy made a 180-degree turn and took in the large black-and-white portrait photographs on the wall of a woman with dark hair and a wide smile, arms wrapped around a small child, a toddler with eyes, nose and smile that matched his mother’s. Fabia had a son.

A sound, a thump, from an adjacent room caused her to tread carefully. She eased the door a crack, ready to force her way in and confront any intruder. She had no need. No sooner was the door ajar than a cat, one of the largest she had seen, appeared, pushing its furry face out and surveying her with pale-green eyes.

She checked the other two rooms. They were empty. She called downstairs, ‘It’s okay, Mr Milligan. You can come up.’

The man appeared and was greeted by Loki, who wound himself around the man’s legs. He bent to stroke it and gave a smile. ‘Big bugger, isn’t he?’

‘Not seen one that size before.’

‘It’s the breed. Maine Coon. They come from the States. He weighs about twenty pounds. Come on, fella. Time for your dinner.’ He made his way down the stairs, clinging to the handrail. The cat bounded on ahead.

‘Mr Milligan, have you got a contact number for Fabia?’

‘Got her mobile number.’

‘Could I have it, please?’

‘Hang on.’ He rummaged in the pocket of his trousers and extracted a flip phone. Squinting at it, he pulled up Fabia’s details and passed the phone to Lucy, who added them to her phone and returned it with thanks.

‘When did you last speak to her?’

‘She rang me at lunchtime.’

‘How did she seem?’

‘Hassled, bit out of breath, in a hurry. I didn’t think that was abnormal behaviour. She’d had an emergency and had to get to it. I asked if Philippe was okay and she said he was fine. She was collecting him from the after-school club and taking him with her.’

‘Philippe? That’s her son?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you known her long?’

‘Pretty much since she moved in and set up her practice here. That’d be about four years now.’

‘Has she seemed different the last few days?’

‘Not that I noticed, but I don’t see her all the time. I look after Loki when she goes away. She comes around and checks to see if I’m okay when the wellness clinic is shut for any period of time – you know, neighbourly stuff. We sometimes speak over the garden fence at the back.’

‘There’s no boyfriend or husband?’

He gave an awkward laugh. ‘That wouldn’t be my business. I don’t spy on her. She lives with the boy, that’s all I know.’

‘You haven’t seen any men coming and going?’

‘There’s almost always somebody going in or out. She runs her clinic from here. I see people all the time.’

‘I meant out of hours.’

His mouth turned down as he pondered the question. ‘She works late. I wouldn’t know if the callers were patients or friends, sorry.’

‘You have no idea of her whereabouts?’

‘Again, I’m sorry but no.’

‘When she goes away, does she leave a contact number?’

‘I have her mobile. That’s enough.’ The cat miaowed. ‘I’d best feed him.’

Lucy gave him a grateful smile. ‘Of course, and thanks for your help.’

‘I hope she’s not in any bother.’

‘I’m sure she’s fine. If she phones you, would you tell her I was here and let me know too, please?’ She handed over a business card.

He pocketed it then shuffled down the hallway, making clicking noises at the cat, who weaved between his legs. Lucy let herself out and tried the number Pete had given her but it rang out. She called the station.

‘Ian, can you run a search including social media on Dr Fabia Hamilton? She’s not answering her mobile.’

‘Will do.’

‘Thanks. I owe you. I’m going to knock on a few doors and then come back to the station.’

‘Bring some chips with you, will you? Looks like we’re in for the duration. Natalie’s returned and she’s determined to squeeze information out of these two downstairs.’

Lucy grinned to herself. ‘Roger that.’

---

‘I need a search warrant,’ said Natalie.

Aileen raised an eyebrow. ‘For?’

‘Hassan Ali’s flat.’

‘And the reason for this is?’ Aileen asked.

‘I want to search for stolen goods. The boys were found hiding out in a lock-up that Lee Webster uses to store stolen goods. The fact they know about it and have got the key to the place makes me wonder if they are helping him and handling stolen goods. I’m hoping to pin something else on them to get them to speak about what happened at the Brannons’ house. They aren’t saying a word. And because they aren’t talking, in spite of my threats, it leads me to believe they are withholding vital evidence. The more leverage against them I have, the better.’

‘I’ll arrange that for you and I won’t ask the obvious question.’

‘Am I getting closer to finding this perpetrator? Let’s just say, I’m pinning my hopes on finding something I can use at Hassan’s flat.’

‘I’m going to call a press conference for tomorrow morning. I can’t keep a lid on it any longer, and we should ask the public for assistance.’

‘Can you make it late morning?’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

---

Natalie had decided to change tack so each boy was being individually interviewed by both Murray and her. Finn looked slightly less assured when Murray, whose bruise was now deep blue, tossed his file onto the table and sat in silence opposite him.

Natalie spoke first. ‘If you don’t want to be charged with being an accessory to murder or even of murder, we suggest you speak up now.’

‘Murder? You’re joking.’

‘Let’s get something clear: I don’t joke. First Charlotte Brannon, Adam’s wife, was murdered; and then, when you were off the radar and with no alibi, Daniel Kirkdale’s wife, Samantha, was killed. And who would have reason to attack them? How about somebody who was thrown out of a boxing club, lost a sponsor and a future career in boxing? Somebody who hated both men.’

‘That’s total bollocks and you know it.’

Natalie sighed. ‘Finn, if a jury heard that you were seen fleeing from a murder scene, wielding a long steel pipe, and then disappeared for three days, during which time another woman – your ex-sponsor’s wife – was murdered, and that you ran from police officers, assaulted one in an attempt to escape and refused to cooperate with police when questioned, how do you think they’d vote? You’re not stupid. You know how the system works. Keeping quiet doesn’t get you off. You will be charged and those charges will stick.’ She gave him a moment to digest her words. She and Murray were about to try a risky tactic, one they had just discussed, but one she was confident would work.

‘And then there’s the matter of forensic evidence.’

There was a slight twitch in his left shoulder.

‘During an investigation like this, forensic teams go to extraordinary lengths to examine every piece of evidence, every fibre, every hair, every microscopic spot of dried sweat or blood and the DNA that it contains. Eventually we can identify everyone who entered the Brannons’ house.’

Finn’s eyes flicked left and right and his tongue shot out over his lips. Natalie had been right to check Hassan’s flat. It had yielded one piece of evidence – a small pottery sculpture made by the same artist who’d produced the angel figurines she’d seen in the Brannons’ house. Its absence hadn’t been noticed.

‘And that would be damning evidence, especially for a jury.’

She gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes and held her peace. Murray crossed his legs and sat back in his chair, a casual pose. Finn looked away.

‘Final chance, Finn. Speak now or we call in a lawyer and charge you. The judge will probably give you a life sentence minus a few years. I wouldn’t hold out a lot of hope of spending much time this side of the bars.’

She held her steady, cool gaze. Finn was about to crack.

‘We never had anything to do with Daniel’s wife. I swear. I didn’t know she was dead until you said. We were at Adam’s house the night Charlotte was killed, but we had nothing to do with it.’

Natalie didn’t want to appear keen. She maintained a steady pitch, careful not to make any sudden movements that might force Finn to retreat into silence. He had to be handled with care, coaxed to tell the truth. She’d got him to confess but she needed more.

‘When were you at his house?’

‘Elevenish. The door was open.’ Finn blinked a few times, trying to dispel the recollection. ‘It was open and we went inside.’

‘Why were you there?’

‘That fucker Adam. I wanted to pay him back for dumping me. He told me I was going to be a top boxer and got me a sponsor and all, and then he blew me off. Suddenly I had no boxing career and no fucking sponsor. And then, the bastard took my girlfriend Inge. We went to smash up his motor. Man, he loved those fucking wheels. Thought we’d whack it up: headlights, windscreen, a few dents. It was to teach him a lesson, that’s all. Nothing serious.

‘We got to the house. The lights were all out and the fuck-off Bentley wasn’t on the drive but his BMW was. With him out it was going to be even easier than we expected. Just as we reached it, Hassan noticed the front door was slightly open. It was an opportunity, wasn’t it? Silly fucker had left his house door open, so I crept in and left Hassan outside as a lookout. They had this massive lounge with all sorts of shit in it. There was nobody about, so I thought I’d take a couple of items. There had to be something valuable, right? I found some fairy figures, figured I’d get a few quid for them, shoved one in my pocket, and then I heard a kind of muffled scream. Then there was a thump and crying and shouts and then there was a really horrible scream and I was fucking frozen to the spot. The door upstairs opened and Adam came out and I legged it. I hurtled out of that house, grabbed Hassan, and we both ran for our lives. I’m certain he saw me before I ran. I’m fucking sure he did.

‘When we found out the following day Charlotte was dead, we knew we had to get into hiding. Hassan thought he’d be safe with his mum, cos Adam didn’t see him, but when you turned up at his mum’s flat he got shit scared, ran off and found me. That’s why we hid out. I knew Lee had the garage. I help him out sometimes – move boxes and stuff. I have a second key to the place.’

Natalie wasn’t interested in his involvement with stolen goods for the moment. ‘You thought Adam was in the house?’

‘For sure it was him. Why do you think we’ve been hiding? He’ll fucking murder us both if he finds us.’

‘Did you see him that night?’

‘No, but I heard Charlotte shout at him.’

‘What exactly did she shout?’

‘Adam. No.’

‘Those were her very words?’

Finn nodded.

‘How did she say they them?’

‘I don’t fucking know. She shouted, “Adam,” then, “No.”’

Natalie glanced at Murray. ‘Would you like to take Finn’s statement?’

‘Is that it?’ Finn looked at her miserably.

‘No, it isn’t. You’ll have to stay here for a while longer. There’ll be charges against you. DS Anderson will explain the procedure.’

‘Oh fuck, man. I told you what I saw. We never left the lock-up either. We didn’t kill Daniel’s missus. Come on. Let me go. I haven’t done anything serious.’

Natalie stood up and, ignoring any further protests, handed him over to Murray.