Tanya Granger met Natalie at the Hills’ front door. She looked pale. ‘Mrs Hill was in such a terrible state, the doctor sedated her. You won’t be able to talk to her until it’s worn off.’

‘I’d like to have a quick word with Mr Hill.’

A shadow fell across the entrance. The drawn face of Kevin Hill appeared behind the liaison officer’s shoulder.

‘Mr Hill, I’m so sorry for your loss.’

He shook his head as if it weighed too much. ‘You have any news?’

‘Not yet, sir. We’re doing everything we can.’

‘We heard Alfie was with social services. He won’t be put into care, will he? We don’t want that to happen.’

‘I’m sure social services will be in contact with you tomorrow to talk through possible arrangements.’

He nodded weakly. ‘Who would do this terrible thing? Who could kill…? I can’t take it in. No. I’m sorry… I can’t do this.’ His eyes filled and he lurched in the direction of the door.

‘He crumbled soon after I got here. It’s all too much for him. I don’t think he’ll be of any help at the moment,’ said Tanya.

‘I’ll come back in a few hours. Any news from their other daughter, Phoebe, yet?’

‘Her phone’s still off. She’s on the Doha flight but that doesn’t land until six a.m.’

‘Okay. I’ll catch you later. You staying here?’

‘Yes, for now.’

Natalie plodded back to her car. Time was ticking. She shivered, not from the cold morning air that caressed her face but from the thought Alfie would wake again soon and need his mother.

---

The state-of-the-art station in Samford was lit up as if it were seven in the morning rather than four. The front doors opened with a quiet swish onto a wide reception. A night-duty officer looked up at her arrival. She glanced left and right. Several of the interview rooms appeared occupied.

‘What’s going on?’ Natalie asked.

‘Night exercise,’ came the reply from the officer behind the desk.

Samford Police headquarters was home to local officers, CID, public protection and forensic staff, and as Natalie marched towards her own office on the first floor, she passed one of the glass-fronted briefing rooms filled with plain-clothed officers around a large oval table, deep in discussion.

Upstairs, Ian and Lucy were logged onto the larger computers at the far desks, empty plastic cups beside them. Lucy looked over as soon as Natalie arrived.

‘You want a coffee? I was about to fetch us both one.’

‘I’ll stick to water, thanks. Found anything?’

‘Lee Webster didn’t answer the door and his mobile was switched off so we haven’t been able to speak to him yet. However, we’ve found some information.’ Lucy picked up her notes. ‘Adam Brannon, born in 1986, was known to police in his youth as one of the Samford North gang notorious in that area of Samford between 1999 and 2002, and along with other members was accused of gang-related crime including shoplifting, graffiti, vandalism, fare-dodging and assault. However, nothing was pinned on him, although some of his fellow gang members were convicted of those crimes and possession of knives. He began training as a boxer in 2003 at what used to be a free gym on the outskirts of Samford, near where he lived at the time. It’s no longer there. Closed in 2007 and became part of a housing development.

‘Adam cleaned up his act, dumped his gang friends and was taken on by a manager by the name of Bobby Manchego. He applied for his boxing licence in May 2005 and then membership to the semi-professional boxing federation. Won quite a few bouts and was beginning to gain quite a reputation on the circuit but then he was sent down. He was convicted back in January 2014 for GBH on a twenty-year-old Asian guy, Sandeep Khan. He claimed Sandeep and his friends had been threatening him, saying they were going to skin him, and when Sandeep followed him into an alleyway behind an off-licence, he thought he was going to be attacked so he acted. Adam served nine months in prison in 2014, nine months on licence, all of which was before he met Charlotte.’

Natalie sat on the edge of the nearest table and folded her arms.

‘How did he assault Sandeep Khan? Did he use a weapon?’ Natalie thought momentarily about the baseball bat found in the outside bin.

‘Punched him in the face with his fist and broke his jaw. It was deemed to have been an intentional attack, given Adam was a boxer, and he was sentenced accordingly. He served his time at Sudford Prison. When he came out, he set up his own free boxing club and gym just off the Ashmore Estate, using the winnings from his previous fights.’

The Ashmore Estate was one of the more run-down areas on the edge of Samford, consisting of twenty blocks of flats that ought to have been demolished long ago, and was notorious for gang crime.

Lucy took over. ‘Charlotte and Adam had only known each other very briefly before marrying in August 2016. Interestingly, the house is in her name only, not joint names. According to the website Zoopla, it was purchased for £745,000 in January 2017. I checked out the land registry and solicitor details and it appears it was bought by Mr and Mrs Kevin Hill, Charlotte’s parents.’

‘Really? And how does Adam fund the running of this free boxing club of his? Through holding matches or sponsors?’

‘He still boxes but he doesn’t have a manager any more. Bobby Manchego died of a heart attack while Adam was serving his sentence. I assume his winnings go towards running the place,’ said Ian. ‘I’ve yet to find any sponsors.’

‘Did Charlotte work?’ Natalie asked Lucy.

She shook her head. ‘She didn’t seem to have ever been in any full-time employment. She ran a blog about affordable fashion and was a massive Instagrammer. She had ninety thousand followers and posted regularly.’ She pulled up the images of Charlotte, dressed in a white sheer lace top with enormous bell sleeves over a gold bralette, low-slung black skinny jeans that exposed a flat brown stomach, and a soft black-felt fedora hat tilted at a jaunty angle. Natalie skimmed through more outfits and poses. Although Charlotte didn’t have supermodel looks, the woman had style and looked good in all the photographs. She also had what Natalie would have deemed a friendly face with wide, brown eyes and plump lips made fuller thanks to the expert application of a shiny lip gloss.

Lucy continued with her summary. ‘Born in Samford in 1995, so she was nine years younger than Adam. Father is Kevin Hill of Hill’s Farm Feeds, an animal feed supplier that sold out to an overseas company in 2012. It was started up by Kevin’s father, who died in 2014, two years after the sale. They have another daughter, Phoebe, two years older than Charlotte, who’s senior cabin crew for Emirates. She’s unmarried, no children and owns a flat in London, purchased by Mr and Mrs Hill.’

Natalie cocked her head to one side. ‘Let’s back up… Charlotte’s father bought their house?’

‘And one of the cars. Kevin Hill purchased the Bentley Bentayga outright, no finance, and made Charlotte the registered keeper. I managed to draw down her financial details. She also has a trust fund that pays £55K per annum into her bank account.’

‘Let me guess. The trust was set up by her parents.’

‘You got it. They set it up in May 2014 after the death of her grandfather. They also set one up for Phoebe.’

Ian released a lengthy sigh. ‘I wish my folks could afford to pay me to stay at home.’

Natalie butted in. ‘Check if Charlotte had taken out a life insurance policy or if one had been taken out on her.’

‘You think Adam might have attacked her for money?’ Ian asked.

‘He wouldn’t be the first person to kill over it,’ Lucy replied.

Natalie considered the possibility that Adam was behind the murder. It had to be considered even if it didn’t feel right to her. She could understand why a fight over money might ensue, but to kill Charlotte? She pushed it to the back of her mind for the moment. Stranger things had happened and she had to keep an open mind.

The communications unit crackled into life. Murray was calling in.

‘Adam seems to have turned in for the night. I’ve checked around the back of the building and the only exit leads to the alleyway at the side, so I’ll have eyes on him if he emerges.’

‘Cheers. I’ll have another officer sent across to relieve you as soon as possible.’

‘Roger that.’

The comms unit fell silent once more.

Ian was keen to continue. He read from his notebook. ‘You asked about the guy Adam met in the pub. Lee Webster, aged forty, currently employed by Samford Council as a waste operative at the Samford recycling depot. Lives in rented accommodation in Lower St Johns Street, Samford. He was convicted of robbery and actual bodily harm in 2011. He served his time in Sudford Prison, the same prison as Adam. He was released in March 2015, five months after Adam’s release.’

‘Then they probably knew each other from doing time together. We’ll talk to them both later today,’ Natalie said, looking at her wristwatch. ‘We’ve got sufficient information to get this investigation under way. It’s almost four thirty. Let’s wrap this up for now, grab a coffee, breakfast, a nap – whatever. We’ll meet up again at eight a.m. sharp. I’ll see if I can find someone to take over from Murray.’

---

With an officer dispatched to relieve Murray, Natalie finally left the station sometime after her officers. The sky was dark but striated with faint strips of soft pink and orange that in ordinary circumstances would have filled her with a wonder for the magic of the universe. This morning, nothing nature had to offer, not even the early-morning call of a blackbird from somewhere in her front garden, could warm her soul. Somebody had murdered a young woman in a barbaric manner in her own home.

The house was silent but friendly, still harbouring the faint aroma of the meal from the night before. It felt welcoming and safe. She wondered if Charlotte had felt the same way about her place. She padded quietly upstairs to the main bathroom she shared with her children for a quick wash and to undress, then, taking her clothes, she slipped into the bedroom. David was fast asleep, cocooned in the duvet like a giant caterpillar, with only his hair showing. Natalie slid in beside him, snuggled close in search of comfort and put an arm around his waist. He gave a contented grunt and slept on. She hung onto him, sharing the warmth from his body, appreciating him being there. Thoughts turned to baby Alfie, in his cot while his mother was being attacked.

She had to sleep. Even if only for an hour. Her mind would function better if she did. She listened to David’s steady breathing, trying to emulate it until she was inhaling and exhaling in tandem with him. Outside, a new day was dawning. As she drifted out of consciousness, her last thoughts were of dark-eyed, calm Adam, who didn’t want to look after his son and whose face revealed little emotion. Could he have killed his own wife?