---

DCI Flint stared solemnly from one to the other and back again, fingers pressed together to form a perfect triangle. His round face was, as always, flushed, and his jowls hung over his shirt collar along with an angry red lump, a boil, on the neckline, that looked ripe for eruption.

Robyn had accompanied Shearer to Flint’s office, where they now both stood over his desk. She’d been unable to convince Shearer they had insufficient evidence and was now hoping to dissuade Flint from intervening.

Shearer’s hairy hands, splayed like giant white spiders, rested on top of the paperwork on the desk. ‘For what it’s worth, I think we’ve reasonable grounds to think these seemingly unconnected incidents are related,’ he said.

Flint bounced his fingers together lightly, the speed increasing until they performed a final tap that resounded in the silent room. He pushed himself back from the desk and strode to the bookcase filled with binders, tracing the back of each with a finger before speaking. ‘You’re positive, Tom, there’s a connection between these deaths, even though Hawkins died of natural causes?’

‘Yes. I think if we dig deep enough, we’ll find a connection. I know I’m going out on a limb, but Hawkins’ death is suspicious. I know it is. I can’t prove it yet, but I will. And once I’ve done that, we’ll have a solid connection between him and the other two victims.’

‘I’m not convinced, Tom. This is complete supposition.’ Flint continued to stare at the binders.

‘I admit it’s a hunch, sir, but surely it’s worth following up? I don’t think we should gloss over Hawkins’ death.’

Robyn had had enough. Tom had taken her idea to heart and was pushing too hard. They were wasting time discussing the matter. ‘I admit it’s strange the victims are connected in some way, in fact, I pointed it out to Tom, but that connection is tenuous at best. Juliet Fallows confirmed Anthony Hawkins was one of their fellow quizzers and knew Tessa Hall. Henry Gregson wasn’t anything to do with the team, but lived in Brocton, was acquainted with Anthony Hawkins and maybe knew Tessa Hall from the clinic at Tamworth. I’m a little concerned it’s not enough. I’ve been pursuing different angles and we’re searching for Tessa Hall’s boyfriend, who hasn’t come forward. He’s a prime suspect at the moment in that case. I’m looking closer to home for Henry Gregson. Although there are grounds to be suspicious, I don’t think we should be trying to join dots between these people without more evidence. It would be folly to give up chasing other avenues to focus on this.’

Shearer interrupted. ‘Gregson was found dead on Tuesday, Tessa Hall on Thursday and Hawkins on Saturday. That’s three murders in a period of only five days. That’s no coincidence.’

Flint held up a hand to quieten Shearer. ‘Now, let me explain my dilemma here. You both have excellent instincts, but sorry, Tom, you haven’t provided sufficient evidence to substantiate your claims. We have no reason to believe Gregson’s death is in any way linked to the other two deaths unless we can turn up something, and we have no reason to believe Anthony Hawkins was murdered.’

Robyn nodded in agreement and was about to call an end to the pointless meeting. Flint continued before she could vocalise her thoughts.

‘However, as I said, you both have excellent instincts, so I’ll let you pursue the Hawkins case for the moment. That leaves me with the question of which one of you ought to handle it.’

Shearer spoke up. ‘I’d hoped you’d let us work on it together, sir. We can pool our information and crack on quicker that way.’

Flint refused with a gesture of his hand and a click of his tongue.

‘Then I think Robyn’s in the best position to take this on. She’s already spent valuable man-hours on the Gregson and Hall cases. I’m more than happy to assist if she needs me,’ said Shearer.

‘You in agreement, Robyn? Can you handle this on top of the other cases?’

Unwilling to hand over her current investigations to Shearer, she was quick to answer. ‘I am.’

‘It’s all yours, Robyn, but it goes without saying that I want to hear a cohesive argument backed up by evidence on this matter. Also, we must keep any findings away from the press at the moment. They’ve already been issued information on Henry Gregson and Tessa Hall, but I don’t want anything else to get out for now. Nobody is to speak about any of the cases to anyone, is that clear?’

‘Sir.’ Both spoke at the same time.

Flint’s mouth twitched slightly as he commented, ‘Putting you together in the same office has helped improve relations. Glad to see you working so well.’

‘About that matter,’ said Shearer. ‘Any news on when we can be rehomed?’

‘A week or so. I’m sure you can cope for a little longer. Right, Tom, there’s been an arson attack on a shop in Longdon. Owner lives above the shop and maintains whoever did it was trying to murder his family. I was going to ask Jackson to take it on, but now you’re free of the Hawkins case, will you look into it?’ He ran a finger between his collar and his neck and winced. ‘And, Robyn, I want to know the second there’s any news.’

Back outside the office, Robyn’s voice dropped to just above a whisper. ‘I hope you’re not wrong on this.’

‘Nah, not a chance,’ replied Shearer. ‘I know I’m right. There has to be an explanation for Hawkins’ death too. Maybe someone scared him to death. Given I’m off the case, I’m going to have to let you take the credit for my genius.’

‘Cheers for that.’

He gave a lazy grin then looked over her shoulder. ‘Ah, there’s DI Brown. I want a quick word with him.’ He meandered off, hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets, loose-limbed with assured footsteps. Robyn watched him as he departed and wondered if he had a hidden agenda.

Her instincts were on full alert. Shearer wasn’t renowned for his helpfulness. Why had he insisted they tell Flint about their findings before they’d unearthed more evidence, and why was he being unusually nice to her? A loud laugh made her turn back. Shearer fist-bumped DI Brown and walked away. The nagging suspicion he was deliberately setting her up for a fall had just been planted. With an exasperated huff, she hurtled back to the office. She had work to do and no time for office politics.

Robyn pumped her fists, her anxieties about Shearer’s motives for handing over the case now overshadowing everything.

She drew a deep breath and focused on Hawkins. All the signs had pointed to a massive heart attack. Until she had the pathologist’s report, she couldn’t treat this as murder. It was, for the time being, a coincidence – one with which she wasn’t comfortable, but a coincidence nevertheless.

She checked her watch. It was after ten. She needed to rest. She’d not be able to function properly if she didn’t go back home and try to sleep.

---

Back home, as Robyn prepared for bed, she studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror. A few stray grey hairs had appeared. Her face was changing, a little more each day. She wasn’t the same woman Davies had fallen in love with. And Davies. Was he alive? If so, how much had he changed? She blinked away such thoughts.

She again considered the possibility Shearer had deliberately manipulated the situation so she’d take over the Hawkins case and hit the buffers with it. Everybody at the station knew he was keen to get promoted. Dumping the Hawkins case to take on a new investigation that might yield quick results would be one way of improving his crime success rate. Would he stoop so low? She hoped not. If Hawkins had died of natural causes, Robyn would have wasted valuable man-hours on the case and tied herself further in knots trying to establish connections between him and Tessa Hall. Is that what he hoped for? That she’d become so entangled in the cases she’d fail to find either murderer?

She scowled at the worn-out face staring back. Look at her! A detective who prided herself on results but who couldn’t even get leverage on this case. That wasn’t usual for Robyn. She rallied herself with a shake of her shoulders, lifted her head high. Robyn Carter was not going to be thwarted by anyone or any investigation.

She remained awake in bed long after she’d turned off the lights, Schrödinger snoozing next to her, and thought about Anthony Hawkins. While it seemed he’d died of natural causes, it was possible he’d been killed and made to appear as if he’d had a heart attack. She lifted the duvet, trying not to disturb the cat, and padded downstairs to her laptop where she ran ‘deaths made to look like heart attacks’ through several search engines, noting the results. Satisfied with her findings, she shut the machine down and returned to her room. What she really needed now was a professional opinion, and she’d get that first thing in the morning. Shearer might have thought she would flounder, but she wouldn’t. Robyn rarely failed. He should know that by now.