Her Sister's Killer

Book 5: Stone and Oliver

by Mari Hannah

Genres: International Crime & Mystery; Mystery

Synopsis

What brings people together often throws them apart, especially when it involves family. Ordinarily a close and loyal unit, the relationship between detectives David Stone and Frankie Oliver is stretched to breaking point when, without her knowledge, he embarks on an investigation into the tragic open-unsolved murder of her sister. The past and present collide with devastating consequences in this unputdownable thriller that will leave readers breathless.

Release date: June 24, 2025

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 400

Sample

You can always tell a cop who’s new to death. You get the bare facts. They don’t look you in the eye. They can’t see past the image in their heads. They can’t get away quick enough, desperate to process what no training course has prepared them for – the grim reality of policing. When it finally lands, some don’t stick around …

Who can blame them?

The on-call detective inspector had been summoned to Wearside shortly after 11 p.m. He’d arrived in Southwick, Sunderland, with no more sense of foreboding on that night than on any other, pulling up behind other police vehicles, their blue lights flashing, all adjacent roads blocked off, police tape restricting public access. A young PC stood at the entrance to the park as he drove in, his face laced with tension.

‘Good job,’ the DI said as he climbed from his car.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Stu. Stuart Wright.’

‘First on scene?’

A nod.

Wright had already learned vital lessons: you never got used to it. This was the end for the victim, but also the beginning of a nightmare for her friends and family, who at that moment were blissfully unaware of anything untoward. And for the MIT, the buzz of a murder investigation beginning to bite.

Turning his back on the rookie, the DI scanned the faces at the windows on the quiet street, a community in shock, residents wondering what was going on, imagining the worst, frantically calling to check on loved ones who’d gone out and not come home.

He swung round. ‘You checked for signs of life?’

A nod. ‘She’s just a kid, guv.’

‘Show me.’

The DI followed him along the footpath, intending to check for himself. He’d once been at a mortuary when a victim was found to be alive. As they closed on the scene, Wright stepped aside. The detective stopped walking, paralysed by what he could see.

He dry-heaved, his world in pause mode.

She wasn’t ‘just a kid’, she was his kid.

A fifteen-year-old going on twenty.

Vibrant, cheeky and smart.

So full of fun.

She lay face up on the ground, body rigid, eyes open, lips parted slightly, a dark patch of blood on her clothing. It looked like a stab wound. Praying that Wright had been mistaken, the detective’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as he placed two fingers on his daughter’s neck, searching for a pulse.

A pitiful wail left him as he found none.

She was cold.

It took a moment to register that he was on his knees, mind and body shutting down, other cops running towards him. They hauled him off the ground, dragging his dead weight away so as not to contaminate the scene, aware that he knew the victim, though not in what capacity. He couldn’t move, couldn’t stop shaking, a cold sweat seeping across his body, an unbearable pain in his chest.

Joanna must’ve been terrified and helpless. He covered his ears, blocking out her imaginary screams, sobbing uncontrollably. He had no sense of time, though before he left for work they’d had words. Joanna had given her mother some lip. He grounded her. She begged him to change his mind and let her meet with friends in Newcastle. He relented, on condition that she was home early, a curfew she swore she’d stick to.

She’d called him earlier.

He hadn’t taken the call.

It wasn’t that he was busy with another violent death in the city’s West End, though that was true. Julie, his wife, had alerted him to the fact that Joanna hadn’t kept her promise. She was late.

He was angry, with their daughter and himself.

Guilt consumed him. He’d ignored her call. The fact that she was no longer breathing was down to him. If he lived to a very old age, he’d never forgive himself. It was the 164th day of 1992, a leap year. The date was now ingrained in his head: 12 June. His name was Frank Oliver.

His life was over.

The first domino had fallen. Others followed, knocking down the next and the next until the last one fell, a solid wall collapsing inside Detective Chief Inspector David Stone’s head – a metaphor of what was to come. If his suspicions were correct, the Murder Investigation Team and those working within it would crash and burn …

Frankie Oliver along with them.

David had been about to slip out of the police club, when he overheard a comment that blew him away. Adam Hall had come to the party with another man he didn’t recognise. He guessed they had gatecrashed, taking advantage of a free bar. As he continued to observe them, harsh words spilled from Hall’s mouth.

Words designed to injure.

Anna Jónsdóttir, an Icelandic DCI who’d flown in as Frankie’s special guest, was standing nearby in a figure-hugging cocktail dress, in stark contrast to those who’d got the memo that the party theme was glam rock. Uncomfortable with the exchange going on next to her, she moved away.

Egged on by his pal, Hall persisted –ignored by those around him …

Except one.

If David had to describe the expression on the face of their target, he’d have said it was a mixture of fear and rage. So strong was the reaction, it triggered one in him too. The hair on his head stood on end, as if a blast of cold air had swept in from the Arctic, bringing with it a ghost he knew by name only. Even if he’d been able to dismiss what had been said, he’d never forget that look.

He was never meant to see it.

Surrounded by family and friends – newly promoted Inspector Frankie Oliver was feeling ambivalent. She wanted and deserved the next rank. She’d earned it. That said, her departure from the MIT was tinged with sadness. Temporarily, she was destined for a new post in Berwick, regulations dictating that she must return for a stint in uniform before re-joining the murder squad. David had reassured her that it wouldn’t be for long. In theory, that sounded great, but in police work there were no guarantees.

That gut-wrenching thought worried her.

All around, beneath congratulatory balloons and streamers, detectives were having the time of their lives. After a complex, often divisive investigation where opinions had been split both in the UK and abroad, the in-fighting was over. Frankie’s colleagues were kicking back, making up for lost time.

Deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt an ache.

Everyone important to her was in the police club, bar one.

For a split second, she imagined Joanna among the crowd, always happy – smart as well as funny. It wasn’t unusual for her to appear during family celebrations … but only as a figment of Frankie’s forlorn imagination.

With every fibre of his being, David felt compelled to step in and punch the recipient of the malicious comment, rather than the instigator. Resisting the temptation to take him by the scruff of the neck and haul him outside, he steadied himself. Surrounded by music, couples dancing, cops eating, drinking, having fun, for a moment he convinced himself that he’d misheard.

The thought left him as soon as it arrived.

Something weird was happening.

It was as if someone had flicked a switch, or spiked his drink, plunging him into the centre of an LSD trip. Spandex and glitter worn by partygoers morphed into a kaleidoscope of colour, swaying with the music. The sound was cut. Everyone faded from view, sucked to the edges of the room. A game of statues. No one moving, leaving Hall playing blink first with the officer he’d been winding up.

David shook his head.

The image stuttered, his heart rate dropping to a level nowhere close to normal. He studied the troublemaker closely, having second thoughts. If he was wrong, he’d be entering unknown terrain and may never find his way back. He knew then that challenging Hall wasn’t an option. Not here. Not now. Lobbing a grenade onto the dance floor would take out people he cared for. There would be multiple casualties.

Hall supped off his beer and was on the move.

David’s laser eyes followed him.

Time to leave?

So soon?

Shadowed by his pal, Hall weaved his way through a sea of bodies, extending an upward nod or handshake with one or two detectives on the way out, a peck on the cheek to wives and girlfriends. There was an arrogance in the way he moved. Too old to strut, he made a fist of it all the same. His jaw was rigid, bloodshot eyes reflecting a small victory as he brushed shoulders with David on the short distance to the exit, like he’d put someone down he didn’t rate and enjoyed doing it. That someone wouldn’t dare knock him on his arse with witnesses present.

‘What’s up, Frank?’ Her father’s arm slipped around her shoulders. He was taking the party theme seriously, wearing a ripped vest under a silver satin jacket and purple flares. He had big hair, jet-black eye make-up and a huge smile on his face. He lifted his mobile, taking a selfie of the two of them with Frankie’s grandma photobombing in the background, then pulled his daughter into a tight hug, leaning in, dropping his voice to a whisper as the music died. ‘If you don’t cheer up, rent-a-crowd will bale.’

‘I’m fine,’ Frankie said.

‘Your face disagrees. It’s more glum than glam. Just sayin’.’

‘I’m just hoping my new posting will be short …’

She took in the room. PC Indira Sharma was leaning against the bar deep in conversation with Ben, David’s nephew. Behind the counter, Charlie, the MIT’s red-faced office manager, was struggling to lend a hand. He was being hassled by DS Dick Abbott to up his game, goaded by journalist Belinda Wells and Bright, the most senior detective on the force.

It was bloody mayhem.

Now, Frankie smiled at her father. ‘I’m going miss this lot.’

‘Anyone in particular?’

‘Dick mostly,’ was the first thing that came into her head. That was the truth – she couldn’t imagine life without him – though she hoped that throwing her father a crumb would stop him from prying into who she was really going to miss. He too had a soft spot for David, though if he thought she’d slip up while her guard was down he could think again.

‘He’s no longer sulking?’ her dad said.

‘Dick?’ she scoffed. ‘Hell no, we kissed and made up.’

After a kick up the arse from David, Dick had finally accepted that she now outranked him, even though he’d lucked out in the same promotion board despite having been in the job a lot longer.

For a split second, she thought her ploy to steer her father elsewhere had worked.

It hadn’t.

‘Kiss anyone else tonight?’

‘Loads of people …’ She wondered what he’d seen. ‘Including you, as I recall—’

‘I meant anyone special—’

‘You’re special.’

‘Not even tempted?’

‘Dad!’

He stopped teasing.

Frankie had no intention of putting him in the picture. David wasn’t the only reason she wanted to return to the MIT, but he was the main one. She scanned the room, hoping to catch his eye, panic setting in when she didn’t spot him. An intense moment between them earlier had been rudely interrupted by her old man dragging her onto the dance floor.

In the men’s room, David splashed his face with cold water. Lifting his head, he caught his reflection in the mirror. The image didn’t please him. His five o’clock shadow was less designer stubble, more a scruffy individual who hadn’t bothered to shave. A big part of him regretted asking another DCI to cover his on-call duty.

He dried his face.

The last time he’d seen Frankie, she was in hysterics – as happy as he’d seen her. Whatever had gone down between them tonight, or might happen in the future, he couldn’t spoil her evening by telling her what he’d overheard. A potential breakthrough in a cold case was no longer her problem.

Besides, he wasn’t ready to face her, let alone her family. The Olivers spanned three generations of police officers from as far back as the mid-sixties. Her father and grandfather, also called Frank Oliver, would clock his anxiety for sure.

He wasn’t having that.

They had become a big part of his life since he’d arrived back in Northumberland where he grew up – the best decision he’d ever made … until now. If there was any truth in what Hall had said tonight, David had a duty to investigate. As it was, he was confident that he had enough ammunition to revisit an open unsolved case he’d known about for some time. He’d been waiting for the opportunity, for a piece of evidence to emerge that would justify his involvement.

He had a starting point.

No more, no less.

Pre-judging the credibility of what Hall had said or second-guessing the outcome wasn’t in David’s nature. To review a case that had lain on file for decades required time to plan, even longer to execute. The best he could do for Frankie was leave.

Frankie was having doubts. Had she read David wrong when they spoke earlier? Had the wine gone to her head? She was beginning to think she’d made the whole thing up. No one had ever looked at her the way he did. Mutual attraction was one thing. Sexual chemistry was undeniable. You could cut it with a knife.

Frankie could think of nothing else.

A soft voice with a foreign accent came from over her shoulder. She turned to face Anna with a smile so thin and so brief her Icelandic guest almost missed it.

‘You have quite a crew,’ she said.

‘I do.’

‘So why do they seem happier than you?’ No slouch, Anna had spotted Frankie’s melancholy from across the room. ‘Isn’t the next rank what you want? What you’ve always dreamed of? You seem oddly distracted, if you don’t mind me saying so …’ She looked away, eyes scanning the room briefly before fixing on Frankie. ‘Looking for someone?’

Frankie felt herself blush.

Anna caught the tell. ‘I haven’t seen him.’

‘You read minds now?’

‘Maybe … I believe in elves, remember?’

Frankie laughed.

Anna raised a suspicious eyebrow, letting her know that her sleeve had grown a heart. ‘He was with your grandfather a moment ago. Perhaps they stepped outside for some air.’

‘Possibly. Granddad doesn’t do noise.’

Anna eyed her empty glass. ‘Can I get you a top-up?’

‘I’ve probably had enough.’

‘Nonsense. I came a thousand miles. You owe me.’

‘A small one then. I’ll get it. You’re my guest—’

‘Which means I’ll get served quicker.’ Anna took Frankie’s glass, a cheeky smile.

Frankie observed her as she walked towards the bar, bodies parting to let in the enigmatic stranger, detectives young and old smitten with their foreign visitor.

When Frankie turned, David was studying her intently from the other side of the room, an odd look on his face. He remained where he was, making no attempt to approach her, yet holding her gaze intently. Instantly, she knew there was something wrong. Unable to fathom the change in his mood, she frowned: What’s up?

He stared back at her.

Even from a distance, she detected a radical change in his mood, as if he’d done an about-face. Was he trying to tell her something? Or not tell her? She resisted the urge to charge across the room to stake her claim, reminding him that their earlier conversation amounted to a bittersweet goodbye professionally, but a bloody big hint of a personal hello. If he was having reservations about seeing her outside of work, he could think again. Had she not been the centre of attention, she’d grab him by the hand and get the hell out of there.

Instead, she crossed the room slowly. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Doesn’t look like nothing—’

‘It’s been a long day.’

‘Lightweight.’ She tried to take him to one side.

He pulled away, turned his back on her and left.

The heavens opened as David left the police club, heavy rain bouncing off the ground, pooling in places as he took the road north. It was after 1 a.m. when he arrived at his single-storey seventeenth-century cottage in Pauperhaugh – a tiny Northumberland hamlet with fewer than sixty inhabitants – a place of safety and security since he was a lad. Along with his brother, Luke, David had been raised there by their grandmother when his parents failed to return from a Glen Coe climbing expedition when he was six years old.

No rain here, just an empty village that hadn’t changed in centuries.

Not a soul about as he stepped from his car. An owl hooted in the distance – a consolatory, haunting, welcome home. David sat down on a drystone wall where he did his best thinking, breathing in the cool night air. A fox padded across the road, a small mammal in its mouth. As it reached the other side, it turned, completely motionless, wary of its audience, ears erect, wild eyes.

It skulked away as David had done from Frankie’s party.

You could say that trauma had brought them closer. He had his problems. Frankie had hers. The only difference was that he’d come clean, emerging little by little from the darkness. That was down to her, but when he tried to reciprocate, broaching the subject of what was bothering her, it was like talking to the wall. She was stuck in the past, unable to share her most intimate secrets, even with him.

And now as he sat quietly in the darkness, her voice echoed in his head … I can’t talk about it, David. I’m sorry. It was an admission that there was something. An experience too painful to share. He may not have discovered what it was until much later, but that day he’d recognised the signs.

Frankie was a mirror image of him.

They’d been to hell and back.

Her weird behaviour manifested itself on a four-hander investigation, one of the worst in the history of the force. Four professional female victims, the last of whom happened to be called Joanna. And though it had taken David ages to get to the bottom of what was troubling her, she’d confessed that the case had got to her.

Inside his tiny cottage, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, prising off the top before entering the living room. He sat down in his grandmother’s rocking chair, deep in thought, wondering how Frankie had reacted when he left so abruptly. With no clue how he’d manage to explain it, he considered his options. He could and should consult with his guv’nor. The difficulty was, Bright would demand answers he didn’t yet have.

What he’d overheard was hearsay.

He decided to hold the line and gather intel before kicking it upstairs.

Whichever way he jumped, the investigation would be handled correctly, with as little collateral damage to the Oliver family as he could manage. The ramifications for them and for the MIT were enormous.

For Frankie’s sake, he couldn’t afford to put a foot wrong.

He’d been tempted to pull his guv’nor to one side at the party. In the end, he’d decided to get his head straight before making his move. He was stone-cold sober. Bright was far from it. Frankie had once told David that her sister’s violent death had hit Bright almost as hard as it had the family, dominating their lives and hers since she was eleven. David had seen at first-hand how losing a sister at such a young age had affected her.

He hauled himself out of his chair.

From his desk drawer, he pulled out a statement Dick had once brought to his attention to explain away Frankie’s reaction to a detective who’d been having a go. Had Dick not moved to protect her, she’d have been facing a disciplinary and possibly a demotion. She’d decked the officer who, like Adam Hall tonight, had spoken out of turn, causing her untold grief, disrespecting her father’s inability to bring her sister’s murderer to justice before he handed in his warrant card.

David had read the statement several times.

When he turned around, the rocking chair was moving.

Had he believed in ghosts, it would have added to his sense of dread. He knew it was a downdraught in the chimney, a frequent occurrence in his home. And yet it felt symbolic. For a moment, he imagined his late grandmother sitting there, with wise words and sympathy, telling him not to fret until he had something to fret about.

His nan was a gem.

David eyed the Odin stone she’d given him to ward off childhood nightmares after his parents died. Superstitious nonsense, Frankie called it. He’d kept it all the same, hanging it on the side of the fireplace closest to the front door. Not to ward off evil that might enter through it, but as a comforting reminder of the woman who’d sacrificed the end of her life for the potential of his.

Below, the fire in the grate was neatly set. David put a match to it. There was no way he’d sleep with this case weighing on his mind. Unfolding the statement, he sat down and began to read …

I am Detective Inspector Frank Oliver, Northumbria Police. At 23:05, on Friday, 12 June 1992 I was the on-call DI for the force area. I was called to an incident at Park Terrace, Southwick, Sunderland, described as a fatal stabbing of a young woman. On arrival at the scene, I was shown to the body by PC Stuart Wright. On further examination, I found that the young woman was my fifteen-year-old daughter, Joanna Oliver …

A shiver ran the length of David’s spine. He didn’t read on. He’d read it before, so many times he’d lost count. Having made formal identification, Frank Oliver II had left the scene and contacted senior supervision. He was informed that he could take no further part in the investigation and withdrew, the fact that he had to be ruled in or out as a suspect adding insult to injury.

It was a painful read the first time …

Tonight, it was ten times worse; not only because David now knew Frankie’s father personally, but also because she hadn’t shared the fact that her dad was the first detective to reach the crime scene. Had he not been told, to save her from a disciplinary hearing, a potential assault charge, David may never have known about it.

The document in his hand was a cold hard statement of the facts. A contemporaneous note of how and why Frank Oliver had come to attend the scene and what he discovered when he got there. The short record only told half the story. Hiding between the sterile language was emptiness: helplessness, heartbreak, anger, guilt, and denial of a father in distress. David couldn’t begin to imagine what had really gone down that night. How any parent found the strength to get over such an occurrence was beyond his comprehension, but …

Frank Oliver II was an extraordinary man.

Did that really happen? That was the question Frankie was asking herself. Living at the coast, forty-five minutes away from Newcastle city centre, she’d arranged to stay with her parents, saving the price of a cab. Now she was having second thoughts. Moping was best done at home …

Alone.

In a crowded taxi Frankie felt disconnected from those around her, lost in her own thoughts. Questions were piling up. Were two pips on her shoulder worth leaving the MIT? Undoubtedly. Would she miss her mates? Of course, but she’d make new ones. The old ones would still be there when she returned.

Would she miss David?

Hours ago, she’d have said yes.

Now, she had to think about it.

She’d put her life on hold for someone to come along who’d care for her in a way that no one else had. Until now, the love of a close family had always been enough. More than enough. Frankie considered herself lucky. Despite a shared loss that had cast a shadow over them, her family had remained solid. But, as the miles flew by, Frankie realised that life had more to offer all of them than chasing ghosts.

She glanced sideways.

Her mum and dad were holding hands. They had each other. The same could be said of her grandparents … and of her sister Rae, who was in a civil partnership with Andrea, a Traffic cop, one of Frankie’s closest friends.

What did she have?

For years, she and David had stared death in the face, personally and professionally, a shared grief drawing them ever closer. Tonight, he’d given her hope that they were meant to be. She’d begun to believe that they’d be good together, always, and for ever. She felt safe in his company. Now she felt vulnerable, a lingering doubt that she could ever trust anyone enough to fall in love and be happy.

From the day he blew in from the Met where he’d spent the first fifteen years of his police career, she’d been attracted to him, though hadn’t acted on it. In fact, she’d ruled it out. The guy had more baggage than British Airways. She didn’t want to complicate his life, or hers. So, pushing a potential relationship away as unattainable seemed like the thing to do, until she was handed her new posting. Then it became not only possible, but essential – a case of not knowing what you’ve got till it’s gone.

And now it was gone.

His loss.

He’d pissed off without a word. No good luck wishes or see you around. No thanks for everything or call me invitation. Why? Had he got cold feet? Did he not think she was anxious too? Wasn’t that half the fun of transitioning from friendship to a relationship? It was hard to describe how she was feeling now. He’d spoiled what had otherwise been a cracking night, a new beginning – in more ways than one.

‘You OK, Fr …’ Mitch hesitated. ‘Boss, I meant boss.’

Frankie felt a stab of pride.

Although she outranked her mentee, he’d never called her that before. Probably never would again if she didn’t make it back to the MIT. He’d cadged a lift home, hopping in the front of the cab, Frankie behind the driver, her mum on the far side in the rear, her dad squashed in between.

‘You may as well talk to the wall,’ he said to Mitch. ‘Her mum’s sending the zeds up.’

‘Wrong. I’m resting!’ Julie said. ‘It’s been an emotional day. A happy day.’

‘Go to sleep, love. If I didn’t know better, I’d have said Frankie was already there. Only her eyes are wide open and currently fixed on me. Full of hell might be an apt description, like someone stole her chips.’

‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ Frankie’s apology was for Mitch, not her father.

‘In which direction?’ her dad pushed.

He knew.

He’d always been able to read her.

The cab pulled over, a chance to ignore him taking her somewhere she didn’t want to go. Mitch jumped out of the car, turning to face her through the glass. Seeing his rueful expression, Frankie wound down the window. ‘Hey!’ She summoned a smile. ‘Keep my seat warm. I’ll be back before you know it.’

‘Thanks, boss.’

‘For what?’

‘Everything.’

He fell over himself to wish her well. Briefly, it made her think of David, which would have brought a tear to her eye had she been less angry. He’d trusted her instinct, bringing Mitch into the MIT as a rookie. Under her guidance, he’d more than earned his place.

She raised the window as the cab sped off.

Her father put his arm around her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. ‘Any idea why David shot off?’

‘Did he?’ Frankie kept her eyes front. ‘I didn’t notice.’

‘Your pet lip says you did.’

She didn’t answer.

‘You were about four years old when you told your first lie,’ he teased. ‘You’re no better at it now than you were then.’

‘Speaks the guy who knows the difference between lying and sidestepping a stupid question,’ Julie said in Frankie’s defence. ‘And doesn’t know when to mind his own business.’

Frankie looked out of the window, stifling a grin.

Her dad continued. ‘Want to talk about it?’

‘There’s nowt to say.’

‘I’m a good listener.’

‘Is that a euphemism for nosy?’ Frankie turned to look at him. ‘Didn’t you once tell me that some things are better left unsaid?’

‘I didn’t mean me, did I? I’m your old man. You can tell me anything—’

‘Especially if you want it broadcast.’ Julie giggled, opening her eyes, turning to face her daughter. ‘Keep schtum, Frances. He’ll get the message … eventually. If he doesn’t, he can get out and walk.’

Grinning at his daughter, Frank changed the subject. ‘You enjoyed the party, didn’t you?’

How could she not? Her family had insisted on shelling out for the lot, Rae taking care of the music, Andrea the guests, her mum and grandma sorting the catering, her old man picking up the bar bill – no mean feat, given the appetite of a team of hungry, thirsty detectives making the most of their freedom while seeing her off with a bang.

Frankie beamed at him. ‘It was really cool.’

‘Did David think so?’

‘Stop digging, Dad.’

‘Only asking.’

‘Sounds like an interrogation to me.’ Julie gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. ‘Zip it or sling your hook. I’m serious, Frank. Your choice.’

He made a face at Frankie.

She laughed, her mood improving.

She could never stay mad at him for long.

There was no one in the world she loved more.

She laid her head on his shoulder, as she used to as a kid with a problem only he could solve. Somehow, he always managed to lift her. He stroked her hair, soothing her, letting her know that when she was ready, whatever was bothering her, he’d be there to help her through it.

Now, her mum was really sending the zeds up.

Her father had clocked it too. He dropped his voice so as not to wake her. ‘You’ll work it out, Frank. You always do. And since when does my girl sulk over boys? David is the on-call SIO—’

‘No, he’s not. He’d arranged cover …’

‘Doesn’t mean he wasn’t required.’

‘True. Why are you making excuses for him?’

‘What other explanation could there be?’

‘You know David …’ She tilted her head, a wry smile developing as she met his gaze. ‘It was probably time for his cocoa.’

David was facing the investigation of his life. He