Hostile Witness

by Nell Peters

Genres: Thrillers

Synopsis

Hostile Witness is the mesmerising new psychological thriller by Nell Peters. When her husband leaves her and their sons to shack up with a younger model, Callie Ashton thinks she?s hit rock bottom. She?s wrong. Already unemployed and struggling to hold everything together, Callie?s life goes into freefall when she stumbles across the murder of a neighbour. The killer soon becomes intent on despatching Callie too, wrongly assuming she can identify him. Despite her new man being the officer in charge of the investigation, Callie's in great danger ? and it soon becomes clear the murderer isn?t too worried whom he kills or maims in his quest to eliminate her. No one is safe and the killer seems to know her every movement. Soon, with no resolution in sight, Callie feels she has no choice but to take matters into her own hands?but at what cost to her safety ? and sanity?

Release date: February 4, 2016

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 337

Sample

Chapter One

A military tattoo pounded somewhere behind her eye sockets and her entire body shook involuntarily, despite the heavy blanket wrapped around her shoulders. A mug of sickly sweet tea that had been forced upon her quivered in her grasp, slopping some of its contents onto the tiled floor to pool in a muddy, irregular oval like a Rorschach reject.

Leaning across the table, the tubby policewoman frowned. ‘You know, ma’am, finding a dead body is a terrible shock for anyone – you should drink some of that tea and you’ll feel loads better.’

She really didn’t see how anything could possibly make her feel ‘loads better’, ever again. ‘I’m trying,’ she lied, wishing the constable would waddle off and leave her alone.

Though the whole country was in the grip of a heatwave, she felt icy sweat trickle a course down her spine, seeping into the tight waistband of her jeans and down to her knickers. She was aware her nose was running, but she couldn’t have cared less.

‘Have you contacted Giles – Mr Symonds – yet?’ she asked, ‘He travels a lot and Dee says … said … he always forgets to turn on his phone … and the children – what about the children?’

‘That’s all in hand, ma’am, and someone from Family Liaison has gone to the school to break the news. Sarah and Tom, isn’t it?’

‘Thomas … he’s always called Thomas.’ The PC’s manner was brisk and – to her at least – irritating.

‘Right you are, then – don’t you go worrying about no one else, everything is under control.’

More tears flowed unchecked and she slopped more tea, ‘Poor Giles – he left for work this morning and everything was normal … now his wife is dead. Poor Giles … poor Sarah and Thomas …’ She knew she was rambling, teetering on the verge of losing control – and she just wanted to be left in peace.

The policewoman grabbed a battered box of tissues from the work surface and thrust it toward her, heavy features clenched into an ugly, no-nonsense gargoyle grimace. ‘But it can’t have been normal, can it, ma’am – not if Mrs Symonds was planning to top herself, just as soon as them kids left for school?’

She didn’t like the PC’s attitude, but when she closed her eyes to blot her out, all she could see were the deep gashes in Dee’s white wrists as they bobbed in bloodied water. Her stomach lurched ominously and she was afraid she might be sick again.

She had to change the subject. ‘What’s your name?’

Holding her notebook with pen poised, anxious to start writing, she replied, ‘Constable Stephens, ma’am. You can call me Sally if you want. Now tell me, did you actually see Mr Symonds leave the house this morning?’

Dutifully, she cast her mind back. ‘Err … well … no, actually, not that I remember … I just assumed.’

Sally’s lips pursed. ‘I see …’ She tutted, or maybe it was a cluck.

Someone rapped on the open back door and entered the kitchen without waiting to be invited – she lacked the energy to turn around to see who it was.

‘Callie?’

She recognised the voice … Confused, she looked up to see David. Why was he there, she wondered?

Sally lumbered to her feet, ‘Hello, sir. Mrs Ashton here is right shaken up about next door, but she’s refusing to go to hospital to be checked over.’ In that one short sentence, Stephens managed to convey that everything was Callie’s fault because she wouldn’t cooperate – she imagined Sally as a creepy teacher’s pet at school.

‘Thanks, Constable Stephens – Callie and I are old friends, so I’ll take over in here. I’m sure there’s something useful you could be doing elsewhere?’ His direct stare allowed little room for manoeuvre.

Sally bristled and stuck out her chin, stretching rolls of neck fat away from her stiff white collar. ‘Sir,’ she snarled, and stomped off, shirt stuck to her back with sweat.

Wearily, Callie asked him, ‘What are you doing here, David – and why did she just call you sir? Come to think of it, when did we become “old friends”?’

He looked uncomfortable and squirmed, twitching his shoulders, ‘Ah … I … um … look, I didn’t get around to telling you before, Callie, but I’m a detective.’ A blush of bright crimson scuffed each of his cheekbones.

She felt nothing could really surprise her now. ‘Oh … OK.’

He went to the sink and ran cool water to rinse her face. She guessed she was probably wasn’t looking her best. As he gently pushed the hair back from her forehead, she whispered, ‘Thanks, that feels good.’ But when she closed her eyes to savour the moment, she was immediately back in next door’s bathroom, staring at a mutilated body – so she opened them wide again.

‘Why CID? Dee committed suicide, didn’t she?’ She felt so strangely detached she could hardly focus on him.

‘Probably, but we attend any unexpected death as a matter of course, just to be on the safe side, and I happened to be in the area when the address came over the radio.’

‘Right …’

She refused the offer of another tea, while he brewed a coffee for himself. Taking the chair opposite hers, he sat Christine Keeler-style and asked, ‘I expect you’ve already told the other officers everything you know, but would you mind going over it one more time for me, please?’

Chapter Two

Anxious to be of help in any way she could – if only to offset a worming feeling of guilt because she was still alive, while Dee was very dead – Callie took a deep breath; the double dose of painkillers she’d swallowed were starting to kick in.

‘The boys left for school at about eight thirty-five, I think – they … we … were running a bit late. I made a coffee and read some of the paper, put a load of washing in. It was probably about ten when I went to the newsagent’s on the corner and bought some chocolates for Dee.’

He looked up from his notes. ‘Why was that?’

‘To say thank you – she did me a favour.’

He smiled. ‘What favour?’

She sighed, wondering how that could possibly be of any significance. ‘There was a parents’ evening at the school yesterday and a cake sale afterwards to raise money for gym equipment. I’d completely forgotten about it until Alex came home and mentioned it …’

‘Sorry, remind me – is that your oldest boy?’

‘Yes, he’s fourteen and Sam’s ten. Alex goes to the same school as Dee’s kids.’

‘OK …’

‘I drove into town to buy a fancy cake at Marks and Spencer, but they were sold out, ditto the bakery … it was quite late by then. So, I did quick shop for ingredients at the mini-market – only when I got to the checkout, I realised I didn’t have any money on me.’

His grin was lop-sided. He nodded, clearly expecting her to continue.

‘As usual, Dee had made and decorated several magnificent gateaux and she gave one to me.’

‘That was mighty neighbourly of her.’

‘Yes, I suppose … except everyone knew it was far too good to be my own effort. I brazened it out though.’

‘So you took the chocolates round to say thanks – at about what time, do you reckon?’

She thought about that. ‘Oh, I don’t know – after I’d tidied up a bit and put another load of washing in the machine, it must have been eleven or thereabouts.’

He nodded again, reminding her of one of those annoying dogs OAPs drove around with on the back shelf. ‘Go on.’

‘When I rang the front doorbell, there was no answer – I thought I could leave the chocolates round by the back door in the shade …’

‘You and Dee were on pretty friendly terms, then – if you felt comfortable doing that?’

She shrugged. ‘I suppose … I mean, we got on alright, but I didn’t see that much of her, really. She was always off serving on some committee, working as a volunteer in the charity shop, or hospital visiting – that sort of thing. Unlike me, Dee was heavily into good works.’

He seemed to be scribbling a great deal. ‘I see, so you went in?’

‘Yes. In the kitchen I called her name, but there was no answer and suddenly I felt very scared – I can’t explain it, but somehow I knew something was wrong. It was a horrible, eerie feeling.’ Her stomach was fast tying itself in knots, dreading to tell the gory part. She asked for a glass of water, both as a delaying tactic and to gulp down the taste of bile rising in her throat.

‘You’re doing really well,’ he coaxed, while she drained every drop then swiped at her mouth inelegantly with the back of her hand.

Wanting to get the ordeal over with, she started to gabble. ‘I had a quick look round the ground floor – everything seemed normal, pristine as ever. I don’t even know why I went upstairs … there was a little voice in my head telling me to get out of the house immediately … of course, I didn’t.’ Her head fell forward into her hands and she didn’t think she could continue.

Gently, he said, ‘Take your time, there’s no hurry – I do understand how difficult this must be for you …’

‘Do you …?’ she asked, her voice redolent with spiteful doubt.

David got up and refilled her water; her knuckles turned white where she gripped the glass and she had to set it down before it shattered.

He smiled reassurance, ‘Let me help you out – was the bathroom the first room you went into upstairs?’

‘Yes … I don’t know why I did that, either …’

‘It doesn’t matter; what happened next?’

Her fingernails located the flesh of her palms and dug deep, ‘I saw her poor body – she was submerged and the bathwater was red … her blood … her cut wrists were floating on the surface … it was horrible … gross.’ When a loud, involuntary sob escaped from somewhere deep within her, he reached forward and squeezed her hand to reinforce his moral support.

Callie inhaled a lungful of air. ‘I was talking to myself … telling myself what to do … I was so frightened … And I still had hold of the stupid chocolates – I suppose I must have dropped them when I put my arms into the water and tried to lift her … I’m not sure.’

‘Did you think there was a chance she was still alive?’

‘No … yes … oh, I don’t really know what I thought. Logically, she couldn’t be.’ She cuffed a drip that was dangling on the end of her nose, ‘She was much heavier than she looked and I struggled, so water splashed everywhere; I drenched myself – and the floor, probably. And all the time, I was trying not to look at her dead, white face …’ Another hoarse sob escaped her and echoed round the room. ‘Is this making any sense at all?’

He brushed away tears she was unaware of with cool fingertips. ‘Yes, it is; I’m really sorry to have to put you through this, Callie.’

She made a supreme effort to get a grip, ‘I’m fine, honestly – there’s not much more to tell … I knew I had to get help and I didn’t have my phone with me, so I ran to the master bedroom to use the extension … the Emergency Operator was brilliant.’

‘Did you go out into the garden immediately you’d ended the call?’

‘No. I’d made a mess, so I tried to dab up puddles on the bedside table with a tissue, and I had a go at scrubbing the Flokati rug – the water dripping off me had stained tufts of it pink … I know it sounds crazy, but I kept thinking how cross Dee would be about that – then I felt so sick I had to get out … I’m afraid I puked in the flower bed.’

Just as she thought she might cry again he said, ‘You’ve done a great job, thank you – now are you as sure as you can be that you went round to Dee’s at about eleven o’clock?’

‘As far as I can remember, yes. It felt like I was in the house for ages … I don’t know … I remember I was trying to do everything right, but I was getting everything wrong …’

He put his arms around her, pulled her close so their foreheads met. ‘Your 999 call was logged at 11.08, so you’re probably pretty accurate about the timing.’

Something else occurred to her; she pulled back. ‘The water was stone cold – I suppose that means she must have been dead for a long time?’

‘That’s the pathologist’s job, and they’re backed up with bodies because of this heatwave – but working on the time the children should have left and your arrival, she would have died between say 8.30 and 11.00. The water temperature suggests death occurred earlier, rather than later … tell me, was there much water on the floor when you first entered the bathroom?’

She tried to visualise the scene, omitting Dee. ‘Err … no, I don’t think so.’

He rubbed his chin. ‘I see …’ He looked around the shabby kitchen, which was well overdue a facelift, if not demolition – Callie wondered if he was comparing it to Dee’s up-to-the-minute designer showcase. Dee had everything – why would she want to kill herself?

She glanced at the clock. ‘I should go and meet Sam and Alex from school today, in case they haven’t heard what’s happened – or even if they have. I don’t want them wandering home to find the place swarming with police.’

‘I’ll give you a lift – we’ve got plenty of time. I expect you’d like to take a shower, maybe have a lie down first?’

‘Yes … thanks.’

He smirked. ‘All part of the service.’

‘What are you, David – rank, I mean?’

‘Detective Chief Inspector.’

She rolled it around her mind, trying it out for size – DCI David Bennett.

Chapter Three

She woke on Thursday feeling a lot better, after two days in limbo.

When she still felt alright after risking a couple of slices of toast and a glass of juice, she decided to do something constructive and go job-hunting … again. Out came the sensible suit and shoes, plus a facial expression tweaked to convey her worthiness as a strong candidate for any job on offer.

But by the time her aching feet carried her into the fourth employment agency she’d visited along the High Street, she was feeling thoroughly deflated and ready for the scrapheap; she wanted nothing more than to run home and curl herself into a protective foetal ball.

‘Have you done a typing test?’ asked a horsy gel called, according to the plaque on her desk, Melinda.

Callie’s chair was uncomfortably hard and low, giving Melinda a subtle psychological advantage. She shifted her pose. ‘No, as I can’t type there didn’t seem to be much point, when I spoke to your colleague last week. I’m afraid I forget her name.’

‘Oh dear…’ Melinda loudly sucked in air through teeth as uneven as a row of bombed houses – Callie didn’t need to be a genius to predict this would end in tears; hers. The girl’s lip curled. ‘And you’re thirty-nine?’

‘Chest or hips? I’m aged thirty-eight.’

Melinda let out something between a sigh and a yawn and then took an obvious peek at her watch. ‘Are you at least au fait with a computer keyboard?’

She wrestled briefly with her conscience, deciding it wouldn’t do to be caught out in a blatant lie so early on in their relationship, ‘Um … not exactly.’

‘I see …’ Melinda was clearly regretting her kind invitation for Callie to perch at her ‘work station’. She was at least becoming au fait with the lingo.

As she watched the girl tapped at keys and studied several colourful screens that popped up, she became the teeniest bit excited – until Melinda started to shake her gel-spiked head.

Her icy glare harpooned Callie to the seat. ‘You see, unfortunately, Caroline …’

Her hackles rose; where did she get off calling her Caroline? Only her mother had been allowed to call her that, since she was about six. ‘It’s Callie. Or Mrs Ashton.’

‘Hmm … we don’t appear to have anything currently on our books that would suit your … err … qualifications and …’ her lips twitched eloquently, ‘experience. I’m sorry.’ She looked around the too-bright blue office and then focused on the door – a rude, unsubtle hint that Callie was monopolising her precious time. Callie itched to point out the girl’s bad attitude – just after she’d decked her.

Gulping down her pride, Callie opened her mouth to argue, or at least plead, then closed it again, accepting she’d be wasting her breath, and left the office, praying she’d never have to return.

She did briefly toy with the idea of drowning herself in the local canal, but since water levels were exceptionally low courtesy of the unprecedented run of sweltering weather, she knew she’d probably just break a few bones on the abandoned shopping trolleys and other rubbish festering in there. Plus, of course, she didn’t want that infant whore Freckle Face getting her fangs into the boys, not when she’d already absconded with her husband.

She mooched about aimlessly for a while, trying to persuade herself there was a job waiting somewhere out there for her – they simply hadn’t found each other yet. Feeling artificially buoyed by positive thinking, Callie made a detour to window-shop along a row of posh new outlets; proper retail therapy was out of the question now she and the boys were on such a restricted budget following Nic the Prick’s departure. Instead, she indulged in self-flagellation, gazing longingly at a jeweller’s display of twinkling diamonds with obscene price tags – until a sudden flashback of Dee’s slashed body reflected in the glass caught her off-guard, and she jumped back as though jet-propelled, for fear the corpse might reach out and touch her.

When she went to cross the road, she was still reeling from the horrible, impromptu vision and didn’t even see the speeding black car with dark tinted windows that came within a millimetre of dispatching her to join Dee in the afterlife.

Callie flopped down heavily on the pavement, showing her knickers and shaking like a jelly. She heard running footsteps behind her.

‘Callie? Are you alright?’

Still dazed, she cranked her head around, ‘David … oh, err … hello again.’

‘Christ, that was a close call!’

He helped her up – her legs wanted to concertina back down, but she wouldn’t indulge them. As she dusted herself off, hoping to appear dignified, she assured him, ‘It was my own stupid fault – I wasn’t paying attention.’

He gripped her arm. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Um … sort of.’

‘I’m afraid I was too far away to get the damned idiot’s number.’

‘It doesn’t matter – as I said, it was down to me. I was thinking about other things and I didn’t look properly.’

A small group of people were staring at her; she reclaimed her arm and made to walk away with as much grandeur as she could muster. But he blocked her path, ‘Please don’t go yet. How are you otherwise, after – well, you know?’

She manufactured a smile. ‘Recovering nicely, thanks. Almost back to my old self.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Are you in town looking for work again?’

‘Yes, but nothing doing as usual. My degree is basically prehistoric and I’m computer illiterate – which makes me not everyone’s idea of the perfect job applicant, apparently.’ To her utter shame and annoyance, she burst into tears.

He hugged her, stroked her hair, and spoke into her fringe, ‘Hey, things can’t be that bad … and you’re probably in shock. Will you let me buy you a coffee?’

She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with an ancient tissue excavated from her pocket – it blackened with non-waterproof mascara and she knew she must look like a panda, only not nearly so cute. ‘Thanks … yes, um, if you have time. Sorry about the waterworks.’

‘Don’t be silly – you’ve had a really rough ride lately. And some of that’s my doing. I’d like to apologise properly.’

She’d forgotten what a sexy voice he had. She allowed herself to be led by the hand to a nearby café – all Formica, sugar shakers, and tables covered in sticky rings. Iced cakes behind glass were sweating profusely in the heat – just like Callie, in her tight wool suit.

She used the primitive toilet facilities to clean herself up and when feeling almost human again, joined David at a window seat for two.

‘Is your coffee alright?’

She took a tentative sip – it tasted as greasy and vile as it looked. ‘Yes, thanks. Lovely.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?’

Despite a rumbling stomach, she didn’t fancy taking second pick after the wasps. ‘Positive. I don’t want to spoil my dinner.’

He studied the rim of his chipped coffee mug. ‘Listen, Callie …’

‘Yes?’

‘I … erm … you’re looking much better, there’s some colour back in your cheeks.’ He hadn’t managed to fully disguise a swift change of mind about what he’d originally intended to say.

She felt her shoulders ratchet down several notches, ‘I’m fine, really.’

‘Good … err … listen … about last Saturday …’

She held up a hand. ‘You don’t have to explain.’

‘Yes, I do …’

Feeling obliged to help him wriggle off the hook, she told him, ‘Look, I know how conniving Ginny can be when she sets her sights on something, or someone – not many wilting wallflowers make it to shit-hot QC, you know. Plus, we’d all had a lot to drink. Way too much, actually – I had a killer hangover next day.’

‘Even so …’

‘I wasn’t too drunk to notice what she was up to – she couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d lain naked across the kitchen table masturbating.’

Embarrassment turned his ears scarlet – he did a quick, nervous scan of the café to check no one was listening in on their conversation. He needn’t have worried. Of the three other patrons sitting separately – two male, one female, all of whom were probably old enough to remember the launch of the Titanic – none were remotely interested in their little tête-à-tête.

Sotto voce, he said, ‘That doesn’t excuse me taking her to bed – especially your bed – instead of you.’

She stuck flaring nostrils in the air. ‘Sex between us wouldn’t have happened anyway. If you remember, I postponed our romantic tryst because Dominic let me down as usual and the kids were at home with me, instead of staying with him.’

His ears were positively glowing now. ‘I feel particularly bad about that …’

‘C’est la vie; I had the moral satisfaction of throwing you both out – and Sam and Alex were none the wiser.’

‘I suppose you and Ginny still aren’t talking?’

‘Not a word. That’s why I’m back to job-hunting; she’d offered me a clerical post in her office – just basic stuff, but it would have got my foot on the bottom rung of the employment ladder. That went flying out the window the minute I took a stand against her – she’s not a very forgiving soul.’

‘I’m really sorry – if I hadn’t called round uninvited and gate-crashed your girls’ night in …’

‘You weren’t solely to blame.’

‘Well, please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help heal the rift. Have you two been friends for long?’

‘Yes, over twenty years – we met on our first day at university.’

He swigged some coffee, swished it through his teeth. Judging by the look on his face, his didn’t taste any better than hers. ‘How are the boys?’

‘Fine, considering Dominic has practically abandoned them for Freckle Face.’

‘Ah, the other woman?’

‘Not much more than a child, actually. A child slapper, obviously.’

‘I’m sorry – it must be rough. How long have you been on your own?’

‘Three, nearly four months. It’s not all bad – I’ve gotten used to making my own decisions; I get to watch what I want on TV and I can now change a fuse. Next challenge, putting up shelves – and will you please stop saying you’re sorry?’

When he reached for her hand, she clenched a fist.

‘Sor … ah … OK, I’ll try. Do you still want to go out with me after I disgraced myself so badly?’

‘You’re a man – your brains are congenitally in your boxers. Oh, that was almost a joke.’

He smirked and looked excruciatingly handsome. ‘That’s not a straight answer.’

She tried to appear super-cool, despite fancying him like mad. He had, after all, behaved appallingly with Ginny. By rights, she shouldn’t be talking to him at all, but Dee’s sudden, awful death had certainly put things into perspective. Calmly, she suggested, ‘Shall we play it by ear? I’m trying to keep a lot of balls in the air just now – and I’m really not sure I have either the time or the energy for a relationship.’ She couldn’t believe she’d said that – was she completely insane?

His lips stretched to a pale straight line. ‘At least it wasn’t an outright “no”.’

As Callie walked back to her car – taking exaggerated care at each road she had to cross, no matter how traffic-free – she mulled over their conversation. She was mystified as to why such an attractive man would want to date her and her two-pregnancy baggy tummy. And the rest of her squat form lacked any trace of tone. Apart from that, she was unemployed – possibly unemployable – and on the verge of forty with two kids in tow.

Ginny, on the other hand, was tall with an exquisite figure, unencumbered by children, and had a high-powered job with the freedom to do as she pleased. She was also very experienced sexually and probably knew more seduction techniques than Mata Hari.

Chapter Four

By the time Saturday dawned, Callie hadn’t seen any sign of life chez Symonds for a day or so – no Giles, no Sarah, and no Thomas. Even the most persistent members of the press had given up calling, slithering off elsewhere in search of exclusives.

Police in uniform and others padding around in boiler suits had turned the house and garden upside down – their photographer recording every minute detail for posterity – looking for who knows what. Or perhaps they weren’t actually looking for anything in particular … whatever the case, swathes of stripy incident tape that forbade entry had been removed and if you didn’t know any better, you’d assume theirs was an unexceptional house, occupied by unexceptional folk – not that the bathroom had recently been given an abattoir makeover.

Alex learned via the grapevine that Sarah and Thomas weren’t expected back at school for some time, at least until after their mother’s funeral. In an atypically maternal moment, Callie worried that Thomas would perform badly in his imminent A level examinations and blow his chances of getting into university. He was a clever lad and up until recently had his future all mapped out, envisaging a BSc in Environmental Science, followed by a work placement in Africa. She hoped everyone close to him would do all in their power to keep him on track.

That was the first time it really hit home how selfish Dee had been in taking her own life; if she hadn’t bumbled round there with the chocolates when she did, it would most likely have been one of the children who discovered her body after school – what was she thinking? The experience had been ultra-traumatic for Callie as a fully grown and (supposedly) mature adult, with no emotional attachment to the deceased; just the opposite, in fact. If she, who if truth be told didn’t particularly care for the woman, had been so deeply disturbed by finding her dead, what effect would it have had upon one or both of her children?

It was all very perplexing, though she guessed that when one reached the depths of despair necessary to even consider suicide, everything else must cease to matter. But could that possibly stretch to maternal love and the fundamental instinct to protect one’s young? When she’d given her written statement detailing the timetable of events – at least to the best of her recollection – on the morning Dee died, she took care to add that when she’d spent time with the woman the previous evening, she seemed to be her perfectly normal self. Callie had picked up no hint or sign whatsoever that anything was amiss. And that niggled at her more and more.

Life goes on – the latest sleaze scandal to rock the incumbent government had taken pole position above Dee’s violent demise as favoured subject of gossip over the garden walls in the street, and she was reminded of Andy Warhol’s oft-quoted fifteen minutes of fame quip. If dying horribly was what it took to achieve that, she was more than happy to remain an anonymous also-ran.

As she nursed a tepid coffee at the kitchen table – her favourite spot for mulling things over – she became ever more convinced that all was not as straightforward as it seemed. She was tempted to give David a buzz to voice her growing discomfort, with what appeared to be a universal assumption that her very together neighbour had suddenly flipped her lid and decided to end it all by brutal means, for no apparent reason. What if that weren’t the case? She didn’t remember seeing a note lying around anywhere when she was in the house, but conceded she might have missed it – and perhaps Giles had been able to suggest legitimate motives for his wife’s actions …

Of course, if Dee hadn’t killed herself, there was the glaring question why anyone would want to do away with someone as inoffensive – a bit of a pain in the bum, yes, but fundamentally inoffensive – as her. It definitely wasn’t a burglary gone wrong – the place had been far too tidy for that to be the case. Callie’s knowledge of such things was gleaned strictly via television and the odd detective novel, but surely forensic science benchmarks were now set so high that