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on the day he died and were pretending to be interested in investing with him. You might have thought you’d made his death appear a suicide, but he tricked you. The note he left. The one you forced him to write, was full of clues.’

‘You’re bluffing. What clues?’

‘Clues that his wife was able to spot a mile off. Admittedly, you had the police and coroner fooled, but not now. We have all the evidence we need to prove that you’re guilty of Witherspoon’s murder. And the expression on your face is an acknowledgement of that fact. Admit it. You murdered him, didn’t you?’

Seb stopped talking. He’d learnt long ago that after giving enough information to draw a suspect in, the best course of action was to wait for them to speak.

‘It was his own fault. I don’t care if he needed money, he shouldn’t have gone after Andrea like that. She’s been through enough over the years. If he’d have kept his nose out he might still be alive.’

‘Did Andrea tell you about the blackmail?’

‘I overheard a conversation between her and Witherspoon and realised what was going on. She’d given him money once and he was after more. I had to save her.’

‘Do you know what she was being blackmailed over?’ he asked, curious as to how much he actually knew.

‘No, and I don’t need to. All I knew was that he’d blackmailed her once and wanted more money out of her.’

‘So you went in on your white charger, like you did at school because you were in love with her. You sorted out anyone she didn’t like. She knew how you felt about her, and used you, just as she’s using you now, even if she isn’t aware of exactly what you’ve done.’

‘You bastard. You’re dead.’

‘I don’t think so.’

Dunkley lunged towards Seb, and he pulled back the walking stick and swung it hard into the man’s face. His nose cracked and blood came pouring down. His hand flew to his face, and he groaned.

‘You’ll pay for that.’

The other guy ran from where he’d been standing close to the door and Seb stuck out his foot and tripped him. While the man was righting himself, Seb grabbed his arm and twisted it up his back and held him so he couldn’t move.

‘Get off me.’

The front door opened, and Birdie ran in, closely followed by three other officers holding Tasers.

‘I’ve got it under control,’ he said, grinning at Birdie.

‘Arrest him for murder.’ He nodded at Dunkley. ‘And this one for GBH.’

Birdie turned to Dunkley who was still clutching his nose. ‘Aaron Dunkley, I’m arresting you on suspicion of murdering Donald Witherspoon, and for grievous bodily harm to Sebastian Clifford. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

He grunted his reply.

She turned to the other one and arrested him.

‘Take them away,’ she said to the officer with her. ‘Where’s Elsa? Did they hurt her?’

‘She’s behind you,’ he said, nodding at the floor. ‘They sedated her. I found a half-eaten piece of meat in the hall. They must have shoved it through the letter box before breaking in, to make sure she wouldn’t attack them. Don’t worry, she’ll be fine.’

Birdie rushed over and bent down beside her, pulling her into her arms. ‘Elsa, wake up. It’s okay. Those arsewipes have gone.’ A tear rolled down her cheek and she sniffed.

‘She’ll be okay,’ Seb said, squatting down beside her. ‘Won’t you girl.’ He stroked her head and Elsa stretched her legs out. ‘See, she’s coming around already.’

‘Thank goodness,’ Birdie said, smiling through her tears.

He stood, as his eyes had begun to fill up, too and he didn’t want Birdie to see.

‘How did you get in without breaking down the door?’ he asked, as he replayed the scene in his mind.

‘You left the keys in the lock.’

He smacked himself on the head. ‘I was so busy looking for Elsa I forgot them. I’m such an idiot.’

‘You’ll get no argument from me about that,’ Birdie said. ‘I’m going back to work. You stay here with Elsa and come in to the station tomorrow morning to make a statement.’

Chapter 41

21 May

Seb arrived at the station first thing in the morning. He glanced around the interview room where Birdie had left him as she went to track down her sergeant and, he hoped, a coffee. The room was basic, with a table, four chairs, and some recording equipment. None of the fancy stuff they had at the Met.

Being at the station the last hour had highlighted to him that he didn’t miss police work, despite him thinking that he would. He hadn’t realised how constrained he’d been at work until undertaking this investigation for Sarah. He’d been able to make his own decisions without having to report back to a superior officer. There was a lot to be said for that sort of autonomy.

The door opened and Birdie walked in carrying two plastic cups, which she placed on the table. She pulled a packet of biscuits from her pocket and sat opposite him.

‘Machine coffee only, I’m afraid, but it’s drinkable and better than nothing. With a bourbon biscuit or three to help wash it down. I keep asking for an espresso machine, but you can imagine the response I get to that request.’ She opened the packet and took out a couple of biscuits. ‘These will have to do until lunchtime. Though God knows what time that will be. Want one?’

He shook his head and took a sip of his coffee. Warm, and just about passable. ‘Did you find Sergeant Weston, is he going to be long?’

He really wanted to get back to be with Elsa. When he’d left the house she was fine, and had suffered no ill-effects from the sedation but the whole scenario kept playing around in his mind. What if Dunkley

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