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team following. Kate and the remaining staff looked on with horror-struck expressions. Everything was falling apart.

FIFTY-THREE

DC Faith Easter was late arriving to work. The clear-up from the storm had caused delays on the roads as felled trees had blocked roads and the heavy rain had caused such damage to the tarmac that driving was no longer safe. Faith wasn’t surprised. Sheffield City Council was famous for patching up when it should be fully repairing damaged roads.

The open-plan office of the CID was virtually empty. The odd plain-clothed detective here and there but the main players in the Ryan Asher case were absent. Late the previous night, Faith had been speaking to a DI from Norwich police about Malcolm Preston. Ryan’s name was mentioned as the suspect the press had hinted at but there were no witnesses. Social media had, at the time, thrown Ryan’s name around as the perpetrator and there were rumours he had admitted it in private circles. However, without evidence, and without a witness statement from Malcolm Preston, it would be a crime that Ryan would go unpunished for.

Faith was itching to talk to Matilda. DCI Darke had asked her to look into Ryan’s past and find if there was anything there that would link to his murder. Surely this was worth following up. Malcolm’s family hadn’t received justice for what had happened to the twelve-year-old. Or maybe they had, if they were behind his killing.

Faith took a packet of dark chocolate KitKats from her bag and put them in Sian’s snack drawer. That more than covered up for the two fruit Club biscuits and the Mars bar she had eaten the day before. As she returned to her desk she remembered something. She took over from Rory to look into Ryan’s past. He must have come across Malcolm Preston during his search. Then it dawned on her. He had. He mentioned it at the briefing in the boardroom at Starling House.

She went over to his untidy desk and rummaged through his notes. It may have looked a mess but he had labelled each piece of paper at the top with the inmate’s name. She flicked through his notes on Ryan Asher and there is was – Malcolm Preston’s name circled and a question mark next to it. Further inspection showed he hadn’t followed it up. His notes on all the inmates were extensive and full of conjecture, but none of it was relevant to solving Ryan or Jacob’s murder.

The double doors burst open. Faith jumped and immediately slunk back to her desk. Matilda entered followed by the rest of what used to be the Murder Investigation Team.

‘Ma’am, can I have a word—?’ Faith began.

‘Not now,’ Matilda replied, not stopping but storming off towards her office.

‘It’s kind of—’

‘I said not now.’

The office door slammed shut, the glass rattling in the door frame.

‘What’s going on?’ Faith whispered to Sian.

‘It’s all kicking off. We’ve got all of the inmates from Starling House downstairs waiting to be interviewed and a couple of the staff too. You’ve no idea what they’ve been up to at that place. Matilda’s put in a request to the Home Office that it should be closed down.’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘Exactly. So, what’s the problem? Anything I can help you with?’

‘I hope so.’ Faith filled Sian in on the Malcolm Preston case and how Ryan Asher fitted into it. ‘So what do you think? Do you think someone close to Malcolm could have killed Ryan?’

‘It’s possible. It’s definitely worth checking up.’

‘How can I, though, without going back down to Norwich? I doubt the ACC will budget for another trip.’

‘Probably not. Look, leave it with me. I’ll have a word with Matilda in a while. Good work though, Faith.’

‘Shit,’ Matilda cursed herself. She rummaged in her bag for her tablets and found a battered box at the bottom. She knew she shouldn’t take them like this, as and when she felt like it, but there was something psychological about taking an antidepressant that seemed to work. It worked for Matilda anyway. She dry-swallowed two and waited to see if they would take effect.

She closed her eyes and leaned back in the leather office chair. She could hear life going on as normal outside her tiny glass box: phones ringing, people chatting and laughing, computer keyboards being hammered, the heavy footfalls of sensible shoes.

Life goes on.

Everybody had told her after James died that it would get easier, that she would eventually remember the good times, the happier memories, and return to functioning normally. Eighteen months later and she was still a physical and emotional wreck. She missed James on a daily basis. The house was empty without him, and it would never feel the same again. Life didn’t go on. It was a ridiculous and patronizing saying. Life would never go on. It would just meander in its current state until she eventually withered and died.

Optimistic as ever, Mat.

She remembered a few breathing exercises from her therapist and eventually she began to calm herself. Matilda sank into her chair as her muscles relaxed. Her heart was no longer racing and trying to break out of her chest. She felt calm. Well, calm for her.

Matilda picked up the phone and dialled a number from a Post-It note she had stuck to her computer screen the day before. It took a while for the call to be answered and she almost gave up and replaced the receiver.

‘Hello?’

‘Hello. My name is Detective Chief Inspector Matilda Darke from South Yorkshire Police. Am I speaking to Belinda Asher?’

There was a sigh. ‘Yes,’ was all she said.

‘Thank you for getting in touch.’

‘From what my sister said, I didn’t have much choice.’

‘I’m guessing you’ve already heard the news about—’

‘Yes,’ Belinda snapped.

Why did she interrupt? What didn’t she want Matilda to say – her son’s name or her calling him her son?

‘Mrs Asher—’

‘That’s not my name anymore.’

‘I’m aware that you and your husband have changed your name. If you want me to call you by your new name—’

‘No.

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