‘But he didn’t put Rosa and Stone together?’
Richard shook head. ‘And no one else did either.’
Janine groaned. ‘It’s like juggling soot.’
‘Welcome back.’
She rocked her head from side to ride, trying to ease the tension in her neck. ‘I’ve done a day’s work before I clock on. I knew I’d be stretched but I didn’t expect it to be quite so full on so soon.’
He smiled. ‘How about dinner,’ he said, ‘my treat? Next evening we get free.’
Oh, God. She hadn’t the energy. Any free evenings were for chores and kids and collapsing – not sparkling conversation and long, leisurely meals.
‘Richard, thanks. But… you’d have to stab me with a fork just to keep me awake. My biggest ambition is eight hours unbroken sleep… six,’ she amended. ‘I’ll let you know when she starts sleeping through.’ She smiled as she opened her office door. ‘Took Tom three years.’ She laughed at the ripple of exasperation that crossed his face.
The Chinleys lived in a neat brick terraced house a few minutes walk from Oak Lane school. They were attractive properties with generous sized rooms, stained glass in the windows, wooden porches overhanging the front door and small gardens back and front. Janine and Pete had almost bought one on the adjoining street but the sale had fallen through and they’d ended up buying something bigger a few months later when the death of Pete’s father meant they could afford a bigger deposit. These terraces were selling for a small ransom nowadays as more and more professionals looked for housing in the area.
Debbie and Chris Chinley both came to the door. Debbie seemed tinier than ever, made frail by grief, like a damaged bird. Chris looked remote, his eyes never really focusing on the here and now.
Their living room was adorned with photos of Ann Marie. Their only child.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Janine said. You could never say it enough. Not for something like this. Butchers nodded his own condolences.
‘Thanks for your flowers,’ Debbie said, her voice light, brittle. ‘Everybody’s been brilliant – really. And school…’ she struggled.
There was an awkward pause.
‘You got the car?’ Chris Chinley asked.
‘Yes,’ Janine replied, ‘it’s with forensics now. We’re talking to people who saw the vehicle and I think we’re making progress.’
‘Meaning?’ he asked bitterly.
‘Chris, don’t,’ Debbie said.
‘We have some very promising leads,’ Janine tried to reassure him.
‘You know who it was?’ he demanded. His broad, swarthy face darkening, his short, dark lashes flickering rapidly over his eyes.
