‘And this is more like an execution.’
‘There is someone else – with a cast-iron motive. Chris Chinley. We know he was in the vicinity.’
Janine’s stomach clenched. ‘How did Chris Chinley know who our suspects were?’ she asked sharply.
Richard raised his eyebrows.
‘Unless a little bird told him?’ Janine said, thinking of the visit to the Chinleys – of how Chris had stormed out followed by Butchers. ‘In which case, I’ll ring its flamin’ neck.’
She looked back at what was left of Jeremy Gleason. The technicians were taking measurements and videoing the scene. The atmosphere was calm and methodical, nothing that reflected the urgency that batted away in her own chest, or the panic that must have filled this man’s last few seconds.
‘We can’t do much more here, now,’ she told Richard. ‘We’d better see whether Chris Chinley’s at home.’
Dread settled like lead in Janine’s guts as they drove round to the house. If Chris had done this the repercussions would be enormous. She could understand his fury, the pain that the men who had taken his precious little girl were not yet behind bars, but to act on that… had he even considered what it would do to Debbie? To lose Ann-Marie and then Chris? Because no matter how much the public might sympathise with a grieving father, there was no way on earth that deliberate revenge killing could be exonerated. Chris would do time. And what did it say about his faith in Janine, in her team? He hadn’t even trusted them to do their job. She felt sick.
Debbie opened the door to Janine and Richard, waving them in past the plethora of flowers, cards and teddies from well-wishers.
‘I’m sorry to call so late,’ Janine told her.
‘Has something happened?’
Janine avoided answering. ‘Actually, we need a word with Chris. Is he in?’
‘Why?’ Debbie’s face seemed to sharpen with trepidation. ‘What is it?’
Chris appeared in the kitchen doorway.
‘Just routine.’ Richard said.
Janine regarded Chris, his face set, eyes glittery – with what? Fatigue or grief or guilt? She turned back to Debbie. ‘Could you give us a moment?’
‘Routine?’ Debbie asked. ‘What do you mean? Have you caught them?’ Anticipation made her voice rise.
‘No. Chris?’ Janine invited the man to collude with her, to reassure Debbie, tell her he was happy to see the police on his own.
He raised his chin. ‘I haven’t got anything to hide.’
Debbie frowned, looked from one to another.
‘This isn’t easy,’ said Janine.
Chris stood immovable, his arms folded tightly across his chest, lips a thin line, his nostrils dilated, edged in white, revealing his pent-up tension.
