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Shepherd nods.
She almost doesn’t dare to ask. But it’s out there now, she might as well hear it all. “Do you know when she died?”
Shepherd sighs. “That night. The PM estimated TOD as between eleven and two AM. Blunt force trauma to the head.”
Romilly frowns. “But that’s not … It can’t be.” She stops. It was a long time ago. Maybe her memory has faded, maybe she’s wrong. She remembers sitting, waiting in the dark. To hear the noise she dreaded: the squeak of the back door, the soft tread of her father’s footsteps heading down the garden. But he’d stayed in the house all night.
Maybe she’d fallen asleep. Maybe he’d gone out another way. The fact remained: Grace Summers died. Because Romilly hadn’t called the police soon enough.
The detective sits forward again. “Please try and move on, Romilly. Have a life of your own. That’s one happy ending I’d love to see.”
“And that’s it?” Romilly says. “You’re not going to arrest me? It’s over.”
He nods. “It’s over.”
She feels a wave of relief, like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. And that’s when she realizes. She isn’t like her father. She isn’t like her half sister. She loves; she cares; she has empathy for the people in her life. Sure, she’s a bit confused, a bit fucked up, but who wouldn’t be, given the circumstances? The thought of what Maggie was doing disgusts her. She was horrified when she found out about Elijah. These are the natural reactions of a normal human being.
She is not a killer.
She looks over to Adam. And for the first time in days, he’s smiling.
CHAPTER
75
Day 10
Monday
THE CASE IS closed, their suspect is in prison, but there is still work to be done. Jamie knows he shouldn’t be here. The usual reasons: it’s too personal, conflict of interest, accusations of evidence tampering too easy to throw around. But they’re down on senior officers. Especially now Marsh is gone.
The death of their detective chief superintendent has blindsided the whole team. Everyone is in, but the atmosphere is hushed, dampened down. Jamie keeps expecting him to walk in the door, demand coffee, bark at a DC he didn’t think was working hard enough. But despite his blunt manner, John Marsh was a cop’s cop.
The funeral is scheduled in a week’s time. Jamie will go, along with most of the station, he’s sure. They’ll have to put someone on duty, but everyone will want to pay their respects. Jamie saw Marsh’s husband arrive the day before, and stood in the corridor, watching him. He was tall, lean like Marsh, with a receding hairline and a full graying beard. His head was tilted to the floor, his hands gripped each other one way, then another, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Jamie remembered those early hours only too well—the desolation, the confusion, the loneliness, feelings that still haunt him—and he stepped forward to greet him.
“DS Jamie Hoxton,” he said, holding out his hand. “I worked for your husband.”
The man shook it warmly. “Anthony Marsh-Beckett. John talked about you. I’m sorry about your wife.”
Jamie mumbled a thank-you. He’s still not sure how to respond when people say that.
“Were you there? When John died?”
“Yes.” Jamie didn’t mention the fact he’d barely thought about Marsh at all, so blinded by the rage of having Pippa’s killer in front of him. All he’d been able to think about was making this woman suffer. Inflicting pain. Making her pay.
“He was a great man. A brilliant copper.”
Marsh-Beckett nodded. “He lived for this job.”
“He talked about you, and your kids. That night.” The man’s head went up quickly; he looked at Jamie with eager eyes. “He said he was going to retire, to spend more time with you all.”
Anthony laughed, bittersweet. “And I’m sure he meant it too. But he was a policeman, through and through. It would have driven him mad, being sat at home.”
There was a slamming of doors behind them, a hurrying of footsteps, and the chief constable appeared next to them. He stopped dead as he saw Jamie.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Beckett.”
“It’s fine.” He smiled at Jamie. “DS Hoxton was keeping me company.”
