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She takes it, surprised at his generosity. But her eyes stay locked on the closed door.
“Do they know each other?” she asks.
Jamie chuckles. He watches the figures on the other side of the door. Arms crossed; body language guarded.
“You could say that,” he replies. “She’s Bishop’s ex-wife.”
CHAPTER
11
ROMILLY BARELY GOT any sleep last night. On waking, she knew she had to speak to him.
Phil had given her a long stare when she told him this morning. Eating breakfast, he looked up from his bowl, spoon in hand.
“And you think it’s a good idea to see your ex-husband?” he asked. “Isn’t there anyone else you can talk to?”
“He’s the SIO.” She tried to be casual. “And it’s been three years. I’m sure we can be civil.”
“It’s a multiple murder case.” He directed his gaze downward, to his porridge, stirring the mixture slowly. “Are you ready for that?”
“That’s exactly why I need to go, Phil,” she replied, and left the room to avoid further inquisition.
She’d been angry at his questions. But he was right. She’d spent the majority of Sunday in tears. Pacing, worrying, fretting about what to do. And her boyfriend had only been articulating her own thoughts. In better times, when she and Adam had been married, they’d discussed his cases over the dinner table. In those days he’d been a DS—eager and ambitious. As a doctor she could offer a level of insight that put him at an advantage when talking to his superiors. How might an illness like that affect an offender’s thinking? If the victim was injured in that way, how could they have walked, run, talked?
But soon it became too much, and she’d asked him to stop.
That had been the beginning of the end. The closing of a door to parts of his life that only got bigger as time went on.
But this, she told herself, sitting in her car outside the familiar gray walls of the police station, this will be fine.
She’d picked up her bag, pulled her shoulders back, and climbed out.
* * *
Now she sits in front of him in his office. She’s pleased for his success—he deserves it. Nobody works harder than Adam. Nobody puts in the hours or has the same astute way of thinking. But seeing his team, in this incident room, brings it home. He’s achieved this level of professional recognition without her. He’s thrived in his own company. Turns out he was better off single, after all.
“I heard you got promoted,” she says, trying to start the conversation on the right foot.
“Yes.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
Another pause, a gap in the conversation that only serves to emphasize the yawning distance between them.
“You’re well, Adam?”
He smiles for the first time since she’s come in, but it’s thin and tight. “Picture of health,” he replies.
“That’s good. Are you still going for your check-ups?”
“Why are you here, Romilly?”
She takes a long breath in, then pulls a few pieces of paper out of her bag and places them on the table. She’s not sure where to start.
“I saw this yesterday.”
