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They met six and a half years ago, at a beach barbecue organized by Adam.
“You’re a cop?” she’d said.
It was a scorching hot day; a cooling wind blew in from the Solent, ruffling her hair. She was wearing a yellow sleeveless dress. Her shoulders were bare and dusted with freckles; he could hardly keep his eyes from them.
“Most of us are,” he replied, gesturing across the gathering of people on the sandy shore. Someone Adam knew had a beach hut; the man himself was standing in front of a grill, waving a set of tongs as he told a story. The mouth-watering aroma of sausages and burgers drifted on the breeze.
“But you …” she started. “You seem too nice.”
He hadn’t known whether to be offended or pleased. By the end of the first hour, she convinced him to do a talk for careers day at her school. By the second, he was smitten. Why the fuck it had taken him so long to ask her to marry him, he didn’t know. A lack of confidence? A worry that drawing attention to the further permanence of their relationship might cause her to wake up and find someone more suitable? Probably both of the above. Either way, she’d said yes, on that beautiful night, five years later, watching the sun go down, just the two of them. Proposal blurted out after three glasses of wine. She’d wrapped her arms around him, kissed him on his sweaty cheek, and said: “I thought you’d never ask, you stupid man.”
“I’ll try and be back for dinner,” he says now.
“I’ll make sure it’s something you can microwave later.” Jamie screws his face up. He hates letting her down, although Pippa knows it will be a miracle if he’s home in time. “You shouldn’t walk out on Adam when he needs you,” Pippa continues. “You being his devoted second-in-command, and all.”
She’s saying it tongue in cheek, even though both of them know it’s the truth. Jamie and Adam were friends even before Bishop’s fast ascent through the ranks. Somehow, they’ve managed to stay that way.
“He’ll cope,” Jamie replies. “I spend too much time with him as it is.”
“Just don’t turn into him, will you?” his wife replies.
Jamie laughs at the unlikely comparison between him and his boss, then says his goodbyes and leaves his wife to enjoy the rest of her day. The idea that he—this oversized teddy bear of a man, a consummate people pleaser—could ever be a force to be reckoned with like Bishop? It’s unthinkable.
His new fledgling is calling him now. Ellie Quinn. And to Jamie, she does seem like a tiny bird. All day cheeping, fluttering around him. He answers his phone.
“Where are you, Sarge?” she asks. “I think we have an ID for one of the victims.”
“Had to get something from my car,” he lies. He pushes the door open, climbing out, the phone still against his ear. “Think, or know for sure?”
“Fairly certain,” she replies. “The mortuary found a bank card in the back pocket of what was left of number twelve’s shorts. A misper: Stephen Carey. Reported missing three days ago by his wife.”
“So the time line fits,” Jamie replies. He pauses as he hears muffled discussion, then Ellie comes back on the line.
“The boss says stay where you are, he’s coming to you.”
And with a sigh, Jamie slumps back into the driver’s seat.
CHAPTER
6
THE WIFE CRUMPLES into the doorway the moment they make their introductions; her hands cover her mouth, her eyes fearful.
“You’re here about Stephen,” she whispers.
“Yes. Can we come inside?”
She nods slowly and shows them into the house. They walk through a brightly painted hallway into the living room. Toys are scattered across the floor; two small boys play noisily on the carpet with plastic cars. An older woman gets up from the sofa as they approach, her face solemn.
The wife makes the introductions: her mother, here to help in Stephen’s absence. They all shake hands, formal and polite. Waiting.
The older woman ushers the boys out of the room. The wife offers them tea, coffee, water; Adam and Jamie turn them down. It’s a standard introduction, the dance of social niceties that Adam is used to. The three of them settle on the sofa, the wife opposite Adam and Jamie.
“You’ve found him, haven’t you?” the wife blurts out.
Adam steels himself, employing a level of detachment that has served him well over the years. “A body was found last night by Northbrook Bridge. Although we still need to do tests to confirm, we believe it’s your husband, yes. We’re sorry.”
She nods slowly, decorum maintained for a fraction of a second. Then her mouth crumples and she puts her face in her hands, shoulders shaking silently. Adam waits. Next to him he hears Jamie sniff, and he glances across to his DS. Jamie’s chin looks dangerously wobbly; he catches Adam’s eye and sets his jaw with determination.
