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had made her agree to see him, she couldn’t understand, but maybe it was better this way. Get it all out in the open.

      They were coming away from the countryside, passing a garden centre, a tatty looking pub and rows of semi-detached houses and Rosie closed her eyes and let herself remember again.

      * * *

      She is sitting with Dad on the sofa in the kitchen. Alice is dead. Yesterday, someone beat her over the head and now she’s dead. It’s impossible, but it must be true because there’s police all over the house and a detective wants to talk to her.

      Dad is holding her hand. It’s a bit sticky and warm, but his is cold. He looks awful. Hasn’t shaved this morning and he always shaves. But his voice is the same. ‘Just answer the detective’s questions, Rosemary, don’t be scared.’

      The man is big and friendly looking with a nice smile. He grabs one of the chairs from next to the table and puts it down in front of her. When he sits on it he’s too close, but he smells nice and his voice is gentle. ‘My name is Detective Sergeant Miller,’ his smile widens, ‘Paul Miller. And you’re Rosemary. Or do you prefer Rosie?’

      ‘I don’t mind.’ She coughs and Dad smiles at her and gives her hand a squeeze. ‘Rosie’s OK,’ she says.

      ‘Fine. So, Rosie, your Dad took you for your tennis lesson, is that right?’ She nods. ‘But you came back by bus. Why was that?’

      ‘Dad said he had to go shopping and might not be finished in time.’ She leans back on the cushions, her heart beating a little slower.

      ‘Right. Now I noticed there was a shopping list attached to the fridge door. Do you know who wrote that?’

      ‘Mum did it on Friday before she left. It was the things she wanted Dad to get for the weekend.’ She is finding it easier to breathe now. This will soon be over.

      But her dad sits forward, his voice hard. ‘I can’t see what this has to do with anything.’

      Detective Miller puts up his hand to stop Dad, but keeps his eyes on Rosie. Still with that encouraging smile. ‘So, your mum told your dad that she’d made a list and he should take it with him to the shops on Saturday?’

      ‘Yes.’ A movement from Dad. ‘I mean, I think so. She wrote the list and I saw her put it on the fridge, but I can’t remember if she told Dad.’ Rosie’s heart is beating faster again. She’s said something wrong.

      Dad sits back, his breath loud, and the detective says, ‘Not much longer now, Rosie. Just take me through what happened when you arrived home.’ She looks at Dad and he gives her a smile, but he’s worried. She can see that.

      Detective Miller says, ‘Rosie?’ and when she turns back to him he nods. ‘Go on, just take me through it step by step and we’re done.’

      A deep breath. ‘Well, when I got to the front door I rang the bell because I knew Alice was at home. I could hear her music playing really loud in the front room, but she didn’t open the door so I let myself in. I didn’t want to talk to her because I knew she’d be in a mood, and Dad wasn’t back, so I went straight upstairs.’

      She knows that’s the wrong thing again when Dad’s hand clenches on hers, remembers what he said last night and turns towards him her heart thumping. He’s looking straight ahead. He won’t look back. The detective smiles at her. She swallows, but her voice croaks anyway. ‘It was only a few minutes before Dad got in, though. Wasn’t it, Dad?’

      The detective says, ‘Your dad can talk to us later. I’d like your estimate of how long it was before he arrived.’

      He’s nodding, trying to seem friendly, but she can hardly breathe. Feels Dad, very still, beside her. ‘Um, I don’t remember. I wasn’t thinking.’

      The detective is still looking at her with a faint smile. ‘Well, about how many minutes would you say it was, Rosie?’

      Her breath catches in her throat and it’s difficult to speak, but she has to tell him something. ‘About ten?’ She can’t breathe at all now, because that’s too many, but manages to say: ‘No, not as many as ten. Probably only five or six.’

      ‘You’re sure of that are you, love?’

      All she can say is: ‘I think so,’ in a wobbly voice.

      Dad’s hand grips hers and, when she sneaks a peek at him, she can see his neck is mottled with red, the way it goes when he gets cross. ‘Please don’t badger my daughter, Inspector. She’s given you her estimate.’

      And they let her stop then, but she knows she’s done it all wrong.

       Chapter Seven

       Loretta

      Loretta made a point of straightening her shoulders and smiling at Tony, the desk sergeant, as she walked into the nick. ‘Morning, Tony. How’s it going?’

      ‘Morning, Loretta. Can’t complain.’ He wasn’t a bad guy, but when she pushed through the double doors, it was just her luck to collide with Maggie and Les.

      Maggie looked Loretta up and down. ‘Like the jacket, Lorry. Suits you. Must be nice to get out of uniform.’ She was the one who’d thought up the nickname, pretending it was affectionate. ‘You don’t mind, do you? Loretta’s such a mouthful.’ And the cartoon – stuck on the noticeboard on Loretta’s birthday – of her face on the front of a truck with a bulbous arse in place of the back end. The wording, ‘Many Happy Returns to Our Lovely Lorry’, doing nothing to disguise the malicious intent – they knew they wouldn’t get away with anything openly racist. Now Les, the sidekick, stood smirking, waiting to see her reaction.

      ‘Thanks. Yeah, it does make a change. You should go for the FLO training yourself, Maggie. What with your people skills.’ Smile, show you’re not bothered. It was what she told her kids, but it wasn’t easy. Thank God for Andy, coming out of the Gents with a big generous smile to match his big generous body. He bumped her with his shoulder as they walked towards the DCI’s office, letting her know he was on her side. But he didn’t speak till they were out of earshot of Maggie and Les.

      ‘Did Philips call you in?’

      ‘Yeah, do you know what’s up?’

      ‘The main man from The Children of Light is in there with him. Not too happy by the look of him. Have you been to see them?’

      ‘’Course not. I’m sticking with the family.’

      ‘Oh, well, you’re probably all right then.’

      She didn’t feel all right and she stood outside the office for a long minute, wondering what she’d done. She took a deep breath and knocked, waited, then knocked again, before opening the door. ‘Sir, I …’

      Although Philips was flapping his hand at her and saying, ‘Yes, Constable, come in, come in,’ it was the other man who attracted her attention. As she walked into the room, he stood and held out his hand. She resisted the urge to wipe her damp palm on her trousers.

      She’d seen this man: Pastor Jerome, they called him on those posters The Children of Light plastered up in various places in the town. He was on the Internet too, but she hadn’t realized how tall he was. Close on six five, at a guess, and broad, though not fat.

      He gestured to a chair, but she looked towards Philips. ‘This is Pastor Jerome, Constable. Constable Loretta Peterson, sir.’ He paused while they nodded at each other, Loretta very aware of the pastor’s eyes sizing her up.

      ‘Sit down, Constable, this concerns you too.’ The edge on Philips’s voice told her she needed to be wary.

      Although he was a huge man, the pastor didn’t stretch his legs or splay them

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