The previous evening, Alex had heard the sound of a phone ringing in another room but hadn’t registered that it was his. He had forgotten all about his new mobile.
‘That’s your phone, mate,’ Jerry had said without even looking up from the newspaper.
‘Oh shit.’ Alex had stumbled when he got up and, by the time he reached the bedroom and found the phone tangled up in the heap of bed linen, the ringing had stopped. It wasn’t a number he recognised, which meant it was probably his lawyer or the police – neither of whom he particularly wanted to speak to. It might be good news, of course, but knowing his luck it wouldn’t be.
Alex dialled his voicemail and listened to the message from Detective Sergeant Burton. She certainly wasn’t giving anything away. She simply asked him to come to the station at eleven-thirty the following morning and to confirm with the duty officer that he had received the message.
Alex made the call and then wandered back into the kitchen.
‘Good news, bad news?’ Jerry had asked, closing the paper and reaching for his beer.
Alex was incredibly grateful to Jerry. With all the grim stuff that had been going on, it was such a relief to be around someone so normal. Alex knew it was probably down to the copious amounts of weed that Jerry smoked, but nothing seemed to faze him.
‘Who knows? I have to go back to the station in the morning.’
‘It’ll be fine. From what you told me, it looks like they are after the husband.’
‘I just don’t know.’
‘Oh well, there’s no point you sitting here in a miserable heap all evening, so let’s go and have a drink. There’s a great little bar round the corner.’
Now Alex is sitting in the interview room praying this will be the last time he will have to wait for Detective Inspective Burroughs. He is slightly nervous, but hopeful.
Burroughs seems to be in a sombre mood when he sits down opposite him, which Alex prays isn’t a bad sign.
‘So, Mr Worthington, I’ve spoken to your lawyer this morning and told him that we are going to lift the bail, which is why he doesn’t need to be here.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ Alex says, tipping his head back against the seat and breathing a sigh of relief.
‘You might be wondering why I called you in when I could have told you this over the phone,’ Burroughs says.
‘I suppose so.’ Alex is confused.
‘It’s because I have something to say to you and it needs saying face to face.’
‘Yes?’ Alex says, wondering what on earth is coming next.
‘You are not the innocent party here, Mr Worthington. Your actions set in motion a chain of events that led to Nicola Scott’s death and have destroyed two other lives. You may not have killed her, but two wrongs will always remain two wrongs.’
*
‘Please don’t tell me you said that?’ Lucy says as John describes his encounter with Alexander Worthington. ‘You sanctimonious so-and-so.’
‘I know.’ John laughs. ‘I couldn’t help it.’
‘How did he react?’
‘He looked like a naughty schoolboy pulled up in front of his headmaster.’
‘Well, let’s hope he took something away from it. You might find it funny, but too many people got hurt here.’
‘I know that, Lucy, but I didn’t want the little prick to get off scot-free… if you’ll excuse the pun.’
‘Oh, God, please.’ Now it’s Lucy’s turn to laugh. ‘How long have you been keeping that one up your sleeve?’
Before John can answer, his intercom buzzes.
‘Yes, Karen?’
‘A Dr Bailey called from the hospital. He wants you to ring him urgently.’
John scribbles the number down on his jotter and looks up at Lucy.
‘I’ve got to call the hospital. I hope to God it’s not bad news.’
Lucy takes this as her cue to leave and John picks up the phone again. His conversation with Dr Bailey is brief. Andy Somers has improved slightly overnight, but is not in a fit state to be interviewed today. They will review the situation again in the morning. It’s pretty much what John had expected but he can’t help being disappointed. The list of questions floating about in his head will have to wait.
John spends the rest of the afternoon reviewing Lucy’s conversation with Irene Hall and writing up his interim report for the Superintendent, who will be as frustrated as he is that the case hasn’t been wrapped up. He will have to get an official statement from Irene Hall, but there’s no point doing that until he has talked to Andy, whenever that will be.
He starts to tidy his desk, putting off the moment when he has to leave and go home to an empty house. The last week has been so frenetic that he has had little time to think about Lynn and what is going to happen next. She has been round to the house a few times to collect some of her things, but they haven’t talked, at least not since she dropped the bombshell about moving in with another man. It has all happened so quickly. He imagines it won’t be long before she asks him for a divorce, or to put the house on the market so she can take her share.
John would like to blame Lynn for the breakdown of their marriage but he knows that wouldn’t be entirely fair. Things hadn’t been right between them for a long time and somewhere along the line they had stopped talking, at least about anything meaningful. They had both retreated into their work and, although John desperately wanted to initiate a discussion, and had almost done so on many occasions, he had always procrastinated and then suddenly it was too late.
John hears his mobile phone ringing somewhere, but can’t pinpoint where the noise is coming from. He opens a couple of drawers, then walks round to the other side of his desk to where he has thrown his jacket over a chair and feels in the pockets just as the ringing stops. Nothing there.
Bloody hell, he thinks, angrily shoving aside the piles of paper he has just been tidying.
In exasperation, he picks up the desk phone and dials his own number, standing still while he listens. The sound is coming from somewhere near his feet. He looks down at the bin and sees something black poking out from among all the crumpled pieces of paper.
How on earth did that happen? he wonders as he checks the display and sees he has missed a call from Jim. Maybe some news on the DNA tests, he thinks.
‘We’re having an impromptu get-together,’ Jim tells him when they finally speak. ‘Grab a packet of sausages and some beers and get over here.’
John can feel his dark thoughts evaporating when he hears his friend’s cheery voice.
‘You have no idea how great that sounds,’ he says. ‘I’ll see you in thirty.’