7.49pm Friday 13th December
By the time Mrs Veronica Wade had been delivered to the police station in Cambridge, darkness had fallen and the winter lights around the city shone a soft orange glow on the dense snow, making it sparkle like splinters of amber.
Mrs Wade, who had a round moonlike face, had small red eyes as a result of crying in the back of a police car for nearly four hours. By the time she arrived at the station she was exhausted. Her sister, Francesca, had accompanied her for emotional support. The similarity between the women was startling, and Barrett found himself wondering whether they were twins when he was first introduced to the ladies.
‘Mrs Wade, I am terribly sorry for your loss.’ Barrett, who had lost his own wife, had never been good at dealing with other people’s emotions, but found his heart go out to the tearful woman in front of him.
She dabbed her eyes with a soggy handkerchief as she was led into a relatives’ room to be interviewed.
‘I just can’t believe it.’ Francesca had her arm around her sister. ‘Dennis has gone. They were about to go on a cruise to celebrate their fortieth wedding anniversary. It’s all so cruel.’
Barrett could see that Francesca was almost enjoying the drama.
‘Take a seat.’ He loosened his tie. It had been a long afternoon.
‘You must tell me the details. The police in Somerset wouldn’t tell me. What happened? Heart attack? I told him to watch his weight,’ she sobbed.
Barrett and Palmer glanced at each other and Palmer readjusted his position in his seat, making the plastic beneath him creak.
‘Mrs Wade, I am very sorry to tell you that your husband did not pass as the result of a heart attack. His body was found in Ashton’s.’ Palmer paused and cleared his throat. ‘We believe that Mr Wade was murdered.’
The elderly women sitting opposite him both stopped, mouths open, and gasped.
‘What do you mean, you think?’ demanded the sister.
‘We are almost certain,’ Barrett said gravely, ‘but we need to wait for the post-mortem to confirm.’
‘Post-mortem?’ Veronica’s beady hazel eyes filled with tears. ‘My Dennis on a slab?’ Her hands began to quiver and she dropped her head to her chest.
‘I understand this is an awful time for you, but I am afraid I have to ask some questions.’ Barrett lent forward, resting his elbows on the desk between them.
‘Can’t you see she’s in pieces?’ Francesca pulled her sister into her bosom and glared fiercely at the inspectors.
‘I understand this is a very difficult time, but a crime has been committed and it is our duty, and our job, to investigate.’ Barrett had met women like Francesca Woodcock before. He knew that she was only trying to protect her sister, as well as exert her authority, but he had no time for her dramatic reactions.
‘We won’t keep you long, but we need some information to help us get a picture of what happened,’ Palmer spoke softly. ‘Mrs Wade, can you tell us when you last saw your husband?’
‘She arrived to stay with me on Tuesday. She was meant to be coming back on Saturday evening.’ Francesca spoke again for her sister.
‘We need to hear it from Mrs Wade.’ Barrett narrowed his eyes at the sister whose lips went into a thin line.
‘Frankie couldn’t be with us for Christmas. Her husband is sick, he has Parkinson’s disease.’ Veronica spoke with a croaky voice. ‘I wanted to spend some time with them. I should have been coming back here on the fourteenth, not today. I wasn’t supposed to come home today.’ Her misery was tangible.
‘So you left your house in Balsham on…’ Barrett did some quick sums in his head. ‘On the tenth?’
‘Yes.’
‘At what time?’
‘Mid-morning. I said goodbye to Dennis as he left for work and then I packed and got ready to go.’
‘What time did you arrive in Yoxter?’ Barrett checked his notes.
‘Probably around two.’ Veronica dabbed her eyes again, her heavy mascara leaving trails across her cheeks.
‘And you can verify this?’ He turned to Francesca.
‘I certainly can.’ Her words were clipped. She had not liked it one little bit being silenced by him earlier.
‘And on Thursday evening did you go out anywhere?’
Veronica looked over at her sister.
‘No, we had dinner at home,’ Francesca confirmed.
‘And you were at your sister’s house all night?’
‘Why yes.’ Veronica looked perplexed.
‘You can confirm that?’ Palmer asked looking over at Francesca.
‘I most certainly can. We may live in the countryside, but I always lock the house up before going to bed. Only my husband and I have access to the key.’
‘Right.’ Palmer nodded at Barrett.
‘Mrs Wade, can you tell me what sort of state of mind your husband was in on the Tuesday morning?’ He closed his notes and cocked his head.
‘Normal. He was just Dennis. He fed the cat…’ She then paused. ‘Oh, who is taking care of Cookie?’ It dawned on Veronica that her beloved cat was all alone.
‘We will take you home after the interview, Mrs Wade.’ Barrett didn’t like cats. ‘You say your husband was normal, himself?’
‘Yes. It was just a normal morning. Nothing unusual.’
‘Did Mr Wade have anything he was worried about?’
‘Well no. He always worried about the shop, he loved that place, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. He was fine.’
Barrett examined her response closely. ‘Any financial worries?’
‘No. None.’ The woman was clearly offended by the question.
‘Did he have any enemies? Anyone he had fallen out with?’
‘No, for God’s sake no. He was a good man. The best.’ She buried her face in her hands.
‘My sister has answered your questions. She needs to go home and contact her son.’ Francesca rubbed her sister’s back.
Palmer and Barrett gave each other a look and then both nodded, allowing Francesca to stand and help her sister out of her chair.
‘We will arrange a car to take you where you want to go.’
‘I’m afraid we will need to undertake a search of your home,’ Palmer chipped in, knowing the distress that it would cause them. ‘To help with our enquiries,’ he added, hoping this would soften the blow but knowing it wouldn’t.
As both women left the room, Palmer saw the look of distain plastered across Francesca Woodcock’s face, but rather than acknowledge it, he turned his face to the ground knowing what an awful few months Mrs Wade had ahead of her. He found a small amount of relief when he heard the women muttering about checking into a hotel.
Back in the incident room, Barrett slammed his fists down onto his desk as Elly Hale delivered the news that the CCTV had given them no leads.
‘We’re going to find out if there is any CCTV on Sidney Street that covers the back entrance.’ Elly spoke quietly, terrified of another outburst from her boss.
‘This isn’t the dark ages, Miss Hale. This is the middle of a busy city. Our killer must have been caught on camera. Find the image. I want it on my desk.’
In truth, Barrett liked Elly, but he was consumed with the job and often forgot to go easy on people, even those on his side.
‘Yes, sir.’ Elly jumped to attention and gladly made her way out of his office.
Palmer sat in a chair on the far side of the room strumming his fingers on his knee and looking out of the window as the city began to go to sleep.
‘The wife didn’t do it,’ Palmer said.
‘No,’ growled Barrett, ‘she didn’t.’
‘We will need to speak to the son. I ran a check on him…’ Palmer closed his eyes, trying to remember the man’s name. ‘Andrew Wade.’ He felt a pang of satisfaction. ‘He lives in Peterborough. Born 1990. No spouse or dependents.’ The rest he recounted from his notebook before checking his wristwatch and groaning. It was only nine o’clock and it looked like they had a long night ahead of them.
‘The team are going to order some pizzas, sir. Do you want anything?’
‘Get me some chips.’ Barrett looked out over the city and wondered how the rest of the world could sleep so easy when there was so much darkness in the world. ‘And ketchup. I need ketchup.’
‘I’m on it.’ Palmer stood and left the room, yawning as he closed the door behind him. That meant putting in a special order from elsewhere, as if he didn’t have enough to do. As he picked up the phone and called the local kebab shop, he quietly cursed his boss under his breath.