19

The next day at work, Roy Campbell was sitting behind my desk.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘I’ll ask you the same question, Roy.’

‘Your wife died, Andy. Shouldn’t you be at home grieving? Looking after the boys?’ Was that sympathy in his tone? Sympathy served up to disguise the question running through his mind: was I guilty?

‘I’ll go nuts if I stay at home,’ I replied and walked round the desk as if expecting him to vacate my seat. He stayed where he was.

‘Andy. Really,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

I came to a stop and towered over him. ‘Shift your arse.’

He snorted. Stood and stepped to the side. If I hadn’t been suffering there was no way he’d have let that slip by without comment. ‘Have a serious think about it.’ He walked to the door. ‘Nobody will think any worse of you if you go home.’

Roy left and I took my seat, feeling a little shame that I’d spoken so harshly to him.

A knock at the door. It opened and Sheila stepped inside.

‘Hey,’ she said. Didn’t need to say anything more. That one syllable was somehow laden with unquestioning support.

‘Good to see a friendly face,’ I said and managed a half-smile.

‘Nobody thinks you did it,’ she said as she took a seat across the desk from me. ‘Not really.’

‘That means the staff are already talking about me.’

‘Of course they are, Andy.’ She shrugged. ‘Human nature.’

I plucked my diary from the top drawer on the right of the desk. Opened it at today’s date. Shapes and letters filled the pages, none of which made any sense whatsoever. I rubbed at my eyes in an attempt to focus my sight. It made no difference.

‘For once, Roy has a point,’ said Sheila. ‘This is not the place for you today, Andy.’

‘You don’t think I did it, do you?’ I asked.

‘Course I don’t,’ she replied and as she did so she leaned across the desk and took my hand. ‘I’ve spent enough time with evil to know when it’s absent.’

I felt myself bristle at her touch and withdrew my hand. I didn’t deserve her sympathy. After all hadn’t I been a few moments away from killing her myself? I sat back in my chair. Crossed my arms. ‘I wanted to.’ My voice was just above a strangled whisper. ‘God help me but there were times I wanted her dead.’ I bit my top lip in an attempt to hold back the emotions that were only a heartbeat from spilling over.

‘Go home, Andy,’ Sheila repeated. ‘Be with your boys.’

‘I haven’t told them anything yet. I don’t know how to…’

A loud knock came at my door and the detectives stepped in without being invited.

‘Detective Holton,’ said Grey.

‘Detective Bairden,’ said Blond. ‘Mind if we have a word?’

‘What?’ I asked from my cotton-wool mouth. I could barely hear myself speak; I was suddenly weak with fatigue.

Sheila got to her feet and with a nod in my direction she left the room.

I licked my lips. Forced moisture into my mouth. ‘What can I do for you, officers?’

‘We just want to go through a few things with you,’ said Bairden.

‘Shouldn’t you be inviting me along to King Street?’

Holton looked around the office. ‘This is private enough.’

I looked beyond the door that he’d left open, spotted the harassed and worried face of Roy Campbell and understood what they were up to. This was two days in a row they’d spoken to me at my place of work. They were sending a big signal to everyone in the building.

My wife had been murdered and they thought I was guilty.

‘When did you last see your wife?’ Bairden asked, again, in a repeat of the questions from the previous day.

‘I told you. When I picked up the boys.’

‘And that was the last time you were at the house?’ asked Holton, and I was aware of his scrutiny. Forced myself not to shift in my seat.

‘I picked up my boys and that was the last I saw of my wife.’ I couldn’t tell them I stood outside the house and stared up at her window in the dark.

They continued with the questions, asking pretty much all the other questions they’d asked me the day before, obviously looking to see if I would keep to the same script. After about fifteen minutes of this, at some silent signal they both stood and walked to the door.

‘Oh, before we go,’ said Bairden. ‘Could you let us know where to find your brother, Jim? We need a word with him.’

I gave them his work address, wondering what on earth they’d want with him. When they left, I dialled Sheila’s extension.

‘Know any good lawyers?’ I asked her.