Friday, 31 March, 5 p.m.
The morning began with another phone call from DI Randall. It was as though he had spent the last twenty-four hours chewing over the facts of these two violent but incontrovertible suicides.
‘How many suicides are there in a year in Shropshire, Martha?’ Her mind had been tracking along the same path so she had her answers ready.
‘About fifty.’
‘And how many of those are elderly, bereaved, divorced, alcoholic, have a history of mental illness?’
‘Practically all of them.’
‘So suicide is rarely completely out of the blue?’
Her professionalism made her cautious. ‘It’s unusual, yes.’
‘And now we have two, within a month, both from Shrewsbury – one town – and a town that does not have a particularly bad track record as far as suicide rates go.’
‘Correct.’ Still she was cautious. ‘But you can get clumping. A few together and then none for the rest of the year.’
DI Randall agreed. ‘I know that.’
And then she was curious. ‘You’re linking them together? A twelve-year-old boy with a professional woman in her thirties, when there’s no evidence they even knew each other? I don’t understand your thinking.’
‘Surely you can see some similarities?’
‘Yes and no. Incontrovertible self-destruction, apparently no notes left. No explanations. Both appeared to have much to live for. Both suicides appeared to be planned but also came out of the blue. Yes, Alex, I can see similarities, but I can also see big disparities too.’
‘Well … you’re the logical one,’ he said. ‘And I should be the one to use the bare facts.’
‘Are you serious that you think someone is picking on random people and somehow tipping them into suicide?’
That brought him down to earth. ‘Hmm,’ he said, ‘put like that it does sound a bit far-fetched.’
‘Yes, it does.’
‘Even so, I think there is something here. I’m almost waiting for the next one. And if there is some sort of link, who will be the next victim?’
‘You’re putting shivers up my spine, Alex,’ she said. ‘Stop it. You’re spooking me.’
He was silent and she didn’t know quite what to say next, but the silence between them wasn’t awkward.
Eventually he broke it. ‘I need to let you get on with your weekend,’ he said. ‘Have you anything planned?’
‘Sam’s playing away,’ she said with the touch of maternal pride that usually clung to her somewhere. ‘And I think Sukey’s coming home with her boyfriend.’
‘How I envy you,’ he said, his mood patently lifting. ‘Though do I take it from the sucked-a-lemon sound that you’re not especially fond of Sukey’s boyfriend?’
‘Oh, no. Is it that obvious?’
‘To me, yes.’
‘Without going into detail, Alex,’ she said, ‘he’s a singularly unpleasant young man who appears to believe that the world owes him a living – and acting parts.’
Martha would have liked to ask the DI what his plans were for the weekend – if he wasn’t working – but she had learned to be circumspect and skip around a subject she knew he found both excruciatingly embarrassing and distasteful. His personal life? If anything, he tried to pretend it didn’t exist, and so that was the plan she fell in with.