‘So, you’re not here for a session with Dr Byfield?’ James narrowed his eyes at Michael as he spoke.

  ‘No, like I said, we’re just here to pick Elizabeth up. You know full well I am no longer her client.’ Michael’s hand tightened on Jess’ as he spoke. They’d been making awkward small talk with James for the past five minutes, as the doctor had probed Michael with questions about how he was sleeping, whether he was still prone to sub-conscious violence and whether he should be seeking further therapy.

  ‘Well then,’ James blustered, straightening his back so that he stood even taller in front of Michael. ‘I think you should really wait in the lobby downstairs.’

  ‘Take a hike, Booker.’ Jess spat out her words with as much teenage attitude as she could muster and took a half step towards the doctor.

  ‘Well, I see aggression runs in the family.’ James looked down his nose at the teen.

  ‘Look, James….’ Michael’s voice was raising as the door behind James opened.

  ‘Hey, guys. Cool it. This is a hospital, not a playground, or a boxing ring.’ Elizabeth’s own voice was low, calm, and she laid a hand on James’ back as she moved past him to stand between the two men. ‘Michael, Jess. Thanks for picking me up. Let’s go.’

  Elizabeth steered the two towards the lifts as she spoke over shoulder. ‘Good night Dr Booker.’

  15th December

  Here we are again, thought West. The incident room was full, a dozen officers sat facing the screen that dominated the front wall. The DI was standing to the left of the screen and on the right-hand side Doctor Long spoke.

  ‘So, gentlemen, ladies, the evidence we have so far is as follows. Two people dead, a couple. The wife,’ Long turned his head towards the screen and pressed a button on the laptop in front of him, watching to make sure the correct image had appeared on the screen, ‘Angela Witton, 29 years of age, her burned body found slumped over the dining room table.’ Another press of the button and the image moved on, from a side view of the scene in the dining room to a close up of the back of the victim’s skull. ‘Her head had been subjected to a blunt force trauma, with injuries consistent with several blows, and the skull shattered, several pieces of bone entering the brain causing her death.’ Another press and the image moved back to the general scene, this time focused on a body at the other end of the table. ‘The second victim, Robert Witton, also 29, was seated near to his wife, and following autopsy was found to have ingested an exceedingly large quantity of prescription drugs including zopiclone and citalopram.’

  Long paused, surveying the room to make sure he had the full attention of his audience. ‘I believe that what we are looking at is a murder suicide. More specifically the husband murdered his wife, then took an overdose to end his own life, most likely out of guilt. Furthermore, it seems likely that he set the fire that then blew through the property. He did this either before or straight after taking the tablets, in order to cover up his crime and make it look like arson or an accident. Circumstantial evidence also supports this likely version of events. Detective Inspector?’ Long turned towards West, gesturing imperiously for him to pick up the story.

  West coughed, clearing his throat. ‘Thank you Doctor, succinct and impartial as ever.’ Long frowned, confused as to whether West was flattering him or insulting his character.

  West continued. ‘So, the neighbours reported hearing rowing on more than one occasion over the course of the last month. Mr Witton’s work colleagues also reported that he had been, and I quote ‘acting oddly’ recently, though we’ve not been able to ascertain exactly what that means. Finally, more than one of Mrs Witton’s friends have mentioned that she had confided that they were having difficulties, verbal rather than physical it seems, and there was also mention of medical involvement. All of these things seem to strengthen the theory of a murder suicide.’

  Dr Nicola Jansen’s hand shot up, a look of barely suppressed frustration on her face.

  ‘Dr Jansen, please.’ West smiled warmly at the young crime scene investigator, ah good, a challenge, at least someone is awake, he thought, aware out of the corner of his eye that Long was scowling.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Jansen’s voice was quiet, her accent, which West had learned was Dutch, strong enough to be noticeable. Despite the volume at which she spoke her comments were audible throughout the room. ‘As compelling as Dr Long’s account is, and as clear as the evidence appears to be, I find several elements less clear.’

  ‘And this is based on how many crime scenes Nicola?’ Long sneered as he spoke, not bothering to cover up the dislike he felt towards his soon to be successor.

  West took a couple of steps forward, towards Nicola. ‘Go on Dr Jansen, what elements did you have in mind?’ He spoke kindly, giving her his full attention.

  ‘Well, sir, first, we have the presence of some kind of fibre, attached to Mrs Witton’s wrists and on the floor behind the chair. These are brown and composed of hessian, not matching any of the materials remaining on the victim’s body. Analysis suggests that they are rope, in other words that her hands were tied behind her back and around the chair’s back posts. Second…’

  ‘So, this woman, that we think was murdered by her husband, was tied to her chair……how does that call murder into dispute? Surely it just reinforces the theory?’ Long interrupted angrily, throwing up his hands as he spoke.

  ‘Well, we’re talking about a crime of passion correct? A series of blows that look like a frenzied attack? Remains of a wine bottle, almost certainly the murder weapon, found on the floor next to the victim?’ Nicola stood and walked over to the laptop, searching through files for photographs showing the details of the scene that she was describing. ‘This type of attack, and the use of a weapon that was chosen for convenience rather than efficiency, this does not suggest premeditation in my experience.’ Nicola gave a tight smile at Long as she spoke and PC Johnson, at the rear of the room coughed loudly, a noise that sounded like a stifled laugh.

  ‘The ropes, they suggest premeditation and, to my mind they suggest a staged attack. Still murder, without a doubt, but something more complex than a murder suicide.’

  ‘Why more complex doctor?’ West stared at the screen, frozen as it was on the broken remains of the wine bottle, the victim’s right hand just visible, dangling in the corner of the shot. ‘Could it not still have been a crime of passion, that the husband wanted to disguise in some way before he committed suicide, leaving the house on fire? In fact, he could have tied his wife to the chair, some kind of domination or exercise in control, that then became more violent? A temper lost, regret, then the fire to hide the evidence of what had happened, before he committed suicide.’

  ‘Essentially what I have been saying Steve.’ Long cut in, pointedly looking at his watch as he spoke, turning away from Jansen. ‘Look I have to go, I have an appointment at the university regarding a teaching job.’

  West glanced up from the screen. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you know I am retiring next year? I’m going to become a part-time professor at Reading University.’ Long picked up his bag and coat and headed towards the door.

  ‘That’s great doctor, I mean a loss to the force of course.’ And totally irrelevant to this case, and out of order in front of everyone West mused.

  ‘Second,’ Nicola’s voice rang out in the room and West and Long turned, both surprised she was still by the laptop, ‘the fire. As far as the investigation by the fire service can make out the fire originated in two locations, the dining room and the lounge, rooms on either side of the hallway leading from the front door. Both fires had the same accelerant, kerosene, with very clear ignition points in each room. The doors between the rooms and the hallway were closed, containing the fire to these areas of the property. Now, again that seems premeditated, but also not the actions of someone looking to destroy all evidence of a crime.’

  West let out a breath that he’d been holding for too long. ‘How did I not know about this?’ A dark-haired detective sergeant at the front of the room spoke up, tugging at his collar as he muttered. ‘It only got released to us today sir, was on my desk to review later.’ The man glared at Nicola as he spoke.

  ‘And finally, the second corpse, which I agree from the toxicology report does seem to have been a suicide, or accidental overdose, also appears staged.’ Nicola brought another image up on the screen, showing the male victim at the far end of the table from his wife, head bowed down onto the heavily scorched wooden surface, three irregular shaped objects – identified as the melted remains of medicine bottles – arrayed in front of him. ‘If this was simply a murder suicide then the logical order of events would be: Mr Witton binds his wife to a chair, potentially torturing her, although no evidence of this has been found. Next, he bludgeons her to death. However, the position of her head and the blood stain on the remains of the tablecloth suggests the body was moved after the blows were struck. I theorise this was the point at which the ropes were tied, once the victim was already dead. Even if we ignore the potential staging, then the next thing the husband does is set a fire in the dining room, another one in the lounge and, at some point, he takes an overdose, places the bottles on the table and sits waiting to lose consciousness while the fire blazes around him.’

  ‘Well, that’s not completely implausible my dear.’ Long’s voice was smooth as he dismissed his colleague again, ‘Mr Witton was clearly, simply, trying to cover his tracks – as I said at the outset.’ He turned towards West and raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m sure you’ll be in capable hands once I do retire.’

  Long pushed open the door and left the room. Missing the statement that followed from another speaker.

  ‘The other thing that’s odd, well one out of many things, is that the fire was reported before it had chance to burn through the closed doors. By an anonymous caller, from a mobile number that is no longer active, and we have confirmed that it was neither of the neighbours.’ Johnson folded his arms across his broad chest after speaking up. ‘I’m with Doctor Jansen, this is not a murder suicide.’

  17th December

  ‘Are you sure that was gluten-free?’ Russell leaned back in his chair and smacked his lips. ‘I mean, normally I trust you – unless you’re asleep or otherwise psychotic, obviously– but that just tasted so…what’s the word I’m after?’

  Michael raised his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. ‘I don’t know “nice” “tasty”, “the best bread and butter pudding you ever had”, including Rosie’s?’

  ‘No, none of those things…it tasted so… not like cardboard layered with wallpaper paste. You know, like everything else gluten-free does.’ Rosie elbowed her husband in the side while Elizabeth and Jess burst out laughing.

  ‘Rude,’ Michael tried to look offended but was struggling to keep a straight face, ‘but also completely justified, and the reason why a lot of what I cook are dishes that are naturally gluten-free.’ He looked across the table at Jess.

  ‘And besides, you’d know if it wasn’t because my charming sister would be rushing from the table to the bathroom.’

  Jess nodded seriously. ‘True story.’

  ‘OK fine, I sit corrected and convinced. And sorry about the psychotic dig, too soon?’

  Michael shrugged again. Yes, he thought, it is too soon, but probably won’t ever not be, so I’ll let it pass.

  ‘So, what’s new in the world of the Manners Family?’ Russell reached out as he spoke and nimbly caught his son’s dummy before it hit the floor.

  ‘Nothing noteworthy.’ Michael stood and started to clear the table, ignoring Rosie’s protestations that he leave the dishes for her and the others. ‘No, it’s fine, you know I like to be busy.’

  Rosie stood too and started to ferry plates and bowls from the table to the kitchen counter. ‘Nothing noteworthy, except for Reading suddenly becoming a hot bed of crime?’ She frowned as she continued. ‘Four violent deaths, all possibly murders, all in the last three months and all within a few miles of your home?’ Russell turned to face his wife and shook his head whilst discretely pointing at Jess.

  Rosie’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh balls, sorry Jess. I forgot you knew one of the victims.’

  Jess smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. ‘It’s OK, I didn’t know Gill that well.’ Elizabeth reached out and squeezed Jess’ hand.

  Michael returned to the table and sat down. ‘And to your point about this being a hot bed of crime, I don’t think it’s worse than other big towns, or much worse than average for Reading.’ He scowled at his friends.

  Rosie and Russell exchanged a glance. ‘OK,’ Russell drew the word out, ‘moving on, when are you going to have us over to stay the night, I know we aren’t far away but with Donny we have to bring so much stuff that it feels like we’re going away for a weekend whenever we leave the house. Plus, Rosie is used to being in an alcoholic coma on the weekend and is bored of being a designated driver.’ Russell winked at his wife.

  Michael turned away, but not before Rosie noticed a look of panic on his face. Jess spoke up. ‘Well, it would be lovely, but the spare room is kind of Mikey’s office and the lounge is full of all my work stuff, so there isn’t really much room.’

  Elizabeth’s brow furrowed as she looked between Jess and Michael in confusion.

  ‘What was that about?’ Elizabeth questioned as she helped Michael unload the dishwasher after their guests had left.

  ‘What was what about? The inquisition about crime in Reading? Yeah, that was weird.’ Michael reached up to put the last of the glasses away.

  ‘No, you and Jess not wanting them to stay over.’

  ‘Uh, like Jess said it would be a squeeze with all of them. Plus, they live so close it’s a bit odd that they want to.’ Michael turned and strode towards the stairs to the lounge.

  ‘OK.’ Elizabeth muttered to herself. ‘I guess that conversation is over.’

  24th December

  ‘I think that you are still a little obsessed with her.’

  ‘Based on’?’ James Booker bristled as he regarded the ash-blond woman in front of him.

  Jenny rolled her eyes and started counting off on her fingers as she spoke. ‘Well, for one thing she is very pretty and very definitely your type. Two, you’ve turned down several better paid positions at different hospitals in the last three months so that you could continue to work on the study she is running. Three, you broke off with me when you started working with her last year, and we only started dating again when it became clear she was not interested in you romantically.’ James squirmed and opened his mouth to interrupt before Jenny held up a hand to silence him. ‘And four, you have done nothing but speak about her or about work for the entire meal.’ Jenny grinned as she spoke, watching her boyfriend shifting from foot to foot as his cheeks coloured.

  ‘Look, Jenny, I admit that I was attracted to Lizzy, but...’

  ‘And that’s reason number five!’ Jenny’s voice became shrill as she jumped in. ‘You continue to give her a pet name, even when she’s asked you not to. Obsessed.’

  James pursed his lips as he regarded Jenny, who was standing hands on hips, pouting, but with a twinkle in her large green eyes that suggested she was far from angry. ‘OK. You’ve got me. I fancied her, but like you cruelly point out she doesn’t fancy me, and, in time, I have come to terms with that. But she and I have now entered the “friends’ zone” and that’s nice too, plus the work she is doing is fascinating. And – say what you want about her nutjob boyfriend, Manners, and I do say what I want about him - his case is extremely unusual and interesting.’

  He sighed and reached out his arms to embrace Jenny. ‘But the real reason I’ve stayed at the hospital is you.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I think if I am obsessed with anyone, it is you.’

  ‘Aww.’ Jenny rested her head on his chest for a moment before looking up. ‘I was only teasing, I know you’ve mostly moved on, but I didn’t expect you to be so soppy.’ She tilted her head back and they kissed.

  ‘Do you want to come back to mine?’ James surprised himself with the offer. ‘I mean, you’ve got to see my place sometime, right?’

  Jenny took a step back, caught off guard by the suggestion. ‘I’d love to, or you could come to mine like usual.’ James nodded his assent. ‘But, it’s Christmas Eve, it’s nearly 11 and my flatmates and I always toast the holiday together at midnight, it’s like an annual tradition. I’ll see you on Boxing Day though?’

  James smiled, a forced grin that was a poor disguise for the disappointment he felt. ‘Yes, 24 hours of family, and then back to doing whatever we want without obligations.’ He glanced at the road as a dark blue car pulled up. ‘I guess this is your Uber, have a nice day tomorrow, Merry Christmas and all that!’ The two kissed again, a longer, more passionate embrace and then Jenny got into the back of the car and it drove off into the night.

  James watched the vehicle as it receded down the street before it turned a corner and went out of sight. He shook his head wistfully, ‘I really am obsessed.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jenny paused as she checked the details of the Uber on her app, leaning down to the window from the kerb, ‘John. I hope you have a very Happy Christmas.’ She added a large tip via her phone and gave the driver a bright smile.

  The driver sniffed, rubbing his hand across his face roughly before replying with a crack in his voice. ‘Thank you miss, you too.’ He watched as the woman headed up to her house, seeing the door opened by another young woman who dragged her off the street and into the brightly lit interior. A few bars of a recent pop song spilled out onto the pavement, reaching John’s ears as he saw the two women pass into the kitchen, joining a couple of other women, one blond and one with streaks of blue through black hair, all similar age he guessed. The group were laughing together as they fixed drinks and John watched them for a few minutes until they left the kitchen, turning off the lights as they retreated to another part of the house.