‘This is doing my bloody head in.’ Miller lay down again and stared at the ceiling. ‘Let’s wait and see what Chesshead makes of it all.’

  ‘I never thought I’d say this, but I quite miss Gary Pope,’ Alex said. ‘I mean, miss is probably putting it a bit strongly . . .’

  Miller closed his eyes, but he knew she was still there. ‘What else do you miss?’ He turned on to his side. ‘Properly miss?’

  ‘The lamb bhuna at the Raj, the chicken livers at Nando’s, Marmite . . .’

  ‘Apart from food.’

  ‘I miss swimming in the sea. Fred and Ginger of course, and I really miss that long walk along the clifftops on a Sunday morning. Marching around the model village and pretending to be a giant—’

  ‘People,’ Miller said. ‘What about people?’ The two hours of dance practice and the beers afterwards had suddenly caught up with him. He was talking more slowly now, exhaustion taking hold. ‘Which people . . . do you miss?’

  ‘Well, my sister, obviously,’ Alex said. ‘And my mum. There’s a few people from work and that nice bloke in the newsagent’s.’

  ‘Come on . . .’

  ‘I’m trying to think. I know there’s definitely one more person, but I’m struggling to remember the name.’

  ‘I hate you.’

  ‘Milton, is it? Or Mills . . . ?’

  There was a smile on Miller’s face when sleep finally took him.

  STEP TWO

  HAMMERLOCK POSITION

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Having been told within sixty seconds of arriving at work that the DCI would like a word, Miller had known he was in trouble, and that the word in question was unlikely to be a nice one, like bubbly or kerfuffle . . .

  This time, he thought it best to knock.

  Akers did not even look up. ‘Sit down, Detective Sergeant.’

  Miller did as he was told.

  ‘Three guesses why you’re here.’

  ‘Oh, right, we’re starting with a quiz—’

  ‘Don’t. Just . . . don’t.’ The look on Akers’s face made it abundantly clear that she was wearing her best bollocking trousers.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Miller said. ‘I don’t need to guess, anyway. I know very well that you’ve had Lindsey Forgeham in your ear, moaning about me interfering in her case.’

  ‘Not interfering, no.’

  ‘Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘I’ll pretend you didn’t say that. She was just concerned at you being there, because you aren’t allowed to be. You can’t go anywhere near the investigation into Alex’s murder . . . God, why am I even bothering to tell you, when you know all this very well? It doesn’t seem to be stopping you, though, so now I’m the one who’s got to deal with it.’

  ‘I wanted to see how they were getting on, that’s all.’

  ‘It sounded very much to me as if you were making accusations.’

  ‘Well, I might have suggested they could at least consider pulling their fingers out.’

  ‘Right, like that’s really going to get them onside.’

  ‘Why should I need to get them onside?’ Miller felt the urge to jump up and stamp around the office a bit, but made do with squeezing the arms of the chair instead, imagining they were the scrawny necks of certain officers a few floors above him. ‘I’m a copper, same as they are, and more to the point, she was my wife. It doesn’t matter what I can and can’t do, they should at the very least be keeping me up to speed. There’s been a few hugely thoughtful cards and a pastoral visit to check I hadn’t put my head in the oven and then . . . radio silence. Come on, Susan, don’t you reckon they should be telling me what’s happening, even if it’s nothing? That’s just common courtesy, don’t you think? That’s basic bloody humanity.’

  Akers let out a long sigh and gave the smallest of nods. ‘I’m not disagreeing, Dec, but all the same—’

  ‘And by the way, why have they got nothing?’ Miller waited, but Akers wouldn’t look at him. ‘It’s been six weeks and Forgeham and her squad of numpties have got no more than they had in the first six hours. If I was the suspicious sort, I might be starting to think that they weren’t actually trying very hard.’

  ‘Now you are making accusations,’ Akers said.

  ‘Well, they’re not exactly pulling out all the stops, are they?’ Miller was ranting now and, though he knew it wouldn’t cut any ice, he couldn’t help himself. Being physically closer to the investigation into Alex’s death had been one of the main reasons for coming back to work in the first place, but it clearly wasn’t getting him anywhere. He was starting to think that, with the possible exception of hacking the Police National Computer (Nathan couldn’t actually do it, could he?), maybe he should take Howard, Mary and the rest of them up on their generous offers to help. ‘Or any stops at all, come to that. I know it, and you know it.’

  Miller was pleased to see his boss look conflicted, for a few seconds at least, before she spoke.

  ‘It would be wrong of me to make judgements on another team’s investigation,’ she said. ‘So, if it’s all right with you, DS Miller, I’m going to stop listening now.’

  ‘Come on, Susan, you know I’m right.’

  She shook her head, determined. ‘No . . .’

  ‘They’re dragging their feet.’

  ‘I’m not hearing this.’ Akers raised her hands to the side of her head. ‘I’m not hearing this.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ Miller shrugged, then said it again. Louder.

  When Miller walked into the briefing room, Sullivan was ready with a withering comment that he’d clearly spent some time perfecting.

  ‘Prostate playing up again, DS Miller?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Miller said. ‘In terms of regularity and flow, everything in the urination department is tickety-boo, but thanks so much for asking. I’m late because I’ve just spent ten minutes being admonished, then threatened with suspension, for talking to the team investigating my wife’s murder, but . . . hey ho!’ He ignored Xiu’s I told you so expression and rubbed his hands together. ‘So, what have I missed?’

  ‘It’s all there in your briefing document,’ Sullivan said.

  Miller sat down in the chair that Xiu appeared to have saved for him. ‘We should have one of those helpful recaps like you get at the start of TV shows. Previously on Tim Sullivan Investigates . . .’

  Sullivan actually smiled, which was hugely disconcerting. Perhaps it was a simple reflex, like a dog wagging its tail when its name is mentioned. Or maybe he dared to dream that he might one day star in just such a TV show.

  Either way, Miller didn’t like it.

  ‘We were discussing the contents of Shepherd’s flash drive,’ Sullivan said. ‘Not quite as useful as we were hoping.’

  Carys Morgan looked across at Miller. ‘Well, not yet, anyway.’

  ‘So, what’s on it?’ Miller asked.

  ‘Two files, that’s all. Neither of them named, unfortunately.’

  ‘Shame,’ Miller said. ‘Always a bonus when there’s a file called Special Secret Clues.’

  ‘One is just a series of eight numbers.’

  ‘Bank account?’ Xiu said.

  ‘Every chance, I reckon,’ Carys said. ‘The other file is enormous and looks to me like a self-contained operating system. The kind of thing you’d use if you wanted to go online for some reason and didn’t want to leave a trace.’

  ‘Looking for porn?’ Clough asked.

  Miller said nothing, because sometimes it was just too easy.

  ‘Makes sense,’ Clough said. ‘Maybe his wife used to check his search history. I know mine does.’

  Now, it was simply too tempting. ‘And there I was thinking I couldn’t have any more sympathy for Mrs Clough than I already do.’

  ‘Knowing what the files are is all well and good,’ Carys said. ‘The problem is I can’t get into them, because unlike the files on his other devices, they’re password protected and the only person who knows the password happens to be dead.’

  ‘That’s probably taking your security a bit far,’ Miller said.

  ‘I’ve tried all the obvious ones – date of birth, wife’s date of birth – but I’m not surprised he didn’t want to make it easy.’

  ‘OK, well keep working on it,’ Sullivan said.

  Miller raised a hand. ‘It makes sense that we’re finally considering Barry Shepherd as a possible primary target,’ he said. ‘But I’d like to throw someone else into the mix as a primary suspect. From what Michelle Cutler told me, Adrian’s older brother Justin might well have had a half-decent motive.’

  ‘We’re all ears,’ Sullivan said.

  ‘Jealousy, basically. Thwarted ambition. Yeah, it’s all a bit . . . Godfathery, but it certainly sounds like Justin and Ade weren’t what you’d call bestest mates.’

  ‘Worth having a word with him?’ Clough asked Sullivan.

  ‘No reason why not,’ Sullivan said. ‘Worth having one with the father at the same time and making it very clear that he needs to stay well away from Pippa Shepherd.’

  ‘Yeah, what was all that about, you reckon?’ Miller asked.

  ‘Could be perfectly innocent,’ Xiu said. ‘But from what Pippa told the FLO, it sounds like Mr Cutler was quite keen on finding out what Pippa had said to us.’

  Miller thought about that, but if Wayne Cutler had an angle or knew something about the murders they didn’t, he had no idea, as yet, what that might be. ‘Well, I’m sure young Justin will have a cast-iron alibi, same as Ralph Massey and everyone he’s ever met, but that doesn’t really matter. As of now, we’re looking for whoever hired the shooter, so we should really be going through Justin Cutler’s emails and phone records, finding out who he’s been talking to.’ He leaned across the table and smiled. ‘Carys . . . ?’

  ‘Right, like my team hasn’t got enough to be getting on with. This flash drive’s a full-time job on its own and we’re still working on Cutler’s phone, with no cooperation whatsoever from the service provider. They’re certainly not providing a bloody service to us.’

  ‘I thought we were getting that sorted.’ Miller looked at Sullivan. ‘You said you were chasing it up, sir.’

  Sullivan muttered something which Miller heard perfectly well, but he couldn’t be certain that everyone else had. ‘Sorry, boss, I didn’t quite catch that . . .’

  The DCI spoke through teeth that were so firmly gritted, he might well have had a decent future as a ventriloquist. ‘I’m still waiting for them to ring me back.’

  ‘Ring you gack?’ Miller said.

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’ Xiu looked genuinely furious. ‘This is a murder case. A double murder case.’

  ‘You know when you get that recording that says your call is really important to us?’ Miller shook his head sadly. ‘Call me a cynic, but I’m starting to suspect that they might not actually mean it.’

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Xiu set the satnav for an industrial estate on the outskirts of town and pulled out of the car park.

  ‘Declan,’ she said. ‘That’s Irish, right?’

  Miller scowled at her. ‘Oh, I see. Just because of my name, you’re allowed to make ridiculous assumptions about what my background might be. To culturally stereotype me . . . put me in a convenient little box.’

  ‘No, that’s not what—’

  ‘My name’s Declan, so obviously I must be Irish. Would you like it if people did the same to you?’

  ‘They do,’ Xiu said. ‘And no, I don’t like it.’

  ‘Well, there you go. So, what . . . because I’m called Declan I must neck Guinness constantly and talk about the craic? You think I might ask you to pull the car over so I could do a bit of Riverdance? Just because of my name?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Xiu said.

  ‘Good.’ Miller nodded, left a beat. ‘Yeah, it’s Irish.’ He turned, grinning, to stare out of the window. ‘On my mother’s side.’ He turned back when he heard Xiu growl and watched her knuckles whiten around the steering wheel. ‘So I only ever have half a Guinness.’

  Xiu followed the satnav’s instructions to the letter until they reached the main road out of town. ‘Does your mother live locally? I’m sorry . . . she’s still around, right?’

  ‘Oh yeah, she’s still around.’ Miller took a few seconds, uncertain as to whether he should say any more. Aside from the . . . unconventional conversations he still had with a dead woman, he couldn’t recall talking to anyone about anything that really mattered since Alex’s death. He discussed police matters, of course; he interviewed witnesses and joked around with colleagues, but it had been a while since he’d talked about anything personal.

  Xiu glanced across at him, open-faced and genuinely curious. It was far more than he deserved. He supposed it was high time he opened up a little, and besides, if he didn’t take this opportunity to share something with her, he knew very well that he’d be getting it in the neck from Alex later on.

  ‘I don’t see very much of her,’ he said. ‘She’s in a supported living place, just outside Manchester. She’s fit as a flea, but she’s got some serious mental health issues. So . . .’

  ‘It’s good that she’s being looked after.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, it’s a great set-up. Costs an arm and a leg, but luckily my elder brother can afford to pay for all that.’ Miller stared at the road ahead. ‘As he never ceases to remind me.’

  Xiu nodded. ‘I’ve got a sister a bit like that. A doctor.’

  ‘It’s annoying, isn’t it?’

  ‘Never lets me forget how well she’s doing.’

  ‘I don’t want to make it sound as if Ross and I are like Justin and Adrian Cutler or anything. I really wouldn’t like you to think I’m horribly jealous of my big, successful brother. I mean, I am, obviously . . . but he does love to bang on about all the money he’s making and exactly how much of it he splashes out on looking after our mum.’ He turned away again, starting to wonder if he was doing the right thing. Opening up was all well and good, but you could rarely bank on what might come out. ‘I need to get down and visit . . . haven’t seen her since Alex’s funeral.’

  The satnav let them know that they would be turning off the main road in a mile’s time, so Xiu moved immediately into the inside lane.

  ‘I didn’t see that much of her growing up, either,’ Miller said. ‘She was in and out of hospital, so I spent most of the time being ferried between my two mad aunties in Ireland. I say mad, but I don’t mean mad like Mum was mad, just . . . eccentric. Like . . . Sally would sing constantly. I mean all the time, but she couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket and she always got the words wrong. Not wrong because she’d misheard the lyrics, just as if she preferred to make up her own.’ He shook his head. ‘Actually, she was the sensible one. To this day, my Auntie Bridget rings me up and when I answer the phone she goes, “Yes, Declan?” like I’m the one who’s called her. Every single time.’ Miller found himself smiling and thoroughly enjoying it. ‘They both still make me laugh . . .’

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘Ah.’ Miller stopped smiling.

  ‘Where’s he?’

  ‘Right this minute, I couldn’t tell you. He travels a lot with work. Don’t get me wrong; there have been times when I’ve known exactly where he was.’ He began counting off on his fingers. ‘Six months in Pentonville, three in Parkhurst, a couple of stretches in Wormwood Scrubs . . .’

  ‘Seriously?’ Xiu turned, taking her eyes off the road for far longer than she would normally consider acceptable.

  ‘He’s not a murderer or anything,’ Miller said. ‘I’d say he’s more of a lovable rogue. To be clear, I’m using lovable the way you would to describe Vladimir Putin or a painful skin condition.’

  ‘That must have been difficult for you. In the Job, I mean.’

  ‘Not really. Yeah, I hear his name mentioned every so often, and we’ve run into one another a couple of times. Actually, I did have to arrest him once.’

  ‘Oh my God . . .’

  Miller grunted. ‘That was a fun afternoon. He was screaming about police brutality while I handcuffed him. Shouting his mouth off and saying I was only nicking him because he never bought me a bike.’ He shook his head again, remembering. ‘We’re not . . . close, but you’d probably worked that out already.’

  Xiu nodded as she made another turn. ‘I’m a good detective. Like you said, a winkler.’

  ‘Yeah, but you didn’t have to winkle it out, did you? I just . . .’

  Miller mimed throwing up. He’d splurged it out; the same way he’d tried, with very little success, to let the anger and the grief out in those first few weeks after Alex’s murder. Everyone had told him that’s what he needed to do. The counsellor he’d been to see twice. Susan Akers and Howard and Mary and even that newsagent of whom Alex was so mysteriously fond. It was presumably the same advice Pippa Shepherd had been following right before that flash drive had turned up.

  Aside from the fact that Pippa Shepherd had got upset and smashed something, Miller didn’t know exactly what the circumstances had been and he wasn’t sure anyone who wasn’t actually there knew either. Everyone had been so excited that what might turn out to be crucial evidence had been found that nobody had bothered to ask how.

  He made a mental note to give Fiona Mackie a call.

  A few minutes later, they turned into the industrial estate and parked in front of a grim, grey building that had clearly been the work of an architect with anger issues.

  Miller looked up at the cheap sign: TECH THAT!

  ‘See what they did?’

  Xiu stared at the sign too and shrugged. She didn’t.

  THIRTY-NINE

  The offices of the hilariously named Tech That! were in stark contrast to the building’s utilitarian exterior. The place was bright and open-plan, with arty posters on the walls and the swampy wail of a guitar drifting down from speakers mounted in the ceiling. Though the furniture did not appear to have been designed for comfort – ‘it’s ergonomic,’ Xiu said – a fluffy squadron of rather more cosy-looking beanbags had been arranged around indoor firepits, in what Miller guessed were probably called ‘breakout wombs’ or ‘brainstorming nooks’. Half a dozen people sat staring at enormous monitors, while a few worked on the innards of dismantled computers and several others stood gathered in hushed conversation around a gleaming coffee machine.