‘Well, you shouldn’t,’ Mary said. ‘That’s the kind of world he chose to get mixed up in.’

  Howard nodded. ‘If you lie down with dogs . . .’

  ‘You’ll get shot!’ Nathan used his thumb and finger to illustrate the point.

  ‘That isn’t actually the expression,’ Mary said. ‘But in this instance, yes.’

  ‘Even if you’re not officially working the Pope murder, you’re close to the people who are, right?’ Howard emptied nuts into his palm and threw them into his mouth. ‘They’ll tip you the wink.’

  ‘Course they will,’ Mary said.

  ‘Yeah . . . in theory.’ Miller hoped that Xiu would be one of those Howard was talking about but, having ‘compromised her integrity’ once already, he couldn’t count on it. ‘It was hard enough before,’ he said. ‘Forgeham and her lot wanting me at a distance. Now they’ve actually got something to work with, I’m not sure I can deal with being cut out any more.’ He downed what was left of his drink. ‘I feel like telling them all to stuff it and going back on leave.’

  ‘All the more reason why you shouldn’t hand over those photographs,’ Ruth said. She took a fast glug of wine when all eyes turned to her. ‘If you do, Forgeham’s team will swallow them up as evidence and you’ll be lucky if you ever hear about them again. They’ll be gone and so will your only chance to do anything about Alex’s murder yourself.’

  Everyone at the table was staring, and not just because Ruth was the one who usually had the least to say. There was a good deal of nodding as the remaining drinks were finished up, and Mary leaned across to touch Ruth’s arm.

  ‘Well said, love,’ she said. ‘Well said.’

  Howard stood up and volunteered to get another round in. A few minutes later, he sat down again, lifted a fresh pint from the tray and passed it across to Miller. ‘You’re spot on about Massey, I reckon.’

  Mary nodded, taking her gin. ‘Spot on.’

  ‘It’s just like him to want Alex followed and photographed. He’s the sort who likes to keep an eye on the people he’s dealing with. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d got people taking pictures of you on the sly.’ Howard nodded slowly then looked around, just to be sure there wasn’t someone surreptitiously snapping away from the bar or lurking in the doorway to the Gents.

  ‘Yeah, it was probably Massey,’ Miller said. ‘But I’m far more concerned about who the bloke in the photos is and what he’s up to.’

  ‘He’s probably just one of Alex’s contacts,’ Mary said. ‘She’d have had plenty of those, one or two of them inside Massey’s operation.’

  ‘And Cutler’s,’ Howard said.

  ‘Definitely. Alex had cultivated all manner of sources like this bloke.’

  ‘He’s a snout.’ Nathan nodded at Ruth again, clearly hoping she’d be impressed with his knowledge of underworld slang. ‘Or a JIZZ. I saw that on TV. Not sure why they’re called that, but . . .’

  ‘It’s CHIS,’ Miller said. ‘It stands for Covert Human Intelligence Source.’

  ‘So what does SNOUT stand for?’

  ‘It doesn’t stand for anything,’ Howard said.

  ‘It looks to me like the bloke knows he’s being photographed,’ Miller said. ‘Or at the very least he thinks it might be a possibility. He’s got his head down and he’s hunched over. He’s keeping out of the light.’

  ‘Send the photos to me,’ Nathan said. ‘I can do a bit of jiggery-pokery on the computer. Blow them up, zoom in and stuff.’

  ‘Can you do that?’

  ‘I can learn,’ Nathan said. ‘How hard can it be?’

  Miller smiled, thanked Nathan for the offer then looked across at Mary who had her hand on her husband’s arm. ‘What?’

  Howard nodded towards the bar and lowered his voice. ‘Bloke over there’s up to something. I think he might be taking photos or filming you.’

  ‘He’s just on his phone,’ Mary said.

  ‘That’s what he wants us to think.’ Howard pushed his chair back. ‘He looks like a wrong ’un.’

  ‘You’re being daft, Howard.’ Mary looked pleadingly at Miller. ‘Tell him not to be daft, Declan.’

  ‘Since when did he listen to me?’ Miller said.

  Howard got to his feet, squeezed from behind the table and began walking purposefully towards the bar.

  Miller shouted after him. ‘If he is taking pictures, tell him it’s twenty quid for topless. Or I’ll do full frontal for twenty-five.’

  ‘Ruth was right,’ Alex said. ‘About hanging on to the photographs.’

  Miller was brushing his teeth. In the mirror he could see Alex sitting on the edge of the bath, watching him. He grunted, dribbling toothpaste.

  ‘Are you angry with me, Miller?’

  ‘No, because that would be stupid.’ He wiped away the minty mess that was running down his chest.

  ‘It’s fine if you are. It’s one of the stages anyway, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s all rubbish.’ Miller put down the brush and spat out the toothpaste in his mouth. ‘I read up on it and apparently the five so-called stages of grief were originally meant for people who were dying, not people who were grieving. I mean . . . denial? I could hardly deny you were dead, could I? I saw you laid out on Prisha Acharya’s shiny table. Bargaining? Who exactly am I supposed to bargain with? Besides, I was angry before.’

  ‘Not really,’ Alex said. ‘You were never an angry man. I don’t think you can count getting worked up because the next door neighbour puts his recycling in the wrong colour bin.’

  ‘He’s still bloody doing it,’ Miller said.

  ‘Tetchy, that’s what you are.’ Alex grinned. ‘You’re a tetchy man.’

  ‘Who’s the man in the photographs, Alex?’ Miller waited and watched as Alex lowered her head. ‘Stupid question, right?’

  She took a few seconds, then looked up again. ‘You need to stop obsessing about those photographs and you should really stop worrying about being taken off Chesshead’s murder.’

  ‘The murder that’s very probably connected to your murder, you mean? That murder? It’s all got a bit . . . murdery, so I want to be clear.’

  Alex sighed and shook her head. ‘Yes, that murder.’

  ‘Right . . . cheers. I’ll bear it in mind.’

  ‘I’m serious. Why don’t you do your job and focus on working the murders in that hotel? On a case you can actually solve.’

  ‘So you think I can solve it?’

  ‘Well, if anyone can, it’s the man I was married to. He was almost as good a copper as he was a dancer and he was one hell of a dancer.’ Alex stood up, smiling as she moved across to stand close behind Miller. She leaned in to him and whispered. ‘So, yeah . . . the dancing detective can definitely solve this case. The whingeing widower . . . I’m not so sure.’

  Miller cupped his hands under the cold water. ‘Nice pep talk,’ he said. He leaned down to rinse and spit, and when he straightened up again, Alex had gone. Reaching for a towel to wipe his mouth and dry his eyes, he could swear that her breath was still drifting across his neck.

  FIFTY

  When it came to his abilities as a detective, Miller was not lacking in confidence – not usually, at any rate – but, if pushed, he might eventually concede that he was not always brilliant at reading the room. Or more specifically, the people in the room. That said, he required only a fraction more sensitivity than the average tree stump or doctor’s receptionist to work out – eventually – that Xiu was still angry with him.

  There was a muscle working overtime in her jaw and a slight twitch at the corner of one eye. The first time Miller had noticed it (as they were getting into the car outside the station) he’d thought she was winking and had reflexively winked back. The ferocity with which she’d yanked the car door shut however, had quickly disabused him of any notion that Xiu was flirting (highly unlikely), being playful (never in a million years) or – best-case scenario – letting him know secretly that, despite everything, she was still on his side.

  She did say, ‘I’m sorry you got taken off the Pope case . . .’ though she didn’t sound particularly sorry and left a significant, if unspoken, but hanging in the air.

  . . . but it’s procedure, so get over yourself.

  . . . but it’s probably no more than you deserve considering that you’re withholding evidence.

  . . . but that doesn’t mean I’m not still very pissed off with you.

  Their conversation en route was limited to say the least. There were a few muttered swearwords which Miller hoped were aimed at other morning road users and, other than a few long-suffering sighs and the occasional grunt, Xiu waited until they had arrived at their destination before reminding Miller why they were going to the phone shop in the first place.

  ‘We’re here to examine CCTV footage.’ She pulled carefully into the kerb. She turned off the engine and undid her seatbelt. ‘In the hope that we can identify the person who purchased the pay as you go phone that made several calls to and received a number of calls from Adrian Cutler’s mobile in the weeks leading up to his murder.’

  Miller looked at her. ‘Did you think I’d forgotten?’

  ‘I think it’s entirely possible.’

  ‘Oh, it definitely is,’ Miller said. ‘But I hadn’t. So, do you think I’m an idiot?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Xiu said. ‘No . . . a lot of the time.’

  ‘At least it’s not all the time.’ He raised his hand for a high-five. ‘I’ll take that as a win.’

  Xiu turned to stare at him, struggling for words. ‘Were you . . . like this before your wife died?’

  ‘You’ll need to be more specific,’ Miller said.

  ‘Annoying.’ Xiu paused, but only to take a deep breath. She’d obviously compiled a healthy list. ‘Bloody-minded. Childish . . .’

  ‘Are you actually doing them alphabetically?’

  ‘Insensitive, inappropriate, pig-headed, rude . . . stupidly over-confident and completely dismissive of authority.’ Miller tried to interrupt, but Xiu was not struggling to find the words any more and quickly began counting off some of Miller’s remaining character flaws on her fingers. ‘Inattentive, flippant, sarcastic, annoying, erratic, unreliable, flaky—’

  ‘You’ve said “annoying” once already and those last three all basically mean the same thing.’

  ‘Well . . . ?’

  ‘Can I take them one at a time?’

  Xiu looked like she was about ready to slam her head against the steering wheel. She took a few moments to steady herself and asked again, nice and slowly. ‘Were you like that before?’

  Miller thought about it, then shrugged. ‘Probably,’ he said. ‘If I’m honest, I think I just get away with it a bit more since Alex died.’ He opened the car door. ‘Come on, there’s got to be some perks.’

  Inside the shop and without consultation, it was Xiu who took the lead; producing the warrant card and asking to speak to the manager. Miller hung back, resigned to his place on the naughty step, and when Xiu was escorted through a side door he mooched around the shop whistling and looking bemused. He looked out of the window for a while. He examined a shiny new iPad and decided that the phrase ‘keep taking the tablets’ was only encouraging shoplifters. He leafed through a pamphlet about 5G connectivity and briefly engaged a fellow browser in an inane conversation about dongles.

  ‘I like dongles. Do you like dongles?’

  ‘Well, if you need broadband on the move they’re certainly useful.’

  ‘To be honest, I just like the name,’ Miller said.

  He couldn’t blame Xiu for being angry with him or feeling let down. Despite her impressive catalogue of complaints, he was reasonably sure that she’d come round, but he wondered if there was anything he could do to speed that process up. He would say sorry again, certainly, but it felt as if going that extra yard couldn’t hurt.

  He should probably buy her something as a peace offering.

  They had worked together less than a week, though, and finding the ideal gift for Xiu, based upon what little he actually knew about her, was going to be a tall order. He knew she liked heavy metal . . . or was it just that she liked heavy metal as a short-cut to casual sex? Either way, Miller didn’t think she’d appreciate a quickie with Ozzy Osbourne even if such a thing could be arranged and paid for.

  Maybe he could buy her a joke book.

  As a joke.

  Which she wouldn’t get.

  Maybe he should just apologise several more times . . .

  An assistant who clearly had not seen Miller and Xiu come in approached as Miller was staring at a wall of mobiles.

  ‘Anything I can help you with?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Miller took down one of the phones and inspected it. ‘This one’s got four cameras, right?’

  The assistant nodded and smiled, as though Miller had made an excellent choice. ‘Yes, indeed. Three at the back, one at the front. There’s 5G connectivity—’

  ‘I read the pamphlet.’ Miller pointed.

  ‘Right, yes. So, it’s got a pixel density of 441 ppi, and—’

  Miller raised a hand to stop him. ‘I’m looking for something that makes and receives calls.’

  The salesman chuckled. ‘Well, obviously.’

  ‘No, that’s it.’ Miller gently led the young man towards the centre of the shop and they both sat down. ‘OK, the recorder thingy’s quite useful for work, but I don’t need any other stuff. Cameras and apps and Uncle Tom Cobley. I don’t want to play games and I don’t need it to measure my heart rate or tell me how many steps I’m taking. I just want something I can use to call people and that they can call me on, yes? Something . . . nice and chunky.’ He held two fingers up, six inches apart. ‘Like . . . this size, and something that, when it rings, actually sounds like a phone ringing and not like some tiny robot being sick.’

  The salesman just stared, blinking.

  ‘Basically,’ Miller said, ‘I’m looking to downgrade.’

  It was very clear that the shop assistant had no idea how to deal with such a request. He looked helplessly around for his manager, but was saved any further difficulty when the side door opened and Xiu stuck her head round.

  ‘You need to come and see this,’ she said.

  Miller stood up, took a step towards the door then turned back to the salesman. ‘Oh, and I don’t mind if it’s one of those flippy ones. I like pretending I’m in Star Trek . . .’

  When Miller walked into the office, Xiu was already back at the computer scrolling through the CCTV; rewinding to the point from which she needed Miller to watch. ‘We knew what time the phone was purchased, so it wasn’t very tricky . . . here we go.’

  Miller watched as the customer they were looking for entered the shop and stood looking, rather nervously, around.

  Xiu froze the image and zoomed in, but there was really no need because Miller could see immediately who it was.

  ‘Bugger me,’ he said.

  FIFTY-ONE

  ‘So, just to confirm that even though you are not under caution, this interview is being recorded.’ Xiu looked to make sure that the woman opposite understood and saw her glance up towards the large camera mounted in the corner of the room. ‘And that you’ve chosen to do without the legal representation that you’ve been offered.’

  ‘Why would I need it?’ Pippa Shepherd asked. ‘I don’t even know why I’m here.’ She shook her head and looked at Miller. ‘How am I supposed to start moving on? Like you told me.’

  ‘I know it’s not ideal, Mrs Shepherd,’ Miller said. ‘But we’ve just got a couple more questions. A few things that need clearing up, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, anything I can do to help, obviously.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s much appreciated. Oh . . . before we get stuck in, would you mind telling me where you were three nights ago? Around ten o’clock?’

  ‘I was at home, I think.’

  ‘You sure about that? Where was your car?’ Miller knew exactly where her car had been, having run that partial number plate he’d seen on the vehicle driving away from outside his house, but he waited for Pippa to answer.

  ‘Oh . . . that’s right, I went for a drive. I was trying to clear my head a bit.’

  ‘By driving to my house?’

  Pippa looked horrified. ‘What? I don’t even know where your house is. How could I know that?’

  ‘I’m not saying you did, I’m just telling you that’s where you happened to end up. Small world, isn’t it?’

  ‘I was . . . driving around,’ Pippa stammered, and worried at the rings on her fingers. ‘I can’t remember where I was.’

  ‘Let me try to help, then. Can you remember that you were following a woman named Michelle Cutler? There’s a good reason why the name might sound familiar, by the way. As a matter of fact you bumped into her at the mortuary.’

  It was the least relaxed shrug Miller had ever seen. ‘Like I said, I was just driving around.’

  Xiu leaned forward. ‘And I don’t suppose you’d know anything about damage caused to Mrs Cutler’s car around the same time. A white Range Rover? She called the police to report that someone had keyed it.’

  Miller thought that Pippa looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Or maybe a soon-to-be-flattened badger, like the one that moron on the radio had been talking about. ‘OK, let’s park that one for a while and talk about why you lied to us when we ran into you. Remember? When you were on your way to work, five hours before your shift actually started. I mean, Gemelli’s was only round the corner from where we saw you and you could have walked to Preston in that time.’

  ‘I was just out for a walk,’ Pippa said. ‘I didn’t want you to think I was out . . . enjoying myself, when I should have been at home grieving for my husband. That’s all. I’m sorry, it was stupid of me.’