‘Yeah, it was a bit,’ Miller said. ‘So, just to clarify, you ­weren’t walking to Michelle Cutler’s house with your keys in your fist?’ The doomed badger expression returned to Pippa’s face. ‘OK, well, as porky-pies go, I suppose it’s a fairly small one. It’s like one of those mini ones you can get from M&S, which I highly recommend, by the way.’ He sat back and stretched out his arms. ‘Right then . . . quickfire round. Have you any idea why your husband withdrew three thousand pounds from a secret account, two days before he died?’

  ‘What?’ Pippa looked genuinely stunned.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no then, shall I?’

  ‘Three thousand pounds?’

  Xiu leaned forward again. ‘Or what about the hidden operating system he was using to access the Dark Web? Do you know what he might have been doing on there?’

  ‘Dark Web?’

  ‘It’s kind of like Amazon,’ Miller said. ‘But with drugs and guns and kiddie porn.’

  ‘I don’t . . .’ Pippa lowered her head and shook it. ‘Was that what was on the flash drive thing?’

  ‘Everyone has secrets, Mrs Shepherd.’

  Xiu took a sheet of paper from her file. ‘Now it’s time to talk about yours.’

  Miller waited until Pippa was looking at him. ‘We need to move on to a porky-pie that’s considerably bigger than the last one. You know the biggest pork pie in the world weighed over twenty-three thousand pounds and was nearly eight feet wide? We’re talking about something that kind of size, you know . . . relative to the seriousness of this investigation. A properly massive porky-pie, Mrs Shepherd.’

  Xiu slid the sheet of paper across the desk. ‘Can you take a look at that list of phone numbers, please?’

  Pippa reached into her bag for glasses. She put them on and stared down at the list in front of her.

  ‘See the ones that have been highlighted?’ Miller reached across to stab at several of the numbers. ‘All the same number. Do you recognise that number?’

  Pippa removed her glasses and slid the sheet back to Xiu. ‘It’s mine.’

  ‘Would you mind speaking up a little, Mrs Shepherd?’ Xiu nodded towards the twin cassette deck on the table. ‘For the recording.’

  ‘It’s my number.’

  ‘It’s one of your numbers,’ Miller said. ‘You know, if we’re being picky. A pay as you go phone, which you bought several months ago and which I’m guessing you don’t use very much. That list is the call log from a handset belonging to Adrian Cutler. Remember him? He was the man whose body was found in the room next to your husband’s. The man you told us you’d never heard of.’

  Pippa swallowed hard and glanced up at the camera again.

  ‘How did you know Adrian Cutler, Mrs Shepherd?’ Miller gave her a few seconds, but she’d lowered her head again and didn’t appear hugely keen to answer. ‘I mean, it’s probably just my blinkered worldview, but Adrian Cutler wasn’t exactly the sort of bloke I’d expect someone like you to be . . . friendly with.’ He gave her another chance to respond, but she didn’t take it. ‘It’s a surprise, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not sure how much you knew about him, or about his business – and I’m using the word “business” rather loosely there – but . . .’

  Pippa looked up at him suddenly, sad yet oddly defiant. ‘Adrian came into Gemelli’s one night with a few of his friends.’

  ‘When was this?’ Xiu asked.

  ‘A few months ago.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Miller said. ‘He complained about the stinginess of the pizza toppings, you bunged him a bit of extra pepperoni on the sly and one thing led to another.’

  ‘He was . . . flirting a bit and being Jack the Lad and he wrote his number on a napkin. Just showing off for his mates, I thought. So, a few days later, I was sitting at home and Barry was working late and . . . I rang it.’ She saw Xiu glance at Miller and the defiance ratcheted up a notch. ‘I can tell you think I should be ashamed, or that I’m just a stupid old slapper who was kidding herself that a younger man would be interested.’ She leaned forward. ‘But he was interested. He really was . . . and it was exciting. Barry was all sorts of things . . . all sorts of wonderful things, but he was never that.’

  ‘So, to be clear,’ Xiu said. ‘You and Adrian Cutler were having an affair?’

  Miller turned to stare at her. ‘You’re just getting that?’

  ‘It was half a dozen times,’ Pippa said. ‘That’s all. I’m not daft; I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. It was just—’

  ‘Did Barry know?’ Miller asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’ She looked from Miller to Xiu and back. ‘I mean, God . . . I hope not. But he wasn’t a stupid man. I swear, that’s all I’ve been able to think about ever since . . .’ Now the defiance had gone and she looked horrorstruck. ‘Is that why Barry was there?’

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ Miller said.

  ‘At the hotel?’

  ‘The investigation is still ongoing.’

  ‘Is that why he’s dead?’ Pippa was beginning to panic, breathing heavily and clutching at the arms of her chair. ‘Him and Adrian? I don’t understand . . .’ She began to cry, pressing the heels of her hands against tears of grief or guilt or both.

  Miller gently nudged a box of tissues across the table.

  Ten minutes later, Miller and Xiu stood in reception and watched Pippa Shepherd leave. She looked broken.

  ‘Hard to imagine,’ Xiu said. ‘Losing two people you care about at the same time. Like that.’

  Miller watched Pippa Shepherd step out of the revolving door and walk slowly away across the car park. Yes, she had been stalking her lover’s widow because she was nosy or jealous or perhaps because she suspected Michelle Cutler of killing Adrian. She had taken those feelings out on her rival’s shiny new Range Rover and by lying she had quite possibly hampered a police investigation. Though Miller couldn’t swear his superiors would see things in the same way, he was in no great hurry to nick her for any of that.

  In the end she was guilty of nothing worse than being stupid and scared.

  ‘She needed that hug even more than I thought,’ he said.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Miller was pacing rapidly around Susan Akers’s office. ‘OK, go with me on this . . .’

  While she did not appear to be exactly champing at the bit, Akers shrugged like she had nothing better to do, while Sullivan, who was sitting in the chair nearest her desk, pulled a face which strongly suggested his unwillingness to follow Miller anywhere. Xiu watched from the corner of the room, having already agreed, with a degree of reluctance and one or two serious reservations, to go along for the ride.

  Ten minutes earlier, Miller had led her into the corridor outside the incident room and talked her through the theory.

  ‘It makes a . . . kind of sense,’ Xiu had said when he’d finished. ‘I do have some buts, though.’

  ‘I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.’

  ‘Some big buts.’

  ‘I like big buts,’ Miller said. ‘And I cannot lie.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter . . .’

  Now, it was all about convincing those higher up, even if some of them were considerably lower down the food chain.

  ‘So . . .’ Miller waited until he was sure he had everyone’s attention. ‘We were right in our initial assumption that Adrian Cutler was the primary target.’

  Sullivan raised a hand. ‘Let me stop you there.’

  ‘Do you need the toilet?’ Miller asked.

  ‘What do you mean our assumption? You’ve been the one who’s been challenging that all along.’

  ‘Someone has to ask the difficult questions,’ Miller said.

  ‘Agreed,’ Akers said. ‘But that’s not the same as being difficult.’

  Sullivan nodded, like he was about to clap. Miller was just hoping he would catch it. ‘Look . . . I’m more than happy to admit that I’ve not always been on the right track with this, but sometimes the answers aren’t where you expect them to be and you need to go off road a bit.’ He looked at Akers and held out his hands. ‘Am I right?’

  ‘Ask me again when you’ve finished,’ the DCI said.

  ‘Making the odd mistake along the way is all part of the journey and I think we can all agree that getting there in the end is what counts.’ He turned to Akers again. ‘Slow and steady wins the race.’

  ‘Not if it’s a sprint,’ Xiu said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘If it’s like . . . the hundred metres or something, slow and steady’s rubbish.’

  Miller tried to ignore the smirk from Sullivan and flashed Xiu a look to let her know that she very much wasn’t helping.

  ‘Fine,’ Miller said. ‘I still think my point stands, because we were looking in the wrong place when it comes to the identity of the person who took out the contract on Cutler.’

  ‘Shepherd.’ Akers had been observing the interview with Pippa Shepherd and was, unsurprisingly, a little ahead of him.

  ‘Give the woman a coconut,’ Miller said. ‘I mean, presuming you want a coconut. I was going to say cigar, and it’s not like I don’t think you could carry that look off, but in the end I decided that you’d probably go for the coconut.’

  ‘Please get on with it, DS Miller.’

  Miller nodded and resumed his pacing. ‘So . . . Barry Shepherd finds out that his wife is having an affair with Adrian Cutler and decides to do something about it. He takes out the money from his secret account and goes shopping on the dark web.’

  ‘He was an IT expert,’ Xiu said.

  ‘Right.’ Miller’s look made it clear that this was more like the kind of support he’d been expecting. ‘He could do that stuff in his sleep.’

  ‘So, he goes looking for someone who can do something about it,’ Akers said. ‘He hires a hitman.’

  ‘Correct,’ Miller said.

  Sullivan scoffed. ‘For three grand?’

  ‘Something of a Poundland hitman, admittedly,’ Miller said. ‘But basically, yes. Chances are, Shepherd’s watching Cutler, so he quickly finds out about the weekly spanking sessions with Scarlett Ribbons at the Sands. So now he’s got the perfect location.’

  Sullivan garnished the scoff with a derisory snort. ‘Well, that might . . . I say might explain Cutler, but how does Barry Shepherd end up dead?’

  Miller nodded thoughtfully, as if he had been expecting exactly that question. It had been the biggest of Xiu’s buts. ‘Because our hitman doesn’t like to leave loose ends . . . ?’

  ‘Is that the best you’ve got?’

  ‘It’s a fair question,’ Akers said.

  Much as he would have liked to, Miller couldn’t disagree. ‘Look, I don’t know exactly what happened that night and I’m still trying to work out what Shepherd was doing there in the first place. We do know that the same shooter killed both of them.’

  Xiu stepped forward, nodding. ‘The ballistic report confirms it was the same gun.’

  Akers looked at Sullivan. Miller grinned at Xiu.

  ‘So, we’re there, pretty much.’ Miller stared around, expectantly. A round of applause or perhaps a small confetti cannon would have been nice, but at the very least he thought that long overdue cake should be putting in an appearance quite soon.

  ‘Tim . . . ?’ Akers looked to her DI.

  Sullivan stood up and leaned against the desk. He gave another small nod and Miller had to fight the urge to punch the air. He winked at Akers, who pretended not to notice.

  ‘I don’t want to rain on your parade . . .’ Sullivan said.

  Miller waited, his jaw aching from keeping the smile fixed in place. Oh yes you do. You’d happily rain hot stale donkey piss all over it and dance a jubilant, if uncoordinated jig while you were doing it.

  ‘It’s just that I do think “pretty much” is putting it a bit strongly. Don’t you, DS Miller? Because, if we actually want to see someone prosecuted for these murders, there’s just the small matter of catching your mystery hitman.’

  FIFTY-THREE

  The white Range Rover was nowhere to be seen. Pippa could only assume that it was being repaired and she was wondering how much something like that might cost as she rang the doorbell. She was also doing all she could to control her breathing, to keep the nerves in check so that she could get her words out when the time came.

  Not that she had a very clear idea what those words might be.

  The woman who answered the door was wearing one of those fancy tracksuits like the one she’d had on at the mortuary. She’d been wearing full make-up that day, too, but now her face was scrubbed and pale and she would probably say she looked rough, even though Pippa still reckoned she looked amazing. Pippa had taken over an hour to get ready and redone her own make-up twice.

  Michelle Cutler peered around the door and narrowed her eyes, like she recognised the face of her visitor, but couldn’t quite place it.

  ‘Sorry,’ Pippa said. She took a sharp breath and shook her head. She tried to smile. Even though she was sorry – for all sorts of things – it didn’t feel like a good start. ‘My name’s Pippa Shepherd. My husband Barry was killed on the same night . . .’ She stopped when she saw Michelle Cutler start to nod.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got you now,’ Michelle said. ‘I know who you are.’

  ‘Right, yeah . . .’

  Michelle studied her.

  ‘Can I come in?’ Pippa asked. ‘I won’t take up too much of your time, I promise.’

  ‘I’ve only just put my kids to bed.’ Michelle seemed unsure, but eventually opened the door. ‘OK, if you’re quiet . . .’

  Pippa wondered why the woman might think she wouldn’t be quiet, but said ‘thank you’ anyway.

  Downstairs, in the biggest kitchen Pippa had ever seen, Michelle fetched wine from the fridge and poured Pippa a glass. ‘I’ve already got one on the go,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve had a bottle open ever since it happened,’ Pippa said. ‘I mean, I like a glass now and again anyway, but the last few days . . .’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ Michelle held her glass up and leaned across the island to touch it to Pippa’s. ‘You don’t know what to do with yourself, right?’

  They drank in silence for a while. Pippa was wondering if Michelle was wondering why the hell Pippa was there, and what she would say if she was actually asked.

  ‘Have you thought about what you’re going to do with all your husband’s . . . sorry, I can’t remember . . .’

  ‘Barry,’ Pippa said.

  ‘Right. With all Barry’s stuff. His clothes and what have you.’

  ‘Not really. This copper told me it would be a good idea to deal with all that, though, so I could “move on”.’

  ‘Miller?’

  Pippa nodded.

  Michelle nodded in return. ‘He’s an oddball, don’t you reckon?’

  ‘I mean . . . how can I even think about moving on when they won’t release my husband’s body? I’m not going to start giving his clothes away until I’ve decided what to bury him in.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Michelle said. ‘It’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Have you heard anything about that? When they might release your husband’s body, I mean.’

  ‘Not a dicky bird.’

  Pippa sipped her wine. ‘So, what about all Adrian’s things?’

  ‘Yeah, Adrian had a lot of nice stuff . . . expensive suits and all that. Well, apart from the ones I cut up.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  Michelle smiled and waved Pippa’s question away. ‘There’s a place in town that does pre-loved designer clothes. I thought I might try them. They sell them for you, then they take a small commission.’ She shrugged. ‘Might as well make a few quid, eh?’

  ‘Why not?’ Pippa said. She turned and nodded towards the door down to the basement. ‘What are you going to do with his trains?’

  ‘God knows. They’re a pain in the—’ Michelle stopped and cocked her head. ‘How did you know about Adrian’s trains?’

  ‘Oh . . . I’m not really sure.’ Pippa tried to remain calm. ‘Maybe Adrian’s dad mentioned them.’

  ‘You’ve met Wayne?’

  ‘Yeah, I . . . ran into him. He must have said something.’

  Michelle considered this then shook her head. ‘No, that’s not it.’ An icy smile broke across her face. ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’

  Pippa lowered her head. She hadn’t come here with the intention of telling Michelle Cutler that she’d been having an affair with her husband, but part of her had wanted the woman to know. She needed to feel . . . acknowledged. In the end, she had decided against saying anything, because whatever else she was, she had never been cruel, but now it was out in the open there seemed little point in denying it.

  ‘I knew that something was different,’ Michelle said. ‘That it wasn’t just another Bootylicious Babe.’ She necked what was left in her wineglass. ‘I knew he’d actually fallen for someone.’

  Pippa had no idea what to do. Adrian had told her some fairly scary stories about his wife, about her temper. She sat frozen, wondering if she should at least try to run, half-expecting the woman to come flying across the island at her with the empty glass.

  Instead, Michelle just shook her head and the icy expression thawed a little. ‘But I never expected . . . I mean, you’re so old.’

  Pippa looked up, horrified. ‘I’m forty-three.’

  ‘Like I said.’

  ‘It was a stupid fling,’ Pippa said. ‘That’s all. I know it probably won’t count for anything . . . but I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ Michelle stood up. ‘I only wish I was more bothered.’ She walked across to the fridge, looking for a new bottle. ‘He could never keep it in his pants, that was my old man’s trouble. He was a decent dad and he always took care of everything financially, but he was always unfaithful to me.’ She turned and pointed. ‘And you can be damn sure he was unfaithful to you, too.’