‘The way you were that first time I saw you together, I knew it wasn’t just because you felt sorry for her.’

  ‘Right, even though I am a deeply compassionate person.’

  ‘Then I saw a picture of your wife,’ Xiu said. ‘It wasn’t rocket science.’

  As the car pulled away and Xiu put her foot down, Miller began chuntering to himself. ‘People always say that, don’t they? Like rocket science is the hardest thing in the world and it’s really not. I’m not saying I could do it, just that I’d like to see some of these so-called rocket scientists have a bash at something that’s properly difficult. Like trying to put a key on a brand-new keyring or opening a carton of milk without it exploding all over the floor. Let’s see them try to find the end on a roll of Sellotape or bath a cat or dance a half-decent bloody foxtrot, come to that . . . ’

  Xiu waited until Miller had taken a breath. ‘They’re both gorgeous, by the way.’

  Miller looked at her.

  ‘Finn and Alex.’

  SIXTY-FOUR

  ‘You can stop laughing now,’ Bardsley said.

  ‘Sorry, I just think it’s hilarious.’ Cutler cut into his steak. ‘A bloke who spends his whole life working with meat, even if some of it is a bit dubious, then comes out and orders . . . what the hell is it, again?’

  Bardsley looked down at his main course with distaste. ‘It’s a mushroom and lentil nut roast.’ He pushed a fork through it, as though that might somehow magically transform it into a plate of lamb chops. ‘Mrs Bardsley thinks I should eat a few more veggies and suchlike. Cholesterol and what have you.’

  ‘Well, at least Mrs Bardsley still cares,’ Cutler said.

  They’d agreed to meet midway between Blackpool and Preston because that seemed fair and had settled finally on a gastropub just off the A583 outside Kirkham. ‘Place has got some decent reviews,’ Cutler had told Bardsley on the phone. ‘Two courses each for thirty quid a pop and it’s out of the way.’

  ‘I wish I was eating what my driver’s got,’ Bardsley said. The man in question was sitting in a Lexus outside and was probably already tucking into the pasty he’d bought from the nearby garage. Cutler’s driver, parked up next to him in a Range Rover, had thought ahead and brought a packed lunch.

  ‘Think about how much healthier you’ll be.’ Cutler popped a chunk of steak into his mouth and took a glug of the extremely cheeky Malbec he’d ordered to go with it. He swallowed and looked at Bardsley. ‘A damn sight healthier than Dudley Driscoll, that’s for bloody sure.’

  ‘Yeah, well. Had to be done, didn’t it?’

  ‘I didn’t expect it to be done like that,’ Cutler said. ‘Apparently, they needed special lifting gear to get the body out. Because the fridge had to come with it, you know?’

  ‘What can I say?’ Bardsley took a tentative mouthful of food. ‘The individual in question is very . . . creative. Got to take my hat off to him though, especially considering that Driscoll was already dead when he found him.’

  Cutler shook his head, though he didn’t look particularly shocked. ‘Was he?’

  Bardsley wasn’t surprised that Cutler wasn’t surprised. ‘Yeah. Shot in the head, apparently. But you know, if you’ve gone to the trouble of bringing a nail gun and welding gear along, it seems a shame not to use it.’

  ‘Well, it never hurts to make sure, does it?’

  ‘Torchy’s always been a belt and braces kind of bloke.’

  ‘Who the hell is he, anyway?’

  ‘No names, no pack-drill, right?’

  ‘OK, it’s just that I might be able to put a bit more work his way. You know, if he fancies it.’

  ‘Let’s just say he was a lad I was at school with. He was an old mate of George’s as well, so I think he enjoyed himself.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Cutler said. ‘Whatever lights your candle. Or in this case, your welding torch. Fact is, I wish I’d never hired that moron Driscoll anyway, all the arse-ache it caused.’

  ‘A bit more than “arse-ache” for George.’

  ‘Agreed, and I’m sorry for your loss, but you’ve got to admit that Panaides had to be dealt with.’

  Bardsley sighed. ‘Yeah, I take your point. He did get a bit above himself.’ He waved the waiter across and held up his plate. ‘Could you take this away and bring me gammon, egg and chips?’

  Cutler grinned as the waiter sloped back towards the kitchen. ‘So, Driscoll for Panaides evens things up then.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Bardsley said. ‘A mathematical equilibrium has been restored.’

  ‘Equi . . . what?’

  ‘We’re all square, Wayne.’ Bardsley sipped his mineral water. He was wishing it was a pint of Old Mill which he’d noticed the place had on tap, but Maureen had told him he needed to cut down on the beer a bit as well. ‘So, we can move forward knowing that there are no grudges.’

  ‘Certainly not from me,’ Cutler said. ‘I won’t even kick up a fuss if you want to open another place or two in Blackpool.’

  ‘That’s very reasonable of you.’

  ‘Long as nobody else gets above themselves.’

  ‘They won’t.’

  ‘Because I don’t want to be spending money to have another one of your lot taken out any time soon. Prices for decent hitmen have gone through the roof since Brexit.’

  ‘I’ll see to it,’ Bardsley said.

  Cutler sat back, chewing. ‘Good, and in the spirit of co-operation, I might even expand a bit and start shifting some of my merchandise in your neck of the woods. You’re all right with that, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, hang on . . . I’m not sure that having more drugs around would be awfully good for my business. The only reason folk want a burger or a nice battered sausage is because they’ve had a skinful in the pub. That’s my whole thing. They don’t want to eat fast food after they’ve had the kind of stuff your lads’ll be selling.’

  ‘Well, not with coke, maybe, but I was thinking weed would be more the way to go. You never heard of the munchies, Frank? A few extra stoners hanging around on Fishergate, you’ll be quids in.’

  Bardsley considered it, then shrugged. ‘OK . . . yeah, I suppose that makes sense. Some Cutler cannabis and a Bardsley’s Banger sounds like a reasonable night out.’

  Cutler raised his glass and leaned across to touch it to Bardsley’s. ‘To hands across Lancashire.’

  The waiter arrived with Bardsley’s gammon, and he glanced up to see the couple coming from around the bar just before he proceeded to get happily stuck in. ‘Now, that’s more like it.’

  ‘Afternoon, Wayne.’

  Bardsley may not have recognised the couple who had now arrived at the table, but Cutler certainly did and looked less than delighted to see them. He laid down his cutlery. ‘I was really looking forward to that.’ He nodded down at his half-eaten steak. ‘Now you’ve gone and put me right off.’

  Bardsley looked up. ‘Friends of yours, Wayne?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Miller and Detective Sergeant . . . ’ Cutler shook his head at Xiu and smiled sadly. ‘Sorry, I’m rubbish at remembering names.’

  The mention of the word ‘detective’ had been more than enough to get Bardsley’s attention. He’d quickly lost interest in his gammon and was staring at their visitors.

  ‘Oh, that’s right,’ Miller said. ‘And the concussion didn’t really help, did it? You couldn’t remember the name of the bloke who’d killed George Panaides, but miraculously it seems to have come back to you now. The bloke that caused you all that . . . how did you so delicately put it a few minutes ago? Arse-ache.’

  Cutler looked across at Bardsley; a flicker of concern.

  ‘My colleague’s name is Detective Sergeant Xiu, by the way. That’s Xiu, not spelled how it sounds, and I’ve got a feeling that you won’t forget it again any time soon.’ He pointed to the all but untouched gammon on Bardsley’s plate. ‘That looks tasty.’ He looked at Xiu. ‘Don’t you think that looks tasty?’

  ‘It does. But their nut roast is excellent, too.’

  ‘So everyone says.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ Cutler said. ‘Been here before, have you?’

  ‘We know all sorts about all sorts,’ Miller said. ‘Thanks largely, and I must say somewhat surprisingly, to your wife.’

  ‘What?’

  Miller looked at Bardsley. ‘And yours. Yeah, Jacqui and Maureen told us all manner of things, not least of which was the time and the place you’d be having this nice romantic lunch.’ He leaned down towards Cutler. ‘She even predicted what you’d order.’

  Xiu smiled at Bardsley. ‘Your wife will be pleased to hear that you at least gave that nut roast a try.’

  ‘Have you finished, Miller?’ Cutler glared at him.

  ‘Well, it was more of a dramatic pause, really, but if you’re itching to say something, don’t let me stop you.’

  ‘I don’t know what it is you think you’ve got, but by the time our lawyers have finished pulling it to pieces, it’s going to amount to the square root of sweet FA.’ He took a sip of wine then picked up his cutlery again. ‘So why don’t you both bugger off and leave us in peace?’

  ‘Tricky,’ Xiu said.

  ‘Yes, tricky,’ Miller said. ‘I mean we would, but because your better halves – I like to call them Jax and Mo – gave us plenty of time to set things up, we’ve now got all these flipping recordings to wade through, you see?’

  ‘All these what?’ Bardsley asked.

  Cutler looked at Bardsley again and shook his head.

  They were both as pale as the napkins.

  ‘There’s all these cameras for a start . . . look!’ Miller pointed up at the cameras in the corners of the ceiling. ‘There’s those two, plus the ones set up at the bar and by the door and there’s microphones all over the shop, including one just . . . ’ he pointed down to the arrangement of dried flowers next to the salt and pepper, ‘there, hidden away in that rather nice table arrangement.’ He leaned down towards it and said, ‘Hello? Testing, testing . . . so, there you are, lots to watch and listen to later on. I might even end up having to miss The One Show, which is, well, an arse-ache, but what can you do?’

  ‘Swings and roundabouts,’ Xiu said.

  Miller nodded. ‘That’s exactly what it is.’ He looked back at Cutler and Bardsley, who by now were staring down at the table, each with a good deal to think about. ‘Oh, and obviously you’re both nicked. Don’t mind us, though, you go ahead and finish your lunch.’

  SIXTY-FIVE

  The lawyer – who Cutler had confidently predicted would be pulling Miller’s case apart – looked as though he couldn’t pull the skin off a rice pudding. With a sickly expression and hair almost as thin as the rest of him, he sat next to Cutler in the interview room staring at the wall or shuffling his highly polished brogues. For the first few minutes, things had ticked along nicely with his most important client doing just as instructed and parroting a succession of ‘no comments’ of which any villain worth his salt could be rightfully proud. Unfortunately for his soon-to-be-exasperated brief, Cutler was not the kind of villain who had ever been able to keep his gob shut for very long. This, together with a mountain of evidence that would give Ranulph Fiennes a nosebleed, left the lawyer in no doubt that he was the one with sweet FA and little to do but stare at his nails and think about how best to spend his two hundred and fifty quid an hour.

  A year’s supply of Hobnobs, an electric guitar like John Lennon’s and perhaps a jaunty hat, Miller thought. That’s how I’d spend it.

  ‘I’m very glad you’ve decided to be a bit more chatty, Wayne,’ Miller said. ‘All that “no comment” stuff really builds the tension on a cop show but it’s so bloody tedious. I honestly thought I was going to drop off at one point, and just think about the poor sod who has to type all this up!’

  ‘Who’s watching?’ Cutler nodded towards the camera in the corner. It was far from being his first rodeo, so he knew that the interview was currently being viewed by many others in the station.

  ‘Oh. Well, Detective Sergeant Xiu, obviously . . . remember her? DI Sullivan and DCI Akers and maybe even one or two senior to her. For all I know, the Chief Constable or the Home Secretary might be up there tuning in. You’re quite the draw.’

  ‘Well, course I am.’ Cutler looked up at the camera and raised two fingers to everyone watching.

  ‘For the benefit of the audio recording,’ Miller said, ‘Mr Cutler has just gestured somewhat offensively to Detective Inspector Sullivan.’ He sat back, anticipating the pleasure he would get later on, picturing the DI’s reaction. ‘I swear, you could have knocked me down with a feather,’ he said. ‘When I got that call. The message was waiting for me after that business at the hospital – you know, when things got a bit unfortunate for the man you paid to have George Panaides killed, right before he got up close and personal with a fridge. You see, it just said “Cutler” on the note, so I presumed it was you. Yes, I did think it was a bit strange, because it’s not like you’re ringing me up for a natter every week, but all the same, I was gobsmacked when it turned out to be the fragrant Jacqui.’

  ‘Don’t.’

  ‘What, is she not particularly fragrant?’

  ‘Don’t mention her name.’

  ‘That’s not going to be easy,’ Miller said. ‘Considering she’s the one who’s provided so much of the evidence we have against you. Oh, I see, don’t mention her name because it’s unbearably painful to think that your own wife’s going to be responsible for you spending the rest of your life in prison. Yeah, I can see that would be quite a tough gig for your average marriage guidance counsellor.’

  Miller shook his head at how terribly sad it all wasn’t, then looked down at his notes and began to read from Jacqui Cutler’s statement. ‘ “I overheard my husband talking to the man I now know was Dudley Driscoll several times. He called him Draper back then. They talked about how much money it would cost to handle George Panaides. Then later, after Panaides was dead, he was offering him half that much.” ’ Miller looked across the table at Cutler. ‘Yeah, well you can’t blame a bloke for negotiating, can you?’ He went back to the statement. ‘ “I also heard him talking about the murder to Frank Bardsley. ‘We might save you the bother,’ he said. He was talking about the contract that was then out on Driscoll.” ’

  Cutler swore quietly, then more loudly at his lawyer when the man leaned across as if to offer some advice. The lawyer quickly leaned away again.

  ‘If it makes you feel any better, even if Jacqui hadn’t decided to speed up the process, you were always going to end up in prison eventually and the truth is I really don’t think she would have waited for you. To be honest, she was giving me the eye last time I was round at your place, which only goes to show how desperate she was.’

  The look of disgust on Cutler’s face made it clear that Miller’s words really hadn’t helped him feel better at all.

  ‘As it is, Wayne, Mrs Cutler has told us about a great many other conversations she overheard and about which she kept meticulous records. Discussions about major drug deals, extortion involving at least three different town councillors, and several other murders. Now, we’ll need to talk about them at some point, because she also claims to know exactly where many of those victims’ bodies ended up, but let’s start with Panaides, shall we?’

  ‘Bardsley’s wife did the dirty on him as well, did she?’

  ‘Mrs Bardsley was equally forthcoming, yes.’

  Cutler sighed and shook his head.

  ‘He’s currently being questioned in Preston,’ Miller said. ‘There are a few unexplained fires and several serious assaults he needs to talk to us about, as well as the whole “conspiracy to murder” thing. But even once he’s given us the real name of the man he calls “Torchy” I doubt very much he’ll go down for quite as long as you. A bit of a lightweight, really.’

  Cutler was still shaking his head, as though unable to take it all in.

  ‘Now that I mention it – conspiracy to murder, I mean – did you pay Dudley Driscoll to kill George Panaides?’ Miller waited, while the lawyer looked hard at Cutler as though willing him to keep his trap shut. ‘Did you agree to pay him ten thousand pounds in exchange for proof that the killing had been carried out, namely the victim’s severed hands complete with distinctive signet rings? Did you—?’

  ‘It beggars belief,’ Cutler said. ‘Don’t you think so?’

  ‘That you had Panaides killed? Don’t be ridiculous, Wayne, it’s eminently believable. Now, if you were asking me to believe that Snoop Dogg had him bumped off or that the Abominable Snowman was responsible—’

  ‘That she’d do that. That the mother of my children would turn on me after everything I’ve done for her.’

  ‘What can I tell you, mate? Relationships are tricky beasts.’

  ‘Vipers, that’s what these women are. A nest of chuffing vipers.’ Cutler sat forward quickly, red-faced and snarling. ‘Vipers in our . . . what-d’you-call-’em . . . ? Bosoms!’ He scowled at Miller. ‘That’s funny, is it?’

  Miller put a hand across his mouth to hide the smirk. ‘Sorry, but yeah, it is a bit. You know, when you say it like that. In the plural.’ He looked down at Jacqui Cutler’s statement again. ‘Now, if we could go back to what your wife overheard—’

  The lawyer was about to say something, but Cutler didn’t give him the chance. ‘Yes, of course I had that jumped-up little toe-rag killed.’

  ‘Oh! Well, that’s extremely helpful, Mr Cutler, thank you.’ Miller looked over at the lawyer and was unable to resist winking.

  ‘What else was I supposed to do? I’ve got a position to maintain in this poxy town, haven’t I? You heard what Frank Bardsley said yesterday. Even he admitted that his mate got above himself, so he needed bringing down a peg or two. I decided to do it permanently, that’s all. People would have expected me to have George Panaides killed, so how would it have looked if I’d let it go? You tell me, how would it have looked?’