‘It’s a thing you do when you’re impatient,’ Miller said. ‘Waiting for something, you know? It’s an idiosyncrasy. You might not even be aware you’re doing it, but you were doing it in a video I got sent: clicking your fingers while you stood waiting for my wife to count the money in an envelope you gave her. Does that ring any bells? I couldn’t work out what it was before, but then once I’d found out that you were a copper, I watched the video again and I remembered seeing you do it here. A couple of weeks back, when I came up to see your boss and you were waiting for her to sign your paperwork off. Remember?’ Miller tried the thing with his fingers again. ‘Oh, that wasn’t bad,’ he said. ‘I think I’ve cracked it now.’

  Palmer stood up.

  Now everyone in the incident room was watching.

  ‘I’m guessing you were going to take early retirement at some point anyway. Why wouldn’t you, because you’ve got quite a tidy sum stashed away in that bank account in Singapore. Alex reckoned you’d been taking bungs from Wayne Cutler for at least a couple of years, so what’s that . . . a few grand a month? What were you planning to do when you knocked the Job on the head? Open a pub? Maybe go into p rivate security or something, that’s always a popular choice.’

  ‘Are you listening to yourself?’ Palmer asked.

  ‘I try not to,’ Miller said.

  ‘If you think I had anything to do with your wife’s murder, you’re even madder than everyone says.’

  ‘I don’t think anything,’ Miller said. ‘I know you killed her, same as I know you killed Gary Pope. Poor old Chesshead had already sent me the photos by the way, so that really wasn’t necessary. Oh, and the post-mortem on Dudley Driscoll confirms that it was the gun gun that killed him, as opposed to the nail gun.’

  ‘Nail gun?’ For the first time, Palmer looked genuinely confused.

  ‘Oh, sorry, I was forgetting that happened after you left, but it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we’ve also had the ballistics report back which tells us conclusively that Driscoll was shot at the hospital with the same weapon that was used to kill Alex and Gary Pope. So now we know that one was down to you, as well. Probably just a favour for Wayne Cutler, right, to make sure Driscoll never got a chance to talk? He had you over a barrel when you think about it.’

  Palmer laughed again, though it was not altogether convincing. ‘Listen, mate, maybe you’re the one who needs to think about what they’ll be doing when they’ve handed in the warrant card, because as soon as word of this pantomime gets round, you’ll be out on your ear.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘Enforced “medical retirement”, something like that.’

  Miller nodded. ‘I can understand why you’re in such a bad mood, Chris.’

  ‘Can you now?’

  ‘Absolutely. Thirty-odd grand a year’s a decent wedge by anyone’s standards, so I’m guessing you were at least a bit worried when you heard that Wayne Cutler was in custody. You must have been gutted when you found out he’d actually confessed and you’d be waving bye-bye to that nice steady source of tax-free income. I mean, if I lost that sort of dosh I’d be seriously cheesed off.’

  ‘I haven’t lost anything, pal.’

  ‘And as if that wasn’t bad enough . . . ’

  Palmer looked at him, swallowing hard.

  ‘Oh yes, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid Wayne’s rather thrown you under the bus. Under a big lovely bus with “compelling testimony” plastered all over it. He was a bit stressed at the time, admittedly, but he was only too happy to confirm my wife’s suspicions. It’s quite funny as it goes, because he actually told me you weren’t even worth the money he was paying you. So, if it’s any consolation, I reckon you were going to get sacked anyway.’

  Palmer took a step back and wrapped his hands around the edge of the desk.

  ‘I know,’ Miller said. ‘Some days everything just goes tits up, doesn’t it?’ He clocked the pair of uniformed officers as they appeared in the doorway. He’d tapped the two of them up first thing and they’d been only too eager to help. They were big lads and, more importantly, they’d both known Alex, so Miller guessed that they wouldn’t be too gentle with Palmer if he tried to resist arrest.

  Or even if he didn’t.

  There was only one way to find out.

  ‘Christopher Palmer, I’m arresting you for the murders of Alexandra Miller, Gary Pope and Dudley Driscoll. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  The two uniforms had begun walking across as soon as Miller had commenced the caution. The larger of the two handed him a set of handcuffs and nodded, while his partner spun Palmer around. Miller fastened the cuffs until Palmer winced and didn’t bother loosening them, before turning him back round until they were face to face. Now that Miller had said the things he was duty-bound to say in front of a great many witnesses, he decided to improvise a little.

  ‘No, you don’t have to say anything, but now’s more or less your last chance. To say something about my wife. Maybe just a few words about what you did to her that might make me talk these two lads out of accidentally dropping you on your head on the way down the stairs.’

  Palmer sniffed, like he was thinking about it, then smiled when he’d come up with something that pleased him. ‘You think she was good at her job, yeah? Your saintly missus. Well, I don’t mind admitting that I was certainly fooled, Miller, but maybe she was fooling the lot of you. Because if you ask me, the best way to convince someone you’re happy to go on the take is because you actually are.’

  Later, at the inevitable but mercifully brief disciplinary hearing, Miller would claim it was the look on Palmer’s face as much as what he’d said that led to the attempted assault on a prisoner who was already in handcuffs. If he was being honest, it was probably a bit of both. Either way, this was when Miller did something he hadn’t done since the unfortunate incident outside Brannigans over twenty years before, and tried to throw a punch.

  It was ill-advised to say the least.

  He could hear Alex telling him as much.

  ‘For God’s sake, Miller. I can throw a better right hook than you . . . ’

  Back then, the bouncer at Brannigans had simply told Miller he was a pissed-up pillock and shoved him up against a Ford Fiesta. Now, Palmer just turned his head while one officer grabbed Miller’s arm and several others attempted to pull him away and then, after some sweary and ungainly pushing and shoving, Miller toppled backwards over an office chair and broke several small bones in his wrist.

  SIXTY-NINE

  Within two minutes of the lights going up, the bar at the Winter Gardens Opera House was already three or four deep with thirsty customers and Jacqui and Maureen were very glad they’d pre-ordered their interval drinks. They collected them from the bar, handed the barman a ten pound tip and carried their glasses across to a corner.

  ‘Enjoying it?’ Maureen asked.

  Jacqui pulled a face. ‘I could do with a bit more gin and a bit less tonic.’

  ‘The show, I mean.’

  ‘Oh yeah, it’s great.’ She looked around at the smiling faces, listened to the excited chatter for a few seconds. ‘This was a nice idea. Thanks.’

  Maureen touched her own glass to Jacqui’s. ‘Life goes on, right?’

  ‘If I’m honest . . . I did think that comedian who was on first was a bit crude.’

  ‘I thought he was funny.’

  ‘Yeah, he was . . . but it’s supposed to be a family show, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s sixteen-plus.’

  ‘I’m just saying some of it was a bit near the knuckle. That joke about the horse . . . ’

  Maureen sniggered, muttered the punchline to herself and sniggered again.

  Jacqui had never considered herself a prude. Far from it. She was well aware that, having spent the best part of thirty years married to someone whose idea of an entertaining night out involved duct tape and an electric drill, it was somewhat ironic that she should be offended by a bit of harmless smut. All the same, though . . . a horse? ‘The impressionist was pretty good though,’ she said. ‘His Bruce Forsyth was spot on.’

  They drank and people-watched while other audience members hurried to get served. A thick-set herbert in a football shirt tried to push past them on his way to the Gents, then thought better of it and moved quickly away when Jacqui fixed him with a hard stare.

  ‘Crikey,’ Maureen said. ‘That was a bit fierce.’

  Jacqui shrugged. ‘Wayne taught me how to do it. It’s all about making your eyes go dead.’

  ‘Can you show me?’

  ‘Yeah, course. It comes in handy when someone tries to get ahead of you at the checkout in Sainsburys.’

  ‘Ta very much.’ Maureen leaned a little closer. ‘You been in to see him?’

  ‘He doesn’t want me to.’ Jacqui sniffed and brushed hair back from her face. ‘Suits me fine, tell you the truth. I talked to him on the phone just after he was sent down on remand, but he wasn’t making a lot of sense. Just swearing at me and ranting about vipers.’ She stared into what was left of her G&T. ‘You seen Frank?’

  Maureen nodded. ‘Day before yesterday.’

  ‘How did that go?’

  ‘He says he forgives me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, he doesn’t mean it.’ Maureen smiled. ‘He’s just playing nice because he thinks I won’t come after him for as much as I would if he was being nasty.’

  ‘And will you?’

  ‘Oh God, yes. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not looking to clean him out, anything like that. A few years inside is going to be tough enough for him as it is, especially when you’re a good-looking man like my Frank.’

  Jacqui did her best not to guffaw, but thankfully Maureen wasn’t looking at her anyway.

  ‘I certainly don’t want anything to do with the business.’ Maureen looked as though she’d swallowed something unpleasant. A slice of lemon perhaps, or one of her husband’s sausages. ‘I’ve had quite enough of meat, thank you very much. So, he can keep all his burger joints and vans and what have you and carry on running all that from inside. All I want is the money I know very well he’s got stashed away . . . and the house, obviously.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And the holiday cottage in Prestatyn.’

  ‘It’s no more than you deserve,’ Jacqui said.

  ‘I’m just thinking about what’s best for the kids,’ Maureen said. ‘For Archie and Francesca.’ She downed the last of her rosé. ‘What about you? What’s your plan . . . going forward, like?’

  ‘Nice and simple,’ Jacqui said. ‘Divorce. Whether the divorce will be nice and simple is a different question. I don’t think Wayne will want to play nice, but maybe it happens automatically after he’s been inside for a few years. You got any idea how that works?’

  ‘Not a clue,’ Maureen said. ‘I reckon you’ve got pretty decent grounds though. Mental cruelty and whatnot.’

  ‘Oh yeah, there was plenty of that.’

  ‘So what are you going to sting him for?’

  ‘Nothing stupid,’ Jacqui said. ‘Just half of everything, which I think is only fair, and you never know, maybe I could start running a bit of the business. I know every bit as much about it as Wayne ever did.’

  Maureen looked at her.

  ‘Not the really dodgy stuff. Nothing where people get hurt.’

  ‘Oh, OK . . . ’

  ‘Not seriously hurt, anyway. Besides, I reckon DS Miller and his mates might well be inclined to look the other way, don’t you? The favour I’ve done for them.’

  ‘I was thinking more about what Wayne would think,’ Maureen said. ‘I can’t see him being thrilled about it.’

  ‘Nor me, but by the time he gets out he’ll be too old and knackered to do much about it. Or he’ll be in a box. Personally, I don’t really mind which.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve thought it through,’ Maureen said.

  Jacqui drained her glass. ‘Oh, I’ve been thinking about it for quite a while. A few years to get myself and the kids properly set up, then I’m buggering off to the sunshine.’

  ‘I’ve always fancied Torquay,’ Maureen said.

  ‘I was thinking more like the Maldives,’ Jacqui said.

  ‘Oh, fair enough.’

  The bell rang to signal that the second half was about to begin, so they pushed their way back towards the auditorium.

  ‘So, what’s in the second half then?’ Jacqui asked.

  Maureen took the programme from her handbag and began leafing through it. ‘So, there’s a few dancers to kick us off, then another comedian who I’ve never heard of . . . and a singer to finish.’ She held out the programme as they moved towards their seats, so that Jacqui could see the singer’s picture. ‘Looks like a bit of an Elvis tribute.’

  ‘I really hope he sings “Jailhouse Rock”,’ Jacqui said.

  They were still chuckling a few minutes later when the lights went down.

  SEVENTY

  ‘I think you did it on purpose,’ Finn said. ‘Just so I’d have to do all the work.’

  Miller was sitting at the kitchen table, watching her. He pushed a fork into the plaster cast on his wrist in an effort to scratch the itch that had been driving him mad for hours. ‘Yeah, you got me.’ With him having only one working hand, the lion’s share of the cooking had indeed fallen to Finn, though to call it ‘cooking’ was something of a stretch, consisting merely, as it did, of sticking a couple of M&S pies into the oven (one steak, one cauliflower and leek), opening a bag of frozen chips and emptying a tin of beans into a saucepan.

  ‘I’m knackered already.’ Finn leaned back against the worktop and folded her arms.

  Miller grinned, but fought the urge to say anything sarky. He knew that her normal regime of food preparation involved half an hour’s begging followed by a short walk to Greggs and the delicate removal of a vegan sausage roll from its paper bag. Having grafted for at least ten minutes in Miller’s kitchen – following careful instructions to open a few packets and fill a pan with water – she was probably feeling like she’d spent several hours being shouted at by Gordon Ramsay.

  ‘You’re doing a great job,’ Miller said. He was still working the fork under the edge of the plaster and moaned with pleasure when he finally hit the spot. ‘Oh, yes, that’s good.’

  Finn grimaced. ‘Please don’t, Miller.’

  ‘Please don’t what?’

  ‘You’re making . . . sex noises,’ she said. ‘It’s cringey.’

  ‘Firstly, I’m just scratching, so chill out, sister and secondly, that’s not my go-to sexy noise anyway. This is—’

  ‘No!’ Finn clapped her hands across her ears and kept them there until Miller waved to let her know he wasn’t going to make any further noises.

  Then he made the noise again.

  ‘You’re disgusting,’ Finn said, laughing. ‘So I’m going in there to play with the rats.’ She stopped at the sound of a motorbike outside, then turned a few seconds later when the doorbell rang. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Well, it might be Jehovah’s Witnesses,’ Miller said. ‘In which case we can just invite them in for a quick natter, then tell them to bugger off when dinner’s ready.’

  ‘Miller . . . ’

  ‘Look, I knew you were a bit nervous about coming over, so I thought a bit more company might make things easier, that’s all. Take the pressure off a bit.’

  ‘What kind of company?’

  ‘Why don’t you go and find out?’ Miller stood up as Finn headed a little reluctantly for the front door. He opened the oven to check on the pies and, by the time he walked into the living room, Finn was greeting their guests.

  He could tell immediately that he’d made a good decision.

  Finn was smiling as she took Sara Xiu’s crash helmet from her, then closed her eyes and held on tight when she was pulled into a hug by Natalie Bagnall.

  Natalie stepped back to look at her. ‘That’s better.’

  Finn nodded, a little embarrassed at being the centre of attention.

  The bruising on Finn’s face had all but disappeared, though Miller knew there were still plenty of scars that nobody could see. He was also well aware that Natalie Bagnall had plenty of her own.

  ‘How’s the wrist?’ she asked.

  ‘Itchy,’ Miller said.

  Finn nudged Xiu, who was eyeing Fred and Ginger’s cage warily. ‘When he scratches, it’s like a porn movie.’

  Natalie had put the cast on Miller’s wrist herself, three days before at the Vic. She looked confused when she reached to re-examine her handiwork, only for Miller to pull away and hide it behind his back. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I’ve got some very juvenile friends.’ Miller sighed and held out his arm to her. ‘So I apologise in advance.’

  Natalie looked down at the plaster cast which was already looking a little tired, though not quite grubby enough to disguise what Imran had drawn on it in black felt-tip pen. She nodded, impressed. ‘Well, I can’t argue with the anatomical detail,’ she said. ‘Though they’re usually a bit smaller than that.’

  Finn and Xiu laughed.

  ‘Right then.’ Miller rubbed his hands together, forgetting that one of them wasn’t really working properly and wincing a little. ‘Who’s up for getting hammered?’

  ‘If you absolutely insist,’ Finn said.

  ‘I’d better not,’ Xiu said, nodding towards her crash helmet.

  ‘Well, I’m only on the back of the bike,’ Natalie said.

  Xiu looked disapproving. ‘You could still fall off.’

  ‘I’ve got some bungee cords,’ Miller said. ‘We can tie you on if we have to.’