COLD KILL. Neil White

was a noise behind, and as she turned back to the door, Mike Corley was there. He nodded at Joe and then turned to go back into the house.

      As they followed, Laura asked, ‘Is your wife in?’

      Mike Corley shook his head. ‘Gone to her sister’s house. She just can’t cope with all the visitors and the intrusion.’

      ‘Looks like she missed a well-wisher,’ Laura said. ‘She needs to know that people are there for her.’ When Corley looked confused, Laura pointed towards the window. ‘The man who was just here.’

      ‘Oh him,’ Corley said, and then shook his head as if the visit meant nothing. ‘Just an old friend.’

      He didn’t look like the sort of person a policeman had round for afternoon tea, Laura thought, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she sat down on the sofa, just to emphasise that it wasn’t a quick visit. Corley stayed on his feet, his eyes flicking between her and Joe.

      ‘How much have you been told today?’ Laura asked.

      ‘Not much,’ he said. ‘A reporter came here earlier, but he just told me what I already knew.’

      ‘Can you remember his name?’

      ‘Garrett,’ he said. ‘Joe or John.’

      Laura blushed, before she said, ‘Jack.’ She coughed. ‘Jack Garrett.’

      ‘So you know him?’

      Laura nodded, trying not to give anything away. ‘Yes, I know him. What did he tell you?’

      ‘Just that you didn’t catch my daughter’s killer and he has murdered someone else,’ he said. ‘That just about sum it up?’

      Laura looked at Joe, who was pursing his lips.

      ‘You know how it is,’ Joe said. ‘We don’t always catch these people straight away.’

      Mike shook his head, his hands on his hips, his tongue flicking across his lips with tension. ‘I know that you lot cruise around the station like we are supposed to be in awe of you,’ he said. ‘But how often do you get it right?’

      ‘The woman’s name was Jane Roberts,’ Laura said. ‘Do you know her, or Jane’s father, Don Roberts?’

      Corley’s anger stalled at that, and he gave a quick shake of his head. Too quick.

      ‘You seem pretty certain,’ Laura said.

      ‘I know who I know.’

      ‘What about your daughter? Did she keep any address book that you haven’t already handed over? Jane’s name might be in there. If they are connected in any way, it might help to find your daughter’s killer.’

      Again, Corley shook his head.

      ‘Have you checked?’ Laura said.

      ‘I don’t need to,’ Corley said, angrier now. ‘Deborah’s life was turned inside out by the press before she was found, and it didn’t let up after. All they wrote about was her love life, because she’d had a couple of married boyfriends, just because it made the story a little seedier. How do you think that made us feel, that we had to find out things about our daughter that we didn’t need to know, that no one needed to know?’

      ‘That was the press, not us,’ Joe said. ‘We can’t stop them from printing whatever will sell their papers, but you can use them, to keep Deborah in the public eye, make them see the real Deborah, not the one they have shown until now.’

      ‘That’s what the reporter said earlier. You must work from scripts.’ He snorted a bitter laugh. ‘Is that why you’ve come here, to get me to talk to the press?’

      ‘No,’ Joe said. ‘I just want to find out whether you can think of anything else. It’s been three weeks now.’

      Mike Corley gritted his teeth. ‘I know exactly how long it is,’ he said. ‘I have felt every day of it.’

      ‘So have you thought of anything else?’ Joe asked.

      Mike Corley shook his head. ‘No, and now someone else has died.’

      Joe nodded, and then looked at Laura to let her know that it was time to go.

      ‘If you come across Jane’s name, will you tell us?’ she said.

      Corley nodded slowly, but then said, ‘Could you please leave? All I see right now are detectives who have failed us. Speak to me when you find out who killed my daughter.’

      Laura exchanged quick glances with Joe, and then she nodded. ‘Sorry, Mike. Thanks for your time.’

      As they headed for the door, Laura stopped and looked back. ‘Why were you at the scene this morning?’ she said.

      Corley’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he shook his head. ‘So that’s why you are here, to catch me out.’

      ‘It’s not like that,’ she said. ‘We saw you, that’s all, and were curious.’

      ‘So if you think I had something to do with it, I’m not the cleverest, am I?’ he said.

      Laura realised that she didn’t have an answer for that.

      The door almost hit Laura as they got to the doorstep and it slammed shut behind them.

      ‘Not my finest hour,’ she said.

      ‘It was never going to be,’ Joe said. ‘He doesn’t like us at the moment, and do you know what, I’m not sure I would in his shoes.’

      Once they were in Joe’s car, Laura glanced towards the Corley house, tranquil from the outside, but raging within.

      ‘So do you fancy that drink now?’ Joe asked.

      ‘I should be getting home,’ she replied.

      ‘Bobby will still be there later on.’

      Laura wavered, and when Joe raised an eyebrow and smiled, she relented. ‘Come on then,’ she said, sighing. ‘I’ve time for one.’

      Chapter Fourteen

      Jack checked the clock. Just gone nine. Bobby was playing on the floor with some action figures, talking to himself, playing out a scene. He should be in bed, but Jack wanted him to see Laura before he went to sleep.

      The piece on the murder had long been submitted, and so he was idling, lying down on the sofa, just waiting for Laura. Johnny Cash boomed out of the speakers, as usual, the Orange Blossom Special album, boxcars and railroad drum rhythms, but it gave the house an energy that he didn’t feel.

      There were some wedding magazines on the coffee table, with brochures for venues tucked in like bookmarks. Jack reached over for one, knowing that they had to start making some decisions, but as he flicked through the glossy shots, it didn’t hold any interest for him.

      Bobby looked up and smiled, and Jack saw Laura in him for a moment, with small dimples in his cheeks.

      ‘What time is Mummy coming home?’ he said.

      ‘Soon,’ Jack said, although he didn’t know whether that was true or not. He knew that she would be tied up for most of the night, the first days of a murder are like that, where all the hope is for a quick hit, but the day had long since gone.

      He pulled his phone from his pocket to call Laura, just to see if she was going to be much longer, but he paused. She might be in a meeting, or driving. And was he ringing for updates, ever the reporter, or was he just missing her, wanting to hear her voice? Or was it worse than that; was he just bored?

      The album played itself out and the house fell silent again, except for the creak of the stylus arm as it moved slowly across to its resting place. Jack listened to Johnny Cash because it reminded him of his father. He had been killed a few years earlier, but he had spent his life collecting and playing Cash records. In the line