Outside Looking In. Michael Wood

of toast.

      ‘Budget cuts apparently. Last week the police dogs, this week us.’

      ‘What’s going to happen to the team?’

      ‘I’ve no idea. I’m working with a reduced team anyway. Faith Easter has transferred back to CID, I’m down a DI, and I’ve got two DCs who still behave like students. Honestly, Adele, it would be funny if people’s lives weren’t at risk.’

      Matilda got up from the breakfast bar. She could feel her legs starting to shudder and she was seconds away from remembering her old anxiety exercises. She walked to the back of the kitchen and leaned against the patio doors. She looked out at the well-kept garden.

      ‘Why can’t my garden look as good as yours?’

      ‘Because I have a son to blackmail. Can I ask you a question?’

      She turned to face Adele. ‘Oh God. Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this? Go on.’

      ‘Are you drinking again?’

      ‘What? Where did that come from? No I’m not drinking again. New Year’s resolution, remember? I don’t have a drop in the house and I haven’t had a drink since New Year’s Eve. What made you ask that?’

      ‘You seem anxious; more than usual. The anniversaries, this case, it’s bound to cause some stress. I don’t want you falling backwards.’

      Adele’s son, Chris, could be heard getting up. His size eleven flat feet slapping on the hardwood floor travelled down the stairs. Matilda lowered her voice and walked back to the breakfast bar, helping herself to a slice of toast.

      ‘Adele, in the past year I think I’ve drunk more than most people do in a lifetime. Just thinking about everything I went through, how I was feeling when I was drinking, makes me feel sick.’

      They looked at each other for a long few seconds. Matilda could tell Adele wasn’t convinced. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, Adele. I’m fine. I’m smiling. I’m happy. You find me a bloke called Larry and I bet you a month’s wages I’ll be happier than he is.’

      Adele smiled. ‘You are a lot brighter than you were a few months ago. I just wish you wouldn’t end your visits to the therapist. At least not until the anniversaries have passed.’

      ‘I don’t need therapy anymore. I’m coping very well without it. Dr Warminster said I would know when the time was right to end the sessions, and I do.’

      ‘But …’

      ‘Adele, I’m fine. Look, if I feel like I can’t cope you’ll be the first to know. I promise you.’

      Adele visibly sighed, relieved. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘You’re a good friend, Adele.’

      ‘I know I am. The best.’

      Right on cue Chris entered the kitchen. He was gangly; a skinny frame and neck-achingly tall. He had a wild abandon of unruly hair; a rival for Matilda’s back garden.

      ‘Bloody hell, it’s Sideshow Bob,’ Adele said, laughing.

      He sat next to Matilda at the breakfast bar and slumped forward, his head in the crook of his arm.

      ‘Why do students make tiredness an art form?’ Matilda asked.

      ‘What are you doing up so early?’

      ‘I kept hearing two crazy women with no volume control.’

      ‘This crazy woman is paying your tuition fees, so mind your manners.’

      ‘And this crazy woman knows where your nude baby photos are kept. If you don’t want them posted on Facebook, you’ll watch your mouth,’ Matilda said, winking at Adele.

      Both women laughed while Chris slammed his head against the table, admitting defeat.

      ‘You can’t win against us two. We’re experts in cunning and manipulation. Isn’t that right DCI Darke?’

      ‘It certainly is Dr Kean. Don’t worry Chris, when you have kids of your own you’ll be able to play mind games with them. Right, I’d better be off. Thanks for the breakfast and chat.’

      ‘Not a problem. Leave your tip at the door.’

      Matilda smiled. She always felt better after just half an hour in Adele’s company. ‘Have a good day, Christopher.’

      A grunt came from under his hair. Matilda left the house a different woman from when she entered. Her head was held high, shoulders back and she felt ready to take on anything, even the ACC. Adele must have healing powers; she was wasted on the dead.

       SIX

      The reduced Murder Investigation Team comprised DSs Sian Mills and Aaron Connolly, DCs Rory Fleming and Scott Andrews, a smattering of uniformed officers and a couple of support staff. It was pathetic. They were originally spread out around the room but Matilda called for them all to group together.

      Matilda stood in front of a wall of whiteboards. Presently, very little information was written down as the case was in its infancy.

      ‘Good morning everyone. We seem to be very few in number but you’re all professional and know your job. Following the events of last night, we’re going to be working long and hard; however, we can do this. I believe in you all and have faith in your abilities.’ She wondered if she sounded convincing enough. She hoped so. ‘Right after this briefing I’m going to the ACC to ask for more support so hopefully we will shortly have a larger team. Now, last night’s double shooting … who did door-to-door?’

      ‘I did ma’am,’ Rory said putting his hand up. Rory Fleming was like a male version of Adele Kean. It didn’t seem to matter how little sleep he had, he always turned up for work looking fresh and clean in a sharp, fitted suit, perfectly ironed shirt, understated tie and a messy hairstyle that probably took hours to perfect. Was it just Matilda who looked like she’d had five minutes’ sleep in a skip?

      Rory continued. ‘There aren’t many houses around there; just a few cottages. I knocked on them all, although I don’t think they were happy to be woken up. I don’t have anything to report I’m afraid. Nobody heard a thing.’

      ‘How can they not have heard anything? Kevin Hardaker was beaten to a pulp. Surely he screamed. And gunshots aren’t exactly quiet.’

      Sian interrupted. ‘Mr Rainsford said his wife has the TV turned up more loudly than is necessary. She refuses to accept she’s losing her hearing.’

      ‘Mrs Foster next door was at a wedding and didn’t get back home until after we were on the scene,’ Rory read from his notebook. ‘Another cottage is home to Mrs Cliff. She’s recently come out of hospital following hip replacement surgery. She’s on sleeping tablets and slept through the whole thing.’

      ‘Maybe the gunman used a silencer?’ Scott Andrews suggested.

      ‘Oh God, I hope not. A silencer suggests a professional job, a hitman. Let’s not go down that road until we have to. What about Clough Lane itself? Where does it lead?’

      Aaron had stuck a map of the area onto one of the whiteboards. He followed the road with his finger. ‘Well it’s quite a long road, passes a few farms then out into the Peak District.’

      ‘So it’s not the type of road you’d go down if you lived in Sheffield?’ Matilda said, thinking aloud.

      ‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’

      ‘So why would you pull up on Clough Lane late at night?’

      ‘For a shag,’ Rory said unwrapping a KitKat he’d taken out of Sian’s snack drawer.

      ‘Precisely. Help yourself to a KitKat,