The Last Straw. Paul Gitsham

      In the meantime, Jones and the rest of his team finally had time to eat and an opportunity to compare notes. Unfortunately, the station’s small canteen was closed for hot meals at the weekend, so the team had to make do with the rather sorry-looking sandwiches left over in the self-service fridge from the previous day. As a result they decided not to linger over lunch. All of them were keen to get on with their work, but Jones insisted that they take a short break.

      Despite the rapid early progress of the investigation, Jones knew from experience that a murder investigation was a marathon not a sprint and he wanted his team to remain fresh. Furthermore, Jones firmly believed that a few minutes’ break would allow each officer’s subconscious to process what they had learnt so far, supplying new insights and new questions. Besides, Severino wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while and Spencer wasn’t due to return for further questioning for some time.

      Whilst the others tucked into the stale sandwiches, Jones snagged Sergeant Kent and asked him to collate the latest reports from his incident desk. Glancing at his watch, Jones then decided he had time to ring Susan and headed into the corridor for some privacy. The phone connected on the third ring. “Hi, sweetheart, it’s me.”

      “It’s Bernice. Susan’s busy preparing a salad for the picnic. And of course it’s you — it says so on the screen.”

      Jones stifled a groan. He had hoped to have a private chat with Susan, explaining what was going on. But that clearly wouldn’t be possible. Mustering all of his tact and injecting a false note of positivity into his voice, he addressed his mother-in-law.

      “Hello, Bernice, Happy birthday.”

      A sniff at the other end of the line.

      “I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly last night. Unfortunately I got an emergency call.”

      “I see. And that kept you out all night? I suppose you are calling now to say that you won’t be coming to Cambridge for the picnic today?”

      Bloody woman, she wasn’t making it any easier for him. Susan must be a bit annoyed as well, he decided. Normally she tried to wrestle the phone from her mother; today she was letting him stew as Bernice grilled him. Changing tactics, he decided to appeal to her baser instincts. Bernice loved to gossip and the idea that she had got the inside scoop on such a big story before any of her friends would appeal directly to her self-importance. Besides which, the press had already started sniffing around. It wasn’t as if he was telling her any information that wouldn’t be in the public domain within a couple of hours.

      “I’m afraid so, Bernice. It’s all a bit hush-hush, you understand, but last night a famous scientist was found murdered at the university.” Warren could almost hear Bernice’s interest pique. It wasn’t exactly a lie, after all; in terms of celebrity, Tunbridge was famous in the field of antibiotic research, wasn’t he?

      “Really? Which college? It wasn’t that lovely Professor Hawkings, was it? He was on television last week and I said to Dennis, ‘It’s such a shame, such a wonderful mind trapped inside that poor broken body.’ Who could murder that lovely man when he’s so helpless? I tell you, Warren, there are some truly wicked people out there! Why have they brought you in? Isn’t Cambridge a bit out of your jurisdiction?”

      Jones blinked as he tried to process the torrent of misunderstanding flooding down the phone. It was no wonder Dennis never said anything in public.

      “Er, no, it wasn’t Stephen Hawking, Bernice, it was a Biology professor and it was at our local university, the University of Middle England.”

      “Oh.” A pause. “I didn’t realise that Middlesbury had a university.”

      “Oh, yes, it’s quite a good one.” Warren suddenly felt an irrational need to defend the institution against the withering disdain of his mother-in-law.

      “Anyway, the body was discovered late last night. We had to secure the crime scene and then this morning we started our enquiries.”

      “So will you be coming to the picnic?”

      “No, I’m sorry, we have too much going on at the moment. But I promise that I’ll make it tonight.”

      Bugger! Why did I just promise that? What if I can’t make it?

      Slightly mollified, Bernice offered to pass the phone over to Susan, who pointedly walked out into the garden so she could talk in private. Even so, she kept her voice low and Warren could imagine Bernice staring through the French windows, trying her best to lip-read Susan’s half of the conversation.

      “I’m sorry, darling, there was a murder up at the uni last night and I’m lead investigator.”

      “I thought Stephen Hawking worked at Cambridge University? Why are you investigating his death?”

      Warren stifled a curse. “No, it’s not Stephen Hawking. It’s a local Biology professor at UME. Your mum just got the wrong end of the stick.”

      “So are you coming tonight?”

      “I should be, yes. I’ll ring you a bit later and we can decide where to meet. I’ll probably come straight to the restaurant.”

      “Well, don’t forget the table’s booked for six-thirty and the show starts at eight. And I suggest that you bring some sort of peace offering.” Whether it was for Susan or her mother wasn’t clear. Warren decided he would play it safe and get something for both of them.

      Hanging up, he turned to see Sutton grinning, clearly having heard at least part of the call.

      “Mother-in-law’s birthday,” Jones offered weakly by way of an explanation.

      Remarkably, Sutton’s expression changed to one of sympathy.

      Given the strained relationship between them, Jones decided to take advantage of this slight wind change and attempt to build some common ground.

      “Do you have the pleasure of a mother-in-law, Tony?” It was a weak opener, nevertheless Sutton seemed willing to run with it.

      “I have two.”

      “Two? How the hell does that work?” Jones grimaced. Maybe he should cut the man some slack, he thought — it must be a tough life with two of them.

      Sutton let out a bark of laughter. “Badly!”

      Jones said nothing, simply smiling in sympathy. Sutton accepted the implied invitation. “My current wife has a mother who is very much alive and kicking…mostly kicking. She’s never really liked me and isn’t very good at hiding it. Sometimes I think she watched a little too much Les Dawson and decided that’s what mother-in-laws were supposed to be like.”

      Jones chuckled. “Now, take my mother-in-law. No, please, take my mother-in-law,” he intoned in a fair interpretation of the comic’s rich, northern baritone. Sutton smiled in acknowledgement of Jones’ attempt at levity.

      “Mother-in-law number one, Betty, is also still on the scene. She doesn’t like me very much either.”

      Jones raised an eyebrow in surprise at the intricacies of Sutton’s personal life.

      Sutton shrugged. “Long story, short — Angela and I got married far too young. Everybody said it wouldn’t work, but we were young, stubborn and in love.” He smiled wistfully. “Anyway we did our best for five, six years but it was hard work. I was a young copper on a constable’s pay; Angela worked shifts at the local hospital. We rarely saw each other and when we did, we never had any money to enjoy ourselves. So we did what hundreds of foolish young couples have done before us and decided to have a baby to bring us together.”

      “And did it?”

      Sutton snorted. “What do you think? At first it was great. Angela had a pretty good pregnancy and we were both thrilled when Josh was born. The excitement lasted a year or so, until Angela went back to work. Then it was as if the clock had turned back twelve months. We both still worked shifts, so we still hardly saw each