Lisa shook her head. She couldn’t be like Shap. Didn’t want to be.
There was an awkward edge to the atmosphere as Lisa arrived back in the incident room.
The boss, DI Mayne at her side, gave Lisa a look; not angry more let down, like she’d expected better from Lisa and Lisa felt wretched.
‘His gunshot residue’s clear,’ the boss said, ‘that was a stretch, anyway, given the time lapse. It doesn’t mean he didn’t fire the gun. He could have cleaned up.’
‘It weakens any case against him,’ DI Mayne said.
‘He used the same weapon before,’ Shap said, ‘he resisted arrest, he won’t talk to us. He’s way ahead of anyone else as a candidate. All this crap about turning over a new leaf is just that – crap.’
‘He might be telling the truth,’ the boss said.
‘Pigs… sky,’ Shap said, ‘Matthews is good for it. He and Halliwell knew each other.’
‘There’s nothing from his flat. Nothing that places him at the scene,’ DCI Lewis said.
DI Mayne sighed, he looked like he wanted to kick something.
‘It’s a setback but that’s all it is. We keep working it,’ the boss said, ‘we bring him back when we’ve cause.’
‘He’s out on licence,’ Shap said, ‘we could do him for resisting arrest.’
‘I want to do him for murder,’ DI Mayne said sharply. ‘Lisa, get rid of him.’
Of course it had to be her, she’d messed up and now she’d be the one to have her nose rubbed in it, releasing Matthews from custody, watching him walk.
‘Do you want me to have a word with Lisa?’ Janine said to Richard on her way out.
‘She’s gone already,’ Richard said, ‘but, I’ll deal with it. I’m seeing her tomorrow.’
‘She’s a good copper, you know, she shows promise.’
Richard gave her a look.
‘We all make mistakes,’ Janine said.
‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘and we have to accept the consequences.’
Chapter 22
Norma recognized the sense of dislocation, the numbness from before. She was eight months pregnant at the time. She’d been into town that morning round the department stores, buying the final few items on her list. The nursery was finished, pale green walls with white and yellow woodwork, curtains that she had made herself. The material had a white background with drawings of animals on, all sorts, like those in the ark.
She had considered NCT classes but Don was dubious. ‘They’re obsessed with natural childbirth,’ he said, ‘they’ll spout ridiculous nonsense about intervention. You’d be better off going to the hospital classes.’ So that was that.
She was putting the changing mat and the nappies away in the alcove cupboard in the nursery when she felt the cramp. Was this a Braxton Hicks? Norma had read plenty of books about pregnancy and labour. When she went to the toilet she found blood in her knickers. A show? First babies were usually late but perhaps this one was an exception. Should she wait to see if labour started? Her mind buzzed with indecision. She felt another cramp deep inside but there was no tightening across her abdomen, just the dragging feeling that came and went quite quickly. She rubbed her belly, tracing the baby. She knew the head was partially engaged, and the round bump she could feel at the top was most likely the baby’s bottom. She wanted to ask Don what to do but had no way of contacting him apart from leaving a message with the office at the medical school and then hoping someone would actually pass it on.
There wasn’t a lot of blood but it was more than just spotting. As for a ‘show’ she would have expected something more substantial as the plug in the cervix came away. She’d talk to the midwives before doing anything else.
When she rang the number she had, they advised her to come in. ‘Just so we can check everything is OK.’
She called a taxi and didn’t have any more discomfort so by the time she arrived she was pretty sure that she wasn’t in labour and was starting to feel a little foolish.
The midwife listened to her account and asked a few questions before inviting Norma to get up on the examination couch, where she gently pressed her abdomen and then listened with a stethoscope. She asked Norma to wait where she was for a moment.
The moment stretched on into minutes and Norma stared at the ceiling and the fluorescent light. She wanted to wee. Perhaps it was a urinary infection?
The midwife returned with a doctor who also listened with a stethoscope and then asked Norma when she had last felt the baby move.
Last night? This morning? ‘I’m not sure. I don’t know,’ she said, her voice high and wavering.
‘I’m a little concerned,’ the doctor said, ‘we can’t make out the baby’s heartbeat so we’re going to take you through to ultrasound and get a scan.’
She knew then it was too late. If there’d been any chance for the baby they would have rushed her into an OR for an emergency caesarean.
‘My husband,’ she said quietly to the midwife, ‘please can you let him know I’m here? He’s at the school of medicine. Don Halliwell. Fourth year.’
‘I’ll do that now.’
They wouldn’t let her walk, she had to wait for a porter to bring a wheelchair and take her down for the sonograph. She pressed her hands over her belly, hoping she might detect some movement there, that the baby might suddenly wake and twist and kick and everything would be alright again.
The house felt like a tomb. Norma turned the heating up. As the radiators warmed, making knocks and gurgles in the pipes, the bones of the house creaked and clicked in response. But she was still cold.
She was used to her own company. Most of her days had been spent alone, the only interaction was with the pupils who came after school or on Saturdays for a half hour lesson. But she was never alone at night. Don was always there.
Always.
She knew that some of the GPs attended conferences, eager to follow new developments in medicine and no doubt enjoy the socializing and break from routine but Don had never gone.
And whatever affairs he had had were limited, she presumed, to evenings in hotel rooms returning to the marital bed by the early hours.
He had sworn to look after her and he had. Until now.
She sensed someone in the house. She went to each room in turn, searching under the beds and cupboards, behind the long curtains. She left the doors wide open and sat at the top of the stairs, hugging her knees, and listened.
She heard it then, Don’s voice, quiet, ‘Norma.’ Her skin went to gooseflesh. ‘Norma.’ It was coming from downstairs.
With her heart hammering she went down, holding tight to the banister, in fear of falling.
She stood in the kitchen, her eye roaming over the high-gloss cabinets, the double sink, the Aga. She cocked her head, heard only the drone of the big fridge-freezer. It was too big. The fridge, the house and everything in it. So large she was lost. There were only two of them for heaven’s sake.
‘Norma.’ From the hall.
She went and stood at the bottom of the stairs. It began to rain outside, the wind hurled drops of rain hard against the window. Norma glanced at the portrait on the wall, a woman staring out from a woodland scene. Her look was hard, accusing.
‘Norma.’ She whirled round. She couldn’t see him but he was here. She could smell him, sense him. He shouldn’t still be here.
‘Go away,’ she said. ‘Please, go away.’
The rain rattled on the glass, a gust of wind moaned through the keyhole in the door.
Norma took the painting down and left it, face against the wall.
She needed something to calm her down, quiet his voice. She’d go mad otherwise.
‘Go away,’ she said once more. What did he want with her? Why wouldn’t he leave her be?
Chapter 23
Janine tried Pete before leaving for home and got the answerphone message again.