‘As part of the process of identification, we’ll carry out DNA tests,’ said Jo, pleased to be focusing on the procedural aspects. ‘If it’s not too much trouble, we will need to take a biological sample from both of you. It’s a quick and simple enough procedure that involves taking hair follicles and cheek swabs. That can either be done here, in your home, or at your local station. I’ll ask them to contact you directly, if that’s all right.’ Jo fished her card out and placed it on the table beside the newspaper. ‘If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call me.’
‘So that’s it?’ said Mr Jones, nostrils flaring.
‘Until the body is formally identified through biological methods, we’ll be following up a number of leads.’
Mrs Jones nodded, clinging to her husband.
‘We’ll be going then,’ said Ferman, glancing at Jo. ‘Once again, Mr and Mrs Jones – you have our condolences.’
He led the way back into the hallway, Jo following with the Westie trotting at her side. They’d reached the door when Mrs Jones caught up. She was wiping her eyes with a tissue.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘We appreciate everything you’re doing.’
‘Just our job, ma’am,’ said Jo.
They walked back down the drive, and Jo was glad to turn her back on the house. What a strange day the Joneses must be having. Contented retirees one moment; the past rearing its head like a spectre the next.
‘Well, that went as well as could be expected,’ she said when they were back in the car.
‘Did it?’ said Ferman. His eyes betrayed a hint of bemusement.
‘You think I was too … brusque?’
Ferman shrugged. ‘What do I know?’
‘Can I take you back to the station?’
‘I file my reports at The Three Crowns on Canterbury Road these days,’ said Ferman.
It took Jo half a second to register what he meant, but she didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘You got it.’
* * *
She dropped Ferman at the pub, turning down his offer to buy her a drink. Not only because drinking on duty was generally frowned upon, but because she still had to pick up a present for Paul.
She found a milliner’s just off Turl Street, and drove right into town before realising she had no cash for the meter. She parked on double yellows a hundred yards from the shop and hurried in. Amelia had texted her Paul’s size, and she selected a brown homburg without properly looking at the price. When the owner told her, she baulked, but paid out of embarrassment. It was a pittance to her brother, but she’d have to cut a corner somewhere else if she was going to make her monthly payments to Bright Futures.
When she got back to the car, a traffic warden was just taking a shot of her number plate.
‘Oh, come on!’ said Jo. ‘I was two minutes!’
The warden shrugged, made a few more notes, and stuck the ticket to her window wordlessly. She’d been in the same situation with Ben once, years ago, and he’d used the badge, but that wasn’t her way. Instead, she tore off the notice and threw it into the car like any other civilian.
Driving back out of the city, she went through some of her options. She knew she was overdrawn, but she still had credit. The immediate problem was this month’s rent though. If she wrote a cheque and the landlord tried to cash it straight away, it would bounce. As for the Bright Futures payments …
A bike swerved out in front of her and she slammed the brake and the horn at the same time. The young man riding, wearing a student’s gown, turned and smiled sheepishly.
Fuck Ben.
She told herself to calm down. If she took this into the station, it would only end badly. She attempted to breathe deeply, and tried not to think of the almighty shithole she was in danger of falling into.
Thirty-nine years old, renting a one-bed flat, and up to your eyeballs in debt.
She put on Classic FM to calm herself down, but it just reminded her of her mum, so she switched to some mindless pop instead.
It took an hour to get back to Bath, and as she parked up and climbed out, Ben was emerging from the station with DC Rhani Aziz close at his side. Rhani had been with them only a few months, but she was settling in well. Both were laughing.
‘Oh, hi, sarge,’ said the pretty young constable.
‘Hi,’ said Jo.
‘How’d it go with the parents?’ asked Ben. He was professional as always. Quite the actor. Even his eyes didn’t give anything away.
‘As well as can be expected, sir,’ said Jo. ‘They were shocked.’
‘I’ll bet,’ Rhani said. ‘Not often we get a lead after three decades.’
‘Constable Aziz here managed to track down the former suspect. Chap by the name of—’
‘Matthews,’ said Jo, cutting him off. ‘I know.’
‘No flies on you,’ said Ben, smiling in a way that made Jo want to kick him in the balls.
‘Detective Ferman was pretty sure he wasn’t involved,’ she said.
Ben snorted through his nose. ‘Is that the dinosaur who tagged along? Did he bring his magnifying glass and truncheon too?’
He was talking towards Jo, but looking at Rhani as he spoke. She duly obliged with a laugh, but Jo didn’t want to give him any satisfaction. Was he actually trying to make her jealous somehow?
‘Not quite – he just said Matthews didn’t fit the bill. The case stank from the start.’
Ben straightened a bit, into exactly the same mixture of outrage and hurt he’d shown whenever she’d questioned him about his other dubious calls.
‘Well, this is a new case,’ he said. ‘And it would be remiss if we didn’t pursue all avenues of enquiry.’
‘Very well, sir,’ said Jo.
Rhani and Ben continued to a marked car. Jo thought about suggesting they take Ben’s Jag, given the heat Matthews might get, but she suspected he wouldn’t take any more advice kindly. As it happened, it was Ben himself who called to her.
‘Jo?’ he said.
She faced him.
‘There’s a journalist from the Oxford Times. I don’t know how she’s got wind, but don’t give her anything, okay?’
Of course I won’t, you condescending arsehole.
‘Right, sir,’ she
