Callanach said. ‘Does Zoey still have a bedroom here?’
‘It’s the guest room now,’ Christopher said. ‘We redecorated recently.’
‘Do you mind if we take a look around?’ Tripp asked.
‘Help yourself. I’ll stay here and look after my wife, if you don’t mind,’ Christopher replied.
Callanach and Tripp took the stairs quietly, Elsa’s sobs fading as they reached the upper floor of the house and began opening doors. Two of the bedrooms were blank canvases, each with a double bed and standard furniture, ready for guests to arrive and make themselves comfortable. Only the main bedroom showed signs of life. Christopher and Elsa’s room was warm and comfortable. A photo of them on their wedding day sat on Elsa’s dressing table, next to a jewellery box and a hairbrush. The bed was neatly made and a small wooden cross hung above the headboard on the wall.
‘Do you think it helps?’ Tripp asked, looking at the cross. ‘When you lose someone, but believe they’ve gone somewhere better?’
‘I hope it helps them,’ Callanach said. ‘If it were me, I’d be wondering what sort of god could allow such an atrocity to happen in the first place.’
‘What did you make of them?’ Tripp whispered as he poked his head into the en suite bathroom.
‘They seem to be genuinely grieving,’ Callanach said. ‘Substantial difference between Zoey and Christopher’s versions of events though.’
‘Zoey would have to have experienced serious mental health difficulties to have made up so many stories and maintained them for so long. Especially if she was breaking her own bones,’ Tripp said.
‘It’s been done before,’ Callanach said, wondering how much Tripp knew about his own history, and the woman who had inflicted dreadful injuries on herself to bolster her false rape accusation.
‘Still, breaking her own fingers?’ Tripp asked. ‘Did Christopher’s record show anything?’
‘He’s not on the police system,’ Callanach said. ‘Never convicted of so much as a traffic offence.’
‘I can’t see anything relevant up here. Officers checked the house when they visited to notify the mother of Zoey’s death. They said both Elsa and Christopher seemed genuinely shocked, and they were given full access to the entire property at that stage,’ Tripp said. ‘The thing about the flowers was weird, though. His first instinct was to lie about it.’
‘Embarrassment, perhaps, thinking how heartless it would seem to have thrown out the flowers and cards from well-wishers. Maybe they really couldn’t bear to be reminded of it every minute of the day,’ Callanach suggested.
‘How could you forget, flowers or not? I wonder if throwing it all out was Christopher’s idea or Mrs Myers’?’ Tripp replied.
‘They’ll present it as a united decision, whatever the truth of the matter. Let’s go back down. I have a couple more questions then we can get back to the station. I’d like to confirm with the army about Zoey’s brother, too,’ Callanach said.
Back downstairs they found Elsa making a pot of tea and Christopher washing up. ‘Best to keep busy, we’ve found,’ Christopher said. ‘If you let yourself sit and think about it for too long, you just can’t get up again.’
‘We understand,’ Callanach said. ‘For our records, as you’re obviously related parties, could you tell us what you were doing last Sunday? We know where Zoey was until 11 a.m., then she went out and was noted as missing at 4 p.m.’
‘We were at an autumn fete,’ Elsa said, pouring milk into a teacup. ‘A community event over at Kirknewton.’
‘I’ll write down the names of a few friends we were there with, plus there are photos. You know how it is these days. Everything’s all over social media before you know it. We got there to help set up in the morning at about ten. I was running the bouncy castle.’ Christopher gave a sad smile. ‘Elsa was on the cake stall. It was a charity fundraiser. We were there all day. Got home about six in the evening.’
‘And you didn’t leave at any stage?’ Tripp asked.
‘Not at all. There was a bit of rain so we were huddled together under shelters for quite a lot of it. Didn’t stop the children wanting to run around outside though,’ Christopher said. ‘Are you sure about that tea?’
‘We’ll be off, thanks. If you could just write down those names …’
‘Of course.’ Christopher busied himself with a sheet ripped off a notepad as Elsa poured tea for the two of them. When he handed his alibi list over, there were no fewer than a dozen names on it.
Callanach and Tripp made their way out of the front door.
‘Is that your garage?’ Callanach asked.
‘It is. Feel free to go inside. Just pull it shut when you’re finished,’ Christopher said, shutting the front door.
Tripp pulled up the garage door. The floor had been recently brushed. No dirt or leaves remained. A few tools hung in neat rows and old kitchen cupboards had been rehung to house half-used tins of paint and essentials like WD40.
‘This is the tidiest garage I’ve ever seen,’ Tripp said.
‘Check the cupboards.’
‘Are we looking for anything in particular?’
‘Green rope or string,’ Callanach said. ‘Blades, gloves, duct tape, needles. Anything you wouldn’t want to see if you were kidnapped and woke up trapped in here.’
‘Wait for me,’ Ava said. ‘I’m not making it that easy for you. If Overbeck’s going to storm into my office and bollock you, I’m overseeing whatever steps you take to remedy it.’
‘Don’t sweat it, ma’am. If the Evil Overlord wants to use me as a whipping boy for a while, that’s fine with me,’ Lively said.
‘And that’s supposed to reassure me how …?’ Ava asked.
‘You’re coming to the cells with me, are you then?’ He ignored her question and responded with his own.
‘I am, so no cutting corners. Write up a detailed statement afterwards, and so we’re clear, you’re to avoid sarcasm, aggression and all forms of fiction,’ Ava said.
‘I think you’re being a bit harsh, to be honest,’ Lively said, getting out his notebook which gave Ava a vague sense of hope that the proper processes might be complied with.
‘Do you? I think I’m a goddamned angel,’ Ava said. ‘Come on then. Down to the cells.’
A few floors below, and a few locked doors into the heart of the building, Mikey Parsons’ face was grim. Even Lively had the decency to let out a whistle of sick appreciation at the extent of the damage.
‘How’re
