DI Steven Marr: The First Three Cases (A Crime-Fiction Box Set): DI Steven Marr

By SP Edwards

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Join the hundreds of other people discovering the DI Steven Marr series.

If you're looking to be thrilled, excited, horrified and shocked in equal measure, you'll love DI Marr.

In 'TILL DEATH, a beautiful blushing bride's been left to die in the grounds of a country home.  Marr thinks the wrong man's been fitted up for the crime, and he's only got three days to find the REAL killer.

In BLEEDING HEARTS, the UK's most exciting young footballer's been gutted in a local park.  What's more, there are around 400 suspects. Can Marr get the right result in a case where nothing's as it seems?

In AUTUMN SONG, a teenage Muslim girl is found, her head sawn off. Can Marr and his newly promoted colleague, Becky Alexander, find the killers before they complete their aim of turning the city into a warzone?

• Language: English
• Publisher: SPE Publishing
• Release date: May 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533788900

Book preview

‘Til Death

by SP Edwards

Prologue

The dirt felt cold on Anna Markham’s face. There was no way around it: she was going to die here. She didn’t have the energy to get up, much as she wanted to. It had taken everything she had just to try and push herself onto the bank.

She’d woken in the water, though she didn’t know how long she’d been there.

Anna turned her head so it was facing towards the house. She couldn’t see it through the dark, but she knew it was there all the same.

She thought of her killer’s face. Of all the people…

If she could just fight. If she could just get to someone.

Chapter 1

‘Get back here, Hector!’

Brian McDermott moved down the hill, his breath visible against the cold air. Ahead of him, he caught a glimpse of the retriever. Hector was grinning: teasing Brian with the thought that he might catch up. When there was less than twenty feet between them, the dog bounded off again, a grin on its face.

‘Come back, you bugger!’ Brian said, though he was half-smiling himself.

He managed another twenty seconds before he gave up the chase. Leaning over, he rested his hands on his knees, trying to suck in as much oxygen as he could.

Too much filching the good stuff behind the bar, he thought to himself. Three years ago, he could comfortably run a 10k. Not anymore.

Initially, he’d thought that Hector would be a good excuse to start exercising again. As it turned out, the dog was just as happy as Brian to spend all evening in front of the TV, so little had changed.

Didn’t stop the little bugger out-running him, though.

Brian smiled. Hector was a chirpy little guy. He certainly brightened up the house, which had been too quiet since Paula died. Two years ago now. Jack? Well, Jack was studying at St Andrews: way too far to pop down for the weekend. Too expensive to do by train as well. Brian helped his son where he could, but the mortgage payments were high, especially on one income rather than two.

The plan, of course, had been to pay off the mortgage and then sell up. Get a place in Europe somewhere.

You and me, Bri. You, me, the sun and the sea.

No such luck.

Brian’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp bark from somewhere ahead of him. Hector didn’t sound too happy, the bark having that nervous edge to it: the same one he got whenever the doorbell went.

Intruders, Brian, intruders.

Picking up his speed again, Brian jogged down the path to the bottom of the hill. He knew the field well: well enough to know that he wasn’t too far from the stream. He kept his eye on the ground beneath as he moved forwards: the last thing he wanted to do was to fall in.

God, had Hector fallen in? The poor bugger wasn’t much of a swimmer.

Brian quickened his pace a bit more.

‘Hector?’ he called out, ‘I’m coming, lad. Make a bit more noise.’

But there wasn’t any.

No, there was. Not barking, though; it was a slight whimper, and it was getting closer to him.

Brian felt a slight chill up his spine, and his pulse quickened. The fight or flight response. It never stopped. He was aware of just how little he could really see around him: how, dog or no dog – he was alone, in the middle of nowhere.

‘Coming, lad’ he repeated, as much for himself as anybody. He cursed his lack of fitness as the pounding in his chest increased.

By the time he finally caught up with the dog, the ground was softening, and Brian’s boots were sinking deeper into the mud. The stream couldn’t have been more than ten feet away.

Hector looked up at his owner, his eyes pleading. There was a red stain on his nose. Brian felt his pulse quicken even more as he reached down to pick the dog up.

‘You’re OK, lad’ he said, trying to keep his voice steady as he gently wiped away the blood. He saw what he had been half-expecting – and half dreading – to see.

There was no cut on Hector’s nose. No marks.

The blood wasn’t his.

The dog turned its body around to face where Hector knew the stream would be, whimpering as it did so.

Brian thought about heading back; about letting someone else deal with it. He couldn’t see a thing, but if he was in any real danger, surely something would have happened already? And Hector was OK, even if he had a fright.

Having decided that any real risk had gone, Brian took a few more steps forward, any remnants of grass vanishing as he reached the edge of the water.

Lying in the dirt was a body. The hair was matted and stuck to the grey of the face. The eyes were open, and facing him. The girl was dead, and it took Brian a few seconds to realise that he’d seen her before.

He shivered, involuntarily.

Then, absent-mindedly stroking the dog’s fur with one hand, he used the other to reach for his mobile.

Chapter 2

Steven Marr breathed in the scent as he gently pushed down the plunger of the coffee maker. Try as he might, he couldn’t discern any difference between this blend, and the cheaper one he usually bought from Tesco. If there was a difference, it was the twenty quid he’d paid for this one.

The pot had been a gift from Lizzie as an ‘Isn’t my husband brilliant?’ present to go with his new office. His cramped, stuffy new office. First thing he’d done was pick up a desk fan, realising that without one, he’d be nicely roasted by the end of the week.

A detective inspector, at only thirty-two. Not bad going at all. Marr knew that cops were getting younger, and that it generally took less time than it would have done ten years ago to get promoted. But still, it was better than not being promoted. The office itself had been a pleasant surprise: the local force was being pared to the bone. Getting his own space – even if was a glorified cupboard – wasn’t something to be sniffed at.

Rachel West, a DI and friend who’d recently moved away to the City, had been less impressed.

‘A new office?’ she’d said, in a voice heavy with the same disgust usually saved for dogging enthusiasts.

‘Don’t get too excited’ Marr had replied. ‘New office, but the chair’s the same, the desk is the same and I’m pretty sure the pot of pens is the same.’

She’d shrugged.

‘The life of the big cheese…’

Marr sat himself down at the desk with the mug of no-different-to-Tesco’s coffee, and leaned down to turn his computer on.

He didn’t get the chance: his mobile started ringing loudly and vibrating against the desk. The name BROOKE was a bright white against the screen’s black background.

'Your office phone's not working yet then?' said DCI Christopher Brooke.

Marr looked around the desk to where his landline phone sat, the digital display blank. He pulled at the wires, and they willingly came, revealing ends very obviously not connected to anything.

'Not yet,’ Marr replied.

'Get the geeks onto it.'

''Will do. Could take them a week or two.'

'You'd think being public protectors we'd be higher up their priority list.'

'That bank pays them more.'

‘And don’t they like letting us know it. Bastards. Anyway, come into my parlour, and bring DI Reid with you.’

Marr thought he heard Brooke whistling the opening notes of 'Here comes the bride' as the DCI hung up.

*

Whatever cut-backs had been made so far, they hadn’t yet reached Brooke’s office. On the top floor and overlooking the city centre, it boasted two comfy sofas as well as a desk that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Oval Office: a huge slab of mahogany that probably took at least four men to deliver.

'Get hold of the geeks?' the DCI asked as Marr and DI Samantha Reid entered.

Marr shook his head.

'They put me on hold.'

Brooke snorted as his guests sank into the armchairs. Marr could tell immediately that getting out of the chair wasn’t going to be easy work: it was far too comfy.

'Bloody good, aren't they?’ laughed Brooke. ‘I've got one in my study at home, too.'

'Not claimed on the service, sir?' said Sam.

'I should be so lucky' replied the DCI. 'It took ten minutes of pleading with DCS Hume just to get the bloody coffee machine fixed.’

The DCI pointed at a substantial black machine balanced on one of the drawer units. Marr could immediately see DCI Hume's point of view: there were coffee machines, and then there were coffee machines.

‘How many miles to the gallon does it get?’ Marr asked.

Brooke growled, his face creasing as he decided whether or not to take the bait: he eventually settled on ignoring the jibe.

'Hendon House; know it?' He asked.

Marr shook his head, but Sam nodded.

'My friend Tara got married there last year' she said, 'Nice scenery, looks like something out of a Jane Austen novel. All lakes and stately buildings.'

'Sounds delightful.' said Brooke, his face positively un-delighted. 'Unfortunately, a body turned up in one of those lakes this morning. Well, on the bank anyway.'

'Drunk wedding fight?' Marr asked.

The DCI shook his head.

'No, there was no event on last night. Not according to Brian, the bar manager, at any rate. He was walking his dog around the grounds this morning when he found the body, identified her himself. The name of our no-longer-blushing-bride is Anna Markham.'

Sam raised an eyebrow.

'Bride?' she asked.

Brooke smiled; a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

'She was due to get married this afternoon, and I'll give you precisely no guesses where.'

Chapter 3

There was next to no traffic heading towards Cambridge, with even the worst of the commuters now settled behind their desks. Reaching the edge of the Hendon House estate took even less time than they'd been expecting.

Sam turned off the main road, the gravel crunching beneath the car tyres as it rolled up the path leading to the venue. She’d definitely been right, Marr thought: Hendon House was a beautiful place. The main house was Georgian: four storeys leading onto a stone courtyard, which was in turn surrounded by three barns. The main buildings were surrounded by a combination of lakes and fields. Marr could well see why someone might want to get married there.

It was a shame, then, that the scenery was scarred by the white forensics tent.

Marr was thankful that the location was far enough out of town to keep the murder out of the news, for the moment at least. These days, the press were more easy to deal with than the public: what remaining newspapers there were at least had regulations to abide by. The public, though, were armed with camera phones, Facebook and Twitter: keeping anything under wraps had gone from tough to virtually impossible.

It wasn’t always a bad thing. At least three burglars in the last year had been caught as a result of savvy mobile-users taking photos of vans parked outside crime scenes.

There were only two other cars in the car park when they arrived, both of which Marr knew. A black Ford Focus belonging to the attending officer, and a Silver Mercedes. As they pulled up, Marr saw that the Merc’s body was shot with dirt from the drive up the trail. He smiled.

The Merc belonged to Dr Eric Yovanovitch, the pathologist known for his love for cars. A love that often seemed to outrank that of his house, his wife and even occasionally, his two daughters.

'His poor beautiful baby, all stuck in the mud,' said Sam, spinning her wheels and adding more brown to the tapestry of dirt.

Marr grinned.

‘You’re brave,’ he said.

They left the car and quickly put on their forensic gear.

'Morning' came a cheerful voice behind them. DS Rebecca Alexander was walking across the courtyard from the house. Becky’s disposition never got much below ‘sunny’. It might have been annoying in some jobs, but in theirs, a bit of chirpiness made a welcome change.

'Morning, Becky,' Marr replied.

'Nasty business,' Becky said, nodding towards the tent.

'What time was she found?' asked Sam.

‘About seven o clock this morning. Brian, the bar manager, was out walking his border collie. Gorgeous thing.'

'Brian?' asked Marr, knowing that Becky had two German Shepherds and a Labrador at home. Becky rolled her eyes at the joke, which was probably a fair response.

'Poor guy's currently working his way through his own bar's finest stock,' she replied. ‘I’ve left him for you to interview: he said he’d wait.’

As they made their way towards the white tent, Marr found himself wondering why Becky was here in Essex when she could be earning six figures in the City. She was far too efficient.

Anna Markham was lying face down on the mud of the bank, her eyes facing lifelessly towards the house. The doctor was kneeling by the head, checking the neck area.

'Your Merc's looking dirty,' Marr said. The doctor turned around, smiled, and cheerfully raised a middle finger.

‘The CSIs are outside’ Sam added.

CSI stood for Crime Scene Investigation. Up until eight years or so ago, the men and women responsible for forensically examining crime scenes in the UK had been called Scene of Crime Officers, or SOCOs. In a bid to improve relations with the public, top brass had tried to increase the use of the American term, something Yovanovitch had fought tooth and nail.

‘I’m assuming someone’s told Anna’s family?’ Sam asked, receiving a nod from Becky.

‘Rob…sorry, DC Alexander has gone to notify the parents…and the groom, of course.’

DC Robert Alexander was the newest member of their team, having transferred over from uniform two weeks ago. He was also Becky's husband of three years. DCS Hume had voiced her concerns, and Brooke had handled the matter with typical delicacy, calling the Alexanders into his office.

‘You fuck up, one of you’s out on your arse’ he’d said.

For the moment, that had been deemed sufficient.

Yovanovitch was still inspecting Anna Markham’s neck: Marr thought that he could see some dark colouring on the skin, and there was some dried blood on her lips.

‘Strangled?’ he asked.

The doctor nodded.

‘Almost definitely. Judging by the darkest points in the skin, it was probably manual. Two thumbs pressed into the windpipe. Crude, but effective.’

Crime of passion, Marr thought. Strangling was a personal way to kill someone: if you didn’t know the victim, why risk leaving evidence?

Not that there was likely to be any evidence here, especially if the body had been in the water overnight. If the killer had any brains, he’d have thrown Anna Markham in there as soon as she’d stopped breathing.

‘Any sign of struggle?’ Marr asked, and Yovanovitch shook his head.

'Nothing under the nails, if that’s what you’re asking. She was probably screaming bloody murder, but it’s not like it would have helped. Who’d hear you?'

Marr leaned his head through the flap and out of the tent. Colchester was visible in the distance, but he knew the doctor was right. This was a good place to kill someone if you wanted to avoid witnesses.

‘She must have known the killer. Otherwise, why come here?’ Marr said, but Sam didn’t look convinced.

‘She could just have been walking around. The night before her wedding? Bound to be a bit restless.’

‘Why wasn’t she staying with her friends, or her mum?’ Becky asked.

Marr nodded. It was a good question.

A very good question, in fact.

Chapter 4

It took Sam a couple of minutes to find the bar, which was hidden away in a mezzanine floor in the second biggest barn. Sam guessed that Brian McDermott was probably in his fifties. His body was athletic, a bit gone to seed maybe, and there was no obvious thinning in his white hair.

He was sat at the bar itself, sipping from a glass. Next to him was a bottle of 18 year old Glenmorangie.

'Brian?' Sam asked.

As he looked up, Sam saw that the whites of his eyes were tinged with red.

'Aye', he replied.

'DI Reid. You've already spoken to my colleague, DS Alexander?'

He nodded, and smiled sadly.

'Cracking looking lass, she was. I get the sense she was with the other cop, though.'

Sam smiled back.

'They're married.'

The barman sighed, shaking his head like he’d just had his heart broken. It was the sort of thing that you’d want to tear the bollocks off some suspects for, but Sam knew that he was just distracting himself. The only woman on Brian’s mind for the next few weeks would be the one lying by the water’s edge outside.

'She said you’re happy to talk now.'

Brian nodded.

'Get you a drink?' he asked.

'I wouldn't say no to a Diet Coke, if the taps are on.'

Brian reached over the bar, and retrieved a silver can.

'Only cans I'm afraid.'

'That'll do fine, thanks.'

Sam took the seat next to him, and pulled out her notebook. Brian raised his eyebrows.

'I'd have thought you'd be all iPhones and whatnot these days' he said.

'Some people use them. I started about ten years too early to trust them for anything important.'

Brian chuckled.

'Aye, I tell my son the same thing. He's training as a journalist up in Edinburgh. Does everything by phone, even live transmissions. E-mailing him is as far as I go, though. He tried to talk me into getting an iPad last year: not a chance.’

Sam smiled.

'So, I'll just confirm a few facts. You were out walking your dog when you found Anna?'

Brian nodded.

'He's in one of the barns having a sleep. He's getting to be a lazy wee bugger these days, bit like his owner.'

'And you called the police straight away?'

'Yeah. I waited with the body until the two other detectives arrived.'

Sam nodded. That matched with what Becky had told her.

'And you didn't see anybody else nearby?'

Brian shook his head.

'No, sorry. It was pretty foggy, I didn't see the body until I was a few feet away from it.'

'Was there anyone else out and about that early?'

'Not that I saw. It’s usually dead at that time. Even on wedding days no-one shows up much before ten.'

'You must have arrived early to take the delivery?'

'No, I stayed over in one of the suites. Tend to do that when there’s a delivery coming in, gives me an extra hour in bed. I took the delivery in about half an hour before I took Hector for a walk. '

'That's early.'

'Yeah, our drinks supplier is in Colchester, so we're the first trip on the rounds. I don't mind, I'm an early riser anyway.'

'Where do you live?'

'Woodbridge, in Suffolk.'

A decent enough journey, thought Sam. It made sense that the barman would rather sleep here than get up at four.

'Would the driver have seen the body?'

Brian shook his head.

'No, it was too murky for that. The stream's a good fifty metres from the road, and it's not like Kev would have been going out of his way to look for anything that's not a coffee shop at that time.'

'You've got a regular driver?'

'Yeah, Kevin Waterson. The company's called Drinks-u-Like. I know, professional sounding right? But they're a good bunch of guys. I can pass the number on or get Kev to call you if you want.'

'That would be great, thanks.'

Sam handed over her card.

'DI Reid,' Brian read out loud, 'You're a Scot?'

Sam smiled.

'Grandfather's side. Mother's Welsh.'

The barman laughed, his facing brightening a bit.

'Six nations must be fun,' he said.

‘Nothing but tension for six weeks. One last thing: have you got any security systems in place. CCTV, that kind of thing?'

Brian frowned and shook his head.

'No. The only cameras are in here and in the office, for the safe.’

That was risky, Sam thought. This was a multi-million pound estate.

Brian was smiling.

'Odd, eh?' he said. 'To tell you the truth, the powers that be just don't want to spend the cash on the extra security. If it wasn’t the law, I don’t think we’d even have a camera in the bar. The office has the safe. I looked, though; it’s fine. No burglary. Bad luck, eh?'

Sam nodded.

‘Bad luck’, she replied.

Chapter 5

Sam leant against the wall, smoking a cigarette and looking out across the grounds of the house. A number of CSIs were still working the fields, dotted like white scarecrows against the green.

Anna Markham's body had been taken away around fifteen minutes ago, the doctor following the ambulance. From her courtyard vantage point, Sam had been able to enjoy the sight of the good doctor's fury at the extra mud now caked to his car.

Smiling, she took another deep drag of the cigarette.

'DS Reid.'

Sam turned around to see Becky walking up to her, holding out her phone.

'I've just had a call from a Caroline Marcus, asking about Anna Markham,' she said.

Sam didn't recognise the name.

'What did she want to know?'

'She was asking me to confirm whether or not Anna was dead.'

'What did you say?'

'Said I couldn't confirm anything. She could have just been press.'

That was true, thought Sam. But if she was press, how the hell had she found out about the murder already? The family could have run to the press, she supposed, but that would have been a first.

‘Give Rob a call, see if he knows who she is.’

Becky did so. A quick thirty seconds later they had the answer.

‘Caroline’s is Anna’s best friend. Rob is still with Anna’s parents, so they didn’t tell her. It must have been the fiancée.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Gregor Stanic.’

Anna nodded.

‘OK, thanks Becky. I’ll take care of it.’

Becky gave Sam Caroline’s number before returning to the main barn.

The first ring had barely sounded when there was a soft ‘click’.

'Hello?' asked a female voice. It was high, almost a squeak. Caroline Marcus – if that was who it was - sounded frantic.

'Caroline?' Sam asked.

'Yes. Who's this?'

'My name’s Detective Inspector Reid. I believe you rang my colleague a few moments ago.'

'Oh god, is Anna OK? The other detective wouldn't tell me.'

'Were you and Anna close?' Sam asked.

'Oh god, really, though, is she OK?'

'Caroline, I think it would be useful if you came to see us.'

‘Of course, yes, where, Hendon House?'

Sam looked back across the field, where the white CSIs were still dotted against fields.

'Actually, I’ll come and see you,’ she decided. ‘What's your address?'

Caroline lived close by; this side of Colchester. Sam checked her watch. A twenty minute drive at most.

'OK, Caroline, I'll be with you soon, give me an hour or so.'

She cut the call before Caroline could ask the question again, then dialed through to Marr.

'We’ve had a call from a Caroline Marcus, claiming to be Anna’s best friend. I think the fiancée already told her about Anna’s death, so I'm going to go and see her now. She's only twenty minutes away. I'll grab coffees on the way back.'

'And that, DI Reid, is why you'll be a Superintendent someday,’ Marr replied.

Sam lowered her voice.

‘Don’t be so fucking patronising’ she said, though she was smiling when she hung up.

Chapter 6

Caroline Marcus' flat was in the Hythe area of Colchester. Traffic was pretty light, so Sam had no problem dealing with the one way system. She arrived at the building five minutes later than she’d planned, but didn't think that would be much of a problem. Caroline wasn't going anywhere until she got confirmation that Anna was dead.

Even so, it was a surprise to see her waiting by the outside door to the building. It didn't take much working out that it was her: her hands were still trembling.

'Caroline?' Sam asked.

Caroline nodded. Her forehead was a mess of worry lines.

'Thanks for coming.' she said.

'Of course. Shall we go up?'

They'd been in the flat less than five seconds when Caroline asked the same question she’d asked on the phone. Convinced that she wasn’t a reporter, Sam gave her the answer. The honest one.

Caroline instantly deflated, the anxiety flooding out of her body and the numbness rushing in. Her hand stopped shaking. She sank onto the sofa, her eyes fixed on the carpet.

'I'm sorry,' Sam said. 'Shall I make us a drink?'

The reply was non-existent, but Sam carried on anyway. There was little point just staring at the poor girl and waiting.

As Sam busied herself with the kettle, she heard the click of the door behind her. Caroline had locked herself in the bathroom. Briefly, Sam was worried. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of retching.

Two steaming mugs of tea were on the coffee table by the time Caroline re-emerged. Her face had regained a bit of colour, but she still looked shaky.

'I couldn't find the sugar,' Sam said, trying to sound as comforting as possible. This was the one bit of the job she had never, ever clicked with. Some people had the art of the death message down pat; it seemed to be something you were born with, just like some people could walk into a room and be everyone’s friend within minutes. Sam had done the job enough, but it still felt so unnatural. Even if she said the right things, they sounded wrong to her. The simple fact was that no matter what she said, Sam never really felt like she was helping. Maybe someone good at delivering bad news – Becky was exemplary – did think she was making a difference. Maybe that was the key.

Caroline sat down.

'I'll get this out of the way,' Sam began, 'Who told you about Anna’s Death?'

Caroline said nothing, and wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes.

'It's OK, you won't get them in trouble,’ Sam continued. ‘You were Anna's best friend, it's natural they would have told you.’

There was no smile, but Caroline replied.

'Greg. Greg rang me after the cop had left his house.'

That was as expected, thought Sam. Partners would often think of their partner’s friends before their partner’s parents, expecting family to take care of itself.

'What did he tell you?' asked Sam.

'That Anna had been killed, and that her body had been found by the lake at Hendon House.'

'OK. And have you told anybody else at all?'

Caroline shook her head.

'No, honest.'

'That’s alright, we just have to check. I'm going to ask you a few questions about Anna now, if that's OK?'

Caroline nodded her agreement.

'How long had you known her?'

'Fifteen years. Since college. Post-16.'

'And you'd been friends since?'

'Yes. All through university.'

'Did you go to the same University as each other?'

'Yes. Economics at the LSE.'

'Impressive. How did you find it?'

Caroline smiled.

'A bit boring. At least I did; Anna liked it. She was focused. Pretty average ability wise, like me, but a much harder worker. She nearly got a first, I was at the bottom end of the two-ones.'

'Me too,' said Sam, which wasn’t entirely true. She’d received a two one, but it had been pretty comfortable achievement. She definitely could have done better.

'Did she meet Greg at University?'

Caroline shook her head.

'No. She met him about three years ago.'

'How?'

'Through me.'

'You work with Greg?'

'I used to. Harpenden & Marshall accountants in Chelmsford. Greg learned his trade there before going freelance to get the extra money. He spent eight years in the army, so he had the discipline to do it.'

Made sense, thought Sam. Hard work and discipline. Just the sort of apprentice that any company would snap up, knowing they just could replace him with another apprentice when the time came for him to move on.

'How was he to work with?' Sam asked.

Caroline thought about it for a moment.

'He was OK. To tell you the truth, he was sort of the office slut. Sorry, that sounds bad. But he got around: he even had a couple of affairs with married women.'

Again, it made sense enough. Greg was fit, ambitious, probably confident in the way you became when you’d been a soldier. After fighting for your life, well…chatting someone up probably didn’t feel scary.

'Did you and he..?'

Caroline shook his head.

'Oh no, I had a steady boyfriend then. One I actually liked. He moved up to Scotland, though. Better opportunities, apparently.'

Caroline's lip curled slightly. Sam guessed that the break-up hadn’t been mutual.

'Would you have been interested if not?' Sam asked.

There was no reply for a moment, then:

'Yeah, I guess so. Greg's a good looking guy. Quite masculine. I can see why he did as well as he did. I mean, he got Anna to settle down: that’s no mean feat in itself.’

'Did Anna enjoy her sex life?'

Caroline paused and looked up.

'Thanks for saying it like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, whenever that question comes up; the way people ask…it just pisses me off. Shag around. Sleep around. You know, like it’s wrong for a woman to enjoy sex.’

Sam shrugged, and was pleased to see Caroline smile for the first time.

'To be honest,’ Caroline continued. ‘I thought Anna would always be a bit of a workhorse; married to the job. She’d always talked about getting married at Hendon when she was a bit younger, but after five years or so of work any talk about blokes or marriage disappeared. Until she met Greg, she hadn’t seemed in the slightest bit bothered.’

'Did you set her and Greg up?'

'No. They met at one of the Christmas parties. It was just after Andy left, so I wanted a girl-date who could sit and be bitter with me. Fat chance: Anna and Greg started off arguing about Iraq and ended up kissing. That's love for you.'

‘What did you think of them as a couple?’

‘When they first started, I thought they’d be too much for each other. Greg’s your clichéd alpha, and Anna was as tough as nails. I was happy to be wrong, though. I know it’s something you hear about all the time, but they just seemed to make each other better. He dropped a lot of the posturing, and she opened up more. They looked after each other.’

‘Did anyone have a problem with the relationship that you know of?’

Caroline laughed.

‘Tom. Thomas Coulthard, sorry.’

Sam made a note of the name.

‘He was Anna’s other best friend. He’d known her for years, since school. They played together all the time when they were kids. He was the one friend from when she was really young that stuck around.’

‘What did you think of him?’ Sam asked.

Caroline’s body language had changed: there were goosebumps forming on the pale skin of her arm.

‘You know how some men just…well, they set alarm bells ringing?’

Sam nodded. As a cop, dealing with men like that was an occupational hazard.

‘Tom’s like that for me. I don’t know why. He’s harmless; pathetic, really. I just didn’t like being around him. I tended to make myself scarce whenever he and Anna would hang out. She didn’t see him too much in the last couple of years, so it didn’t cause any problems.’

‘They still saw each other?’

‘Every two or three months. Not a lot. They used to hang out all the time at college I think, though: before we started uni.’

‘Was he in love with Anna?’

Caroline nodded.

‘Yeah, or at least he used to be. When they were younger, they talked about it. Anna wasn’t interested, so they never brought it up again. At least, that’s what she told me.’

‘What did you think?’

‘I wasn’t too convinced. Even though he is how he is, I did feel a bit sorry for him. The way he used to look at her; like a dog looking at its owner. Desperate for approval.’

‘Could he have killed Anna?’ Sam asked.

Caroline looked thoughtful.

‘No, I don’t think so. I just don’t think he’d be up to it, to be honest.’

‘Can you think of anyone who would be up to it?’

‘I really can’t. I mean, who the hell would hurt Anna? She was great. I mean, she was a bit intense sometimes, but she was so kind to me, and her parents, and she loved Greg. Really, really loved him. And now…’

Caroline coughed, and then a sob came seemed to come from nowhere. Five seconds later, she was no longer capable of talking.

Chapter 7

Marr groaned loudly, not relinquishing his grip on Sam’s hips as he came.

For a moment they were both still, then Sam moved off him and collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily.

Marr reached across for the half-empty pack of cigarettes on the bedside table.

‘Don’t you only smoke those after sex?’ Sam asked.

‘Yeah. It would be more suspicious if I didn’t smell of it every now and then, anyway: it’s not like she doesn’t know I smoke.’

Sam nodded, and they were silent for a moment.

‘Do you think Lizzie knows about us?’ she finally said.

Marr shook his head.

‘She’d stick my head in a deep fat fryer.’

‘That’s comforting; good to know there’s no consequences to what we’re doing.’

‘It’s the truth. My wife doesn’t do passive aggressive.’

Sam leaned over and took the not-yet lit cigarette from between Marr’s lips.

‘You’ll forgive me being cautious, then.’

Sam threw the cigarette in the nearby bin, and Marr smiled. He knew it was childish, but sometimes he just couldn’t get over what was happening.

The first time he and Sam slept together, it really had been just a drunken mistake. A stinker of a conference on changing government policy, a nasty break-up for her and a bottle of stolen scotch from behind the bar.

Things proceeded from there.

When it had carried on after the conference, though…well, Marr couldn’t honestly say he’d fought Sam’s advances off. His fellow DI knew what she wanted.

Sure, if you saw a transcript of the conversation, you’d say she talked him into it. If you were just going on what was said. But if you were there? Well, you might not.

‘You’re already a cheater, Steve,’ she’d said, not looking at him; tossing the fact out there like it was nothing. ‘Done. There’s no going back. Whatever happens now, you’ll always have done it.’

Half an hour later they’d been back at her flat, and he was a cheater for the second time.

Would he be able to defend himself if he’d left it as one, single, drunken mistake?

Probably not. He’d been lucid enough that he could have stopped if he’d really wanted to. But he hadn’t. No, Marr had been having far too much fun enjoying the feeling of Sam’s body against his, her voice in his ear. The way she’d turned away from him to slide her skirt down…

His thoughts were interrupted by Sam’s mobile, ringing on the table next to the bed. She got up to answer it, Marr not wasting the chance to run his eyes over her body.

Before answering, she turned to him, catching him in the act, and smiling. Then, she held the phone to show him the screen.

It was Brooke.

Marr nodded, and stood up to get dressed.

On his way home, his own phone rang. He saw his wife’s name in white letters, and his breath caught in his throat.

‘Hi love,’ he said, putting the phone onto hands free.

‘Your dinner’s burning’ she said.

‘Well, that’s a shame. Luckily I’m going past the Shining Dragon on the way home. Though I suppose after that prawn curry we had last weekend, you’re probably not in the mood for takeaway.’

Lizzie had been up throwing up continually for the last week, and Saturday’s dinner had received no end of stick since.

‘Well thank you for bringing that pleasant memory up. Luckily, I’ve got a blue stick right here that’s happy to take the blame away from the prawns.’

There was a squeal as Marr braked hard. He did so without thinking, and was lucky there were no cars behind him on the road.

Holy shit.

Lizzie was laughing gleefully, enjoying the silence.

‘You’re…you’re kidding,’ Marr said.

‘Afraid not. Your promotion was well timed; it means we can afford to do up the spare room.’

Marr imagined a cot, and painted blue walls.

Then, with his gut full of concrete, he thought of a hotel room at a conference. And a bottle of whisky, stolen from behind the bar.

‘Christ…’ he said, unable to come up with anything better.

Lizzie laughed again; gleeful, amused, as if nothing would bother her again.

‘I’ll pour you a drink’ she said, before hanging up.

Chapter 8

Rather than head to the station the next morning, Marr decided it was as good a time as any to go and see Gregor Stanic, Anna’s fiancée. Stanic lived in a fairly central location: a house off one of the roads tailing away from the train station. Being a freelancer, it probably made sense for him to have good access to London.

Marr managed to find a space on the road and pulled up outside the house. He checked his watch. Eight-thirty. Probably a bit too early, but he wasn’t interrupting much: Gregor Stanic was unlikely to have slept at all.

It took seconds for a tall, well-built man to answer the doorbell. There was no skirting around the fact that Anna Markham’s fiancée was a handsome guy. His black hair was straight and cut high-and-tight, and there was just a hint of stubble around his square jaw. If it wasn’t for the dark circles around his eyes, Stanic could have come straight from a movie set.

Marr held up his identification.

‘Living room’s on the left,’ Stanic said, allowing Marr through. His voice was deep, and controlled.

‘Coffee?’ he asked, as Marr picked the comfiest looking chair in the room and sat down.

‘Black, please,’ Marr replied. Stanic nodded and walked off to the back of the house, returning a couple of minutes later with two steaming mugs of black coffee.

‘I thought you were going to come yesterday,’ He said.

‘Did DC Alexander not speak to you?’ Marr replied.

Stanic nodded.

‘Yeah, he came. I mean I thought someone more senior would come yesterday. The other one…well, he didn’t ask too many questions. Seemed like he was there to break the news and go. So I assumed someone else would come the next day.’

Marr thought back to what he’d been doing at five PM the day before. He’d been off shift, yes, but he could have come if he’d really wanted to.

‘I’m sorry if you were kept waiting,’ he said, acknowledging the point, ‘Unfortunately, a case like this means we’ve got a lot to do in a short space of time if we’re to catch the killer.’

Stanic shrugged.

‘No matter. I tend to be a bit quieter this time of year anyway. Lots of work I can potentially do, but nothing urgent.’

‘You’re an accountant?’ Marr asked, indicating the shelf of text books in the corner of the room.

Stanic nodded.

‘Yes, but I suppose you know that already. It’s tough at times, but it’s still miles better than working for someone else: all meetings and bullshit. I get to choose my own hours, don’t have to beg permission to go to the dentist, that sort of thing.’

‘Sounds good’ Marr thought, thinking that actually, it sounded better than nice. The thought of picking his own hours, working when he wanted…

But then, there was a baby on the way now. Things had changed a bit.

‘It’s good,’ Stanic was saying. ‘But I suppose you’re not here for advice.’

Marr reached down to grasp his coffee, and gave it a sip. It was strong; really strong.

Stanic smiled, for real this time.

‘Too strong for you?’ he said. He wasn’t goading, but it wasn’t a completely passive question either. There was a hint of aggression beneath the surface of the words. Not that it meant much: pubs were full of men prepared to mouth off. Physical violence was something else entirely.

Marr shrugged.

‘Tastes fine to me. Tell me about Anna.’

Stanic’s smile disappeared. He leaned forward, rubbing his hands together. Nervous energy, thought Marr. Stanic would have a lot of that to deal with in the next few weeks.

‘I keep checking my phone, just in case she’s texted me,’ he said. ‘I went to the ASDA round the corner last night. I didn’t need anything: I just wanted to make sure it was still there, that the world was still the same. You never think it’ll happen to someone you know, whatever’s going on in the rest of the world. I mean, those stabbings last year…’

Stanic leant back, unable to relax even though he was visibly trying to. He looked like a job applicant who’d been told to act cool before the big interview.

Yes, the stabbings. Only fifteen minutes down the road from Stanic’s home, Marr thought. Two dead, both from multiple knife wounds. The attacks had come in broad daylight in the middle of the street. Nothing concrete to connect the cases. The knife had probably been the same, but that was hardly a revelation. Nobody had been brought to justice yet, as the papers were frequently able to remind them.

Marr sipped his coffee again, getting used to the harshness. Looking at the way Stanic’s legs were now moving up and down, Marr wondered how many mugs he’d already had in the last twenty four hours.

‘Do you know anybody who might have had a grudge against Anna?’ Marr asked, ‘Anyone who would want to hurt her?’

Stanic thought the question over.

‘No, I don’t think so. I mean, some people didn’t like Anna. She was beautiful, young, successful, pretty well off….that’s enough to get you hated anywhere in the UK.’

‘Did either of you have any financial trouble? Weddings aren’t cheap.’

Stanic laughed.

‘You’re telling me, mate. Twenty-five thousand in the hole. But no, we were OK. I’d saved up quite a bit over the last five years; since I met Anna, really. When you know, you know, and all that. Anna’s dad John helped us out with the rest. He said he’d had an investment pay off, but I think he was just being nice. We were free and clear, basically. We had the honeymoon all planned out; Rome and then Florence.’

Nice, thought Marr: very nice. When he and Lizzie got married, he’d still been a DC and she was between jobs. It had been a bare bones ceremony followed by a week in Cornwall. He wasn’t bothered by that, but it had been hard not to wish he’d been able to give her a more lavish day. As soon as he’d been