And Nothing But The Truth (Lindenshaw Mysteries, #7)

Caution: The following details may be considered spoilerish. Click on a label to reveal its content.

Length:

Heat Wave: 3 - Off-screen or non-explicit love scenes

Erotic Frequency: 2 - Not many

Genre: mystery, romance

Gender: cisgender

Orientation: gay

Pairing: male/male

Age: 20s, 30s, over 60s

Ending: happily ever after

Tone: exciting, humorous, realistic, sweet

Themes: adoption, cheating (past lover), death / the afterlife, grief, illness / injury, kids, mental illness, secret baby

Kinks:

Era: contemporary

Settings: country, hotel / motel, on the road, police station, pub, school, sex club / strip club / brothel, ship / boat / cruise ship, slums, small town, United Kingdom, village, woods / forest

Careers: law enforcement, teacher / professor

Species:

Chapter One

Late spring 2022

Adam Matthews slipped out of bed and headed for the window to have a peek at what the weather was doing. As the BBC had predicted the day before, it was a glorious morning, more flaming June than showery April.

He glanced over his shoulder at where his husband Robin Bright lay in bed, gently snoring and appearing very little older than when they’d first met eight years ago. The odd grey hair had sprouted—generally in his stubble rather than on his head—but he was still as handsome. And still as effective at catching villains and putting them behind bars as he’d been in the murder case which had introduced them, without ever resorting to any of the dodgy tricks so beloved of TV cops.

“Go with the evidence, wherever it leads. Although a touch of copper’s instinct never comes amiss,” was what Robin said, and his instinct had been proved correct on many occasions.

Adam yawned, stretched, and headed downstairs, to where a canine bladder was no doubt awaiting a chance at relief. He opened the kitchen door, said, “Morning Cam—” and stopped. Funny how he’d managed to avoid using the wrong name for so long, but now he wasn’t concentrating, it slipped out. As his mother had told him would no doubt happen.

“Like in the stone age, when we wrote cheques. I’d never get the year wrong on them all through January because I’d be thinking about it, and then I’d find myself writing the incorrect date come February, when my attention had wavered. It’ll be the same with the dog.”

As so often, she was spot on. “Sorry, Hamish. Old habits. Am I forgiven?”

The Newfoundland bounced up and bestowed a slobbery kiss.

“Thank you. I love you, as well.” Maybe not yet as much as he’d loved Campbell, but that would come with time.

“I heard you nearly say the wrong name as I came down the stairs.” Robin’s voice sounded chirpily as he came into the room. “I’m so pleased, because I made the same mistake yesterday. I could become paranoid that he thinks his name is actually Cam, whereas he’s a handsome Hamish. Aren’t you boy?” Robin gave the dog a good ruffling round his neck, which was received with obvious pleasure, then let him out into the garden.

“Maybe we both need to write out fifty times, ‘His name is Hamish,’ and hang it up in here.” It might have been easier if they’d chosen a different breed, rather than a dog who resembled a younger and smaller version of his predecessor, but they were used to Newfoundlands. Switching to a Labrador or other kind of pooch would have felt treasonous to the big lad’s memory.

Robin gave Adam a peck on the cheek. “I think we should. You’d have thought a whole week’s holiday away with him would have got us into the habit by now.”

“It’s being home. We’ve slipped into very old habits. We never called him you know what down in Devon.”

A term into his first headship, that break had been needed and a glorious time that had been, with generally bright weather, no murders, and no schoolchildren—none that Adam had to be responsible for, anyway. He’d done a couple of months as acting headteacher the previous year, when Jim Rashford, for whom he’d been deputy at Culdover, got appendicitis, but that didn’t bring the same kind of pressure. While it had been great preparation for taking on a similar role, the place he’d been running was someone else’s school, and he could eventually give the responsibility back. Like babysitting.

Now Adam was leading the primary school in the large village of Wickley. It was proving similar to the one at Lindenshaw where he’d been employed when he met Robin, with the same links to the local church and the same set of values espoused. Values that Adam could buy into straight away. Reconciliation, forgiveness, and loving your neighbour as yourself were right up his street, albeit difficult to do on a regular basis.

The job had its challenges, naturally, including a member of staff who wasn’t cutting the mustard and who’d need dealing with once the new term was up and running. But Jane could be put out of mind for the moment.

“Wakey wakey, daydreamer,” Robin said. “The sun’s breaking through.”

“Shining on the almost-righteous.”

“Days like these make me wish we could win the lottery and be on holiday permanently.” Robin put on the kettle while Adam got Hamish’s breakfast ready.

“You’d get bored. We both would. Besides, the experience wouldn’t feel so good if it wasn’t a treat.”

“I’d be willing to risk seeing if I could get used to it. In the interests of science. Do you want toast?”

“Nah, just cereal. I think I over-calorified myself when we were away. Anyway, you can’t win the lottery because you don’t do it. Even my most numerically challenged pupils would realise that if you ain’t in it, you can’t win it. I hope they would, anyway.” Adam called a few to mind who might struggle with the concept. The villages of England might be leafy, but they still had children with special needs or parents who didn’t quite have a proper grasp of reality.

Robin snorted. “If your pupils grow into some of the people I have to deal with, I wouldn’t bank on the fact. Not all villains are sharp. Some are simply lucky, so they get away with things they shouldn’t. Then there’s the ones who rely on the fact nobody reports them or—if they do—complaints don’t get taken seriously enough.”

Adam nodded in sympathy. Prior to their holiday, Robin had been dealing with the aftermath of an historic child-abuse case, where the victim had waited so long for justice that he’d taken things into his own hands and beaten seven colours of brick dust out of the choirmaster who’d made his life a misery thirty years previously. Robin only had the assault case to deal with, but the details behind it had got to him. While Robin’s own schooldays had hardly been a bundle of joy, they’d been nothing compared to what the man had endured when he was a pupil. At least Adam and Hamish had been there to support and comfort the bloke through the process, with hugs and a wet nose respectively.

Adam fetched Robin’s favourite cereal bowl. “I wish all parishes were like Wickley. If Katie Morgan had been the safeguarding officer for that choirmaster’s parish, there’d have been no nonsense about sweeping things under the carpet.” Katie was one of the foundation governors at Adam’s new school, and her opinion on the church’s lax handling of abuse cases had been a joy to hear.

“Speaking as a probably-not-very-good Christian, I have to say there’s a hell of a lot of muddled thinking around forgiveness. You won’t know this yet, boy,” Robin said to Hamish, who’d returned from the garden and wanted attention. “Actions can be forgiven but they still have consequences. Life lesson, free and gratis, from your dad.”

“If you want to give him life lessons, we should start with training him not to go throwing himself at guns or knives. Like the old boy did.”

“Maybe I should train you not to get too closely involved with my cases, as well.” Robin put the finishing touches to the food he’d laid on the breakfast bar, then perched on a stool.

“Might I remind you,” Adam said, wagging a teaspoon at him, “that if you insist on interviewing a murderer in my kitchen, in the vicinity of the lad’s Bonios, then you’re tempting fate? I’m glad this house is keeping itself a killer-free zone.” So far, no trouble had followed Robin home there, and long may that prevail. Adam surreptitiously touched wood but clearly not surreptitiously enough.

“I saw that. Was it your ‘please no murders’ touching wood?”

“Something like that.” It had been over a year since Robin had dealt with a homicide case, if one didn’t count a manslaughter due to diminished responsibility, and their luck was due to run out. Murders meant long and unpredictable hours and risked Robin getting stressed or—worse still—relocated for weeks on end.

“If I do get a murder case anytime soon, he’ll not know what’s going on with all the long hours. He’ll think I’ve deserted him.” Robin glanced over to where a supremely unbothered Hamish was concentrating on his breakfast.

“He’ll learn to cope. Another lesson for life in the Matthews-Bright household.” Adam chomped on his granola. “Any chance we can bring him up to think he’s a cat? Or another dog breed that doesn’t do water rescues?”

“Vain hope. It’s inbred. The old lad always liked being in water. Even if we didn’t think he had the urge to rescue in him.” Robin patted Adam’s hand, and they focussed on their food, probably both fighting a lump in the throat.

Late last autumn they’d been out for a walk in a country park, with Campbell off the lead but walking to heel as became his habit as he’d grown older. He’d evidently been the first of the three to see a toddler fall into the lake, at which point some deep-rooted instinct must have kicked in. Before Robin had got to the water’s edge, Campbell was already immersed, paddling like mad while taking the child by the back of his jumper and pulling him to the bank.

In the general kerfuffle of administering first aid and calming the child’s parents, it had taken Adam and Robin a while to realise that their dog wasn’t getting himself up off the ground. A minute or so later, it had all been over.

“Talk to me about something funny,” Adam said. “Daft things your newbie coppers have done.”

“Nothing to offer, sorry. Our latest recruit—Danielle—is proving far too sensible to provide you with cheering-up fodder.” Robin managed a grin. “I think Pru’s taken her under her wing, rather like I did Ben when he joined the team. Then I’ve just this morning heard we’ve got Ashok relocating from Kinechester, so he’s a known quantity.”

Adam nodded. Robin had met Ashok when he’d had to take over a murder case from a nearby team which had been struck by Covid. Apparently, the constable had needed the odd rough edge knocked off but was pretty solid underneath. “That’s come out of the blue, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Part of Superintendent Cowdrey getting everything shipshape, I suspect. Played two blinders, because not only did he secure us Ashok, he’s also got rid of Gareth. He’s the new one we’d been allocated at the same time as Danielle, but he rubbed Cowdrey up the wrong way, so the boss persuaded him that he’d be getting a wider range of experience in the Kinechester team. Which is no word of a lie.”

“A very useful lie. What did Gareth make of that? What did you?”

“He’s delighted. Thinks he’s got one over on Danielle. Special treatment and all that.” Robin rolled his eyes. “As for me, I wouldn’t argue with the boss. He’s too astute and has more experience of young guns than I have. Although—and don’t quote me on this—I wouldn’t be surprised if Gareth ends up in the papers or on the telly one day, and I don’t mean him getting the George Cross.”

“Potential to be bent?” There’d been plenty of similar stories in the news recently and not confined to the Metropolitan Police. The lad must have been particularly bad for Robin to have formed such an opinion so quickly.

“I don’t know. There’s something not right about him—in the short time he’s been with us, he’s said a few things which raise alarm bells, but he may be capable of being converted away from the dark side. I suspect Cowdrey doesn’t want his patch soiled at this late stage of his working life, so he’s palmed Gareth off on Kinechester.”

“What does Denness think?” He was Cowdrey’s equivalent at Kinechester, at a not-dissimilar point in his career, so surely wouldn’t want to deal with somebody else’s issue.

“He’s happy, actually, despite the rather frank conversation Cowdrey had with him about his concerns. Denness is regarding Gareth as a challenge. A potential feather in his cap if he works the miracle.”

“Like you’ve done in the past.” Adam patted Robin’s hand. He’d had the Augean stables job given to him and performed it with aplomb. Not something he’d want to do again, though.

Robin pushed his empty plate away, a sign Hamish clearly took to mean his dad was available for making a fuss of him. The Newfoundland bounded over, to be hauled onto Robin’s lap. “I know, I know, breaking house rules, but he’s still a baby.”

“So long as you break him of the habit before he’s fully grown, or you’ll have flat thighs.” Adam watched the pair affectionately. “How’s the crown holding up?”

“I’d forgotten about it. Must be a good sign.” Robin had been having issues with his molar. The first temporary crown he’d been fitted for had barely lasted forty-eight hours, but this replacement seemed like it would last until the permanent one could be installed, first thing on Thursday. “I had a text from Mum this morning, by the way. She’s being rather mysterious. Wants to know if we’d have time to drop in today.”

Adam shrugged. “Don’t see why not. We don’t have much planned for today. Although I bet she only wants to see the boy and spoil him.”

“Yeah. No doubt who’s her favourite from us three.” Robin let Hamish lick his ear. “I’ll say we’ll pop in for a cuppa this afternoon. She says she wants us to do something for her. Bit of family business, although she’s not telling me exactly what.”

“Your aunt Clare hasn’t given Jeff the push and has a new fancy man needing investigating?”

“I’ve no idea. Mum will tell us in her own good time. Maybe she’s found a black sheep lurking among the Brights, the kind of family member nobody mentions. Everyone’s found it safer to ignore their existence in case questions get asked.”

Adam snorted. “You’ve been reading too many books this holiday. They’ve given you strange ideas. She didn’t give you any clues?”

“Not really.” Robin retrieved his phone from the worktop where he’d left it, having to reach round Hamish to do so. “She says: Too complicated to explain by text. Nothing sinister. You could call it a mystery I’d like some advice about clearing up.”

“We’ll definitely go over for an hour or so this afternoon. I’m very curious.”

“We could take this boy for a walk along the old railway line near Mum’s, then grab lunch at the pub. The one that used to be the stationmaster’s house.”

“Didn’t it used to be a dive, as well?” They’d walked past it before, with Campbell: he’d turned his wet nose up at it despite having been a huge fan of hostelries.

“It’s been tarted up, apparently. Mum says it’s dog-friendly too.” Robin addressed the last part to Hamish, who looked bemused. “I could see if I can book a table in the garden.”

“You do that, while I get washed and dressed. It’ll be a nice end to the holiday.”

While he headed for the bathroom, Adam’s thoughts headed off in several directions. He’d heard about people finding an illegitimate child on the family tree, one who’d manifested in the form of a stranger turning up on the doorstep to say, “Halloo. You don’t know me but I’m your half brother.” There’d been a child born out of wedlock in the Matthews’s line, which had only come to light after Adam’s great-aunt had warned his cousin Sally not to go investigating family history as she wouldn’t like what she found. That had, naturally, made her keener than ever to go delving. It had proved a general letdown that the only blot on the family escutcheon had been something that nobody would bat an eyelid at in modern days. Sally had confessed she’d been hoping for a murderer or bigamist at the very least.

Still, they wouldn’t have long to wait to find out what was exercising Mrs. Bright’s brain. And no doubt the answer would come with a healthy slice of cake. They’d have to be on the frugal side at lunch to make room for it.

***

When they got to his mum’s house, not only did Mrs. Bright provide refreshments with their mugs of tea, it was Robin’s favourite boiled fruit cake. Sweet and moist—as sweet and moist as Adam’s lips, he’d once said in a moment of high soppiness—the cake was the perfect crown on a pretty perfect day. The pub garden hadn’t been too busy, their lunch sandwiches had been delicious, and the walk had exhausted Hamish, who was sprawled on the rug, probably dreaming about the squirrels he’d not been allowed to chase.

Once they were settled and the food had been given its due attention, Robin said, “You’ve got us really puzzled with this family business stuff. You’re not about to spring a stepfather or half sister on me, are you?” He was only half-joking, having been going through various scenarios in his mind all day.

Mrs. Bright chuckled. “I’m too old for getting wed again, and if you do have a half sister, I’d be as surprised as you would be. But I have got something strange that’s cropped up, and I need two extra brains and a bit of specialist help to make sense of it. My solicitor’s drawn a blank. I think it’s to do with your dad being adopted.”

Robin cast his husband a puzzled glance. Despite not having known his father-in-law, Adam knew all about the adoption, which had never been kept secret, nor had it seemed a big deal. Robin hadn’t speculated that much about his paternal grandparents, not having felt the need of anyone but the elder Brights in his life. “You’ve lost me already, Mum. Can we start right at the beginning, please?”

“Sorry. I wouldn’t make a very good impression in a witness box. You know your father never made a fuss about his background, not like these folk on the telly who want to know exactly where they came from. Your gran and gramps were his parents, full stop, the end. He just accepted that was how it was.”

Robin nodded, feeling rather choked. His sexuality was one of the things Mr. Bright senior had readily accepted, and he would have made good friends with Adam, no doubt dragging him down the pub to discuss the test match or Robin’s foibles. But his sudden death, from a heart condition he hadn’t known he suffered from, meant that could never happen. “Is this to do with his biological parents?”

“It may be. That’s the only explanation I can think of. Somebody wants to give us some money. You and me. No, Adam, I’m not falling for a scam.” Mrs. Bright broke into a giggly smile, one which took years off her. “It isn’t somebody pretending to be a Christian lady whose pastor husband has left a fortune and who needs my bank account’s help to access it. My solicitor, Mr. Caswell, has done lots of checks and thinks it’s legitimate.”

“Who’s the benefactor, Alison, and how did they get in touch?” The worried note in Adam’s voice and the rare use he’d made of her Christian name showed he was still doubtful, official reassurance notwithstanding.

“Not by email. They wrote air mail, to Mr. Caswell’s firm. Another solicitor—somewhere in the Commonwealth, Mr. C says he’s not allowed to be any more specific about where and his name is Brown, so that’s not too helpful—has been looking for a Mr. David Bright, born on the day your father was. I think they managed to track him down through the obituary we put on the local paper’s website.” She took a sip of tea, or pretended to, as the drink must have been tepid at best. Probably a stalling tactic to allow her to get over memories of Robin’s dad’s sudden death. “Whoever is behind this has clearly done their research, because they followed the trail from the memorial notice to Mr. C. He’s heard on the grapevine they contacted various local firms to try to get a trace on your dad’s family. Mr. C didn’t get in touch with me until he’d done enough of what he calls ‘proper diligence’ to be convinced this was real.”

“But you’re not allowed to know where the money comes from?” Robin asked.

“No, or who sent it. Anonymous bequest. Very Midsomer Murders.” His mum grinned again.

“Don’t you end up as the victim, then.” That was only half a joke, as well. “What do you want us to do?”

“Two things. The first is a big favour.” Mrs. Bright’s fingers twisted round each other. “I hate asking you to do anything that’s work connected, Robin, but do you have—I’m not sure what they call them—forensic lawyers, like the forensic accountants you’ve mentioned?”

“We have people who specialise in fraud and the like. One of them, Henry, probably owes me a good turn, so I’ll get him on the case. Check it’s all kosher.”

“It’s not simply a favour for a family member,” Adam pointed out. “Proactive policing, to prevent a crime. If it’s actually a clever scam, it’s unlikely you’d be the only victim.”

“Absolutely.” Robin’s brow crinkled. “Can you also make sure your solicitor has checked this isn’t linked to money laundering? That’s big business now, and the rules changed not that long ago, so I hope Caswell will be up to speed about what to keep an eye out for. Also get an understanding on your position regarding inheritance tax. You don’t want to be landed with a bill down the line because of Double Taxation treaties.”

“What the hell are they?” Adam asked.

“No idea, but Henry once mentioned them because they helped him to narrow down which country some dodgy money came from.”

“I’ll ask about both of those. Thank you.” Mrs. Bright patted Robin’s hand. “The other thing I need to ask you about is a bit silly. I’ve always wanted to find out about David’s family, but I wouldn’t have done it when he was alive because he was quite determined not to know. This seems an ideal time, because I can’t help feeling that if this inheritance is real, it has to be linked to his birth mother or father. Trouble is, I don’t know where to start and when I browse the internet, it’s bewildering. I’ve asked Clare but she’s been no help. I know you two are rushed off your feet, though.”

“We are but I’m sure we can find time. Maybe if you bribed us by coming over and cooking dinner one night, we could repay you by putting you on the right track. Friday, say?” Robin suggested.

Adam nodded, no doubt keen for another opportunity to sample his mother-in-law’s cooking. “Works for me, especially as that’ll give us time to think. We must know someone who’s into genealogy.”

“It’s not that I’m struggling with.” Mrs. Bright waved her hand so vigorously it dislodged a cushion and woke the pup, who shot her a mortally offended look before going back to sleep. “I know all about places like Ancestry or the other sites where folk put their family trees, but if David was taken off his mother when he was barely a few days old—and he was in the right generation for that to have happened—he may not be listed under the name David, if he’s listed at all.”

“That’s why you need an expert,” Robin said. “I used to work with someone who got bitten by the family history bug but was too fond of shortcuts to do things properly. If he saw a Fred Bloggs, he was sure it had to be his Fred Bloggs. It usually wasn’t.”

“Barking up the wrong family tree, was he?” Mrs. Bright giggled, Robin groaned and Hamish woke again, wearing such a disdainful expression that they all ended up laughing.

Robin could only hope they didn’t fall into the same trap. Family histories could be labyrinthine at the best of times.

***

As they drove home, Adam sat in the back with Hamish to keep the Newfoundland happy. Maybe he’d get forty winks, although Robin would probably want to chat.

“I wonder why it’s taken Mum so long to get round to this if she’s so keen to know the truth,” Robin said, when they were barely fifty yards into the journey.

“Probably she felt it was being disloyal to your dad. This inheritance gives her a legitimate excuse. I’m glad you gave her some jobs to get on with for the next few days.”

“Few weeks, I’d have said.” Robin had suggested his mother start by going up into the loft and going through the papers that had come from his paternal grandparents’ house when they’d gone into sheltered accommodation. They’d had no room to take all their old things but had been reluctant to chuck them away. Unfortunately, she couldn’t draw on their knowledge, as Mr. Bright senior’s memory was no longer reliable and Mrs. Bright senior had gone to her long home. “I wish she’d asked Gran and Gramps about this when they were able to give an answer.”

“I’ve heard that so often. People kick themselves because they didn’t ask Aunty Win about Uncle Fred’s war record, or why nobody mentions Cousin Danny, when they had the chance. You can fish out marriage certificates and the like, but the stories get lost. Oh, behave. Sorry, not you, the boy with the raspy tongue.”

“Dog lick. Delightful.” Robin snorted.

“Have you ever wanted to do what she’s doing? Trace your biological grandparents?”

“Not really.” When they’d started dating seriously, Adam had joked about nicking a sample of hair out of Robin’s comb to do a DNA comparison, in case they were actually cousins and were in a relationship that some folk would find too consanguineous. From then on, the adoption had been merely a fact, like a date of birth, to be aware of but not make a fuss over. “Occasionally I’ve run across a bloke or woman of the right age who bears a familial resemblance to me and wondered if they’re the ones, but I’d never ask them. Anyway, I’d be a bit scared of what I’d find out, and Dad was the same. What if he’d been the offspring of an equivalent of Fred and Rosemary West, which meant he’d been removed at birth primarily to protect him? He’d decided he’d rather not know.”

“We’ll have to hope your mother doesn’t turn up anything like that.” Adam’s voice was light, although he’d no doubt be thinking of the media headlines if it was discovered that Robin was the grandson of a notorious criminal. “However, whatever facts emerge, it’s not your fault or your dad’s. You can’t be held responsible for the sins of your forefathers, irrespective of what they turn out to be.”

“Why are you so sensible?” Robin glanced into the rear-view mirror, caught Adam’s eye, and smiled. “We’ll just have to deal with what comes up, because once Mum’s got an idea, she’ll pursue it to the bitter end. She won’t settle for not knowing.”

“Worse than Hamish when he’s lost a biscuit. Do you remember my great-aunt showing us the Matthews family bible?” Adam asked. “The family tree that seemed like it went back to Noah?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I thought you were taking a surprising interest in all the names. I supposed you were either being polite or so enthralled with me that you hung on my every chromosome. Was it anything to do with the unknown family?”

Robin squinted into the mirror again, shaking his head. “Sorry, no. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I was searching for surnames I might recognise in a work connection. Checking you weren’t first cousin to an Abbotston drug baron.”

“You sneaky bugger.” Adam chuckled. “You’d better watch him, Hamish. He’ll be doing all sorts of background checks on you.”

“There’s no pit bull blood in him, I’m sure of that.” Robin pulled up at some lights, taking the opportunity to glance over his shoulder at his family. “I wish we had another week of holiday.”

“So do I. Hey, the light’s gone green.”

“Oh, heck.” Robin got his attention on the road again, before he got a blast from someone’s horn. “Back to the grindstone tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah. This is usually the point where one of us inadvertently tempts fate and then has to deliberately untempt it. I’m afraid, Hamish, that often leads to some poor sod being found murdered and your other dad spending all the hours God sends at work. And that’s all I’m telling you because you’re not to get involved like your predecessor liked to do.”

“Too right. While you’re at it, can you show Hamish how to keep his paws crossed that nobody decides to commit a serious crime over the next few days?”

“He’ll think that’s a great game.”

Robin left them to it, concentrating on driving. He’d have to ignore the fact that, by the law of averages, his team was probably due another murder.

Chapter Two

Luck ran out on Tuesday lunchtime, when one of the Wickley primary school admin team rang through to Adam’s office to inform him that the police were on the phone.

“It’s a Chief Inspector Robin Bright calling,” she said in a worried voice. “Should I put him through?”

“Yes please, Val, and don’t panic. This should be personal, not business.”

Although the staff who’d been in post when he’d taken up his job in January were aware of his domestic setup, people like Val who’d only joined the school for the start of this new term wouldn’t be in the know. Unless the staffroom gossip machine had informed them. Adam made a note to give both Val and the new maternity-cover teacher the lowdown once the call had ended.

“Hiya.” It sounded as though Robin was out in the wilds somewhere. “You can guess why I’m ringing you. May be home late. Suspected murder in the Kings Ride Woods.”

“A murder? You’ve managed to get the news to me before I saw it on the local news page.” Or heard it in the staffroom.

“I’m not sure the media will have got wind of it yet. The body was found by a woman out for a run, who’s had the sense to keep shtum. Somebody will notice our activity here soon, so I’ve rung Cowdrey to brief him before the enquiries pour in. I’m still at the scene.”

Adam winced. Even at the most difficult of times, like when an Ofsted phone call came, he wouldn’t swop his job for his husband’s. “I appreciate the heads-up. I know the score by now so, when you can, let me know what to have ready dinner-wise and when.”

“You’re a legend. I don’t need to tell you not to say anything until we break the news.”

“Keep quiet and carry on?”

“Something like that. He’s been dead at least a couple of days, so we think there’s no immediate danger to the public, although we’ll issue the usual warning about taking care when you’re out alone until we’re clearer about what went on. The person who found the body was bright enough not to assume it was a natural death, which proved right when we turned the bloke over and saw the back of his head. You don’t want the gruesome details.”

“I do not. I’m trying to grab my lunch.” Luckily it was a hummus wrap and not a ham sandwich.

“We’ll be putting out an identity appeal, as well. Nothing on the victim or with his corpse, apart from a small, empty packet of Party Rings and a few old crumbs. Oh joy.”

“Good luck with that. I’ll wait to hear from you; otherwise, Hamish and I can have a romantic dinner together.”

“Don’t nick his Bonios or he’ll turn nasty on you. Got to go. Don’t forget the milk.”

“I won’t.” He’d never forget that special bit of code, either—although surely the rest of Robin’s team had twigged by now that the pair couldn’t run out of semi-skimmed so often? Had they guessed it substituted for I love you?

He put down the phone, grateful that his role meant he could usually take calls straight away—assuming he wasn’t in deep conversation with an irate parent or other person who demanded his entire attention—and not have to wait until lessons were over. A death at Kings Ride wouldn’t directly impact the school community at Wickley, given how far away it was, but once the playground chitchat started, people would be unsettled. He’d deal with that when the time came, having had plenty of practice.

Meanwhile, he’d wolf down the last bit of an already delayed lunch, then head to the office, where he could explain to Val exactly who’d been on the phone, if not the why.

***

By the end of the school day, the news had broken and was the talk of the staffroom. But while Adam was willing to confirm to his staff that his husband was indeed in charge of establishing what had gone on—it was only a suspected murder, after all, and could still turn out to be a freak accident—he made it clear there was no point pumping him for inside information. He wouldn’t have had much to share at that point, anyway, even if he’d wanted to. Which he didn’t.

The police had put out an appeal in an attempt to identify the victim and said he didn’t match any local missing person’s reports. That had brought unpleasant echoes of the case Robin had tackled just over a year previously, although that victim had lain undiscovered a lot longer.

“The dead man mustn’t have had any ID on him to give them his name,” Val said, as she gathered up her things, although she didn’t seem ready to leave at present. “Maybe the killer took it.”

“A robbery that went too far?” Alice, the deputy head, shrugged. “He might not have been carrying it in the first place. If I go out for a run and I know my husband will be in when I get home, I rarely take anything with me of value. Except my wedding ring, obviously.”

“It’s pointless speculating.” Liam, the year-two teacher, glanced over his shoulder as he wrestled with the tea bag in his mug. “Anyway, the police probably know more than they’re letting on.”

Not a lot more, Adam guessed, ensuring his face didn’t give away his thoughts.

“Whether they do or don’t, people can’t stop speculating. It’s part of how we cope with these awful things,” Alice said. “Trying to make some sense of what’s senseless. Would that be fair, Adam?”

“It’s a valid point. I don’t mind you discussing the Kings Ride death in here, so long as it’s away from the pupils and doesn’t intrude on work.” The case would likely be a seven-days wonder, especially if the police made an early arrest, although Adam wasn’t getting his hopes up on that front. “What I would suggest is that none of you go running on your own in any local woods for a while. And no, I don’t have any inside knowledge about whether there’s a particular danger out there, although you don’t need inside information to know that people can’t always go for a walk or a jog in safety, because that’s the kind of world we live in. I’m not only thinking of ‘stranger danger,’ but the standard of driving we have round here. Robin had a case a few years back that hinged on a hit and run.”

A sobering reminder that appeared to have the desired effect, given the facial expressions around the room.

Adam gave them all what was hopefully a reassuring smile. “Right, finish off anything you need to do here, then get home at a decent time. Hug your family.”

“You too.” Alice nodded sympathetically. “Although I suppose your bloke won’t be home as early as you will.”

Wasn’t that the truth?

***

At Abbotston police station, there was no sign of anyone getting away any time soon. The public response to the media appeal had already resulted in some information which Robin’s team was following up, although they’d drawn a blank on identification so far. The Saracens wolfpack T-shirt the victim had been wearing should have helped, it being distinctive and not for a local rugby team, although Sergeant Pru Davis’s experience was proving the opposite.

“Another dead end,” she announced to those in the incident room, after practically slamming her phone down. “I’ve just spoken to a Mrs. Gambling, who was sure the dead bloke was her husband, except that when I drilled deeper, he couldn’t be. Mr. Gambling’s been gone for a month and never supported Saracens in his life, both of which could be explained away but the mouthful of dentures can’t be.”

“You were very polite with her,” Danielle said, with an air of real respect.

“Probably too polite. I wonder if he’s upped sticks and she wanted someone to talk to about it.” Pru sighed.

Robin, who’d emerged from his office to give his team an update, suspected she was right. “I know it’s frustrating and I hate this ‘not knowing’ phase as much as any of you, but keep your peckers up. Early stages.” Albeit it was an early stage without many of the usual things they’d be doing, like conducting door-to-door interviews or speaking to friends and family. None of that could happen without a name or a place of residence. It also meant that precious time would slip by before they could deal with the obvious suspects in many a case of violence: those who had been closest to the victim. “Unless he was jobless, he must have an employer somewhere trying to get hold of him. It’s only a matter of time before they join up the dots.”

“Given the fact he’d got nothing in his pocket—not even keys—what are the chances this was a mugging that got out of hand?” Danielle asked.

“A pretty good chance. Which is the worst kind of case, as far as I’m concerned, because—as those of the team who’ve worked with me before will tell you—I initially focus on people the victim knew.” Robin glanced over at an incident board which was horribly short of content. “We’ve not got the full forensics or postmortem results yet, but you don’t need to be a CSI or a doctor to have spotted the blow to the head or the pool of vomit.” Analysing the crime scene and searching the wider area was one thing they’d been able to do.

Pru took up the discussion. “We mustn’t rule out that the sick belonged to the dead man. Blows to the head with our old friend the blunt instrument can cause nausea. Only he’d have had to have moved after he’d spewed because that vomit was a good two metres away. I know I’m now going to state the obvious, but it could also be the killer’s or have come from somebody else who found the corpse and didn’t bother reporting it, for whatever reason. Our runner said it isn’t hers.”

Ben nodded. He’d been with Robin for a while now and had experience of exactly how his teams worked. Robin made sure his officers could air ideas, be open, never be afraid that they’d get the mickey taken out of them for suggesting something a bit off piste. “She must have a strong constitution, then. Not a pretty sight.”

Pru let out a snort. “She’s a midwife, so it would take a lot to faze her. Talking of constitutions, who wants to attend the PM in half an hour? Danielle, have you been at one before?”

“No. But I’d like to,” the constable added, clearly trying hard to hide the fact she didn’t. “Got to be done sometime, hasn’t it?”

“We can go together,” Pru said. “If that’s okay, boss?”

“Fine by me. You can always call me down there if anything surprising turns up.” Robin smiled his approval. Pru was developing all the skills necessary for the next stage in her career, and part of that was bringing on junior officers. That could be seen in her willingness to support Danielle through what was likely to be an unpleasant experience. “What did this midwife have to say?”

“She—Kathy Hartley—had the sense to make a careful note of what was at the scene, in case it got disturbed while she went off to call us. She doesn’t think anything did get moved.”

“We’re sure of that?” Ben asked.

“So Kathy says,” Pru replied. “She hung around so she could take us to exactly the right spot and then apologised because she’d not had the sense to take the what3words location, bless her. She said she could have taken pictures of the crime scene but that wouldn’t have felt right.”

“Can I scroll back a bit, please?” Ashok asked, in a sheepish voice. “I may be being thick, but why did she need to go elsewhere to make a call, sir? Doesn’t that seem suspicious?”

“Not to us locals. There’s no signal in that part of the woods. One of the many regional blackspots where no provider reaches.” Robin jerked his thumb towards the window. “Go out into the wilds and try it sometime. Although you’ve made a good point.” He took another shufti at the board. “We can’t ignore the chance that Kathy could have been involved and her discovery of the body was staged. Can we get her name up there, please?”

“Good to have something to fill the gaps,” Pru said, as she jotted the midwife’s name on the incident board.

Ashok continued. “Would the killer have known there was no signal, sir? That may have been why they chose that spot to biff his victim one, if he couldn’t ring for help.”

“It could be. That would imply they might be local because, like you, lots of folk who visit the area get a shock when they realise it’s like being up a Scottish mountain, rather than sixty odd miles from London.” Robin smiled in remembrance of the black spot around Lindenshaw school and its indirect connection to meeting the love of his life. The lack of mobile signal had formed part of the murder investigation in which Adam had been a witness. “Still, let’s rule nothing out and nothing in until we have more in the way of facts. Ben, you and Pru stayed at the scene longest—anything to offer us?”

“Not a sausage.” Ben moved to the incident board, where Ashok had put up a map pinpointing where the body had been found. “As you can see, the victim . . . Can we give him a name, please, sir? It feels so impersonal to keep calling him the dead man.”

“Gary,” Pru suggested. “He looks like a Gary.”

“Okay. Carry on—” Robin was about to say Constable in an inadvertent nod to one of his aunt Clare’s favourite films, but that felt like an inappropriate note of levity.

“Gary was found here”—Ben indicated the spot—“so the closest houses are right over to the west, a mile off and not near an official access point to the woods. There are several footpath entrances and a couple of car parks, but there were no vehicles left unaccounted for when Pru and I did a sweep of the area on the way back.”

Pru joined her colleague at the board. “So, Gary could have lived within jogging distance, maybe at Kings Ride itself, or been dropped off by a mate. Unlikely to have used public transport, especially at a weekend, because the bus to Kinechester comes twice daily on Saturdays and not at all on Sundays.”

“He could have brought his own car and whoever killed him nicked his keys and then took it,” Robin pointed out. “That wouldn’t necessarily have been planned, either. We all know how opportunistic thieves can be. Hopefully, our appeal for runners, or anyone else who uses the woods, to come forward might yield results.”

“I keep thinking of that Ellen, sir,” Ashok said, in an unusually sombre voice. “She lay undiscovered for weeks, but that was in her own home. Why wasn’t this bloke—Gary—found if he was near a running route?”

“He wasn’t, not really,” Pru said. “According to Kathy Hartley, most runners stick to the main paths because there are adders at Kings Ride. A jogger got bitten during lockdown and ended up in hospital with a severe reaction. Folk tend to be wary of going on the smaller paths, but Kathy said she knew you’re unlikely to meet a snake at this time of year.”

Robin nodded. He’d seen a warning sign about venomous snakes when he’d parked his car.

“There was a flasher up there, as well,” Danielle said. “He started during lockdown. They only caught him last September, so it put some women off running in those woods.”

“I’d forgotten that.” Pru gave the constable an approving nod and then checked her watch. “We’d better get organised and head down for the gruesome bit, Danielle. It’ll be marginally better than dealing with people who think Gary’s theirs, only to find out that he can’t be. All frustration at our end aside, it must be heart breaking for them.”

On that sombre note, the team went back to their tasks, still none the wiser as to Gary’s actual name.

By the end of the day, Robin and his team had the results of the postmortem, if bugger all else. The autopsy hadn’t thrown up anything unusual and a still green-about-the-gills Danielle confessed that she’d struggled to hold it together and not puke. She’d managed to take notes, which she relayed to the rest of the team.

“He died as a result of a blow to the head with a blunt instrument. Something like a smaller version of a baseball bat,” the constable said. “If it had been anyone else, they might have survived, but he had quite a thin skull, so probably death followed soon afterwards, although he might have been able to stumble a yard or two.”

“Eggshell-skull rule,” Ben said. “The killer won’t be able to rely on that fact to mitigate their crime.”

Danielle nodded. “Another couple of things. The vomit contents at the scene don’t seem to match what was in Gary’s stomach, and in terms of time of death, he was likely to have been killed somewhere around seventy-two hours previously, so maybe Saturday lunchtime.”

Robin noted, with a touch of guilt at the thought, that Gary would have already been dead by the time he was discussing Hamish crossing his paws. If that was the case, had he tempted fate after the event?

Chapter Three

Adam was pleased when Robin arrived home on Tuesday evening at a reasonable time and sympathetic when he confessed he’d rather have been back later and have more to show for it. He briefed Adam—as he always did—on what they’d found out so far, but the process didn’t seem to be as fruitful for him as it usually proved. Too early, too few facts. The only positive was that Henry, Robin’s contact in the specialist fraud section, had said he’d have a dig into the mysterious inheritance business and hoped to report back by Friday about whether Mrs. Bright was getting into something dodgy. They had an early night in bed, both weary from a busy few days, and woke to a wet Wednesday when their alarms sounded.

While the weather was dreary, the news that Robin received over breakfast clearly wasn’t, and it appeared to brighten his mood considerably. The duty sergeant at Abbotston had rung at seven o’clock, apologetic that he was so early, to say he just received a call from a distressed mother confessing that her son and his friend might have some important information about the dead man found in Kings Ride Woods. The sergeant had calmed her down and arranged for them all to come in at nine thirty. Robin thanked him and reassured the officer that ringing so early was never going to be a problem if he was bringing news like that.

“Sounds encouraging,” Adam said, once Robin had updated him on the call. “Did she say what this information was?”

“No. She was in too much of a state, apparently. Maybe the lads found the body earlier than our midwife did and have been keeping quiet about it. They’re only ten.”

“Oh heck.” That would mean the usual protocol for child witnesses having to be put in place. “Perhaps they’re the ones who nicked whatever he was carrying in his pockets.” Adam stared into his tea. Boys that age weren’t too young to mug someone.

“I’ve been having the same thought.” Robin crunched away at his granola. “On the positive side, it would mean a chance of getting an ID for the victim and maybe an address, assuming the items haven’t already been disposed of.”

“I hope this pair aren’t any of my pupils. I’ll be keeping an eye out for absences today in years five and six.” Because that was the way the universe seemed to enjoy working where Robin’s murder cases were concerned.

“I think you’re okay this time. They’re local to Kings Ride, and I don’t believe your catchment goes that far?”

“It doesn’t and I don’t think we’ve got any families who’ve moved there and still bring their children back to Wickley.” It happened, especially when the pupils only had a year or so left at primary before going up to secondary school. Less disruption to their education and their friendships. “I’ll also get Hamish to keep his paws crossed that these lads aren’t related to any members of my staff.”

Robin snorted. “I wouldn’t bother. Crossing his paws didn’t work on Sunday, did it?”

***

By half past nine, Robin knew that if Hamish had been crossing his paws, he’d been effective this time. Neither of the boys—Kyle Simmons and Archie Hill—were pupils at any school Adam had been associated with, as he and Pru had discovered when they’d chatted to them as part of putting them at ease. A process not helped by the presence of two livid mothers who evidently wanted to get to the point as soon as possible, although they weren’t letting out any hints about what that point was. They’d clearly decided that their sons were going to have to do all the talking.

Once the preliminaries were done, Mrs. Simmons said, “Tell Mr. Bright what you did.”

“We were in the Kings Ride Woods on Sunday afternoon.” Kyle kept his eyes fixed on his hands. “We weren’t supposed to be because we’re only allowed to go as far as the play park or the rec.”

“Too right you’re not to go any farther.” Mrs. Simmons shook with anger.

“I’m sure we all did things when we were ten that we shouldn’t have done,” Robin said, before she could pitch in again. Interviewing children was a delicate business. “Helpful” parents were no help at all. “What happened at the woods?”

“We went for a walk, to see if there were any trees we could go climbing on. We found that dead bloke.”

“Okay.” Robin nodded. “What time was this?”

Kyle shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. In the afternoon. We’d had football in the morning.”

“You didn’t tell anyone that you’d found him?” Pru asked.

Both boys wagged their heads, Archie adding, “We didn’t want to think or talk about him anymore. It was horrible. I was sick.”

That probably explained the pile of vomit. Robin assured the lads that lots of people were sick when they saw a body. He got Pru to make a note of what the lad had eaten that day and carried on. “You told us he was dead. Did you know that at the time you found him?”

“Yeah. See, I felt for his pulse and there was none. We learned that at school.” At last Kyle looked Robin in the face. “I know he wasn’t breathing, either, because we both watched his chest. We’d have gone and got help if we thought it would have saved him.”

Mrs. Hill couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Like good little citizens. Then, instead of finding a phone and ringing for an ambulance or the police, you went in his pockets, nicked his wallet and scarpered to leave him for the foxes to eat?” She reached into her handbag and produced a Tupperware box with a mobile phone and wallet in. “You could have made an emergency call from this.”

“I told you, Mum, those things weren’t in his pockets,” Archie protested. “They were lying next to him.”

“And then all of a sudden they were in this tub, under your bed?” She slammed the box onto the table, none too gently.

Robin snatched it up before damage could be done to the contents. “We’ll take that for our forensic people to go over. We’ll have to get all of your fingerprints too, for elimination purposes. Did you find this under the bed, Mrs. Hill?”

“No,” she conceded. “Archie brought the two items down this morning and told us what had happened. I put them in here to keep them safe.”

“I’d heard about that guy on the local news. I had to come clean.” Archie avoided Kyle’s gaze. Was there some tension between the two—one the instigator and the other the obedient lieutenant? Although if Kyle had been the one doing the egging on, Robin would have expected him to have been the one in possession of the stolen items.

“So, let’s get this clear.” Robin produced a rough sketch of the scene, which he’d had the foresight to prepare prior to the interview. “If this is the dead man, where exactly were the wallet and the phone?”

Archie indicated a point to the left of the body, then checked with Kyle, who said, “That’s right. Archie was sick around here.” He pointed to another spot, which matched where they’d found the vomit.

“Could the wallet and phone have fallen out of the dead man’s pocket?” Pru asked.

Kyle, who’d probably expected a bollocking, was beginning to blossom, maybe as a result of being taken as a serious witness. “I don’t think so. Not unless he’d moved all weird when he fell down on the ground.”

Archie nodded. “My dad keeps his wallet and phone in his back pocket so they’re safe. This guy was on his back, so they couldn’t have fallen out from there.”

A decent piece of logic. Could the killer—or another person who’d come across the body—have removed the items? Although, in that case, why rummage them out and not take them?

“Was there anything else lying by the body?” Pru smiled encouragingly. “Every detail you can think of will help us find who killed him.”

“No, honest. Apart from one of those little packs of biscuits, like you get in your lunchbox. It looked full, but I didn’t want to touch it.” Kyle eyed the Tupperware box. “We didn’t spend any of the money in that wallet, either. Everything should still be in there.”

Robin asked, as gently as he could and aware of their mothers’ scowls, “Tell me and Pru why you took the wallet and phone.”

“We thought they’d be safer with us,” Archie said. “We were going to tell our mums and dads what we found, but then we got scared. We knew we’d get told off for being in the woods and then we were worried that people might think we’d done it.”

The explanation could be partially if not the whole truth: the classic situation that the longer you left off doing something the harder it became to do it, although Robin would guess the full story was more complex. Perhaps a dare that had gone too far or a split-second decision that had soon been regretted. Still, the two youngsters had appeared to have done the right thing, albeit a touch late. And if they’d ensured that these personal items had been kept safe, rather than ending up in the possession of someone who would have spent the money and sold on the phone, the police should be grateful.

“Did you look in the wallet at all?” Pru asked. “Get us a name for the man?”

“We were going to, then Archie thought about fingerprints. We only opened it, then shut it again. Didn’t poke about.” Forensics would see if Kyle was telling the truth on that, unless they’d had the sense to wear gloves when they’d done it.

“Okay.” Robin nodded. “Did you see anything else that was suspicious when you were in the woods? We’re not trying to catch you out. We all want to find who did this and the more reliable information we get, the better.”

Kyle shook his head. “There’s nothing else. There were some people out jogging and a woman with a dog, but not near where he was.”

Mrs. Simmons broke her silence with a curt “You shouldn’t have been there, either. I’ve told you about the snakes.”

Robin ignored the interruption; that scolding could carry on at home. “And nothing else? Archie?”

“No. Mr. Bright,” Archie added, either remembering his manners or deciding he should make a better impression. “I’ve been thinking about Sunday ever since, and I can’t think of any clues. Sorry.”

“Did the foxes eat him?” Kyle suddenly asked, referring back to Mrs. Hill’s earlier rebuke.

Pru, who’d confessed prior to the interview to being torn between being sympathetic and giving the boys a right royal telling off, said, “Well, he certainly wasn’t in pristine condition. Look boys, Mr. Bright and I have decided that we aren’t going to punish you, because I’m sure by now you know you’ve made a lot of wrong choices, but I want you to promise me that when you leave here, you’ll think about what I’m going to say. What if that had been your dad or your grandad lying there, and then two people came along and found him, took his stuff, and just went off? How would you feel?”

Robin watched as the chastening words sunk in, both boys’ lower lips starting to tremble. “You can go a long way towards making things better by making sure you tell Pru everything you can about what you saw and heard in the woods, like a description of those people jogging and the lady with the dog. Even if you think it’s trivial, tell her anyway, because she’s really good at picking out what’s important. Then we need your fingerprints, as long as your mums say that’s okay, and we also need to ask what you were both doing on Saturday.” Suspecting he was about to get a blast of maternal anger, he hurried on. “It’s nothing but routine. If I didn’t ask everybody who’s concerned with the case where they were then, my boss would tell me off.”

Robin would also be remiss if he didn’t consider the possibility of one or both of the boys being the killer. Everyone in the room would have been aware of high-profile cases, like the murder of James Bulger, in which children around Kyle and Archie’s age had committed unthinkable acts.

“We were coming home from our holiday,” Mrs. Simmons said. “We were late starting, and then the A303 was a nightmare, so we were very late getting back, and then we had to be up early on Sunday to get his majesty here off to his football training.”

That accorded with Saturday’s fatal crash which had made a road that was notoriously prone to delays almost grind to a halt. Adam’s mum had been caught up in the tailbacks too. “Thank you. If you could give Pru your holiday details later, we’d be grateful. Mrs. Hill?”

“Archie was out with his dad most of Saturday, fishing, so I could get on with the housework. He’ll be able to confirm that. Mind you, that’ll be the last fishing trip or any other treat for you for a while.” She shot Archie a withering glance. “I’ll be watching you like a hawk.”

Both lads fixed their gazes on their hands again; Robin really wouldn’t want to be in their shoes for the next few weeks. “Last couple of things. Archie, you said your dad keeps his wallet and phone in his back trouser pockets. Make sure you warn him to keep them buttoned, because there’s a lot of thieves out there and you never know when they might strike. Does he also carry his keys with him, when you’re out?”

Archie looked up, evidently happier to be addressing the police than his mother. “Yeah. Or else he couldn’t drive the car or get in the house. Why?”

“The dead man had no keys on him. Did you see any near his body?”

Archie shook his head, as did Kyle, who then said, “I’ve been thinking about that. I have, Mum,” he protested, at a snort from Mrs. Simmons. “Because I want to help, I really do. There weren’t any keys. We’d have picked them up if we’d seen them.”

“And that leaves just one silly little thing that’s bugging us,” Pru said. “That packet of biscuits. Party Rings?”

“Yeah, miss.” Kyle, frowning, seemed puzzled at the question.

“We won’t get angry, whatever the answer is, but are you sure you two didn’t eat them?”

Her question made Kyle wince. “Ew. No way. Not from next to a dead bloke.”

“I couldn’t have eaten anything, because I was being sick,” Archie reminded them.

On which intriguing note, Robin left Pru and the family liaison officer who’d been in silent attendance to complete the statement taking and the rest. If the lads hadn’t picked up the keys, what had happened to them, and if they’d not eaten those biscuits, who the hell had? And when?

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