The Fourth Friend (DI Jackman & DS Evans #3)(65)

‘Long list, unfortunately. And he’ll most likely be there because he’s family, sort of.’

‘Yeah, I guess, but at least we’ve got him on the database now, so if he ever tries anything pervy again, we can tie him in.’ Max sniffed. ‘He’s a rum one, sir. But Rosie and I decided that we can’t see him killing Suzanne. He seemed genuinely cut up about her death, and to be honest, I don’t think he’d have the bottle to go up against a woman like his sister.’

‘Did Charlie tell you that we suspect her of being a domestic abuser?’

‘Yes, sir. I just feel for that poor sod of a husband. Looks like that crash took him out of a world of pain.’

‘Bit of an extreme way to leave her, Max.’ He grimaced. ‘Still, get off home, and thanks for what you’ve done.’

‘No probs, sir. I was sad there was no sangria, but Scunthorpe isn’t famous for it.’

‘And you did get a few hours out for a drive with Rosie.’ Jackman grinned.

‘Has to be some perks to this job, sir. See you tomorrow.’

As Max left, Carter walked in. ‘Can I request a few hours off tomorrow, sir? The marina have rung and said that they want to bring the lifting gear in tomorrow to put the Eva May back on the water.’

Jackman saw the light in Carter’s eyes, and immediately agreed. This was a very big day for Carter, and he’d want to be there to see the process through. Then it struck him that it would be a very traumatic occasion too. He’d be alone, instead of with the lads who had worked alongside him. ‘Ask Marie if she’d like to go with you. She’s a good friend, isn’t she? I think she’d appreciate being there for such a special event.’

Carter gave him an odd look.

‘I’ll ask her, and thank you. I appreciate it.’

‘Get home, Carter. No late night tonight.’

He nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve got a few last-minute jobs to do on the old girl, so I’ll take you up on that. Good night, sir.’

Jackman sighed. He really must remember to tell the super that the directive about relaxing formalities was a definite no-no in Saltern-le-Fen.

*

Robbie was certainly going to have a late night. He had spent two hours at the cottage, and was only halfway through all the things he wanted to check. He’d already skimmed the reports, so he wasn’t interested in what was in the evidence store. He was looking for different stuff. Things that told him about their everyday lives. He had always believed that Suzanne would tell him what really happened, and if he couldn’t see her body, then he’d look through her home and see if he could hear any echoes from her time there.

Robbie took the old place room by room, carefully looking at anything that told him how the Hollands had lived. To begin with it had felt strange, almost ghoulish, peeking into the home of two dead people. Then it felt immoral, as if he had no right to be there. Then it felt eerie, being in a house full of ghosts. Finally he pushed all those thoughts away, and went back to being a detective simply checking out a crime scene.

He opened cupboards, pulled out drawers, read post-it notes stuck on the fridge, noted what book titles were on the shelves and looked in the bathroom cabinet to see what tablets and medicines they took.

He checked the pockets of Tom’s jackets and he looked at the kind of jewellery that Suzanne wore. Then he sat down on the bed and wondered if he had learned anything useful at all. Maybe he would have to go the evidence storage route after all. At least there he would find all the basic stuff, laptops, phones, address books and so on.

He stretched and decided to call it a day. He was already losing the light. He looked at Tom’s side of the king-size bed with a feeling of real sadness. Tom’s bedside cabinet looked very much like his own, with a clock, a coaster, a phone and a book.

He picked up the book, a cold war spy adventure. He turned it over and read the blurb. It sounded good. There was a bookmark three-quarters of the way through, and it made Robbie even sadder to think that Tom Holland would never know the ending.

He placed the book back on the cabinet. Then he saw something glint on the shelf beneath. He leant down, moved a pile of magazines that were obscuring it, and pulled out a digital photo frame.

‘Oh, someone really missed this on the first sweep,’ he murmured.

He stared at it for a moment, and excitement sent ripples down his back. This was what he had come here for! He just knew it.

It was a good one, and not cheap. When he checked the port, it already contained a memory card. All he needed was the mains adaptor.

Robbie scrabbled around in the bottom of the cabinet and pulled out a box of tissues, a heat pad and several catalogues. Then he found it, and a remote control as well. ‘Bingo!’

He stood up, looked around for a socket, and plugged it in.

He made a few adjustments and a slideshow began to unroll. He took a deep breath, switched it off, unplugged it and took it with him. There could be hundreds, maybe thousands of images, and he wanted to look at every one very carefully indeed.

At the door he whispered his thanks to the deceased owners of Holland Cottage. Then he glanced down at the photo frame and said, ‘If you can’t talk to me, Suzanne, maybe you can show me . . . why you died.’





CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

When Jackman arrived early the next morning, he found Robbie sitting on the edge of his desk. At his side were two coffees and two Danish pastries in an open white box.