‘OK, we’ll leave it at that for now,’ said Strachan. ‘If you could give us your father-in-law’s address?’

‘Yeah, course, I’ll write it down for you,’ Marie said, fishing a pen out of her handbag and looking around for paper.

Ogden took a notepad out of his pocket and passed it to her. Thanking him, Marie scribbled Frank’s address and handed it back.

‘What do I do now?’ she asked, a sudden flutter of panic churning in her stomach. ‘About Evan, I mean. If he’s . . . won’t I need to contact an undertaker, or something?’

‘Not just yet,’ Strachan said kindly. ‘There’s still a chance it might not have been him in the car, so let’s wait until we know for sure.’

Hoping against hope that the woman was right, Marie nodded, and pushed herself up to her feet to show them out. She’d been cursing Evan for weeks, wishing disease, catastrophe, and even death on him. But now there was a possibility that he actually was dead, the guilt was tearing her apart.

As soon as the pair had gone, Marie let the dog back in and lit a cigarette. Then, rooting her mobile phone out of her handbag, she dialled Frank’s number. As usual, his phone went straight to voicemail, but, this time, instead of hanging up, she decided to leave a message.

‘Frank, it’s Marie,’ she said, her chin wobbling as the reality of what she’d heard washed over her. ‘I know you’re not talking to me, but I really need to speak to you, so please pick up – it’s important.’

She waited a few seconds, to give him time to pick up if he was listening. He didn’t, so she said, ‘Look, something’s happened. I can’t tell you what it is over the phone, but the police are on their way to yours. Please call me back as soon as you can. And I’m sorry for what I said,’ she added, sniffing back a tear. ‘I was angry, but I didn’t mean it. You’ve been a great dad to Evan and Jo, and . . . Please just ring me back. Please.’

She cut the call at that and, dropping the cigarette into the ashtray, sobbed into the bewildered dog’s fur.

44

Frank was still in his room when the Transit pulled up outside, and he heard two sets of feet crunch across the gravel, followed by a key being slotted into the front door. It didn’t open, and Nick’s complaining voice rose up to him, saying, ‘Why the fuck’s he put the mortice on?’

‘Why d’ya think?’ Gaz replied gruffly.

The crunching started up again as the men walked round to the back of the house. A few seconds later, Nick bounded up the stairs and threw Frank’s door open.

‘Get your arse downstairs, Granddad. I’ve got a job for you.’