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Chapters (100)
  1. Cover
  2. Title page
  3. Dedication page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
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  90. 87
  91. 88
  92. 89
  93. 90
  94. 91
  95. 92
  96. Acknowledgements
  97. DEAD GUILTY
  98. 1
  99. FALSE WITNESS
  100. Also by Michelle Davies

‘Bollocks,’ said Maggie, heat rising in her cheeks. ‘You could’ve texted me.’

‘Okay, I should’ve let you know, but funnily enough I was too occupied with taking over the investigation into a young woman’s murder that one of my friends has been implicated in.’

Maggie felt a twinge of guilt. It was a plausible excuse: his friendship with Bailey had been important to him.

‘Let’s talk about it at home,’ she said.

Umpire looked sheepish.

‘I’ve booked into a hotel.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘I’ve got a lot to get through before tomorrow.’

Maggie was determined not to show how upset she was.

‘Yes, that’s sensible.’

‘You don’t mind?’

‘Why would I?’ She tried to sound nonchalant, but inside she was fuming at the rejection. ‘I’m going to head off now, unless you need me for anything else?’

He smiled and she hated the effect he had on her. She wasn’t ready to let go of her anger.

‘No, you can go. I’ll call you later.’

She walked away, not answering.

Her flat occupied the top floor of a four-storey Victorian house. The flat below hers was spread over the first and ground floors, while the bottom flat was in the basement, accessed down a small set of wrought-iron stairs. Maggie didn’t know the owner of the bottom flat – it was a man, living alone, that much she had worked out – so she never paid much attention when she walked up the steps to the main front door.

Today she did.

Sitting halfway down the metal steps, huddled over as though he was cold was a rangy young man. He appeared agitated and upset, was possibly even crying.

Maggie faltered.

‘Are you okay?’

The young man’s head snapped up and Maggie saw instantly he was actually a teenager. Then she gasped.

‘Jude?’

He clambered to his feet and rushed up the steps to her, almost sending her flying in his eagerness to hug her.

‘Whoa, whoa, Jude, calm down,’ she laughed. She gently pushed her nephew away and held him at arm’s length. In seven months he’d shot up by inches and the soft edges of his childhood were melting away to reveal a sharp, adolescent bone structure that he’d inherited from Lou. But everything else about him – his skin tone, his nose, his eyes – was Jerome’s.

‘Jude, what on earth are you doing here?’

His eyes filled with tears but she could see from his expression they were the product of anger, not sorrow.

‘I can’t stay there any more,’ he said through clenched teeth. ‘I want to live with you. Please don’t send me back.’

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