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Back False Witness
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
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. 82
  86. 83
  87. 84
  88. 85
  89. 86
  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

As Gus sauntered off, Alan staggered into the outbuilding and sank down onto the floor in despair. He sat hunched over, forehead resting on his bent knees, feeling like he might be sick. What the hell was he going to do? Last night in The Wheatsheaf, before he’d got drunk enough to forget, he’d decided the only way out of this mess was to remove the Pavilion from Gus’s control. But how?

After a few minutes he raised his head. The outbuilding was dingy inside and Alan could barely see as he sat there in the gloom. Then, gradually, his eyes began to focus and they lit upon a container stacked on a pile of boxes right in front of him. As he idly read the lettering printed on the side, an idea came to him in a flash.

He’d found his way out.

32

Maggie set off for Imogen’s alone after that morning’s briefing. Byford had been ordered to area HQ in Trenton to tie up loose ends on a previous case and it would be lunchtime before he’d be back in Mansell.

Grace and Imogen were in the midst of a row when she arrived. Grace was insisting they choose a coffin from a glossy brochure she’d somehow procured and Imogen was understandably distressed. Maggie managed to diffuse the argument by saying they might want to hold off planning the funeral until the digital autopsy was completed. Grace didn’t take kindly to being silenced and stomped upstairs in a huff, brochure wedged under her arm.

Maggie and Imogen went to sit in the small paved courtyard at the rear of the cottage, the only outdoor space. Benji’s bike was propped up against the fence, helmet dangling off the handlebars. Maggie was grateful Grace had gone upstairs – it was easier to talk to Imogen without her chipping in every other sentence.

‘How are you today?’ she asked.

‘Like everything’s gone numb,’ said Imogen. ‘I haven’t even cried. I think it’s because of yesterday, seeing Benji. It took it out of me.’

‘It can’t have been easy,’ said Maggie, wishing she’d been with her.

‘Will the scan thingy prove Benji was pushed?’

Preparing relatives for every possible outcome was a requisite skill for a FLO and one of the toughest parts of the job. It meant having to dash the hopes of a family praying their relative would return alive when you knew your colleagues were looking for a body, or breaking the news that the conviction they were depending on for closure wasn’t assured. Maggie had to make sure relatives understood the grim odds they faced in the gentlest way possible.