Singh nodded and shuffled back to his desk on the far side of the incident room to get on with his work. Looking up at the clock on the wall Singh knew he’d be lucky if he made it home before ten o’clock that night. The team had a long afternoon ahead of them, which was never good news, especially on a Sunday.

Chapter 11

8.50am Monday 16th December

Tilly woke drenched in sweat. It was as a result of the same reoccurring nightmare she’d been having since discovering the dead body of Dennis Wade. Her hair stuck to her forehead and the fabric of the T-shirt she wore in bed was plastered to her back.

Once her heartbeat had settled, she lay back down feeling exhausted and buried her face into her damp pillow, instantly regretting the decision.

Meanwhile, across the city, Palmer was waiting to interview another Ashton’s Bookshop employee, while Barrett worked upstairs in the incident room trying to build a better picture of Wendy Matlock’s life.

Palmer and Singh greeted Steven Fisher in reception and led the man to the interview room. He was slightly surprised by Steven: he had been expecting someone a bit younger. The men sat down opposite each other at a table and Palmer ran his eyes quickly over his notes.

‘Thanks for coming in to talk to us, Mr Fisher. Let me assure you this is all just procedure.’

‘No problem, happy to help,’ Steven said knitting his fingers together. ‘I still can’t quite believe it. You don’t expect that sort of thing in a place like Cambridge. Folks round here believe it’s a safe place. Well, they did until Mr Wade, of course.’

‘Yes, we are dealing with a particularly violent crime,’ Singh agreed.

‘So, what do you need to know?’

Palmer found it refreshing having someone cooperate in an interview. Most people were less forthcoming. ‘I have here a table of the hours everyone employed by the shop worked last week. Can you confirm this is correct?’ He slid the piece of paper across the desk.

Steven’s large smooth hand reached out and examined the timetable. ‘Yes, that’s all right. I worked those days.’

‘So, was your Wednesday afternoon shift the last time you saw Dennis Wade alive?’ Singh inquired.

‘Yes.’ Steven looked ashen. He had a skinny face that was semi-covered by a dark beard, which made his bright green eyes stand out.

‘How long have you been working at the bookshop?’

‘A few months. Since September time. I’ve been travelling for the last few years. I didn’t want to go straight back into full-time work, so the hours suited me.’

Palmer could see that Steven looked like he’d been backpacking. The worn leather band he wore on his wrist and the slightly dishevelled hair now made sense.

‘Where are you living?’ asked Singh.