Chapters (38)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-one
- Chapter Twenty-two
- Chapter Twenty-three
- Chapter Twenty-four
- Chapter Twenty-five
- Chapter Twenty-six
- Chapter Twenty-seven
- Chapter Twenty-eight
- Chapter Twenty-nine
- Epilogue
- Afterword
- Next in Series
- Canelo Crime
- Newsletter
- About the Author
- Also by Nick Louth
‘Is that why you left the force?’ He had no idea that she had been serious about him. He’d just thought it a bit of fun. It showed the huge mismatch in their intentions on that fateful night in Basildon.
She shrugged. ‘One of the reasons. Of course you did me a favour at one level. I’m a cynic now, particularly about men. It’s amazing how useful that has turned out to be, particularly once I divorced and returned to the force. I meet male cops every day who are emotional teenagers, and the absolute worst are those close to retirement.’
He fought the urge to apologise yet again. He needed answers to more questions about the case, but couldn’t bear any more of this digging into his soul. He was itching to get away.
‘Unlike you, Craig, most of them are incapable of reform, and some of the worst are at senior level. My friend Alison Rigby has been retiring the dinosaurs in Surrey, but in Hampshire they still rule the earth.’
If Stella Anderson was a good friend of his chief constable, that would give her huge influence. Gillard had heard Radar Dobbs and others muttering about the encroaching ‘sisterhood’ at senior levels in British policing, and here was some evidence of it. Still, after decades in which senior police officers had scratched each other’s backs in male-only Masonic meetings, it was only right that the pendulum had finally swung the other way.
‘I’m glad you changed, Craig,’ she said, pushing a garden-gloved finger into his chest. ‘At least someone gets the benefit. Sam. Is that her name?’
‘Yes.’ Gillard looked down at his watch and said. ‘I’d best be going now. I’m supposed to be at Rissington Sluice.’
‘Running away again?’
‘It’s work.’
‘Yes, that’s what you said last time.’ She turned and walked away without looking back.
Overshadowed by dark thoughts, Gillard drove slowly back to Rissington Common. Having read up on the recent history of the place, it seemed a good moment to visit the site of the 1991 suicide of Jeanette Willow, the widow of Henry and the sometime lover of Christopher Tickett. Her contested affections were the motive for murder back in 1982.