Richard’s anger turned to sadness. He had picked those words out from a list the funeral home had presented him with. He hadn’t been prepared for their questions: Did he want flowers? What sort of service? Who should go? What two lines of words did he want to sum up her life? It had all been too much. He had ended up pointing numbly, nodding his head at the right moments then typing his pin number to pay for it all. He didn’t want choices. He just wanted her back. A few months later he had been sat on this very bench and he had read those words out to realise that they were for him. He had been trying to comfort himself. They didn’t seem to offer him any comfort now.

‘It’s not true though, is it, Richard? She doesn’t live anywhere and all that you got left with is a pain in your heart that you don’t know what to do with. I can help.’

‘I don’t want your fucking HELP!’ Richard’s feet slammed against the ground and he stood up straight. His heart beat so hard in his chest it felt like it was trying to get out. His vision blurred, worse this time, enough to remove all sense of detail. His whole view was just a whirl of blue merging into grey and green. He felt himself stumble forward. A black object appeared in front of him and took hold of him by the shoulder. He grabbed it back, steadying himself before he had one of his falls.

‘It’s OK! I’ve got you.’ The same voice. The same man. Richard didn’t reply. He was still unsteady. He took a step back, feeling for the wood of the bench. The man helped him back into it. Richard flashed angry again, more at himself this time, at the fact that he had become so old and weak. And useless. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, OK. Take it easy … I’m sorry, this was a bad idea.’ The voice again.

Richard hung his head, waiting for his vision to clear. By the time it had, the man was gone.

Chapter 17

Inspector Joel Norris scrolled down his computer screen, highlighting a good chunk of his emails as he went. Joel had spent a month away from this inbox and had no intention of spending the next month going through them. Instead he worked on the logic that anything important would be sent again. When he pressed the delete key only three were left standing and they were all from Detective Sergeant Ian Andrews of CID.

It made him feel better.